The Digger's Rest

by K. Patrick Malone

  Ten minutes later the woman came out through the kitchen door with a tray, setting it down on the table next to them. Without a word, she put the coffee pot on the table between them and put Simon’s breakfast plate down in front of him. Then she took the other plate and roughly slammed it down before Mitch.

  “Whoa,” Mitch said looking to Simon to see if he was seeing the same thing. Simon just kept his eyes down, waiting for her to go away. “Excuse me, Miss. Did I do something to offend you? If I have, please accept my apologies,” Mitch said honestly and politely. She turned and looked at him with fire in her eyes.

  “Well, if you mean other than being a rich American with too much money and nothing better to do with your time than come down here and show us poor ignorant villagers how much you have and how easy it is to disrupt our lives. No, I don’t think you have, Dr. Bramson,” she sniped at him in the same educated English accent as the men, leaving him speechless.

  As she turned to go, Malcolm was standing behind her, blocking her way. Simon felt like he wanted to crawl under the table, any sign of conflict always made him feel like hiding.

  “Ivy, please…” was all Malcolm could get out before she pushed past him and rushed back through the kitchen door. He turned to Mitch and Simon. “Please pardon my sister, she’s been a little overwhelmed around here lately and the stress is showing,” he said, rubbing his forehead, flushed with embarrassment. “Please accept all your drinks on the house tonight.

  “Malcolm, that’s not necessary. I’m not one of those Americans,” Mitch said, feeling his own embarrassment and putting his hand out to Malcolm. “It’s alright.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Bramson. I appreciate that,” Malcolm said and left, going through the kitchen door where his sister had fled.

  A few minutes later, the sound of dishes smashing came through the closed door. A woman’s voice shouting, “I will not…” and Malcolm’s voice saying “Ivy, please…” Then silence.

  Just as Mitch and Simon were finishing their breakfast, keeping their heads down, half expecting dishes to come flying through the door at them at any minute, they heard another woman’s voice, much closer to them.

  “Dr. Bramson, so good to finally see you again,” They looked up. It was Lady Madeline Cotswold with an attractive young brunette standing behind her.

  “Lady Cotswold,” Mitch said standing up instantly. Simon followed his lead. Mitch took her hand and bowed. “I wasn’t aware that we’d met. I certainly would have remembered such an occasion,” he said.

  “Well, we didn’t, officially,” Lady Madeline said, “But I was in attendance at your Bayeux Gala. You were just so busy, we never got to actually meet.”

  Mitch felt honored. “I wish I’d known. I would definitely have made time for you, Lady Cotswold.”

  “I did manage to grab a few minutes with Jack Edgeworth though. We’re old friends from our mutual British Museum days,” she said smiling.

  “Oh, please forgive me. Lady Madeline Cotswold, this is my assistant, the soon-to-be Dr. Simon Holly.” Simon stepped up, took Lady Cotswold’s hand and bowed as he had done with Madame Duvalier. “I’ve read so much of your work. It’s truly a great honor to meet you, Lady Cotswold” Simon said, bowing again, thinking, English aristocracy. Holy Moly! What next?

  “Why, thank you, young man. It’s good to know that I’m still read somewhere in the world,” she said dryly, but flattered nonetheless. “…and this is my assistant Miss Sandrine Boucher,” Lady Madeline said, bringing Sandrine forth to meet the men. They each took her hand and said, “It’s a pleasure, Miss Boucher.”

  Then Mitch said to them both, “Please ladies, won’t you join us?”

  Chapter X

  DIG THIS!

  I can dig it,

  he can dig it,

  she can dig it,

  we can dig it,

  they can dig it,

  you can dig it.

  Oh, let's dig it.

  Can you dig it, baby?

  Grazing in the Grass

  ……..As performed by The Friends of Distinction

  Lady Cotswold and Sandrine took their seats in the ladylike fashion they had both been taught by Lord Neville, as would have been expected. Mitch, still standing, pulled out the chair next to him allowing Lady Madeline to seat herself, then helped her push her chair into the table. As he did with so many other things, Simon followed suit, keeping with Mitch’s actions in helping Sandrine seat herself next to him.

  Once they were all seated, Lady Madeline spoke directly to Mitch, her eyes peering into his. She wasn’t about to mince words with him since she’d known Jack longer and…more intimately than he did. “So, Dr. Bramson, I’m dying to know. What could be so important to Jack Edgeworth that he would send not only a million dollars but also his best man to England for what may turn out to be just a routine ruin?”

  “Well, Lady Cotswold…first, since we’ll be working together so closely you might as well call me Mitch,” he said meeting her directness with his own. Just then he heard the clink of china close to him and purposely didn’t look up. Please don’t let it be her, he thought. The last thing I need right now is a scene in front of Lady Cotswold.”

  He heard a woman’s voice say “Your tay, Laydee Cotswowd,” and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a chirpy village accent, and he looked up. It was Fi, the pretty blonde waitress who’d shown him to his room the night before. He smiled and winked at her disarmingly, trying to assure himself that he still had it after having been chilled out of his BVDs by the red head. He still couldn’t get over it in his mind. Women never spoke to him like that, especially redheads. They’d always been his specialty.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Lady Cotswold said to Fi, making room on the table for the teapot, toast and strawberry jam pot she’d ordered in advance when she arrived.

  “Not a’tall, your Laydeeship. My pleasuh,” Fi chirped again, making a small curtsy before she left. Sandrine poured tea for Lady Madeline and herself as Lady Madeline spread some jam on her toast, then directed her attention back to Mitch.

  “You were saying…Mitch,” she said, smiling slyly to let Mitch know she hadn’t lost her train of thought. He decided then that the best tack to take was the same one she’d used with him, the direct approach. Lady Madeline took a sip of her tea and a bite of her toast, not taking her attention away from him for a second

  “Well, Lady Madeline. It’s Jack’s hope that, given the location and the timeframe, we might just come across some small proof of Arthur,” he said, leaning into her with an air of confidence but not taking his eyes from hers. The smile from Lady Madeline’s face dropped as she fought to conceal the fact that she almost choked; swallowing hard and clearing her throat instead.

  “If you’re referring to King Arthur…Pendragon, you must be joking,” she said and laughed lightly, thinking he was, indeed, joking. Mitch just raised his eyebrows and shrugged, shaking his head.

  As her mind absorbed what Mitch had said, her thoughts went into overdrive. Bastard! she thought. It did make sense, but being a true dyed-in-the-wool Englishwoman, neither I, nor Neville apparently, could see the forest for the trees and it took an American, of all things, to see the possibility of the forest. Her expression changed to serious. “I’m listening,” she said patiently, but thinking to herself, Bloody Americans!

  From there Mitch explained their Tintagel/Exeter/ Glastonbury Triangle theory, assuring Lady Madeline that they had no illusions of finding the Holy Grail or anything of the sort, but that they were merely looking for some evidence that there did exist a king named Arthur in the time period somewhere between the 5th and 6th centuries.

  It was just that simple; it could be something as small as a coin with his image or a notation in a book or scroll indicating that he was hosted there, or was even reviled or feared there. The more she listened the more Lady Madeline had to admit to herself that the possibility existed that if such a man as King Arthur ever existed, there might just be some proof of
it left behind in a noble’s castle, whether he be ally or enemy, and the thought of finding it made her blood course through her veins.

  They spent the rest of their breakfast time discussing the nuts and bolts of how to approach the dig. While they talked, Sandrine took notes on a small pad with Simon, being the New Yorker he was, taking out his little black recorder to record everything.

  They agreed right off the bat that, given the fair weather of the day, they should go from breakfast to their respective quarters and collect what they might need for an initial examination of the site. It was ten-thirty A.M. by the time the group broke up, agreeing to reassemble in the entry hall an hour later.

  With the ladies having left the table shortly before the men, Mitch got a brainstorm as he approached the reception podium and saw Declan standing there going over the coming day’s reservations.

  “Good morning, Deck. How are you?” Mitch said cheerfully, the food and coffee having brought him back from his hangover.

  “Very fine, Dr. Bramson,” then to Simon, “Good morning, Simon,” Deck said smiling with a wink, his entire appearance seeming lighter, brighter and paler in the daylight.

  Mitch walked up close to the podium. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you, Deck. I suppose everyone around here knows why we’re here?” Mitch asked him, the weird encounters of the night before coming back to him in a flood.

  “Yes, I suppose you might say that,” Deck answered and shrugged guiltily. “It’s a very small village, Dr. Bramson. Not many secrets stay secret for very long around here.”

  “Well that’s why I wanted to talk to you. We’re going to need a few extra able-bodied men to help us out on the site. No experience necessary, just the ability to lift and carry, dig and sift, and I was wondering if you might know anyone, some local lads maybe who might like to earn a few extra bucks…” he stopped there to reword himself in their vernacular. “…quid.” Deck’s eyes shifted around for a moment, thinking, then went wide.

  “Yes, yes. I would,” he said, his eyes widening innocently and his voice taking on the tenor of a young boy who just been asked if he wanted to go to Disneyland.

  “Brilliant!” Mitch said, taking on more and more of their expressions as he got back to being comfortable there, “…and I could use one or two more, if you have any mates who might be interested. I can pay two hundred and fifty quid for a five-day work week, more if we get overloaded and need a sixth day.

  “Wow, yes. I could really use that. I’m in,” Deck said excitedly. “Just give me the day to rework the schedule here and tell Mal. I can be ready to go with you tomorrow.”

  As soon as Mitch and Simon had gone, Deck rushed back toward the kitchen. “Mal! Mal!” he called out excitedly. Malcolm was on the phone and held up his finger whispering, “Just a minute,” when Deck pushed through the door. By the time he hung up the phone, Deck was up close to him.

  “Mal, you’ll never believe what’s happened. Dr. Bramson has asked me to join his dig over at Crane’s.” Malcolm Farthing had long grown used to his younger brother’s excitability over small things but was expecting nothing like what he’d just heard.

  “What?” he said, sounding annoyed. Malcolm Farthing was also not one for having his surroundings altered, especially on short notice. ‘You can’t. I won’t allow it,” he said, tight lipped. “Your place is here at the inn. You’re needed here.”

  “But Mal, this may be my chance. If I work well for Dr. Bramson…he might be able to get me job in America,” Deck said, almost jumping up and down. The last statement sent Malcolm’s thoughts swirling even more. Deck leaving the inn? Going to America? It hit him like a sharp slap in the face and his emotions ran rampant, shocked, hurt, angry and…afraid.

  Even as a small boy, he’d always known that Deck was a bit of a dreamer, but it’d never occurred to him that he would ever really want to leave. He struck out at him before he’d had time to think.

  “I absolutely forbid it!” Malcolm shouted, pointing his finger at Deck angrily. Deck’s eyes turned from excited to hurt, like a child who’d just been told, ‘You cannot have that puppy’.

  “But, Mal, I’m a grown man. You can’t forbid me. This could be my big chance to get out of here,” Deck sulked quietly. The way he’d said it hurt Malcolm even more and he flew off the handle.

  “You want to leave me and Ivy, and our home, our lives. After I’ve raised you all these years Mum and Dad have been in Australia. It would break Ivy’s heart…and mine. I can’t believe you want to get away from us so badly? Has it been that horrible for you here?” he said, no longer sounding angry but as hurt as he felt.

  “No, Mal. It’s not like that at all. This will always be my home and I love you both very much. I just want to see the world. I can’t spend all my life never having left the village, gone nowhere, done nothing, and this can be my chance. If I work well for him, maybe I can get to see America,” Deck pleaded.

  Malcolm just stood there scattered into thinking in three minds. First, what would he ever do if he didn’t have Deck there with him? It would be like losing an arm or a leg. He’d looked out for him all his life, even before his parents went to Australia. He’d always been the man of the family, taking care of Deck and Ivy, worrying about them, making sure they were comfortable and happy. Then his second mind took over, telling him that his first mind was being selfish and stupid. Did he really raise Deck just to keep him close like a captive bird in a cage, denying Deck his dreams because of his own insecurities?

  His third mind, one he hadn’t expected, pushed the other two aside. He remembered when they’d found Sean Donnelly after wandering around in the woods for twenty-four hours, blind and talking craziness about voices in the ruins and a fireball in the sky. He’d thought it was nonsense when it happened, but when he thought about it just then, it scared him. Somewhere deep in his guts, it made him afraid for Deck.

  After the few minutes it took for the battle of his three minds to settle and sort themselves into their proper priorities, Malcolm spoke. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing to be done,” he said looking at Deck seriously and shaking his head.

  “What’s that, Mal?” Deck asked humbly, fearing he might have breached the closeness they’d always shared and not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “I guess I’ll just have to go with you,” Mal answered, shaking his head and smiling like the exasperated older brother he had been all his life.

  “Thank you, Mal,” Deck said with a deep sigh of relief, going over to him and engulfing the smaller man in his big arms.

  “Stop, stop,” Malcolm said pushing him away, but in his heart wanting to hold him closer. “Don’t be too happy yet. We still have to tell Ivy, and she’s not going to like it. Not one bit,” he said, thinking back to the episode with Dr. Bramson earlier that morning.

  ***

  At eleven-thirty, Mitch and Simon met Lady Madeline and Sandrine at the entrance to the inn, each of them carrying a shoulder bag with whatever they thought they would need for their first examination of the site. Lady Madeline had changed completely from well-dressed aristocrat to rough-and-ready explorer in fatigue shorts, hiking boots and knee socks. Sandrine had dressed down from a proper frock into a gray sweatshirt that read Oxford University, jeans and sneakers.

  Mitch kept his hair in a ponytail and wore a faded, oversized blue jean shirt and old faded jeans and boots. Simon went for the hooded sweat shirt that read Columbia University and oversized cargo pants that would be big enough to cover his brace. When Sandrine saw Simon she grinned, pointing to the lettering on her sweatshirt. Simon pointed to his own, smiling and blushing; a little friendly competition.

  Just as they were about to embark on the first day of this new venture, a man’s voice called out to them, then another. Mitch turned to find Malcolm and Deck Farthing rushing toward them, “Dr. Bramson! Dr. Bramson!” and he stopped.

  When the two young men got close enough to lower their voices, they stopped and stood in front of
him, looking at each other to see who would speak first. Malcolm took the lead. “Dr. Bramson, it looks like you’ll have two Farthings on your dig, if you don’t mind. We can start tomorrow.”

  Mitch couldn’t have been more surprised. He had expected the adventure-hungry Deck ‘Can we talk about Red Indians’ Farthing to volunteer, but he would never have expected the sturdy Malcolm ‘I’m the older brother Farthing’ to join the camp, but he was very pleased to have them both, nonetheless.

  “Capital!” Mitch said, sounding like Dr. Watson from an old Sherlock Holmes mystery and shaking both their hands to welcome them into the fold. “Seven A.M. tomorrow morning then, unless it rains, then the next day. We’ll see you at dinner, guys,” he said and waved as they headed out the door. The two Farthings looked at each other, a worried look coming over their faces at the same time, because, as it can be with close brothers, they were thinking the same thing…Ivy!

  ***

  The midday sunshine made the first day’s trip to the site a pleasant one. The lushness of the English countryside as they headed out of the village was breathtaking and after they turned off the paved road onto the narrow unpaved Devon lanes, both Simon and Sandrine were astonished to learn that the lanes were only single car wide and that every time a car came in the opposite direction, one or the other of them would have to pull into a small side area to let the other pass.

  Simon, having never once in his life been out of New York City, felt like he’d dropped into a mid-19th century novel about English rural life as they drove past enormous wheels of hay idly dotting the crop fields on both sides of the lane.

  He knew so very little about real life, having lived his up until that point through television shows, films and books. The field and farm house scenes they passed took him back to being twelve years old again, eating stale Pop Tarts and watching Joseph Lousey’s film ‘The Go-Between’ in the common room of Holy Family in the middle of a night when he couldn’t sleep because a couple of the regular school kids had been particularly cruel to him that day.