Aunt Dimity Takes a Holiday (2 page)

“By making Nell his messenger,” Emma answered.

I smiled wryly. “Derek’s never been able to say no to Lady Nell.”

“Nell’s not a lady,” Emma informed me. “She’s only an honorable until Derek inherits his father’s title.”

“An honorable?” I felt as if I were being pummeled with a copy of
Debrett’s Peerage.
“Sorry, Emma, you’re losing me again.”

“I know how you feel.” She breathed a wistful sigh. “Yesterday I was plain old Mrs. Derek Harris. Today I’m the Right Honorable the Viscountess Hailesham. Lori,” she said,
“I don’t know how to be a viscountess!”

It wasn’t until I heard the desperation in Emma’s voice that I finally understood why she was behaving so strangely. She wasn’t angry. She was terrified. I wondered if I’d feel the same way if I awoke one day to find myself married to an English peer, but since Bill and I were both Americans, I doubted I’d ever get the chance to find out.

“Just, er, be yourself,” I offered.

“Be myself?” Emma exclaimed. “I’m a gardener, Lori. If I were myself, I’d spend the next ten days manuring my roses. Instead I have to spend them getting ready to face a hostile tribe of aristocrats on their home turf. It’s a family reunion, for heaven’s sake. It’s supposed to last five days. I don’t know what to wear or what to say or how to act.” She buried her face in her hands. “I just know I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

A surge of envy made me less sympathetic to her plight than I might otherwise have been.

“You get to spend five days at Hailesham?” I sighed rapturously. “I’d give my eyeteeth to spend five days in that house.”

Emma raised her head. “Hand them over, then,” she said, “because I want you to come with me.”

I could scarcely believe my ears. “Don’t toy with me, Emma.”

“I’m not toying with you. I need moral support. Besides,” she added pensively, “I may need your help to prevent a murder.”

Two

Before I could give Emma’s stunning postscript the response it deserved, I heard the sound of Bill’s footsteps on the staircase. Emma must have heard it, too, because she sprang to my side.

“Don’t mention the murder,” she whispered urgently.

“B-but—” I stammered.

“Hi, Bill,” Emma said, straightening.

“Hello, Emma. Forgive my dishabille. I’ve been napping.” My husband entered the living room looking refreshed and comfortably rumpled in a pair of black jeans and a forest-green sweater. He leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss the nape of my neck. “Why didn’t you tell me we had company?”

I was still staring, round-eyed, at Emma, so she took it upon herself to answer Bill.

“We didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep,” she teased. “Nell sends her best, by the way. I wasn’t sure about her going to the Sorbonne, but she seems to be flourishing. . . .”

While Emma rambled on about her stepdaughter, I continued to gape at her, nonplussed. Who was about to be murdered? How had she gotten wind of the impending crime? Why was she asking for my help instead of calling in the police? What, exactly, did she expect me to do? My brain was churning with so many questions that I nearly missed Bill’s departure.

“Good Lord, is that the time?” he said, glancing at his watch. “Sorry, Emma, I have to run. Annelise is coming back from Altnaharra today and I promised to pick her up at the train station.”

Annelise Sciaparrelli, our saintly nanny, had spent the past month visiting her sister and archaeologist brother-in-law at a dig in the Scottish hinterlands. As much as Bill and I had enjoyed our time alone with our sons, we were—all four of us—looking forward to Annelise’s return.

Bill paused on his way out to peer down at me. “Are you all right, Lori? You seem . . . dazed.”

“Do I?” I forced a cheery smile. “Still drunk on fresh air, I guess. I probably should have taken a nap.”

“We can both catch up on our sleep, now that Annelise is coming home.” He ruffled my short crop of dark curls, said good-bye to Emma, and headed for the hallway.

Emma said nothing until Bill had closed the front door behind him.

“Now, Lori,” she began, “don’t get overexcited.”

I wanted to shake her. “You can’t drop the word
murder
into a conversation, then tell me not to get overexcited,” I sputtered. “What murder? Whose?”

“Derek’s.” Emma held her hands up for silence and flopped down next to me on the sofa. “I know I sound like a hysterical wife, but think about it, Lori. Derek’s the black sheep of his family. He’s also next in line to inherit his father’s fortune. What if someone thinks the black sheep doesn’t deserve his inheritance?” Emma looked anxiously toward the bay window. “I have a terrible feeling that someone might try to prune a branch from the family tree.”

Emma Harris was not a flighty woman. Compared to me, she was as grounded as an ancient oak. If she felt uneasy about Derek’s safety, it wasn’t because she had an overactive imagination.

I sat back, folded my arms, and tried to view the situation from her perspective.

“Family reunions can be tricky,” I observed sagely. “You never know when old resentments will rear their ugly heads. And I suppose a powerful family might store up some pretty powerful resentments.”

Emma’s shoulder touched mine as she settled back against the cushions.

“Normal people fall out over who gets Aunt Mildred’s crocheted tablecloth,” she commented. “In this case we’re talking about Aunt Mildred’s priceless collection of Rembrandts.”

I gave her a sidelong look. “Is Derek’s family really that rich?”

“Lord Elstyn frequently takes Nell to lunch,” Emma replied, “on his
yacht.
In
Monte Carlo.
”

“Ah.”

We gazed thoughtfully into the fire.

“Five days in an isolated location,” I murmured. “Five days surrounded by potentially hostile cousins. Who knows what might happen?”

“You know how obsessive Derek is about fixing things,” Emma said morosely. “Someone will point out a loose shingle, Derek will climb up to nail it in place, and, whoops, there goes the ladder.” She turned to me. “If you come with me, we’ll be able to keep an eye on him
at all times.
”

“Does Derek know you’re worried about him?” I asked.

“He thinks I’m being melodramatic,” said Emma. “And paranoid. And basically silly. That’s why I don’t want you to mention it to Bill. I don’t want the two of them to start poking fun at me.”

“Have you talked it over with Nicholas?” Nicholas Fox was a police detective on medical leave who was staying at the Harrises’ manor house.

“Nicholas needs peace and quiet,” said Emma, shaking her head. “I don’t want him fretting about Derek.”

“What about Kit?” I suggested. “He won’t accuse you of being silly.”

Kit Smith lived at Anscombe Manor, too, in a private flat overlooking the stable yard. He was the Harrises’ stable master, one of my dearest friends, and the single most selfless soul I’d ever met. If anyone would help Emma in her hour of need, it would be Kit.

“I haven’t spoken with Kit,” Emma said carefully. “He might volunteer to accompany us to Hailesham and I don’t think that would be a good idea. Do you?”

“Not if Nell’s there,” I said.

“Nell will be there,” Emma said quietly. “She’s flying in from Paris to attend the family meeting.”

Emma didn’t need to explain further. I was fully aware of the trouble Nell Harris had caused when she’d bombarded Kit Smith with love letters the previous winter. The poor man had done everything he could to discourage her amorous attentions, pointing out that he was twice her age and therefore quite unsuitable, but Nell had pursued him relentlessly. We’d been relieved when she’d gone off to spend the summer with her grandfather, and delighted by her unexpected decision to spend a year at the Sorbonne.

Kit hadn’t heard from Nell since she’d left. I hoped that absence had failed to make Nell’s heart grow fonder, but I also agreed with Emma: It would be tempting fate to take Kit to Hailesham Park while Nell was there.

“Well,” I said, “I guess that leaves me.”

Emma peered at me hopefully. “You’ll come?”

“I haven’t left the cottage since we got back from the States in April. I could do with a holiday.” I nodded decisively. “Count me in.”

“Thanks so much, Lori. Maybe I am being silly, but if not . . .” Emma smiled briefly, but there was a worried frown behind the smile. “I may not want to be a viscountess, but I don’t want to be a widow even more.”

 

Derek a rebel, Lady Nell a lowly honorable, and Emma a viscountess—I thought the surprises were over for the day, but Bill had saved a final one for after dinner.

The dishes had been washed, the boys had been put to bed, and Annelise had retired early to her room to recover from train lag. Bill and I were alone at last, entwined upon the sofa, bathed in the fire’s rosy glow, contented, serene, and almost ready to crawl upstairs to bed. The time seemed ripe to broach the subject of my trip to Hailesham Park.

Since Emma had asked me to keep her fears to myself, I focused instead on her need for moral support and my own excitement at the prospect of roving unhindered through the private precincts of Lord Elstyn’s grand estate. When I’d finished spinning my tale, Bill favored me with a quizzical smile.

“You can go with Derek and Emma if you like,” he said, “but I’d rather you come with me.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To Hailesham,” he replied.

I lifted my head from his chest and peered up at him. “Since when are you going to Hailesham?”

“I planned to tell you about it this evening,” Bill explained. “Lord Elstyn has invited us both to Hailesham, to attend the family meeting.”

“Why would he invite us?” I said, taken aback.

My husband’s velvety brown eyes grew suspiciously round and innocent. “Didn’t I say? I’m one of Lord Elstyn’s attorneys. He wants me to be on hand while he takes care of some family business. It’ll be a working holiday for me, but I thought you might like to come along.”

“You thought . . .” I unentwined myself from Bill and slid to the far end of the sofa. “How long have you been Lord Elstyn’s attorney?”

Bill cleared his throat and carefully avoided my eyes. “The earl’s involvement in various financial concerns in the United States made it advisable for him to retain me as his legal counsel approximately three months ago.”

“You’re talking like a lawyer, Bill.”

“I am a lawyer, Lori.”

We stared at each other across a sofa that seemed to lengthen by the minute. My husband was, in fact, the head of the European branch of Willis & Willis, his family’s venerable law firm. I should have been proud of him for nabbing such a prestigious client. Instead I felt a prickle of resentment.

“You’ve known about Derek for three months and never breathed a word to me?” I said.

“I couldn’t,” said Bill. “Lord Elstyn’s business requires complete confidentiality.”

I eyed him reproachfully but gave a reluctant nod of understanding. My husband was paid big bucks to keep his mouth shut. It was unfair of me to expect him to divulge his clients’ secrets, even when they concerned our closest friends in England.

“I’ve never been to Hailesham Park,” Bill said by way of a peace offering. “I’ve never set foot in Hailesham House.”

I looked at him, puzzled. “Then where . . . ?”

“The London office,” said Bill. “And I’ve only met Lord Elstyn in person twice. He prefers to work through intermediaries.”

Mollified, I asked, “Does he look like Derek?”

“Come with me to Hailesham and find out.” Bill opened his arms.

“Oh, Bill, of course I’m coming with you.” Sighing deeply, I slid over and curled close to him again. “But I have to tell you: There are times when I absolutely
hate
attorney-client privilege.”

Bill wrapped his arms around me. “Sometimes I hate it, too, love.”

I rested my head upon his chest and gazed into the glowing embers. However glad I was that the evening’s conversation had ended amicably, I was gladder still that I’d kept my promise to Emma. Our loving husbands had been keeping one too many secrets from us lately. It seemed only fair that we keep a few from them.

Besides, I didn’t need Bill’s help to protect Derek. As a mother of twin boys I’d developed a preternatural awareness of danger. I could spot a broken bottle at forty paces. I could smell a smoldering cigarette butt a mile away. I’d stared down growling dogs, hissing geese, and closet monsters. I was more than capable of handling whatever the Elstyn clan might throw at Derek.

It wasn’t the danger that unnerved me so much as the dress code. Unlike Bill, who’d been born with silver spoons spilling out of his mouth, I wasn’t used to hobnobbing with the gentry. As I lay cuddled against my husband, I began to wonder if Emma had invited me along as a guarantee that she wouldn’t be alone in making a fool of herself.

Would we be expected to dress for dinner? I wondered. If so, what kind of dress would be appropriate? I was in no mood to ask Bill for advice, but I knew someone else I could turn to. I waited until Bill’s steady breathing told me he’d fallen asleep, then disengaged myself from his arms and headed for the study.

Three

I hadn’t always lived a life of leisure in the English countryside. While my husband had grown up in a mansion filled with servants, I’d been raised by my widowed mother in a modest apartment building in a working-class Chicago neighborhood.

We weren’t poor because my mother worked long and hard to keep our heads above water. There must have been days when she wanted to chuck her job and run away with the circus, but she never did. Her devotion to me enabled her to stay the course, as did her friendship with an Englishwoman named Dimity Westwood.

My mother and Dimity met in London while serving their respective countries during the Second World War. The two women became fast friends while the blitz was raging, and they wrote letters to each other for the rest of their lives. Their transatlantic correspondence was a refuge to which my mother could retreat when the world around her became too dreary or too burdensome to bear.