Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [38]
“The twelfth Lord Kennington, like his father, also married a remarkable woman. Elsie Trumpshaw was the offspring of a Yorkshire cotton mill proprietor, and the product of a Cheltenham Ladies’ College education. Like any self-respecting Yorkshire lass, Elsie considered the saying, If you take care of the pennies, the pounds will take care of themselves to be a creed, not a cliche.
“While her husband was away making money, Elsie was unquestionably the mistress of Kennington Hall. Having spent her formative years wearing her elder sister’s hand-me-downs, carrying her thumbed books to school and later borrowing her lipstick, whatever the color, Elsie was well qualified to be the guardian of a hereditary pile. With consummate skill, diligence and good housekeeping, she set about the maintenance and upkeep of the newly restored Hall. Although she had no interest in the game of chess, she was irritated by the empty display cabinet in the Long Gallery. She finally solved the problem while strolling around a local car-boot sale,” said Max, “and at the same time changed the fortunes of so many people, myself included.” Max stubbed out his second cigarette and I was relieved that he didn’t immediately roll another, as our little cell was fast coming to resemble Paddington Station in the era of the steam engine.
Elsie was trudging around a car-boot sale in Pudsey on a rainy Sunday morning—she only ever attended such events when it was raining, as that ensured fewer customers and it was therefore easier for her to strike a bargain. She was rummaging through some clothes when she came across the chessboard. The red and white squares brought back memories of a photograph she had seen in the old Christie’s catalog, dating from when the original set had been sold. Elsie bargained for some time with the man standing at the back of an ancient Jaguar, and ended up having to part with £23 for the ivory chessboard.
When Elsie returned to the Hall, she placed the newly acquired board in the empty display cabinet and was delighted to discover that it was a perfect fit. She thought nothing more of the coincidence, until her uncle Bertie advised her to have it valued—for insurance purposes, he explained.
Unconvinced, but unwilling to slight her uncle, Elsie took the board up to London on one of her monthly trips to visit her aunt Gertrude. Lady Kennington—she was always Lady Kennington in London—dropped into Sotheby’s on her way to Fortnum & Mason. A young assistant in the Chinese department asked if her ladyship would be kind enough to come back later that afternoon, by which time their expert would have placed a value on the board.
Elsie returned to Sotheby’s after a leisurely lunch with Aunt Gertrude. She was greeted by a Mr. Sencill, the head of the Chinese department, who offered the opinion that the piece was unquestionably Ming Dynasty.
“And are you able to place a value on it—” she paused—”for insurance purposes?’’
“Two thousand, two thousand five hundred, m’lady,” said Mr. Sencill. “Ming chessboards are fairly common,” he explained. “It is the individual pieces that are rare, and a complete set . . .” He raised the palms of his hands and placed them together, as if praying to the unseen God of auctioneers. “Are you perhaps considering selling the board?” he inquired.
“No,” replied Elsie firmly. “On the contrary, I’m thinking of adding to it.”
The expert smiled. After all, Sotheby’s is nothing more than a glorified pawn shop, with each generation of the aristocracy either buying or selling.
On arriving back at Kennington Hall, Elsie