by K. T. Tomb
It took them forty-five minutes to get to Timberley and maybe five minutes to find the cozy-looking duplex on Cockatiel Road. Every one of the houses on the street looked exactly the same, so Oscar had to check the house numbers which, luckily for them, were prominently written on each mailbox. Chyna parked the car across the street from the house and they walked up and rang the doorbell.
Marion Spencer answered the door with a big smile on her face.
“Chyna Stone?” she asked confidently, as if they had met before.
“Yes. This is my colleague, Oscar Cunningham. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Dordogne Estate, particularly about what happened during the renovations in 1978.”
“Yes, Angus told me to expect you. Please come in. I just put the kettle on.”
“Thank you.”
Chyna and Oscar stepped into the house. It was warm and just as cozy inside as it had seemed from the outside. Marion led them into a living room, or the front room as she called it, and invited them to sit. She disappeared into what Chyna assumed was the kitchen and soon reappeared with a lovely silver tray piled with all her tea things. Marion poured tea for each and invited them to help themselves to the milk and sugar as well as the sandwiches and biscuits she had brought out with it.
The marvels of modern technology, Chyna thought. Because of a simple telephone call from Angus, Marion had had the better part of an hour to prepare a lovely repast for them while they had been driving toward her house.
“Angus says that Sir Robert has hired you to find out what happened to Eleanor of Aquitaine’s armor and possibly find it.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Spencer,” Chyna confirmed. “That is true.”
“Well, I can tell you straight away what happened to it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was stolen, right from under our very noses in the dead of night and without a single one of us knowing, to boot.”
“We get the gist of that, Mrs. Spencer. We really want to recover it for Sir Robert. At the very least, we think he deserves to know where it went and maybe even who took it.”
“Well, if you can do what the police couldn’t, I know it will give him some peace.”
“If you would, we hoped you could tell us what you remember from that year.”
“Of course,” she said, sitting back in her chair as if she was settling in for a long story. “Well, the house was closing up for the season. The Montgomerys always spent the winter at the estate and when summer came around, they would quit the manor and go to London for the summer. The social season officially got started on May Day and Mrs. Montgomery never missed that. By the end of April that year, everything had been sent ahead of them; everything that they planned to take, that is. The rest was being moved into the outbuildings because Sir William had arranged for a lot of work to be done on the house. The staff had all been given their holidays – or their reassignments, as the case may have been – and things were grinding to a halt at Dordogne. I was staying behind for the summer and, if I remember well, the only other person staying was Angus McKinley.”
“Why were you two staying behind if everyone else was given new assignments?” Oscar asked curiously.
“At the time, I was the head maid at the estate, but every one of the Montgomery houses has its own head maid. If you were just at Chatellerault, you would have met Rebecca. She is head maid there. The London house similarly has one as well, so I stayed behind in my place. I grew up in an orphanage, Mr. Cunningham, and went into service at sixteen years old, so I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“I see,” he replied, abashed.
Marion continued her story.
“I oversaw the covering, removal and storage of the furniture, the precious objects, the rugs and the drapes. Sir William saw to the removal of the house’s antiques and art himself. I know they were in the raid bunker, but that was all, and I assumed that Sir William took the keys with him. I was in the house, in the downstairs, when the house was broken into. I don’t remember hearing a thing, not a sound that night. I know that the house was locked up properly because Angus and I had run the usual check of all the windows and doors that evening, just as we always did. We had tea in the staff dining room downstairs and he left through the service exit out back. The next morning when I went upstairs to draw the curtains like I always did it was gone.”
“Marion…” Chyna started. “May I call you Marion?”
“Of course, my dear,” she replied.
“Marion, at that point, were there any construction workers left on the site?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “By that time, everything had already been completed and all the workers had been gone for weeks. In fact, Sir William had already come in with his designer and had new drapes hung and the carpets, rugs, furniture and antiques put back into place.”
“Really?” Oscar commented. “What else was the designer supposed to do? Was it someone you knew?”
“Actually, no, I had never seen her before. I can’t even recall her name right now. She was Asian, that much I remember; Chinese, Japanese, I’m not sure. Maybe Sir Robert would have more information about that. She made a register of every single item in Sir William’s collection, then the two of them decided which items would be put back in the house as well as where each piece would be displayed and how.
“I remember that the day of the break in, Mr. Montgomery – Evan, that is – came back with the woman. I assumed it was to confirm that the placement of the items had been done to her specifications; that everything had been displayed properly and the place had that look and feel the family wanted to create for their future visitors. It was supposed to feel like a home that was also a museum, you see.”
“That wouldn’t be unexpected,” Oscar commented.
“But that’s just it, because it was rather odd. I had never seen her with Evan before and no one had told me they would be coming that day, either.”
“What about after you realized the armor was gone?” Chyna asked.
“I called Sir William and Angus first. Angus was the one who called the police. Can you believe it took them an hour and a half to get out there from downtown Bristol? It was a disgrace.” She shook her head as if she were remembering something that deeply hurt her. “There was a huge investigation, though; purely the result of Sir William’s insistence with the police chief at the time. Absolutely nothing came out of it, though.”
“Why do you think that was, Mrs. Spencer?” Oscar chimed in.
“It was the late seventies, Mr. Cunningham,” she said, matter-of-factly. “No one cared very much for the problems of the aristocracy. There was simply too much going on in the country at the time. There was an oil and energy crisis crippling the industrial sector, The Bretton Woods financial crisis was threatening to shut down the world economy and there were council and labor strikes going on as well. It was all that confusion that got Margaret Thatcher into office.”
“Okay,” Chyna said after a long silence. “I don’t think we have any more questions at the moment, Marion.”
“I hope I’ve helped, even a little.”
“You certainly have,” Chyna assured her, as they stood to leave. “If we think of anything else, may we give you a call?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you, Marion,” Chyna said as she stood outside the door again. “Whatever we find, I’ll be sure to let you know how it turns out.”
“Thank you, dear. I would appreciate that very much.”
When they were back in the car, Chyna said, “Now I’m intrigued. There’s something sinister lying just beneath the surface here and I feel like we need to uncover it before it pops up to bite us.”
“You’re actually scaring me a little, boss. What are you sensing?”
“Well, Marion said Sir William’s designer was an Asian woman.”
“So?”
“I don’t know if it has anything to do with anything, but I’m beginning to feel like I’ve seen and heard about more Asian women in
the last week than I have in my whole life.”
“Coincidence, perhaps?”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Let’s get to London.”
***
An hour later, they were pulling up in front of Evan Montgomery’s swanky Notting Hill office. He was the head of an exclusive interior design, restoration and renovation company, Poitiers Design, after his illustrious ancestor’s family name.
Surprisingly, Evan was rather accommodating to Chyna and Oscar, giving them as much detail as he could remember about what transpired before, during and after the renovation work at Dordogne. Apparently, the job had gone well; staying on schedule and coming in under budget.
“How was that possible?” Chyna asked.
“I used a lot of local tradesmen on the site, even some of the estate staff when they came off their vacation and had nothing to do. A lot of those stable hands were pretty good blacksmiths and a few of the footmen and yard boys turned out to have woodworking skills. I could utilize them under the supervision of the more experienced workers at a lower labor cost. They were happy to have the work and I was happy to have the help.”
He showed them into a large room which contained rows and rows of fireproof filing cabinets and looked for the ones marked ‘D’. Pulling open a drawer, he flipped through the files until he found the one he was looking for. The tab had a typewritten label on it that said ‘Dordogne - 1978’. Evan pulled it out and handed it to Oscar.
“That will have all the names of the companies and people who worked on the project,” Evan said.
“Thanks, Evan,” Chyna replied. “Is there anything in there about the contents of the house at the time? What went into storage and what came out?”
“No. None of that involved me. You would have to check William’s old files for that type of information.”
“Any idea where we would find those?” Oscar asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. They would be in Robert’s London office. Do you have the address?”
Chyna had never had a problem taking a hint and it was now plain that Evan felt that he had given them all the time he was willing to give, but she had a more crucial question to ask.
“Yes, we do,” she replied curtly. “Mr. McKinley told us that after Sir William had struck the deal with you to do the work on the manor house, you offered to include the work on the carriage house and the caretaker’s cottage gratis. Why was that?”
Evan smiled and shook his head before he answered her. Chyna wondered if he was stalling in order to give her the politically correct response.
“You have to understand what the economy was like at the time, Miss Stone.”
It was going to be the politically correct answer.
“My livelihood was most certainly in jeopardy and so was my pension from the estate. Even though I was against William’s idea to open up the house, the antique collection and the gardens to the viewing public, it would mean that Dordogne would have a steady income coming in which would help to support the entire family. Outside of my genuine gratitude to William for the work, I felt that if he was going to go ahead with his plan, then the renovation might as well be well done the first time. God forbid the rabble would be traipsing through the garden to be met with the sight of the dilapidated outbuildings.”
Evan’s remark rubbed Chyna the wrong way; it was a touch too elitist for her liking. In the same breath, she understood his concerns. It was comparable to checking into a four-star hotel where the lobby was first class, but the beds had cheap sheets on them.
“Will that be all?” he pressed.
“I think we have everything we need for now, Mr. Montgomery,” Chyna replied. “I do have one more question, though.”
“Certainly.”
“What about the curator? Sir William had someone come in to catalog the collection and design the displays of the items. Do you know where we could find the records of the work she did?”
His expression changed in an instant from one of bored accommodation to surprise and irritation. He cast questioning looks from Chyna to Oscar and then back again. But then, just as quickly, he collected himself and responded to her question.
“I don’t have a clue, Miss Stone. My brother hired his quacks and his supposed experts all the time, as if the knowledge that he was in possession of a priceless collection of antiques wasn’t enough for him; he had to have constant confirmation of it. As for a catalog, I’ve never come across anything like that before. Perhaps you will have better luck at the Angevin Foundation.”
He was actually sneering at them by then.
Chyna nodded and extended her hand to Evan for a farewell handshake. Oscar did the same and they said their goodbyes.
Back in the Jaguar, Chyna sighed heavily, but said nothing. She waited patiently for her cowboy trainee to offer his opinion.
“What a prick!” Oscar finally said. “What the hell was all that about the ‘rabble’ traipsing around his manor house?”
Chyna smiled. She had seen that one coming from a mile away.
“Never mind him, Oscar. He’s a bit of a dinosaur; from a different time and place in this country’s history. No matter what people think, leopards can’t change their spots.”
***
“Miyako,” said the man on the phone in a British accent.
“Moshi moshi,” she replied, sounding exasperated.
“The Americans were just here asking a lot of questions. I skirted around the whole antique curating thing, but they have the file so eventually, they’ll put two and two together.”
“Understood, Evan-san. I’m sure you did your best. It is becoming clear that we are dealing with a formidable opponent in Miss Stone. More drastic measures may have to be taken.”
“Do what you have to; it will be a complete disaster if all of this falls apart after all these years.”
“Indeed,” Miyako agreed. “I’ll call Keiko.”
***
At Sir Robert’s office, Chyna and Oscar had a much more cordial experience as they searched for the information they needed. A pretty, blond research assistant was assigned to guide them through the extensive library of family records.
“What exactly does this guy do for a living anyway?” Oscar asked Chyna in a hushed voice.
“He heads up the Angevin Foundation; just like all the barons Dordogne before him.”
“Well, that’s a rather cushy gig,” Oscar retorted.
“Why would you say that?” Chyna asked. “We don’t even really know what that entails.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a look that said ‘Really?’ before waving over the blond woman and asking, “Would you mind explaining to us what it is exactly that the Angevin Foundation does?”
“Of course,” she said very seriously. “The foundation deals primarily with the upkeep, promotion and management of the Montgomery estates in England and France. It also acquires and liquidates estate-specific property and manages the payment of family pensions and donations to family supported charities.”
“Thank you,” Chyna said, smiling to herself.
When the young woman had returned to her corner of the room, Oscar whispered, “It’s still a cushy gig.”
Chyna laughed at his insistence. In reality, she was glad for the explanation; she at least had a clearer idea of what her client did for a living. Now that she knew, she admired his vocation.
“I think I found the police reports,” the researcher said from across the room.
“That’s wonderful, because I just found Sir Williams’ records on the renovations.”
Chyna pulled out a cardboard bank box from a shelf that was marked ‘RENOVATIONS-1978’ from a shelf and threw the lid to one side. There were several four inch black binders which were filled with all the various paperwork that was pertinent to the work at Dordogne; they were all safely filed inside plastic sheet protectors.
After flipping quickly through the first few folders, Chyna was satisfied. She put the co
ver back on the box and turned to the woman.
“If we need anything else…”
“Just call me and I will send it over to the estate. My name is Elizabeth.”
Chyna smiled at her as she took the police reports from Elizabeth.
“Thank you,” she replied and then to Oscar she said, “Get that box and let’s get going, cowboy. We’ve got a lot of road to cover.”
***
Somewhere out on the M4 near Heathrow Airport, Chyna suddenly had an idea.
“Listen; if we take a small detour, we could go to see Stonehenge on the way back. Do you want to do that?” Chyna asked Oscar.
“Definitely!” he replied excitedly. “But I’d have thought that you would’ve gone there while Tony was here with you.”
“Nah. Stonehenge freaks Agent Stewart out,” Chyna joked. “He thinks it’s one of the few places on Earth that could most certainly be haunted; Stonehenge and Salem, Massachusetts.”
“I tend to agree… with the Salem part, that is.”
“You two are silly. Let’s go!”
When they arrived at Stonehenge, there were still a few tour buses in the parking area. Several large groups of tourists were milling around, taking pictures of the stones and pouring over guide books as they discussed the history of the place.
Chyna made a beeline for the center of the stone formations. While Oscar milled around the outer ring with some of the other visitors, Chyna lay down on a flat slab in the middle of the circle and looked up at the sky. She felt peaceful as she watched the clouds pass overhead and even heard a few birds calling to each other nearby. After she had taken the few moments she had needed to soak the place in, she sat up and looked around for Oscar. He was standing by a westerly set of arched monoliths, helping one of the tourists take a photograph.
“Please,” a young Japanese fellow said to Oscar. “Would you take my picture with the arch and the setting sun in the background?”
“Sure, buddy,” Oscar replied, taking the beautiful camera from the man and admiring it a little while he took up his position by the tall ancient stone.
