Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree

by Nancy Atherton

  “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.

  “If she changes her mind, she’ll post a notice on the schoolhouse board,” I informed them.

  All five of us jumped in alarm as the front door banged open and Peggy Taxman sailed into the room.

  “Lori!” she thundered. “What’s going on? I went to the trouble of finding Judith Crosby’s telephone number in the Chipping Norton directory, but when I rang her, she hung up on me!”

  “She was probably tending to Sally,” I said.

  “It takes time and energy to nurse a woman in Sally’s state,” Opal reasoned. “I’m sure that Judith doesn’t have a moment to spare for frivolous telephone calls.”

  “Her patient’s welfare must come first,” Millicent agreed primly.

  “If I were her,” said Selena, “I certainly wouldn’t put up with people pestering me.”

  “I wasn’t pestering her,” Peggy bellowed, her eyes flashing dangerously behind her pointy glasses. “I rang to ask if Sally was feeling better.”

  “She was at death’s door yesterday,” said Opal. “I sincerely doubt that there’s been any change in her condition since then.”

  Peggy muttered something under her breath, then turned her wrath on me again.

  “Didn’t you see me waving at you this morning?” she demanded.

  “I saw you,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t do anything about it. William’s client refused to stop.”

  “Shame on you, Peggy,” Opal said crossly. “You had no business waving at William’s client.”

  “None at all,” said Selena. “You were there when William asked us to respect his guest’s privacy.”

  Peggy scowled. “William’s guest looks foreign to me. Mexican.”

  “Does he?” Millicent asked avidly. She gave me a guilty, sidelong glance, then glowered at Peggy. “A notion you should keep to yourself, Peggy Taxman.”

  “Someone’s been paying a little too much attention to Sally’s endless tales about her trip,” said Selena, looking down her nose at Peggy. “For all we know, William’s client could be Spanish or Peruvian or something else altogether.”

  “It’s a pity Sally isn’t here,” said Millicent. “She’d be able to tell us whether he’s Mexican or not.”

  “Ladies,” Opal said reprovingly, “William’s client is none of our business. I agree with Millicent. We should keep our opinions about him to ourselves. If his identity is leaked to the press, goodness knows what might happen.”

  “We don’t want the pub overrun by reporters,” said Millicent, “and we certainly don’t want lorry-loads of photographers pointing their long lenses at Fairworth.”

  “In that case, you should be having it out with Elspeth Binney, not me,” Peggy boomed. “She was the one on the bridge with the telescope.”

  Opal gasped. “A telescope?”

  “As if you didn’t know,” Peggy said scornfully.

  “How could we?” Selena protested. “We’ve only just got back from Upper Deeping.”

  “Monday’s our painting class,” said Opal. “En plein air with Mr. Shuttleworth, remember? Such a nice man and so talented. He says I have a gift for—”

  “Did Elspeth really have a telescope?” Selena broke in impatiently.

  “Did she see anything? ” asked Millicent.

  “Birds,” I put in. “She was bird-watching.”

  The four women eyed me with naked incredulity, then made for the door.

  “I wish I could stay and chat, but my garden needs weeding,” said Opal.

  “I have to clean my paintbrushes,” said Millicent.

  “I have a letter to write,” said Selena.

  “I have to get back to the Emporium,” Peggy roared.

  They bustled out of Wysteria Lodge and across the green diagonally, picking up Mr. Barlow, George Wetherhead, Christine Peacock, and Miranda Morrow along the way. Bill strode to the window to survey their progress.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “Their trajectory will place them at Dove Cottage in less than thirty seconds.”

  “Dove Cottage,” I said, wholly unsurprised. “Elspeth Binney’s house.”

  “I hope Elspeth has a big pot of tea ready,” said Bill. “She’s about to receive eight extremely chatty visitors. Wouldn’t you love to be a fly on the wall?”

  “If they keep fighting among themselves, they’ll never fi
gure out who Henrique really is.” I glanced at my watch. “William guessed that our neighbors would slow me down. It’s past time for me to pick up the boys. Kit and Nell won’t let them starve, but a mother should make lunch for her own children, don’t you think? Will you join us?”

  “I’ll grab a bite to eat at the pub,” said Bill, “after which I will close my curtains and pile my filing cabinets against the door. It’s the only way I’ll get any work done today.”

  My husband and I exchanged kisses as well as keys and I took off in the Rover, leaving an electrified gaggle of villagers in my wake.

  Thirteen

  I called Willis, Sr., on my way to Anscombe Manor to let him know that I’d routed Elspeth Binney from her observation post.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I will maintain a state of heightened vigilance nonetheless. Individuals who own binoculars may be inspired to imitate the observant Mrs. Binney.” He paused before saying meditatively, “I begin to think we were wrong to emphasize my client’s need for anonymity. The mystery surrounding him has done nothing but stimulate the villagers’ curiosity.”

  “It doesn’t take much to stimulate the villagers’ curiosity,” I said dryly, “but you’re right. We’d have been better off if we’d told them that your client is”—I picked a name out of thin air—“Tim Thomson, a taxidermist from Topeka. Even they couldn’t get excited about a guy who stuffs dead animals for a living.”

  “Perhaps you could drop a few hints to that effect? ” Willis, Sr., suggested.

  “I could,” I said, “but it doesn’t really jibe with the story we’ve already established. Why would a taxidermist from Topeka insist on anonymity?”

  Willis, Sr., answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Mr. Thomson has chosen to revise his last will and testament in a private and remote setting because he does not want his adult children—two wastrel sons and an ungrateful daughter—to learn that he has disinherited them. Will that do?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, bedazzled by his inventiveness. “You have a knack for improvisation, William.”

  “I have, alas, handled many similar cases in my time,” said Willis, Sr. “It required very little imagination to superimpose them on our taxidermist.”