Aunt Dimity and the Lost Prince (20 page)

“And she didn’t empty the pink parka’s pockets,” I said, “because she was in a tearing
hurry to leave Addington Terrace and start a new life down under.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miles said, raising his hand like a schoolchild in a classroom.
“Did I understand you correctly? Did Daisy take something from the museum?”

“Yes, she did,” said Mikhail. “And it won’t be returned to the museum until you install
a proper security system.”

“As I’ve already explained,” said Miles, “the endowment can’t afford—”

“I can,” said Mikhail. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Er, yes,” Miles said, sounding baffled but hopeful. “Okay!”

“While we’re on the subject, Alyosha,” said Mikhail, “did you get a quote on repairing
our own security system?”

“Yes,
Dedushka
,” said Alexei. He bent over to pat his briefcase. “I have the figures in my—”

He broke off and we all cocked our ears toward the doorway. It sounded as though another
car had pulled up to the house.

“I must have forgotten to close the gates,” Alexei said. He got to his feet. “I’ll
find out who it is,
Dedushka
.”

“We’ll come with you, Alyosha,” said Mikhail, “in case you need backup.”

Alexei stood aside as Mikhail maneuvered his wheelchair into the corridor and the
rest of us trooped after him as he followed his grandfather to the front door. The
entrance hall was no longer dark when we entered it, nor was it deserted. A chandelier
and a pair of wall sconces illuminated yet another pair of uninvited guests.

Ronald Booker, bundled in a parka that looked even rattier than Daisy’s, stood behind
the non-motorized wheelchair that held his great-aunt Barbara and her oxygen tank.
Lady Barbara was wearing her tweed cap and her shearling slippers, but her body was
cocooned in so many woolen blankets that she looked like a papoose.

Alexei, Miles, Bree and I had to jump aside to avoid bumping into Mikhail’s wheelchair
as it came to an abrupt halt opposite Lady Barbara’s.

“Basha?” the old man said wonderingly.

“I’ve brought your bear back,” said Lady Barbara. A hand emerged from a gap in the
blankets, clutching the cream-colored teddy bear in the red Cossack shirt.

“Thank you,” Mikhail said faintly.

“My nitwit great-nephew told me you were on your deathbed,” barked Lady Barbara.

“I asked him to give you that impression,” said Mikhail, bowing his head.

Lady Barbara glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Why on earth would you tell Ronald
to feed me such an idiotic lie?”

“You’re a glamorous woman,” said Mikhail. “You’ve led a glamorous life and mine has
been so ordinary. I didn’t want you to be . . . disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Lady Barbara echoed. “You fool. I could never be disappointed in you.”
She gazed at him with unaccustomed tenderness, then blinked rapidly, cleared her throat,
and said gruffly, “Are you going to offer me a glass of tea, Misha, or are we going
to spend the night staring at each other across a crowded foyer?”

“You shall have a glass of tea,” said Mikhail with a slow, sweet smile. “And the room
in which you drink it, my Basha, will not be crowded.”

He gestured for Ronald to push Lady Barbara’s chair ahead of his and followed them
back to a room filled with memories of a golden summer.

It was never too late, it seemed, for a lost prince to find his lost princess.

F
ebruary had made a fool of me again. If it hadn’t been for the cold snap, Bree would
have been able to open her windows and rid her house of paint fumes. If her house
had been habitable, she wouldn’t have sought refuge with me. If she hadn’t stayed
with me, I wouldn’t have gone to Skeaping Manor. If I hadn’t gone to Skeaping Manor,
I wouldn’t have met Daisy Pickering. And if I hadn’t met Daisy Pickering, I wouldn’t
have spent an entire week running frantically from pillar to post, looking for a lost
prince who was neither lost nor a prince.

It was all February’s fault.

On the other hand . . .

A few quite wonderful things came out of my fruitless search.

Bree’s articles brought a steady stream of discerning guests to Hayewood House and
a wave of critical acclaim to Shangri-la for its bold juxtaposition of period styles.
I understood Hayewood House’s success better than I did Shangri-la’s, but anything
that made Gracie Thames happy was okay by me.

Bree’s fresh-air weekends for the Bell children were a rousing success. Tom and Ben
discovered the joys of climbing trees and Coral fell head over heels in love with
gardening. Bree solved the tricky problem of helping Tiffany Bell without seeming
to help her by filling and refilling a box at Aunt Dimity’s Attic with not-quite-used
toys and children’s clothing. Florence Cheeseman makes sure the box appears whenever
the Bells pop in for a rummage.

Bree finally got up the courage to meet Felix Chesterton and to thank him for writing
Lark Landing
. To her relief, her idol turned out to be a modest, soft-spoken man with a splendidly
wicked sense of humor. They are well on their way to becoming old friends.

Coral Bell and Daisy Pickering remained best friends despite living half a world apart,
thanks to their schools’ computers. Coral had the great pleasure of putting Daisy’s
mind at ease about the lost prince in a manner that combined the true story I told
her with the less accurate but far more dramatic one she’d heard from Daisy.

Daisy is, by all accounts, flourishing in Australia. She’s put on weight, added a
little healthy color to her cheeks, and developed a keen interest in Aboriginal mythology.
I expect Coral to relay a romantic tale about a long-lost didgeridoo any day now.

The Jephcott Endowment received a generous infusion of cash from Mikhail Markov, to
be used for the installation of a first-class security system at Skeaping Manor. Once
Mikhail was satisfied that a ten-year-old girl would no longer be able to walk away
from the museum with one of its priceless treasures tucked into the pocket of her
pink parka, the troika saltcellar was returned to its display case.

The museum’s survival was all but ensured after Miles Craven gave Lady Barbara a guided
tour. She was as delighted as Will and Rob had been by the deformed skulls, the giant
bugs, and the bloodstained axe, and became Skeaping Manor’s foremost patron. Though
I was pleased to know that the museum’s doors would remain open to the public, I was
even more pleased when Bill took charge of the boys’ frequent visits.

Mikhail and Lady Barbara have been inseparable since they were reunited. I have no
trouble envisioning them riding off into the sunset, side by side and hand in hand,
in their wheelchairs.

“Maybe there’s no such thing as a fruitless search,” I said. “You may not always find
what you’re looking for, but you always find something worth finding.”

The study was still and silent. Will and Rob were asleep in their beds, Bill was snoozing
on the couch in the living room, Stanley was snoozing on Bill’s chest, and the bed
in the guest room was empty. Bree had been gone for two months and no one had shown
up on my doorstep to take her place.

Reginald’s black button eyes glittered in the firelight as he looked down on me from
his special niche in the bookshelves. I sat in the tall leather armchair with my feet
on the ottoman and the blue journal open in my lap, watching Aunt Dimity’s old-fashioned,
graceful handwriting curl and loop across the page.

What did you find that was worth finding, my dear?

“I found out that I may be infinitesimally more grown up than I thought I was,” I
said, “though I’m willing to admit that my newfound sense of maturity didn’t keep
me from charging full tilt into Mirfield to rescue a man who didn’t need to be rescued.”

You’re still you, Lori. You’re still impulsive, impressionable, and possessed of an
imagination that rivals Daisy Pickering’s, but you’re also the sort of person Bree
turns to for advice. You’re living proof that adulthood doesn’t have to be dull.

“Thanks, I think,” I said with a wry smile. “You know, Dimity, during the week of
the great freeze, when I was marooned in the cottage with Will and Rob, I almost convinced
myself that we’d be better off if we lived in a great big house. But I’ve learned
that a great big house isn’t for me.”

What changed your mind?

“Hayewood House, Risingholme, Shangri-la, Tappan Hall, and Mirfield,” I said. “They’re
each nice in their own way—even Risingholme has a kind of creepy charm—but they’re
too big.” I looked around the study, listened to the fire crackling in the hearth,
and thought of my menfolk, all four of them, sleeping within earshot of my tall leather
armchair. “I like it just fine where I am.”

That’s because you’re where you’re supposed to be. Good night, my dear. Do let me
know whether Bree figures out a tactful way to send Coral Bell to visit Daisy Pickering
in Sydney. If anyone can do it, Bree can—with your sage advice to guide her, of course!

As the curving lines of royal-blue ink faded from the page, I thought of the photograph
Daisy had enclosed with a letter she’d written to Coral Bell. In it, she stood between
her mother and her father, with the Sydney Opera House in the background, a plush
koala bear clasped in her arms, and a look of complete contentment on her face. I
might regard February as the cruelest month, but to Daisy, it would always be the
kindest.

“As long as the Pickerings are together,” I said to Reginald, “they’ll be where they’re
supposed to be.”

I could have sworn my bunny nodded his agreement.

Mama Markov’s Russian Tea Cakes

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Makes four dozen cookies.

Ingredients

1 cup butter, softened

½ cup powdered sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

2¼ cups all-purpose flour

¾ cup finely chopped hazelnuts

¼ teaspoon salt

Powdered sugar to coat the cookies

Directions

Mix butter, ½ cup powdered sugar, and vanilla in large bowl.

Stir in flour, nuts, and salt until dough holds together.

Shape dough into 1-inch balls. Place about 1 inch apart on ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake 10–12 minutes or until set but not brown.

Remove cookies from sheet.

Cool slightly on wire rack.

Roll warm cookies in powdered sugar.

Cool on wire rack.

Roll cookies in powdered sugar again.

Enjoy with a tall glass of tea, but try not to let the powdered sugar fall on the
carpet!