“Thanks,” I said. “Now, come and kiss your daughter. She and I have to drop off a box of clothes at the vicarage, get dinner started, and fetch her brothers.”
“Good thing you had a nap,” Bill said to Bess as he bent over the pram.
I smiled as he nuzzled Bess’s cheek and giggled when he rose to nuzzle mine, but I left Wysteria Lodge feeling as though I had the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Though I tried very hard to think levelheadedly about Badger and his potentially ill-gotten gains, I couldn’t help wondering what I would do if Adam confirmed my suspicions about Aunt Dimity’s bracelet.
“How can I tell her?” I asked Bess as I put her in her car seat. “How can I possibly tell Aunt Dimity that Badger is a crook?”
Sixteen
Finch’s glorious warm spell came with me to London the following morning. I arrived at Paddington Station to find its platforms dry and its vast glass-and-wrought-iron roof flooded with soft sunlight.
I left my umbrella in my shoulder bag, tucked snugly beside Badger’s bracelet, unbuttoned my voluminous raincoat, and allowed myself to be carried along on a tide of travelers to the nearest cab stand, where I joined the fast-moving queue. I scarcely had time to check my watch before I was whisked away to the British Museum in a classic London taxi driven by a friendly, talkative gentleman who knew exactly where the south entrance was.
“Piece of cake,” I murmured smugly.
As it turned out, the south entrance was the only entrance my family and I had ever used. The imposing Greek Revival colonnade, the pediment depicting humankind’s rise from ignorance to enlightenment, and the Union Jack fluttering from the white flagpole atop the pediment were pretty hard to forget. As I paid the cabdriver, I harbored uncharitable thoughts toward Bill for failing to inform me that I would recognize the south entrance as soon as I saw it.
I spotted Adam leaning against one of the colonnade’s towering columns and ran up the wide stairs to greet him. His response was so muted that I pulled him aside to find out what was up with him. I detected clear signs of strain in his cornflower-blue eyes.
“Adam,” I said, “if you have to attend a lecture or work on a paper, we can easily reschedule today’s outing.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather go ahead with it,” he said. “I’m hoping it’ll distract me from . . .” He bowed his head and sighed sorrowfully.
“From what?” I asked.
“From Helena,” he replied.
My eyebrows rose. “Your girlfriend?”
“My ex-girlfriend,” he stated grimly. “Helena traded me in for a bloke who doesn’t have to work for a living.”
“Good riddance,” I said without thinking and immediately regretted my words. “Forgive me, Adam. I’m truly sorry about Helena. Breakups are always tough.”
“Do you know what the worst part of it is?” he asked, scuffing the ground with his boot. “The worst part is that I’ll have to tell Carrie Osborne that she was right about Helena.”
“If that’s the worst part,” I said, “maybe it was time for a breakup.”
I could have kicked myself for making yet another thoughtless remark, but Adam responded with a rueful smile.
“Helena’s change of heart was a blow but not a surprise,” he admitted. “I’ve seen it coming for a while. I just wish Carrie hadn’t seen it first. Ah, well . . .” He lifted his chin, threw back his shoulders, and turned toward the nearest door. “Come on, Lori. Let me show you one of the most magnificent—”
He broke off as my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my shoulder bag, glanced at the name on the small screen, and looked apologetically at Adam.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, and raised the phone to my ear. “Hello, Carrie?”
“Lori!” she boomed. “Glad I caught you. Chocks, Ginger, and Fish are here, and they’ve settled in for the day. How quickly can you get to London?”
“I’m already here,” I told her. “I’ll be with you shortly. Thanks for the heads-up, Carrie.”
“Dying wishes must be honored,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”
I dropped the cell phone in my shoulder bag and turned to Adam.
“I’m afraid Sutton Hoo will have to wait,” I said.
“Are the Battle of Britain boys at the coffeehouse?” he asked.
“They are,” I said. “Would you mind becoming my Bloomsbury guide again? You know how to get to Carrie’s Coffees from here and I don’t.”
“We can be there in ten minutes,” he assured me.
“Are you ready to face Carrie?” I asked.
“She probably knows about Helena already,” he replied philosophically. “Bloomsbury is like a village. News travels fast among the locals.”
“I know what you mean,” I said feelingly, and followed him as he raced down the stairs.
I had no time to gawk at the buildings, gardens, and statues we passed on our way to Carrie’s Coffees. I was too busy keeping up with Adam as he dodged in and out of foot traffic and dashed across streets without the aid of stoplights. By the time we reached the coffeehouse, I was winded but exhilarated.
The prospect of meeting three Battle of Britain veterans was thrilling all by itself. If one or more of my three lines of inquiry panned out, however, I’d also stand a very good chance of bringing my Badger hunt to a successful conclusion. If fortune continued to smile upon me, Aunt Dimity’s long-lost admirer would be able to convince me that he’d acquired her bracelet legally.
Adam seemed to brace himself as we entered the coffeehouse, but Carrie greeted him with an understanding nod.
“I heard about Helena,” she said. “Here’s hoping for better luck next time!”
“Thanks,” he said gratefully. He gave me a look of mingled disbelief and relief as he hung his jacket and my raincoat on the pegs near the door.
“Give me a minute, Lori,” Carrie went on, “and I’ll introduce you to the chaps.”
The coffeehouse was more crowded than it had been during my previous visit, but I had no trouble picking out Carrie’s boys. Not only were they sitting in the leather chairs reserved for them, they were far and away the oldest customers in the place. While I waited for Carrie to finish taking an order, I realized that I could identify the three men without her help.
Chocks, the mechanic who’d roasted his hands pulling a pilot from a burning Hurricane, sat to the left of the faux fireplace. He cradled his teacup in hands that looked as though they’d melted, then solidified in a mottled, puckered patchwork of skin grafts.
Fish, I was certain, sat across from Chocks. The kneecaps he’d broken when he’d ditched his Spitfire in the English Channel would account for the wheelchair parked against the wall behind his chair.
Ginger had his back to me, but the awkward way in which he lifted a scone from the plate on the low table in front of him suggested that the bullet he’d taken in the shoulder from a passing Messerschmitt had left him with a limited range of motion.
One thing was certain: The Battle of Britain boys hadn’t been boys for a very long time. Their thinning hair was as white as snow, their faces were deeply creased, and their suits hung loosely from their diminished frames, but their eyes were full of life when Carrie brought Adam and me over to meet them.
“Pull up a chair, young lady,” Ginger said after Carrie returned to the front counter. “You, too, young man.”
Adam and I borrowed chairs from neighboring tables and placed them on either side of the trompe l’oeil fireplace. Adam sat next to Chocks and I seated myself beside Fish, but the men directed their initial comments at Adam.
“Hear you’re having a spot of woman trouble, young man,” said Ginger.
“If a woman’s giving you trouble,” said Chocks, “she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Best to move on,” Fish advised.
“Oh, I will,” sai
d Adam, “but maybe not today.”
The three old friends chuckled sympathetically, and Chocks patted Adam’s knee with a clawlike hand. I thought of the enormous sacrifices he and his brothers-in-arms had made and wondered if the rest of Carrie’s customers would be willing to do the same. Most of them, I told myself, looked as if they wouldn’t have the courage to dress in nondesigner clothing.
“Penny for your thoughts, young lady,” said Ginger.
His words brought me out of my reverie.
“I’m not sure my thoughts are worth a penny,” I told him, “but since you asked . . .” I let my gaze rove over the young men and women sipping their espressos and savoring their quiches. “If Britain went to war today, I’m not sure this lot would be up to it.”
“They’re braver than you think,” said Ginger. “If their backs were to the wall, as ours were, they’d do their bit. I know what Carrie’s told you about us—she tells everyone the same nonsense—but don’t mistake my chums and me for heroes. We’re ordinary blokes, just like them”—he hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the café’s stylish patrons—“but you’d be surprised by what ordinary blokes can do when they’re pushed hard enough.”
“We were gobsmacked by what we did,” said Chocks, and he laughed again with his friends, who nodded their agreement.
“Carrie tells us you’re looking for one of the old crowd,” said Fish, after the laughter faded. “A chap who used to come to the Rose Café.”
“That’s right,” I said. “He had dark, curly hair and a dark beard, and he called himself Badger.”
“I remember the beard,” said Chocks. “Not many chaps wore beards round here in those days. He stood out.”
“I remember the beard, too,” said Fish, “and the pretty girl he met here.”
“We all remember the pretty girl,” said Chocks.
“Why do you remember the girl?” I asked. “It was an awfully long time ago.”
“She was an awfully pretty girl,” said Fish, grinning. “And she came here every day for weeks on end, asking about the bearded chap. Seems they’d had a tiff.”
“She wanted to know where the bearded fellow lived,” said Ginger. “She went from table to table, asking everyone in the café. It’s not the sort of thing a chap forgets.”
“The pretty girl was my friend,” I said. “Before she died, she asked me to find the bearded fellow.”
“Why?” Ginger asked bluntly.
“She wanted me to give him a message,” I explained.
“She left it a bit late,” Ginger commented.
“Better late than never,” said Chocks.
“Did your friend ever tell you why things didn’t work out between her and . . . Badger, did you call him?” Ginger asked. “A blind man could see he was mad about her, and she seemed to like him well enough.”
“She did like him,” I said. “She liked him very much, but she’d lost her fiancé in the war, and—”
“Ah,” Fish interrupted, nodding. “Couldn’t move on, eh?”
“No, I’m afraid she couldn’t,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about Badger since then, have you?”
“We haven’t heard about him,” Chocks replied, “but we’ve caught glimpses of him from time to time.”
My heart seemed to skip a beat, and I leaned forward in my chair. To my utter amazement, my three lines of inquiry seemed to be on the verge of panning out big-time.
“Do you know where he lives?” I asked, on the edge of my seat in more ways than one.
The three men shook their heads.
“Sorry,” said Chocks.
“Not a clue,” said Fish.
“When Carrie told us about you,” said Ginger, “we had a think about this Badger chap. We came to the conclusion that we didn’t know the first thing about him.” He looked from Chocks to Fish, then turned to me with a maddeningly mischievous smirk. “But we know someone who does.”
“Who?” I asked, restraining the urge to stamp my foot.
“Her name is Sarah Hanover,” said Ginger. “She’s the great-granddaughter of Nigel Hanover, the chap who owned the Rose Café. I rang her yesterday, and I learned a few things that surprised me.”
“Carrie rang her after you arrived,” Chocks said to me, “and asked her to come along.”
“Here she is now,” Fish announced, looking toward the door.
My heart began to pound as the answer to Aunt Dimity’s prayers entered the coffeehouse, said hello to Carrie, and strode purposefully toward the Battle of Britain boys.
Seventeen
Sarah Hanover looked as if she might be in her midtwenties. She was a fresh-faced, pretty girl, with almond-shaped blue eyes, dark lashes, and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore her long brown hair in a ponytail pulled back from straight bangs, and though she was petite, she was pleasantly curvy.
Instead of the standard youth uniform of top, jeans, and sneakers, she wore a short, tailored black wool jacket over a fitted dress patterned with brightly colored swirls. Black tights and ballet flats completed a look that was sophisticated but not in the least intimidating.
As she wound her way between the coffeehouse’s tables, I heard Adam catch his breath and turned to look at him. His lips were parted, and his blue eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the approaching damsel. When she reached us, he jumped to his feet.
“Please, take my chair,” he said. “I’ll get another.”
“Thank you,” said Sarah. Her smile produced a fetching pair of dimples as she took Adam’s place next to Chocks.
Adam managed to trip over his feet twice while retrieving the extra chair, but he was composed enough to place it carefully between Fish and Ginger, a strategic location that would allow him to feast his eyes on the new arrival without being too obvious about it. My inner matchmaker noted hopefully that she wore no rings on either hand.
Chocks, Ginger, and Fish exchanged knowing glances. Their amused smiles spoke volumes, but they were too kind to tease a freshly smitten young man in front of the young woman who’d smitten him. They greeted Sarah Hanover like an old friend and introduced her to Adam and to me.
Carrie, too, displayed remarkable self-restraint. She’d observed Adam from the moment he’d jumped to his feet, but when she brought us a tray loaded with miniature scones, tiny custard tarts, an enticing selection of petits fours, two pots of tea, and enough cups and saucers to go around, she placed it on the low table without even looking at him.
“Lovely dress,” she said to Sarah. “Another one of yours?”
“Yes,” Sarah replied with a becoming blush. “I found the jacket at the Oxfam shop on Goodge Street, but I made the dress myself.”
“Such a talented girl,” said Carrie. “And so thrifty!”
She nodded to the rest of us matter-of-factly and went back to work, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn’t the only matchmaker in the coffeehouse.
“Awfully good of you to join us, Sarah,” said Ginger.
“Yes,” I chimed in. “It’s very good of you, Sarah. Is it true that you know Badger?”
“I haven’t met him,” she said, “but I’ve known the story of Badger and Dimity since I was a child.”
I almost gasped. I wasn’t used to hearing Aunt Dimity’s name spoken aloud in public, much less by a stranger, but I covered my startled reaction by pouring myself a cup of tea.
“It was a story passed down through my family,” Sarah was saying, “a love story with an unexpected ending.”
“I talked it over with you yesterday,” said Ginger. “But you take it from the beginning, Sarah, so Lori can see the whole picture.”
“That’s the plan,” she said and the dimples made another appearance as she smiled at me. “My great-grandfather, Nigel Hanover, owned Carrie’s Coffees before, during, and after th
e war, when it was known as the Rose Café.”
I couldn’t tell her that a dead woman had mentioned Mr. Hanover’s name to me recently, so I confined myself to an interested nod.
“To Great-Granddad, the Rose Café was a kind of theater,” she went on, “and his customers were the players. When he sold the business and retired, he loved to talk about the comedies and the tragedies he’d witnessed. But the story he told most often—the story my grandfather told to me—concerned a young man called Badger and a young woman named Dimity.”
“Is Badger the chap’s real name?” asked Fish.
“Let the girl talk,” Ginger scolded.
“Sorry,” said Fish, and he motioned for Sarah to continue.
“My great-grandfather was on the spot when Badger fell head over heels in love at first sight with Dimity,” said Sarah. “Great-Granddad called it a coup de foudre—a thunderbolt. Badger had always been a rather shy man, but his shyness fell away when he caught sight of Dimity. Something about her allowed him to come out of his shell.”
“He lit up like a Christmas tree whenever she was around,” said Fish, apparently unable to contain himself.
“That he did,” Chocks agreed, nodding.
“Great-Granddad had seen many couples meet at his café,” Sarah said, “but he’d never seen a pair more suited to each other. Badger would show up early whenever they were due to meet, so he could lay claim to ‘their’ table, and he made sure a cup of tea was waiting for her when she arrived, so she wouldn’t have to join the queue. They’d talk for hours about everything under the sun, and when their cups were empty, Badger would tell Dimity to stay put while he fetched fresh cups of tea for both of them.”
“Sounds like a real gentleman,” said Fish.
“He was a real gentleman,” said Sarah. “Great-Granddad was absolutely convinced that he would see an engagement ring on Dimity’s finger before the month was out.” She paused. “But he didn’t.”
“What happened?” Fish asked.
“Great-Granddad didn’t know,” Sarah answered. “They seemed to be getting along famously, when suddenly and for no apparent reason, Badger fled the café, never to return.”
Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure Page 15