by Cathy Ace
‘Not for years,’ replied Henry. ‘Why?’
‘I wonder, would you mind if I opened the door of this cabinet?’ asked Alexander. ‘There’s a little key in the glass door, which I believe might do the trick.’
‘Feel free,’ replied Henry in a rather cavalier manner.
Alexander opened the door carefully and reached in his hand. Using the fine silk handkerchief he touched one set of teeth, then another. Eventually he lifted one set off its mounting, just a little, then placed it back again.
He stood back from the cabinet and scratched his head.
‘What is it?’ asked Christine. It was quite clear to her that Alexander was grappling with confusion.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he replied. ‘I … I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t understand what?’ asked Henry, finally joining the couple at the open cabinet.
Alexander held the set of teeth he’d brought with him in front of Henry and Christine. ‘You see the way these teeth are mounted in the bone? They are still pretty rigid, but they are, in all honesty, just a little loose, because they have to be fitted into the bone receptacle. It’s an inevitable part of the process of creating the dentures.’
His audience duly examined the specimen, and nodded.
‘Now look at these,’ he pointed to the contents of the cabinet. ‘At first glance they appear to possess the same property. But, upon closer examination, you can see that the teeth are not individual teeth set with metal pins into a bone “gum line”, but are, in fact, teeth carved from the same mass as the gum.’
‘Does that mean they aren’t Waterloo Teeth, as the label suggests?’ asked Henry, baffled. ‘I don’t think that my grandfather was one to be duped by replicas. Unless he knew that was what he was purchasing all along, and just spun me a yarn or two when I was a boy.’
‘I just lifted a set and it felt very lightweight,’ replied Alexander. ‘Would you mind if I brought one set right out of the cabinet?’
‘As you please,’ replied Henry. ‘My interest is piqued.’
Alexander used the silk handkerchief to remove a set of dentures from the cabinet and looked at them very closely.
‘Look, these teeth are modeled. They have been painted to look like teeth, but they aren’t, and the gum section has been painted to look like bone, but it’s not. The texture is all correct, almost as though they have been made using a mold of the originals.’ He pressed his thumb against the ‘bone’ section. ‘This substance yields under pressure, like some sort of plasticized material. And I suspect that all the other sets are the same.’
‘What was grandfather playing at?’ mused Henry.
‘I don’t think your grandfather had anything to do with this,’ replied Alexander. ‘Every one of these sets of dentures is a copy, a fake. And I think they are relatively recent.’ He held the dentures directly under his nose. ‘Very recent. I can still smell the chemicals coming from the material and, if I’m not very much mistaken, there’s a faint aroma of paint. I’m sorry to say this, Henry, but I think you’ve suffered a very significant theft. And by significant, I mean in both terms of the importance of the collection that was once in this cabinet, and its value.’
‘Which would be what?’ asked Henry casually.
Alexander studied the cabinet and its contents. ‘If everything in here was what these labels suggest, and was original and in good condition, of course, two collectors vying for it could easily run it up to a million, or more.’
‘Do you mean a million pounds?’ asked Henry aghast.
‘Yes,’ replied Alexander calmly. ‘Or more.’
‘Oh dear Lord,’ exclaimed Henry. ‘I’d better phone the police right away. I say, would you mind taking a look at the rest of the collection Alexander? I’m sure you can find your own way back to the other wing. I’m off to the nearest phone.’
‘Here, use my mobile,’ offered Christine.
Henry grabbed it from her hand, trembling.
TWENTY-THREE
When Althea, Dowager Duchess of Chellingworth, and her guest, retired army nurse Mavis MacDonald, alighted from the ancient, if elegant, vehicle in which Ian Cottesloe had transported them from the Dower House to Chellingworth Hall, it was already dark. The sunny afternoon had clouded over, robbing the sky of what had promised to be a pretty, if brief, sunset.
‘I don’t mind admitting that I’m feeling pretty peckish,’ commented Althea as they mounted the stone steps, with Ian offering each of them an arm.
Mavis looked behind Ian’s back at the dowager. ‘Aye, me too,’ she replied with a wink. ‘I hope the cook here is as good as your Mary,’ she added.
‘Different scale of job here, dear,’ replied the duchess. ‘My Mary’s good, but Davies the cook is very good indeed.’
‘Davies the cook?’ queried Mavis.
‘There’s Davies the housekeeper and Davies the cook here at the hall and, I dare say, a few other Davieses I don’t know. We add their occupation to their name around here. It’s the only way to keep all the Davieses, Joneses, Hopkinses, Robertses and Reeses straight.’
Mavis nodded. ‘Aye, it’s much the same with the Mac- and McSomethings in Scotland. Though you might be surprised to find out how many people are named Smith or Brown back home. I was in school with three Dougie Smiths, which was more than a wee bit confusing for the teachers.’
Arriving at the front doors, Ian handed responsibility for his charges to Edward, who led them to the library, where drinks were being served by a very upright young man wearing a suit that Mavis noted was somewhat too large for him. But, before Mavis was able to be handed a drink, or even asked what she might want, there were the introductions to be dealt with.
Immediately they entered the library, Mavis sensed a significant change in Althea’s mood. She even caught a quiet, ‘Well, well. Good for you, Henry,’ as Althea moved past her to greet a woman of quite alarming aspect, who was clearly the Lady Clementine. Mavis was shocked at Althea’s daughter’s appearance – not because of the purple hair, or even the purple chiffon garment she had swathed about her tiny body, but because of the unnatural pallor of her skin. Mavis’s nursing instinct kicked in and it was all she could do to stop herself from telling Clementine to lie down while she drew blood for a whole raft of tests. Instead, she waited patiently while Althea introduced her daughter, while Clemmie introduced Alexander, then Henry introduced Christine and Stephanie Timbers.
Christine and Mavis handled being introduced to each other as though they were strangers much better than Henry managed the entire matter. After what seemed like an entire ballet of noddings and hand-shakings, drinks were finally brought to the now seated group. Small talk ensued, then, eventually, Henry began to regale the group with the tale of the terrible loss he had discovered that afternoon. His recounting of the events caused him to frequently call upon Alexander and Christine to support his points and his astonishment, which they dutifully did with grace and attentiveness.
Mavis listened patiently, while she and Christine kept their eyes averted from each other.
‘The police will be here in the morning,’ Henry concluded. ‘I’ve already told them that I expect them to send someone who knows about these things, and Alexander has been most helpful in being able to refer the matter to a special department within Scotland Yard that has experts in rare antiques.’
Althea settled her shoulders, and sipped her sherry. ‘I cannot remember a time when you regarded your grandfather’s collection as anything but a fairground item,’ she observed acidly. ‘Could your horror at this theft be seen to be a realization of the collection’s value on the open market?’
‘It’s the principle, Mother,’ replied Henry.
‘He’s already checked the insurance, Mother,’ said Clemmie. ‘The collection is covered, but not for as much as it might be worth.’
‘I understand that these items are rare, but why are they so valuable?’ asked Althea of her son.
‘I think our residen
t expert might be able to address that,’ replied Henry, nodding in Alexander’s direction.
‘Indeed?’ replied Althea, looking at Alexander with barely veiled suspicion. ‘How fortunate to have an expert at the hall the very day you discover you have been burgled, Henry. Exceptional planning on your part.’
‘Your Grace,’ responded Alexander, pointedly ignoring the dowager’s insinuations, ‘the market for such specialized antiquities is always unpredictable, but, if there are two or more collectors who wish to acquire such items, that usually pushes up the price. The more people vying for the items, so long as they have the means, the more the price rises. Simple supply and demand.’
‘So am I to assume that such items are in small supply?’ asked the dowager.
Alexander nodded. ‘Due to their unusual, and some might think, less than attractive nature, not many antique dentures have survived. It’s not the sort of item that most people would keep, for display purposes, after they have fulfilled their function within a family. Most will have found their way out of the home either because they have become broken and useless, which many early dentures did, or because they were viewed as unpleasant by those left behind after the death of a loved one. I happen to know there are several obsessively keen collectors in the world looking for such items at the moment. I will, obviously, be happy to lend any knowledge that the police might find useful, and I have already sent an email to my contact at Scotland Yard, who will doubtless be familiar with the names I have listed.’
‘Are they international art thieves?’ asked Clemmie with the gleefulness of a teen, which, for a woman in her early fifties, drew a withering glance from her mother.
‘Not exactly,’ replied Alexander evenly. ‘One is a dentist in Moscow, a very wealthy one. Another is an oil magnate in Texas, who collects a wide range of medical, as well as dental, objects. The third is a gentleman not known to me personally, but whom, I understand, holds a significant position in the government of an African nation. I do not know if any of them are sufficiently driven, or reckless, enough to do it, but theft to order, in the world of art and antiquities, is not unheard of.’
‘And you think one of them sent someone here to steal our teeth?’ asked Clemmie with a laugh. ‘Wait till I tell them this up in London,’ she giggled.
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Henry, ignoring his sister, ‘is why they went to the trouble to make fakes to replace the real ones. Unless you’d come to visit, Alexander, we wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Maybe not for years.’
‘Don’t be silly, Henry,’ chided his mother. ‘The insurance people come every year to count the teaspoons. They’d have noticed.’
Henry shook his head. ‘I know that, Mother, but when they go through that part of the hall they don’t poke about too much. Everything’s closed up. We never move things, and no one goes in there to damage them. As I recall, last time they walked into the collection room, wandered around for a few moments and just counted things in cabinets. The person responsible for checking the east wing appeared to be a twelve year old.’
Mavis wanted to say something, but didn’t dare. Luckily for her, the dowager said it on her behalf.
‘So the thieves had a jolly good idea that fakes might be enough to keep the theft quiet for some considerable time to come,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Which means they might have knowledge about the way in which your collections are examined each year,’ said Christine quietly. ‘Which, in turn, raises questions about the insurance company, and their valuers.’
Mavis nodded. ‘I’m sure the police will look into that angle, my dear,’ she said, drawing a peculiar look from Alexander. ‘They will arrive in the morning, you said, Your Grace?’ she addressed her host.
Henry nodded. ‘Yes. I’m afraid we’ll all have to make statements,’ he said, sounding worried. ‘Of course, you weren’t here at the time we discovered the loss, Stephanie, but you know the place so well, you might be able to throw some light on matters?’
Stephanie had been sitting very upright, sipping her drink and keeping her own counsel, but now Henry had drawn her into the conversation, she was forced to speak. She did so quietly, and without looking directly at Henry. ‘Of course I’ll be glad to help, if I can. But I’ve never been to that part of the building.’
Henry smiled gratefully at the woman, who still didn’t make eye contact with him, then added, ‘This whole thing about being questioned by the police? It might make things a little tricky.’ He looked first at Christine, then at Mavis, with concern etched on his face.
Mavis felt she had to make something very clear. ‘I don’t see why it should be at all difficult, Your Grace,’ she said forcefully. ‘Christine and Alexander happen to be your guests this weekend, and I happen to be your mother’s. Stephanie works here on a daily basis. I am sure we will all be interviewed in private, so we can each tell our story of how we come to be here, or what we might know, or not know, that way. Privately. Not tricky at all.’
‘Yes, Henry, stop panicking,’ added his mother pointedly.
The doors to the sitting room opened and Edward announced dinner. Henry took his mother’s arm, and, rather markedly, Stephanie’s. Alexander accompanied Clemmie, which allowed Mavis and Christine to hang back for a moment – something they had both hoped would happen.
Taking each other’s arm, with a flourish, Mavis whispered, ‘Think the two things are related? The disappearing dentures and the bloodied bobble hat?’
Christine hissed, ‘That sounds so strange, but, yes, I do. Though I don’t know why. Something’s gone from here, something’s been left behind there. No signs of a break-in in either place.’
‘Think the sister, Clemmie, might have something to do with it?’
‘I haven’t warmed to her, but why?’
‘Money.’
‘But why would she want money?’ asked Christine.
Mavis looked at her young colleague with disbelief. ‘Everyone wants money, dear. Even if they’re a lady with a selection of big houses to live in. For free. I don’t know where she gets her cash – her spending money – from, but I bet she’d like more of it. That gaunt look she has? I’ve seen it before; it suggests to me she could have some unhealthy habits. She might know some people who could make those fakes, if she’s as tight with the arty crowd as she mentioned over drinks.’
‘Henry was fortunate that Alexander wanted to see the collection,’ said Christine.
‘I wonder if that’s the case,’ replied Mavis thoughtfully. ‘Bit of an odd one, that Alexander. I cannot put my finger on it, but there’s something there. Reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who. Very annoying. What do you make of him?’
Christine hesitated. ‘I don’t know what to make of him. He’s enigmatic.’
Mavis slowed as she walked, and cocked her head to look up at her companion. A strange little smile played on her face as she said, ‘Now isn’t that an interesting thing for you to say about him?’
‘Heard from Annie at all?’ asked Christine quickly, as they approached the dining room.
Mavis shook her head. ‘Only the report she copied to us last night. Nothing today. Maybe she’s off with her long lost East End friends again? She really came up trumps finding out about that pub in London where they use the hats, didn’t she?’
‘Typical of Annie,’ breathed Christine, ‘always lands on her feet. Like a cat, that woman.’
‘Aye,’ said Mavis with feeling, as Alexander came to escort them to the table, where chatter and fine dining ensued.
TWENTY-FOUR
Annie Parker peeled her eyes half open, and immediately regretted the final few drinks she’d had in the pub downstairs last thing on Saturday night with Jacko James. Each limb of her body felt as though it weighed a ton, so she lay quite still in her terribly uncomfortable bed. The room was no more than a wash of dim light about her, probably thanks to the old fashioned, thick curtains she recalled fighting with, so she closed her dry, achin
g eyes again, and tried to grasp at the fringes of her last memories before she’d fallen asleep.
Unable to settle after writing and sending her report about her exciting discovery at the Saxby home to her colleagues, she’d decided to stay awake to find out why Tristan Thomas had mentioned to Jacko that he’d see him behind the pub at midnight. Luckily for Annie her room overlooked the side and back of the pub, so all she had to do was open her window and make sure she could hear what was going on.
Around ten past twelve she’d heard a muffled conversation between two men. She hadn’t dared poke her head out to confirm that it was, indeed, Tristan and Jacko, but she didn’t need to really, because Jacko’s cockney accent and Tristan’s Welsh one were quite distinctive. Unfortunately, all she’d been able to catch was a variety of words which, when taken either as a whole, or alone, made no sense.
Nonetheless, Annie dutifully noted each word: Hoops. Too late. Cops. Tidy. Idiot. Safe. No. Yes. She. Him. Never. No. Tuesday. She didn’t feel very hopeful that the list would ever make sense, but she’d written it down in her notebook in any case.
Having heard the back door to the pub being locked beneath her window, Annie was startled by a loud bang and a crash not long afterwards. This was immediately followed by the sound of Delyth James screaming down the stairs. ‘You all right down there, Jacko?’
Annie opened her bedroom door, to hear Jacko hissing, ‘Shhh,’ up the stairs. He noticed the crack of light behind Annie and added, ‘Sorry to wake you. Had a bit of an accident.’
Annie took her chance and stepped out of her room. ‘No worries, doll. I couldn’t sleep anyway. Too quiet. No traffic. Who’d have thunk I’d miss it, eh?’
Jacko smiled and his wife withdrew into their room, nodding at the fully-clothed Annie, as she clasped her nightie about her throat.
‘Since you’re up and about, and obviously still wide awake, do you fancy a sneaky one? A drink, I mean, of course,’ called Jacko, chuckling.
Annie made her way down the creaking staircase. ‘Is the Pope a Catholic? You won’t have to ask me twice,’ she quipped. ‘I’ll go with a G and T, please, doll. I can have a bit of a lie-in in the morning – it’s Sunday tomorrow, after all.’ She looked at her watch and added. ‘OK then, it’s Sunday already, just about, but you know what I mean.’