The Bath Conspiracy

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Oh. Oh, of course.’ He sounded a little as if he didn’t know what grandchildren were. ‘Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Happy shopping!’

  It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, just the sort to lure people and their pocketbooks out. So the shop was very crowded, and as we’d stayed in a corner by the door, perhaps no one had paid us much attention. I arranged my face in an expression that would, I hoped, convey naïve enthusiasm combined with confusion, and drifted toward the display of jewellery.

  It had been restocked since the theft yesterday, but the cases weren’t anything like full. It looked to me as though the stock was seriously depleted. In particular, the brooch I’d hoped to find, the replica of the one found in the spring, was nowhere to be seen. Of course, that might mean simply that they had never stocked one, but somehow I doubted that. Something so distinctive would be sure to sell.

  A young woman appeared at my side. ‘May I help you, madam?’ Maybe it was my imagination that she looked and sounded slightly suspicious, but the staff would certainly have been informed about the theft yesterday and might have been told to keep a special eye on anyone displaying interest in the jewellery.

  ‘Oh, I sure hope so.’ I put on my best American accent and tried to avoid the English idioms that had become second nature to me. ‘I was here before, but my husband was with me, and he puts a damper on shopping! I was really looking for that pin they found when they dug everything up. You know, the funny round one with the rubies and that sharp pin to hold it on? I thought maybe you might have a copy of it I could get for a friend of mine back home in Indiana. She just loves antique stuff like that.’

  The girl relaxed. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or so, but she recognized a ditzy American when she saw one.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, madam. We did have those replicas, but they … that is, they sold very quickly. They’re very nice replicas, prettier than the original, actually. It’s made of bronze and our copies are gold-plated.’

  ‘Ooh! And do they have garnets, maybe, instead of the rubies?’

  She shook her head. ‘There were never jewels in the brooch. You’re thinking of the red enamel decorating the place where the ends of the circle join.’

  ‘Oh.’ I pouted a little. ‘Well, I guess that’s okay, if that’s what the real one had. But you say you don’t have any more?’

  She looked a little nervous. ‘Not at the moment, no. Sorry.’

  ‘But you could order one for me, maybe? I had my heart set on one for Janie.’

  ‘We may be able to re-order, but I’m not sure how long it might be before they arrived. I can check for you. Meanwhile, can I show you anything else?’

  ‘Hmph. You haven’t got very much, do you? The other shops have a lot better selection of jewellery. If I were running this place I’d make sure we were fully stocked during tourist season.’

  ‘I assure you, we make every attempt to do just that. But we were very busy yesterday, and—’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I sounded as sceptical as I could manage, and leaned closer to her. ‘You know what I think?’ I said in a confidential whisper. ‘I think maybe somebody got a little light-fingered, you know what I mean? I’ll bet those cute little locks could be picked with a bobby pin.’

  She gave me the sort of look that my brashness deserved. ‘Our security system is excellent, I assure you. The locks on the cases are secure and there is only one key. I can get it from my supervisor if there is anything you’d like to see more closely, but if not there are other customers waiting.’ She started to turn away.

  ‘Not so fast! I didn’t say I didn’t want anything. Those earrings are kinda nice. You just get that key and show them to me.’

  I had kept up the chatter until I could see that everyone who looked like a manager was busy. Now, if I was lucky, this poor hapless girl would fetch the key herself, and I could see exactly how carefully the opening of the case was handled.

  I was lucky. She spoke to the woman at the till, who opened the drawer and handed her the key. She came back with it clutched firmly in her hand. ‘Now,’ she said brightly, ‘it was this pair?’ She applied the key to the lock, slid it off the bar, and dropped it in the pocket of her apron while she pulled the little white box out of the case. Before she handed it to me for inspection, she pulled the lock out of her pocket to re-attach it.

  But she wasn’t able to finish the action. There was a commotion. A few feet away, in the crowd queuing up for the till, someone had fallen against someone else, and in the domino-effect that ensued, my helper was shoved against me. I dropped my purse for the second time that day. She dropped the lock and the key, along with the little box containing the earrings. A supervisor came striding over, frowning.

  ‘What seems to be the trouble here?’ she asked, sounding very much like every cop in every English mystery I’ve ever read.

  ‘Someone fell against her,’ I said quickly. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’

  And from the little crowd a couple of feet away, where the trouble had started, came a childish wail. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’

  It was Sammy.

  TWELVE

  ‘Alan, it was pathetic.’ We were back at our B&B, sipping tea in the garden. Alan had bought a couple of Bath buns, but I didn’t seem to have much appetite.

  ‘Here he was, scared, miserable, and surrounded by noisy people. Some of them were being unkind about his mental disability, calling him ugly names. The supervisor did her best to calm him down and assure him the whole thing was an accident, he just slipped, none of it was his fault, but he was very upset.’

  ‘He volunteers there, I take it.’

  ‘I think so. There was too much brouhaha for me to ask casually, and I was concentrating on the jewellery case.’

  ‘Good for you. I’ll bet nobody else was.’

  ‘Well, I did wonder if the whole incident was carefully designed. So I kept my eye on the open case.’

  ‘Nobody grabbed anything?’

  ‘I’d swear not.’

  ‘But I suppose the lock and key disappeared in the confusion.’

  ‘They did not. I stepped on them.’

  Alan slapped his hand on the table. ‘That’s my girl! How did you manage that?’

  ‘Well, they were right there in front of me, but I was afraid to pick them up. Too many people were milling around, and I didn’t want my hand crushed.’

  ‘So you got your foot crushed instead?’

  ‘No, luckily. It wasn’t very comfortable standing on the thing, though. It’s lumpy and my Sunday shoes have thin soles.’

  ‘So when the smoke cleared …?’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes, when everything had more or less settled down, I became suddenly aware that I was standing on something and handed it to the girl who’d been waiting on me, who by now was fairly frantic. “Oh, dear, was this what you were looking for? I seem to have stepped on it. I hope I didn’t damage it.” All in my best dithery style.’

  ‘I’m sure it went down a treat. More tea?’

  ‘If it isn’t stewed, or cold. No, thank you, I won’t have a bun.’

  The tea was still acceptable. He poured out the last of it and studied my face.

  ‘This whole thing upset you, didn’t it?’

  ‘It did. Not so much the commotion. I actually rather expected something of the kind, and nothing was actually stolen, as it worked out. Oh, but I had to buy the earrings. I thought it was the least I could do after being so difficult with the poor child. No, what bothered me was Sammy.’

  Alan mused, sipping at his lukewarm tea. ‘You think he could be involved in all this, don’t you? The thefts.’

  ‘I don’t want to think so. I like Sammy, even though I barely know him. But I knew people like him, in my teaching career. Like them, he’s sweet and so innocent. But he’s a child, essentially, and children like pretty things. And … well, he does keep turning up. He seems to work, or volunteer, at all these museum shops.’

  ‘
You think that would give him an opportunity for the thefts.’

  I nodded, miserably. ‘I don’t want to believe it, but there it is.’

  ‘And do you think, from your experience in working with the mentally handicapped, that Sammy’s moral sense would allow him to steal?’

  I brightened a little. ‘It’s not likely, true. People like him are usually very trusting. They believe what they are told, without question. If Sammy’s parents brought him up to understand that stealing is wrong, he would stick to that. But if he didn’t have that kind of background, who knows?’

  ‘Then I think a little information about Sammy is in order, if only to set your mind at rest. It shouldn’t be too hard to come by. Everyone in town seems to know him.’

  ‘But suppose we find that he is taking the things?’

  ‘Then for his own sake, as well as for the sake of the merchants who are being defrauded, he needs to be stopped. But no judge on earth would send him to prison. It’s an obvious case of diminished responsibility. He might be sent to a school. Most likely he would be reprimanded and would lose his jobs. Nothing worse.’

  ‘For him, that would be quite bad enough. He needs routine. He needs his life to stay the same, day after day. To be sent away from his home … oh, it’s not to be thought of!’

  ‘Then we won’t think of it, unless it becomes necessary. Meanwhile, did you learn anything else of value at the shop?’

  ‘They were being very careful about the locked cases. The key was in the till where it belonged. The clerk had the lock in her possession from the moment she slid it off, never laid it down, just slipped it into a pocket for a moment when her hands were full and then got it out immediately. I’m sure she would have closed and locked the case even while I was looking at the earrings if the to-do hadn’t arisen. And even in the middle of all the confusion, she managed to close the glass door and stand in front of it.’

  ‘Hmm. That makes an opportunistic theft much less likely. Of course, security procedures might have been stepped up in the face of yesterday’s funny business.’

  ‘Of course. So I’m not sure my visit was of any use at all. Oh, but there was one rather odd thing, come to think of it. I ran into that chap we met yesterday, the Cockney one. Literally ran into him, I mean. He was coming out of the shop as I was going in, and we collided. I dropped my purse; he dropped his parcels. We tied up traffic in and out of the shop for some little time while we retrieved our belongings.’

  ‘You dropped your purse,’ Alan said sharply. ‘Did you pick it up, or did he?’

  ‘I don’t remember, actually. I know I helped him pick up his stuff. He’d bought a lot, and bits scattered all over the place.’ I thought about the scene and then did a double-take. ‘Oh! You think …?’

  He stood. ‘I think it would be a very good idea if you made a complete inventory of the contents of your bag. Did you leave it in the room?’

  When he returned with my purse he brought along our bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses. ‘I think we could use something a little more sustaining than tea. Clear a space on the table, love.’

  He dumped the contents of the purse unceremoniously. A pen, a bottle of pills, and a packet of tissues fell to the grass, and several pieces of paper tried to blow away, but I retrieved them and sat on them.

  Alan has finally accepted my rag-bag habits, so I was spared the lecture he used to deliver. (‘Why on earth do you need to keep month-old receipts and shopping lists? And do you really need three packets of tissues?’ Et cetera.) He does have a point, though. ‘Oh, dear. Time I cleaned out my purse, isn’t it?’ I picked up an earring. ‘I thought I’d lost this. And I can’t imagine how that card from the McKenzies got in here.’

  Alan helped me sort out everything, making neat piles and putting our cups and glasses on them to stop them blowing away. When we had finished, it didn’t seem as if I was missing anything. ‘I never carry a lot of money, as you know, but what’s there seems about right. My credit card and debit card are there, and my driving license and all that, and my passport is right where it should be, in this pocket.’

  ‘I still wish you wouldn’t carry it all the time.’

  ‘I’m a foreigner, remember. Oh, I know I’m officially a Brit now, but I feel more comfortable when I can prove it. Anyway, I think everything’s here. You thought what’s-his-name might have staged that little accident to steal something?’

  ‘Simon Caine. The thought occurred to me. We know nothing about him, after all, and he’s turned up twice now.’

  ‘But at the same tourist attraction. Not so surprising.’

  ‘Perhaps not. Too many years as a policeman make me suspicious of everyone and everything.’ He stretched, picked up his glass, and finished his bourbon. ‘It’s getting chilly. And late. I think it’s time we sought some dinner and forgot all about our problems for a while. It’s Sunday, after all. Day of rest.’

  ‘Right.’ And if I sounded a little sarcastic, well, there was reason.

  Next morning, we slept late. Our B&B was on a quiet street near the Circus and the Royal Crescent, but not so near that the traffic was constant. We made it down to the tail end of breakfast and contented ourselves with toast and cereal before taking coffee out to the garden to plan our day.

  ‘What haven’t we seen yet?’ I asked Alan.

  He spread out the map and guidebook. ‘Many things. Bath has something for all tastes. It’s another lovely day, so why don’t we explore Great Pulteney Street and the Holburne Museum?’

  ‘What’s it a museum of?’

  ‘Art.’

  ‘Not antiquities? I think I’ve had enough of those for the moment.’

  ‘No. Mostly Renaissance and Georgian, I think. The building is said to be impressive, and they have a café for when we get footsore and hungry. Of course, it probably won’t help us with our problem. Not the sort of things our villain seems to like to steal.’

  ‘I trust there’s a gift shop, though.’

  ‘Don’t know, love. I’ve never been to the museum. Shall we find out?’

  ‘I’m game. It would be good to get away from our problem for a while. Maybe not thinking about it will let our brains relax and come up with some ideas.’

  Alan is not a great believer in the power of the unconscious. I’m a bit sceptical, myself, but I’ve sometimes dreamed things that ended up being useful. So I keep, so to speak, an open mind.

  We drove as close as we could get, found a miraculous parking spot, and walked up Great Pulteney Street to the impressive Georgian building at the end. ‘Goodness, it must have belonged to somebody important back when.’

  ‘Actually, it says here,’ said Alan, looking at the guidebook, ‘that it was built to be a hotel.’

  ‘Well, for really important travellers, then. Wow!’

  Once inside, I forgot about the building and was drawn in to the collection. Now I like paintings, don’t get me wrong. But it’s the decorative arts that really speak to me, and this was a splendid exhibition of glass and china and furniture and knick-knacks. (Though I suppose at the prices these things must command, it’s insulting to call them knick-knacks. Objets d’art, perhaps?) One large room had a table set with gorgeous silver and china, just as though ready for a glamourous banquet, all sparkling under a crystal chandelier.

  Then across the hall my eye, always alert to small things, was drawn to the portrait miniatures and especially to the gems.

  ‘Oh, my,’ I whispered to Alan. ‘Now here’s something that might appeal mightily to our larcenous friend! Good thing they’re well protected.’

  ‘Hmm. But they don’t have any special connection with Bath, as most of the things seem to do. Maybe they’re safe.’

  He spoke a little too loudly, and a guard cast a suspicious look our way, which set me to giggling. We left rapidly for the next floor up.

  I had barely begun to enjoy the paintings by some of my favourite artists, and many I didn’t know, when Alan’s phone rang.


  ‘Drat. I meant to mute it. Let me just— Oh. It’s Roberts.’

  He moved out into a corner of the hallway and spoke quietly into the phone, listened for a moment, and then came back into the gallery. ‘We need to go, love.’

  I opened my mouth to question him, then shut it again at his look that plainly said, ‘Later’.

  THIRTEEN

  Once we were out in the sunshine, Alan gave me a quick update. ‘Rob is coming to fetch us. There’s been a fire at the Jane Austen Centre.’

  ‘No! How awful! Was anyone hurt? It must have been full of tourists on this beautiful day.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I know. And here’s Rob. He’ll fill in the details.’

  Rob was riding in a marked patrol car, to my surprise. ‘It’ll be easier to get through the traffic,’ he explained when I asked. ‘There’ll be fire trucks and who knows what at the museum, and it’s a rather narrow street.’

  ‘But tell us what happened!’ My anxiety level was rising.

  ‘The centre has a small outbuilding in the back, probably once a stable. They use it for inventory storage. Not for the more valuable items like the jewellery, but books and other bulky items. It is of course kept locked and well-secured: cameras, alarms, the lot.’

  ‘So how did someone manage to set fire to it?’ I interrupted. ‘At least, I’m assuming we’re talking arson. You wouldn’t be involved if it were simply an electrical fire or whatever.’

  ‘Quite right. The firefighters who responded to the call saw at once that it had started at several different locations round the building, and the smell of accelerant was strong. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the fire was set, and amateurishly set at that. This was no experienced arsonist at work. The crew were able to contain the fire very quickly; little damage was done, and as no one was in the building at the time, no one was hurt. But the whole thing seemed so odd that, given the recent thefts from museums, including this one, they called in the police.’

  ‘And has anything been stolen?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Not only was nothing stolen, but our friend with the matches did not, apparently, even attempt to enter the building. Here we are. Stay in the car for a moment while I have a word with the officers.’