It wasn’t that she disliked the man. It was impossible to dislike George Quayle; he was too kind and unfailingly generous. But he had made his fortune in sales, selling everything from encyclopedias to used cars to insurance, and whenever Bessie spoke with him she could just feel the salesman in him in every word. Even if his comment were as simple as “good morning,” Bessie couldn’t help but feel that he was working to convince her that she was having quite a pleasant start to her day, really.
He had grown up on the island, but made most of his fortune in the UK. He’d been back on Man for no more than a year, but he’d made a huge impact in that short time, donating generously to numerous causes and appearing at just about every event the island offered.
She worked her way through the crowd, nodding and smiling at many familiar faces, but not stopping to chat.
“Ah, Bessie, I was happy to see your name on the programme.”
Bessie stopped and then smiled at the young man at her elbow. “William Corlett, how wonderful to see you here,” she said with genuine enthusiasm.
“It’s wonderful to see you as well,” he replied in kind.
“Oh, but I should say ‘Dr. Corlett’ now, shouldn’t I?” Bessie asked. “You’ve gone and earned your doctorate while I wasn’t looking.”
The man laughed. “You can call me anything you like,” he told her. “We’ve known each other for far too long to stand on ceremony, surely.”
“I saw your mother one day last week and she was trying very hard not to gush too much about your accomplishments,” Bessie told the man. “She’s ever so proud of you.”
William flushed. “Mum and dad both seem pleased,” he acknowledged. “And now it looks as if I might be able to find a position here on the island as well. They’d both like that.”
“I didn’t realise anyone was hiring archeologists,” Bessie said. “Is MNH looking to expand their staff?”
“Haven’t you seen the programme for this weekend?” William demanded. “I’m going to be talking about a proposal that being drawn up between MNH, a major university in Liverpool that I can’t formally identify yet, and the Manx government. We’re hoping to establish a research centre here on the island that would provide assistance to anyone and everyone that wants to study any aspect of the island.”
“Really?” Bessie asked. “I just put all my registration paperwork in my bag and didn’t even glance at the final programme. Marjorie showed me a draft copy last week, but I don’t remember you being on it. Why haven’t I heard anything about this before?”
William laughed. “It’s been kept very quiet until now,” he told her. “Only a handful of people have been involved up to this point, but now that we have the government on board, it’s time to start fundraising. You know what that means. It won’t be long before everyone is tired of hearing about the project.”
Bessie laughed. “Fundraising is a tough job,” she said. “I hope you have a lot of help.”
“Oh, I do,” William assured her. “In fact, I’m not even on that committee. MNH has their experts handling the bulk of it. I’m only involved inasmuch as they’ve offered me a job with the centre, if and when it actually happens.”
“Well, I certainly hope it all works out,” Bessie told him. “It sounds like just the sort of thing the island needs.”
“And I’d love to be able to move back here for good,” William said. “Then it will be time to start thinking about a wedding.”
“You’ve asked Maggie to marry you?” Bessie asked. “Your mother didn’t mention that.”
“I haven’t actually asked her yet,” William shrugged. “But we’ve been together forever and everyone assumes we’ll be getting married. I just need to make sure I have a good job in place and we’ll be set.”
It wasn’t the most romantic declaration of love Bessie had ever heard, but it wasn’t any of her business. “How’s Finlo, then?” she asked, inquiring about William’s cousin. The two were nearly as close as brothers, or at least had been growing up. “He did archeology at university as well, didn’t he? Is he going to come and work at the centre as well or is he still flying?”
William laughed. “He’s definitely still flying,” he told Bessie. “He only got his degree to make his parents happy. They agreed to pay for his pilot’s license if he got a good degree first. He loves flying. I suspect that’s because there are a lot more pretty girls on planes than in muddy pits.”
Bessie laughed. “He did always have an eye for a pretty girl.”
“And a crazy get-rich-quick scheme,” William added. “He’s trying to persuade his parents to help him start a charter air service on the island.”
“Surely that would be too expensive for the average traveller?” Bessie asked.
William laughed. “He’s not interested in catering to the average traveller,” he told her. “He’s hoping to attract the very wealthiest of clients. He also figures that the entire Quayle family will have to use his service and goodness knows there are enough of us to keep him in business.”
Bessie grinned. “Absolutely, you Quayle cousins are everywhere,” she agreed. “But I’m still not sure a charter airline will fly, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
William laughed loudly. “I’m going to call Finlo later and tell him you said that,” he told Bessie.
William disappeared into the crowd, while Bessie slipped over to a quiet corner where a few chairs had been placed. She sank into one. Maybe she could hide here until it was time for the lecture to start. Only a moment later, however, she was interrupted.
“Ah, Bessie, there you are,” young Joe Steele grinned at her. “No, don’t get up,” he insisted, even though Bessie hadn’t moved an inch and had no intention of getting up. “Is it okay if I join you?”
Bessie shrugged. “You’re more than welcome,” she said politely.
The young man slid into a chair next to her and grinned. “I’m feeling positively exhausted,” he confided. “I feel like I could sleep for a week. I don’t suppose I can get any coffee anywhere?”
“There should be some on the table somewhere,” Bessie replied. “I know there will be some available after Mack’s speech. They’re meant to be having an American-style ‘dessert bar’ with fairy cakes and brownies and the like. I’m sure there will be tea and coffee as well.”
“So I just have to stay awake through Dr. Dickson’s talk,” Joe smiled. “That might be easier said than done.”
Bessie smiled back at him. “It shouldn’t be long now,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “They should at least be opening the doors to the lecture hall soon so we can go in and get seats.”
“I’m sorry, but may I join you?” The polite voice startled Bessie. She was quick to look over and smile at the newcomer.
“Of course you can,” she said easily. “Anyone is welcome.”
“Thanks,” the young woman answered as she perched herself on the edge of the last remaining chair.
“I’m Elizabeth Cubbon,” Bessie said as she studied the new arrival.
“Oh, I’m Claire Jamison,” the woman replied.
“And I’m Joe Steele,” the young man spoke from his seat as he leaned forward to offer his hand.
Bessie studied the woman as she gave Joe a hesitant handshake. Claire looked older than the young man who was now blushing as he sat back in his seat. Bessie would have guessed her to be around thirty. She had a great deal of dark brown hair piled messily on top of her head. Thick glasses made it impossible to determine her eye colour. She was slender and her business suit fit her perfectly.
“So what brings you here?” Joe asked.
“I’m doing some postdoctoral research into prehistoric island cultures,” Claire explained. “I’ve been focussed on Anglesey for most of the year, but this conference gave me a chance to do some comparison work between Anglesey and the Isle of Man, and I loved every minute of it. I’ll be talking about what I’ve found in tomorrow’s evening session.”
“Have
you met Mack Dickson, then?” Bessie asked. “I know he did some work on Anglesey.”
“I don’t think so,” Claire answered. “Is he here?”
“That’s him,” Bessie answered, pointing. “The dark-haired man standing next to the very young blonde.”
Claire shook her head. “He doesn’t look like anyone I’ve met,” she told Bessie.
“What’s Anglesey like, then?” Joe asked. Bessie sat back and relaxed, letting the conversation between the two young scholars carry on without her.
“Bessie? My goodness, but you were hard to find.” The voice boomed across the room. Bessie sighed and got to her feet as George Quayle lumbered towards her quiet corner.
“Hello, George,” she said softly.
“Bessie, I do hope you weren’t hiding from me,” he rumbled back.
“Now why would I do that?” Bessie asked. “It’s always so nice to see you.”
George grinned. “I could say the same about you,” he told Bessie, pulling her into a bear hug. “You know I only agreed to sponsor this conference because Marjorie said you’d be taking part.”
Bessie grinned. She knew no such thing and doubted there was any truth to it. “I’m just glad you agreed, for whatever reason. I’ve been so looking forward to this.”
George smiled. “You know I’d do anything for you, Bessie, my love.”
“Better not let Mary hear that,” she joked.
“Aye, ah, yes, my lovely better half,” he laughed. “She couldn’t make it tonight, you know. So I’m all yours.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Bessie said with genuine concern. She didn’t know Mary Quayle well, but she’d always admired the quiet and kind woman who was willing to be married to George.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” George assured her. “One of the grandkids is doing some play or something at school and she didn’t want to miss it. You know we dragged the whole family back to the island when we moved back. Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be here later in the weekend.”
“Great, I’d love to see her,” Bessie told him.
“Well now, it’s just about time to go in.” George took Bessie’s arm. “You should come and sit up front with me. That way you won’t have any trouble hearing.”
Bessie bit her tongue. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her hearing, but she wasn’t about to argue her way out of a front row seat. Especially not for this talk, which promised to be very interesting, indeed.
Chapter Two
George escorted Bessie through the crowds towards the main lecture hall, formally called the A.W. Moore Lecture Theatre. He waved to one or two people over Bessie’s head, but didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Harold and Marjorie followed in their wake. Harold still looked angry and he seemed to be ignoring everyone as he stomped through the crowd, grimly focussed on the door to the hall. Bessie glanced at Marjorie. Her eyes were still puffy and red, but she gave Bessie a tight-lipped smile when Bessie caught her eye. Bessie wished that she’d been able to find time to talk with her friend earlier in the evening. Now their chat would have to wait until after Mack’s lecture.
As George approached the door, Henry from Manx National Heritage quickly pulled it open for him. George and Bessie stepped into the room with Harold and Marjorie on their heels. Henry was quick to shut the door behind them, not allowing anyone else from the eager crowd into the space.
“I always like to sit right up front,” George told the others, making his way down the narrow central aisle between the neat rows of folding chairs. “Come on, Bessie, you can sit with me and tell me if whatever Mack’s talking about is any good.”
Bessie sighed as she followed the man towards the front of the room. She hoped he wouldn’t keep whispering to her during Mack’s talk. She was eager to hear what Mack had to say.
Harold ignored George and Bessie and carefully chose a seat near the back door. Marjorie whispered something to him and slipped back out of the room. George, of course, sat in the very centre of the front row and waved Bessie into the seat next to his.
“Here you go, my dear,” he told her. “Now you won’t miss a thing.”
He settled his considerable bulk into the seat, and that seemed to flip some unseen switch. Both sets of doors at the back of the room suddenly opened and the hall began to fill very rapidly with people. Bessie perched on her chair next to George and twisted around to face the back of the room. She watched as the space filled to capacity.
“I know that Harold Smythe is a smart guy,” George told Bessie in a loud confiding tone. “But I don’t think he would have packed them in tonight like Mack is doing.”
Bessie couldn’t help but agree. Mack was very good at generating interest in himself. She just hoped the talk would live up to his promises. She watched as Joe found seats for himself and Claire Jamison. The pair seemed to be having a great time talking together. Helen Baxter had found a seat as well, and she seemed to be talking earnestly with young Bambi, who looked bewildered. Bessie smiled and waved to a few friends and acquaintances she’d missed at the reception. She’d have to try to catch some of them during the “dessert bar” later.
A couple of members of the museum staff were kept busy bringing out additional chairs and for a while it looked as if some of the crowd might have to stand during the lecture, but eventually enough chairs were found and set up to accommodate everyone. The doors at the back of the hall were shut and an expectant silence descended on the room. Bessie settled back in her uncomfortable chair and turned her attention to the podium in front of her.
The pause that followed was just becoming awkward when Harold Smythe walked up from the back of the room.
“Ahem, um, good evening everyone,” he began. “I’ve been asked to introduce our guest speaker tonight,” he said. The expression on his face left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to how he felt about being asked to perform the task. “I’m sure that you are all aware of our guest. Indeed, I’m certain that most of you are here at his invitation, but just in case you came expecting to hear a somewhat different speaker, ahem, let me set everything straight.”
“They should have had me introduce Mack,” George whispered to Bessie. “I’ve not got my knickers in a twist like Harold.”
“Tonight we are, um, fortunate, to have Dr. Mack Dickson with us to present a paper about which I know nothing,” Harold continued. “Mack is a well-known archaeologist and historian who always brings his own unique interpretations to everything he discovers. I know we’re all waiting impatiently to hear about his latest findings, so without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, Mack Dickson.”
Harold stomped back towards his seat at the back of the room without waiting for Mack to appear.
After what Bessie could only assume was meant to be a dramatic pause, Mack made his entrance through a small door at the front of the room. Bessie knew from experience that beyond the door was a tiny windowless space, known to everyone as the cuillee, where anxious speakers could gather their thoughts before they faced their audience.
Mack bounced up to the podium, seemingly immensely excited about something. “Good evening, everyone,” he said almost breathlessly. “What I’m about to talk to you about is going to change Manx history forever.”
“Well, that’s some introduction,” George muttered to Bessie.
Bessie heard a noise behind her and glanced back to see Marjorie slipping into the room. Henry quickly got up from his seat and waved Marjorie into it. No doubt, as one of the conference organisers, Marjorie had been checking on the arrangements for the rest of the evening.
Bessie turned back around. Mack was smiling at the crowd, waiting for them to settle after the minor interruption. He began his speech with a summary of the island’s prehistory. It was likely that most members of the audience were already very familiar with the subject, but somehow Mack made it feel new and exciting.
“I’m not sure what he has coming up,” George whispered to Bessie. “But this is all pretty interesting so far.”
Bessie nodded her silent agreement. Mack had been talking for over twenty minutes and he hadn’t said anything new, but Bessie still felt as if she was hanging on his every word. Whatever she thought of him as a person, he was an incredibly gifted speaker.
“The most interesting part of the island’s prehistory, of course, is the lack of evidence for Roman occupation,” Mack told them. “The Romans knew the island was here, and we have good reason to suspect that they traded with its residents, but we don’t have any evidence for any Roman settlement. Until now.”
He paused dramatically, taking a drink of water while a murmur went through the crowd. “I received a phone call a few months ago from a farmer I know here on the island. He’d decided to build a new barn in a field that hadn’t been ploughed in many years. It was a field that has never, to the best of my knowledge, been excavated in any way. When the farmer began to dig the foundations for his new barn, he found an odd coin.”
“Which he should have immediately reported to the proper authorities,” George said to Bessie with a shake of his head.
“As he had no idea what he’d found, he called me and asked me to take a look. He didn’t want to bother the good folks at Manx National Heritage if his bit of shiny metal turned out to be a bottle cap from the nineteen-fifties.” Mack laughed, but that did little to diffuse the tension that was now building in the hall. Anyone on the island who found anything that could have serious historical value was meant to contact Manx National Heritage, not call Mack Dickson.
“Now I want to show you a few pictures,” Mack continued, with something approaching a nervous grin.
The lights were dimmed and slides began to appear on the screen in the front of the room. Bessie watched as photo after photo flashed past, each picture showing different archaeological finds. Everything from small collections of coins to bits of broken pottery to pieces of glass appeared. Even to her untrained eye, all of the items, especially the coins, appeared to be Roman in origin.
After around a dozen slides had been shown, Mack stepped back to the podium and the lights were turned back on. “That’s just a small sampling of what I discovered when I did a test dig in the farmer’s field,” he told his audience. “I haven’t included any photographs of the handful of tesserae I found. I wanted to wait to show them to you after I’ve uncovered what I think will be an entire Roman mosaic floor.”
Aunt Bessie Considers Page 3