Page 125 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
‘Where did that come from?’ he asked, picking a cup up and turning it over to examine the base.
‘You know I told you Mrs Muswell had sent Jim Voss to ask me for her mother’s tea set, because she’d left it behind, only it wasn’t in the cupboard where she said it was?’
He nodded.
‘Well, itwasthere after all, just tucked out of sight. Nell knew where it was and she said it dated back to the Misses Spencer, who had the Copper Kettle, so Mrs Muswell had lied about it being her mother’s. Nell even has a little black-and-white photograph showing herself serving the Misses Spencer tea with it – she brought it to show me earlier.’
‘So Mrs M had only just remembered it and was trying to get it back?’
‘Yes, I expect Jim Voss told her about our finding the willow-pattern china in the cupboard under the basement stairs, and that jogged her memory.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised – it’s quite valuable.’
‘Really?’ I stared at him. ‘Nell and I think it’s hideously ugly, but recently she saw something similar on theAntiques Roadshow.’
‘I think it’s ugly too,’ he agreed, ‘but it’s Sèvres, and there are lots of collectors out there who don’t share our opinion.’
He scrutinized each piece carefully, then said finally, ‘It’s all genuine – there are a lot of fakes about – and complete with the original tray. In perfect condition, too.’
‘So how much do you think it’s worth?’ I asked eagerly.
‘I’ll have to check some auction estimates, but I think it’s good forat leastfour thousand, and possibly quite a bit more.’
‘Wow!’ I said. ‘I think the Misses Spencer just gave me back a bit of financial wiggle room!’
I expect if they knew, they’d be pleased to be helping restore their beloved teashop to its former glory, and I was happy I could even the score with Mrs Muswell at the same time!
I don’t usually read the local paper, but there was a pile of the latest edition on the counter when I was paying for my petrol in the village. A photograph of the Oldstone and the headline on the front page leaped out at me: ‘Woman abandoned as Baby returns to seek Birth Mother,’ it said sensationally.
Of course, I didn’t buy a copy there, but instead stopped at a newsagent where they wouldn’t recognize me, when I was on my way to the surgery. When I had read the article I thought how tiresome of Alice Rose to want the schmaltzy happy-ever-after meeting with her birth mother that so seldom ever worked out that way. It certainly wouldn’t in this case.
I blame all these TV shows for encouraging misguided people to search out lost relatives who, I am quite sure, would in nine cases out of ten have preferred to stay that way.
42
Perfectly Poised
The day the newspaper article came out, I went out early to buy a copy – and narrowly missed bumping into Dr Collins, who came out of the shop and got into her car as I walked along the street. She drove off the other way, though, so I don’t think she saw me.
On the way back to the teashop I felt exactly like a snail without its shell, though I don’t suppose many people had read the paper yet, or if they had, were interested.
Would my birth mother see it? And if she did, how would she feel? I hoped she’d be happy that I was searching for her and eager to meet me, but there was a current of pessimism running through me (probably caught from Nile) that suggested an alternative scenario.
I was so engrossed in these thoughts that I only came back to reality when I caught the sound of a loud altercation as I turned into Doorknocker’s Row – a shrill female voice and the more familiar deep tones of Nile’s.
I stopped dead at the sight of Nile and an enormously fat woman engaged in what looked like a heated argument outside The Fat Rascal.
It was unmistakably Mrs Muswell, but either she’d used an old photograph on the internet, or she’d put on a lot of weight recently, because her beady dark eyes were sunk deep into her doughy face.
‘I’m not listening to any more of your cheek!’ she told Nile.
‘You’re not going anywhere before you’ve paid me for those antiques of mine you sold.’
Mrs M opened her eyes as wide as they would go – not far – and said innocently, ‘I told you, I just I forgot to put that cheque through your door before I left.’
‘Yes, just like you forgot to answer the letter I sent you through your solicitor.’
‘I’ve been moving around,’ she said evasively. ‘I haven’t caughtup with my mail yet.’
