Aunt Bessie Considers Page 18

  “They aren’t telling anyone anything,” Bessie told him.

  George shrugged. “I hope she’s okay. I’ll tell you something, though, the next time Marjorie and Harold ask me to sponsor a conference, I’ll think twice.”

  Bessie frowned. “Oh, but none of this is their fault,” she said.

  George laughed. “I know, and I’m sure I won’t be able to say no when they ask; I never have before. I guess I should be happy that I’m off the hook for Mack’s excavation. That wouldn’t have been cheap.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t have been,” Bessie agreed.

  “Inspector Rockwell, how very nice, if rather unexpected, it is to see you,” George said, as if he’d just noticed Bessie’s companions.

  “Bessie’s a friend,” the inspector replied. “Since I was planning to come for her talk anyway, I decided I might as well come for the whole day.”

  “Is that so?” George grinned and turned to Doona. “And who is this lovely young lady?” he asked Bessie.

  “This is my friend, Doona Moore,” Bessie replied. “We take Marjorie’s Manx language class together.”

  George took Doona’s offered hand and gave it a squeeze. “Moghrey mie,” he said to her with a wink.

  “Oh, moghrey mie,” she replied, pulling her hand away.

  “Why haven’t I seen you here all weekend?” George asked Doona.

  “History isn’t really my thing,” Doona replied. “I’m just here today to support Bessie.”

  “She’s lucky to have such loyal friends,” George said. “But if history isn’t your thing, what is?” he asked Doona in a suggestive tone.

  Doona blushed and glanced over at Bessie. Bessie frowned. George was flirting outrageously and it was making her and Doona both uncomfortable.

  “How’s Mary today?” she asked him pointedly.

  George laughed. “You mustn’t mind me,” he told Doona with a grin. “When my wife isn’t with me and I meet a beautiful young woman I can’t seem to help but flirt. The problem is, I’m terrible at it and I know it. Luckily, no one ever takes me seriously, so I never end up in trouble with Mary.”

  “It’s fine,” Doona said uncertainly.

  “Anyway,” George turned back to Bessie, “in answer to your question, Mary is just fine. She told me you’re coming over for tea next week and I’m ever so pleased. It would do her a world of good to make some friends.”

  “She’s a lovely person and I’m looking forward to getting to know her better,” Bessie told him.

  “So, what’s your theory on our little murder mystery, then?” George asked Inspector Rockwell.

  “Douglas is out of my jurisdiction,” he replied. “Inspector Corkill is the one coming up with the theories here.”

  “Oh, come on,” George chuckled. “Even out of your jurisdiction, you’re still a cop. You must have your own ideas about what happened. Shall I tell you what I think?”

  “If you like,” Rockwell said in a deliberately casual tone.

  “I think Bambi killed Mack and then tried to kill herself when the guilt got to be too much for her,” he announced loudly.

  Bessie winced as she realised just how many people must have heard his remarks.

  “It’s certainly one theory worth exploring,” Rockwell said diplomatically. “I’m sure Pete Corkill is considering every possibility.”

  “You know, someone suggested that I had a hand in it,” George said in an indignant voice. “As if I had any motive for murdering anyone. I didn’t even know the poor man had a nut allergy, so that lets me out anyway.”

  “Whenever something like this happens, all sorts of wild and crazy theories get suggested,” Doona told him soothingly. “It’s Inspector Corkill’s job to sort out the crazy ones from the rest and then investigate from there.”

  George appeared to be only half-listening. His eyes were focussed past Doona’s head towards the lifts. A moment later, Harold reappeared.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the speakers are all ready,” he said in a loud voice. He only had to repeat himself twice before the crowd finally noticed him and went quiet.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Harold told everyone. “The first sessions are now ready to begin.”

  “So where are we going?” Doona asked Bessie as the foyer began to empty.

  Bessie frowned. “Last night I was planning to go to Claire’s talk and I missed it, so I suppose I’d like to go there. But Paul is a very good speaker and I think you and the inspector might enjoy hearing him more.”

  “We could flip a coin,” Doona suggested.

  “I’ll throw in my vote,” Rockwell offered. “Having had the chance to meet her, I’d like to hear what Claire has to say.”

  Accordingly, the trio made their way into the Kinvig Room and took seats near the back. Claire was in the front of the room, flipping anxiously through her notes and talking with Joe Steele, who looked ready to try to pull down the moon if Claire asked him to.

  “The poor man is head over heels, isn’t he?” Doona whispered to Bessie.

  “She could do a lot worse,” Bessie whispered back. “He’s a nice enough person and he’s well educated. He’s just awfully young and he’s trying way too hard.”

  A moment later, Joe slid into a front-row seat and Claire stepped behind the podium.

  “Ah, good morning,” she said brightly. “I suppose I should start by apologising to those of you who heard the first half of this talk last night, because I’m going to start back at the beginning. I hope you don’t find hearing it all again too boring.”

  A polite chuckle went through the crowd and then Claire began. Bessie was relieved to find that she was a talented speaker. The last thing Bessie wanted was for her friends to be bored. Bessie herself found the talk fascinating and when it ended she was almost ready to visit Anglesey herself.

  “We should have a holiday to Anglesey,” Doona said as she turned to face Bessie once the talk had finished.

  Bessie laughed. “I was just thinking that very thing,” she told her friend.

  “Have you ever been there?” Doona asked her.

  “No, and before today I wasn’t even tempted to go,” Bessie replied.

  “I was there for a policing conference a few years ago,” Rockwell told them. “It’s a lovely little island, although obviously not as cut off from things as we are here. I actually enquired about a job there after I left because I was so taken with the place, but they didn’t have any appropriate openings.”

  “Their loss is definitely our gain,” Bessie said with a smile.

  Claire fielded a few questions from the audience and then thanked them all for coming. Bessie and her friends remained seated as the room slowly cleared. The session was due to run for two hours and Claire had taken less than one. There was nothing on the schedule now until lunch, so they were in no rush to get anywhere.

  “So, how was that?” Claire asked Bessie as she walked towards the door with Joe hot on her heels.

  Bessie grinned at Claire’s flushed face. “It was wonderful,” she replied honestly. “You’re a gifted speaker and you’d clearly done your research and knew your topic well.”

  Claire turned an even brighter pink. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I always get so nervous and then I tend to talk too fast.” She shook her head. “Maybe by the time I retire I’ll be used to it.”

  Bessie laughed. “You certainly didn’t talk too fast today, and you didn’t look nervous, either.”

  Claire grinned. “So my acting skills are improving, even if my nerves aren’t.”

  Joe put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. “I told you that you’d be amazing,” he said. “And I’m never wrong.”

  Claire smiled at him. “I can’t tell you how much your support means to me,” she told the young man.

  “It’s easy to support someone who’s brilliant and beautiful,” he said with a bashful grin.

  Bessie stood up. “I’m counting on you both supporting me this afternoon,”
she said laughingly. “In spite of the fact that I’m neither.”

  “Actually, Harold told me that you’re one of the most talented researchers he’s ever come across,” Joe said in reply.

  “Really?” Bessie was deeply touched. She had a great deal of respect for Dr. Harold Smythe.

  “He said your talk is going to be one of the highlights of the conference,” Claire chimed in. “He told me that you make dusty old documents relevant and interesting and that he was looking forward to your keen insights.”

  Bessie blushed. “My goodness, I had no idea,” she stammered, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the kind words.

  “He also told me that you’re something of an amateur detective,” Joe continued. “Does that mean you’re going to solve Mack’s murder as well?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I’m nothing like an amateur detective,” she said firmly. “I’ve had the great misfortune to get caught up in a couple of murder investigations recently, but I’ve only ever discovered the culprit by accident or circumstance. I’m more than happy to leave the police to sort out what happened to Mack and Bambi.”

  “And the missing slides,” Joe said.

  “And the missing slides,” Bessie agreed.

  “There’s still an hour until lunch,” Claire said. “Joe, I’m going to take my notes and things back to the hotel. Would you like to walk back with me or are you staying here to talk with people and get another drink?”

  “Oh, I guess I’ll walk back with you,” he replied. “I could use some fresh air.”

  Bessie and Doona exchanged glances. Surely everyone could see through that excuse?

  The couple disappeared out of the room and Bessie and her friends followed slowly. The foyer was mostly deserted.

  “I bet some people have snuck downstairs for the last part of Paul’s talk,” Bessie speculated.

  “Do you want to do that?” Doona asked.

  Bessie thought about it and then shook her head. “Maybe it’s because I’m so tired,” she said. “But I’m feeling rather overloaded on history right now. I’d really just like to grab a cup of tea and sit somewhere quiet.”

  “Maybe I’ll explore the museum for a short while,” Rockwell said. “I’ve never actually been here before.

  “You haven’t?” Bessie said in her most scandalised tone. “How long have you lived on the island? You should be ashamed of yourself for not making the effort earlier. And you should have dragged your children around as well. They should get a good grounding in the history of their adopted country.”

  “Sorry,” Rockwell said, looking down at the floor.

  Bessie took his arm. “Come on, then, let’s make up for lost time,” she said, heading towards the lift.

  “I thought you wanted a tea break,” the inspector protested.

  “Your education is more important than a tea break,” Bessie said sternly. “Doona, are you coming?”

  Doona laughed. “You’ve already dragged me around this place at least twice,” she reminded her friend. “But I wouldn’t miss this tour for the world.”

  “Of course,” Bessie began as they emerged from the lifts and walked past the museum’s front entrance, “if you did this properly you would start with the movie. With Paul giving his talk in the Ellan Vannin Theatre, though, we’ll have to skip it for today. It’s well worth a trip back to see it, however, when you have a chance.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the inspector replied with a grin.

  “Don’t get cheeky with me, young man,” Bessie said mock-sternly. “If you don’t behave I’ll give you a test when we get to the end.”

  “Was she like this when she took you around?” the man appealed to Doona.

  Doona laughed. “Exactly like this,” she told him. “She should have been a history teacher.”

  “Quiet,” Bessie told them both, trying not to laugh.

  The pair grinned at each other and then both looked soberly at Bessie. “We’ll be good,” Doona told her friend.

  “Okay, then,” Bessie winked at them. “The first thing we’re going to see is the art gallery.”

  She led them into the darkened space and waved an arm. “Go ahead and take a look around,” she suggested. “There are some marvelous pieces in here and some important ones as well.”

  Doona and the inspector dutifully wandered around for a short time, looking at the artworks and reading the information provided about each piece. Bessie waited patiently for them in front of the portrait of James Stanley, Seventh Earl of Derby.

  “Ah, there you are,” Rockwell said as he came around the corner and spotted Bessie. Doona was only a step behind him.

  “I remember him,” Doona said with a laugh as she looked at the portrait. “John, may I present James Stanley? He was the ‘Lord of Mann and the Isles’ during the English Civil War. He actually came and lived on the island for a while and then went back to fight for the king, along with an army of Manxmen that he more or less dragged with him. He was captured and executed and then Cromwell’s forces sailed across and took over the island.” She smiled at Bessie. “Did I get that all right?” she asked.

  “More or less,” Bessie grinned. “I’m so pleased that you paid attention when I took you around.”

  Doona grinned. “I hope you’re paying attention,” she said to Rockwell with a smug smile.

  He laughed. “I’m doing my best,” he told her.

  “Shall we go on?” Bessie asked. The trio worked their way through various rooms, stopping again in front of a case full of ancient pottery.

  “That’s a very ugly pot,” Rockwell said.

  Bessie laughed. “It’s ‘Ronaldsway’ pottery and it is fairly basic. The Ronaldsway culture is fascinating in that it developed in different ways from what was happening elsewhere in the British Isles at the time.”

  “What sort of time are we talking about?” the inspector asked.

  “Late Neolithic,” Doona said excitedly. “I remembered that as well.”

  “Well done,” Bessie grinned.

  “Show-off,” Rockwell said, sticking his tongue out at Doona. She responded in kind.

  “Children,” Bessie said severely.

  “So not everyone was doing such ugly pottery in the late Neolithic?” Rockwell asked.

  “No, they weren’t,” Bessie told him. “They also weren’t doing the same things with flint tools. There are other things that were unique to the culture as well, but I don’t want to stand here all day talking about just one thing.”

  “Why Ronaldsway? Isn’t that the name of the airport?”

  “The artifacts were found when they were excavating for an expansion of the airport in the late 1930s,” Bessie explained.

  The trio made their way through the Bronze Age, then the Iron Age and into the Viking period. The skull of a young woman who had apparently been sacrificed, the top of her head sliced open, fascinated Rockwell. Doona was more interested in the beautiful collection of beads that had once been a necklace adorning a pagan woman.

  They continued to make their way forward through time. “I wish we had enough time for me to tell you all about everything we’re seeing,” Bessie told Rockwell as they walked.

  “It’s all really interesting,” Doona told him. “You’ll have to come back sometime with Bessie and get the full tour.”

  “I actually think I’d like that,” Rockwell grinned.

  “This is William Christian’s hat,” she told him, pointing to a display case. “Or, more accurately, it was William Christian’s hat.”

  “And William Christian was?”

  Bessie shook her head. “Hugely important in Manx history. We saw his portrait in the art gallery,” she reminded him. “He was either a great Manx patriot or a traitor, depending on your view of his story.”

  “He’s the one who surrendered the island to Parliamentarian forces during the Civil War, right?” Doona asked.

  “Exactly. Charolotte de La Tremoille, the Countess of Derby, James Stanely’s wife, refus
ed to surrender, even after she was informed that her husband had been executed,” Bessie replied.

  “And this William Christian surrendered anyway?” Rockwell asked.

  “In exchange for promises that the new government in England would recognise ancient Manx rights,” Bessie said.

  “Interesting,” Rockwell replied, looking more closely at the hat.

  “He’s probably better known as ‘Illiam Dhone,’” Bessie added. “That’s his name in Manx.”

  “That might be easier to remember than any of the other Manx I’ve heard,” Rockwell joked.

  They moved from the seventeenth century, into the eighteenth and beyond. There were sections on old toys, farm equipment, and the difficult lives of fishermen, farmers and miners.

  Bessie walked slowly through the exhibit on the Second World War.

  “It’s strange thinking of things that happened in my own lifetime as being history,” she remarked.

  “I didn’t realise that the island housed German prisoners during the wars,” Rockwell told Bessie.

  “It was a very different island in those days,” Bessie told him. “We were a bit isolated from it all up in Laxey. The closest camp was in Ramsey, but that didn’t mean that the whole island wasn’t changed. Again, that’s a story for another day. Or maybe many, many stories.”

  Everyone’s mood lifted as they headed into the section that showed the island as a tourist destination. Rockwell sat inside the model horse tram and watched video footage of the huge crowds of people that used to flock to the island in the summer months.

  “The island must have felt very different in those days as well,” he said to Bessie.

  “I remember it well,” Doona laughed. “When I was a teenager we would spend the whole summer complaining about all the tourists and then, when they’d gone, we’d complain about how boring all the locals were.”

  Bessie grinned. “Again, Laxey missed out on a lot of the worst of it, but as you say, the island had a somewhat different feel, at least in the summer months. Much like it feels different now during the TT.”

  “Ah, I haven’t been here for a TT yet,” Rockwell said. “I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to it or dreading it.”