“Your old ways?” I said when I’d finished laughing. “Were you originally from England?”
“I’m a Pommy born and bred,” Leo answered. “As a matter of fact, I spent a fair amount of time around here, in my younger days. That’s when I discovered the old track into the hollow. Many’s the time I pitched a tent here. Gypsies used to camp here, too, on their way to the Deeping Fair. It’s a good spot—a spring for fresh water; berries, herbs, and mushrooms, if you know where to find them; and plenty of rabbits for the pot.” He put a spoonful of stew into his mouth and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Kit.
“You’re welcome to the rabbits,” Kit assured him. “We’re overrun with them.”
I thought instantly of Reginald and felt a slight twinge of guilt as I looked down at my plate, but the stew was delicious and I was too cold and hungry to pass up a hot meal. Apart from that, Kit was right—the Anscombe estate was bursting at the seams with rabbits. No one would begrudge Leo the few that found their way into his pot.
“Has the area changed much since you were last here?” I asked him.
“The weather hasn’t,” he said, squinting at the cloud-covered sky. “I’ll be heading south for the winter, but I wanted to stop here first. You might say I’m on a sentimental journey, revisiting the haunts of my youth. You’re a Yank, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’ve lived here for so long that my sons think cricket is their national pastime.”
Leo let out a shout of laughter, then proceeded to entertain us with stories about his life in Australia, where he’d worked shearing sheep, mining opals, picking grapes, crewing racing yachts, and tending bars in small towns and big cities alike. It sounded to me as though he’d spent the past forty-odd years exploring the continent rather than pursuing a career, and I admired him for it. What he lacked in material possessions, he more than made up for in memories.
When Kit and I had eaten our fill, Leo looked at us from under his white eyebrows and said with a wry smile, “I hope the pair of you didn’t drag yourselves out on such a filthy day just to check up on me.”
“We didn’t,” Kit said. “As a matter of fact, we were looking for someone—a tall, thin man wearing a long cloak and pointed boots. Have you seen anyone like that since you’ve been here?”
“Sorry, mate, no,” said Leo, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen a soul since I arrived—excepting your good selves, that is.”
“If you do, will you let me know?” said Kit. “We don’t know who he is, and since young children ride at the stables…”
“Say no more,” said Leo, tapping the side of his nose. “I’ll keep an eye peeled for the mongrel.”
Kit hauled water from the spring to rinse the dishes, and Leo produced a towel to dry them. By then a steady rain had begun to fall, and Kit decided that it was time for us to return to Anscombe Manor. I didn’t argue with him. I thought we’d accomplished quite a bit in the past four hours. Granted, we hadn’t laid eyes on Rendor, but we’d proved that the twins hadn’t invented him and we’d identified Aldercot Hall as his likely lair. We’d have to gather more hard evidence before I could state conclusively to Bill—or to the police—that a pervert was at large, but we had enough to be going on with.
I’d also had enough of the great outdoors. I couldn’t wait to get home, get out of my grungy clothes, and get into a steamy, gardenia-scented bath. I was all ears, therefore, when Leo suggested a return route that didn’t involve climbing.
“If you go through there,” he advised, pointing to a gap in the trees encircling the hollow, “you can follow the old track along the north pasture.”
“I know where the old track is,” said Kit, “and I was planning to take it. I grew up here, too.”
“You’ll know your way round, then,” said Leo.
“Well, I didn’t grow up here,” I put in, “so I’m glad you guys are so familiar with the lie of the land. I wasn’t looking forward to scaling Emma’s Hill again.”
“Emma’s Hill?” Leo’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you call it? In my day it was called High Point. But I like Emma’s Hill better.”
I pulled my day pack onto my shoulders and invited Leo to stop by the cottage for a cup of tea before he left the area.
“You can’t miss it,” I told him. “It’s a mile up the lane from Anscombe Manor, on the left. My husband is in London at the moment, but I’d love to introduce you to my sons.”
“You must come to the manor house as well,” Kit chimed in. “I’m sure the Harrises would like to meet you.”
“The Harrises,” said Leo. “Do they own the manor now?”
“They’ve owned it for more than a decade,” Kit informed him. “They’re good people. You must come and say hello to them before you leave.”
“I’ll have to check my social calendar,” said Leo, grinning, “but I think I might be able to fit them in.”
Kit and I thanked him warmly for his hospitality, then made our way through the gap in the trees and onto the rutted, weedy lane that skirted Anscombe Manor’s north pasture. I didn’t like leaving Leo alone in the rain, but after listening to him recount his adventures in the Australian bush, I agreed with Kit—Leo was a man who liked his independence.
“Well,” I said, sidestepping a rain-pitted puddle, “Leo’s not Rendor. He’s not skinny or pale, and he was wearing the wrong kind of boots. Plus, he’s too jolly to be a creepy, child-molesting pseudovampire. So you must have been right about the boot prints in the first place. Rendor must have been heading for Aldercot Hall.” I stopped walking and looked at Kit in alarm. “He may be terrorizing the DuCarals as we speak.”
“Or he may be their guest,” Kit pointed out. “We won’t know until we go there, and we’re not going there today. It’s too far. We’d end up coming back in the dark. Why don’t we pay the DuCarals a visit tomorrow morning?”
“Count me in,” I said.
Kit nodded. “In the meantime I’ll talk to the staff about safety and security. We’re always vigilant, but until we find out more about Rendor, we’ll need to be extra vigilant.”
“You should tell them about Leo, too,” I said. “We don’t want any of the young bucks tackling him by mistake.”
“I’ll see to it that no one bothers Leo.” Kit paused for a moment, then added, “Although, if you think about it, we don’t really know who Leo is. He talked a lot about the years he spent Down Under, but he didn’t say much about his life in England.”
“He told us he spent a lot of time around here,” I said, “and I believe him. Only a local would know how to find his way to Gypsy Hollow.”
“True,” said Kit. “And only an old-time local would know that the Gypsies camped here on their way to the Deeping Fair, because there hasn’t been a Deeping Fair for at least forty years. I remember my parents talking about it. And High Point…” Kit smiled reminiscently. “I’d forgotten that Emma’s Hill was called High Point, but it came back to me as soon as Leo mentioned it. I must have heard it from my father when I was younger than Will and Rob.”
“I wonder what kind of sentimental journey Leo’s on,” I mused aloud. “Did he camp there alone when he was young, or did he have company?” I snapped my fingers as a likely scenario presented itself to me. “I know what happened, Kit. Leo fell in love with a Gypsy girl, but she was already betrothed to a dashing young prince in the tribe, so Leo ran off to Australia, to forget.”
“Do Gypsies have tribes?” Kit asked. “Or princes?”
“Don’t be pedantic,” I scolded. “Just think of how awful it would be, to have the love of your life within your reach, then lose her to someone else.” I gazed dreamily across the soggy pasture, caught up in my own imaginings. “Think of how tragic it would be to have your soul mate snatched away from you, to be robbed of your one chance at happiness. I’ll bet, in his heart of hearts, he’s still in love with her. I’ll bet she’s the only girl he ever loved. I’ll bet he wishes she’d run away with him to Australia. I’ll bet
he dreams of her every—”
“Stop it, Lori,” Kit cut in, with unaccustomed harshness. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I want you to stop right now.”
I emerged from my romantic reverie with a start and stared at him in honest confusion. My comments hadn’t been aimed at Kit. I’d been thinking solely of Leo.
“I’m not trying to do anything,” I protested.
“Just stop it, will you?” Kit said angrily. “You’re never going to convince me to marry Nell, so you may as well stop trying. For once and for all, I’m not going to marry her,” he went on fiercely. “I’m not going to marry anyone.”
I’d seen Kit angry only once before, when a neighbor—the late and utterly unlamented Prunella Hooper—had spread scurrilous rumors about him. I hadn’t meant to provoke a second outburst, but his furious overreaction to my idle comments made me consider a possibility I hadn’t previously considered.
“Kit,” I said gingerly, “are you gay?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he snapped, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “No, Lori, I am not gay. I’m simply not interested in marriage. It may be difficult for you to comprehend, but some people are meant to be alone.”
“Okay,” I said meekly, “but…do you really think you’re one of them?”
“Yes, I do,” he said, scowling. “It would be wrong of me to—” He broke off and set his lips in a thin line. “Give it a rest, Lori. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”
It didn’t seem like the right moment to call him a big fat liar, so I kept my mouth shut. As we walked on, however, I couldn’t help feeling a little indignant. If I’d intended to use a story to probe Kit’s feelings, I would have come up with something more subtle than a gooey tale about Leo and a long-lost Gypsy girl.
Apart from that, Kit should have known better than to order me to do anything, because he knew how lousy I was at obeying orders. He could holler at me until he lost his voice, and it wouldn’t make one jot of difference to me. I might beat a tactical retreat on the Nell front from time to time, but I’d never give up on the battle for his happiness.
A black cloud seemed to hover over Kit as we trudged along the muddy lane, and he didn’t say another word until we’d reached the gravel apron in front of the manor house, when he turned to me abruptly.
“Meet me here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said. “Dress for hiking and pray for rain.”
Before I could respond, he spun on his heel and stormed into the stable yard, leaving me to wonder what kind of plan he’d hatched for invading Aldercot Hall. Unless it involved boats, I couldn’t imagine why we’d need more rain than we already had.
A more immediate concern, however, was to figure out how I’d get the rest of the way home. Annelise and the boys were gone, Emma’s car was nowhere in sight, and I wasn’t about to ask Kit for a lift in his present mood, so I soon reached a rather depressing conclusion: I had a mile-long slog ahead of me, through rain that was falling harder than ever.
A woebegone sigh escaped me as I turned my back on the manor house, but I hadn’t gone more than ten yards down the drive when I heard someone call my name.
“Ms. Shepherd! Wait!”
I turned to see Friedrich marching up the drive with a determined look on his face.
When he reached me, he announced, “I am Friedrich von Hoffenburg. I work for Mr. and Mrs. Harris.” He spoke with a charming formality and the slightest hint of a German accent. “You are in need of a lift, I believe. Please, allow me to drive you to your home.”
“In your Porsche?” I said, flabbergasted.
Friedrich blanched ever so slightly, and when I envisioned the Porsche’s immaculate leather interior, I couldn’t blame him. I must have looked like a refugee from a village of mud wrestlers.
“Yes, naturally, in my Porsche,” he said manfully, and offered me his arm. “Please, you will allow me?”
It wasn’t every day that a tall, broad-shouldered youth with flaxen hair and sky-blue eyes appeared out of the rain to offer me his arm. What else could I do but take it?
Nine
I rewarded my escort’s gallantry by asking him to fetch a clean blanket from the stables and drape it across the passenger seat before I slid into his precious vehicle. He obeyed with alacrity—and with visible relief—and we were soon cruising down Anscombe Manor’s long and curving drive.
Although Friedrich drove with great restraint, I quickly realized that the Porsche wasn’t the right car for me. It was lovely to look at, but it didn’t offer much in the way of elbow room and it was so low to the ground that I would have had to be as limber as my sons to get in and out of it daily without straining vital muscles. More important, there was no place to put a week’s worth of groceries, a deluxe cat carrier, or a pair of wriggly boys.
“Who told you I needed a lift?” I inquired as we made a stately turn onto the lane leading to the cottage.
“Eleanor Harris,” Friedrich replied. “She is a friend of yours, I believe.”
“She is,” I said, smiling at his use of Nell’s proper name. “I understand that you met her at the Sorbonne.”
“Yes, we met in Paris,” he acknowledged, then went on boldly, “I fell in love with her immediately, of course. She is quite…” He sighed, and his eyes took on the faraway look common to young men in the throes of Nell-worship.
“Beautiful?” I hazarded.
“She is of course beautiful,” Friedrich agreed, “but there are many beautiful girls in the world. Eleanor is more than beautiful. She has a small bear—”
“Bertie,” I said promptly. One couldn’t know Nell for long without making the acquaintance of Sir Bertram, her chocolate-brown teddy bear. While I kept my relationship with Reginald under wraps, Nell kept hers with Bertie out in the open, for everyone to see.
“Yes, Bertie.” Friedrich nodded. “She speaks of this bear without embarrassment. This is character, I think. She is also quite clever, you know. She completed a three-year degree at the Sorbonne in one year. She is altogether remarkable.” He glanced earnestly at me. “I have much to offer Eleanor. Not only my love, but comfort, stability, security. My family is quite well-off. We have homes in many beautiful places. Our stables are famous. If you are her friend, you will tell her this.”
As Friedrich spoke, it gradually dawned on me that he was driving slowly not because of the inclement weather but because he needed time to convince me that he was the best candidate to marry Nell. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d held up a sign saying VOTE FOR ME. If he hadn’t been so young and so sincere, I would have burst out laughing.
“I think she probably knows about your background already,” I said gently.
“But to hear it from a friend may…open her eyes,” he reasoned.
“I doubt it,” I said. “Nell’s not easily swayed by other people’s opinions.”
Friedrich gave me a puzzled look. “But she speaks so highly of you….”
“She does?” I said, astounded. Nell was so superior to me on every measurable scale that I’d never imagined her speaking of me at all, let alone highly. “I’m glad to hear it, but it doesn’t mean that I have any influence over her. I’m afraid you’ll have to court Nell on your own, Friedrich.”
“I see.” He lapsed into a disappointed silence but rallied when we arrived at the cottage. “Your sons are fine equestrians, Ms. Shepherd. If they were my sons, I would be very proud.”
“Thank you,” I said, climbing out of the car. “And thank you very much for bringing me home.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said with a courteous nod.
I closed the Porsche’s door and gave Friedrich a friendly wave as he drove off. I couldn’t think ill of him for trying to win me over. Nell’s refusal to go along with his marvelous plans for her future had evidently made him desperate enough to try anything—following her to England, shoveling muck, flattering me. I felt sorry for him, but I also thought Nell would be good for him. She would add the word “
humility” to his vocabulary.
As I sloshed up the flagstone path to the cottage’s front door, I wondered if I’d be subjected to the same treatment by Mario from Milan, Rafael from Barcelona, and the French boys Annelise had mentioned. If I played my cards right, I thought, giggling, I’d get to ride in every flashy sports car on the market.
I had seldom been so happy to walk into a warm, dry house. Since the twins were still in school and Annelise was browsing the shops in Upper Deeping, Stanley was the only family member to greet me when I came in. He sniffed my boots with the profound concentration of a naturalist examining a new specimen from a foreign land, then followed me through the cottage as I made my rounds.
I threw my hiking clothes into the washer and myself into a blessedly hot bath, then dressed in clean jeans, a sweater, and sneakers and ran downstairs to make dinner. I chose something quick and easy—ham, scalloped potatoes, and broccoli—because I wanted to spend some time in the study while I still had the cottage to myself. I had an awful lot to tell Aunt Dimity.
Twenty minutes later, dinner was ready for launch, my hiking clothes were in the dryer, and I was seated in the study with the blue journal in my hands, a fire in the hearth, and Stanley curled and purring in my lap. Reginald looked beneficently at us from his shelf, as if to say, “I don’t mind sharing you with the cat. He needs your warmth more than I do.” I gave him a grateful nod, stroked Stanley between the ears, and opened the journal.
“Dimity?” I said. “Want to hear about my day?”
The familiar lines of royal-blue ink spun across the page without a moment’s hesitation.
I always want to hear about your days, my dear, but I must confess that I’m particularly eager to hear about this one. I can tell by the tremor in your voice that it was eventful. Did Kit agree to help you with your vampire hunt?
“Yes,” I said, “but only after I agreed to take riding lessons.”
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter Page 8
