Page 39 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

Xander North sounded animated for him. “According to my research, it could mean that this tea set was crafted in the late 1800s by someone called Ernest Telfer.”

It took me a moment or two to process this. “Ernest Telfer?” I repeated for assurance. “The Ernest Telfer?”

I could almost hear Xander North raising his arched, dark brows. “So, you have heard of him then?

“Of course I have,” I answered, not able to conceal the prickle in my voice. I could recall Gran describing the delicacy of his flowers and his penchant for using nature and animals in his work. “He was by all accounts an underrated local artist, but I never would have dreamed that this tea set might be one of his.”

I could feel my enthusiasm building. “Come to think of it, when you look at the peacock tea set, it does have some characteristics of that other ceramics artist, Thomas Brogue. I think it’s all the gold and the sweeping details…” I realised I was beginning to ramble on and checked myself. “My grandmother really admired Ernest Telfer’s work.”

Xander North had fallen so quiet down the line, I wondered for a moment if he had passed out. “Mr North? Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m still here,” he faltered. There was another brief silence. “So, you’re aware of Thomas Brogue’s work as well?”

“I am.” Now it was my turn to go quiet. “Why do you ask that?”

Before he could reply, a thought came to me. “Ah. Is it because I own a shop, but not a degree in fine art from Cambridge?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “It’s just both artists are rather niche and I have to admit I was rather surprised you had heard of them.”

I could hear my voice turning starchy. “Well, I might not have formally studied crockery, but you’re not the only one who knows what they’re talking about.”

He hesitated, processing what I had just said. “It would seem so.”

Then he morphed back into businesslike mode. “Now, about this possibly being an Ernest Telfer. I should warn you that it could well be an excellent copy. However, very few people knew about his secret insignia, which is a rose etching that he always put on the underside of his teapot handle.”

I swallowed, my excitement gathering momentum. “Right. I see.”

“Do you have the tea set to hand, Ms Harkness?”

I rubbed my hand across my brow. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s in the bottom of my wardrobe.”

“Then would you like to go and take a look at the teapot handle? I will hold on here while you do.”

I made a rather unattractive gulping noise. “Er … oh, yes … of course… I won’t be a moment.”

I set my phone down on the hall table and with jelly-like legs, made my way up to my bedroom. My anxious fingers fumbled at the closed door of the mirrored wardrobe, pushing it back to reveal the discoloured leather case, stationed beside a few of my handbags.

I eased it out and set it on top of the duvet. My heart was jumping in my chest.

I swiped my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans and reached for the clasp. It made its clicking noise and triggered the lid to glide backwards, revealing the tea set with its rich pattern and peacock motif.

I reached for the teapot and lifted it out of its cushioned setting. Part of me was fearful about looking at the handle, in case this rose emblem wasn’t there after all. If it wasn’t, it would feel like taking a giant step backwards.

Steeling myself, I raised the teapot mid-way into the air and removed the lid, setting it down back in the open case. The last thing I wanted to do was drop that.

I angled the teapot to one side.

My fingers travelled along the gilded gold detail, before slowly working their way around its elegant curved handle.

At first, I couldn’t find anything at all. Disappointment sank in, as the tips of my fingers made their way under the handle. Then a gasp of excitement shot out of my throat, as I located the finest groove of something. I angled the teapot more to the right, eager to see what I might have discovered there.

My fingertips drew to a stop. Just under the stem of the handle was a tiny engraving.

Chapter Nineteen

It looked like it had been etched into the ceramic with a small, sharp implement and consisted of a tiny, unpainted representation of a four-petalled rose.

I sat the teapot back into the case and ran back to my phone, snatching it up. “It’s there!” I breathed. “Just under the stem of the handle. A four-petalled rose.”