Read Online Dead as a Scone by Ron Benrey, Janet Benrey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ron Benrey, Janet Benrey
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grandeur.
“Let’s head downstairs,” she said to Nigel.
“Before we do,” he replied, “what about the paintings in the Grand Hall?”
“Blast! I forgot all about them.”
The Grand Hall, the largest room in the museum, filled the western side of the second floor and was used both for scholarly conferences and special exhibits. Flick loved the décor: Chinese silk draperies, wooden moldings painted in yellow and blue, and comfortable gilded “salon chairs” upholstered in matching blue damask. The dozen oil paintings in the room—each done by a different member of Britain’s Royal Academy of Arts in the late nineteenth century—depicted various personalities associated with the history of tea, commencing with the possibly mythical Chinese emperor Shen Nung, who purportedly discovered that tea was good to drink in 2,737 BC, and running down through the ages to Commodore Desmond Hawker and Sir Thomas Lipton.
“The paintings are probably worth millions,” she said.
“I agree,” he answered as he scribbled.
She pirouetted in place. “I can’t have forgotten anything else. The two other rooms on this floor are classrooms we use for seminars.”
“To the staircase!”
Flick trod down the steps behind Nigel, dreading the coming few minutes. “Better sharpen your pencil,” she said. “The first floor overflows with Hawker property.”
The lobby on the first floor was part of the Tea at Sea Gallery, the museum’s second most popular exhibit. Only the History of Tea Colonnade on the ground floor drew more visitors. The seven guests in the gallery were wearing the bright blue headsets that enabled them to listen to the room’s audio tour guide system.
“Everything here is on loan from the Hawkers,” Flick said. “The forty models of tea clipper ships. The binnacles and compasses. The ships’ logs. The antique charts. The ships’ wheels. The figureheads. The photographs and paintings. The chronometers and navigation tools. The nautical relics. Everything.” She opened the binder and flipped through a sheaf of pages. “There must be six hundred cataloged items.”
“Each of the clipper ship models will fetch a pretty penny,” Nigel said. “I’ll guess ten thousand quid apiece. That’s four hundred thousand, right there. I’ll be generous and estimate two and a half million for everything in the room.” He glanced at Flick. “What do you think?”
She shrugged.
“Is that a ‘too high’ shrug or a ‘too low’ shrug?” he asked.
“Your numbers are beginning to make me feel queasy.”
“Then I withdraw my question. Press on!”
Flick peeked into the gallery at the front of the first floor that held the Hawker collection of tea-related antiquities. As she anticipated, there were five guests widely scattered around the room, looking at individual objects on display. Guests seemed to choose favorite items and linger around them.
Nigel came up behind her and said, “Every time I pass this gallery, I am reminded of an antique store. It offers the same kind of cluttered ambience. A happy jumble of porcelain, silver, and wood.”
“I see it as more of a treasure trove. Each antiquity is a gem. Unique. Irreplaceable. Priceless.”
“Priceless in a symbolic sense,” Nigel said with a soft laugh. “Appraisers always manage to come up with fair-market prices.”
Flick nodded glumly. “And there are scads of wealthy collectors around who can pay them—although it would be tragic to hide these objects in private collections.” She gestured inconspicuously. “That woman in the green sweater and brown slacks is standing next to the earliest surviving examples of Yixing, purple-clay teapots. They were fired in China, in the thirteenth century, during the Sung Dynasty.” She gestured again. “The man wearing blue jeans is looking at a gold and silver eighteenth-century samovar that belonged to the royal family of Russia. Again, the earliest surviving example. And the woman in gray
“Let’s head downstairs,” she said to Nigel.
“Before we do,” he replied, “what about the paintings in the Grand Hall?”
“Blast! I forgot all about them.”
The Grand Hall, the largest room in the museum, filled the western side of the second floor and was used both for scholarly conferences and special exhibits. Flick loved the décor: Chinese silk draperies, wooden moldings painted in yellow and blue, and comfortable gilded “salon chairs” upholstered in matching blue damask. The dozen oil paintings in the room—each done by a different member of Britain’s Royal Academy of Arts in the late nineteenth century—depicted various personalities associated with the history of tea, commencing with the possibly mythical Chinese emperor Shen Nung, who purportedly discovered that tea was good to drink in 2,737 BC, and running down through the ages to Commodore Desmond Hawker and Sir Thomas Lipton.
“The paintings are probably worth millions,” she said.
“I agree,” he answered as he scribbled.
She pirouetted in place. “I can’t have forgotten anything else. The two other rooms on this floor are classrooms we use for seminars.”
“To the staircase!”
Flick trod down the steps behind Nigel, dreading the coming few minutes. “Better sharpen your pencil,” she said. “The first floor overflows with Hawker property.”
The lobby on the first floor was part of the Tea at Sea Gallery, the museum’s second most popular exhibit. Only the History of Tea Colonnade on the ground floor drew more visitors. The seven guests in the gallery were wearing the bright blue headsets that enabled them to listen to the room’s audio tour guide system.
“Everything here is on loan from the Hawkers,” Flick said. “The forty models of tea clipper ships. The binnacles and compasses. The ships’ logs. The antique charts. The ships’ wheels. The figureheads. The photographs and paintings. The chronometers and navigation tools. The nautical relics. Everything.” She opened the binder and flipped through a sheaf of pages. “There must be six hundred cataloged items.”
“Each of the clipper ship models will fetch a pretty penny,” Nigel said. “I’ll guess ten thousand quid apiece. That’s four hundred thousand, right there. I’ll be generous and estimate two and a half million for everything in the room.” He glanced at Flick. “What do you think?”
She shrugged.
“Is that a ‘too high’ shrug or a ‘too low’ shrug?” he asked.
“Your numbers are beginning to make me feel queasy.”
“Then I withdraw my question. Press on!”
Flick peeked into the gallery at the front of the first floor that held the Hawker collection of tea-related antiquities. As she anticipated, there were five guests widely scattered around the room, looking at individual objects on display. Guests seemed to choose favorite items and linger around them.
Nigel came up behind her and said, “Every time I pass this gallery, I am reminded of an antique store. It offers the same kind of cluttered ambience. A happy jumble of porcelain, silver, and wood.”
“I see it as more of a treasure trove. Each antiquity is a gem. Unique. Irreplaceable. Priceless.”
“Priceless in a symbolic sense,” Nigel said with a soft laugh. “Appraisers always manage to come up with fair-market prices.”
Flick nodded glumly. “And there are scads of wealthy collectors around who can pay them—although it would be tragic to hide these objects in private collections.” She gestured inconspicuously. “That woman in the green sweater and brown slacks is standing next to the earliest surviving examples of Yixing, purple-clay teapots. They were fired in China, in the thirteenth century, during the Sung Dynasty.” She gestured again. “The man wearing blue jeans is looking at a gold and silver eighteenth-century samovar that belonged to the royal family of Russia. Again, the earliest surviving example. And the woman in gray
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