Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree (15 page)

“It’s a plausible tale,” said Declan. “I’ll pass it on to Deirdre. It’s best if we keep our stories straight.”

“Please ask her to pass it on to William and Lady Sarah as well,” I said. “I forgot to tell them, and, as you say, we should try to keep our stories straight.”

“Will do,” said Declan. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are Mr. Willis’s mounts?”

“He doesn’t have any,” I replied. “He doesn’t even ride, but my sons are horse-crazy and William is grandson-crazy. He rebuilt the stables for them, to give them a place to keep their ponies when they ride over from Anscombe Manor.”

“Anscombe Manor?” said Declan.

“The neighboring estate,” I explained. “Will and Rob board their ponies there and take daily lessons from the stable master, Kit Smith. William cleared a bridle path between Anscombe Manor and Fairworth to make it easier for the boys to visit him.”

“He’s a greathearted man, is Mr. Willis,” said Declan, running his hands over the Jaguar’s custom-made wooden steering wheel. “Not every employer would loan such a fine piece of machinery to a new employee.”

“My father-in-law thinks it’s unfair to ask you to use your personal vehicle for estate business,” I said diplomatically.

Declan laughed. “You mean, he’s afraid the van’ll fall to bits before it gets to the end of the drive. I can’t argue with him. The van’s not the most reliable of vehicles, but it has its uses.”

“Such as?” I said.

“It got us here, didn’t it?” Declan said lightly.

Eventually, I thought, remembering the Donovans’ late arrival.

“I’ll tell you this for nothing, though,” he went on. “If I’d known how often the old Renault would break down, I’d’ve studied engine repair instead of music theory.”

“Music theory?” I said, interested. “Are you an Oxford scholar, like Deirdre?”

“I am,” he said. “That’s where we met and that’s where we hatched our mad scheme to open a guesthouse.”

“Why ‘mad’?” I asked.

“Degrees in art history and music theory make for grand conversations around the dinner table, but they’re not the best preparation for the down-and-dirty work of running a guesthouse,” said Declan. “Ah, well, we wanted an adventure and we had one. It was fun while it lasted.” He turned out of the drive and immediately stomped on the brakes. “Heavens above, Lori, will you look at
that
?”

“I’m looking,” I said tersely. “Don’t move.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

While the car idled, I snatched my cell phone out of my purse and speed-dialed Willis, Sr.’s number. The moment he answered I said urgently, “
Keep Sally in the house.
Elspeth Binney is standing on the bridge with a
telescope
.”

“You jest,” he said.

“I do
not
jest,” I assured him.

“Where did Mrs. Binney obtain a telescope?” he asked.

“How should I know?” I retorted. “She used to be a schoolteacher. Maybe she taught astronomy. All I can tell you is that she’s on the bridge with a telescope pointed in your direction. I don’t think she’s searching for a new planet.”

“We have, it seems, an aspiring paparazzo in the village,” observed Willis, Sr.

“I don’t see a camera,” I told him, “but an eyewitness report of a Sally-sighting would be enough to set tongues wagging.”

“Indeed it would,” Willis, Sr., agreed.

“I’ll try to budge her,” I said. “In the meantime, ask Deirdre to draw the drapes in every room, and for pity’s sake, don’t let Sally put so much as a
toe
outside the house.”

“I shall batten down the hatches,” he declared. “Thank you for alerting me to the situation, Lori.”

“No problem.” I cut the connection, dropped the phone into my purse, and signaled for Declan to drive ahead. When we were abreast of Elspeth, I asked him to stop.

“Elspeth,” I said, lowering my window, “what are you doing?”

“Bird-watching,” she replied with a straight face.

“Bird-watching,” I repeated. “In that case, I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” she asked.

“It had crossed my mind that you might be spying on William’s guest,” I replied. “I should have known that a woman with your integrity, your sense of decency, and your respect for other people’s privacy would never stoop so low. I should have realized that a former schoolteacher, a woman who taught innocent children the value of living virtuous lives, a woman who plays the organ in church every Sunday, that you, of all people, would never behave like a vile, vulgar, immoral, money-grubbing member of the gutter press.” I paused to let my words have their desired effect before concluding humbly, “Forgive me, Elspeth. I was mistaken.”

“I, uh, yes, naturally, I, uh, forgive you,” she faltered, blushing to her roots. “I can understand your suspicions—some of our neighbors are intolerably intrusive—but I’ve observed nothing but birds, I promise you.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Dear me, is that the time? I’m afraid I must dash. I have to jot down some ideas for the flower arrangements at St. George’s. It’s my turn to do them next week.”

“I’ve always loved your flower arrangements,” I said solemnly. “They remind me of purity and piety. Be careful as you step down from the bridge, Elspeth,” I added. “It can be a slippery slope.”

Declan drove on and I watched in the rearview mirror as Elspeth fumbled with the tripod supporting her telescope, tucked the whole contraption under her arm, and walked speedily toward her cottage, her flaming face averted from the Jaguar.

“That’ll teach her to snoop in broad daylight,” I muttered. “Bird-watching, my foot.”

“You have the gift of the gab, Lori,” Declan declared. “I’ve seldom heard a more comprehensive put-down. The poor woman looked ready to shrivel up for shame.”

“Serves her right,” I said waspishly, and motioned for him to park at Wysteria Lodge. “Here’s where I leave you. Thanks for the lift.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Declan. “And it’s on my way. I’m off to Hodge Farm next, to pick up miscellaneous pig parts. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Not if I can help it,” I said, laughing. “I’ll swap cars with Bill, fetch the boys, and enjoy a decent meal with them at home.”

“I can ferry Bill to your car,” he offered.

“You needn’t bother.” I pointed across the village green to the Mini. “It’s right over there, in front of Crabtree Cottage. I had to leave it behind after I delivered William’s painting this morning because I hitched a ride to Fairworth with Señor Cocinero.”

“I believe your husband will be able to manage the journey on his own two feet,” Declan said with mock gravity.

“Do you know the way to Hodge Farm?” I asked.

“Mr. Willis drew a map for me,” he replied.

“Please tell Annie that I’ll expect her at half past one,” I said as I got out of the car. “She’s bringing her son over to play with Will and Rob.”

“Will do,” he said. “Cheerio!”

Once I was sure he was driving in the right direction, I strode into Wysteria Lodge, where I found my husband perusing a sheaf of legal documents. He instantly set them aside and came around his desk to give me a comprehensive kiss.

“Tell me all about everything,” he said, half sitting on his desk and pulling me into his arms.

“Sally would like Henrique to stay forever,” I began. “They’re a match made in heaven, Bill—short, round, middle-aged, and incurably romantic.”

“Sounds as though Father has his work cut out for him,” said Bill.

“He may need a rest cure when it’s all over,” I said. “And Deirdre’s not helping matters. She rearranged some of William’s furniture without asking his permission. You know how touchy he is about his stuff.”

“I do know,” Bill said, giving a low whistle. “Did he blow a fuse?”

“He kept his temper,” I said, “but he straightened her out. He also put his foot down when Sally tried to tack a few extra days on to Henrique’s visit.”

“Bully for him,” said Bill. “Anything else?”

“He came up with a cunning plan to discourage repeat visits from Henrique,” I said. “Deirdre’s under orders to cook nothing but the most god-awful swill until Henrique leaves.”

“What will Father eat for the duration?” Bill asked.

“Whatever slop Deirdre plunks in front of him,” I said. “He’s not too happy about it.”

“Hoist by his own petard,” said Bill, chuckling. “He’ll survive. It’s only until Wednesday.”

“Thursday,” I corrected him. “Sally’s tears gained her an extra twenty-four hours with her amigo.”

“Maybe you can smuggle something edible to Father between now and then,” said Bill. “I can’t imagine him dining on—”

“Tripe and trotters,” I interjected.

“—until Thursday,” Bill finished. He frowned at the ceiling. “On second thought, I can’t imagine Father
ever
dining on tripe and trotters.”

“Nor can I,” I said. “I’ll see what I can arrange in the way of emergency food drops.” I glanced toward the window. “I don’t mean to be critical, Bill, but I have to point out that you’ve fallen down on the job. I just chased Elspeth Binney off the bridge. She’s been surveilling Fairworth with a telescope. You must have seen her. Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I
didn’t
see her,” Bill protested. “I haven’t gotten much work done this morning, but I’ve managed to squeeze in the odd five minutes here and there. Elspeth must have made her move during one of those rare moments of peace.”

“What’s kept you from working?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Bill retorted. “I’ve had half the village in here since you left, quizzing me about Father’s anonymous client. They’re convinced that Henrique stopped here to consult with me before driving on to Fairworth.”

“Why
did
he stop here?” I asked.

“To ask for directions,” said Bill. “The only reason he chose Wysteria Lodge was because my lights were on.” He turned his head to peer through the window. “Here comes Rainey. Looks as though she’s had a lively morning, too.”

Bill relinquished his hold on me as Rainey Dawson let herself in through the front door. She looked as though she’d been in the midst of a bakery explosion. Her long nose was smudged with flour and her flowered apron was streaked with jam, dotted with chocolate, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Her auburn hair hung down her back in a pair of tidy braids, but her hands were damp, as if she’d just finished washing them.

“How’s Gran?” she asked anxiously.

“Your grandmother is fine,” I told her. “Completely and totally fine. Who’s minding the tearoom?”

“Bree,” Rainey replied. “She’s been brilliant. She showed up before I opened the shop this morning and volunteered to help me run it until Gran comes back. She even braided my hair for me, to keep it clear of the baking tins.”

“Bree’s a great kid,” said Bill.

“She’s
brilliant
,” Rainey repeated fervently. “Mrs. Taxman was after me to give her Great-aunt Judith’s telephone number. She
said
she wanted to find out how Gran was doing, but I reckoned she was trying to get the goods on Gran. Well, she shouldn’t have tried it while Bree was there. Do you know what Bree said to her?”

“Do tell,” I said.

“She pointed at the Emporium and told Mrs. Taxman to mind her own business!” Rainey’s hazel eyes were filled with awe. “After Mrs. Taxman stormed out, Bree
laughed
. She said she wouldn’t allow the old cat to harass me
or
Great-aunt Judith while Gran was so ill. Then she told me to ring Great-aunt Judith and warn her that a crazy woman in the village was making
crank phone calls
and that she should
hang up
if someone rang her asking about Gran. And that’s exactly what I did,” she finished triumphantly.

“Wow,” I said, deeply impressed. “Bree’s a born schemer.”

“She’s also a loyal friend,” said Bill.

“Don’t I know it,” Rainey said earnestly. “Mrs. Taxman is the only one who seems suspicious about Gran. Everyone else is just worried about her. It makes me feel a bit guilty.”

“Me, too,” I said consolingly. “But it’ll all be over by Thursday.”

“Thursday?”
Rainey cried. “What happened to Wednesday?”

“There’s been a minor change of plans.” I hesitated, then asked, “Has your grandmother ever spoken with you about Henrique?”

“I know she’s daft about him, if that’s what you mean,” said Rainey, blushing. “You should have seen her scrambling around to find the right dresses and the right shoes and the right jewelry. You’ d’ve thought she was
my
age!”

“She does seem to be very fond of Henrique,” I said, “which will make it hard for her to say good-bye to him a second time. She’ll need a lot of comforting after this is all over.”

“I can’t look that far ahead,” said Rainey, shaking her head. “I have to finish a batch of jam doughnuts and make sure the summer pudding is setting up and whip cream for the cream cakes. Oh, Lord,” she said, glancing through the window. “Here come Mrs. Taylor, Miss Buxton, and Miss Scroggins. They’ll probably ask me for Great-aunt Judith’s phone number, too.”

“Run along,” said Bill. “Lori and I will deal with them.”

“Thanks,” said Rainey, and sprinted back to the tearoom.

The three Handmaidens arrived a minute later, sweeping into Bill’s office as if it were a regular stop on their daily rounds. Opal Taylor and Millicent Scroggins were dressed in serviceable tweed skirts, white blouses, and sensible shoes, but Selena Buxton, a former wedding planner, wore a pale blue linen skirt with a matching blazer and a pair of beige peep-toe heels.

“Good morning, Lori,” said Opal. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” I agreed.

“We hoped you’d be able to tell us if William’s housekeeper has made any decisions about hiring daily help,” said Millicent.

“It can’t be easy for her to care for the house
and
William’s special guest,” said Selena.

“Mrs. Donovan is managing quite well,” I said. “She’s a remarkable woman—experienced, professional, and in tiptop physical condition.”

Their faces fell.

“How nice for William,” murmured Opal.

“Delightful news,” mumbled Millicent.

“Most reassuring,” muttered Selena.