The Fountain of Youth

Chapter 25

Mrs. Cotswald was as pleasant as she’d been back in the 1980s when she’d last tried to make Daniel Patterson an offer on St. Vincent’s. A private seller, she’d had no need of addressing Dean Patterson through estate agencies and high-end commission-hounds. Only her personal lawyer would manage the transfers and her accountant would facilitate the payment from her trust to the Ebner Family Trust of which Dean Patterson and his mother were beneficiaries.

The last time that she’d tried to buy the academy, then little more than a modest ruin with a few lecture halls and one hostel, her purchase had not been approved. Through many months of toiling between agents, attorneys, and third party buyers the Dean eventually elected to keep the property that had been passed down to his mother and himself.

There was never any reason given by his mother why she’d revoked his rights to make singular decisions on the sale of the premises, but he’d accepted it. He knew his mother as the sweetest and smartest businesswoman, therefore, if she took the reins he was okay with it. Little had been revealed about his wife or her life before they met.

Daniel had stayed out of her business out of respect. However, he quickly learned that his wife was as stubborn about her past as his mother had been. When he’d wanted her to help him find out who his mother’s birth parents were, she’d refused to ‘meddle in Prof. Ebner’s affairs,’ as she put it. Eventually Daniel had had to abandon the surprise he’d wanted to give his mother on her birthday. This time, he hoped that selling the property that had been taxing on his mother for all these decades would be a positive change, both for her and for him.

“As glorious as ever,” he said, smiling as Mrs. Cotswald entered his office. By his remark he was not being flippant at all. The graceful lady still looked youthfully middle-aged and beautiful. Her full hair was tied in a fancy bun and her suit fitted her well-lined figure perfectly. The only indications of aging were her shoes and her spectacles. More comfortable than her usual heeled shoes and boots, she now wore flatter shoes to accommodate her slight limp, and her contact lenses were replaced by thin-framed glasses.

“Dean Patterson, what a refined, old master you have become! How have you been?” she said kindly, smiling and holding out both hands to capture his.

“I’m well. Thank you, Mrs. Cotswald,” he replied with a smile. “Hideous weather, I’m afraid. But always lovely to see a sunray during a storm.”

“My goodness, Daniel, if you were just a few decades younger,” she played, grateful for his charm. With a kiss to the cheek the two decided to discuss business while Daniel accompanied the college’s prospective buyer through the hallways, although the gardens would be inaccessible under the angry lightning.

Neither of them trusted the ears walls tended to have, especially in the way their last transaction had been thwarted by details the two of them had discussed alone in Daniel’s office. Both parties wanted to avoid that happening again. Their footfalls clapped on the wooden floor that lined the corridor running across the ground floor and over the basement chamber where the archives were kept.

“How’s your mother doing?” she asked. “I remember those dumplings of hers! To die for!” She clasped her hands together as the thunder howled, sounding like a pile of boulders rolling across Hook as they ascended the steps to the first floor.

“She is doing well, thank you. Maybe we’ll run into her here somewhere. She’s always up to something somewhere, like a curious child,” Daniel chuckled. “So, now that we’re together again, Mrs. Cotswald, and know each other a bit better, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for some time,” he cleared his throat. “Why are you so insistent on this particular property. Is it because your husband is a historian and loves the past of this old place?”

His questions were innocent enough, but they had a deeper, serrated blade attached for the receiving end of his curiosity that Daniel had not intended. A little taken aback, Mrs. Cotswald turned to face him on the first floor hallway that ran along the open balcony overlooking the courtyard.

“My God, Daniel!” She exhaled hard, but she kept her voice away from unintended earshot. “Do you think he came home? My husband has been missing since he came to teach here,” she revealed in amazement. “He’s never returned to me. Not even after he was dismissed from St. Vincent’s.”

Daniel frowned as the cool spray pelted the side of his face, but it was not the English weather that left him frozen. “Excuse me? Dr. Cotswald was never dismissed. We assumed that he simply left because of the stress he was under or the personal problems he must have harbored. My God, do you mean to tell me that he is still missing after all this time?”

“Presumed dead,” she said plainly, looking out over the courtyard. Her eyes were fixed upon the old fountain obscured by the dancing tree branches. “Of course, I’m not presuming. I know.”

“You mustn’t think that way, Mrs. Cotswald,” he started, but she soon halted his sympathy to enlighten him.

“Daniel, my husband was killed when he discovered the spring of that fountain,” she grunted with her face near his in order to keep the conversation in tight quarters. “I know this, because he told me on the phone the night before he disappeared. Dittmar’s contract here was only three months in and all had gone well…until he discovered the spring that fountain ran from. Suddenly Dr. Smith insisted he leave and when he would not, she made him an offer of a sum of money to make him leave and terminate his contract. But he refused, asking to complete his contract. The next day…” She shrugged.

“He was just…gone. I thought he’d left overnight,” Daniel confessed. “My God, he never made it home? And you think my wife is involved? Mrs. Cotswald, I’m sorry, but all that over an old fountain? That is a bit absurd, even for my wife.”

“I don’t care about that fountain anymore, Dean Patterson. I did once and so did my husband, but he’s gone and I’m tired. There’s so much about the world you don’t know, my dear. All I want to do now is purchase the place where my husband died, where my daughters grew up, and just live out my days,” she said in a voice far older than the woman it came from. She sounded truly tired.

Daniel looked over to the cottages, wondering who the man was speaking to his mother where she was sitting on Dr. Gould’s porch. “Excuse me for a moment please, Mrs. Cotswald.”

He hastened to the cottages where visiting faculty was hosted. Traversing the courtyard, he passed the suddenly significant stone antique. Even with the holey canopy of the overreaching trees the rain came pouring down on him, rendering his feet unsteady upon the rocky and uneven pathway.

“Mum!” he called out ahead to get her attention, and to get a good look at the man with her. Mrs. Patterson and the man turned to face him just as he made it onto the lawn just short of Nina’s porch. Daniel stopped in his tracks and started walking casually up the stairs when he recognized the man. “David Purdue?”

“Yes, he is here to visit Dr. Gould, but he wants to surprise her, so better not tell her until she sees him here,” Mrs. Patterson smiled.

“Oh, well, welcome to our humble academy, Mr. Purdue,” Daniel wheezed. “Mr. Purdue is one of St. Vincent’s biggest contributors, mother. Kept us afloat even in the skinny years.”

“You’re welcome, Dean Patterson. I trust things are going swimmingly for you and the faculty?” Purdue asked cordially. To his side he could hear Mrs. Patterson snigger, but decided to ignore it.

“Very well, yes, thank you,” Daniel said, smiling and shaking Purdue’s hand. “I had no idea you knew Dr. Gould. Small world.”

“Smaller than you think,” his mother said loud enough to herself to make sure they overheard.

Purdue chuckled. “I thought that was why you invited her to teach here, because of her affiliation with me?”

“No, my wife is responsible for inviting Dr. Gould. Dr. Christa Smith, department head,” he said proudly.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of her,” Purdue said thoughtfully, “but that doesn’t mean anything. Just because I move in academic circles doesn’t mean that I know everyone.”

“Who’s that up there? My eyes are not what they used to be,” Mrs. Patterson asked, shielding her eyes with her hand and looking up at the balcony.

“Oh, shit! I forgot about Mrs. Cotswald!” he exclaimed. “Please excuse me, Mr. Purdue. I have to conclude my business.”

“Certainly,” Purdue replied, and watched the Dean run back into the rain again.

“Feisty and zealous, that man,” Purdue remarked to Mrs. Patterson. “Does he take after his mother, then?”

Mrs. Patterson laughed, “I hope so. My side of the family has always been very young at heart…and not too clumsy in age either.”

Mrs. Cotswald paced across the wet corridor as she waited for Dean Patterson to return, thanking her lucky stars that she’d invested in shoes that did not torture her ankles. Elated to hear some movement downstairs, she descended to the ground floor where the landing continued on into another landing that led to a level below. Intrigued, Mrs. Cotswald peeked over the wrought iron balustrade, but was disappointed to see that the stairs dropped into a closed trapdoor.

A yelp of fear escaped her at the sight of the dead-end stairs that no doubt led down to some sort of dungeon or torture room, the product of her abusive history along with her creative imagination. Looking around her, she found that nobody was present and her curiosity beckoned.

As softly as she could, Mrs. Cotswald carefully took each step down, but no matter how gently she stepped, the iron would sound her approach like a gallows bell. Before she could make it to the third step from the top landing the trapdoor sprang open. Both the two women emerging, as well as the curious visitor shrieked in woeful surprise.

“Mrs. Cotswald?” Clara asked as Christa peeked past her bottom to see.

“What a surprise!” Christa remarked. “To what do we owe this tremendous pleasure?”

“I was waiting for Dean Patterson and thought to explore a bit,” replied Mrs. Cotswald, smiling.

“You shouldn’t explore around here,” Christa warned. “The wet cold and the eroded old stairs are dangerous if you don’t know your way.” She finally stepped onto the ground floor landing and smiled at Mrs. Cotswald. “You could catch your death here.”

Wishful thinking, you devious bitch, Mrs. Cotswald thought as she read the deceit in Christa Smith’s eyes.

“Ah, there you are!” Dean Patterson cried as he jogged closer, soaked and trying to catch his breath.

“Darling! What on earth did you do to get so wet? You’ll get sick,” Christa moaned, removing her cardigan to drape it protectively over his shoulders.

“I was just checking on my mother,” he panted.

Christa uttered an insensitive scoff, “You shouldn’t be such a mama’s boy, Daniel. She’s made it this far in life; she doesn’t need protection.”

“No, it’s not that. She was with a stranger,” he smiled cordially, “who turned out to be the great David Purdue! Can you fathom? Lovely having such a famous explorer and an old friend of St. Vincent’s visiting us at the same time.”

“Why is Mr. Purdue gracing us with his presence?” Christa asked.

Removing his glasses to dry them, Dean Patterson smiled as he said, “Oh, he is here to surprise Dr. Gould.”

Clara stiffened, but Christa’s hand found hers surreptitiously and squeezed it.