The two took a stroll through the grounds and stumbled upon a small graveyard just off the back of the church. Many of the tombstones had flowers—some fresh and some plastic—leaning up against them. Moss had grown up over the markers, making a few impossible to read, and others were even less tended, sagging at odd angles as if the people buried there had been forgotten.
Xena hugged her sweater closer to her and read an inscription. “Emma Marsh. Died when she was just two years old. Sad.” She glanced at the next headstone. “Winston Thompson. Beloved husband and father . . .”
Xena moved on to another marker and stopped.
“Xander!” she called. “Come back!”
Xander, who had been wandering across the churchyard, turned. When he saw Xena's expression, he broke into a trot.
“Look at this!” she said, pointing at the third headstone. “Another clue!”
CHAPTER 9
What is it?” Xander asked.
“Read it,” she said.
He bent down. “Cyril Batheson. And he died only two years ago!”
“You know what this means?” Xena asked, almost whispering.
Slowly, Xander nodded. “It means that there are still Bathesons in Taynesbury. Or at least there was one, up until two years ago.”
“Come on!” Xena said. “People usually bury family members near one another. Maybe there are more Bathesons here.”
And there were, but they were all from long, long ago. Finally, just when they were about to give up, Xander spotted something. It was a headstone so small and overgrown with moss that they had already walked by it once. Xander squatted and scraped at the moss with his thumbnail.
“Sophie, daughter of Nigel Bath—” He almost stopped breathing.
Xena stooped next to him. “Keep scraping!” she said. But the rest of the stone had crumbled away under the moss.
“So maybe he did have a daughter!” Xena said. “She must have been the model!”
Xander nodded. “I wonder why she was never mentioned?” he asked. “Now we have to find some living Bathesons!”
At that moment the cell phone rang. As it tweedled out “Yankee Doodle,” a woman placing a bouquet of flowers on a grave glanced at them curiously. Xena blushed and pressed the Talk button.
“Hi, Dad,” Xena said. She crossed her fingers that their parents weren't on their way to pick them up.
“You kids doing okay?” Dad asked.
“Sure,” Xena said.
“Can you three stand being on your own another hour or so? They're about to start a concert of Elizabethan music here.”
Xena glanced over at Xander and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Okay,” she said. “We're touring an old church now.”
“Excellent! We'll give you a call when we're on our way over and arrange a place to meet.”
“Okay,” Xena said and hung up.
“Xander,” she said. “We have an hour. What do we do now?”
“Wait a sec.” Xander ran into the church. He came out a few minutes later with a piece of paper, which he waved at his sister.
“Directions to the Batheson house!” he called triumphantly. “I told the guy sweeping the floor that we were their distant cousins, and he told me that there's a lady here who was a Batheson before she got married. Her name is Mrs. Emerson now.”
“How come the waitress had never heard of her?” Xena tried to grab the paper from him.
“Nuhuh,” he said, clutching it close. “I can get us there. Maybe that waitress isn't from around here. The guy said it's a short walk to the house. Let's go see if she knows something!”
“Okay,” Xena said. “Just flash those dimples, and she'll answer whatever you ask.”
Xander gave Xena a huge jack-o'-lantern smile and his dimples appeared. “I wonder if the painting is hidden at the house,” he said as he trotted to keep up with his sister's long strides. “Maybe there's a studio. Hey, maybe he painted a picture over it and some innocent-looking painting has the purple-hat girl underneath.”
“If he did, I wonder if the SPFD's lab could detect it,” Xena said.
Xander said, “I don't think it's that hard. They X-ray it or something. But unless we really need the lab I want to keep the society out of it. I don't want that rotten Andrew knowing what we're doing.”
They walked on a narrow lane with tall hedges on both sides. A Border collie ran out of a house and barked at them. Its tail was wagging, but there was an unmistakable warning in its eyes. Xena shivered.
“What?” Xander asked.
“Nothing,” she answered. “Just cold.”
Xander stopped and consulted his scrap of paper. He glanced at the gate in front of them. “Something's wrong,” he muttered.
Xena snatched at the paper again and this time she was successful. “Number 76, Lilac Lane,” she read aloud. “The Willows. What does that mean, ‘The Willows’?”
“The guy said that's the name of the house.”
“They name their houses here?”
Xander shrugged and looked at the house. “I guess so. But there's got to be some mistake.” He hadn't been in England very long, but he could tell that this wasn't some historic mansion. It was a very small, very pretty, but very modern cottage.
“You're right,” Xena replied. “This can't be the Batheson house. It's too new.”
“Oh, but it is, young lady,” a voice behind them said. They turned. A middle-aged woman was looking at them with sparkling green eyes. She opened the gate and let herself in. She didn't close the gate, but neither did she invite them in, and she kept one hand on the latch, holding a shopping bag in the other hand.
“Are you Mrs. Emerson?” Xena asked.
“I am,” the woman said. “And what can I do for you?”
“We're doing a project on Nigel Batheson the painter,” Xander broke in, giving the woman his best wide-eyed little-boy look. “We're going to a special exhibit of his paintings with our school, and our teachers will give us extra credit if we write a paper on him.”
The woman beamed at Xander. Was it because he was so appealing, or was she pleased to talk about Nigel Batheson? Xena could understand that. She had found out only the other day that she was descended from Sherlock Holmes, and already she was proud of the connection.
“What do you want to know?”
“First,” Xander said, “did he live in this house?”
“This house?” Mrs. Emerson looked amused. “No, of course not. His home was destroyed in the blitz.”
“The what?” Xena asked.
“The blitz, during the Second World War.” They must have still looked blank, because she went on. “We were bombed. The old house took a direct hit. Fortunately, no one was at home.”
Xena felt her heart sink. If there were any clues in the old house they'd have been blown up with it. She wasn't about to give up though. We'll solve it, she silently promised her longdead ancestor. We'll find the painting for you.
Xander decided to plunge right in. “We're mostly curious about that missing picture that Nigel Batheson painted, the one of the girl wearing a purple hat?”
“So are a lot of people, dear!” Mrs. Emerson said with a chuckle. She shifted the bag to her other hand. “I'm afraid there's not much I can tell you, and I'd like to put my shopping away.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to the painting?” Xander asked anyway.
“Of course not,” the woman said. “If I did, it wouldn't be missing, now, would it?”
“And what about Sophie Batheson?” Xena asked. “There's a gravestone in the churchyard that says she was Nigel's daughter. But he didn't have any daughters, did he?”
“Oh, that was my cousin Sophie,” the woman said. “Her father was named Nigel Batheson after his own grandfather, the famous painter. Sophie died as a baby, poor lamb.”
What a disappointment. The lady was turning away, and Xander said hurriedly, “And we were wondering who the model was.”
With a click the gate slammed shut. �
�Sorry, love,” the woman said. “But I have no idea, I'm afraid. I must get on with my chores. Good luck with your essay.”
“But—” Xander began. Too late. She had gone inside the house, and the firm way the door closed behind her left no room for doubt about whether she was going to ask them in.
“Smooth move,” Xena said.
“Well, I didn't hear you come up with anything better,” he snapped.
“Don't get mad at me,” Xena said. “We're no closer to finding the painting, and if we don't work together we're never going to solve this case in time for the Batheson exhibit!”
The sun was setting as they turned into the street that led to the Dulcey Hotel. They had dropped off Andrew first, and now it was late and everyone was tired. Dad let the two of them out at the front door of the hotel while he and their mom took the car back to the garage.
Then Xander saw something that made his heart stand still. “Xena!” he said. “Look! It's her again!”
Xena turned around with what seemed to Xander like maddening slowness. “Who?” she asked. “Where? What are you talking about?”
“There!”
“I don't see—” But then she stopped talking and just stared. A little girl with golden curls, a purple hat, and a long gray coat was sliding into a car. It sped off.
“See?” Xander said. “I told you she was real!”
CHAPTER 10
But if we have to go to school we won't ever be able to solve this case,” Xander said.
“At least it's only half days for the first week.” Xena was stuffing her pajamas into her suitcase so that their parents could move everything while they were at school. “And Sherlock had obstacles too. We'll figure it out.” She sounded more confident than she felt.
Their mother came in and surveyed them. She straightened Xander's tie and pulled Xena's shirt collar out from under her sweater.
Xander stuck his finger inside his tie and tried to loosen it. No good. “Do you want to strangle me?” he demanded, but his mother just laughed.
“Most schools in England require uniforms,” she said. “Even an international school. Personally, I think it's a great idea.”
“You would,” Xena muttered. They hauled their suitcases outside and loaded them into the car. Xena looked down at her blue-and-green plaid skirt, thick leather shoes, and white socks. “Don't you ever tell my friends back home,” she said to Xander as they settled into the backseat.
“I won't if you won't,” he said.
“Deal.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Xena saw Xander wipe his palms on his trousers. The Holmeses had never moved before, and she and Xander weren't used to being the new kids.
“It's okay,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “Just wait till you get out on the soccer field and show them what you can do. They'll love you.”
He gave her a tight smile, then turned to look out the window again.
Those were the only words they spoke until they pulled up in front of a building that looked like all the apartment houses around it: rectangular, plain brick, with big windows.
Mom got out of the car and climbed the stairs, pretending not to notice that they weren't following her.
“Well,” Xena finally said. “It looks like we have no choice.” They got out and trailed after her.
As Mom opened the door to the school, a burst of noise and laughter greeted them. Three girls wearing the same uniform as Xena's went past, walking that stiff-legged walk that's as fast as you can go without getting yelled at for running in school. They shot curious glances her way.
The hallway was wide and the floor was made of polished brown wood. Lockers had lined the corridors in Xena's middle school, but there was nothing like that here. On the wall was a bulletin board with a map of the world and round-headed pins stuck into it. A large sign proclaimed OUR STUDENTS COME FROM EVERY CONTINENT EXCEPT ANTARCTICA!
From behind closed doors came the familiar squeak of chalk. A choir seemed to be rehearsing somewhere down the hall. Xena felt herself relaxing a bit. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here. School was school, after all.
Then their mother beckoned to them, and almost before they knew what was happening, they had been introduced to a man who said he was “the head.”
“Like the Wizard of Oz?” Xander whispered, trying to make his sister laugh.
But Xena wasn't in the mood and said, “No, dummy, like the headmaster, the principal.”
Their mother signed some papers, then turned to Xena and Xander. “Now, don't forget. You're going to our new flat after school, not the hotel, okay?”
They nodded, and then Mom told them good-bye, made sure they had their house keys and money for the ride home, and left.
A knock came at the door. “Ah, that must be your guide,” the headmaster said. He called out, “Come!” and in walked Andrew Watson.
This has got to be a joke, Xena thought.
Andrew's welcoming smile vanished. He turned to the headmaster and said, “Are these the new kids you wanted me to take around?”
“Yes, indeed,” the headmaster said. “Your aunt suggested it. Off you go now, and don't forget that you're to collect them at the end of the day and get them started on their way home.”
“Yes, sir,” Andrew said. He began walking down the corridor so fast that even Xena had a hard time keeping up.
Xander broke into a jog and said, “I thought this was an international school.”
“It is.”
“But you're English!”
“Right,” Andrew replied. “My mum's from South Africa, and my parents want me to go to school with kids from other places. So they enrolled me here.” And he didn't say another word as he dropped them off at their classroom doors.
The first day flew by in a whirl. The other students were clearly accustomed to newcomers, and most of them were friendly. Xena tried out for the choir, and the director told her that he was pleased to have another alto.
Xander planned to sign up for soccer tryouts the next morning. If he made it, he'd have his first scrimmage that same afternoon.
And since neither had studied foreign languages before, they were both put in the beginning Spanish class, which was taught by a young woman from Paraguay.
Xena and Xander didn't see Andrew again until the end of the day. He met them at the door.
“If you were real detectives,” Andrew said, “you'd be able to find your way to the Tube without me.”
Fine, Xander thought. He spotted a sign saying SUBWAY and headed for it.
“Where are you going?” Andrew called after him. “It's this way.”
“No, it isn't,” Xander called back. He went down the stairs at a trot and found himself in an underground pedestrian crossing. Oh great, he thought, and retraced his steps to where the other two were waiting.
“In England, a subway is a passage under a busy street,” Andrew explained.
“No kidding,” Xander muttered. He didn't want to look at Andrew to see if he was smirking, so he kept his head down as Andrew guided them to the right train. As it pulled out of the station, they saw him taking the stairs two at a time to get out of the station. At least they weren't going back to the hotel, but to their new flat with its high ceilings, big windows, and fireplaces.
As soon as they were in the door, Xander tore off his school jacket and threw it onto the floor. “Stupid thing,” he muttered. “And why is there a giraffe on it?” Their mother had already explained to them that the school's logo reflected the founder's Kenyan origin, so Xena didn't answer.
Pretty soon Xander quit grumbling. “Let's get changed and start looking for that girl we saw yesterday,” he said. “She's got to live around here someplace.”
“What makes you think that?” Xena asked, unpacking her backpack.
“The first time I saw her from the bus, she was walking right near the hotel, remember?”
Xena nodded.
“And the next time she was across the s
treet. The hotel's only a few blocks away. We could go—”
“Sorry, but you're not going anywhere today,” their mom said, coming in the door. “We've got a lot of work to do.” They looked past her to the piles of boxes and suitcases.
Their search for the girl in the purple hat would have to wait.
The next morning Xander made the soccer team, but he wasn't sure if this was going to be a good thing. He hadn't played very well. He made it because only three boys tried out this season and Coach Craig had to take him. And even then the coach wouldn't give him a uniform until he promised to start calling the game football, not soccer. Worse yet, it turned out that the captain of the team was none other than Andrew.
Now that the school day was finally over, Xander was determined to make a better impression at the scrimmage. After all, back home he was the star of his team. He entered the locker room filled with guys changing into their uniforms and cleats, and took a seat next to a new player from Australia named Simon.
“Hey, don't worry about missing those goals this morning, mate,” Simon told him. “You'll get better with practice.”
“Thanks,” Xander said and changed into a jersey with an emblem of a cartoonish giraffe on it. He and some team members filed out onto the middle of the field. Xander spotted Andrew, and his stomach twisted into a knot.
“I wasn't sure if the Yank was going to show,” Andrew muttered to a teammate, just loud enough for Xander to hear.
The coach clapped his hands for attention. “Okay, Giraffes! I've arranged for us to scrimmage with a visiting team—the Knuckers.”
“What's a Knucker?” Xander whispered to Simon.
“A legendary beast,” Simon replied. “A sea serpent. There's a folktale about it scaring the farmers in the south of England.”
“Oh,” Xander said. A fierce sea serpent seemed way cooler than a dorky giraffe.
“This is just a practice game,” Coach Craig told them, “but I still want you to play hard. Got it?”
“Right!” the team shouted. “Go, Giraffes!”
The two teams met in the middle of the field. The Knuckers wore bright green jerseys bearing the image of two scaly sea serpents, one blue, one yellow, battling on top of a gray shield. Xander thought the crest looked cool—and it kind of reminded him of something. Before he could figure out what, a whistle blew and the game began.
The 100-Year-Old Secret Page 5