English Tea Murder

by Leslie Meier

  She leaned forward, straining to hear what they were saying, but only caught a few words: “Autumn . . . who does she . . . like it was her idea . . .”

  Lucy zipped up her jeans, flushed the toilet, and pushed open the door, catching a glimpse of the two girls with their heads together. Realizing they weren’t alone, they suddenly stopped talking and Caroline rushed past her into the single stall.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Lucy, leaning over the grubby sink and turning on the rusty faucet to wash her hands.

  Jennifer was brushing her long blond hair, absorbed by her own reflection in the cracked mirror. “No problem,” she said. Her voice was cool and assured, and it struck Lucy that she hadn’t heard her use that tone before now, and certainly not when she was talking to Autumn.

  Lucy found a clean spot on the roller towel—a relic of the past that she hadn’t seen in years—and dried her hands. “See you later,” she said, leaving the room. As she made her way up the dusty stairs with the broken rubber treads, she had the uncomfortable feeling that something wasn’t quite right but attributed it to her digestion.

  “We’ll be lucky if we don’t come down with food poisoning,” she told Sue as she added her twenty-pound note to the pile in the center of the table.

  Sue shoved her mostly untouched plate away and glanced at the stuffed bull’s head. “We should have risked mad cow disease.”

  Chapter Eight

  When the morning sun brightened the gap in the flowered curtains the next morning, Lucy was surprised to find she had slept through the night and felt fine. Jet lag was apparently a thing of the past. It was only six, though, and Sue was still asleep, so Lucy pulled a sweater over her pajamas and tiptoed out of the room, intending to get a cup of coffee from the machine in the lounge. Some of the rooms didn’t have bathrooms, and there were shared facilities off the stair landing. She paused in one on the way downstairs, pleased that she didn’t have to disturb Sue by using the loo in their room.

  The lounge was deserted at this early hour. The couches and easy chairs, upholstered in varying shades of red, were somewhat rumpled and still bearing the imprints of last night’s occupants. Lucy prepared her coffee and took it over to the computer, enjoying a few sips while she waited for the PC to warm up and let her log on. In a few minutes, she’d finished her coffee and was scrolling through her e-mail, deleting all the junk mail. She wrote a funny account of the horrible Ye Olde English Roast Beef restaurant to Bill and sent it and was about to log off when a message from Elizabeth popped up.

  What on earth was the girl doing, writing e-mails at two in the morning? Lucy shook her head in dismay as she opened the message, which was written entirely in capital letters. Elizabeth was clearly upset.

  MOM I HAD THAT MEETING WITH THE DEAN AND

  SHE’S REALLY A STUPID WOMAN WHO DOESN’T

  KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT OUR SCHOOL

  TRADITIONS. THE ENTIRE SENIOR CLASS ALWAYS

  HAS A CANDLELIGHT PROCESSION DOWN

  NEWBURY STREET TO THE PUBLIC GARDEN THE

  NIGHT BEFORE GRADUATION. THEN WE ALL STAND

  AROUND THE LAKE THERE WITH CANDLES AND

  SING THE ALMA MATER. WE’VE BEEN DOING IT

  FOR OVER A HUNDRED YEARS AND NOW THIS

  AWFUL WOMAN SAYS WE CAN’T DO IT.

  HONESTLY I’D LIKE TO KILL HER!!!

  Lucy got up and fixed herself another cup of coffee while trying to think how to reply. Sipping thoughtfully, she stood for a minute in front of the windows, looking out at the empty street and the neat row houses on the opposite side. She had such high hopes for Elizabeth. She hoped the girl wasn’t going to sabotage herself before she got started in life.

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I understand that you’re upset about the changes the dean has proposed, but you need to remember that the world has changed quite a lot in the past hundred years. I’m sure the dean is concerned about the students’ safety as well as liability issues. The school would be responsible if there was an accident and somebody got burned.

  I hope you were polite during your meeting. Perhaps you should consider apologizing and trying to work out a compromise of some sort.

  You need to keep your RA job—we can’t afford the additional expense if you lose it.

  Stay in touch.

  Love,

  Mom

  Lucy reread the message a few times, then clicked SEND, at the same time sending up a little wish that it would all work out. She picked up her half-full cup of coffee and made a fresh one for Sue, then started up the stairs to their room.

  Sue was just waking up when Lucy opened the door. “You’re an angel,” she said when Lucy set the coffee on her nightstand. After she’d had a few swallows, she stretched her arms over her head. “So what are we doing today?”

  “The Victoria and Albert Museum,” said Lucy, grabbing her towel and heading for the shower.

  “The Victoria and Albert Museum is the world’s largest with over seven miles of galleries,” said Quentin. The group was seated together in one end of a carriage on the Piccadilly Line, and he was standing above them, hanging on to a pole as he delivered a brief introductory lecture. “It was the vision of Prince Albert to create a collection that would be available to all people to inspire and inform them. Some of the highlights include the Raphael Room, the British Galleries, and the Islamic and Indian Galleries.”

  Sue was studying her guidebook. “It’s also quite near Harrods.”

  Quentin sighed. “Yes, it is.”

  “We’ll give it a quick look,” said Sue, speaking to her friends and keeping her voice low, as if plotting a conspiracy. “Then we’ll go shopping. Harrods is the world’s most famous, most fabulous department store.”

  Her fellow conspirators weren’t convinced. “I want to see the Great Bed of Ware,” protested Pam.

  “I want to see it all,” said Rachel.

  Lucy noticed Sue’s expression darkening—she liked to get her way. “There’s that exhibit of hats you were talking about,” she reminded her friend.

  “Okay.” Sue was amenable. “I’ll look at the hats while you all do the boring stuff.”

  Lucy felt rather overwhelmed when they arrived at the museum and paused under the enormous Dale Chihuly glass sculpture that looked like a nest of snakes. She unfolded a floor plan and studied it, trying to decide where to begin.

  “I think we should start with the British Galleries,” suggested Pam, looking over her shoulder.

  “I imagine that’s where they keep the Great Bed of Ware,” said Rachel, amused.

  “And Grinling Gibbons’s cravat—it’s a necktie entirely carved of wood. I saw it in a magazine.” Pam was bouncing on her toes, as excited as a kid at an amusement park.

  “Doesn’t sound very comfortable to me,” observed Sue. “I’ll stick to hats.”

  “I always get lost in museums,” confessed Lucy. “We better have a meeting place, just in case. Let’s meet in the café at one.”

  Sue liked that idea. “Then we can decide if you want to continue here at the museum or go on to Harrods where they have the really good stuff—and you can buy it.”

  “Don’t hesitate to let us know what you’d like to do,” cracked Rachel. “Just speak up.”

  “You’ll see. I’m right,” predicted Sue, marching off to buy a ticket for the special exhibition.

  Lucy and the others headed for the British Galleries, but when Lucy paused to study a display of Victorian tableware, she lost track of Pam and Rachel. A few twists and turns took her to a roomful of antique medical instruments, and she soon found herself both fascinated and appalled by treatments once considered effective, such as purging and bloodletting. Shockingly, some of the crudest apparatuses, like surgical saws and obstetrical forceps, were still in use today.

  Lucy was staring at a jar of leeches preserved in formaldehyde when Ann Smith joined her. “Disgusting, aren’t they?” observed Ann.

  “They sure are,” agreed Lucy,
wondering that Ann had managed to separate herself from her husband and daughter.

  The mystery was soon solved. “Have you seen Tom and Caroline? I seem to have lost them.”

  “It’s easy to do here,” said Lucy. “I lost my friends, too. Shall we stick together?”

  Ann was eager to accept her offer. “I’d appreciate it. I get a little panicky when I’m alone.”

  “I guess we all do,” said Lucy, who didn’t really think that at all. It seemed to her that she rarely had a moment to herself, and she liked being alone now and then.

  Ann’s gaze had fallen on a glass case containing a glittering display of saws and scalpels, and she seemed to physically shrink. “Actually, I think I’ve seen enough here.”

  Lucy was agreeable. “Me too. This exhibit is enough to make you appreciate modern medicine.”

  “I suppose.” Ann wasn’t looking at either side as they passed through the gallery but kept her eyes lowered, studying the floor tiles.

  “They say George Washington’s doctors actually killed him by bleeding him too much.” Lucy was just making conversation and didn’t expect the reaction she got.

  Ann whirled around. Her thin body was quivering beneath the worn beige sweater and shapeless brown pants that were too big for her, and red circles had appeared on her cheeks. “Everybody talks about the miracles of modern medicine and says how Americans have the best medical system in the world, but it’s not true,” she declared, sounding like she’d just bitten into a very sour lemon. “Believe me, they can’t save everyone, and they don’t even try if you don’t have the money to pay. And medical insurance—that’s a joke! They take your money, all right, but when you try to file a claim, they find ways to disqualify you.”

  “It’s terrible, I know,” said Lucy, who knew all about the problems with medical insurance. Bill was self-employed, and their premium had recently passed their mortgage to become their largest monthly expense. She grudgingly wrote the check every month, but she had no illusions that even the best health insurance policy could guarantee to cure everyone. “Dr. Cope did his best but he couldn’t save George Temple.”

  “Temple! Is that who you think I’m talking about?”

  Ann was agitated, quivering with emotion, but exactly what emotion? Lucy wasn’t sure what was upsetting her. She kept her voice calm, fearful of agitating her further. “What’s the trouble?” she asked. “Can I help?”

  Ann laughed, a sudden, harsh explosion of sound. “Help! If only.” A sob escaped from between her lips and she pressed them together. “Nobody could help my baby. My baby boy.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Lucy suddenly understood. The Smiths had lost a child. No wonder they clung so tightly to Caroline. She felt a huge surge of sympathy for Ann, knowing that her greatest fear was losing one of her children.

  “He died when he was one.”

  Lucy thought of her grandson Patrick, who would soon have his first birthday. She thought of his soft, fair hair and his chubby wrists and dimpled cheeks, and she knew she couldn’t bear to lose him. “That’s terrible,” she said.

  Ann had grabbed Lucy’s arm, and her grip tightened. “It was my fault.”

  “These things happen.” Lucy was beginning to worry that Ann might go completely to pieces and looked around the empty gallery, hoping to see Tom and Caroline coming in search of her. Where were they? Where was everybody? Thousands of people come to the V&A every day. How come none of them were coming to this exhibit? Ann needed help—that much was obvious—and Lucy didn’t know what to do.

  “It didn’t have to happen.” Ann’s eyes were open but she wasn’t seeing Lucy. She was in a trance. The words kept coming, as if once started on this story she couldn’t stop. “It was the brakes. We knew they were going, but money, there was never enough money back then, so we kept putting it off. It was always next week—we’d get it done next week. And then it was too late. Caroline was in the hospital for a month. I was there even longer, until the insurance money ran out and they sent me home. That was when they told me that little Bobby was gone. They’d been afraid to tell me before.”

  Ann was now leaning on Lucy for support, and Lucy felt as if Ann might collapse at any moment, taking them both down.

  “When I got home, there was nothing left of Bobby except a little stone in the cemetery. Tom had even cleaned out his room. He said he thought it would be easier for me.”

  Lucy felt as if her heart were being ripped from her chest as she led Ann to a bench in the stairwell. “Why don’t you sit for a minute?” she suggested, lowering the woman onto the seat as if she were a fragile old lady. Then she seated herself beside Ann and took her hand, patting it. That’s how they were when Tom and Caroline came up the steps, reminding Lucy of the cavalry in an old Western movie. Like the folks inside the circle of wagons, she felt a huge sense of relief.

  “What’s happened?” asked Tom, rushing to his wife’s side. Behind him, Caroline was breathing heavily from the exertion of getting her extra weight up the stairs.

  “Ann was upset by this medical exhibit,” said Lucy, standing up. She couldn’t wait to get away. “I have to meet my friends in the café,” she said, apologizing for her abrupt departure.

  Lucy found her friends seated at a table in part of the café that was decorated in what she now knew, thanks to her brief foray into the British Galleries, as the Arts and Crafts style. Stained glass, colorful tiles, and heavy wood paneling created a cozy nook in the huge, bustling café, where you fetched your food from various serving stations. The girls had already bought cups of tea and were waiting for her before getting their food. Sue wanted only a small salad, so she stayed at the table to save their seats while they got in line at one of the busy cafeteria counters.

  “What happened to you?” asked Rachel as they waited to place their orders.

  “I don’t know. I was looking at some silver and then I couldn’t find you, and then I got sidetracked by Ann Smith.” Lucy didn’t want to say more until she’d sorted out her own emotions, which were still in turmoil. She felt badly for Ann, of course, but she also resented the way Ann had burdened her with such an unhappy story.

  “I hope you didn’t miss the Great Bed of Ware.” Pam was studying the list of menu choices above the counter.

  “I think I did. How great was it?”

  Pam smiled. “Pretty great. You could fit the whole family in that bed.”

  “Including grandma, the dog, and a chicken or twelve,” added Rachel.

  “Which they probably did,” said Lucy, appreciating her friends’ humor.

  “What can I get you?” asked the server, a chubby-cheeked woman.

  “Cottage pie.” After the unfortunate dinner at Ye Olde English Roast Beef, Lucy had decided the best strategy was to eat heartily when food was available and affordable, and looked good.

  Pam and Rachel agreed. “Make that three,” said Pam. “And a small salad.”

  “What exactly keeps Sue going?” asked Pam as they carried their heavily loaded trays back to their table. “What does she run on?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Don’t ask me. It’s nothing but black coffee, salad, and wine, but she has plenty of energy. I can’t keep up with her.”

  “I worry about her.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s not healthy.”

  “She’s never sick,” observed Pam.

  “She looks great.” The three stopped, simultaneously dropping their jaws, spotting Sue in conversation with a handsome man dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. He had one hand on the back of a chair and was leaning forward, practically dripping charm all over the table.

  The three exchanged glances and marched forward in unison. “Here’s your salad,” said Lucy, placing it in front of Sue.

  “These are my friends,” said Sue with a graceful wave of her well-tended hand. “Pam, Rachel, and Lucy, this is Perry.” She paused, savoring the moment. “He’s an earl.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Lucy felt a bit like the upstairs maid, standi
ng there holding her tray. “Are we supposed to curtsy or something?”

  “Not a bit. All that’s rather gone out of style these days.” There was a touch of gray at his temples, his eyes were blue, and his smile revealed a mess of crooked teeth. His gaze returned to Sue. “If you’re interested in my collection, just ring me.”

  Then he was gone and the girls were plunking themselves down at the table, giggling like middle schoolers. “And what exactly does the earl collect?” inquired Pam. “Etchings?”

  Sue was shaking her head. “I married too young. If I’d only known this day would come, I would have saved myself.” She speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. “And we have so much in common. I like castles and he has a castle. I like hats and he collects hats, with an emphasis on hats with feathers,” she said, provoking gales of laughter.

  “I guess he’s safe enough, then,” observed Rachel drily.

  “It’s good to know we don’t need to worry about protecting your virtue,” added Pam.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lucy. “He seemed awfully interested.”

  “No,” sighed Sue. “He’s after my feather fascinator.” Seeing their blank looks, Sue continued. “You know, the little hat I wore at Lizzy Muse’s wedding. There was one quite like it in the show, and apparently Camilla wore one at her wedding to Prince Charles. Perry says it was divine, and he tried to buy it but Camilla won’t sell. Sentimental reasons, he says.” She chewed slowly. “I might sell him mine.”

  Pam was buttering a roll. “She’s obviously lost her mind.”

  Lucy nodded. “There’s only one thing that will bring her back.”

  “Retail therapy,” suggested Rachel.

  Sue gave a shaky little sigh. “I do think it’s my only hope.”