Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea (29 page)

Damian put his head into the room. “I hope you don’t mind. Sir William and Lord Robert sent me to spy on you.” He crossed to my bedside and snapped to attention. “I’m under direct orders from their lordships to discover all I can about you and Andrew and report back without delay.”

“You shouldn’t let the boys bully you,” I said, smiling, “but I’m glad you came.” I held my hand out to him. “Someone needs to find my pulse before Bill calls for a defibrillator.”

Damian took hold of my wrist and peered judiciously at the ceiling. “Strong, steady, a bit of a Latin beat . . . Wait, I think it’s Morse code. Possibly Irish step dancing.” He released my wrist. “Medical history in the making.”

I goggled at him. “You made a joke. You
never
make jokes.”

“Blame your sons,” he said. “They’re a terrible influence.They keep making me laugh. It’s extremely inappropriate.”

“But extremely welcome,” said Bill. “Have a seat.”

Damian sat in the well-worn visitor’s chair, and Bill stretched out on the bed again, so that we formed a conversational triangle.

“Rob and Will are making gingerbread men with Cook,” Damian informed us. “And Sir Percy moved the nursery to his youngest son’s private apartment. He didn’t think the boys would sleep well in the tower.”

“God bless Percy,” I said.

“You and Bill are to have one of the other private apartments,” Damian went on, “until you’re well enough to travel.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m not too keen on tower rooms at the moment either.”

“Thanks for taking the twins back to the castle,” said Bill. “We’ve been discussing things they shouldn’t hear.”

“Ah,” said Damian, half rising from the chair. “Perhaps I should . . . ?”

Bill motioned for him to resume his seat. “We’d appreciate it if you’d stay. Lori wants to know everything, and you know more about the closing chapters of the story than I do.”

“How far have you gotten?” Damian asked.

“Abaddon’s armed and stalking us,” I said, and turned to Bill. “How did he find out we were on Erinskil?”

“Yarborough believes he spent a few days in the hills above the cottage, watching us,” said Bill. “That’s when he took the photographs of the twins.” He eyed me hesitantly. “Ivan Anton found evidence of a campsite, Lori.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Ivan found a tarp rigged up as a one-person tent,” said Bill, watching me closely. “He found it inside the old hedgerow.”

“
Inside
the old hedgerow?” I repeated, as my stomach curdled in horror. “In the hollow where Will and Rob play?” I inhaled slowly and willed myself to stay calm. “My God . . . He must have been there when Percy’s helicopter landed.”

“We think he was,” said Bill. “We think he overheard Percy talking about Gretna Green and going north of the border, and he deduced that Percy would take you to Scotland.”

“Unfortunately,” Damian put in, “Sir Percy’s purchase of Erinskil Island was widely reported in the press. Alfred Spofford—or Abaddon, if you prefer—would have had no trouble locating Dundrillin Castle on the Internet.”

“So he followed us north,” I said. “But how did he get onto the island?”

“He bought a ticket on the ferry,” said Bill, “but since the ferry didn’t leave until the following morning, he spent the afternoon in the pub.”

“Where he ran into Jack Nunen,” Damian interjected.

“Jack . . . ?” I searched my memory until the name clicked. “The reporter from the
Morning Mirror
? The guy who was chasing after Peter and Cassie?”

“That’s right,” Damian confirmed. “Mr. Nunen was in the pub, attempting to ferret out information on Peter and Cassie. According to witnesses, Abaddon engaged Mr. Nunen in a low-voiced conversation. They left the pub together. Shortly thereafter Mr. Nunen hired a powerboat. It was seen leaving the harbor at six o’clock, but Mr. Nunen wasn’t on it.”

I tensed, remembering the gun. “Where was he?”

“Abaddon knocked him out, tied him up, stole his wallet, and dumped him in a little-used shed in the marina,” Damian replied. “Mr. Nunen wasn’t found until early this morning. He’s in hospital on the mainland, with severe concussion.”

I released a small sigh of relief but couldn’t keep myself from asking, “Why didn’t Abaddon shoot him?”

“You may as well ask why he didn’t shoot Andrew,” said Damian. “I think he was saving the bullets for . . .” His words trailed off, and he glanced uneasily at Bill.

“He was saving the bullets for me and the boys,” I finished. I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “I understand. He wouldn’t want to waste valuable ammunition on less-important targets.”

Bill rubbed my leg. “Should we take a break?”

“Am I swooning?” I inquired politely.

“No, but you look awfully pale,” Bill observed.

“You’d look pale, too, if you’d lost eight gallons of blood,” I said brusquely, and raised my chin. “Please, go on.”

My husband gave my bodyguard the age-old look of one helpless man to another. “I told her I’d stop if she showed signs of flagging.”

“There’s no stopping now,” said Damian. “I’ve seen that determined glint in her eye before.”

“So have I.” Bill surveyed my lifted chin appraisingly. “We could ask Dr. Tighe to sedate her.”

“Just you try,” I growled, and decided to move the story along myself. “Abaddon arrived in Stoneywell Harbor, in Jack Nunen’s boat, around seven o’clock the night Peter went missing. How did he get past Cal Maconinch, Damian? Didn’t you ask Mr. Maconinch to check his ID?”

“Abaddon stole Jack Nunen’s press pass and his driver’s license,” said Damian. “Both men were thin, clean-shaven, fair-skinned, and dark-haired, and Abaddon wore Mr. Nunen’s wire-rimmed glasses. The resemblance was close enough to fool Cal.” Damian sat back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him. “Abaddon’s visit to the pub in Stoneywell wasn’t as cut-and-dried as Peter made it sound. He stayed there for quite some time before returning to his boat—long enough to confirm your presence on the island and to learn the location of your rooms. He also found out that the castle is equipped with an alarm system. Mrs. Muggoch, of course, told him about the Slaughter Stone.”

Bill’s lips tightened. “The stone’s association with human sacrifice must have appealed to him.”

“‘I will strike your children dead,’” I murmured, “‘and give your wife a like measure of torment and mourning.’”

“We don’t know when he left the harbor,” Damian went on, “but several circumstances made it absurdly easy for him to enter the castle.” He held up one hand and ticked the points off on his fingers. “Cal left his post to join the elders in Dundrillin, so no one was keeping an eye on the boat. The storm obscured the cameras monitoring the side entrance. The power failure made it easier for him to override the alarm system.”

“I thought the alarm system had a backup generator,” I said.

“He’d studied electronics at Brook House,” Bill reminded me, “and he’d brought a set of specialized tools with him. He would have disarmed the system without the storm’s help, but there’s no denying that the power outage took place at an opportune moment.”

“While we were saying good night to the elders,” Damian continued, “Abaddon let himself in through the side entrance and climbed the emergency stairs. No one can know for certain, but I believe he stopped first at the Cornflower Suite.”

“When he found it vacant,” said Bill, “he went on to the nursery.”

“Andrew was asleep when the mirror opened,” said Damian. “Abaddon brought a lamp down on the back of his head and grabbed the boys.”

The mental image of my little ones being snatched from their beds sent a wave of nausea through me, but I fought it off and said, “They must have taken their knights to bed with them. When Abaddon carried them past my room, they dropped one by the open mirror. I remember wondering what it was doing there. Then I heard Will cry out for help.”

“Why didn’t you call for Damian?” Bill asked. “Why did you go after Abaddon on your own?”

I expected Damian to chime in with a gentle reproof, but he just smiled.

“No one could have stopped her, Bill,” he said. “A wise woman once told me that there’s no fiercer creature on earth than a mother defending her young. When Lori heard her son’s voice, rational thought gave way to primal instinct.”

“Which is a nice way of saying that I lost my head,” I conceded. “I’m sorry, Damian. How long did it take you to realize that I was gone?”

“Too long.” He waved his hand in a gesture of self-reproach. “When Andrew failed to check in on schedule—ten minutes after you’d entered your suite—I knew something was amiss. I knocked on your door, and when you didn’t reply, I let myself into the suite. You weren’t there, the mirror was open. . . . I knew immediately that there’d been a security breach.”

“Damian roused the entire staff,” Bill said. “He directed Mrs. Gammidge to the nursery to check on Andrew. He dispatched Kate to the village to fetch Dr. Tighe. He ordered Elliot to meet him at the side entrance, but Percy got there first because he hadn’t gone to bed yet.”

“Elliot showed up a few minutes later,” said Damian. “I sent him around the headland while Sir Percy and I ran toward the overlook. We hadn’t gone far when Will and Rob came tearing up, shouting for help. Sir Percy carried them back to the castle. I pulled out my gun and went after you.” His gaze turned inward as the surreal scene unfolded before his mind’s eye. “I was no more than ten yards from the overlook when Abaddon shot you. I saw you fall, saw him get to his feet and walk toward you. I took aim, my finger was on the trigger, but I never pulled it because at that moment”—he caught his breath and his eyes narrowed—“a single, blinding bolt of lightning dropped from the sky, as if it had been hurled by an unseen hand. The overlook seemed to explode—there’s a crater there now, where the cliff blew apart. The concussion knocked me down, and when I looked again, Abaddon was gone. I suspect that he fell into the sea, but it was as if he’d simply vanished from the face of the earth.” He shook his head, bemused. “I don’t know why you hired me, Bill. Lori already has a bodyguard, and His aim is better than mine.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Bill. “My wife would have bled to death if you hadn’t reached her in time.” He touched my foot. “Damian improvised a compression bandage and carried you back to the castle. He’s quite the hero.”

I shushed Bill frantically. “Don’t use the H word around Damian. He has a low opinion of heroes.”

“Most true heroes do,” Bill observed.

“If anyone’s a hero,” Damian said stolidly, “it’s Dr. Tighe. He saved you and Andrew, though the islanders helped as well. They lined up to donate blood.”

I peered up at the ceiling and said reflectively, “Normal tourists bring shortbread home with them from Scotland. I’m bringing fresh pints of B-positive blood.”

“B-positive?” Damian’s silvery eyes twinkled. “Is that your blood type? Of course it is.
Be positive
—what else could possibly flow through your veins?”

If Dr. Tighe had been listening at the door, he would have thought the three of us were drunk. Our laughter was the laughter of release—it was too loud, and it went on much too long, but every time we sobered up, we’d catch one another’s eyes and start again.We’d each endured a terrible ordeal, and though dark memories would haunt our dreams, the waking world was ours again, to do with as we liked.What better way to celebrate than with laughter?

Andrew, Reginald, and I moved back to the castle the next day and stayed there for another two weeks, recuperating. Rob and Will played on the battlements with their father, Damian overhauled the castle’s security system, and we invalids spent a lot of time lolling in the sunroom while Mrs. Gammidge waited on us hand and foot. Sir Percy spared us as much time as he could, but he was busy managing his island.

A flock of tabloid vultures roosted briefly at Dundrillin, but Sir Percy kept them so befuddled with effortless charm—and flowing whiskey—that Erinskil’s curious prosperity went unnoticed.

Peter and Cassie contributed greatly to the press-distraction project by announcing their engagement. Since a wedding at Dundrillin would have drawn even more unwanted attention to the island, they regretfully rejected Will’s sage advice and decided to be wed in the family chapel at Cassie’s ancestral home in Kent.

Dr. Tighe declared Andrew and me medically unfit to comment on our experiences with Abaddon, and Bill referred all questions to Chief Superintendent Yarborough, whose answers were so blandly uninformative that the press had to resort to hounding Sir Rodney Spofford and laying siege to Brook House.

Jack Nunen’s brutal concussion robbed him of all memories of his encounter with Abaddon, but it didn’t stop him from writing an exclusive exposé about Sir Rodney’s psychotic son. The story ran for two consecutive Sundays in the
Morning Mirror,
until yet another sex scandal took its place.

Chief Superintendent Yarborough wrapped up the investigation quietly and efficiently. No charges could be brought against the late Alfred Spofford, but Harold served time for supplying Alfred with a gun, and Sir Rodney was held to account for destroying the scrap of paper he’d found in the charred ruins of the summerhouse.

“Scotland Yard doesn’t look kindly upon those who cover up cold-blooded murder,” I commented to Aunt Dimity when I finally had a chance to speak with her.

“I almost—
almost
—feel sorry for him,” I said. “I don’t know what I’d do if one of the twins went mad. Mental illness is a horrible thing.”