by A. L. Knorr
Angelica shivered. "England is so cold."
"It's the damp," they said simultaneously. Angelica laughed.
"So, you were saying something about being here often?" Chad asked.
"At least six times a year for one event or another. And by 'here' I include Scotland as well. They have a lot of these types of events in the north."
"I see."
"So, today is all about viewing the pieces," Angelica said, taking a file folder out and opening it on her lap. "A good buyer makes a list beforehand from the catalogue, if one has been produced. Only larger estates bother to print a catalogue." She rifled through the contents of the folder, pulling some papers forward and putting others further back. "As it is, we received the Taite and Copperwaite catalogue of items two months ago. Daddy and I had a chance to go through everything together and we've marked the ones we want to take a look at in person. It's going to be a long day today. If you don't really love antiquing, you won't last in this business." She shot him a sidelong look. "It's demanding."
"I consider myself warned," Chad said as they turned off the main highway and onto a narrow side road. Copperwaite Manor was a black splotch in the distance. It was built on a hill and surrounded by massive lawns and gardens. Tiny specks of light could be seen through the trees that lined the driveway. Chad steered the car between the yawning open gate and hit the brakes, nearly bumping the taillights of another vehicle. "Bloody hell!" He glanced at Angelica’s look and added, “Sorry.”
“Civilized please, Mr Wendig,” she said.
Cars lined both sides of the road and clusters of two and three people walked down the long driveway on foot. The mansion in the distance was lit up like a Christmas tree, but the lights blurred in the morning mist. A line of people had formed down the steps and onto the gravel.
Someone rapped Angelica's door with a knuckle, and she rolled it down. A bearded face appeared in the window. "Best to park on the road now, miss. They're full up already," the man said.
"Thank you," Angelica said. She rolled up the window and made a circle in the air with her index finger.
Chad reversed the Mini and parked it outside the gates. They got out and made their way down the driveway, the gravel damp and soft under their shoes.
"They'll have categorized everything, probably by room," Angelica explained as they walked. Her breath came out in puffs of condensation. "Furniture, artwork, clothing, coins, haberdashery, cars, rock n' roll memorabilia...you name it, they'll have it."
"What are you interested in?"
"Anything we think we can buy for less than we can sell it for. Minus the expense of shipping and storing it, of course."
"How do you figure that out?"
She touched the side of her nose. "That's part of the game. It's what my father is especially good at. Was," she corrected herself. "If I'm not sure about something, I call him. He'll be waiting by the phone. He specializes in coins, watches, and jewelry, but we seem to sell a lot more furniture than anything else."
"What about your mom? She's not part of your antique business?" Chad asked.
Angelica shook her head. "She started it. She and my dad did it together before I was born. She started to lose her edge when I was still just a little girl. We didn't find out about the tumors in her brain until it was too late." Angelica's tone was matter-of-fact, but her lips tightened and she cleared her throat. "It's just been my father and me ever since."
"I'm so sorry," said Chad.
She beamed up at him, sadness gone. "That's all right. We all have tragedy in our lives, don’t we?"
"Too right." Chad looked down at her, amazed by her attitude. She had none of the self-pity he'd seen in so many other people who had experienced loss and pain, including himself. "We do."
"Makes us stronger."
They walked up the massive stone steps and through the open double doors. People milled about, sat on chairs and made notes, poured themselves coffee or tea from a refreshment stand, and talked on bulky, hand-held phones. Chad counted four different languages before they'd reached the hot drinks. Most people were dressed like aristocrats at a horserace. If Chad had cared more about giving a good impression, he would have felt self-conscious about his own outdated and ill-fitting clothing. As it was, if Angelica didn't mind what he wore, that was all that mattered.
"Grab us two maps from that table, will you?” Angelica pointed to a small desk with a stack of brochures and papers lit by a stained-glass lamp. “And I'll pour us some coffee. Sugar? Cream?"
"Both," said Chad. He turned and made his way through the crowd. He snagged two maps off the top of the pile and did a quick skim. The manor was massive. The map was labeled just as she said it would be, with each room assigned a category: jewelry, art, shoes, furniture, music, and so on. There were automobiles, carriages, bikes, and other modes of transportation in the garage. He turned back through the crowd and found Angelica's black beret and blond curls. But Chad froze when he spotted her.
She was laughing with a handsome, superbly dressed man who was leaning on a cane which he clearly was not in need of. The man’s shoulders were broad and square and he towered over Angelica by half a head. Impressive, because she was a tall woman. The man wore black horn-rimmed glasses with tinted blue glass and had curling brown hair, fashionably coiffed. It flopped over his forehead as he nodded at something she was saying. A dimple formed in his five o'clock shadow as his eyes sparkled down at her with a smug and confident smile.
Two seconds. Chad had turned his back for two seconds, and some vampire had swooped in on her. Who was this poser? Chad’s molars ground against one another in his skull and the fire crackled low in his belly.
Chapter 5
Angelica spotted him through the crowd and beckoned. With effort, Chad fixed his features into a neutral expression.
"Mr. Wendig, come and meet my new acquaintance," she said, holding out a gloved hand and beckoning him with her fingertips.
Chad stepped toward them, trying to ignore the heat in his stomach.
"Here’s your coffee," Angelica added, handing him a steaming paper cup. She turned to the man next to her. "This is Mr. Basil Chaplin. Actually, he is a viscount, though he doesn't much like people to know."
"Had to make sure you knew though, didn't he?" Chad mumbled under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Mr. Chaplin said good-naturedly.
If Angelica noticed their side conversation, she ignored it and went on, “Mr. Chaplin, this is Chad Wendig.”
Mr. Chaplin held out a long-fingered, well-manicured hand.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Chaplin," Chad said. He bared his teeth in a smile that was more grimace and grasped the man's hand firmly. Chad resisted the urge to heat his hand up to an uncomfortable temperature, watch the man sweat a little.
"Pleasure is all mine.” He released Chad's hand and rocked back on his heels.
"Are you a buyer or seller?" Angelica asked, taking a sip of coffee.
"Both. I have a few small items registered for auction, and I've a particular interest in automobiles. You?" Basil's crisp, aristocratic accent grated on Chad's nerves. He took a breath and hid his frown behind his coffee cup.
"Buyer. Today anyway," answered Angelica. “I've a personal interest in coins, and stamps, but you know," she gave a delicate shrug, "it’s the big pieces that pay the bills."
"Indeed? As it happens, a few of the items on my roster are coins. I hope you won't be spiriting all of our most historic relics out of the country." Basil chuckled and made a running motion with his fingers.
"Only as many as I can fit in a sea-can," Angelica replied.
"Blimey, that's rather a lot then, isn't it?" said Basil. "You'll find yourself with stiff competition from us Brits for our own bits n' bobs, I hope."
"Always." Angelica's laugh tinkled out. "There's as strong a desire from locals to keep vintage treasures in the country as there is a desire from foreigners to take them home."
Basil and Angelica laughed togethe
r, and a moment passed where the two of them stared at each other. Chad felt like an idiot, looking back and forth between the two of them. "Got your maps," he said, abruptly.
"Oh, perfect." Angelica took one of the pamphlets.
"Shall we commence our day's work?" Chad prompted.
"Yes, best we get started. Nice to meet you Mr. Chaplin," said Angelica.
"Call me Basil, please. Happy hunting." Basil gave a half bow to Angelica and moved off through the crowd toward the maps.
Chad breathed a sigh of relief.
"Let’s see..." Angelica moved to one of the four enormous columns that squared off the foyer and sank into a plush chair. She scanned the map, making a few marks with a black ink pen here and there. "Best to start at the top and work our way down. Most of the crowd will be doing the opposite. We want some breathing room." She flipped through the pamphlet until she reached the back. Her face fell as she picked up two sheets stapled together and flipped through them. "Uh oh."
"What?" Chad peered over her shoulder.
"You see this list? These items won't be available for viewing without an appointment." She chewed her lip. "How did I miss that?" She flipped through the fine print, scanning with a finger. "I swear they didn't put the appointment request form in with our catalogue." She pulled out an envelope with her Canadian address on it and shuffled through it. "They didn't." She sighed and hung her head for a moment. "Daddy will be so disappointed when he finds out."
"Finds out what?"
Angelica looked up at him. A furrow had formed between her eyebrows. "There's been a mess-up. They didn't include the request form in with our mailout, so I didn't make any appointments. Several of the items on the list are ones Daddy has marked down as triple A's. Items that we can buy for little and sell for a lot." She blew out a breath and took off her beret. She folded it and stuffed it into her bag.
"But you can still bid on them, right?" Chad hated the look of stress on her face, and began to feel his own anxiety build on her behalf. Strange. How had he come to care so much what this girl wanted in such a short amount of time?
"I can still bid, yes. But only a foolish dealer would ever bid on a triple A item she hasn't inspected first with her own eyes, or had someone inspect for her.” She rubbed her fingers across her forehead as though she was getting a headache.
"Is there someone we can speak to? Book you an appointment at the last minute? After all, it wasn't your fault."
She shook her head. "I can tell you right now it'll be impossible."
"What is it that you need to see so badly?" Chad unfolded his own pamphlet.
Angelica opened a small notebook and spread it on the mosaic coffee table at their knees. "Black jet Victorian buttons here, a set of Tart Arnel spectacles here... A record player, lots of things. They'll all be in a private room, either locked or under security or both."
"What time do the viewings start?"
She flipped through the paperwork. "They don't start until ten."
Chad squeezed his eyes shut for a second, not believing what he was about to suggest. "What about your friend, Basil? He seems like a man with connections. He's got items registered. Maybe he knows someone."
Angelica chewed her lip, looking thoughtful. "It's a long shot, but it might be worth a try."
"You go talk to Basil, see if he can help you. I'll find someone on the staff. It won't hurt to ask."
"Really? Do you think?" Hope blossomed on her face and it took Chad's breath away.
"What's the worst that could happen?"
She nodded and stood. "Good point. Meet you back here in the foyer in, say, a half hour?"
Chad nodded.
Angelica grinned. "Go team."
Chad watched her rush off in the direction Basil had gone, her heels clicking against the marble floor. He scanned the map, noting the blacked out rooms on the second and fourth floors. He made his way toward the carpeted staircase leading to the first floor gallery, with no intention whatsoever of finding someone on the staff to talk to.
Chad ignored the disapproving glances at his clothing as he swept through the first-floor gallery toward the elevator and servants’ staircase. The gallery looked down into the foyer and more richly dressed people filed in through the front doors by the second. The sound of conversation filled the air. A line of massive windows displayed an iron gray sky and a thick blanket of clouds hanging low over the manor and surrounding countryside.
Chad pushed into the servants’ staircase and took the narrow steps up two at a time. The second floor had fewer people but was by no means empty. Chad padded along the red carpeted hallways. Ornate mirrors and massive portraits covered the walls. Following the map toward a blacked-off square, Chad stopped outside the off-limits suite and took a look around. He tried the door. Locked.
"Can I help you?"
Chad spun toward the stern voice to see a tall woman with a severe bun approaching him. She held a clipboard to her narrow chest, just under the ruffle at her throat. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe and back up. "That suite is not open for viewing."
"It's not vintage haberdashery?" Chad put on a shocked and embarrassed expression. "My mistake." He glanced at the name tag on her jacket reading Mrs. Knotts - Guest Services.
"Next room over," she said, lifting her chin. "Read the signs."
"Thank you." Chad smiled and turned away, then he turned back, a finger at his lips. "I don't suppose you have the authority to book a last-minute viewing appointment, do you?"
She shook her head. "It's too late for that. Appointments needed to be booked weeks ago." She looked down her nose at him.
"I suspected as much." Chad nodded. "Just out of curiosity, what is this suite?"
"The Earl of Copperwaite's private rooms."
"How nice of him to lend his house...mansion...manor, for this event."
"Quite," she said with a sniff.
"Thanks for the help." He turned away and continued down the hall. As soon as she disappeared, he went back to the staircase and ran up to the fourth floor.
Thus far, this floor was vacant of guests. As he turned the corner, following the map, he spotted two men in uniform sitting in chairs outside a set of double doors. He squinted at them. They looked barely over eighteen, soft-cheeked and pudgy. One had his nose in a book and the other one leaned against the wall picking his fingernails. Had the organizers stuck their nephews on the post? Rent-A-Bobbies?
He looked down at the map. The room they guarded was a large blacked out square. Across the hall were three smaller rooms, each labeled 'Private Viewings.'
Bingo.
Chapter 6
Chad paused in the hallway around the corner from the two security guards. It was time for a distraction. He scanned his surroundings. Long, heavy drapes with gold fringe hung on either side of three huge paintings. The last painting in the line was positioned at the end of the hallway before the gallery started. In between every painting and its set of drapes, a sconce with five candles had been mounted on the wall. A fire extinguisher and hose were also coiled and mounted next to the stairwell doorjamb.
Chad walked from sconce to sconce on silent feet, thankful for the plush carpets. Using a fingertip, he lit every candle until the hallway was aglow with flickering light. He lit a small patch of drapery on fire, and let it burn for a moment. The fabric melted and curled. Then he extinguished the fire.
He went toward the gallery, undid the golden rope binding the drapes at the corner, and hid himself behind the heavy fabric. He tilted his head back and blew a stream of thick smoke upward, coaxing the smoke along the ceiling toward the gallery.
In gray wisps, the smoke rolled across the ceiling in response to his guidance and made an appearance where the guards would see it. Spotting a fire alarm in the ceiling, Chad sent the smoke around it, leaving a hole of clean air—he didn’t want the alarm to go off; he just wanted to distract the guards.
Two gray streams stealthily filtered past the alarm. Chad waited fo
r the guards to see it.
After a few minutes, Chad shifted from foot to foot. "Come on, you plonkers, where there's smoke there's fire." Then he smiled as he heard swearing and running footsteps. As the two guards passed him, he slipped out from behind the drapes and ran toward the storage room. He wouldn't have much time.
He tried the door and was relieved to find it unlocked. He didn't want to have to melt the lock, too. He pushed his way into the dark room and shut the door behind him. He held up a hand and made a torch, illuminating a long, mirrored room.
Rows of tables spread with labels and boxes stretched before him.
"Bollocks." It would take all day to find what Angelica wanted to see. He roamed the rows, starting where the boxes were the smallest. He scanned the labels until he found 'buttons.'
"Got you," Chad muttered as he read the label 'Black Jet Queen Victoria.' After opening the small wooden crate, he snatched the little plastic bag containing two buttons. He walked swiftly, illuminating the labels with his flame until he found the collection of spectacles. He found the Arnel specimen Angelica wanted to see, and pocketed that, too. He wasn't stealing—he was borrowing for a good cause. He'd have these items back in their beds before anyone knew they were missing.
He couldn't hide the antique record player she wanted to see, but that couldn't be helped. Two items were better than none. He padded to the door on silent feet, listening. He opened it a crack and heard voices at the end of the gallery and around the corner. Swift as a shadow, he was out and gone.
Chapter 7
Chad descended to the foyer with a springy step, the buttons and spectacles safe in his jacket pocket. Now he just had to find Angelica, give her a few moments to examine the articles, and then return them to the room. He'd have to think of another way to distract the guards, a problem he'd tackle when the time came. There were still several hours before the viewings began.
