“Derek told me that neither Nell nor Peter ever used his old nursery,” I said.
Since Derek never visited Hailesham with his children, I doubt very much that he knows where they went while they were here.
Though daunted by Dimity’s assault, I was too stubborn to give in to mere logic and made a final attempt to shore up what was left of my flawless argument.
“Don’t get me wrong, Dimity,” I said. “I don’t think Nell’s evil. I think she’s mixed up. I mean, she’s stuck between two worlds. On the one hand, there’s her grandfather, who expects her to make a power marriage. On the other hand, there’s her father, who’d rather she marry Kit for love than anyone else for money. It doesn’t get more opposite than that. She can’t help being confused.”
Nell inspires confusion in others, Lori. She does not experience it herself.
“Maybe she thinks she can have it both ways,” I continued doggedly. “If she frightens Simon off, Derek’s place will be assured and one day Hailesham will be ruled by a kinder, gentler earl. When that day comes, she’ll be able to live here and marry for love.”
You’re treading water, Lori. You know as well as I do that Nell will do exactly as she pleases, regardless of Edwin’s demands. The handwriting stopped for a moment, as if Dimity were reviewing the facts, then resumed. Your entire argument rests on the assumption that the poison pen hates Simon.
“Well . . . yeah,” I said, taken aback. “Those notes aren’t what I’d call fan mail.”
Imagine, if you will, that the poison pen loves Simon. Imagine that it’s someone who sees the pitfalls of being Lord Elstyn’s heir and wants to protect Simon from them.
“There are pitfalls?” I said doubtfully.
The estate is extremely costly to maintain. If the family’s finances are in disarray,
I cut her off. “It’s not about money. Gina’s too smart to saddle her husband with a white elephant, and Simon would take Hailesham under any conditions. I told you, Dimity, he loves the place—and he’s rich as Croesus.” I stroked Reginald’s soft ears and gazed into the middle distance, struck by a new line of reasoning. “Oliver . . .”
Oliver?
“Give me a minute,” I said, and tried to remember the wistful words Oliver had uttered during breakfast. “Oliver loves his brother, but I don’t think he knows how to express his love. He told me that he and Simon weren’t permitted to be friends.”
I’m sorry to say that Edwin encouraged competition between them, in a misguided attempt to prepare them for the competitive worlds of school and university.
“Oliver seems to feel sorry for Simon,” I said. “When we spoke this morning, he described Simon as his perfect brother, then called him a poor chap, as if being perfect were some sort of burden.”
It’s an intolerable burden to place on any human being. A perfect man can’t ask for his family’s help when he’s being tormented. He must pretend that all is well, even when he’s suffered a grave injury.
“Oliver said that Simon pretends to be happy,” I went on, “and that he has no friends, only . . . associates and allies.”
Simon has a wife. Isn’t she his friend?
My lips tightened into a thin line. “I asked the same question, Dimity, and Oliver told me that Gina isn’t Simon’s friend—she’s a useful ally.”
Oh, dear. Poor Simon, indeed, if his attempts to live up to his uncle’s standards of perfection have trapped him in a loveless marriage.
“Maybe Oliver’s trying to help him find a way out,” I offered. “I don’t think Gina would be too pleased with Simon if he went AWOL from the summit meeting. It might cause a rift between them, especially if Gina married Simon in order to get her hands on Hailesham.”
In other words, Oliver might be harassing Simon in an attempt to free him from an unhappy marriage.
I nodded. “You said that Oliver spent his holidays here as a child. He’d know where the kerosene is stored.”
He’d also have access to the straight razor, the nursery, the topiary, and Simon’s bedroom. He’d be familiar with the back stair-cases and side doors.
“Oliver arrived at Hailesham before the others,” I said. “He would’ve had ample time to leave the note in Simon’s room and set the fire. He didn’t go riding, either, and he went upstairs after breakfast. He could have made the second note and delivered it to Simon’s room before Simon got back from the stables.”
Oliver seems worth a closer look. I suspect the straight razor will prove to be a useful starting point for the next phase of your inquiry, though I wish you hadn’t removed it from the nursery.
“Why not?” I asked.
Its absence is certain to alarm the poison pen. I fear that he may decide to embark upon a more direct campaign against Simon—or you.
“Oliver’s trying to help his brother,” I protested. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
You’re getting ahead of yourself again, Lori. We don’t know that Oliver’s the culprit, and until we do, we must assume that someone in this house is quite mad and possibly dangerous. Sleep well, my dear.
My flesh crept as Dimity’s handwriting faded from the page, and when I considered the many uses to which the straight razor could be put, I was rather glad I’d removed it from the nursery.
“Lucky me, eh, Reg?” I placed the journal on the bedside table and switched off the lamp. “I wanted to see behind the scenes at Hailesham and I’ve certainly gotten an eyeful.”
I no longer had any difficulty understanding why Derek had rebelled against his family. Their life of privilege came at too high a price. Claudia had been handed every advantage, yet she was as shallow as a birdbath. Oliver’s finer feelings had been so thoroughly bludgeoned in childhood that he couldn’t admit to loving his own brother. Simon seemed to me to be the saddest of the three, standing alone and lonely atop a precarious pedestal of perfection.
By breaking every one of his father’s rules, Derek had found the best kind of happiness. He made a living doing work he loved to do. He adored his wife and children, and they, in turn, adored him. His rambling, imperfect manor house radiated an air of quiet contentment that reflected his hard-won peace of mind.
Perhaps, I thought, it was just as well that Lord Elstyn had fired his son’s nanny. Derek’s heartbreak had led him to reject things that weren’t worth having—and to find things that were.
By the time Bill crawled into bed with me, I was much too sleepyheaded to talk, but we found other pleasant ways to pass the time.
Fifteen
Bill was gone when I woke up, but I woke up smiling. Reality, I thought, could sometimes be sweeter by far than the sweetest dreams. I rolled onto my side and gazed lovingly at the sunlight streaming through the balcony door. For the first time since we’d arrived at Hailesham Park, I felt as if I were truly on holiday.
Then I remembered the straight razor and shot out of bed.
I showered in record time and dressed in the loose trousers I’d worn the day before, paired with a claret-colored silk blouse. I gave my damp curls a hasty comb-through with my fingers, tucked the poison-pen items into my pocket, and trotted next door to present the razor for Simon’s inspection.
My knock was answered by the heavyset redheaded maid, who set aside her feather duster long enough to inform me that Mr. Simon had gone down to breakfast a half-hour earlier. I thanked her and started down after him. Since I couldn’t very well brandish the straight razor over platefuls of kippers and sausages, I’d have to pull Simon aside for a private tête-à-tête after breakfast—unless his uncle nabbed him first.
Claudia, Oliver, Emma, and Derek greeted me as I entered the dining room. I returned their good mornings and did my best to disguise the frustration that welled up in me when I noted Simon’s absence.
“Is Simon in with the earl again?” I asked as I loaded up my plate from the sideboard.
“Simon’s gone riding,” said Claudia.
I dropped a serving fork. Oliver kindly retrieved it an
d handed it to Giddings, who carried it decorously from the room.
“Porridge this morning!” Derek proclaimed. He seemed remarkably chipper. “I’d forgotten how much I love porridge. You should give it a try, Lori. It’s drizzled with honey and swimming with sultanas.”
“Did you say that Simon’s gone riding?” I said, staring at Claudia in disbelief.
She pointed toward the windows. “See for yourself.”
I set my plate on the table and crossed to stand before the windows. My jaw tightened when I saw the dappled gray canter into view, straddled by a long-legged figure in a black velvet helmet, tall black boots, fawn breeches, and a black riding coat.
I simply couldn’t believe that Simon would be so stupid, that he would fly in the face of Dr. Bhupathi’s expressed orders and endanger his health just to maintain the myth of his invincibility. If he’d been within arm’s reach, I’d have slapped him silly.
Claudia followed me to the windows. “He’s magnificent, isn’t he? Emma, quick—Simon’s going to take Deacon over the hurdles again.”
“Good for him.” Emma joined us, with Derek trailing in her wake. “It’s the best thing to do after you’ve been thrown from a horse. Get right back up and . . .” She frowned suddenly and leaned forward, squinting. “Wait a minute. That isn’t—”
“What’s going on?” Simon asked from the doorway.
Every head turned in his direction, then swiveled back to watch the dappled gray as it thundered across the turf. Horse and rider were within three strides of the first jump when Deacon came to a jarring halt, veered to the left, and reared wildly, pawing the air with his hooves. The rider clung to his back for a split second, then flew from the saddle in a wide arc and landed hard on the ground. She didn’t get up.
For a breathless moment we stood frozen in horror. Then Derek cried: “Nell!”
The spell was broken. Derek and Emma raced from the room while Oliver used his mobile phone to call for an ambulance. Claudia disappeared briefly only to reappear tearing down the graveled drive after Derek and Emma, carrying a first-aid kit and an armload of blankets. Simon would have followed if I hadn’t seized his arm.
“Go and tell your uncle what’s happened,” I said, knowing he was in no shape to run. “I think he’s in the study.”
“Right.” He glanced anxiously at the windows, then took off for the study.
“The ambulance is on its way,” Oliver announced. “Let’s go, Lori.”
The next twenty minutes became a sequence of still images: Nell sprawled motionless on the ground, her left arm twisted above her head at an unnatural angle; Derek kneeling helplessly beside her; Emma’s hand gripping his shoulder; Oliver on the watch for the ambulance; the earl, looking suddenly old and frail, propped between Simon and Gina.
Bill and I clung to each other and prayed every parent’s prayer: Please let this child live, please don’t take her from us, please, please, please. . . .
Claudia loosened Nell’s cravat, spread the blankets over her, took her pulse, lifted her eyelids to peer at her pupils, and spoke to her quite sharply, commanding her to wake up. A siren’s nerve-shredding wail had just caught at the edge of my hearing when Nell’s lips moved.
“Papa?”
“I’m here, dearest.” Derek bent to kiss her brow. “Don’t try to move, my darling. Help is on the way.”
Oliver waved the ambulance over and we stood back while the medical team went to work. When Bill volunteered to go to the hospital, to slay any and all red-tape dragons that might dare to cross Nell’s path, I urged him on without a moment’s thought. Bill and I would walk through fire for Derek’s children and we knew that he would do the same for ours.
Derek and Emma rode in the ambulance with Nell, and Bill took the Mercedes while Gina and Simon guided the earl into his chauffeured limousine and accompanied him to the hospital. When they’d gone, Claudia went in search of Deacon, and I helped Oliver carry the first-aid kit and the blankets into the house. I dropped the blankets on the entrance hall’s polished floor, placed the first-aid kit in one of the marble niches, sat on the stairs, and burst into tears.
Oliver, who looked close to tears himself, instantly came to sit beside me.
“Try not to worry,” he said worriedly. “Nell may look delicate, but she’s tough as old boots. I sometimes think she’s stronger than the rest of us combined. I’m sure she’ll be all right.”
A petite, gray-haired maid appeared and began to fold the blankets I’d dumped on the floor. My histrionics must have alarmed her because she broke the servants’ sacred vow of silence and asked if something was amiss. I stared at her, wondering how on earth she’d missed all of the commotion, but Oliver was patience itself.
“Miss Harris was thrown from her horse,” he explained. “She’s been taken to hospital.”
“Miss Harris was thrown?” said the maid. “How dreadful.” She thought for a moment, then added, “I’ll light a candle for her, sir.”
Oliver thanked her, pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, and handed it to me. “Why don’t you call home, Lori?” he suggested. “It might help to hear your sons’ voices.”
“My boys . . .” I took a few hiccuping breaths, blew my nose, and wiped my eyes. “That’s a great idea. Will you be okay on your own?”
He nodded. “I’ll stay by the phone and report to you if I hear anything.”
I squeezed his hand gratefully. “I envy the girl who marries you, Oliver. If you ever come to visit me and Bill, I’ll introduce you to our nanny. You and Annelise both have hearts of gold.”
Oliver colored to his roots but managed a shy smile. “I may take you up on that. A nanny in the family would be very useful, indeed.”
I gave him a despairing look, then went to help the maid refold a blanket she’d dropped, forgetting Dimity’s admonition never to intrude on a servant’s work. My assistance seemed to embarrass the maid, who mumbled a word of thanks before scurrying off with her burden.
“Don’t let Giddings see you helping the hired help,” Oliver advised after she’d left. “He already suspects them of slacking off.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll try to remember that I’m a pampered guest.” I started up the staircase, stopped, and turned to face Oliver again. “Claudia was terrific, wasn’t she?”
“She always wanted to be a doctor,” he said. “When she was little, she used me to practice bandaging. I spent many a fine summer afternoon bound up like a mummy.”
“What changed her mind?” I asked.
“An active social life leaves little time for medical studies,” Oliver answered, “and one needs an active social life to marry well. Now that she has married well, there’s her husband’s career to consider. What do you think he’d say if she declared her intention of launching her own career?”
“‘Good luck, honey’?” I ventured. “No, I guess not. Still, it seems like a waste. She was wonderful.” I nodded to Oliver and continued up the stairs, my newfound respect for Claudia tinged with pity.
While the rest of us had panicked, she’d kept a cool head. She’d had the presence of mind to keep Nell warm and loosen her cravat. Her strident voice, so irritating in the drawing room, had pulled Nell from the dark well of oblivion. Claudia seemed to possess the sound instincts and quick reflexes needed to save lives. It saddened me to think that she’d used her gifts solely to secure a suitable mate. I wondered if it saddened her, too.
Oliver’s soothing words and my sober reflections had momentarily distracted me from the shock of witnessing Nell’s terrible fall, but I nearly came unglued again when I reached Annelise on the cell phone.
“You’re where?” I said, sinking onto the edge of my bed.
“The stables at Anscombe Manor,” she replied. “It’s Saturday, Lori. The twins’ riding lessons. Remember?”
“Riding lessons,” I murmured, and ordered myself to calm down. The boys’ “riding lessons” consisted of them making a few circuits around Anscombe Manor’
s hay-strewn paddock while seated on an ancient and extremely mild-mannered pony led at a sedate walking pace by Kit Smith on foot. It wasn’t exactly the Kentucky Derby.
Annelise had grown accustomed to detecting agitation in my voice. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
“No, it’s not,” I said, and proceeded to tell her about Nell’s riding accident.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Nell,” she said when I’d finished. “But you don’t have to worry about Will or Rob. They’re wearing their helmets, and they’ve never fallen off old Bridey yet. Even if they did, Kit would catch them before they hit the ground.”
Annelise wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but it was good to hear her say it aloud. It was even better to hear the twins bubble over with admiration for their peerless steed. Their joyful exuberance overcame any impulse I might have had to wrap them in cotton wool.
Our conversation was interrupted by a familiar click, and when Annelise got back to me, she said she’d better take the call.
“It’s Bill,” she told me. “I think he needs to hear from his children.”
“I’m sure he does,” I said, added a brief good-bye to the boys, and rang off.
I sat for a moment to collect my thoughts, then turned to Reginald. “You think Rob and Will would mind if I burned their riding boots?”
Reginald made no reply, but I knew what he would have said if he’d possessed the power of speech.
“They’d convince Kit to let them ride in sneakers,” I acknowledged wryly, and thanked heaven that my sons had inherited a certain degree of stubbornness from me. They’d never let me smother them, no matter how hard I tried.
I returned the cell phone to my shoulder bag and went to the bathroom to wash my tear-blotched face. I was toweling off when I heard a loud thump on the bedroom door. When I opened the door, I found Simon standing in the corridor, holding a large silver tray laden with covered dishes.
Aunt Dimity Takes a Holiday Page 11
