Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree

by Nancy Atherton

  I gave the magazine pages another dark look, then shook off my crotchety mood, slid the blue journal from its shelf, and curled up with it in the tall leather armchair before the hearth. After pausing to collect my thoughts, I opened the journal and gazed at it expectantly.

  “Dimity?” I said.

  I smiled as the familiar lines of royal-blue ink flowed sinuously across the blank page.

  Good evening, Lori. I’d hoped to hear from you sooner.

  My smile faded. I glanced at the desk and realized with a twinge of guilt that the time I’d spent searching for recipes would have been better spent chatting with Aunt Dimity. She had every reason to expect a prompt update on the scheme she’d so cleverly devised.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been a little distracted this evening.”

  Apology accepted. Now, will you please get on with it? I’m dying, so to speak, to hear about Lady Sarah’s adventures at Fairworth House!

  Determined to make amends for my blunder, I launched into an exhaustive description of everything that had happened since I’d last spoken with her, from my early arrival at Crabtree Cottage to Willis, Sr.’s most recent telephone call. Aunt Dimity’s initial response to my long and complex narrative made me gurgle with laughter.

  Orange and yellow chiffon? With rhinestones? My word.

  “Sally looked very pretty,” I said staunchly. “Henrique thought she was gorgeous.”

  Is he color-blind?

  “If love is blind,” I said, “then Henrique’s eyesight is definitely impaired.”

  His hearing must be impaired as well, if he failed to note the incongruities in Sally’s speech.

  “He’s Mexican,” I said, shrugging. “Maybe all Englishwomen sound alike to him. I can’t tell an upper-class Spanish accent from a lower-class one. Why would I expect him to be an expert on English accents?”

  As a well-to-do man of the world, Señor Cocinero must encounter authentic English aristocrats on a regular basis. It should be easy for him to recognize the differences between them and Sally Pyne.

  “Men of the world don’t necessarily hang out with aristocrats,” I said. “If Henrique pulled himself up by his own bootstraps, he may be more comfortable around regular folk.”

  A humble beginning would explain his fondness for fry-ups and trotters. Oh, dear, Lori . . . I begin to suspect that Señor Cocinero would have fallen for Sally regardless of her position in society. If she’d been honest with him from the start, she might have found the man of her dreams—and kept him. Instead, she’s created an absurdly difficult situation for herself.

  “If she tells him the truth, he may leave,” I said, “but if she continues to lie to him, he will leave.”

  She is, regrettably, wedged firmly between a rock and a hard place. I wonder if we should go on aiding and abetting her in her attempt to deceive Señor Cocinero? Perhaps it would be kinder to persuade her to present herself to him as she is, not as she pretends to be.

  “You seem to forget,” I said, “that Sally was prepared to leave Finch forever in order to avoid revealing her real self to Henrique.”

  So she was. Poor, dear, foolish Sally. She will, I fear, come to regret letting Señor Cocinero slip from her grasp.

  “If she can go through with it,” I said cautiously.

  Do you believe she will hesitate?

  “She may change her mind completely. She’s bonkers about Henrique.” I stretched my legs out on the ottoman and gazed bemusedly at the journal. “To tell you the truth, Dimity, I didn’t expect the two of them to generate so much ... heat.”

  Because they’re middle-aged?

  “Partly,” I admitted. “Sally’s always been so feisty and self-reliant that it’s still hard for me to imagine her going all soppy and weak-kneed over a man. And, yes, I suppose I had the quaint notion that at a certain age the, um, embers would, er, burn low.”

  Bill would be disappointed to hear you say so. Come now, Lori. Any fire fighter will tell you that it takes but a single glowing ember to start a conflagration. Señor Cocinero clearly knows how to fan the flames.

  “You can say that again,” I confirmed. “He may not be the handsomest hombre on earth, Dimity, but he has a seriously sensual way with words. He positively purrs every time he locks eyes with his querida. If I were Sally, I wouldn’t be able to let him go.”

  Her heart may overrule her head or it may not. I doubt that even Sally knows what she will do on Thursday.

  “It would be a crime to let all that passion go to waste,” I declared. “I hope she swallows her pride, throws caution to the wind, and bares her soul to Henrique, come what may.”

  You have a penchant for drama, my dear. I expect William will have had his fill of drama by the time Señor Cocinero leaves. Still, he’s kept a remarkably cool head, given the circumstances. Tim the taxidermist was a stroke of genius.

  “It should put a spoke in the rumor mill,” I agreed.

  Everything is going according to plan, then. Good. There was a pause. I can’t help but notice that you’ve been unusually tight-lipped about the Donovans, Lori. After our last talk, I expected to be treated to a litany of their shortcomings.

  “I don’t want to be accused of being peevish,” I said, “or jealous or overprotective or possessive, so the only thing you’ll hear me say about the Donovans from now on is that they’re . . . perfect.”

  I’d rather you be critical than hypocritical, Lori. It’s as plain as the nose on your face that the Donovans still make you uneasy. What is it about them that troubles you?

  “Let me put it this way,” I said, glad of the chance to vent my pent-up frustration. “If it was your first day on the job and your new boss asked you to join in an elaborate scheme to hoodwink some poor schnook, would you do it? If you were a gifted chef, would you jump at the opportunity to sling hash and dish up swill? Would you stay up until three in the morning to clean a house that doesn’t need cleaning? I mean, it’s not as if we left the place in a shambles after the housewarming party.” I shifted my shoulders irritably. “The only mistake Deirdre’s made so far was to mess around with William’s furniture and even that was a result of overzealousness.”

  She moved the settee to protect it from the sun and she moved the chair in order to sweep behind it.

  My brow furrowed as Aunt Dimity’s words triggered another memory.

  “And . . . I don’t know how to describe it, Dimity,” I said hesitantly, “but Deirdre reacted ... strangely ... when William asked her about the chair in the drawing room. His question seemed to take her by surprise. She had to think about her answer before she gave it.”

  She had a lot on her mind at the time.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t as if she’d forgotten that she’d moved the chair,” I said in a rush. “It was as if she couldn’t figure out who had moved it. I don’t know. . . .” I slumped in my chair, discouraged. “Maybe Declan walks in his sleep. Maybe Deirdre was covering for him. Maybe I’m making mountains out of molehills. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  I don’t believe you are. Making mountains out of molehills, that is.

  “You don’t?” I said, taken aback.

  Far be it from me to dismiss intuition. I don’t know what to make of Deirdre’s reaction to the chair-moving incident, but if you sensed something off-kilter about it, I’m willing to believe that there’s more to it than meets the eye.

  “You are?” I said, sitting upright.

  If something seems too good to be true, Lori, it usually is, and the Donovans seem much too good to be true. They’re too accommodating, too helpful, too eager to please. They should never have agreed so readily to participate in my scheme. There was no need to spend half the night cleaning a clean house. A good cook would rather lose her job than produce inedible meals. They are, as you say, perfect, and you and I both know that no human being is perfect.

  “I am flabbergasted,” I said slowly, staring at the journal in disbelief. “I’m dazed and amazed. I never in a
million years thought you’d agree with me, Dimity. You’re always telling me not to jump to conclusions.”

  Have you jumped to any conclusions?

  “Not yet,” I said proudly. “Have you?”

  I haven’t reached a conclusion, but I can think of one possible explanation for the Donovans’ curious behavior. I will gladly share it with you if you will promise not to overreact.

  “I promise,” I said before the final word was fully formed on the page. I was so relieved to have Aunt Dimity on my side that I would have promised to hop around the cottage on one foot if she’d asked me to.

  I offer nothing more than a theory, Lori. I may be wrong from start to finish.

  “Disclaimer noted,” I said impatiently. “What’s your theory?”

  Servants have been known to lull their masters into a false sense of security. Perhaps the Donovans intend to gain William’s trust in order to betray him.

  My heart began to beat a little faster. “How would they betray him?”

  I would remind you of the brass compass.

  “The one Deirdre polished,” I said, after a moment’s thought, “even though it didn’t need to be polished.”

  Deirdre created certain expectations when she took the compass to the kitchen for cleaning. When other, more valuable objects vanish, William will assume that they, too, are being cleaned. By the time he realizes that the missing objects have been missing for some time, the Donovans will be long gone—with the tidy sum of cash they earned by fencing stolen property.

  “They’re going to rob him!” I exclaimed, thumping the armrest with my fist. “That’s it, Dimity! The Donovans plan to pick William’s pocket while he’s looking the other way. That’s why they want to work at places like Fairworth. Their grand plan is to mosey from country house to country house seducing the owners while they scoop up trinkets to sell to the highest bidder. I’m sure you’re right!”

  I’m not. Calm down, Lori.

  “How can I calm down?” I demanded. “You’ve just told me that William’s at the mercy of two no-good, underhanded crooks!”

  I’ve told you nothing of the sort. I’ve merely set forth a theory. You will need to gather hard evidence of wrongdoing before you level any accusations at the Donovans.

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” I said grimly. “I’ll watch their every move. They’re bound to slip up eventually, and when they do, I’ll catch them.”

  Of that I have no doubt. If there’s a nest of vipers in Fairworth House, you will be the one to cast it out. But I would urge you to make sure of the vipers before you do the casting out.

  “I won’t call the police unless I catch either Deirdre or Declan red-handed,” I said.

  A sound policy. You’ve done well today, Lori. Without you, my scheme would have been scuppered first thing this morning by Peggy Taxman and later, by Elspeth Binney. I hope you’ll be equally successful in fending them off tomorrow.

  “I shall be as a bulwark against snoopy villagers,” I vowed, “and sneak-thieves.”

  Your primary concern should be to see William through until Thursday. Then you may focus your full attention on the Donovans. The next few days should be very interesting indeed. I look forward to hearing about them—in a timely fashion. Sleep well, my dear.

  “I will,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Good night, Dimity.”

  I waited until the lines of fine copperplate had faded from the page, then closed the journal and returned it to its shelf. For a moment I stood stock-still, pondering my next move. Though I was determined to do what was best for Willis, Sr., I wasn’t sure he would thank me for it.

  “William will be glad to see the backs of Lady Sarah and Henrique,” I said to Reginald, “but he won’t let go of the Donovans so easily.”

  My bunny’s steadfast gaze bolstered my resolve. Instead of going to bed, I sat at the desk, shoved the magazines aside, and began to compile a room-by-room inventory of Fairworth’s priceless, portable, and potentially threatened treasures.

  Fifteen

  Bill took off with Will and Rob at eight o’clock the following morning. I waved good-bye to them from the doorstep, then retreated to the kitchen with Stanley. As I loaded the dishwasher, I toyed with the idea of heading into the village as soon as the shops were open and laying claim to one of the tearoom’s window seats.

  It was, in my humble opinion, a stellar plan. Rainey would be pleased to have me on hand to shield her from Peggy Taxman; the tearoom’s chatty patrons would let me know whether or not the taxidermist story had taken hold; and I would be perfectly placed to spring into action if I spotted a Handmaiden with binoculars making a beeline for the bridge. If I had to disguise my vigil’s true purpose by indulging in a tasty pastry or two, so be it.

  “Sacrifices must be made,” I said to Stanley, who eyed me quizzically, then went back to washing his face.

  I was debating the relative merits of cream cakes and jam doughnuts when the telephone rang.

  “Lori?” Willis, Sr., said without preamble. “Would you please come to Fairworth House immediately? There has been a disturbing development.”

  “Already?” I said, my eyes widening. “What’s missing?”

  “Missing?” Willis, Sr., echoed. “Nothing is missing. To the contrary, my home has become overcrowded. The workmen have arrived to put the finishing touches on the library, the billiards room, and the conservatory.”

  “Oh, no,” I groaned, putting a hand to my forehead. “Didn’t you tell them to come next week?”

  “Had I done so, they would not be here today,” he replied somewhat testily. “Unfortunately, it is a detail I overlooked. I require your assistance, Lori,” he went on. “I can do many things, but I cannot juggle Lady Sarah, Señor Cocinero, and a houseful of manual laborers.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

  “No sooner?” he asked piteously.

  “Not unless you want me to prance around in my pajamas,” I said. “I didn’t sign up for dawn patrol.”

  “Come as soon as you can,” he said, and hung up.

  I saw no evidence of workmen when I reached Fairworth, presumably because they’d parked their vehicles around the back, but I detected their presence as soon as I stepped into the entrance hall. A chorus of bangs, thuds, taps, squeaks, and shouted conversations led me first to the library, where the carpenter and his assistant were finishing the crown molding on the massive bookshelves, then to the billiards room, where the plasterer and his assistant were touching up the sconce medallions, and finally to the conservatory, where the glazier and his assistant were discussing with Willis, Sr., the adjustments they needed to make to the louvered windows.

  I waited for an opportune moment, then pulled Willis, Sr., into the dining room and shut the door. He was dressed meticulously in a lightweight tweed suit, but his face was flushed and his snowy hair was mussed, as if he’d run his hand through it instead of a comb.

  “Private Shepherd, reporting for duty,” I said, snapping off a salute.

  “As you were,” said Willis, Sr., smiling weakly at my attempt to lighten his mood.

  “You don’t look so good, William,” I said with a sympathetic moue. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I have,” he replied, and his expression brightened slightly. “Mrs. Donovan served breakfast to each of us in our rooms this morning. It was an inspired notion, since it enabled her to prepare individual meals. Mine was epicurean, but Lady Sarah and Señor Cocinero were treated to watery porridge.”

  “Which Henrique loved, of course,” I said.

  Willis, Sr., shrugged helplessly. “It reminded him of the porridge his madre used to make.”

  “Where are the Donovans?” I asked.

  “Mr. Donovan has gone to Upper Deeping to take delivery of a shipment of tawny port I ordered some months ago,” Willis, Sr., informed me. “Mrs. Donovan is attending to the bedrooms.”

  “And the lovebirds?” I asked. “Where are they?�
��

  “Lady Sarah and her friend are in my study, playing backgammon,” said Willis, Sr. “I would like them to stay there until the laborers leave.”

  “Why?” I asked. “The workmen won’t recognize Sally. She never came to Fairworth during the renovation and they never went to the tearoom. As I recall, they rocketed straight through Finch without stopping, to avoid further contact with the Handmaidens.”

  “I wish you would refrain from using that term,” said Willis, Sr., frowning. “I realize that you and my son find it amusing, but I consider it unkind and inappropriate.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “but my point is—”

  “I understand your point,” Willis, Sr., broke in, “but I do not accept it. The workmen may decide, against their better judgment, to visit Peacock’s pub after they leave Fairworth today. It will not help our cause if Mr. and Mrs. Peacock overhear the men chatting about Lady Sarah and Señor Cocinero.” He shook his head. “It is a risk I am unwilling to take.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “I would like you to keep my guests segregated from the workmen,” he replied fretfully. “I cannot be everywhere at once.”

  “You don’t have to be,” I soothed. “I’m here.”

  “Thank you, Lori.” He took a calming breath. “I also rely on you to keep Lady Sarah from giving away all of my earthly possessions.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Lady Sarah pleaded with me to allow her to present Señor Cocinero with one of the snuffboxes found in the ruined stables,” Willis, Sr., explained. “Her desire to bestow a memento upon her friend is laudable, but an eighteenth-century Meissen snuffbox is rather an expensive souvenir.”

  “Is it?” I said. “I didn’t realize that the snuffboxes were valuable.”

  “The entire collection has been appraised at two hundred thousand pounds,” Willis, Sr., said, lowering his voice. “The Meissen alone is worth thirty thousand pounds.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed. “You never said—”