English Tea Murder (17 page)

She had learned one thing, though, that might explain everything. George Temple had a history. Before he was the esteemed instructor at Winchester College, he’d been involved in financial misconduct. He’d even gone to jail. He’d been punished. Lucy yawned. And it had all taken place a long time ago. It was history, a footnote in the cycle of booms, bubbles, and recessions. That’s what Lucy was thinking of, bubbles and dollar signs, when she finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Seventeen

F
riday morning, the group departed on the minibus for Bath, which Quentin made a point of announcing was properly pronounced
Baaath.

“Bath is rich in historic and literary associations,” he began from his perch in the front of the minibus. “The original Roman baths for which the city is named are well preserved and offer a fascinating glimpse into ancient times. But for many of us, including myself, it is the city’s association with Jane Austen that most fascinates. Those of you who have read
Persuasion
and
Northanger Abbey
know that she used the city as a setting for part of the action. The famous Pump Room is still in business serving tea.”

“Tea!” Sue gave Lucy and Pam a little nod. “We’ll finally get our afternoon tea.”

“And on the way we’ll stop at Salisbury Cathedral. It has the tallest spire in England,” he said, pausing when Autumn and Will groaned in protest.

“I know, we have seen a lot of churches, but this one has quite a nice lunchroom where we can get something to eat, and it has one of the four existing copies of the Magna Carta. And on the way home, we’re going to pause at Stonehenge. I’m hoping to time it so we can see the sunset there.”

For once Will seemed interested in the itinerary. “They did human sacrifices there, right?”

“Perhaps,” admitted Quentin. “No one knows for sure what the circle was used for.” His eyebrows rose. “That’s what makes it so fascinating, for me at least: the mystery.”

“I believe it has something to do with the solstice—a calendar of sorts,” suggested Dr. Cope.

Lucy was listening, watching the street scene as the minibus wove its way through the city. People were walking along purposefully, probably on their way to work. She had enjoyed the trip—she loved being in a different country—but she was eager to get home. She missed Bill and the kids, she was worried about Elizabeth, and she missed her job. Back in Tinker’s Cove, she was sure of herself. She knew her roles as wife and mother and reporter. Here, it was different. She couldn’t escape the feeling that something was very odd about this group of tourists, but she wasn’t comfortable crossing the line and investigating them. It wasn’t her business to pry into their lives—or was it? If there had been a conspiracy to murder Temple, wasn’t it her duty to expose it? After all, murder wasn’t only a crime against the victim; it was a crime against society as a whole.

“I read the attachment.” Pam had cupped her hand around Lucy’s ear and was whispering.

“What do you think about it?”

“Well, it was a long time ago.” Pam’s voice was low. “People change. He was tried and punished. As far as I’m concerned, he paid his debt to society.”

Lucy nodded. “We’ve all done bad things.”

“And it’s not like he killed somebody or anything,” continued Pam. “It was only money. White-collar crime.”

From the window, she saw a couple of men walking along on the sidewalk, togged out in dark suits and carrying briefcases and umbrellas. They looked terribly respectable, irreproachable even, headed no doubt for jobs in the City, as London’s financial district was known. “Not exactly a home invasion,” said Lucy, thinking of a violent episode that had recently taken place in a neighboring town.

“Or a serial killer.” Pam shifted in her seat and flexed her ankle. “My ankle is much better today,” she added. “But I am glad for the minibus. And it’s nice to get out of the city and see some more of the countryside.”

Lucy agreed. One of the things that had surprised her most about England was the large amount of unspoiled countryside. She loved seeing the rolling green fields dotted with sheep or cows and sometimes horses. There was much more than in Maine, where family farms were going the way of the dodo, replaced either by strip malls or gradually overtaken by trees and reverting to forest.

Of course, in England they still had open markets where small farmers could sell their produce. In Maine, farmer’s markets were just beginning to sprout, and there was nothing like Portobello, where the stalls with meat and eggs and vegetables were mixed right in with the used clothing and antiques. She settled back in her seat, intending to enjoy the ride, but her thoughts kept straying from the pastoral scenes outside to the group inside the minibus.

Only money.
That’s what Pam had said, but that was an oversimplification. It was never “only money” or “only my house—thank heaven we’re all still alive.” After the shock of the hurricane or tornado or fire wore off, there you were with nothing but the clothes on your back. She and Bill had struggled financially when he gave up Wall Street to become a restoration carpenter in Tinker’s Cove, and she remembered the hard choices they’d had to make. Groceries instead of a new winter coat, heating oil instead of Christmas presents, and paying Doc Ryder five or ten dollars a month against the balance he patiently carried for years before they finally got caught up.

They had been fortunate. A generous check from Bill’s parents had helped them through that terrible first winter, and Bill’s business gradually became successful. Not that they hadn’t had lean years since, but they’d always managed. They even had a tidy sum put away for the kids’ college expenses and maybe, someday, if anything was left, retirement. So even though she wasn’t exactly pleased that Elizabeth might lose her RA position, it wasn’t the end of the world. She had money to pay the additional expenses.

But what if she didn’t? What if the college refused to grant credit for Elizabeth’s course work because she owed money? They could even withhold her degree! What would happen then? Instead of starting on a satisfying career, Elizabeth might have to take a low-level survival job. Instead of hanging out with upwardly mobile young professionals, she might start dating some loser drug addict type. Lucy could picture it, a tragic spiral downward into poverty, drug addiction, perhaps even crime. She knew she was being a bit melodramatic, but the sad truth was that she had seen too many local kids bottom out on drugs.

“What are you thinking about?” demanded Pam. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

“Nothing.” Lucy laughed. “My imagination was running away with me.”

“Look at that house with its thatched roof. Isn’t it adorable?”

It was, and so was the town of Salisbury, where tiny old houses lined the twisting, ancient streets. The cathedral, in contrast, was located inside a spacious walled “close,” which included a large, grassy lawn and scattered houses for clergy and their families. Lucy thought the church was amazing, especially when you considered it was built over 750 years ago.

Lucy knew a bit about construction and the difficulties Bill encountered in his work, but she was awestruck at the labor and skill of the builders who had constructed the massive cathedral with its soaring spire using only the simplest of techniques. Merely hoisting the stones up to the top of that fantastic spire without the use of a modern crane seemed an incredible feat.

Inside, she discovered that this church was not simply a monument to the past but also had kept pace with changing times. A distinctly modern baptismal font was the first thing she noticed; it had been installed for the cathedral’s 750th anniversary to mixed reviews. Quentin sneeringly called it a “saucer,” but Lucy rather liked its simple shape and moving water. Wandering farther into the huge interior, she found a kindergarten class set up on child-sized chairs and tables in one of the side aisles, working on a project with crayons and paper.

The children were dressed in navy blue school uniforms. Most seemed to have blond hair and rosy cheeks. They were completely comfortable in the impressive structure, chattering away with each other as they exchanged crayons and displayed their work.

Quentin led them to the transept, where they stood beneath the spire and pointed out how the weight of the tower had bowed the supporting pillars. “Don’t worry,” he advised them. “If you look through those windows, you can see the bracing that was added to support the spire.”

Lucy looked and she supposed it was all safe enough; it had stood for three-quarters of a millennium, but she knew that Bill wouldn’t approve of anything that wasn’t straight and true.

Advising the group that Bath was still some distance away, Quentin suggested they take a quick look at the Magna Carta and then purchase sandwiches and drinks in the café to eat on the bus. Only a few members of the group followed Quentin into the dimly lit display room, where the ancient charter was displayed in a lighted case.

“Kind of an anticlimax,” said Dr. Cope. “It’s just a piece of parchment.”

“A piece of parchment that changed history,” said Quentin. “It was the beginning of democracy; the nobles forced the king to share power.”

“So instead of one white male running the show, you got a bunch,” said Rachel. “I’m not sure that’s a big improvement.”

Quentin was standing close to Lucy; she could feel his breath on her neck. She would have liked to move away, but the gallery was small and they were crowded together in front of the Magna Carta. “What do you think, Lucy?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Are you a feminist like Rachel?”

“I guess I’m a humanist,” said Lucy, seeing a gap and moving toward the door, ready to find some lunch. “A hungry humanist.”

Other visitors had the same idea, as the little café was crowded. Lucy and Will approached the cashier at the same time, and he stepped back with a graceful sweep of his arm and a courtly bow. “After you, m’lady.”

Lucy smiled despite herself. “Thank you, m’lord,” she said, putting down her food on the counter and fumbling for her wallet. The kid was so full of life and so charming it was easy to sweep aside her suspicions about him. But, of course, she reminded herself as she accepted the change from her ten-pound note, charm was one of the characteristics associated with sociopaths. She resolved to keep an eye on him as they explored Bath. She certainly didn’t want a repeat accident, one that might have more dire consequences than a twisted ankle.

Back on the bus, Lucy sipped her tea and chewed her ploughman’s cheese and pickle sandwich. “These sandwiches are so good,” said Lucy. “I don’t know why we can’t have sandwiches like these at home.”

“There’s a rule, I think,” said Pam. “Packaged sandwiches must be soggy and horrible.” She was unscrewing the cap on her bottle of apple juice. “I couldn’t help noticing that Quentin was standing awfully close to you.”

“It was crowded.” Lucy took another bite of sandwich.

“Not that crowded.” Pam was unwrapping her sandwich.

“I thought he’d given up on me and was going after Autumn and Jennifer, but now he seems to be back after me. I like him; he’s fun. I had a good time hanging out with him in Brighton. But I’m a married woman. Happily married. I’m not interested in any extracurricular activities.” She took another bite of sandwich. “What’s his reputation on campus?”

“Oh, everybody knows he’s a lech.” Pam had smoothed out the cellophane wrapper and had set the sandwich on it, in her lap. She picked up one half and took a bite. “He’s kind of a legend in that department. They say some years he works his way through all the girls in the freshman class.”

Lucy was skeptical. “That seems like an exaggeration.”

“I’m sure it is, but the truth is that his reputation has hurt him. He’s been passed over several times for a professorship. The word is the college wants to be able to fire him in case there’s a scandal.” She took a sip of juice. “It makes sense. It’s almost impossible to get rid of a professor. I guess that’s why they were considering Temple to take old Crighton’s chair when he retires.”

“It’s too bad,” said Lucy, draining her tea and crumpling the cellophane into a ball. “He’s a gifted teacher.”

Pam chuckled. “From what I hear, that’s not all he’s gifted at.”

“Well, as tempting as you make him sound, I’m sticking with Bill.”

“Smart move.”

The bus dropped them off in front of Bath Abbey, which Quentin informed them was definitely worth a look. “The Roman baths are just yonder,” he said, pointing the way. “Follow me.”

A few minutes later, he’d distributed admission tickets and told everyone to be back at the Abbey at four o’clock; until then, they were on their own, free to explore the city.

“I couldn’t help noticing there seems to be a lot of shops,” said Sue. “And we’ll have time for an early tea in the Pump Room.”

“We need to stay together.” Lucy didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.

“And we need to remember that Pam may not be up to much walking.” Rachel had given Pam her arm for the walk across the uneven cobblestones of the square.

“Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine.” Pam was waving her ticket to the baths. “I’ve always wanted to see this. I remember seeing pictures in
National Geographic,
and now I’m here.”

Once inside, they discovered the baths were larger and more complex than they’d imagined. They listened to audioguides that explained different aspects as they made their way down ramps and across uneven, timeworn paving stones, past displays picturing ancient Roman life, the sweat room, and the East Bath. Finally they found themselves standing in an open courtyard with a large rectangular pool in the center filled with bright green water.

“Yuck!” declared Sue. “You couldn’t pay me to dip my toe in that.”

Lucy was about to say something about the water’s high mineral content when she noticed Pam wasn’t with them. “Where’s Pam?” she asked in a panicked voice.

“I thought she was with you,” said Sue, turning to Rachel.

“We were together—she was hanging on to my arm—but then she said the paving was so uneven she’d do better on her own.” Rachel reproached herself. “I got so caught up in the audioguide . . .”

“Never mind.” Lucy was already retracing her path through the ruins. “We have to find her.”

Lucy had to dodge past a group of German tourists who were blocking her way, pointing out the various statues that stood atop the arcade that enclosed the pool. Then she was weaving her way through the East Baths, cursing the stagy dramatic lighting that kept the corners in darkness while making the tank of water glow. Farther on, she darted into the sweat rooms, a massive space that was also dramatically lit to highlight the rows of square pillars that had once supported the floor. Standing on the walkway, Lucy peered down at the mazelike area, where numerous shadows offered plenty of places to conceal a body.