The Bath Conspiracy

by Jeanne M. Dams

  FIVE

  ‘He turned out to be quite nice,’ I said in some surprise, when I’d eaten enough to be reasonably sober again. ‘I’m sorry, by the way, for making a fool of myself. At my age I should know better.’

  ‘It’s been a trying day,’ Alan said comfortably. ‘No worries. Just make sure to take some ibuprofen before you go to bed, to stave off any possible after-effects.’

  I smiled. ‘I remember once, when I was very young indeed, I came to England by myself for the first time. It was before Frank and I were married. I was just out of college and got the chance of a very cheap flight. Of course I was sure I could cope brilliantly; one is so self-confident at that age. Anyway, I simply rambled, no plans, no booking ahead. I ended up one night at a pub in Chester whose proprietors were from Liverpool, and they took a fancy to this young American. Absolutely green as grass, I was, but I didn’t know it.

  ‘They decided to undertake my education in English beer, and since they were paying and I was a resident, I could drink till the cows came home. And did. I was having a good time and totally lost track of how much I’d had, until the wife sized me up and told me I’d better go to bed. She gave me a couple of tablets of something, I’ve no idea what, and told me to take them, without fail, before lying down.

  ‘The amazing thing is that I woke in the morning with no headache, no miserable stomach, none of what I so richly deserved. I wish now that I’d asked what the magic pills were. If they’re still on the market, and legal, I’d like to lay in a stock of them, just in case.’

  ‘And if you could buy enough of them, you could make a fortune selling them on the black market.’

  ‘And you a policeman. For shame! Anyway, it sounds as though Rob has checked us off his list.’

  ‘Provisionally. The stuff was still in our car. And as the facility was kept locked, that does limit the people who could have put it there.’

  ‘We still need to find out if the people at the repair garage could get in during the day. What with customers coming in and out, that would widen the field considerably.’ I yawned. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Go up to bed, darling. I’ll follow after I’ve had a word with the clerk at reception.’

  ‘It’s too early. I’ll just wake up early, and tomorrow will be a reprise of today.’

  ‘Without, one hopes, any nasty surprises. Off you go.’

  I half-heartedly stowed away the day’s purchases. We’d just dumped them on the bed earlier. I was too sleepy to speculate much about what Alan was doing at reception. He’d tell me when he got back. I yawned again.

  ‘Morning, love. Sleep well?’

  I opened the other eye and tried to focus on the lighted numerals of the bedside clock. ‘What time is it? Looks like the middle of the night.’

  ‘Just past six on a beautiful October morning. It’s going to be a fine day, but the sun won’t rise for a while.’

  ‘Umph. And I’m wide awake.’

  ‘No ill effects from last night’s indiscretion?’

  ‘Not a one. I have an errand, though.’

  When I got back from the bathroom I crawled back into bed. ‘I don’t want to get up, but I know I can’t get back to sleep.’

  ‘Ah. I have an idea about that.’

  ‘That,’ I said an hour later, ‘was a ridiculously frivolous way for two people our age to behave.’

  ‘Yes. Isn’t frivolity fun?’ He leaned over and kissed me.

  I kissed him back and headed for the shower.

  ‘There was something … oh, yes, what did you want to talk to reception about last night?’ I asked as I towelled my hair dry and pulled on my slacks.

  ‘The garage, and the valets. I didn’t learn a lot. It turns out that the valet service is not operated by the hotel. It’s run by a private team, under contract, so the hotel people know almost nothing about the facility or the employees.’

  ‘Oh, dear. So I suppose we’ll be chasing that down today.’

  ‘Right. After we have breakfast. I don’t know why, but I’m unusually hungry this morning.’

  I always fear that I’ll gain weight on vacation, because I eat enormous meals, much more than at home. But thank goodness, Alan and I also walk for miles, it being our firm belief that the only way to see a city is on foot. These days we have to take it in small snatches with frequent rests, especially in a place like our last outing, Durham, which is all hills. Bath is a good deal more level, but as we’re no longer young, we still decided to be conservative about our touring.

  ‘Later we’ll try to talk to the valet service people, but as it’s another amazingly fine day, let’s tour Bath this morning. On foot or by bus?’

  ‘Oh, by bus, definitely. It’s hop-on, hop-off, right? So we can spend as much time as we want when we find that a place is interesting, and very little time when it isn’t. And we don’t have all that walking to do in between.’

  Alan eyed my plate, now emptied of bacon and sausage and eggs and mushrooms and fried bread.

  ‘And don’t you lecture me, Alan Nesbitt! I enjoyed every bite, so there!’

  He spread his hands and grinned.

  The bus tour left from in front of the abbey, among other places, so the first walk was a short one. The day being gorgeous, we chose to sit on the top of the bus, open to the crisp autumn air and with glorious views of the city. As we’d already had a quick glance at the abbey, and planned to go there for a proper tour later, we skipped that and also the Baths, which warranted a leisurely visit. But we got out at the Circus, that ring of lovely houses near the Jane Austen Centre.

  A mannequin dressed like Jane was standing in front of the door, as well as a genuine living man, also dressed in period costume. When I greeted him, he told me his name was Bennet. I took a moment to commiserate with him about his difficult wife, to which he responded with a resigned smile, and then we walked into the world of the early-nineteenth century.

  Anyone who has not read the books would probably dismiss the period as quaint, staid, and dull, but I could see Jane’s characters lurking behind every corner, and quiet intrigues hidden beneath every bonnet and top hat. Alan and I took advantage of the invitation to try on the latter; I thought myself very fetching in a particular poke bonnet.

  ‘But nothing ever happens,’ I heard one American complaining to her companion in a muted discussion about Sense and Sensibility.

  ‘Well, no,’ I said to Alan when we had left the couple behind. ‘Nothing like gun battles or kidnapping or the discovery of the Rajah’s diamond. It’s all internal. Before you get to the third chapter of Sense you’ve had enough nastiness and greed and cowardice and betrayal to fill most modern novels. And humour! My word, the first chapter of Northanger Abbey still makes me laugh out loud!’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Alan patiently. ‘You’re preaching to the choir, you know.’

  We ended up, of course, in the gift shop, where I wanted nearly everything. Some of the costume jewellery was lovely, and affordable, but the gold and silver items were well beyond my budget. Of course, I wanted lots of books. Alan had to remind me that we had several more sites to visit, and were riding a bus, so I contented myself with one small Christmas tree ornament, a representation of Mr Darcy, and marked out lots more in a mental list for purchase before we went home.

  The shop was crowded. In negotiating a tight corner, I bumped into a young man who was arranging a display. He apologized profusely, although it was certainly my fault. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he kept saying.

  Something about his voice and appearance kept me from annoyance. ‘It’s all right,’ I assured him, over and over. ‘Don’t worry. My name is Dorothy. What’s yours?’

  The boy smiled broadly. ‘Sammy. I’m Sammy.’ He solemnly extended a hand which I shook.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sammy, but I must go now. It was nice to meet you. I hope I’ll see you again.’ I smiled and walked away.

  Shopping a bit more, I picked up a handkerchief embroidered with my favourite quote, the f
amous opening line of Pride and Prejudice – ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged …’ – thinking that it weighed nothing and wouldn’t be a burden on the bus. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, though, as I always use tissues. I was still debating when Alan came up behind me and uttered a little exclamation.

  ‘Dorothy, I may be imagining things, but I’d almost swear I saw a piece of that, or something identical to that, in the box of’ – he looked around and lowered his voice – ‘the box in our boot.’

  ‘A scrap of cloth, you said,’ I remembered. ‘This, you think?’

  ‘I do think. The green embroidery is distinctive. I saw only a fragment of something curved, but it looked very much like this.’ He pointed to a curlicue on the handkerchief.

  I made up my mind. ‘I’m buying it. We can take it to Rob and compare.’

  As we paid for our few purchases the clerk said quietly, ‘I hope Sammy didn’t bother you. He works here, part-time, mostly in the stock room. He’s a little …’ She gestured to her head.

  ‘Down syndrome?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. He does very well, really, but he’s very friendly, and sometimes people think … well, you know.’

  ‘He’s sweet, and didn’t bother me at all. Years ago, back in the States, I was a teacher, and we had a few special needs children. I thought them delightful people. I’m so glad he’s found a good place to work. That’s important to youngsters like him.’

  We walked back to the Circus and strolled for a few minutes until the bus arrived. I looked at the arc of Georgian town houses, all nearly identical, and commented, ‘This would be a terrible place to come home to at night if one had had a little too much to drink. You could only find the right door by counting.’

  Alan nodded. ‘Or reading the house number. Neither easy to do with a snootful.’

  Our next stop, just down the street, was the Royal Crescent. ‘My word, it’s even worse!’

  I spoke too loudly and our guide heard me. ‘It’s regarded as the finest example of Georgian architecture in England, madam, perhaps in the world.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I didn’t mean …’ But he had gone on to describe some of the details, and I sunk down into my seat while Alan tried hard not to laugh out loud.

  A moment later he nudged me. ‘Look over there.’ The guide was explaining that the lovely lawn in front of the Crescent was protected from wandering livestock by a ha-ha, a sort of invisible fence consisting of a sharp drop-off at some distance from the buildings, creating a barrier that was effective, but unseen from the houses, from which the lawn seemed to stretch on. ‘We can see it, just barely, from up here, but it was designed to be invisible to the residents.’

  I peered. I could just make out a slight change in colour from one patch of perfectly groomed lawn to the next, but I couldn’t discern the change of level. ‘Very effective,’ I commented. ‘I never knew what a ha-ha was. Though I imagine there’s not a lot of marauding wildlife in Bath these days.’

  We didn’t get out at any of the next few stops. ‘I’m suffering from information overload,’ I complained. ‘My mind won’t take in much more history or architectural description. And I’m getting hungry.’

  ‘Well, then, we’ll jump ship when it gets to the High Street and seek some food.’

  I suppose it’s politically incorrect to say that the main shopping area of Bath looks just like shopping areas everywhere in the UK. Same shops, same merchandise, same crowds. I do enjoy shopping where there are interesting and unusual things on offer, but I’d done enough for one morning.

  ‘Lunch first?’ asked Alan when we had hopped – in a manner of speaking – off the bus.

  I just looked at him.

  ‘Then let’s find Sally Lunn’s. It will be crowded, probably, but we might just squeeze in. They do an excellent lunch, and as it’s in a fifteenth-century house, and the special bun they make goes back to the seventeenth, you can wallow in history as well as good food.’

  Even I had heard of Sally Lunn’s. ‘Sounds fine. As long as it’s not too far away.’

  Alan consulted the map he’d bought somewhere (he’s amazingly well-organized) and found the little café, which was well hidden down a narrow alley. It was indeed crowded, but we were shown to a table after a brief wait and refreshed ourselves with a nice cold lager while we considered the food question. There were so many choices I finally let Alan decide for me, and ended up with far more lovely food than I thought I could eat, from soup right through to a warm apple cake with generous dollops of clotted cream.

  ‘You’re far away,’ Alan commented as I was finishing the last bite.

  ‘I was thinking about Sammy. The boy in the shop,’ I added when he raised an eyebrow. ‘People tend to feel sorry for the retarded, as we used to call them, but I’m never sure that’s appropriate. In some ways they’re better off than those of us who are called normal. They are capable of great, uncomplicated happiness.’

  ‘Also great sorrow, though,’ Alan mused. ‘When they’re unhappy, it’s as if the world has come to an end.’

  ‘Yes. Emotions are all on the surface. But I think the joy outweighs the sorrow.’ I finished my coffee. ‘You know I sometimes watch that live-cam feed from the kitten rescue agency in Los Angeles. I don’t think I’ve ever showed you, but in one of their rooms they have four cats, not kittens any longer, who are severely handicapped with a neurological disease. They will never be able to walk, or even stand up. They spend their lives curled up on their blankets or sometimes scooting around the room a little – but never very far. They have to be helped to eat, and can’t use a litter box. And yet every volunteer at the agency says they’re the happiest cats they’ve ever seen. They love to be cuddled. They purr most of the time. They enjoy the company of their human caregivers, and of the other cats who come to visit. They have no idea, you see, that there’s anything wrong with them. They have no worries, no frustrations.’

  I picked up my coffee cup, found it empty, and put it down again. ‘I think the Sammys of this world are like those cats. As long as their basic needs are met, including love, of course, and they have an interesting way of spending their days, they’re far happier than most of us who have to cope with the pinpricks of everyday life. No, I don’t feel sorry for Sammy. In a way I envy him.’

  ‘You have a point. Now – more coffee? Or anything?’

  I pushed back my chair and groaned. ‘I may never move again. That was an incredible meal!’

  Alan grinned. ‘Shall we buy a few buns to take back to the hotel? For tea?’

  I just groaned again.

  ‘Right,’ said Alan once we were back on the street. ‘We’re about equidistant from the hotel and the Baths. Shall we take that tour now, or toddle back to our room?’

  ‘I’m not up for anything but a nap, after that feast. It really isn’t far, is it?’

  ‘Not far at all, love. Courage!’

  He pronounced it the French way, which made me giggle and gave me the impetus I needed to ‘toddle’ along to my nap.

  SIX

  Drugged with carbohydrates, I slept heavily for over an hour, but woke refreshed and ready for action. Alan made us both some coffee to waken us fully, and asked, ‘The Baths this afternoon?’

  ‘First I want to see if we can’t find out more about the mysterious loot in our car. Good grief, that sounds like a Nancy Drew title. The Case of the Mysterious Loot.’

  ‘Or Perry Mason. Right. I could call the valet service company. Or shall we go to their office and badger them in person?’

  ‘In person, of course. It’s too easy for people to dismiss you if you’re on the phone. Much harder when you’re standing in front of them.’

  ‘Agreed. You’re going to wear a hat, I presume?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a pity I didn’t bring that Queen Mum thing with the violets all over it.’ I’m not quite as devoted to hats as I used to be, but I do wear them on occasion. To church, of course (though I may be the only woman in the place weari
ng one), and whenever I want to impress or, as in this case, intimidate.

  ‘That is a truly awe-inspiring hat, but not exactly seasonal. How about the one with the autumn leaves and chrysanthemums? Did you bring that?’

  I whipped the hat box triumphantly out of the wardrobe. ‘Ta-da! Of course I brought it. We’re going to church at the abbey. Couldn’t appear there bareheaded!’

  Alan called the concierge to order our car. The man rang us back before I had time to adjust my hat properly. Alan listened with an inscrutable face. His end of the conversation was not enlightening, consisting of variations of yes and no and I see.

  He hung up and turned to me. ‘There are developments.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. The concierge said that there might be a considerable delay in fetching our car, but if we were in a hurry, we could use the hotel’s limo. Free of charge, of course. I agreed to that.’

  ‘Hmm. Interesting. Are we going straight to the valet company, or to the garage?’

  ‘The valet company, I think. Meanwhile I’m calling the inspector. I think he’ll want to know what’s going on.’

  The hotel limo (or perhaps one of their fleet; it was that sort of hotel) was a Rolls Royce. Never had I thought to ride in such a vehicle. My hat was inadequate; it should have been a tiara. ‘Should I wave graciously as we go down the street?’ I whispered to Alan as the chauffeur, a good-looking, pleasant man, gently closed the rear door on us. Alan put his finger to his lips and pointed to the microphone discreetly hidden in the decorative work in front of us. ‘I don’t know if it’s turned on. Hello?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Where did you wish me to take you, sir?’

  Alan gave him the address.

  There was a brief pause. ‘Are you certain, sir? That is not – that is, you might not find that part of the city to your liking.’