Aunt Dimity and the Duke

by Nancy Atherton

  “Well, sometimes you can hurt people by doing that. I’m sure I hurt your father.” Emma wiped bubbles from her chin. “I’m going to have to apologize to him.”

  “You can’t,” said Nell. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Emma asked. “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. He stomped out of the dining room, just like Kate. But he didn’t throw his napkin.”

  “That’s good,” Emma said hopefully.

  “He threw his whole plate!” Nell’s peal of laughter rang with such unabashed joy that Emma couldn’t help smiling, though she was ashamed of herself for doing so. “That’s when Bantry stomped out to the bloody ruins and Nanny stomped up to her bloody workroom and Grayson stomped off to the bloody library. Syd and I helped Hallard clean up Papa’s eggs,” she added virtuously.

  Emma sobered as the mention of Syd Bishop reminded her of Susannah, and of Mattie. Pushing herself up and moving the bubbles aside so that she could see Nell more clearly, she asked, “Did anyone mention how Mattie’s doing?”

  Nell’s swinging legs slowed, then stopped. “Mattie’s sleeping,” she said briefly. “Dr. Singh gave her some pills. Crowley’s sitting on a chair next to her bed. He’s been there all day. And Syd’s ...” Nell scratched her nose. “Syd’s with Susannah, but she’s awake. I heard them talking. Syd said ...” Frowning, Nell scratched her nose again, then fell silent.

  Wordlessly, Emma reached for a towel and wrapped it around her as she rose from the tub. Stepping quickly to the bench, she pulled on her blue robe, then sat beside Nell, looking down on her tousled curls. Nell’s head was bowed and her hands twisted restlessly in her lap, as though seeking the kind of comfort only Bertie could provide.

  In her own way Nell was as tough and brave as Peter, Emma conceded, but she wasn’t Lady Nell or Queen Eleanor or a wise old woman in disguise. She was just a little girl who’d been working hard to make sense of the world on her own, and who’d learned enough to realize that she couldn’t do it anymore. Nell had come to Emma, finally, to help her make sense of the world.

  “What did Syd say?” Emma asked, putting her arm around Nell’s shoulders.

  Nell’s troubled eyes scanned the sink, the mirror, the ceiling, and the towel rack, finally coming to rest on Em-ma’s knees. “Syd said that Mattie ... hit Susannah.” She began to rock, very slightly, back and forth. “Was Syd telling the truth?”

  “Yes,” said Emma. “Syd was telling the truth.”

  “Oh.” The rocking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Was Mattie angry?”

  Emma rocked with the child. “Mattie was afraid and confused. She didn’t mean to hurt Susannah. And she’s sorry that she did.”

  “Is she very sorry?” Nell asked.

  “She’s very, very sorry,” Emma confirmed.

  The little girl stopped rocking, snuggled up to Emma for a moment, then sat back and released a rushing sigh. “Poor Mattie,” she said. “Poor Susannah.”

  Yes, Emma thought, poor Mattie, and poor Susannah. The best they could hope for was that Syd would be able to convince Susannah that Mattie had suffered enough already.

  Nell had clambered off the bench and was kneeling at the side of the tub, carefully molding a mound of suds into a rounded dome. Emma went to kneel beside her.

  “I know about the window,” Nell said suddenly.

  Emma kept her eyes on the little girl’s busy hands, feeling preternaturally alert to Nell’s every word. “What do you know about the window?” she asked.

  “I know that it’s changed,” Nell replied. “I went to see it today, for Peter. It’s white, like an angel. Peter says it’s Mummy.”

  Emma watched as Nell teased her dome of bubbles into a taller, narrower shape that bore a faint resemblance to the silhouette of the lady in the window. “Do you believe what Peter says?”

  Nell stared at the glistening, quivering pillar of fragrant bubbles. “I don’t remember Mummy,” she said softly, “but I think angels are in heaven.” She blew on the sudsy sculpture, and bubbles swirled into the air. “Could she be in two places, do you think?”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t see why not. What do you think?”

  “I think Mummy can be wherever she wants to be,” Nell concluded firmly, as though the subject had been settled to her satisfaction. She rested her chin on her hands and said slyly, “I know something else about the window, Emma.”

  Emma was so relieved to see a mischievous glimmer return to Nell’s eyes that she was willing to play along. Leaning her own chin on her hands, she asked brightly, “What’s that, Nell?”

  “I know what made it change.”

  “Do you?” Emma asked, trying to sound enormously intrigued.

  “Uh-huh.” Nell nodded vigorously. “It was the light.”

  Emma sat back on her heels and stared at the child, disconcerted. “The light?”

  “The really bright light that lit up the rain last night. That’s what made the window change.”

  Emma frowned slightly. “Are you talking about the flares Kate shot off?”

  Nell snickered. “Kate said Grayson was a twit and she didn’t know anything about any ratty old flares. It’s not flares, Emma.”

  Emma’s heart began to beat double-time. “But you saw what made the light? You saw where the light came from?”

  “You can see everything from the gallery,” Nell reminded her.

  “Can you show me where the light came from?” Emma asked.

  “ ’Course I can.”

  Emma nodded. It was ridiculous to let herself get so excited. Nell had probably been working on a story all morning and was about to try it out. Except that all of Nell’s stories so far had been true. Emma pulled the towel from her head and let her hair fall loose. Ignoring mild protests from her back and shoulders—the hot bath really had worked wonders—Emma scooped Nell up from the floor and carried her across the bedroom and out onto the balcony.

  “Okay, now, Nell,” said Emma, swinging the child onto her hip, “show me where the light came from.”

  Nell slowly raised a dimpled finger until she was pointing directly at the elaborate wrought-iron finial on the top of the birdcage arbor. Emma’s jaw dropped.

  “Emma?” Nell asked, fluffing Emma’s hair.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Emma asked distractedly.

  “What’s a palooka?”

  Emma looked at the child’s face, only inches from her own, then planted a kiss on Nell’s cheek and put her on the ground. “I’ll explain while I get dressed,” she promised, taking the little girl’s outstretched hand and leading her back into the bedroom.

  24

  Grayson was trudging stolidly up the main staircase when Nell and Emma came hurrying down it. He stood to one side, eyeing Emma warily until he caught sight of her left hand, which Nell had insisted on bandaging from wrist to fingertip with what seemed like several yards of white gauze and an equal amount of medical tape acquired, according to Nell, from the stores of the ever-helpful Nurse Tharby.

  “Good Lord, Emma,” Grayson exclaimed. “I’d no idea you’d injured yourself.”

  “Just a scratch,” Emma said. She flexed her hand to prove it, then tucked it out of sight in the front pocket of her violet-patterned gardening smock. Looking down at the toes of her wellington boots, she began, awkwardly, “Er, Grayson—”

  “I’ll meet you in the banquet hall,” Nell said abruptly. She looked from Emma’s face to Grayson’s, then turned and ran back up the stairs.

  When Nell’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Emma tried again. “Grayson—about last night. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. My behavior was inexcusable and I apologize.”

  “Oh, I don’t know....” Grayson leaned back against the banister and sighed. “Had it coming, I suppose.”

  “That may be true,” Emma said, “but it shouldn’t have come from me.”

  The duke smiled wryly. “I’ve gotten plenty of it from Kate since then. Kate and everyone else. Even Crowley, pr
eoccupied as he is, found time to sniff disapprovingly in my direction when I stopped by to look in on Mattie. But, then, Kate always was his great favorite.”

  “How’s Mattie doing?” Emma asked.

  Grayson’s smile faded and his brown eyes clouded over. “Time will tell,” he replied gravely. “Dr. Singh believes that she’ll recover from her physical injuries readily enough, but as for the rest ...” Grayson sank down onto the stairs, as though too burdened by misery to consider finding a more comfortable spot. “It’s my fault, of course. I can’t help thinking that, had I been more welcoming to Susannah—”

  “Hold on a minute, Grayson.” The birdcage arbor would have to wait. Emma looked down at the duke’s slumping shoulders and remembered the way he’d showered the staff with praise for creating Lex Rex, shrugging off his own contributions. The duke’s generous nature seemed reserved for others; he kept all the blame for himself.

  “Before you start the mea culpas, may I remind you of a few things?” Emma sat beside Grayson on the steps, rested her hands on the padded knees of her gardening trousers, and regarded the duke with sympathetic eyes. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the ... ill, but Susannah did show up here without an invitation. She used a very tenuous family connection to move herself and her manager into your home for an unspecified amount of time. While she was here, she hounded Derek and insulted your staff. She was rude, overbearing, and malicious, and her sole purpose in coming here was to ruin you because of something your father did. I’m not saying that Susannah deserved to be hit in the head with a grub hoe, but ...” Emma put her hand on the duke’s shoulder. “Under the circumstances, I’d say that you were more than gracious to your cousin.”

  Grayson rested his chin on his fist. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “Still, I can’t help feeling that, if I hadn’t placed so much importance on preserving Penford Hall, Mattie might not have gone to such drastic lengths to protect it.”

  “Mattie wasn’t thinking about the hall,” Emma said. “She was trying to protect her grandfather. Besides, if she’d gone to Crowley in the first place instead of going off half-cocked, none of this would have happened.”

  “True,” the duke admitted grudgingly. “Crowley would’ve given her whatever story Hallard’s concocted about Lex Rex’s death, and Susannah would’ve had to lump it. She might even have been persuaded to go away.”

  “But Mattie took matters into her own hands, and that’s not your fault.”

  The duke squinted at Emma suspiciously. “If I didn’t know you better, my dear, I’d say that you were doing your level best to cheer me up.”

  “I wish I could,” Emma admitted. “If Susannah decides to press charges—”

  Grayson bowed his head. “Susannah must do as she sees fit, of course, but I hope she’ll be lenient. Syd’s been in with her since—” He broke off, looking up in consternation as an uproar sounded from the second floor.

  “Unhand me, you lout!” thundered Nanny Cole. “I can find my way to Susannah’s room without any help from you.”

  “Sure you can, Mrs. Cole.” Syd’s voice drifted down to them, pitched to a placating murmur. “But you know how it is—a gentleman always wants to lend a hand to a fine lady such as yourself.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t be seen dead in those bloody awful trousers,” Nanny Cole responded tartly.

  “Funny you should mention my ensemble ... Excuse me a minute, will you, Mrs. Cole?” Syd’s face appeared over the railing of the second-floor landing. “Emma, sweetheart, how’s it goin’? Nell said I’d find you here. Hey, Duke! You still willin’ to foot the bills?”

  “Absolutely,” the duke replied.

  “Catch you later.” Syd winked before disappearing from view. A moment later, his conversation with Nanny Cole resumed. “Like I was saying, Mrs. Cole, I got a little proposition for you. Strictly business, you understand.”

  “What the bloody hell else would it be, you appalling tick?” Nanny Cole grumbled, and then a door closed, cutting off the rest of her words.

  The duke continued to stare upward for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “I do believe that Syd’s hit upon a possible solution. Susannah’s always placed great importance on her career.”

  “Nanny Cole and Susannah?” Emma turned the idea over in her mind.

  “Mmm ...” Grayson tapped a finger against his lips. “An exclusive new line of women’s clothing? A boutique, perhaps?”

  “It might work,” Emma said doubtfully, “as long as Syd’s around to keep the peace.”

  “There is that,” Grayson conceded. He ran a hand through his silky blond hair, then leaned back on his elbows. “Ah, well. We must simply put our faith in Syd and hope for the best.” He eyed the upstairs landing speculatively. “Wonder if he’d consent to act as my go-between. Kate’s locked herself in the south tower and won’t have anything to do with me. Hasn’t happened since we were children.”

  “You’re not children anymore,” Emma reminded him. She got to her feet and pulled the duke up with her. Brushing her hands lightly across the shoulders of his tweed jacket, and straightening his tie, she went on, “I’ve heard that you can charm water from a rock, Grayson. So I want you to go up to the south tower and persuade Kate to come with you to the banquet hall in the castle ruins.”

  “You want us to come to the kitchen garden?” the duke asked.

  “In fifteen minutes.” Emma started down the stairs, but turned back to ask, “Do you know where Gash is?”

  “Finishing his repairs on the power plant. Hallard will call him for you, though. He’s in the library, sorting out the candles.” The duke bit his lower lip, bemused. “You’re being very mysterious, Emma.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Emma repeated. “Good luck.”

  “I’ll need it,” Grayson muttered, turning to fly up the stairs.

  Though Gash had reported that Mr. Harris had driven off in his battered orange van early that morning, Hallard was unable to inform Emma of Derek’s immediate whereabouts. Stifling her disappointment, Emma gave instructions to Hallard to pass along to Gash, then invited the bespectacled footman to join her in the banquet hall. “Bring your laptop,” she added. “You may be able to use this in your next thriller.”

  The weather had been the last thing on Emma’s mind when she’d carried Nell out onto the balcony, so she was faintly shocked when she stepped onto the terrace. The sky was a flawless arc of blue, the air was sweet, and a gentle breeze ruffled the grass on the great lawn. Had it not been for the apple trees, now stripped of leaf and blossom and trailing broken branches, she would have been hard-pressed to prove that a raging storm had indeed passed this way. But the apple trees were only a hint of what she would find within the castle ruins.

  The storm had ravaged the garden rooms. As Emma surveyed the wreckage, she tried to remind herself that no one had died, but gratitude wasn’t easy. The perennial border was a tattered, ragged mess, the rock garden was more rock than garden, and there was not a single bud or blossom left on any of the rose bushes. By the time she reached the banquet hall, Emma was almost numb.

  Bantry crouched ankle-deep in mud, plucking green tomatoes from a tangle of battered plants. He’d cleared most of the debris from the graveled path, pulled the broken vines from the towering arbor, and filled the wheelbarrow with salvaged vegetables. When he caught sight of Emma standing dazedly in the doorway, he held out a tomato, calling cheerfully, “Looks like we’re in for a spate of Madama’s chutney!”

  Emma raised a hand to her mouth and shook her head forlornly.

  “What’ve you done to your hand, Miss Emma?” Bantry asked, his brow furrowing.

  “Nothing really. Nell was practicing her nursing skills.” Emma waggled her gauze-wrapped fingers to reassure him, then folded her arms. The kitchen garden looked as though it had been trampled by a herd of cattle, but there were a few green sprouts here and there.

  “Don’t you fret, Miss Emm
a.” Bantry tossed the tomato into the wheelbarrow, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the scene without flinching. “It’s a right old mess and no mistake, but we’ll sort it out soon enough. That’s the way it is with gardens. Never the same two days in a row.”

  The old man’s optimism began to revive Emma, and Hallard’s arrival reminded her that she’d come here with a mission. Raising her eyes to the top of the arbor, she asked Bantry if he knew how the finial was attached to the dome.

  Bantry squinted upward, scratching his head. “Well, now, Miss Emma, I were just up there this mornin’, cut-tin’ back the runner beans. Seems to me there’s a big old bolt holdin’ that fancy bit in place.”

  Gash walked in while Bantry was speaking, and when Emma had relieved him of the toolbox and oilcan she’d asked him to bring, she sent him to help Bantry fetch a ladder from the potting shed. She tucked the oilcan into the pocket of her smock and squatted down to rummage through the toolbox for a hammer and a long-handled monkey wrench. She was slipping the tools into her pocket when she heard Peter call out.

  The boy seemed to have grown two inches overnight. He was tearing along the grassy corridor, bright-eyed, undaunted by last night’s ordeal. Nell trotted in his wake, carrying Bertie and regarding her big brother with such pride that Emma bit back a reminder about Dr. Singh’s orders and flung her arms wide.

  Peter ran to her. “Did you see her, Emma?” he asked, breathless with excitement. “Did you see the window?”

  “I saw it last night,” Emma assured him. “I’m so happy for you, Peter. And you should be very proud of yourself.”

  Peter dug the toe of his boot into the gravel, blushing shyly. He hesitated, then looked up at Emma, as though seeking reassurance. “Everything’ll be all right now, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” Emma declared, going down on her padded knees to envelop him in a bear hug. “Everything will be fine.”

  The boy hugged her back, wriggled out of her arms, and went squelching through the mud, calling for Bantry, while Nell remained high and dry on the gravel path, staring thoughtfully at the arbor.