The 100-Year-Old Secret (5 page)

Then she realized the man on the phone was saying something.

“I'm sorry?” Xena asked.

“I wanted to know if you had any more questions,” the man said.

Xena turned to Xander, who shrugged. “Not right now,” she said. “But may I call you back if I think of something else?”

“Certainly!” he said and hung up.

“Try another number,” Xander suggested, but they struck out. There weren't many Bathesons in the phone book. A few weren't home and the others had never heard of Nigel Batheson.

“I guess we might as well give up,” Xander said, not meaning it. He knew that once Xena set her mind to something, she wouldn't quit. Their father called her a bulldog.

Xena picked up the newspaper and scanned the About Town section again. “There's an art gallery that has some Batheson sketches. Let's check it out.”

“Okay,” Xander agreed. “And Mom will be thrilled that we did something cultural.”

“I sure will!” They both turned around at their mother's voice. “What cultural activity were you planning on doing?”

While Xander explained, Xena jotted down the address of the gallery.

“That sounds fine. I'll walk you to the bus stop,” their mother said.

“Oh, Mom . . .”

“Don't whine, Xander. I just want to make sure you don't get lost.”

They all put on raincoats and stood at the bus stop in the drizzle. When the bus arrived,
their mother got on with them and asked the driver some questions while Xena and Xander found seats and pretended not to know her.

“The driver will tell you where to get off,” she called back to them with a big smile. “And you get the bus back on the other side of the street from the gallery.”

“Fine, Mom, thanks!” Xena sounded as cheery as she could so that Mom would get off, and with a big wave at them, she did.

“I wish she wouldn't treat us like kids,” Xander grumbled.

Although there weren't many of London's famous double-decker buses on the roads anymore, riding buses through the city was still fun. London was so different from home. Xander loved seeing old buildings right next to brand-new ones, and the neat-looking bulgy black taxicabs zipping around. He leaned his forehead against the window, looking out at the drizzly day. It was still confusing to ride on the left side of the street. Sometimes when they went around a corner he thought that the driver had gotten mixed up and they were going to have a head-on collision with another car.

People walked under umbrellas, wearing raincoats and boots. Everything was gray and dull—the
raincoats, the store windows obscured by rain, the expressions on people's faces.

That was why, when a sudden flash of purple crossed his line of sight, he didn't even realize what it was at first. He was just surprised to see color. But then he focused more closely. Was it? Could it be? . . . Yes, it was!

“Xena!” he cried.

“Hush,” she said. “Everybody's staring at you!” But Xander kept his eyes on the girl who was darting under awnings, dodging the rain-drops, holding her colorful hat on her head with one hand. Even in the gray light of a drizzly day he could see that the ringlets under the hat were bright golden blond.

“Look!” he said, pointing out the window.

“What?” Xena asked.

“It's her!” Xander half rose from his seat. “It's the girl in the purple hat!”

T
he girl from the painting? No way!” Xena swung around and looked where Xander was pointing. But the girl had vanished into a crowd, and when the bus passed the corner where Xander had last seen her, there was no girl and no purple hat.

“You're nuts,” Xena said. “Or barmy, as they say here. I think you've lost what little mind you ever had, brother dear.”

“But she was there! I saw her!”

“Xander, you couldn't have seen her. The model would be more than a hundred years old. You must have imagined it. Or you just saw some kid in a purple rain hat.”

“It wasn't a rain hat! It was one of those hats with ribbons and flowers, like old ladies wear.” Xander kept his nose pressed to the window, but it was no use. The girl was gone.

“This is our stop,” Xena said, and Xander
got up and went through the door after her, stepping down into a puddle. Great, he thought as he followed her.

A bell tinkled as they opened the door to the gallery. The man at the desk nodded at them as they came in, and then went back to his news-paper. The gallery was a series of small rooms, with lights shining down on the drawings, all in dark frames.

In the Batheson room was a brochure that described the sketches, but it didn't provide much information beyond titles that were pretty obvious, like
Child Picking Roses
.

A few other people were walking around, either alone or in pairs, pausing at each picture. There weren't many.

Xena inspected a few landscapes, a drawing of boys playing with puppies, a pretty woman doing needlework, and the same woman gathering flowers.

Even though Xander knew he should be looking for clues, he wasn't really studying the art. Instead he kept thinking of that girl with the purple hat. He
knew
he wasn't crazy. He
had
seen her.

His boots squished when he finally moved on to the next group of pictures, and people
turned to glare at him. He tried to walk quietly, but what could he do about noisy boots?

Then he heard Xena calling him in a loud whisper from three sketches away. “Check this out!” she said when he arrived. She was pointing at a card on the wall that gave information about the piece.

“Steeple of Church of St. Freda, Taynesbury, Herts.,” it read.

“Hey—Taynesbury! That's the word in the notebook!” Xander's blue eyes sparkled. “What do you think it means?”

“I don't know,” Xena said. “Maybe we could ask somebody.”

They stopped at the front desk. The man looked up from his paper. “Yes?”

“Do you know anything about that painting that disappeared?
Girl in a Purple Hat
?” Xena asked.

“'Fraid not,” the man said. “Nothing more than what it says in the art history books. I think the drawings are just as fine as the paintings, though.”

“They are,” Xena agreed. “But we were wondering about a couple of things.”

The man looked inquiringly at her, so she went on. “Is Taynesbury the name of the town
where the artist lived? And what does
Herts.
mean?”

“Yes, indeed,” the man said. “He did most of his painting in Taynesbury. It's in Hertfordshire”—Xena and Xander noticed that he pronounced it
Harfurdsheer—
“which is abbreviated to ‘Herts.' It's not far from London, although in the old days it would have been considered a good distance. Horses and carriages were quite slow, you know.”

Xena and Xander thanked him as they walked out. Xander did a little dance on the sidewalk.

“Cut that out before someone sees you,” Xena said.

He did, but he was still excited. “We already have a lead!” he said. “We know where he lived. Let's find out more and then see if we can get to that town.”

“Mom and Dad will love to take us someplace outside of London,” Xena said. “And there are bound to be even more clues at the museum where the Batheson exhibit is going to be next week—the Victoria and Albert. Let's go there next.”

The street was crowded with people, and shop windows were bright in contrast to the gray sky. The sidewalks were narrower than what they were used to in America, and they constantly had to dodge people who were in a hurry.

Fortunately, the Victoria and Albert was nearby. “Hope they're still open,” Xander said, and Xena nodded. They found the museum, though the sign on the door said it would be closing in fifteen minutes.

Inside, a guide was sitting at a desk, twirling a pencil with his fingers. The museum was practically empty.

“Hullo!” the man said with a wide grin. “You two must be real art lovers to come out in this wet!”

“Oh, I love art,” Xena said.

“Anything in particular you want to see?” he asked. “You won't have much time. We're about to close for the day.”

“We're interested in Nigel Batheson,” Xena said. “We've looked at some of his work online, and I wanted to see it in person.”

“Right this way.” The man led them past a white wall with bright watercolors of fruit hanging on it. Then he stopped in front of a pencil sketch. “Well, here it is,” he said. “Not much to see, I'm afraid. We're preparing his important works for the showing next week.”

Xander examined the picture. It showed a little boy in a garden who seemed absorbed in cuddling a rabbit while behind him some adults
and an older boy were sitting on the grass. It looked like a happy family picnic. “No girls in purple hats,” he said.

The man laughed. “No, no girls. Batheson wasn't fond of strangers, so his only models were his wife and sons. He never painted girls, except in that one instance. People have always wondered who the model was. I'm not sure it matters, but it would be nice to find out, don't you think?”

Xena silently agreed with him and glanced at the wall. “Mostly I wanted to see his sketches for
Girl in a Purple Hat
,” she said.

“Oh, those were destroyed,” the man said. “This sketch here—like all of Batheson's sketches still in existence—is a study for a painting he never completed. It's interesting how he worked, actually. He made lots of drawings, sometimes more than a hundred, for each painting, and then he worked on the paintings for a long time. And when the painting was done, he would have the servants light a big fire in the drawing room, and he would burn the sketches.”

“Why?” Xander asked.

“I think it was his own little ceremony to celebrate the end of the project,” the man explained. “That's why the only drawings left are
for paintings he never completed. If you could find a sketch for one of his finished paintings, a collector would pay you a lot for it.”

“So, did he make many paintings?” Xander asked.

“No, he was a perfectionist,” the man said. “He actually completed only fifteen oil paintings and a few watercolors. And now only fourteen of the oils are left. Luckily, we have them all here at the V&A.”

“Except
Girl in a Purple Hat
,” Xena put in.

“Right,” the man said with a sigh. “It must have been a stunner. What a loss, when his collection is already so small.”

The sun was setting by the time they left the museum, but at least it wasn't raining anymore.

“I can't believe we learned so much about Batheson already,” Xena said. “Especially about him living in Taynesbury and that he burned his sketches.” She glanced up at the cloudy sky. “I hope it'll be a nice day tomorrow. I don't want to do our entire investigation in the rain.”

But Xander had more on his mind than the weather. “I wonder who that model was?” he said. “Maybe
she
took it. If we could find out who she was, then maybe we could find the missing painting!”

“Why would she take it?” Xena was intrigued at the idea.

Xander shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to keep it for herself?”

Xena considered this. “Or maybe she was shy about it being on display,” she said. “If we could figure out who she was, we might be able to find out more about the painting.”

“Let's see if Mom and Dad will take us to Taynesbury,” Xander suggested. “They keep telling us they want us to see the real England, and Mom was talking about taking a car trip tomorrow anyway.”

When they arrived at their hotel, the friendly doorman who knew Aunt Mary and the SPFD wasn't on duty. Instead it was the quiet one who acted as though letting them in was a big chore. The elevator had a sign on it saying
OUT OF SERVICE
so they had to walk up the three flights, with Xander's boots squishing at each step.

They found their mother in their room, sitting on Xena's bed with a map unfolded in front of her and guidebooks propped up on either side. Xander threw himself down next to her and pulled off his boots and wet socks.

“Just in time!” Mom said. “I have some great news. We found a place to live! It's not far from
here. Dad and I will move our things into the flat on Monday, while you're getting to know your new school.”

“Awesome!” Xena said.

“Now I'm trying to figure out a fun place for us to go tomorrow. I deserve a break after all this house hunting before I get back to work.” She glanced at the corner of the room, where a bright yellow box waited. Xena and Xander both recognized it. It came from the producttesting company that their mom worked for, testing new gadgets.

“Anything good in there this time?” Xander asked, following her gaze. There'd been a video game that used some kind of new technology last time, and with any luck there would be something equally cool now.

“Just some cell phone,” their mother said. “I haven't looked at it yet. We can bring it along tomorrow, and you can check it out in the car, once we decide where we're going. The problem is there's just so much to see. Help me narrow it down, will you?”

“How about Taynesbury?” Xena asked. “We were just at a museum with art by a man named Batheson, and he's from there.” She left out the part about wanting to check out clues for one of
Sherlock Holmes's unsolved mysteries, in case Mom wasn't keen on the idea.

“Yeah,” Xander added. “The place seems very educational.”

“Taynesbury?” their mother said. “That's one of the places I was considering. It sounds charming.” She flipped the pages in the guide-book. “It's a quaint little town that's supposed to look like the villages in the nineteenth century. And we can tour a mansion where King Henry the Eighth spent some of his childhood. Sounds like a good choice.”

“Great!” Xena said.

“Oh, and by the way, Mary Watson called and asked if we could take her nephew Andrew with us tomorrow. She thinks you could all be wonderful friends.”