Aunt Dimity and the Summer King (12 page)

“Good heavens,” Amelia breathed.

“When did you become aware of the danger?” Willis, Sr., asked.

“Yesterday,” I said. “Lilian Bunting alerted me to it.”

Willis, Sr., heaved a brief but heartfelt sigh of relief.

“I will express my profound gratitude to Mrs. Bunting when next we meet,” he said.

“Go on with your story,” Amelia urged me. “Tell us how Arthur Hargreaves happened upon you.”

I opened my mouth, but closed it again when Bess emitted a fussy squeak. I glanced down at her, expecting her gaze to be fixed firmly on my chest, but she'd turned her head toward the windows. As I looked to see what had caught her attention, Deirdre strode into the morning room.

“Battle stations,” she announced. “Our guests have arrived.”

A
melia jumped to her feet as if propelled from a cannon. The color drained from her face as she wheeled around to peer through the windows at the classic, silver-gray Bentley that had appeared on the drive's graveled apron. Willis, Sr., rose in a more leisurely fashion, but he put a reassuring hand on her back as he, too, turned to observe the Bentley. Deirdre went into the entrance hall and prepared herself to open the front door for Charlotte and Honoria.

I had scarcely any time at all to decide on my own course of action. Would I support Amelia in her hour of need? Or would I show my true colors and flee? I dithered for less than a nanosecond, then chose the coward's way out.

“Bess needs a feed,” I said. “Back in a minute.”

I scooped Bess up from the bouncy chair and ran for the elevator. I left the diaper bag behind in my haste, but I didn't go back to collect it because I wouldn't need it. The nursery was fully stocked with maternal necessities.

I flung myself into the elevator as Deirdre opened the front door. I caught a glimpse of a uniformed chauffeur burdened with pristine leather luggage before I closed the elevator's door and allowed myself and my child to be whisked to the third floor. I was fairly certain that Bill's aunts wouldn't follow me. They weren't overly fond of infants.

The late Augusta Fairworthy had once lived in the room that had become the nursery. Willis, Sr., had left a few of her prized possessions in place as a tribute to her memory. Bess wanted to taste the Murano paperweights, the enameled snuffboxes, and the silver, sheep-shaped salt and pepper shakers that twinkled so invitingly from the locked display cabinet in the corner, but she eventually calmed down enough to avail herself of a more nutritious meal.

“I'm not proud of myself for running out on Amelia,” I told her gravely after we'd settled ourselves in the rocking chair. “When you grow up, I hope you'll be braver than I am. If your great-aunts are still around then, though, you may understand why we're here now.”

I cut my soliloquy short when the nursery door opened and Deirdre appeared, carrying a tray set with three covered dishes, silverware, a linen napkin, a tumbler, and a small cut-glass pitcher of ice water. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her nostrils flared slightly as she spoke.

“Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Wilberforce don't want the lunch I spent all morning preparing for them,” she said, “but I thought you might.”

I seldom used Charlotte's and Honoria's last names, but even if I'd never heard them before, I would have known who'd rubbed Deirdre the wrong way.

She placed the tray on a low table and removed the dishes' covers.

“Tomato bisque, tarragon chicken salad, and mixed wild greens,” she announced. “I left the bitter herbs out of your portions, so you don't have to worry about them flavoring your milk.”

“Thank you, Deirdre,” I said. “I'm sure I'll enjoy every bite.”

“They're having tea in the drawing room,” she informed me icily. “Tea in the drawing room instead of lunch in the dining room.”

“Try not to take it personally,” I said, putting a placatory hand out to her. “Charlotte and Honoria hardly ever eat lunch. They think midday meals are plebeian.”

“I wish I'd known it sooner,” Deirdre said tersely.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I should have done more to prepare you and Amelia for the calamity that was about to befall you. I've been so wrapped up in Bess that I—”

“A mother should be wrapped up in her child,” Deirdre interrupted. “You're here now, though. Tell me about the calamity.”

“William's not the most reliable source of information about his sisters,” I explained. “They're his kid sisters, the only girls in a family that included five boys before two of them died. Bill claims that two of his uncles moved to California in order to get away from his aunts, but your boss has a soft spot for them.”

“What else should I know?” Deirdre asked, folding her arms.

“Where to begin?” I said, gazing heavenward. “Nothing you do will satisfy them, but keep trying anyway. Surprise them by being the same consummate professional you've always been. When they push you to your limit, remind yourself that they'll be gone in less than a month.”

Deirdre drummed her fingers on her biceps for a moment, then unfolded her arms and lifted her chin.

“I accept the challenge,” she said and left the nursery.

Bess finished her über-plebeian midday meal a few minutes later. She was mellower than she had been when she first entered the nursery and so was I. I tidied us both, scarfed down the meal Deirdre had left for me, took a deep breath, and went downstairs to introduce my drowsy baby to her grandaunts.

The sense of tranquility that had enveloped me in the nursery evaporated when I entered the drawing room. The mere sound of Honoria's familiar nasal drawl set my teeth on edge. She and Charlotte sat in a pair of Chippendale armchairs facing Amelia, who was seated in a Chippendale side chair, with the tea table at her knee.

Willis, Sr., stood near the white marble fireplace, gazing benevolently at his sisters, but Amelia looked slightly shell-shocked. I wondered how many cunningly disguised insults Charlotte and Honoria had hurled at her in the past half hour. If my experience was anything to go by, they would have thrown quite a few.

“Lori!” Amelia exclaimed, with a note of desperation in her voice. “I'm so pleased to see you. I'll fetch Bess's bouncy chair.”

She left the room as quickly as her short legs could carry her. I didn't expect her back anytime soon. Her rapid departure made me feel a little less guilty about my own.

“Hello, Aunt Honoria. Hello, Aunt Charlotte,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Welcome to England.”

Willis, Sr.'s sisters could have been twins. They were, by choice, thin to the point of emaciation. They wore their silvery hair in short, rigidly coifed styles and dressed in vintage Chanel suits and shoes. Though they limited their makeup to the merest touch of powder and lipstick, they drenched themselves in their favorite Chanel perfume. Bill had once referred to them as “a sweet-smelling pair of vultures.”

Since neither woman rose to greet me, I bent awkwardly to kiss their papery cheeks while holding Bess to my shoulder.

“Is this our great-niece?” Honoria asked, scanning her chic, boxy blazer to make sure her great-niece hadn't drooled on it.

“Yes,” I said, straightening. “This is Bess.”

“Bess,” said Charlotte. “What a charming soubriquet. I'm almost tempted to call William ‘Billy' and myself ‘Char.'”

Honoria tittered gaily.

“You call your nephew ‘Bill,'” I said stiffly.

“So we do,” Charlotte agreed smoothly. “I meant no offense, dear, and I hope none was taken.”

I forced a smile and sat on the Regency chaise longue in front of the windows. Bess nuzzled her head into my neck and went to sleep.

“It's a pleasure to see you looking so well,” said Honoria. “Childbearing at an advanced age can wreak havoc on a woman's body.”

“I understand why you had to dress down,” said Charlotte, taking in my non-designer attire. “I, too, had a terrible time finding nice things to wear when I was shedding my baby weight. Don't let it trouble you.” She pointed a beautifully manicured, bony finger at me. “With a little effort on your part, you'll soon have your figure back.”

Bess whimpered softly in her sleep and I tightened my hold on her to assure her that I was still there.

“She won't sleep through the night if you allow her to sleep during the day,” said Honoria.

“Bess almost always sleeps through the night,” I said. “Why do you think I have so much energy?”

“If I lived here, I'd have no energy at all,” said Charlotte, gazing languidly around the room. “There's quiet and there's comatose. I've had only a glimpse of Finch, but it seems to fall into the latter category.”

“I noticed two houses for sale,” said Honoria. “The signs looked ancient.”

“Are you implying that no one in his right mind would buy a cottage in Finch?” said Charlotte. “You amaze me.”

“I wouldn't care to live there year-round,” said Honoria, “but it might do as a summer retreat.”

“Do you remember the little knot of senior citizens who stared at us as we drove by?” said Charlotte. “I imagine they're living on fixed incomes.”

“They're not trust fund babies,” Honoria said archly.

“A clever developer would have no trouble persuading them to sell out,” said Charlotte.

“They'd grab the money and run,” said Honoria.

“If the developer modernized the cottages and marketed them properly,” Charlotte went on, “he could sell them as summer homes. He might even turn a profit. After all, property prices are sky-high in England, even in rural areas.”

“The villagers might not wish to sell their homes,” Willis, Sr., pointed out gently.

“They might have no choice,” said Charlotte.

“Fixed incomes are
such
a nuisance,” said Honoria.

Bess whimpered again. I checked her diaper surreptitiously, but it was dry. I didn't know what was bugging her, so I rubbed her back as my mother had rubbed mine when I was a child. It seemed to work. Bess's eyelids fluttered, then closed as she drifted back to sleep.

“Is it true that you have no nanny?” Honoria inquired, looking askance at her great-niece.

“It's true,” I replied. “I needed all the help I could get when Will and Rob were babies, but one child is less of a handful than twins.”

“And you've had Bill to help you, of course,” said Honoria. “Such a dear, thoughtful man.”

“Honoria and I were delighted to hear that he went into the office today,” said Charlotte. “He's spent so much time at home with you and the children that we were beginning to think he'd retired.”

“Bill's a wonderful husband and father,” I said stoically. “I don't know how I would have managed if he hadn't taken time off from work after Bess was born.”

“You could have hired a nanny,” Honoria said brightly. “But I suppose a fully qualified nanny might object to working in such a remote location. Where on earth would she go on her day off? There's nothing for miles around except fields and sheep.”

Bess shifted her head restlessly, but relaxed when she heard her grandfather's voice.

“Finch is not as remote as it might seem,” he said. “Oxford is nearby and the local market town of Upper Deeping is no more than twenty minutes away.”

“I believe we passed through Upper Deeping on our way here,” said Honoria, adding dismissively, “It seemed like a quaint little town.” She turned toward the entrance hall. “What can be keeping Amelia? Does your fiancée always leave you alone when you entertain guests, William?”

“Perhaps she's lost,” Charlotte suggested. “Fairworth House must seem like a maze to her after her cottage.”

“Amelia has not always lived in a cottage,” Willis, Sr., informed her. “Her previous home was twice the size of Fairworth House.”

“Was she compelled to sell it?” Honoria asked, feigning sympathy. “Artists are so often the victims of their own excesses.”

“They are,” Charlotte said in a sorrowful tone of voice that was equally bogus. “An eminent psychiatrist told me that creative people are prone to alcoholism, drug addiction, and a whole host of mental illnesses.”

I glanced at Willis, Sr., hoping he'd seen through their act, but he appeared to take their barbed comments at face value.

“Amelia is guilty of no excesses,” he said. “She came to Finch because her former home no longer suited her.”

Charlotte and Honoria looked thunderstruck.

“She moved to Finch
voluntarily
?” Charlotte said.

Before Willis, Sr., could respond, Amelia returned to the drawing room, carrying the bouncy chair.

“Forgive me,” she said, nodding apologetically to each of us. “I was detained by a telephone call. William? A messenger delivered the papers you were expecting. They're on your desk in the study.”

“Please excuse me,” Willis, Sr., said to his sisters. “Although I have retired, a few of my clients still rely upon me.”

“Business before pleasure,” said Charlotte, “is our family motto.”

“A motto your son would do well to remember,” said Honoria, with a sly, sidelong glance in my direction.

“Run along, William,” said Charlotte. “Take as much time as you need. We'll indulge in a little girl-talk while you're gone.”

Willis, Sr., left for the study and the sisters fixed their poisonous gazes on Amelia.

Amelia looked as though she'd collected her wits as well as the bouncy chair. She placed one at my feet and used the other to start a conversation about gardening. She must have thought that no one could attack her on such a neutral subject, but she'd scarcely begun to speak when Charlotte cut her off.

“Did you really come to Finch of your own volition?” Charlotte asked.

“Y-yes,” Amelia stammered, thrown off her stride. “After my husband died, my old house felt like a mausoleum. I wanted a cozier home and I found one in Finch.”

I knew that Amelia had come to Finch to hunt for something other than a cozy home, but I would have undergone oral surgery without anesthetic before I revealed her secrets to the Harpies.

“But there's nothing to
do
here,” Honoria expostulated.

“A common misconception,” said Amelia. “Finch is, in fact, a hive of activity. We have the harvest festival, the Nativity play, the flower show, jumble sales, sheep dog trials—”

“The full country calendar,” Charlotte interrupted sarcastically. “I'm sure you find ways to keep busy, Amelia, but you can hardly compare a flower show to the opera or a harvest festival to the symphony.”