Aunt Dimity and the Duke

by Nancy Atherton

  “Has anything turned up?” Emma asked.

  Derek laid the portfolio flat on the long marquetry table behind the couch, then gestured to the portrait over the mantelpiece. “The dowager duchess’s emeralds,” he answered. “But Nell and Bertie stumbled over those.”

  “Nell and Bertie found Grandmother’s wedding jewels?” Emma asked doubtfully.

  “Stumbled over them. They were underneath a floorboard in the nursery. Must’ve thought it was the one place the old duke wouldn’t look.”

  “Who must’ve thought?” Emma asked, thoroughly confused, but Derek’s long strides had already taken him into a shadowy recess in the comer, where he bent low to retrieve a second portfolio. Its faded black leather was crumbling, one corner was cracked and peeling, and the covers were held together by frayed ribbons.

  “Misplaced two sheets from the plans Grayson gave me,” Derek said, laying the second portfolio beside the first. “Embarrassing gaffe, for a supposed expert in old houses. Came down to see if I could root out another set on my own. Found this.” He placed a hand on the second portfolio. “It’s the kind of survey that’s done when a chap’s thinking of putting his place on the market.”

  Derek gently teased the ribbons apart and opened the second portfolio. Emma glanced at the date on the topmost sheet. These house plans had been made fifteen years ago, only ten years before the most recent set.

  “Like you to compare the two,” said Derek. “They’re a bit technical, I’m afraid, but, well, do your best.”

  Emma smiled tolerantly as she paged through the detailed drawings. She’d installed her share of mainframe computer systems over the years, laid cable in air-conditioning ducts, and rewired entire offices. She doubted that Derek could teach her much about reading house plans.

  “You see ...” Derek’s fingers began to trace lightly across a page, then stopped as he cocked an ear toward the ceiling. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the gallery. “Nell,” he said, sounding mildly affronted, and Emma looked up to see a curly blond head and a fuzzy brown one peering through the gallery’s wooden railing.

  “What are you doing up there?” Derek demanded. “Where’s Peter?”

  “Bertie said Peter needs time to himself,” Nell explained. “And we found a little door up here, so—”

  “Please inform Bertie that Emma and I would like some time to ourselves, as well,” said Derek. “Go ask Peter to read you a story.”

  “But Bertie said—”

  “One moment, please, Emma.” Taking the stairs three at a time, Derek ran up to the gallery, where he bent to confer with his daughter.

  Emma turned back to the house plans and paged through them slowly, stopped, then started again. “New wiring,” she murmured. “New plumbing ...” Twenty years ago the rose suite hadn’t even had a sink, let alone its own bathroom, and there’d been no fancy stove in the kitchen. She looked up as Derek returned, a bemused expression on his face.

  “Nell gone?” she asked.

  “Yes, but ...” Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “My daughter informs me that it’s nearly lunchtime.” He reached down to toy with one of the frayed ribbons. “Have you any plans?”

  Emma shrugged. “I’d intended to go down to the village to buy a few things this afternoon.”

  “All right.” Derek took a deep breath, then jammed his hands into his pockets. “We’ll go down together, then. They do a slap-up lunch at the Bright Lady—the village pub.” He hesitated before adding apologetically, “Seems I’ve also agreed to have supper with my children in the nursery this evening. Don’t know quite how it happened, but ... well, rather awkward. Means you’ll be dining alone.”

  “That’s okay,” said Emma. “I’m used to it.”

  “Shouldn’t be,” Derek snapped. He flushed, then jutted his chin toward the gallery. “That is to say, my daughter, Nell, wondered if you might join us for supper.” A look of concern crossed his face. “You are eating, aren’t you?”

  Pulling in her stomach, Emma replied stiffly, “I’m not dieting, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Thank God. After a week of Susannah and her food-fads, I’m ready to set light to every diet book on the market. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite. Why, Mary could put away—” He faltered, then went on, haltingly. “My late wife enjoyed food. Don’t know where she put it. She was small, like Peter. Same dark hair, too.” He glanced at Emma, then quickly looked away. “She died just after Nell was born. Pneumonia.”

  Was that it? Emma wondered. Was that why he’d been so upset by the duke’s graphic description of drowning? Emma knew there was no set timetable for grief, but five years seemed a long time for a mere anecdote to elicit such a strong reaction. Yet, looking at him now, hearing the pain in his voice, she knew it must be so. She felt a brief stab of envy—what must it be like to be missed so desperately?—but recoiled from it. If Derek’s wife had loved him, she would not have wanted him to mourn like this. “I’m very sorry,” she said.

  “Me, too.” Derek busied himself with closing the portfolios. “Look, why don’t we head down to the village now? I can explain the house plans to you on the way. Don’t mind walking, do you? Nell said it wouldn’t bother you.”

  “Did she?” Emma smiled. Clearly, she’d made more of an impression on Nell than she’d realized. “I suppose Bertie expressed an opinion of me, too?”

  Some of the strain seemed to leave Derek’s face as he gave Emma a sidelong look. “He did, in fact. Thinks you’re quite splendid.”

  Emma had never received praise from a stuffed bear before, but as she watched Derek return the portfolios to their respective shelves, she felt irrationally pleased.

  12

  The cliff path wound around the east wing of Penford Hall and skirted the edge of the walled woodland before beginning a gradual descent into the valley that held the village of Penford Harbor. The prickly gorse soon gave way to bracken; the windswept rocky meadow to the still, sun-dappled shelter of the trees.

  Derek had pulled off his sweater and tied its sleeves around his waist. He wore a wrinkled blue chambray workshirt underneath, and as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, Emma noticed his sinewy forearms. She wondered fleetingly how such strong hands could perform such delicate tasks—uncovering a whitewashed fresco, repairing fragile stained glass—then realized that Derek’s eyes were on her, and redirected her gaze.

  “Don’t suppose you were able to make heads or tails out of the house plans,” Derek said.

  “I managed to pick out a thing or two,” Emma admitted, amused but slightly nettled by Derek’s condescending tone. “The plumbing and wiring have been completely revamped. New access panels, stack vents, feeder cables, supply lines, a whole new distribution board. If the cutaways are any indication, some floors have been raised and leveled, and a new roof’s been put on.” She glanced slyly at Derek. “Have I left anything out?”

  “Er,” said Derek.

  “If I really struggled, I’ll bet I could even figure out why you showed the plans to me,” Emma continued, enjoying his discomfiture. “Let’s see, now. The older plans suggest that the hall was in pretty bad shape fifteen years ago. If the old duke had them made up in order to sell the place, the family’s finances must have been shaky, too. Your aside about the duchess’s emeralds seems a little ominous. Why would she hide them in the nursery unless she was afraid that her son might try to sell them? And if Grayson’s father was down to selling his own mother’s wedding jewels—” She stopped walking and turned to face Derek, who was staring at her in amazement. “How am I doing?”

  “Um.” Derek blinked. “You work with computers, don’t you?”

  Emma nodded. “Sometimes my firm installs them. In great big buildings. With reams of technical drawings.”

  “Ah.” Derek scuffed at the ground with the toe of his workboot. “Didn’t mean to sound patronizing. Most women—”

  “You’d be surprised at what most women know,” Emma said lightly. “At any rate, I do see what yo
u’re getting at. Penford Hall underwent a major renovation five years ago. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Repairs on the roof alone would run upwards of a hundred thousand pounds,” Derek confirmed.

  “A hundred thousand... ” Emma gulped. “Just for the roof? Where did Grayson get money like that?”

  “Susannah asked me the same question,” said Derek. “Seemed to think I’d know.”

  “You were friends,” Emma reminded him.

  “Haven’t seen him for ten years,” Derek retorted. “And I never visited the hall. When I managed to make that clear to Susannah, she began asking me about Lex Rex. Went on about it until I was ready to chuck her over the nearest wall.” Derek frowned suddenly, as though a new thought had occurred to him. “She must’ve been looking for me yesterday morning, when she ...” His voice trailed off.

  “Fell?” Emma suggested.

  “That’s the problem, you see.” Coming to a halt, he turned to regard Emma worriedly. “A wealthy rock star drowns nearby, and Grayson’s suddenly wealthy enough to refurbish the hall. Susannah claims to see a connection ... and suddenly she’s not around to ask uncomfortable questions anymore.”

  “No.” Emma shook her head. “Grayson couldn’t ... He wouldn’t...” She bit her lip, then tried again. “What I mean is, Grayson’s so ...”

  “Charming? Gracious? I quite agree. But he’s also a bit of a madman, wouldn’t you say? And he knows how to sail, Emma. He’s grown up hearing tales of shipwrecks and piracy, and he told me he’d do anything to make sure the bloody lantern lit on schedule. And in order for that to happen, the duke of Penford must be in possession of Penford Hall.”

  Emma opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. After all, Mattie had told her outright that Susannah had been an unpopular figure at Penford Hall. Mild-mannered Bantry had come close to spitting on the duke’s cousin, Nanny Cole had complained of her snooping, and, however well Kate had tried to hide it, she’d been annoyed by Susannah’s needling. And Grayson ... What had he said about his cousin? She was raised by wolves, you know.

  She gazed at Derek, shaken. “Do you know what you’re suggesting?”

  Sighing, Derek ran a hand through his curls. “I know, and I hope it turns out to be a load of rubbish. But what if it’s not? What if Grayson was involved in Lex’s death? What if he got his hands on Lex’s money? What if Susannah’s found a way to prove it?”

  Emma felt a sudden chill. When Kate had called this morning, she’d mentioned bringing Susannah back to Penford Hall as soon as she was well enough to travel. If Derek was right, if Susannah had discovered something connecting Grayson to Lex Rex’s death, the hall might not be the safest place for her to recuperate. “Tell me more about Lex Rex,” she said.

  They walked slowly. Derek conscientiously moderated his long stride, and Emma was in no hurry. The path would eventually take them to the car park, and from there they would enter the village by the main—indeed the only—street. Until then, Emma had a lot of catching up to do. She listened closely while Derek told her what he knew of Charles Alexander King, more commonly known to his legion of fans as Lex Rex.

  “They met in Oxford,” Derek began. “Grayson was attending lectures and Lex was holed up in a garage somewhere, working on that first, dreadful video.”

  Emma searched her memory. “The black-and-white one with all the scratches?”

  Derek nodded. “Eat Your Greens. In seven ear-splitting minutes, Lex managed to offend environmentalists, vegetarians, pacifists, and right-thinking people everywhere. Everyone else thought he was fantastic. Grayson must’ve thought so, too, though I’m hard-pressed to say what they had in common.”

  “It wasn’t the music,” Emma objected, recalling the fine precision of the duke’s playing. “Perhaps he enjoyed the shock value. The old duke couldn’t have approved of Lex.”

  Derek shrugged. “Whatever the case, the friendship didn’t last. The old duke died and Grayson came back to Penford Hall, while Lex went on to fame and fortune. Five years later, I was reading about them in the papers.”

  “Wait,” Emma broke in. “Didn’t you meet Grayson at about the same time?”

  “If you’re wondering whether I met Lex as well, the answer is no. I should think it would be self-evident. I was a grown man, with a ...” He faltered, recovered quickly, and went on. “With a wife and an infant son to look after. Hadn’t any time to waste hanging about garages with the likes of Lex Rex.”

  A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and a chaffinch streaked across the path. Emma watched Derek from the comer of her eye, saw his jaw muscles knot, his hands clench behind his back.

  “Now, where was I?” he asked gruffly.

  “Lex had gone on to fame and fortune.”

  “Right.” Derek cleared his throat. “According to the newspaper accounts, Lex decided to pay his old friend a surprise visit. Treacherous things, country houses. Never know who’s going to turn up.”

  “Sounds like the voice of experience,” Emma said wryly. “Do you have a country house?”

  “Family does. In Wiltshire. Comes to me when the old man pegs out.”

  “You don’t seem pleased by the idea,” Emma observed. “Don’t you want the family mansion?”

  “Too many strings attached.” Derek’s mouth quirked in an ironic smile. “My father disapproves of my profession. I’m the son of an earl with the soul of a bricklayer. The lord of the manor is not supposed to get his hands dirty.”

  “And a woman’s place is in the home. I’ve been hearing that since I was old enough to wear an apron. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Emma picked up a stick and knocked the head off of a stray dandelion. “Your father should meet my mother. The world seems to be full of disappointed parents.”

  “A good many disappointed children, as well, I’ll wager.” Derek’s smile softened.

  “Please,” Emma said, “go on with the story. I’ll try not to interrupt.”

  “Interrupt all you like,” said Derek, with a sidelong glance. “I don’t mind.” His curls tossed in the breeze and the sunshine made his blue eyes sparkle. Emma fumbled with the stick, then tossed it hastily away.

  “Lex decided to surprise Grayson ...” she prompted.

  Derek gazed at her a moment longer, then ducked his head and continued. “Surprise was on Lex, as it turned out, because Grayson wasn’t at home. Papers made a lot of fuss about this particular point, until it came out that Grayson had been in France, negotiating the repurchase of paintings his father had sold some years before. Grayson was understandably reluctant to advertise his father’s penury.”

  “But if Grayson wasn’t home ...”

  “His staff is awfully fond of him, don’t you think? Terribly eager to please?”

  “I suppose, but ...” But it makes sense, Emma thought. It could have been a plot, with Grayson as the mastermind and the staff as co-conspirators. She thought back to her first evening at Penford Hall, to Grayson’s soothing, seductive words at the dinner table. She’d joined his cause without a second thought. If he inspired such devotion in a total stranger, what kind of fierce loyalty might he inspire in his staff? “Go on,” she said.

  “Lex arrived, with his band in tow, and no Grayson to surprise. Fools got into his brandy, then decided to hoof it down to the Bright Lady.”

  “That’s the pub in Penford Harbor?”

  “Where we’re heading now. The band downed a few pints, jumped aboard Grayson’s yacht, and took it out into one of the worst gales Cornwall’s seen in fifty years. None of them were sailors, and the yacht was in poor repair. Miracle they got the ruddy thing going at all. But no one tangles with the Nether Shoals and lives to tell about it.”

  “The ship was wrecked?” Emma asked.

  “Smashed to matchsticks. The band ...” Derek’s lips tightened. “They searched, of course. Grayson came tearing back from his trip to mount his own search, as well. But the currents around the Nether Shoals are notoriously unpredictable, even in fair wea
ther. In that storm ...” Derek shook his head. “Could be as far away as Spain by now.”

  Emma drew her sweater more closely around her. “And the press gave Grayson a pretty hard time?”

  “Had a field day,” Derek said. “Cro-Magnon musician perishes on aristocrat’s leaky yacht—it was tabloid fodder. Yet another scandal at Buck House took the pressure off, but not before some enterprising journalist discovered that Lex had been virtually penniless. There was no estate left, after all the bills had been paid.”

  Emma wasn’t surprised. The scenario was a familiar one—too many rock musicians lived life at high speed, spending their money faster than they earned it. Emma frowned suddenly and came to an abrupt halt.

  “Penniless?” she repeated. She batted at a fly that buzzed in her face. “Then what are we worrying about? If Lex was broke, why would Grayson ...” She hesitated, then finished lamely, “... do what you think he might have done?”

  “This is the tricky bit.” Derek peered cautiously into the woods on either side of the path, before saying, very quietly, “Lex’s books—his financial records—were a bit of a mess. That’s what gave rise to speculation in the first place. No one was quite sure what had become of his money, you understand?”

  Emma nodded.

  “The tabloids lost interest, and so did I. But Susannah didn’t.” Derek glanced around again, then leaned closer to Emma. His voice sank to a whisper. “Apparently, she befriended a chap, a banker. Happens I know him. Very precise sort of fellow. Collects butterflies. Susannah asked him to look into things, and he came away saying that there was something odd about the way Lex’s accounts were set up. Nothing he could point a finger at. Just gave him a queer feeling that things weren’t quite pukka.”

  “But how could Grayson—”

  “Fiddle the books? No idea. Curious, though.”

  Emma agreed. As they resumed walking, she murmured, “It’s a lucky thing Susannah’s friend never talked to the press.”

  “Winslow?” Derek snorted. “Safe as houses. We were at school together. Hasn’t changed a bit. If it hasn’t got wings and antennae, he can’t be bothered with it.”