Toad in the Hole

by Paisley Ray

  “When do you want to set off?” he asked.

  “It’s a two hour walk to the canal. We better leave within the hour if we want to make it to Stratford on time.”

  “On time?” Sonny asked.

  “We’re due to meet GG at a Shakespeare play.”

  Sonny rubbed his jaw. “I don’t like this. Those two thugs at the shop. The stolen brooch.”

  “The men have the brooch, we don’t. Why would anyone care to bother us now?” Travis asked.

  I added more sugar to my tea before I spoke. “Ahmed and his men have probably discovered the numbers are longitude and latitude and have already been to Allerton.”

  Sonny fidgeted and his gaze fleeted over my shoulder to the landscape beyond. The digital clock on the counter flipped over. “What is it?” I asked, thinking he spotted an animal in the woods.

  “Someone may have altered the inscription.”

  “How many beers did you two drink last night?”

  Standing up, Sonny straightened a picture frame of a prized pig, the pinks popping off the black background.

  “Who’s the artist?”

  “Moreland.”

  Raising his hand like a stop sign, Travis re-directed the conversation. “Backup here.” He pulled out a chair next to Sonny. “Altered the inscription?”

  A puff of air escaped Sonny’s chest and he clucked his tongue. “When you showed me the brooch, I inspected it with my engraving tool. Changed the two to an eight.”

  I sat stunned.

  “But I snatched that etching tool from your hand.”

  Sonny smirked.

  “That was sneaky,” Travis said.

  “Yeah, wasn’t it?” He snickered. “I may be old, but I’ve still got moves.”

  “Why’d you change the number?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know you pesky kids from Jack. Changing the two to an eight probably landed those villains in Timbuktu. The brooch is some sort of pawn. I suspect, as I believe you do Ms. O’Brien, that engraving King Edward commissioned inside it leads to something more significant. Wallis sent the gifts to your grandmother and to me, both Brits, for reasons we’ll never know. In the name of the Queen, I trust you two to discover the mystery behind the brooch and my painting before those Turks. Do stay alert and keep a low profile. My neighbor over the Eastern field has a lorry, he will be by in half an hour to take you to the canal.”

  NOTE TO SELF

  Doves, not my pet of choice.

  For an old eccentric jeweler, Sonny’s still got a few wild hairs. Altering the brooch, sneaky man.

  The race is on!

  CHAPTER 23

  The Bard

  Early in the evening, the sun’s rays glistened on the water and mirror images of leaves from dense trees lining the bank were cast upon it. Low-lying willow branches dipped into the canal water like fingers swiping a lick of icing. Another English town, but instead of a shire on the end of the name, this famous landmark had the word upon in the middle of Stratford and Avon, raising its status and making it seem more important.

  From the deck of Her Grace, I read the onshore sign near the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. “Same rules as the town of Stoke Bruerne, we can berth the narrowboat for forty-eight hours for free.”

  “If we can find a spot,” Travis said from behind the tiller in the cockpit.

  We chugged past boats queued up like train cars when I spotted an open slot. I pointed, but Travis had already noticed the space and nodded.

  Like an old married couple, we’d gone through the motions dozens of times. Gauging the distance Her Grace drifted with the current, I jumped ashore. He tossed me a rope and I secured the vessel with a couple of half-hitches.

  From dry land, I scoured both sides of the waterway for GG and Edmond, thinking they’d be waiting for us.

  “See them?” Travis asked.

  I shook my head and hopped back onto the boat.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “Find GG. Tell her what we know. Find out what she knows.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’re close. The original coordinates inside the brooch fall on the property of Allerton Castle in Yorkshire near GG’s place. We’ll be up there anyway.”

  “You’re determined to go to this place, and I can’t talk you out of it?”

  My hands anchored on my hips. “You’re such a pain. Trying to derail my brilliance.”

  Under a crooked smile, he said, “And you, Rachael are an adventure junkie,” which only yanked my chain.

  While he rattled around inside, I slumped into our appointed captain’s chair. Travis had unknowingly peeled through my layers. Despite not knowing what I was doing, where I was going, or if my grandmother would even show up, deep down I was optimistic. If we didn’t find her in forty-eight hours, I’d have to call Dad back in the states. He would for sure go off the deep end. And hearing him blast me for losing my grandmother and his assistant wasn’t something I’d subject myself to unless desperate.

  Climbing the cabin stairs, Travis held one hand behind his back.

  “What do you have?”

  “Guess.”

  My watch ticked seconds away.

  He stood still.

  “A fish you and Sonny caught. It’s what’s been stinking up the cabin all this time.”

  “That’s a terrible guess.”

  Scrunching my forehead, I shot him a ‘you are completely annoying’ glance. “It would explain the smell.”

  “Ta da,” he said, and whipped a painting of a horse from behind his back.

  I gasped. “You freakin’ stole that from Sonny?”

  He handed the placemat-size painting to me. “I didn’t steal it, I won it in backgammon.”

  “This is the painting Wallis Simpson’s estate gifted him. Did you cheat to win this?”

  “I didn’t cheat. I won fair and square.”

  “It must have something to do with the brooch and the scepter. It’s the whole Allerton Castle connection. But why did she leave it to him?”

  “In case you’re wondering, Sonny doesn’t know either.”

  I bit my cheek. “Did you ask him?”

  “Didn’t have to. He said he’s tired of staring at the thing, looking for clues as to why she left it to him. He thought it was just a mistake until we showed up.”

  The sunlight glared across the oil paint, making it hard to see the details. We slipped into the cabin, where a less intense natural light shone in from the windows, and stared.

  “It’s a brown horse,” Travis said.

  “In a pasture with the corner of a castle in view.”

  “I don’t see any secret code concealed in the trees,” he said.

  “It isn’t a picture from grade school where you find the hidden farm animals.”

  “Maybe scrape the paint off, like a lottery ticket.”

  Horror crept up my spine. “Deface it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “It shouldn’t be that complicated,” I said and flipped it over. There was a paper backing, typical in framing to cover the messy splotches on the back of the canvas. There weren’t any markings, so I peeled it off. I showed Travis a scribbly handwritten note that read, Allerton Castle 1927-1936.

  “This was how Sonny figured out the name of the castle.”

  “Dun, dun, dun,” Travis hummed.

  There was no note or anything of interest on the canvas. I ran my fingers around the back of the frame. On the bottom inset was a light inscription: 54 02 – 01 37. My heart quickened. I’d memorized those numbers before.

  “Put this somewhere safe,” I said as I handed it back. “We need to find a bookstore and get a map of Yorkshire.”

  AT THE DIRTY DUCK Pub we were lucky to get a seat on the garden courtyard wall. Finding a bookstore with maps had taken longer than I’d expected, and there wasn’t enough time to go back to the boat before the show. I tucked the ordinance survey map of Yorkshire I’d purchased into my plastic Marks and Sp
encer bag that was starting to look a little worse for the wear.

  Stratford-upon-Avon was a tourist town. A place to relax and discover the witticisms of one of the longest loved writers in history. I barely noticed the thatch roofs, cobblestone walks, and brimming flower baskets on every streetlamp. Even with a pint, I couldn’t relax. Every muscle inside me twitched. I fretted that Ahmed or his thugs would turn up. It was silly. We hadn’t encountered any dangerous or seedy types since London, but being away from the safety of Sonny’s secluded house, I couldn’t dispel the weight that had lodged itself in the pit of my stomach.

  Travis and I clanked glasses before we guzzled. “We have to be quick. Show starts in half an hour and I want to get there in plenty of time.”

  “Rach.”

  I looked over both my shoulders. “What?”

  “Have you thought through the worse-case-scenario?”

  “I’m trying not to. When you think of worst-case scenarios, it gives them life, a chance to root themselves.”

  Travis chugged and I watched the bubbles from the bottom of his glass rise.

  “What if they don’t show?”

  “We’ll spend the night on the boat. If we don’t find them by this time tomorrow, I’ll call Dad.” I glanced at my wrist. “Ready?”

  Travis reached across the table and slid his hand into mine and kissed its back before releasing me. “You bet.”

  HOARDS OF PEOPLE STOOD outside the Shakespeare Theatre. There were all types, from fussy in suits and evening wear to jeans and cotton shirts— i.e., Travis and me. Weaving through clusters of patrons, I misstepped, backing into the shoulder of a portly man. He glanced at me, annoyed, and I mumbled, “Sorry.”

  “Should we go inside? Maybe they’re already seated,” Travis said.

  Skirting a knee-high brick wall on the perimeter of the crowd, I held a hand over my brow. My throat tightened. “I don’t know. I kind of figured we’d spot them out here.”

  As show time neared, the crowd thinned. The sun slipped west and a chill cut the air. I’d been stood up, except this wasn’t a date; this was my grandmother who’d sent me down the Thames with an oyster brooch.

  Hands stuffed in his pockets, Travis was patient.

  “I guess we can go in,” I said, beginning to feel the disappointment I tried not to show.

  RICH BROWNS AND GOTHIC RED decorated the theater lobby. An usher flashed a light on our tickets and directed us left. Travis slid an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. Early on, before everything happened in London, I’d been excited to see Twelfth Night. I’d read the play my freshman year and had gotten an A on a composition paper. Now, being here, a joyous anticipation failed to erupt and instead an ominous sour feeling winced inside my stomach.

  Climbing a winding staircase, we emerged onto a second floor. I scanned the back of the heads in the audience, looking for a familiar ponytail accompanying a head of silky white hair fashioned with a jewel-encrusted barrette. A wave of crowd chatter rolled inside the theatre, with an occasional loud cackle that echoed to the roof with acoustical mastery. The lights began to fade as a second usher spoke to me.

  “Please take your seats,” he said as he handed me a show pamphlet.

  The theater darkened and downward steps were lit with a soft glow of inset lighting.

  “Can you see them?” I asked Travis.

  “It’s too dark.”

  The usher placed a guiding hand on my back. “You’re in seats fifteen and sixteen, four rows down.”

  “Thank you,” I said mechanically as I concentrated on our seat location and who was sitting next to them.

  There were four empty stadium seats. Flicking the velvet cushion down, I began to settle myself in when I noticed an envelope labeled Will Call for Rachael O’Brien pinned to my seat.

  Travis strained his neck in all directions. I squinted to my right. A young Asian couple next to me whispered in Chinese. To Travis’s left, past two empty seats, were two middle-aged women. The one closest to him wore an oversized graffiti tee that draped off her shoulder in a Flashdance style. Definitely not GG. Not a familiar face behind us or in front.

  The light disappeared, the curtains opened and the crowd grew silent. Waves of nausea rolled in my chest and I sunk my head into my hands.

  “Rachael, are you okay?” Travis mumbled in my ear.

  My face crushed the program and the envelope as reality sunk in hard and fast. My grandmother, whom I barely knew, had deserted me. I wanted to like her. I did like her. She was so different from my mother. I thought she cared and I’d looked forward to getting to know her on this trip. But she hadn’t been on this trip. Day two, she ditched Travis and me. What was it with the women in my life? The ones who by their very titles—mother, grandmother—were supposed to care? I sat up and smoothed the envelope that had crumpled under my cheek.

  “Shit. I’m gonna have to call Dad.”

  “Shhhhhh.” Someone behind me hissed.

  Travis blew a hard breath and said, “Stay put until intermission.”

  Our seats were good. Middle tier balcony, bird’s-eye view, no obstacles. I should’ve enjoyed seeing the play being enacted on the stage, but I kept shifting my weight, moving my elbow, gnawing my cheek, and futzing with my eye of Horus necklace. The gentleman next me, I noticed, wore a wristwatch that cast a small illuminated circle onto my lap. My eyes scanned everything but the stage. The two people to the right, the six touristy types in front of us, the two younger guys in front of them. I couldn’t help but to keep searching for GG’s or Edmond’s profile.

  I glanced at Travis. He cracked a limp smile, knocked my knee with his, and then refocused on the actors. I thumbed the corners of the crumpled seal on the envelope and opened it. A slip of paper fell on my lap. Inside the black-ceilinged theatre with limited lighting, I couldn’t even see the color of my jeans. As casually as possible, I held the note close to the man in the next seat, but the glow from his wristwatch was hidden under his shirt cuff. Minutes later, he shifted his hand to his mouth to suppress a cough and his sleeve pulled back enough to illuminate the piece of paper.

  Looked for you in Oxford. We’re detained here.

  Need to see a chiropractor as Edmond’s put his back out.

  Don’t worry, nothing serious.

  My grandmother hadn’t abandoned me. Taking the Union Canal with Sonny had kept us apart. Freakin’ old man. If he had spilled the beans in London we could’ve skipped the whole canal diversion, dovecot adventure. Pushing bitterness aside, my heart leapt. The We meant she and Edmond. Looking to the ceiling I exhaled relief. They were okay.

  The Blue Boar Inn on the High Street at sunrise. Have lots to share.

  Look out for Callahan, I sent him ahead.

  That last line miffed me. The boating trip had me worn out. I never signed up for this scavenger hunt and didn’t appreciate being played across English rivers, canals, and countryside as though I were a chess pawn.

  The crowd roared as the Shakespeare comedy continued. I didn’t find it funny. I didn’t find any of this funny.

  My elbow knocked Travis. Absorbed in the theatrics, he didn’t budge. Sliding my hand behind his neck, I leaned in. “I have to go.”

  “Can’t you hold it until intermission?”

  “We have to go.”

  “I don’t have to go.”

  I was out of my seat and climbing over legs. Without looking, I could feel his annoyance upon my back. Crouching down, I tiptoed past shoes and purses then made my way up the stairs and waited a beat for him.

  “Are you sick or something?” he asked.

  That was plausible.

  Grabbing his hand, I led us through the black double doors, careful not to let them slam.

  “That performance was good. I was actually enjoying it,” he began.

  “I can’t sit still until we find Callahan. I’m sure Edmond’s detainment had to do with what’s inside the brooch,” I said, and trotted down the staircase into the lobby, where an atten
dant by the door started her rehearsed script. “If you leave, you may not…”

  The sky had settled into night and a haze from the river left shadowed phantoms across the landscape. I bolted toward a flat grassy patch, dotted by trees.

  “Rachael. What’s going on?”

  I showed him the note. “Callahan is on his way, I want to find him.”

  Travis in tow, I headed for the far side of the grass. We were under the foliage of a tree with a canopy the size of a carnival tent and my ankle twisted.

  Travis picked up a couple of baseball sized jagged nuggets off the ground. “Conkers.”

  “What?”

  “Sonny told us about them.”

  I wasn’t in a reminisce-about-Sonny kind of mood.

  He stuffed some spikey balls into his pockets.

  Moving toward the canal, my mood swung. A moment ago I was elated to know GG and Edmond were safe. Now I felt anxious and wanted the story.

  Not so silently, Travis followed. “This whole trip was a ruse.”

  “For what?”

  “For alone time,” he said.

  Had Travis figured out that I fantasized about him?

  “GG and Edmond are romantically involved. I’m sure of it. The boat ride down the Thames was one big ploy to get us out of the way so they could be together.”

  Was it so bad, he and I being alone?

  I checked over my shoulder, there was no one but us. The closer we came to the water, more dense layers of fog hovered. “That’s a total stretch of your imagination.”

  “I’m not the one with the overly creative apparitions.”

  The boats lining the shore creaked and groaned on the silent ebb of the water. With Her Grace just a few hundred yards away, we scurried along the dirt path that ran parallel to the canal.

  Abruptly stopping, I pivoted on my heel and Travis crashed into me. A heavy mist wrapped around us and in a sharp whisper I said, “You’re preoccupied with GG and Edmond. Maybe you need to focus on your own feelings.”

  Momentarily silenced, closing his open jaw, he began, “What…”