The Digger's Rest (28 page)

The next set of telling documents were sparse
remnants of plans for the manor house which Lady Madeline assumed
was, at least in part, what had remained and been built upon by
successive generations; in the end bequeathed to The National Trust
when the property was divided only a short time ago.

None of this seemed to be particularly
compelling until she reread the last letter from Gregory to
Alistair. It was the reference to his reason for not building a new
castle but building a manor house instead. Not since the days of
William… caught her eye.
Did that mean that
the old castle had been in existence since the days of William,
maybe before?
she asked herself silently, then
answered herself. Well, if the old castle known as Revelstoke was
already a ruin when Crane got it in 1323 and built in a style that
would draw into it its use as ‘defensive’ then it would certainly
date or predate William because since William there had been no
need for ‘defensive’ castles.

She took that as her first major
breakthrough whereby she could, with certainty, date the ruins from
at the very least 1066, and if that was the case, then there most
certainly be some reference to it made in William’s Domesday Book.
“Jolly good show, Maddie!” she said out loud to herself and began
hand copying the relevant portions of the letters to take back to
Mitch. “We’re finally on our way,” she said as she collected her
things, noticing the time, and started back for the inn hoping he
would be there to share her excitement while at the same time
thinking with a deep sense of regret,
My
darling, Neville, I do wish you were here to share this with
us.

Chapter XI

ANTIQUES

Lady Cotswold arrived back at inn by 2:00
P.M. When she arrived, Sandrine had already gotten her message and
had readied herself for whatever Lady Madeline had planned for the
rest of the day, hoping that word hadn’t gotten back to Lady
Madeline about her behavior the night before.

Since Mitch and the other men hadn’t arrived
back from their supply hunt, Lady Madeline, feeling very much on
her game at having made a rather significant step with the
morning’s work, decided to treat herself to her original thought of
exploring the village and hopefully finding one or two quaint
little antique shops to spend the rest of the rainy afternoon. She
loved antiques, particularly Victorian china, figurines and
jewelry, so she suggested that she and Sandrine make a nice
leisurely afternoon of lunch and touring.

The two women left shortly after two,
deciding that, since the village was so small, they might walk it
instead of taking the car and having to trouble about parking which
was always a chore, and a bore; and left the inn on an expedition
of their own, umbrellas in tow.

As things will happen in England, they had no
sooner gotten a block away when the sky seemed to just open up with
rain coming down in buckets. The few people on the street ran for
cover in doorways, shops or their cars.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sandrine
spotted a sign across the street, The Holly & The Ivy, and
pointed to it, not troubling to raise her voice over the loudness
of the rain. Lady Madeline gave a sigh of relief and took Sandrine
by the arm. Across the street and into the shop they went.

Once in they realized that it was a tea
shop,
Even better,
they
thought, looking at each other as if they had read each other’s
minds. Lady Madeline hadn’t eaten since breakfast and Sandrine
hadn’t eaten at all, the idea of the heavy breakfast sandwich Lady
Madeline had sent up had made her stomach churn.

As they began taking their coats off, a
bright-voiced, middle-aged woman came from somewhere in the back,
wiping her hands on her old fashioned, frilly apron to greet
them.

“
Stinking filthy weather isn’t it?” she
said, then introduced herself. “I’m Constance Farrow. Please make
yourselves comfortable, ladies. I’ll get you some menus,” and she
went over to the glass-covered counter where the baked goods were
displayed.

She was back in an instant with two paper
menus covered by plastic folders. “Can I bring you some tea
straight away?” she chirped gaily.

“
Indeed, that would be lovely. Earl
Grey, if you wouldn’t mind,” Lady Madeline replied, dabbing the
remains of the rain from her face with her handkerchief.

Constance Farrow was off again into the back
of the shop. She returned a few moments later with a tray filled
with cups, saucers, napkins and a steaming pot of tea cutely
covered in a green knitted tea cozy, and set up the tea in front of
the ladies. “Visitors?” Constance asked smiling, already knowing
the answer since she knew practically everyone in the village, as
well as the nearest villages around.

“
Yes,” Lady Madeline responded, “…from
Yorkshire.”

“
Staying over at the Digger’s, I
suppose?” Constance asked, smiling but again, already knowing the
answer.

“
Why, yes,” Lady Madeline replied,
looking at Sandrine with a small knowing smile.

“
Then you must be Lady Cotswold,”
Constance said, stepping back with her hands on her hips and taking
a short bow. “I’m honored, Lady Cotswold. Welcome to my humble
establishment.”

“
No secrets in a small village, eh,
Mrs. Farrow?” Lady Madeline asked, having already seen the wedding
ring on Constance’s hand to know to use the correct form in
addressing their hostess properly. She winked at Sandrine. Sandrine
smiled and winked back.

“
None at all, Lady Cotswold,” Constance
replied with a smile. “And you’re here to dig up the ruins out back
of the old Crane Estate.”

“
Indeed we are, my dear Mrs. Farrow,”
Lady Madeline replied wryly.

Then, remembering herself and her place in
the presence of the wife of a peer, Constance resumed her hostess
role. “Can I get you something to go with your tea, ladies?”

Lady Madeline looked to Sandrine indicating
that she should order first. Sandrine looked the menu up and down
trying to decide. As a gap filler, she thought for a moment, then
asked her hostess, “What a lovely name for your pretty little tea
shop, Mrs. Farrow. It’s charming and so unusual. How did you come
by it?”

“
Well, Miss, I didn’t exactly come by
it. It came to me by way of my mother, and from her mother before
her. It’s from local folklore, you might say, from before the land
was…settled. The Holly was the Druid symbol for the male because it
protected its young, the berries, with the sharp points of its
leaves and the Ivy was their symbol for the female because its
vines will cling to anything stronger than itself.” Constance told
them as if she were teaching a school lesson.

Seeing that the ladies seemed interested in
her story, she went on, “You’ll probably notice around here that
mostly the older buildings, the really old ones, I mean, they all
have either groves of holly trees clumped together around their
yards and gardens or great beds of ivy vines, or both, in some
cases. They used to plant them whenever any of the women of the
house were with child to bring them a child of the sex they
desired, or so the folklore goes,” Constance said, shrugging her
shoulders.

“
That’s fascinating,” Sandrine said
with a sense of awe at being told an old pagan tale, forgetting she
hadn’t ordered her food.

“
So would you like something to eat,
Miss?” Constance reminded her, smiling again. She loved giving the
tourists what they came for when they came to her shop, some tea,
some scones and some…legend, and they always loved all of
them.

“
I think I’ll just have cheese and ham
sandwich.”

Constance Farrow then looked to Lady
Madeline, holding her pad and pencil delicately in her hand.

“
And for you, your Ladyship? Constance
asked, trying to contain the fact that she thrilled to the teeth to
have the wife of a real peer in her shop.

“
I think I’ll have a Cornish pasty, if
you don’t mind, Mrs. Farrow.”

“
Not at all, your Ladyship.” Constance
replied, pleased with her choice because it gave her another chance
to entertain her guests. “An excellent choice, if I may say so. My
great-grandmother’s recipe. I make them myself. My
great-grandfather was from Clovelly, so her recipe had to be just
right. I make them the exact same way. I’m sure you’ll be pleased,”
she said, backing away slowly before she turned. The way she was
raised, one was never to turn ones back on nobility until they were
at a respectable distance.

When they were alone again, Sandrine couldn’t
resist asking Lady Madeline what a Cornish pasty was.

“
It started as a workman’s meal for the
coal miners down here, sort of a pie filled with diced lamb,
potatoes and onions, and when made properly, can be delightful with
brown sauce. I was hoping to get a chance to have a good one while
I was down here, and I think this one will be good. I’ll let you
try it.”

As soon as Constance Farrow was safely behind
her kitchen door, she tipped her head smiling and said to herself,
“Well done, Connie,” and decided that if her Ladyship and the young
Miss came back again she’d treat them to the legend of the Devon
Forest Piskies.

As they ate, Sandrine couldn’t help but
notice Lady Madeline’s complexion. “If you don’t mind my saying so,
Lady Madeline, your skin looks so… radiant. And your hair looks
lovely.”

“
Why, thank you, my dear, I guess the
fresh country air and warm moisture of Devon rain agrees with me,”
she replied proudly, remembering that she had hardly put on any
make-up before she went out that morning, and hadn’t had a touch up
all day.

When the meal was completed and Lady Madeline
and Sandrine were sufficiently warmed and dried from the down pour
that had brought them into The Holly & The Ivy, Constance came
over with their check, curtsying to Lady Madeline as she put it on
the table.

“
Thank you, Mrs. Farrow, your pasty was
a delight. I’m so pleased I had the chance to try one.”

“
And I’m so pleased you enjoyed it,
your Ladyship, it’s been an honor having you and the young Miss to
tea,” Constance twittered, flushed with the pride of having
actually served the wife of a peer of the realm.

“
Now if you could do us one last
favor,” Lady Madeline said. “With the possibility of another heavy
rain, my friend and I were wondering if there might be an antique
shop nearby that we could visit without having to worry about
getting too wet.”

“
Well, as a matter of fact there is,
your Ladyship, just two streets down, on the corner. It’s called
‘Sir Henry’s Boot’ after the clue from The Hound of the
Baskervilles, since much of the story was set over in Dartmoor and
the prison and all.” Constance said, once again not being able to
resist adding some local color to her guest’s day in the village.
Sandrine nodded, having read the book. “The gentleman who runs it
is named Ransom, Mr. Timothy Ransom.”

Lady Madeline then paid the bill and they
were off down the street on the lookout for ‘Sir Henry’s Boot’
before the rain could come down on them again. As soon as the door
closed behind them, Constance Farrow was on the phone. “Tim, you’ll
never guess who’s on her way. . .”

***

When they walked through the door, an
overhead bell rang announcing their arrival into Sir Henry’s Boot.
They were immediately greeted by a man Lady Madeline would have
guessed to be in his mid or late forties, dressed all in black with
short, wavy golden hair, a ginger-colored goatee and
tortoiseshell, horn-rimmed glasses worn low on his nose. “Lady
Cotswold, welcome to Sir Henry’s,” he said taking her hand and
bowing. “I’m Tim Ransom. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

“
Thank you, Mr. Ransom. It’s a pleasure
to meet you, as well. I take it you were expecting us?” she said,
smiling slyly, then not waiting for an answer she said, “And this
is my assistant, Miss Boucher.”

“
Delighted, Miss Boucher,” Ransom said,
taking Sandrine’s hand, bowing again. She nodded. “Is there
anything in particular that I can show you, or would you rather
browse?” he asked as he led them into the front of the deceptively
small-looking shop filled with long rows of antique and curio cases
at the front and leading to a larger area with furniture and larger
pieces in the back; a small spiral staircase made of wrought iron
close to the back apparently leading to an upstairs
space.

“
Thank you, Mr. Ransom, I think we’ll
just browse. I can’t think of a better way to spend a rainy
afternoon than taking our time seeking out your
treasures.”

“
I’m flattered, Lady Cotswold, and if
you don’t mind my saying so, the pictures of you I’ve seen in the
newspapers do not do you justice.” Ransom said, bowing
again.

“
Ah, now it’s my turn to be flattered,
Mr. Ransom,” Lady Madeline replied, smiling as she walked away,
starting slowly down the center row, looking into each cabinet as
she passed.

Having spent years with Lady Madeline in
shops, Sandrine knew that Lady Madeline liked to take her time and
that made her free to go her own way, so she went down the last
row.

As Lady Madeline went down each row, stopping
at each case, she noticed Mr. Ransom always remaining a respectable
distance behind her, keys in hand, ready to open any case where
there might be an item she might like to examine more closely. Lady
Madeline figured that since she and Sandrine were the only two
other people in the shop, she might take the opportunity to avail
herself of a personal guide and waved the man to come closer. “If
it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Ransom, could I see that lovely
black bust of Queen Victoria?” The man rushed to her side and
opened the case.