Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4)

by Lynn Morrison

  Getting out the narrow trailer door also proves tricky, forcing me to turn sideways to avoid tearing my skirt. I can't help but feel like a dog trying to run into the house with a giant stick in its mouth. I pause on the stairs, using my hand to shade my eyes as I search the lawn for Harry's familiar figure. Her white-blonde pageboy cut glows silver in the sunlight, catching my eye as soon as she emerges from the arched walkway. I start to call out to her, but she breezes right past me, completely oblivious to my presence thanks to my elaborate costume.

  I have to hold back a snicker when she huffs in frustration, failing to spot me anywhere amongst the people milling around. She reaches for her handbag, likely to ring my mobile, but she spots the Craft Services trailer and decides to get a coffee and wait instead.

  "Perfect," I mumble under my breath as I hold onto the stair rail with a death grip, terrified of getting my feet tangled in my skirts. Harry's attention is fully focused on the coffee menu, causing her to miss my stilted walk across the lawn, still not yet comfortable in the tightly laced bodice and old-fashioned footwear.

  I tiptoe close behind her, waiting until I am one step away to say, "Pardon me, madame. Can I take your handbag and put it away in the cloakroom?"

  Harry grips her handbag tightly, spinning around to see who would ask such a question. She stares at me for several seconds before the proverbial lightbulb switches on and she realises it is me.

  "Oh my! Nat! Look at you! Have you been playing dress-up in the wardrobe department? I hardly recognised you for a moment there."

  "Do you like it?" I ask, twirling around so Harry can get the full picture. "I hope it comes across well on film."

  "On film?" Harry wrinkles her brow, perplexed. "Do you mean? Are you… are you going to be in the show? Why didn't you tell me they were looking for extras?"

  I point to the steaming takeaway cup. "Take your coffee and then follow me. I have so much to tell you."

  In her rush to get to Somerset this morning, Harry had skipped her morning ritual of perusing the daily news. She wanted to pop into her office at St Margaret and square away a few items so she'd be free to hang around the set as long as it took to meet her hero, Caleb Farrow. Thus, she completely missed seeing the front-page feature on Vivian's collapse.

  We retreat to the far end of the garden, well away from any listening ears, and I update Harry on the last twenty-four hours. By the time I'm done, Harry's mouth is hanging open.

  "My word, Nat. I don't know how you do it," she gushes. "Tell me what you need me to do."

  "Just stay by my side and keep me company," I reply. "And if I get nervous, distract me."

  Harry rolls her shoulders back, taking my request seriously. "I'm in. Where are we off to first?"

  We grab a quick bite to eat before I have to report into hair and make-up, taking extra care to ensure I don't spill a drop or a crumb on my voluminous skirts. Harry does her best to keep a straight face, coaching me as I struggle to sit down and stand back up again.

  Joe greets us back at the trailer, pointing me towards the raised chair positioned in front of the make-up bar. When I nearly fall over trying to get into it, he offers to remove the bum roll and a layer of petticoats so I can sit comfortably for a while.

  Joe drapes a towel over my shoulders to protect the dress. As he lays out his brushes, he warns me, "Normally, people expect to leave my chair looking more gorgeous than before. However, I need to turn you from an English beauty into a worn-out, middle-aged laundress."

  Harry drags a chair over, not wanting to miss a minute of the show. With Ilaria and Marcello off at lunch, the three of us sit in absolute quiet as Joe works his wizardry. Instructed to keep my eyes closed, Harry's gasps are the only clue I have about my transformation. When Joe finally passes me a hand mirror, my stomach is a ball of nerves.

  The face staring back looks nothing like my own. Wrinkled brow, cheeks weathered from too many hours working under the sun, and bags under my eyes. Even my pores seem larger. "Joe, you are a genius. My own mother wouldn't recognise me, which is for the best since I wasn't planning to tell anyone about being cast."

  Looking pleased as punch, Joe sends us on our way. I check the time, surprised by how much has passed. "We need to go straight to the set. Uncle Harold wants to walk me through my motions before they take some test shots."

  "Oh, Nat. I am so excited!" Harry squeals. "What are you meant to be doing?"

  "I'm the laundress, Harry. Last I heard, the writers were planning to have me tidy the room and fetch a tray of drinks for the men."

  My uncle calls my name as soon as we walk into the study they've commandeered to act as Wilkins' office. I leave Harry standing out of the way, her face glowing with excitement. Caleb Farrow and Gideon Pomerance are deep in conversation at the far end of the room, glowering at one another as they speak. I can't tell whether they are running lines or truly butting heads. I type a quick note into my phone, reminding myself to ask when I get a chance to speak with them individually.

  After that, I push everything out of my mind except for my uncle's instructions. "Walk across the room with the tray of drinks," sounds easy enough, but between my pinched toes in the borrowed shoes, my wide skirts, and the narrow space behind the men's chairs, it is much harder to navigate with any dignity.

  We make multiple attempts where I nearly brain Caleb Farrow with the tray, spill the empty glasses into Gideon's lap, and get my skirt caught on the edge of an end table. Each time, my uncle yells cut, forcing everyone to start again from the top. I'm close to tears of frustration when I hear a friendly voice shout out an offer for help.

  Unbeknownst to the others, Molly stands in the doorway, her eyes twinkling as she gets a good look at my outfit. "You look like you could be my sister," she says, laughing. She squints her eyes as she checks my make-up. "My older sister, that is."

  Gideon takes pity on me, asking my uncle for a ten-minute break. As cast and crew shift their attention away from me, I plead with Molly to help. "Please tell me you know how to walk across this room without spilling the tray of drinks or ripping a hole in my clothing?"

  "I could turn cartwheels in here, if you'd like, but we'll keep things simple until you get more comfortable in your garments."

  The first thing Molly does is loosen my bodice laces. "Only the upper class had someone to tighten their strings this much. The rest of us had to tie our own and do what we could with our own brute strength." She guides me through retying the intricate knot, and I manage to take my first deep breath in hours.

  "You are a star, Molly. Now how do I avoid getting my skirt caught in the narrow spaces?"

  "That will come with practice, but I can give you a couple of tips to help you get through this scene. First up, walk slower. You likely don't realise it, but you are so nervous, you're practically running across the set. A good servant fades into the background, remember?"

  I roll my eyes but catch her meaning. "Okay, walk slower. Erm, how does one do that without looking like they are in slow motion?"

  "Let me see if I can explain this to you. Step closer to me and look at the set. What do you see?"

  "I see two chairs, an end table and a stack of books."

  Molly nods her head, not surprised in the least by my response. "Let me tell you what I see. Over near the door is a pile of dirt which fell off someone's shoes. Further along, the books on the shelf are half-pulled out of place. There's dust on the mantle and crumbs on the end table. All the men notice is me coming into the room, taking the drink request, and coming back with the tray. However, I'd have dealt with all the messes along the way. You need to think like a servant, Nat. Look for the small details, fade into the background and only let them notice what they specifically ask to see."

  I mull over her words, rolling them around in my head until they settle into my brain. "No offence, Molly, but I don't think I'd have survived very long as a domestic. How did you keep from yelling at the men for all the messes they made?"

  "Oh,
I didn't keep too quiet, my dear. But for the most part, I waited until they left the room before I let my frustration show." She cackles at the thought.

  I spy Harry waving from the back of the room and motion for her to join us. After a quick introduction to Molly, Harry looks at me surreptitiously and whispers, "Do you think it would be okay if I went over to say hello to Caleb Farrow now?"

  I scan the room, finding Caleb standing alone, sipping water from an old-fashioned mug. "I don't see why not, but keep it short. We're due to restart filming soon."

  Harry bolts off before I can say another word. As I watch her cross the room, her face brimming with excitement, I have a moment of doubt about my decision not to tell her about his penchant for method acting. I cross my fingers and mutter, "Oh no, I hope this goes well."

  Harry slows her steps as she nears Caleb, smoothing her gait into a more refined motion. "Good day, Sir Christopher. I do apologise for approaching you without a proper introduction, but I absolutely had to say hello."

  My mouth drops open as Molly elbows me, wondering, "How did she know to call him Sir Christopher?"

  Caleb grins in utter delight, clearly thrilled to have someone play along with his game. "My dear woman, no need to apologise. Have we met before?"

  I stare as Harry bows her head and performs a perfect curtsy as she introduces herself. Her eyes twinkle with mischief as she segues straight into the conversation with Sir Christopher. "No, good sir. I'm Harriet Dalrymple. I am well acquainted with your sister, Susanna. She had intended to join me here today to make the introductions, but I fear she was waylaid by a request for help from some poor ailing soul. She is such a godsend for these poor people."

  Caleb rocks back half a step, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Why yes, I do have a sister named Susanna. And you know of her, you say? Why, this is brilliant." Caleb raises his voice, announcing to the room, "Friends, please give a fine welcome to Harriet Dalrymple, a friend of my sister Susanna."

  Almost as one, nearby crew members turn their heads, eager to see who has caught Caleb's attention.

  What happens next will undoubtedly live in infamy. Caleb, accustomed to being barely more than humoured in his attempts to stay in character, finds himself pitted against a woman who somehow seems to know more about Wren than he does. What starts as a nice chat quickly devolves into a battle of one-upmanship, with both Caleb and Harry determined to show they know more about Wren and 17th century Oxford than the other. All the while keeping in character with their language.

  "How long do you think Harry has been preparing for this meeting?" Molly asks in a whisper.

  "We had six weeks' notice that the film production crew would head our way. I'm beginning to think Harry used all of them to memorise the history books in preparation for this very moment."

  We grow quiet, following the back and forth between Harry and Caleb… or should I say Harriet and Sir Christopher. As the rest of the crew trickle back into the room, they are quickly shushed and encouraged to watch the battle of wits taking place before us.

  Molly nudges me again. "I personally knew Wren, spent years with him underfoot, and I would swear that Harry is more familiar with him than I was. I think she's actually getting the better of Caleb Farrow." Molly and I giggle quietly, thoroughly entertained by the impromptu performance.

  Their voices grow louder, with facts, dates and names flying furiously back and forth, until finally Caleb opens his mouth to loose a retort and finds himself at a loss for words. He stands flummoxed for a moment, causing all of us to hold our breath. Then he booms out a laugh and pats Harry on the shoulder.

  "My good woman, you are a bright sun on a rainy day."

  Harry replies with a shallow curtsy and a very self-satisfied smile. "Thank you, Sir. If it isn't too much, might I beg of you a small boon?"

  Caleb gestures magnanimously. "I could hardly refuse you, madame. Please, what can I do?"

  As Harry and Caleb pose for photos, Gideon Pomerance slides up on my left, asking, "Friend of yours?"

  I nod a yes, explaining, "She's keeping me company today. I promised to pay her with a chance to meet the cast and maybe even get a few autographs."

  "I don't normally allow photos and autographs while on set, but for the woman who beat Farrow at his own game, I'm willing to make an exception." He winks and grins.

  When Harry takes her leave of Caleb, the rest of us break out into spontaneous applause. Even in a room with some of the most famous celebrities in England, Harry somehow manages to outshine them all.

  ❖

  Filming runs long into the afternoon, late enough for me to decide to send H home ahead of me with a request for Edward to prepare dinner. I change back into my own clothes and breathe a sigh of relief after I wash off the heavy stage make-up.

  With no one to keep me company for the walk home from Somerset, I ring Kate to let her know how my first day of filming went.

  "I'm a terrible servant, Kate. Seriously, the worst," I groan.

  "Don't feel bad, Nat," Kate replies, chuckling. "According to Bartie, I wouldn't fare any better. Women in his lifetime didn't rely on takeout and microwave dinners to feed their families, and they definitely don't switch to paper plates when the dishwasher goes on the fritz."

  I speed up, rushing to cross the street with the pedestrian light. When I'm safely on the opposite side, I confess, "I always thought I'd jump at the chance to take a trip in a time machine, but now I'm not so sure. Now that I've had a taste of it, I'll stick with my equal rights and modern appliances over the chance to meet any historical figures."

  "Ha!" Kate guffaws. "So says the woman who spent her day getting acting lessons from a nearly 400-year-old Eternal."

  "Fair point, Kate! Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to question other people's choices. Moving on…" I say excitedly. "You will not believe what Harry did today."

  "What? Was it today she was due to visit the set?" Kate gasps, "Did she meet Caleb Farrow? How did she react to his alternate personality?"

  "Turns out she didn't need any advance warning. Lady Harriet Dalrymple was more than prepared for her introduction to the infamous and great Sir Christopher."

  Kate shrieks with laughter. "Lady Dalrymple? Back up and tell me everything."

  It takes me the rest of the walk home to recount the story. Kate can hardly speak she is laughing so hard, particularly when I get to the part where Harry asked for a photograph with Farrow.

  "You should have seen her, Kate. She had Farrow eating out of the palm of her hand. He even promised to leave one of his top hats behind for her when production wraps up next week."

  "She'll have it sitting in a place of honour on her mantle, I'm sure." Kate drawls.

  "When Harry finally made her way back to my side, she was flabbergasted to discover I was unaware of Farrow's acting method. She said it had been extensively covered in the tabloids, so of course she was prepared to react accordingly. I don't know whether to be in awe of her, or very afraid."

  "Both," Kate chirps. "We're lucky Harry is happy with her life in Oxford. If she woke up one morning and decided she wanted to be the Queen of England, I have no doubt we'd be drinking tea in Windsor Castle before the week was out."

  Snorting with laughter, we wind up our conversation with a discussion on where we should go for our girls' night out while Mathilde is off on her dinner date with Trevor. Our plans settled, I say goodbye just as I arrive at my front door.

  "Hi, honey, I'm home!" I call out, but no one answers. I drop my handbag and shoes near the door, wandering into the front room. A light shines through the doorway into the dining area, drawing me in for a look.

  Edward and H sit side by side at the dining table, engrossed in a video playing on the tablet. The rest of the table is covered by printed photos and loose sheets of paper covered in scribbles.

  I knock lightly on the wall, startling them both so much that H accidentally sets the tablet case on fire. While H attempts to stifle the flames, Edward swipes his hand
s across the table, pulling the papers into a messy pile.

  I wait for them to return to a semblance of calm before asking, "What are you two watching?"

  Edward mumbles something, garbling the words until it is impossible to understand him.

  "What? I didn't catch that?"

  "'Home Alone,' I said." Edward stares at me, daring me to make a comment. I open my mouth to crack a joke, but stop myself before speaking. It is the middle of the summer, so why would a grown man and a wyvern be watching a children's holiday movie? "Wait a minute, are you working on a plan to run off the neighbourhood cats? Are you getting ideas from the movie?"

  H flies onto the tabletop, standing with his hands on his hips. "It's a man's right to defend his territory, Nat."

  I choke back my laugh, knowing H won't appreciate it. I force my face into a serious expression. "Absolutely, H. You've been more than generous with those other cats, inviting them around and trying to make friends. Enough is enough." I slide my gaze over to H's partner in crime. "And you, Professor Edward Thomas? I'm surprised to see such a distinguished gentleman as yourself plotting a crime."

  "Self-defence, Miss Payne, is not a crime."

  I roll my eyes at the pair, quickly realising in this case, it will be easier to go along with it. At least with Edward involved, there is hope the plans won't involve setting the back fence on fire. Magical repairs or not, I don't want to have to explain a cat war to the local fire department.

  I settle into a chair and reach for the stack of papers. "Can I see what you have planned so far? I've had plenty of experience with building things in my years of organising events. I might have something to add."

  "Oh no," Edward stutters, pulling the stack against his chest. H furiously shakes his head, sending wafts of smoke across the table. "We're all set, Nat. Very well planned, nothing left to chance. Your offer is appreciated, but we'll take it from here."

  I arch an eyebrow, wondering why the two men in my life are acting so strange, but my stomach grumbles and a wave of exhaustion hits before I can muster the energy to investigate further.