Lady Osbaldestone’s Plum Puddings: Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles Volume 3

by Stephanie Laurens

  Therese turned to Miss Webster and was pleased to encounter a direct look from a pair of fine hazel eyes. Of average height and slender build, Honor Webster was sensibly gowned in a warm woolen carriage dress, and her golden-brown hair was restrained in a neat bun, although teasing tendrils had worked loose to bounce in corkscrew curls beside her cheeks. Her features were pleasing, with wide eyes, arched brown brows, and delicately tinted lips. All in all, on first sight, Therese approved; she offered her hand with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear.”

  Honor Webster lightly clasped Therese’s fingers and sank into a graceful curtsy. “Thank you for your welcome, my lady.” Straightening, Honor glanced at her uncle, then looked inquiringly at Therese. “As soon as Uncle Hildebrand learned of your coins, nothing would do for it but that he had to come and examine them himself.”

  Miss Webster’s tone was affectionate and indulgent, while her words were to the point.

  Therese waved them to the armchairs. “Please sit, and I’ll endeavor to appease your understandable curiosity. I won’t be a moment.”

  She left the room and returned to her private parlor and her writing desk. After church yesterday, Reverend Colebatch had warned her that he expected the professor to arrive today, and that knowing the man, he would be eager to examine the coins. Understanding that academics frequently had one-track minds, Therese had ensured that the coins had remained at the manor. She released the secret drawer in her writing desk, lifted out the small pile, shut the drawer, and carried the coins to the drawing room.

  The professor and Miss Webster expectantly watched as Therese entered and crossed to the low table between the armchairs they occupied, to one side of the hearth.

  “These are the three coins my grandchildren stumbled across.” Therese placed the coins in a row on the tabletop and stepped back.

  Professor Webster leaned forward. He peered at the coins, then withdrew a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket, fitted it to one eye, and picked up one coin.

  Therese retreated to her favorite armchair on the other side of the fireplace and watched as, in a silence punctuated by soft grunts, the professor examined each coin.

  Finally, he set the third coin back on the table and angled a shrewd look at Therese. “Where were these found?”

  Rather than answer, she countered, “What are they?”

  “Two Roman denarii and a siliqua, most likely from the period of occupation—I would say around 400AD. There were Roman settlements in this area around that time.” He huffed and amended, “Although I suspect the denarii were minted well before that.”

  “Are they valuable?” Therese asked.

  The professor straightened, burgeoning enthusiasm lightening his expression. “Valuable enough in their own right, but if they’re indicative of a hoard, as they might well be, then that is truly exciting.”

  Therese heard the front door open, and the chatter of young voices reached them. “Ah—that will be my grandchildren.” She raised her voice. “My dears, please join us. The professor has arrived, and he has information to share about the coins.”

  She didn’t need to call twice. The drawing room door swung wide, and her brood of five trooped in, closely followed by Henry and his friends.

  The professor looked taken aback by the unexpected company. Therese hid a smile and obliged with introductions, including titles and sufficient connections to ensure that the professor didn’t make the mistake of imagining this group would be easily dismissed.

  “Well met, Professor.” Henry was the last to shake his hand. “We—indeed, the whole village—are keen to hear your verdict.”

  Everyone looked expectantly at Webster.

  He harrumphed and repeated his assessment of the coins; describing them again clearly escalated the excitement he was fighting to contain. He concluded with an openly eager “So what I need to know now is where the coins came from.”

  The group of ten exchanged glances, then at Jamie’s nod, Henry turned to the professor and replied, “As to that, we can’t yet say. The coins were discovered mixed in with a collection of silver pennies in two jars that had been placed about the village for donations for the village’s plum puddings.”

  Webster blinked. “Plum puddings?” He glanced at Therese. “Jars?”

  Therese explained her scheme of supplying the village with plum puddings and how the villagers had insisted on donating pennies to be used for the traditional good-luck tokens. “Consequently, a jar was placed in the village store, and another was left on the bar in the local public house. Both jars were close to full with silver coins when my staff collected them on Monday afternoon.”

  “When we”—Jamie waved at his siblings and cousins—“cleaned the coins, we found the three odd ones.” With the help of Henry, Melissa, and Dagenham, Jamie recounted their efforts thus far to learn who had put the three coins in the jar. “But although the Mountjoys and the Whitesheafs have asked everyone who has come in during the past week, no one has remembered having any strange coins.”

  Henry sighed. “We’re at a temporary standstill. We haven’t noticed any unusual earthworks—any holes or digging that might have unearthed the coins—either.”

  Dagenham added, “We’re starting to wonder if whoever put the coins in the jar didn’t even realize they were odd—that they weren’t just overly worn pennies.”

  The professor’s expression was one of frustrated impatience. “I see.” He stared at nothing for several moments, then refocused on the group. “In situations such as this, there are two critical questions that need to be answered. First, where did the coins come from? And beyond that, are there any more—specifically, have they come from a hoard?”

  Amused, Therese saw the entire group nod in eager fascination.

  “To answer those questions,” Henry said, “we need to find whoever put the coins in the jar.”

  “Certainly, that’s the most obvious way forward,” the professor acknowledged, “and I commend your efforts thus far.” He glanced at his niece, then looked at Reverend Colebatch and grimaced. “I would dearly love to lead the charge myself, but I fear I have a treatise that I absolutely must complete by the end of the year.”

  “Indeed, you must.” Honor Webster had been training a distinctly warning look on her uncle. She shifted her gaze to Therese and Reverend Colebatch and explained, “Uncle Hildebrand has been honored by one of the leading antiquarian societies and asked to write a treatise on Viking artifacts for their journal. The treatise must be submitted by the end of the year, and he has a long way to go.” Her gaze returned to the professor. “He really shouldn’t have come charging down to Little Moseley, but the lure of a find proved too much temptation.”

  The professor grumbled, “I would be a poor scholar if I didn’t follow up the report of such a find.”

  Honor’s expression softened. “I grant you that, but you really must buckle down now, uncle. It won’t do to miss the deadline.”

  Professor Webster heaved a put-upon sigh. “You’re right, of course.” His gaze swung to the group of earnest searchers. “So I can’t be actively involved in the search.”

  “But you will be staying in the village.” To the rest of the room, Reverend Colebatch explained, “I’ve arranged for the professor and Miss Webster to use one of the church cottages.” He waved to the east. “The one near the Romsey lane that Mortimer used last year. It’s vacant at present.”

  “Indeed, indeed—the quiet here will help me concentrate.” From under his bushy eyebrows, the professor slid a look at his niece. “I’ll work faster here than in Oxford.” Webster returned his gaze to the searchers. “So when you find any clue, I’ll be available for you to consult.”

  Henry and Jamie were quick to assure the professor that the group would happily forge on with the search. “We’ll scour the area,” Henry declared, “and leave no stone unturned in hunting down where the coins came from.”

  “And,” Jamie solemnly said, “we’ll ke
ep you informed of anything we learn.”

  “Excellent.” The professor smiled encouragingly. “And if you need any further information, you can—”

  “Ask me,” Honor Webster firmly interjected. She shot her uncle a fond yet strict look. “You’ll need to keep your nose to the grindstone. Those searching can report to me, and if they need to pick your brains, you may be sure I’ll pass the message on. But while I can liaise with the searchers and assist you with your research, I can’t write your treatise for you.”

  The professor looked as if he wanted to argue, but knew he had no leg to stand on. Instead, he harrumphed and grudgingly conceded.

  Therese decided she approved of Honor Webster.

  Reverend Colebatch beamed at the youthful crew. “I can assure you, Hildebrand, that you’re leaving the search in good hands. Our group here has succeeded in quests before, and I’m sure they’ll give this latest endeavor their best.”

  The children, Henry, and his friends confirmed that was so.

  Then Reverend Colebatch glanced out of the window and blinked. “Dear me—it’s coming down even faster now. We’d best be off.”

  Therese rose, waited while farewells were said, then accompanied the professor, his niece, and the reverend to the door.

  The ten searchers trailed behind her. After closing the door on the three adults, Therese turned to see the younger group sporting frowns of varying degrees.

  Dagenham summed up their dilemma. “All very well to say we’ll search, but how should we proceed?”

  Henry grunted. “We need to stop and think. Something will occur to one of us—it usually does.”

  “We have choir practice tomorrow afternoon,” Melissa pointed out.

  Jamie nodded. “Let’s all wrack our brains and meet at choir practice tomorrow and formulate a proper plan.”

  Therese hid a fond smile as the others agreed. Her grandson was well on his way to becoming an experienced leader of men.

  Chapter 3

  The next day dawned bright and clear, with the morning sun transforming the world into a magical place, draped in white and scattered with diamonds.

  While Mandy and Melissa were content to spend the hours after breakfast reading novels by the fire, Jamie, George, and Lottie were incapable of allowing such a day to pass without doing something.

  Something active.

  Midmorning saw them rugged up against the cold and tramping through a thin blanket of snow, heading southward on the track that ran from Tooks Farm, around the rear of Fulsom Hall, past the lake, and on to the dilapidated cottage at Allard’s End, at the rear of the Dutton Grange estate.

  They’d gone to Tooks Farm to consult with Johnny Tooks, reasoning that if any of the village lads, who roamed far and wide through the woods, had seen unexpected digging or a landslide or anything of that nature, Johnny would have heard of it.

  Johnny had been agog to learn about the three Roman coins. Sadly, he knew of no digging or disturbance of the earth, but had promised to alert the other lads to keep their eyes peeled.

  Johnny was now walking with Jamie, George, and Lottie; he had to check on the village’s flock of geese, which were in the final stages of fattening themselves on the fallen fruit in the abandoned orchard behind old Allard’s deserted cottage.

  The four had agreed that animal burrows might be places of interest, and as they walked, they scanned either side of the path, hoping to spot tracks in the snow, while idly speculating on their chances of discovering the ruins of a Roman fort, or a camp where legions had rested, or—as voiced by Lottie—the remains of a villa with a pretty mosaic floor like one she’d seen in a book.

  They were rounding the western shore of the lake when George stopped and pointed up the slope. “What about a fallen tree?” They all looked at where he was pointing; a huge old tree lay on its side, wedged between two others five yards above the path. “Perhaps there’s a hole where the roots came up.”

  “Let’s take a look.” Jamie started scrambling up the slope, and the other three followed.

  They reached the tree and clambered over it, but even though they brushed aside snow and leaves, there was no sign of any hole or even disturbed earth.

  With disappointed huffs, they straightened and brushed off their gloves.

  The sound of whistling reached their ears, then Lottie looked southward, in the direction they’d been heading. “There’s someone coming along the path.”

  Seconds later, the others heard the regular thud of boots on the path. They remained behind the fallen tree, leaning on the trunk as they waited to see who the walker was.

  A stranger in a greatcoat worn open over a tweed jacket, breeches, and boots came striding into view. He was tall, and his coat fell from broad shoulders. He’d thrust his hands into his coat pockets, and his gaze was fixed on the path before him. His hair was a light brown with blond streaks scattered through it, and the planes of his face were long. Even though he’d yet to see them, his features were set in relaxed, almost-smiling lines.

  Lottie shifted, and the crackle of leaves beneath her boots had the man glancing up. He spotted them, and his lips eased into a true smile. He halted and surveyed them. “Hello. What are you doing up there? Exploring?”

  His likeable face and open expression were of the sort to encourage confidences.

  Johnny replied, “We’re searching.”

  “Oh?” The man arched his eyebrows. “For what?”

  Jamie, George, and Lottie exchanged glances, unsure how much they should reveal, but Johnny readily volunteered, “Roman coins.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Really?” Rather than look disbelieving, he appeared impressed. He glanced at Jamie, George, and Lottie, then returned his gaze to Johnny. “Have you found any?”

  “Three,” Johnny proudly said, then amended, “Or at least, Jamie, George, and Lottie here did.”

  Still clearly impressed, the man looked at Jamie. “Did you, indeed?”

  Given Johnny’s revelations, there seemed little point in refusing to reply, and the man seemed genuinely interested and entirely unthreatening. Along with George and Lottie, Jamie nodded. “We found three Roman coins mixed in with a collection of silver pennies.”

  George added, “A professor from Oxford told us they were two denarii and a siliqua.”

  Lottie piped, “We think they might have come from a hoard.”

  That gave the man pause. After a second, he said, “There is quite a history of Roman occupation in this area.”

  Jamie blinked, and George asked, “Do you know much about it?”

  “A bit.” The man stepped back to the edge of the path and leaned his shoulders against the bole of a tree. “Ancient history is something of a hobby of mine.”

  He paused as if dredging his memory, then said, “I’ve heard about the remains of possible Roman settlements at Fordingbridge, which is not that far to the west of here, and there’s been even more bits and pieces found around Twyford and Otterbourne, to the east. Nothing major yet, just bits of pots and such—no hoards—even though many people have looked.” He seemed to mull over those facts, then added, “With finds to the east and finds to the west, and Roman towns at Clausentum, just north of Southampton, and Venta Belgarum—that’s Winchester—and Noviomagus Reginorum, which is Chichester, all within easy reach, I would say there’s a decent chance this area played host to, at the very least, the villa of a wealthy Roman, possibly even of a Roman general.”

  He pushed away from the tree and refocused on the children. “When coins such as yours are found, it’s always possible there’s an as-yet-undiscovered hoard somewhere near, and the history of the area being what it is makes that even more likely.”

  The gentleman—from his clothes and his diction, let alone his knowledge, it seemed fairly clear he was a gentleman—studied the children. “I realize this might seem a bit forward, but I’m staying in the village.” He waved toward the northern end of the lane. “I’m renting a cottage just up from Swindon
Hall, and I’m at something of a loose end.” He smiled in self-deprecatory fashion. “As I’ve just demonstrated, ancient history—Roman history—is an interest of mine, so I wonder if might I help you search. My name is Harris.”

  Jamie exchanged a glance with George and Lottie. Johnny was plainly ready to agree, but Jamie felt they needed to act responsibly and exercise caution—yet there was no denying Harris had been helpful; he’d already told them more than the professor had. He also appeared entirely trustworthy, on top of being gentry-born, well-dressed, and well educated.

  Before Jamie could respond, Lottie, who had been staring at Harris and biting her lower lip, asked, “If we let you help us, you won’t try to steal the hoard away for yourself, will you?”

  Harris grinned. “A fair and wise question.” He placed his hand over his heart and stated, “I swear on my honor that if we find a treasure of any sort, I will not keep even a single coin for my own.”

  Then he smiled unrestrainedly, and they were all charmed.

  “So what do you say?” Harris looked from one to the other. “Do I pass muster?”

  His good humor over Lottie’s blunt question vanquished Jamie’s reservations. He smiled back. “Welcome to the search party—there’s ten of us, all told. Well, not counting Johnny and the other village lads, but they have chores so can’t search all the time.”

  The four children scrambled over the fallen tree and slithered down to the path.

  “I have to get on.” Johnny waved along the path. “I have to check the geese.” He looked at Jamie, Lottie, and George. “I’ll see you at choir practice.” Johnny dipped his head to Harris, then turned and hurried on.

  “So.” Harris studied Jamie, George, and Lottie. “How and where did you come upon these coins?”

  Between then, they related the story of the jars of silver pennies, how they’d discovered the coins in one of the jars, and their efforts thus far to determine who had donated, wittingly or unwittingly, the three Roman coins. “So far,” Jamie concluded, “no one has remembered handling the coins or seen anyone else with them, either.”