Page 124 of A Rare Find

“And your hair,” moaned Aunt Susan once the little party had reached the tower, where Agnes stood at the window, strumming her lute.

“I adore it!” cried Cassandra. “You look like Joan of Arc.”

Agnes curtseyed to Mrs. Alderwalsey, kissed Aunt Susan, and smiled delightedly at her new cousin.

“I will write a song for you,” she declared. “How would you describe the essence of your being?”

“D major,” answered Cassandra. “Or G-flat major. And yours?”

Aunt Susan was the one who looked like Joan of Arc, not the hair, of course, something about the facial expression, both martyred and defiant.

She turned to Elfreda. “Take me to the nursery.”

Agnes and Cassandra stayed in the tower, conferring and composing in the most rapturous tones, and Elfreda took Aunt Susan and Mrs. Alderwalsey to the nursery, or part of the way. They’d just started up the staircase when Hilda and Matilda came sledding toward them on a mattress. Luckily, Mrs. Alderwalsey led an alacritous retreat down the steps, or the collision might have involved casualties.

“They almost never do that,” said Elfreda, but Aunt Susan was now marching toward the library.

“Papa won’t receive you,” called Elfreda, racing after. It wasn’t only that Aunt Susan had offended him—these past days his time had been entirely occupied, and the present moment was no exception. “He’s meeting with the coroner.”

“How convenient,” cackled Mrs. Alderwalsey.

Aunt Susan flung open the library door.

To Elfreda’s surprise, Papa didn’t respond to the interruption with wrath, even when he realized it was his estranged sister descending upon him. He smiled, introduced her to the coroner, and with a casual sweep of his hand, drew her attention at last to the glittering gold and silver on the table.

Aunt Susan gawked. But only for a moment.

“Harold,” she said, “I do not advocate spoiling young people with excessive indulgences, but a house must have, over its entire area, a roof. Do you intend to use that”—she pointed at the precious metal—“to shelter your children from the elements?”

The coroner straightened. “That would be a crime, madam.”

Aunt Susan stamped her foot and waved her arms, rather magnificently. “This is a crime. All of this.”

In the end, Papa agreed to let her take the twins for the summer. The twins didn’t protest, not after Aunt Susan said Grendel could come too. By that point, she probably considered dogs in the nursery the least of all possible evils. And Agnes was so enamored of Cassandra, she invited herself along. All three girls burst into tears when they realized Elfreda was not inclined to quit Twynham, but she promised to write, and Cassandra promised they could ride her pony, and everyone seemed cheered.

Her sisters’ departure made Marsden Hall feel different—emptier, colder; however, it was, in fact, more peopled than ever. Antiquaries filed in and out of the library, cataloging the coins and objects in advance of the inquest. Elfreda worked on her own catalog, unnoticed except when a Fellow found himself in want of more tea or biscuits.

Mr. Clutterbuck arrived, and the special meeting was held, during which Papa was duly elected to the council, and Elfreda was praised for her cleverness in solving the riddle that led to the hoard’s recovery. Attention shifted quickly to the hoard itself, and to the camp, and then splintered as the men formed factions, arguing over who should be in charge of what.

No one asked to read Caroline Marsden’s papers. Nor did anyone seem interested in contemplating the significance of the riddle’s transmission from woman to woman, down through the centuries.

Once her bitterness subsided, Elfreda felt relieved. The disinterest meant her grandmother’s papers wouldn’t be taken from her.

When the excavation began, bitterness surged anew. The bluff became busy as a beehive, Fellows cutting turf, shoveling, clustering around the finds—slag metal one day, a charcoal-stained stone hearth the next, then iron ship fastenings. She had no place in it. She was relegated to bystander, or more accurately, bysitter, as Nicholas Fluff made sure to usher her time and again to a camp chair in the shade.

“Georgie Redmayne has solicited my company,” she told Papa, upon encountering him alone in the library, as the excavation entered its second week. “I’m going to visit at Redmayne Manor—to stay there, I mean.”

“Is the Major back?” Papa narrowed his eyes.

“No,” said Elfreda, shortly.

“Even so, child.” Papa was shaking his head.

Elfreda was shaking hers. “I am not a child. And I am going. It’s just across the park.” She didn’t add: and even if it weren’t.

“This isn’t because of the blue room?” asked Papa. “I should think you understand my position.”

“I do, Papa,” she said. “I have come to understand your position perfectly.”