by Renee Duke
“Perhaps,” said Jack, “but I don’t think there was always interference. I think it just started at some point, and that point was Rosalina.”
“Is that an insight?” Dane asked.
“Must be, because I feel the same,” said Grantie Etta, who was, like Jack, a diviner. “As your granddad said, Aunt Rosalina’s little book was intended for a small, select readership. In writing down her dream—which she did despite opposition from her siblings—and allowing the story to be out of her hands for a time, she could have sparked off something, something of which she, being sensitive, soon became aware. It’s possible her mental anguish over the manuscript’s loss came from fears it had been taken by someone she would never have willingly shown it to. Someone who was anxious to read it, or determined to keep others from doing so. Rosalina was, by then, beyond the age for travelling into the past herself, but a book that could be of help to future travellers might well have posed a threat to some adversary hitherto unknown to us. Her story indicates we do have such an adversary, and since she took the trouble to write it, and we, by whatever quirk of fate, now have it, I think it behooves us to examine it closely and learn all we can from it.”
Paige frowned. “I’m surprised we do have it. If it was stolen so no one could learn anything useful from it, why were we able to find it hidden under a bridge? Why didn’t whoever took it just destroy it?”
“Maybe he couldn’t,” said Dane. “In the story, the eagle statue was indestructible. It could repair itself. Our medallion was made from it, and we know it can repair itself. Maybe if insights are recorded, they can’t be destroyed, either. The person who took it found that out and decided to hide it away in a place where it would never be found. Or, if it was found, wasn’t likely to be returned to the family.”
Granddad stood up. “Mind if I try setting one of your samplers alight, Grantie? They were originally insights, and if Dane’s theory is correct…”
“Go ahead.”
Grantie Etta’s house had central heating. The fireplace in her sitting room had not been used in years, but was still able to serve as a safe repository for burning cloth. Taking a sampler from the wall, Granddad removed it from its frame before placing it in the grate. It happened to be the one saying — ‘If they would a good race run, Young and old must work as one’, a dictum they had been following. But even though Granddad went through a dozen matches from the box on the mantelpiece, the sampler would not ignite.
“Theory proved, it would seem.”
Dane watched him work the sampler back into its frame and return it to the wall. “That’s good. And having the book’s good. Writing it may have been bad for Rosalina, but it’s good for us because the story tells us more about the medallion.”
Paige snorted. “Not directly it doesn’t. Except for the rose on the front, and that picture of three kids right in the beginning, it doesn’t even have illustrations, which I thought the letter said it did.”
“Yes, that’s odd, isn’t it?” said Grantie Etta. “Most children’s books were beautifully illustrated in those days, a mixture of ink sketches and colour plates.”
“She probably decided against using them, in case it helped us too much,” Paige grumbled. “I get that she didn’t want to spell things out too clearly in case the wrong people got hold of the information, but that still leaves us with a lot to figure out. Take the end rhyme, which makes it sound like the restorer’s line’s been contaminated in some way. What does that mean? That one of us is going to turn out to be a traitor?”
Everyone exchanged uneasy looks.
“Not one of us,” Jack finally said with conviction. “We already have the medallion. It was warning us against letting other people in the family get hold of it. People who have never used it, but would perhaps like to if they’d somehow found out about it.” He paused, and looked at Grantie Etta. “You said Sir Magnus Pickering is always after you to sell him the medallion. Isn’t he some sort of distant relative?”
Grantie Etta nodded. “Very distant. But you could be onto something there. He and his mother will be at the party tomorrow. Having recently lost two of his Pieces, he’s sure to make the medallion a topic of conversation. We’ll have to guard against being pumped for information.”
“No worries about me,” said Granddad. “I don’t plan to engage him in conversation. Can’t stand the fellow. His mother’s all right. Bit outspoken, but all right. He, however, is a complete and utter bore. Especially as regards his collection of antiquities from the Middle East, of which the Keeper Pieces are but one example. Fortunately, neither the Middle East, nor its relics, are my areas of expertise. He usually latches onto Edmond in an attempt to wax eloquent about his treasures.”
“Not if I can side-step him, he doesn’t,” Uncle Edmond avowed. “But, like you, I just consider him a bore. I can think of people who fit the ‘heinous blood’ bill much better.”
“Nolan and Cadence?” Dane suggested with a grin. “Or maybe Cousin Ophelia. With that connection from generations back, she could be the serpent in our midst.”
“What connection?” demanded Grantie Etta.
“Oh, didn’t Uncle Trevor tell you about that? It seems we Marchands are descended from an Apollonia Wolverton. Which means our Cousin Ophelia is also your Cousin Ophelia.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“He’s not,” said Uncle Edmond. “Trevor does find forgotten family side-shoots from time to time. She’s one of them. Probably not the one we have to watch out for in any but the usual avoid-her-because-she’s-irritating way, though. I was actually thinking of—”
“Penelope’s people,” Paige finished.
“In a word, yes. They’ve been thorns in our sides for quite a long while. Mother’s loathed Percy from childhood. Quiet, gentle soul that she is, she’s never had a good word to say about him. And his son Willoughby’s a right pain in the nether regions. As a child he was even more obnoxious than he is now, prim, proper, and always ready to toady to the grown-ups. Your granddad and I were both smaller than him, but working together, we once managed to shove him in a duck pond. Got in quite a row over it. Don’t know why. Seemed a perfectly sensible thing to do. Percy and Hermione took a dim view of it, though. So did Aunt Lavinia and Uncle Jasper.”
“Don’t give me ideas,” said Paige. “I’d love to shove Penelope into a duck pond.”
Dane clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “You really don’t like her, do you?”
“And you do?”
“No. I don’t like any of them, but we can’t suspect them just because of that. There are other possibilities. What about the Braxtons? Mr. Braxton seemed okay. Really nice, in fact, but when you think about it, it’s kind of funny that he should show up now, just when weird things have been happening with the Keeper Pieces.”
“That’s probably nothing more than a coincidence,” said Uncle Edmond. “The family pariahs get my vote.”
“Mine, too,” Paige declared.
“And mine,” Jack asserted. “I think we should still be careful around those Pickerings, though.”
“We shall,” said Grantie Etta. “I would advise being careful around everyone until—yes, Lydia?”
This was addressed to Mrs. Purdom, who had come in to tell Uncle Edmond he was wanted on the telephone.
He returned to the sitting room looking sombre. “That was Norah. The barbarians have gone to stand without someone else’s gates, and the home front is once more secure.”
“And undamaged?” inquired Granddad.
“Except for a broken lamp and kick marks to the door of a cabinet a certain young lady was disappointed to find locked. The garden suffered most. Trampled flowerbeds, damage to the sundial, and the untimely demise of two gnomes. The problem now is Zibby. Though content to let Chris put her up on the portico, she is not about to let him take her down. Despite the offer of everything from chicken to sardines, she refuses to come within grabbing range of anyone. Norah wants Dane to try
. She’s sure the animal aficionado here will only have to ascend the ladder and say, ‘Here, Puss’.”
“Probably,” the animal aficionado affirmed, with no attempt at modesty.
Grantie Etta smiled. “You’d best get back, then.”
This met with immediate protest from Paige. “We can’t leave now. We still have lots to talk about.”
“Have to keep until after the party, I’m afraid,” said Uncle Edmond.
“But we haven’t even gone over the story yet. Not properly. Not in detail.”
“Your grandfather and I will go on pondering it for a bit,” Grantie Etta promised. “You can discuss it amongst yourselves and be ready to compare notes with us.”
“We won’t have the book,” Paige pointed out.
“No, but I expect Jack remembers its contents word for word, don’t you Jack?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “But what about that reference to a Little Box of Rhymes and Reasons that came at the beginning? That sounded worth having too. Shouldn’t we be looking for it?”
“We should indeed,” said Granddad. He glanced at Grantie Etta. “Permission to tear your auxiliary attics apart until I find it, Grantie?”
“By all means.”
“What era would Aurea-Rose have been? Regency?”
“Not entirely. She was born a bit before that, so she’d qualify as Georgian as well. If I have anything of hers, it could be in either storeroom.”
The discovery of Rosalina’s book was the sole topic of conversation during the drive back to Uncle Edmond’s house. Once there, however, Dane turned his attention to retrieving Zibby, who did indeed come as soon as he called her. A short time later, Mr. and Mrs. Marchand arrived to pick up the children.
“Are Mummy and Daddy home?” Jack asked them.
“Yes,” Mrs. Marchand replied, “but their meeting ran longer than expected and they’re a bit weary. We are, too, after chasing around all afternoon. Since tomorrow’s the big day, I think you three should have an early night. We probably will as well.”
But they didn’t. Weary or not, the adults stayed talking long after the children went up to bed. Paige’s room was closest to the stairs, and while she couldn’t make out what they were saying, she thought they sounded upset.
Chapter Eight
The next day, even late-sleeper Jack was obliged to get up early, but since it was to prepare the village hall for Grantie Etta’s party, he made no complaint. At breakfast, their parents’ cheerfulness seemed a little forced to Paige, who, recalling the worried tones of the night before, puzzled briefly over this before attributing their manner to concern over having the party go well.
When they arrived at the hall, Cousin Anna was already there, with her mural affixed to one of the walls.
“Just the day trippers to get now,” she called out jovially.
“Looks great,” said Mr. Marchand. “I’ll make sure the cameraman gets Grantie putting her print on and then does a pan shot of the whole thing.”
Cousin Florinda had come to help too, along with the children’s grandparents, and Uncle Edmond and his family.
“Any luck finding Aurea-Rose’s Little Box of Rhymes and Reasons?” Jack asked Granddad before they got started.
“Afraid not. I searched every nook and cranny of both the Regency Room and the Georgian Room.”
“Perhaps you should try some of the other ones. If Rosalina’s book could get stored incorrectly, it might have too.”
“Possibly. Worth a try, anyway.
Granddad’s Scottish houseguests had come with him to lend a hand, and the rest of Aunt Meredith’s family arrived shortly after, including a grand-daughter and grandson-in-law who lived in Ireland and had flown over for the party. The only ones missing from this group were another granddaughter and the great-grandchildren she was looking after so they wouldn’t get underfoot.
“Claire’ll make sure our Alasdair and the other bairns have a wee nap so they’ll not be cranky later on,” Claire’s husband Blair told Aunt Augusta. Claire and Blair McNair had heard all the jokes about their rhyming names, and thought they might as well keep the pattern going.
The Dexter family and Cousin Ophelia rounded out the work force, which got an unexpected boost from some early arrivals from Bath. Sidney Delacourt, a descendant of one of Grantie Etta’s Wolverton cousins, was accompanied by his wife, two middle-aged children, and three grown-up grandchildren, as well as his sister and her family from Germany. Cousin Regina now lived in a small town near Frankfurt. Her historian husband, Ludwig Ziegler, spoke excellent English and so did the Zieglers’ daughter Emma, and son-in-law Horst Bauer. Twelve-year-old Zacharias Bauer’s English was quite good, too, and even ten-year-old Alina’s was passable. They also hailed from Frankfurt, but Cousin Regina’s son Klaus and his wife Priska lived in Munich.
“That’s München, in German,” said Jack. Priska had been his parents’ au pair when he was small, and he was delighted to see her. He told his cousins his fluency in German came from spending his early years in Priska’s care. “She taught me French, too, and Italian. They speak all three in Switzerland, where she comes from.”
Priska smiled. Though she now had a child of her own—a year-old baby girl, who was sitting contentedly in a backpack carrier—she was obviously still very fond of Jack. “He was most quick to learn,” she told them. “And it was because of helping to look after him that I met my Klaus. He was studying at Oxford, and came often to visit little Jonty and his parents.”
Decorating the hall, arranging tables and chairs, putting out the food and drink, and setting up microphones and other electronic equipment kept everyone busy until just before noon, when Aunt Augusta finally pronounced everything in readiness. With the party set to begin at half past one, the workers went off to change clothes and have a light lunch before reassembling. The Hollingsworths, McAllisters, Taisleys, and Marchands were the first to return, so as to be ready to serve as Grantie Etta’s official welcoming committee. Concerned that she might become fatigued, her doctor had suggested having Mr. Dexter bring her and Mrs. Purdom to the party around two o’clock.
The Hollingsworths and Taisleys were also patients of Doctor Bindal, and he greeted them warmly when they arrived back at the hall. He and his family were waiting outside because his thirteen-year-old daughter Neeta had volunteered to help Paige with child-minding duty until such time as two village girls came to take charge of a side room furnished with toys and activities for the youngest party guests.
The doctor and his wife both had slight East Indian accents, but the younger Bindals all sounded thoroughly English. These consisted of Neeta, her older brother Vishal, and younger brother Ravi. A handsome young man in his twenties was introduced as Doctor Bindal’s nephew, Arjun. Arjun was studying medicine, but was not yet a qualified doctor.
“That, of course, is only in the opinion of the British Medical Association,” Doctor Bindal said as Uncle Gareth unlocked the hall. “Listening to him, you would be forgiven for thinking he already knows everything.”
Used to his uncle’s teasing, Arjun smiled tolerantly. “My uncle and I have occasional disagreements in our approach to medicine.”
“I have yet to convince him that new is not necessarily best,” said Doctor Bindal. “But then, I am a mere GP, whereas he intends to specialize in the field of allergies.”
“That so?” said Mr. Marchand. “I’m planning a documentary on that. We should talk.”
“Yes, we should,” Arjun responded eagerly.
Doctor Bindal put up both hands in protest. “No, no, no. Do not get him started. We are here to enjoy ourselves, not talk shop.”
“I enjoy talking shop,” Arjun protested.
“Of that I am well aware, but we are also here to honour a respected elder. If Miss Wolverton follows my recommendations, she will not be here until at least two o’clock. These people will have host duties you should not keep them from.”
Once inside, Dane and Jack went off with Ravi, who wa
s Jack’s best friend.
“I guess we should station ourselves in the playroom,” Paige said to Neeta. “If we’re lucky, we’ll only have happy, well-behaved rug rats in there until the paid child-minders arrive.”
“As opposed to Brad and Alexis’s demonic duo?” queried Granddad, overhearing. “Don’t worry. They never allow other people to look after their sweet, impressionable, lambs. Might expose them to restrictions and negativity, and that would never do.”
Great-Gran was now with the Hollingsworth group, so as soon as the girls went off to the nursery, Granddad escorted his mother to a chair beside the large, decorated, throne-like one awaiting Grantie Etta. Quiet and unassuming, Great-Gran didn’t think she rated such an esteemed place, but her son assured her that, as Grantie Etta’s niece, she was the closest relative and therefore worthy of the privilege.
Unfortunately, someone else had a similar claim.
At quarter after one, the Wolverton-Hernes arrived, this time accompanied by a couple in their nineties who took immediate exception to Great-Gran’s exalted position.
“Why are there no chairs there for my husband and myself?” demanded the old woman Paige and Dane took to be Cousin Hermione.
Aunt Augusta gave her a frosty look. “I beg your pardon?”
“Percy is Grantie Etta’s nephew, and of equal status with Emmeline.”
“Not quite,” said Uncle Edmond. “Mother has lived near Grantie all her life, and therefore knows her much better.”
“Most of your lot knows her better,” Cousin Willoughby rejoined, his tone sharpened by the frustration of having had all their attempts to see Grantie Etta repulsed. “But only because you’ve spent so much time ingratiating yourselves with her. Don’t think we don’t know how you dance attendance on her and try to make her feel you’re the only ones she can rely on. That’s why so many of you are here now, making ready to receive guests. Which is something we should all be doing. Like you, we are the direct descendants of one of Grantie’s sisters and as closely related to her as you are. Actually, since my grandmother was the oldest of them, we could even claim to hold seniority, but we won’t press that point. The fact remains, Pater and Mater should also be seated next to Grantie, and the rest of us have both the right, and the obligation, to help welcome people to her party.”
