The Peculiar Case of the Lost Colony

by Constance Barker

  “You weren’t terribly kind to me on the plane, Aggie. What do you expect?” Isabella pressed, her expression playful.

  “Seemed as if you had someone else showing you enough kindness,” Agnes retorted. Isabella fell silent, looking fairly chagrined. “Now, come along. Let’s explore the town a bit,” the older woman continued, striding out the door. I glanced between the others, smirking at Isabella’s expression of embarrassment before trailing after Agnes.

  “A day on the town sounds amazing,” I announced. I could only hope I wouldn’t eat my words.

  Chapter Four

  It was rather obvious, even as we drove through the nearby town, that Agnes was still tense. Robert occasionally glanced at her with concern in his gaze, and Isabella was strangely withdrawn—as if afraid of upsetting the other woman even more. I nudged my backseat companion, jerking my head towards Agnes. Isabella exhaled a sigh, pushing me away before scooting up in her seat to get closer to the woman in question.

  “You know, I’ve done my share of research. I think you would play the part of a classic southern belle beautifully,” she grinned, tugging on the sleeve of the elder woman. Agnes considered her with an almost exhausted expression, managing a smile as she patted the back of Isabella’s hand.

  “I’m not so sure. The style is so unbearably garish. It’s something I’d expect to see you in, more than anything,” Agnes teased. Isabella gasped in mock affront, and Robert chuckled from the front seat.

  “Well, there’s a restaurant nearby that doubles as a novelty shop,” he announced. Isabella raised a brow, her smile turning mischievous. “I mean novelties in the most innocent sense. Ciao, Bella,” he continued with a world weary sigh. Isabella raised a brow, crossing her arms and sinking back into the backseat.

  “Never have I been so efficiently dismissed,” she muttered, looking almost pouty as she stared out the window. I swallowed a laugh as effectively as I could, taking Isabella’s place in the middle seat and scooting forward.

  “Well, that could be fun. Get a bite to eat and buy a few knick knacks,” I suggested with a smile, trying to distract Agnes from her obvious stress.

  “Oh! I’ll buy some souvenirs for all my friends,” Isabella blurted, her melodramatic expression replaced with one of excitement. I remained quiet for a moment, thinking of the kindest way to phrase my next question.

  “What friends?” I asked, settling on the blunt approach. Isabella snorted, gesturing around the car. “Yes, but... can’t we just buy something for ourselves? Whatever we want? I mean, it kinda defeats the purpose,” I pressed, receiving a glare in response.

  “Well why don’t you just rain on everyone’s parade, you sad little rain cloud?” She grumbled. I could no longer contain my laughter, covering my mouth to obscure my amusement. “Sorry parade goers, I know you’re just trying to have a bit of fun, but apparently that’s frowned upon in this establishment,” she continued to rant, gesturing wildly at Agnes and Robert. The two older members of our group exchanged a look, and Agnes dissolved into laughter as well, shaking her head in disbelief. Isabella smiled a bit upon seeing the older woman’s amusement, briefly breaking character, as I came to understand. After a moment, however, she sighed dramatically again and turned her glare back towards me. “See. Aggie is near tears because of you. All because of your flagrant disrespect for her favorite person,” she said haughtily. Another round of chuckles, and Isabella relaxed a bit.

  “Alright, alright. Buy your souvenirs! I’m sure the recipients will be thrilled... just absolutely tickled,” I sighed, putting a bit of effort into our little act, as it were. Isabella hummed, nodding sagely.

  “Tickled pink, I’d go as far as saying,” she agreed. With the ‘issue” settled, and Agnes seeming to have forgotten her troubles, Robert pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant we’d been having such a lively debate over.

  “Oh. I wonder if they have biscuits and gravy,” I murmured excitedly. Isabella tilted her head curiously, looking torn between fascination and disgust.

  “Like... cookies? And gravy? ... come on. You’ve gotta be yanking my chain,” she said, following with a soft ‘blech’ sound.

  “Not cookies You’re thinking like... British biscuits. Scones or whatever,” I argued, and Robert chuckled a bit from the front seat.

  “As obligated as I feel to make a stand for the people of Great Britain, do continue,” he suggested, unfastening his seatbelt and getting out of the car. We followed suit, with Isabella’s expression remaining perplexed even as she leaned across the top of the car to scrutinize me.

  “Like... come on, Isabella, you know what a biscuit is. We aren’t that sheltered in Seattle,” I said with my share of exasperation, receiving a dubious roll of the eyes in response.

  “Alright. Well you eat your soggy cookies, and I’m going to get some mac and cheese,” she announced, leading the way into the restaurant. Robert offered me a sympathetic smile, and Agnes patted me on the shoulder, trailing behind Isabella into the restaurant. She nearly ran into Isabella’s back, as the younger woman had abruptly stopped, dead in her tracks, as soon as she stepped inside. “Oooh! Ooh, ooh!” She gasped, rushing ahead.

  “Less homo neanderthalensis and more homo sapien,” Agnes called out, though Isabella paid her little mind. “Heavens, what has you so riled up?” The elder woman continued, trailing behind her housemate with a roll of her eyes. I chuckled, allowing Robert to slip away and ask for a table while the other women flitted from display to display.

  “Look! They have bells! Little tiny bells with the state bird on them! Oh! And thimbles!” Isabella declared, bouncing in excitement.

  “Color me charmed,” Agnes hummed, looking torn between amusement and embarrassment as Isabella began to frantically ring one of the bells.

  “It’s a little baby bell! Listen! Awww!” Isabella continued to croon, and I had to swallow guffaws at her sheer delight with the souvenirs.

  “I don’t really think bells can be designated to an age group,” Agnes hummed, and I very nearly lost what semblance of control I had over my laughter. They were such a pair, and I felt completely blessed to witness this moment between them. Isabella grudgingly placed the bell back on the shelf, looking at Agnes with a sigh.

  “It’s a baby bell. Look. There are different sizes. That’s a mommy bell, and that’s a daddy bell,” Isabella explained, as if she were speaking either to a child or a remarkably slow person. Agnes looked completely lost, and I simply couldn’t handle it anymore. I erupted into laughter at how ridiculous the whole conversation was, with Isabella and what she would call common sense, battling with Agnes and her high intelligence. “It’s not funny, Little Bean! If she doesn’t know, she might separate a family. Then what?” Isabella demanded with a grin.

  “If you ladies are hungry, our table is ready,” Robert interrupted before the conversation could carry on any further. I was grateful, truthfully, convinced I may have wet myself if I laughed any harder. Agnes’ mouth worked open and shut for a moment, and she cast a final lingering glance at the bells before moving to follow Robert.

  “Honestly, Izzie,” I giggled. She only chuckled, shifting her weight to her walking stick and walking alongside me.

  “It took her mind off of the whole death fiasco, didn’t it?” Isabella prompted, and I smiled as I looped our arms together. I hesitated for a moment, a brief thought crossing my mind as I walked with my friend.

  “Your new friend won’t be jealous of me holding your hand, will she?” I asked teasingly, and Isabella sighed dramatically before drawing away from me.

  “It’s a shame, Little Bean, it truly is. I realize I’m irresistible, but I simply must turn down your advances. Try not to be too hard on yourself,” she sighed, and I might have been embarrassed by the people watching us with strange expressions, but I could only continue to chuckle.

  “Alright you two, settle down. Mind your manners, we’re in public,” Robert chastised gently, pulling out a chair for Agnes and allowing
her to sit before taking his own seat. Isabella rolled her eyes, pulling a chair out for me and gesturing grandly towards it.

  “Madame,” she said in a deep and pretentious voice, and I snickered as I took my seat. Agnes leveled her with a serious expression, and Isabella sighed before flipping open the menu. “Yes, mom, sorry, mom,” she mumbled. Agnes smirked, looking at her own menu with a pensive expression. I barely managed to swallow a cheer upon seeing biscuits and gravy among the selection of food items. When the waiter approached to take our order, Agnes politely ordered a glass of tea as well as her food order. Isabella, as she’d been so insistent upon, ordered the macaroni and cheese, and I placed my order for the biscuits and gravy platter. Robert simply asked for a cup of tea as well, folding the menu up and handing it to the waiter. Moments later, the waiter appeared with several glasses, two filled with ice and what I could only assume was the tea that Agnes and Robert had ordered. Isabella took her soda with a smile, and I accepted my water with a slice of lemon. We all took sips of our drinks almost simultaneously, and Robert’s face twisted in disgust as he ingested the tea.

  “Goodness, what is this sugary swill?” He demanded a bit too loudly, and Agnes rolled her eyes as she continued to drink from her cup.

  “Sweet tea, Robert. Don’t you remember the last time we came to Dare County? You were equally disgusted by the tea then. I suppose you’re going a little senile in your old age,” she hummed, and Isabella quickly yanked Robert’s glass away from him and switched out the straws. It seemed the call of sugar was too strong for her to resist, and as she guzzled down the tea, her expression shifted to one of delight.

  “This is even sweeter than the soda. Wanna trade?” She asked of the old British gentleman, and Robert made a face before accepting her glass of soda.

  “I suppose that will work, considering you’ve already claimed it as your own,” he sighed a bit, sipping from the glass of soda. Agnes looked at Isabella with a roll of her eyes, setting her cup down before speaking in conspiratory tones.

  “Some people simply can’t account for taste, dear,” she said in a hushed voice, giving Robert a nudge before laughing off his sour expression. It seemed he couldn’t hold a grudge for long, and he chuckled at the antics of the women as well. It was only a short wait for our food, and Isabella stared at the massive plate of biscuits and gravy that had been placed before me. She tilted her head curiously, and I gave pause before making what I was sure would be a huge mistake.

  “Do you want to try it?” I asked, regretting the words immediately. She grinned, nodding her head and scooping up a large bite. As she tasted the concoction, it seemed as if the gears in her head began to turn. A few moments later, I had a piping hot bowl of macaroni in front of me while Isabella chowed down on the meal I’d been so excited for. I wanted to begrudge the situation, but she looked so darn happy. The macaroni was delicious as well, obviously home made, though I kept that observation to myself. I figured if I continued talking, I would end up without anything to eat at all.

  “Thanks, little Bean,” Isabella grinned, patting her stomach once she finished. I gave her a thumbs up, nearly dropping my food off the table as she jolted to her feet. “Aggie, you’re done? Let’s go check out the store again,” she insisted, and Agnes dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before obligingly rising to follow the younger woman. Robert watched them go with a look of concern, and I was stricken by something in that very moment.

  It was the perfect opportunity to milk the man for information.

  Chapter Five

  Robert continued to sip his soda, seemingly oblivious to how intently I was watching him. If he noticed, he seemed to have made the executive decision to ignore any additional weirdness. Just the same, I wasn’t going to let him get out of it so easily. I pushed my bowl away, holding a hand up as he made to speak. He quieted down, considering me with a rather strange expression himself. I steepled my fingers on the tabletop, speaking in hushed tones to ensure none of the other patrons could hear us.

  “Listen, Robert. I’m going to be frank here—,” I began, only for him to cut me off.

  “I’m much prefer you remain Abigail,” he said airily, dabbing at his face with a paper napkin. I rolled my eyes, internally cursing how everyone in my company seemed to think themselves some kind of comedian.

  “I’m trying to be serious,” I said blandly, and he smiled a bit warily, tucking the napkin in his pocket.

  “As am I, Miss Bean. I’m under the impression that you’re planning to press me for some sort of information, and I must tell you that I’m unable to reveal anything that would make Agnes cross with me,” he replied calmly. I blanched at how transparent I had apparently been, brushing my hair behind my ear in an attempt to play it off.

  “I’m not asking for much. You have to understand that when I took this job, it was under the impression that I’d have some vague idea of what I was trying to accomplish,” I murmured in an even tone, and the man’s expression turned slightly bitter.

  “If all this is for you is a job, then perhaps you would be better served in an alternate occupation,” he suggested none too kindly, his knuckles going white from where he clasped his hands together. I frowned, wanting to snap back an icy retort but knowing it would get me nowhere fast. I rubbed my temples, realizing that this was going to be a much more arduous conversation than I’d anticipated.

  “You seem to be implying that I don’t care about Agnes. I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s absolutely not true. Granted, I viewed it as little more than a job when I first started working alongside Agnes, but she’s become so much more than a boss. She’s my friend. Which is why I’m talking to you—I know you care about her more than nearly anyone. She’s been getting more and more frantic about the idea of finding this formula, and she’s been... off, lately. I can’t really explain it, but she’s been acting terribly strange, especially when the subject of death arises,” I asserted, meeting his gaze and holding it. “Considering our last experience with the formula put us head to head with a madman, you can understand why I would be concerned. If something is troubling Agnes, it’s my priority to know. You’re not her assistant anymore. I am. You’ve been replaced,” I continued, the words coming out much colder than I intended. He flinched, looking away from me with a bitter expression. I parted my lips to apologize, but he held a hand up to stop me.

  “I will admit, you have a point. I obviously can’t help Agnes to every extent she needs any longer. Otherwise, she’d not have hired a new assistant. As much as I agree that you deserve what’s going on in her life, I don’t feel as if it’s my place to discuss as much. When Agnes is ready to reveal her secrets, I’m sure she will. In the meantime, you’ll simply have to be patient,” he said calmly, and I resisted the desire to slap his hand away.

  “You have to give me some kind of clue. At least give me an idea of why this whole adventure is so urgent. Agnes is acting as if it’s a matter of life and death that she find these journal pages, and I don’t want to risk losing her to the same insanity that has gripped others,” I demanded, my voice growing louder with every word. I realized that people were staring and quieted down, speaking in hushed tones once more. “I’m not asking for every dirty detail. I only want to know what makes this so important. What is at risk, here?” I implored. He hesitated, using his straw to stir his soda. His expression was thoughtful, but also vaguely annoyed. I was sure it had something to do with the fact that I’d drawn attention to us, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care too terribly.

  “Agnes is acting like this is a matter of life and death. That’s what you think? You’ve come to that conclusion, but you can’t put together the final, critical pieces? Did you ever stop to think that perhaps it is a matter of life and death? Agnes isn’t prone to melodramatics—” he paused at my incredulous expression. “At least, not to the extent you’re unknowingly implying. She wouldn’t be treating this as such a serious matter if it weren’t one. Now... I’m afraid I
can’t reveal any more than that, and I likely shouldn’t have spilled the beans as far as that go. That is to say, Miss Bean, you are not to tell anyone else what I have divulged to you. Not Isabella, and certainly not Agnes herself. Are we clear on that matter?” He said calmly, though it was obvious that he was troubled by what he had revealed.

  “I... I don’t understand. How could not knowing the formula kill her? Is it some kind of cure, like the scientist implied?” I pressed, desperation flaring up in my voice. His eyes narrowed, and he rose to his feet, apparently done with the conversation. I leaped up, equally annoyed, and made to circle around the table. What I’d do once I got there, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I was sick to death of being treated like some kind of oblivious child. I stopped short, however, as Isabella and Agnes came trouncing through the dining area, both wearing ridiculous wide brimmed hats and white gloves. Robert met my gaze as they approached, his expression clouded with worry, but I decided in that moment not to reveal what I’d learned. At least, not yet. As much as I felt like Isabella was entitled to know, especially considering how close she and Agnes had grown, I didn’t want to be the one to divulge what Agnes was probably waiting for the right moment to reveal, herself.

  “Well, don’t you two look prim and proper,” Robert announced, voice quaking as the two stopped in front of us. Agnes whipped open a fan, fanning her face with it and speaking in an exaggerated southern drawl.

  “Oh, Robert, darling. You do go on,” she said grandly, looking at Isabella with a faint smile. Isabella opened her own fan, fluttering it in front of the lower half of her face and peering over the top with a devious expression.

  “And my, my. What is a proper gentleman like you doing in a place like this?” Isabella implored, botching the accent but managing to lower my metaphorical hackles just the same. “Look, Rob, my man. I bought you a shot glass,” she cheered, fumbling in her bag to produce a glass in the shape of a pig. Or, rather, two pigs, stacked on top of each other. On the side, in chicken scratch print were the words, “Pork the one you love.” I snorted, waiting for Robert to erupt in some indignant outburst that would be properly befitting of a British gentleman upon being presented such a gift.