Lucy had shed her business suit and with it the air of world-weariness that had emanated from her in London. She wore casual slacks, a red sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves, and a pair of woolly socks on her shoeless feet. She’d pulled her dark hair back from her face with a pair of tortoiseshell combs, and her brown eyes were bright and alive.
“Hello,” she said, turning to greet us. “I thought you might follow Cousin William up here. He’s been and gone, I’m afraid, but I hope you won’t rush off. Mother’s dying to meet you. Swann’s invited you to tea, I trust.”
“He has, and we’ve accepted,” I assured her, trying not to embarrass myself by drooling. I signaled to Paul and Nell, and we added three more place settings in record time, exchanging covert, congratulatory glances for having so narrowly avoided dining on pub grub.
Swann must have been aware of other covert glances that greeted him on his return—some from Nell, but some from me as well—because, as soon as we sat down to eat, he remarked to Lucy, “I believe our guests have noticed that I’m somewhat younger than my wife.”
Lucy sighed. “I suppose you’ll have to tell them about the monkey glands.”
“That would be fibbing,” Swann said reprovingly. “They shall hear the truth or nothing. You see,” he went on, looking from my face to Nell‘s, “I was a stableboy when I met Anthea. I fell in love with her the first time she let me muck out her loose box. There’s something about an older woman who knows how to use a riding crop....” He gazed dreamily into the middle distance, while we gaped in startled silence, soup spoons frozen halfway to our lips.
Lucy broke the spell with a throaty chuckle.
“You’re teasing us,” Nell accused.
“He can’t be blamed,” said Lucy. “People have such colorful ideas about my mother’s second marriage that the truth sounds dull, even to me. The fact is, Swann kept . my mother sane during a very trying period in her life.”
“Tut.” Swann spread a generous slab of butter on his bread. “Anthea’s the sanest woman I’ve ever known. A bit balmy about horses, I’ll grant you, but I can live with that.” He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and added, in a stage whisper, “I’ve had to. I’d never laid eyes on a loose box until I married Anthea, but I’ve mucked out more than my share since.”
Lucy got up to collect the soup bowls and serve the soufflé, then took her seat again. “The director of Cloverly House called to tell me that you’d visited Uncle Williston,” she said. “It was very kind of you, Lori. I hope my uncle wasn’t too much of a shock for you.”
“He would’ve been more of a shock if you hadn’t filled us in on Julia Louise and her two sons,” I told her.
“I thought he was lovely,” said Nell. “He really thinks he is Sir Williston.”
“He does,” Lucy agreed.
“Why was Sir Williston afraid of his mother?” Nell asked. “I was very surprised when Uncle Williston told us that he was afraid of Julia Louise.”
I slowly turned my head to look at Nell. I’d studied the transcript she’d pilfered from Sir Poppet, and I could remember no mention of Julia Louise’s name. What was she up to?
“I can’t imagine why he told you that,” Lucy was saying. “Sir Williston had no reason to fear his mother. He was a good and dutiful son—quite the opposite of his brother.”
“That would be Lord William,” said Nell.
“Lucy and Anthea are balmy about Julia Louise, too,” Swann put in, directing his comment to me. “In my humble opinion, J.L. was a dreadful old dragon.”
“Swann,” Lucy murmured, shaking her head tolerantly, as though she’d heard it all before.
“I’m familiar with Anthea’s research,” Swann reminded her. “She was up half the night showing it off to Cousin William, so it’s fresh in my mind. Honestly, Lucy, think about all those lawsuits Julia Louise instigated. A day didn’t go by when she wasn’t picking a fight with someone.”
“She was protecting her family’s interests,” Lucy explained calmly.
Swann continued his protest, regardless. “Then, to top it off, she sends her own flesh and blood into exile for sowing a few wild oats.”
“She was protecting her family’s good name,” Lucy asserted.
“Well, it was a lucky stroke for Lord William, if you ask me,” said Swann. “It was poor Sir Williston who had to stay at home with the dragon.” He waved a crust of bread in Nell’s direction. “I think young Nell has it exactly right. I think Sir Williston must have been terrified of Julia Louise. I know I would have been.”
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but Nell spoke first.
“Did Julia Louise have a ward?” Nell inquired. “A young orphan girl, perhaps, whom she took in and looked after?”
Lucy looked perplexed. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Something else Uncle Williston said,” Nell replied easily. “It’s not important.”
Lucy lifted a forkful of soufflé, then set it down again. “The thing you must remember about my uncle,” she said earnestly, “is that he isn’t so much re-enacting an historical event as ... hiding behind an historical disguise. He interprets everything through the filter of his own illness.”
“That’s what we were told at Cloverly House,” said Nell, and promptly changed the subject by asking Swann if she might brew a pot of Sir Poppet’s herbal tea for me. I gave a brief summary of the tainted-pudding episode, and while Nell prepared the tea, Swann entertained us with a series of anecdotes about his own encounters with exotic foods in far-flung places. He was in the midst of explaining that declining dog meat in Beijing was nearly as difficult as detecting it when I gave a yawn so big I nearly inhaled my teacup.
“Oh, I say, do forgive me.” Swann looked contrite. “You must be knackered after your long drive. Lucy, take your cousin upstairs immediately. A lie-down before dinner will do her a world of good.”
The bedroom Lucy took me to was furnished country-style—a double bed with a simple oak headboard and a patchwork coverlet, a chintz-covered easy chair and ottoman, an oak wardrobe and dresser, and a colorful braided rug on the floor. Reginald was sitting on the bedside table, beside the telephone.
“He’s adorable,” said Lucy, crossing to pick Reg up. “Have you had him for a long time?”
“Ever since I can remember,” I said, blushing. I wasn’t used to introducing Reg to strangers.
“It’s so sweet of you to bring him with you.” Lucy sank onto the armchair, touching her nose to Reginald’s pink snout.
“Some people might call it infantile.” I slipped my shoes off and sat on the bed with my legs up. Too much sitting in the limo had left them feeling a bit swollen.
“Some people are churlish fools,” Lucy said decisively. “He reminds me of my uncle Tom. Not that Uncle Tom looks like a rabbit,” she added, laughing. “But he has a giraffe that he’s had ever since he was a small boy. It’s called Geraldine. He used to keep it on the bookshelf behind his desk at the office, and I used to tell Gerald—” Lucy gave Reginald’s ears a listless tweak as the laughter faded from her eyes. “I used to tell Gerald that he’d been named after a stuffed giraffe,” she finished softly. She looked up with a wistful smile that pierced my heart. “You know what cousins can be like.”
“I don‘t,” I countered. “I never had any.”
“None?” Lucy said incredulously.
“My parents were only children,” I told her. “So am I. Now that my mom and dad are dead, I have no relatives at all.”
“Yes, you do,” Lucy declared. She returned Reginald to the bedside table, sat on the edge of the bed, and took my hands in hers. “You’ve got quite a large family, in fact. There’s Arthur and my sisters and me, and my mother and Swann and Uncle Tom and Uncle Williston.” She leaned a little closer. “And Uncle Williston, as you know, counts as two.”
She gave a little gasp, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said, then we folded up, giggling like schoolgirls at a sleep-over. In that moment, Lucy Willis ceased to be a stranger, and I knew that, whatever happened between Bill and me, I’d never let go of my English family.
“It’s unkind to joke about my poor uncle,” Lucy said, leaning limply against the headboard. “He’s been through so much.” She dabbed at the comer of her eye with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and asked, a shade more seriously, “Did he really say that he was afraid of Julia Louise? The only reason I ask is that he’s never spoken of her before. I can’t help but wonder what it means.”
“I don’t think he actually mentioned Julia Louse by name,” I temporized. “He said something like ...” I closed my eyes and tried to remember the transcript: “ ‘I cannot tell you all, because Mother will hear of it and I’ll be punished.’ ”
“Do you have any idea what he was talking about?” Lucy asked.
“I assume it has to do with your father and Uncle Williston’s wife,” I replied.
“Douglas and Sybil,” Lucy murmured, shaking her head. “It sometimes seems as though we’ll never stop paying for their sins.”
“I’d say your mother has,” I told her.
Lucy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Ah, but she has Swann. We’re not all of us so fortunate.” She got to her feet. “I mustn’t keep you from your nap. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you again so soon, Lori. It was all that talk about family history that made me want to come up and visit Mother. I’m glad I did. There’s nothing like good, clean Yorkshire air for putting the heart back into one.”
I stared thoughtfully at the door after Lucy had left, then picked up the telephone and dialed Emma’s number, reversing the charges.
“What’s up?” she said. “A new assignment?”
“Additional information about an old one,” I told her. “Remember Sybella Markham? The woman whose name is on the deed to the Willis building in London? Nell seems to think she was an orphan, and that Julia Louise was her legal guardian, but Lucy claims that Julia Louise never had a ward.”
“Interesting.” Emma was silent for a moment. “Do we suspect Julia Louise of banishing her ward, the way she did her son, while conveniently retaining ownership of her ward’s property?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “How reliable are Nell’s hunches?”
“Extremely,” Emma assured me. “But I’ll see if I can find something to back them up, if you like.”
“Thanks, Emma. Gotta go.”
“Me, too,” she said. “It’s a gorgeous day, and the runner beans are calling.”
I crossed to the dresser, where Swann had placed my briefcase, retrieved the blue journal, and brought it back with me to the bed. I opened the front cover, but hadn’t yet opened my mouth when Aunt Dimity’s words began scrolling across the page.
There’s no trace of Julia Louise here, my dear, and if she isn’t here, she must be in the other place. Oh, Lori, I fear she must have done something truly wicked. I knew this quest of William’s was ill-advised.
If you must tell Lucy, do so gently
.
She needs a friend, and she’s becoming quite fond of you. She might pull back if you reveal her revered ancestress in too harsh a light.
I waited; then, when no more words appeared, closed the journal. With a pensive sigh, I stretched out on top of the patchwork coverlet and gazed up at the ceiling. Had Nell guessed right? Had Julia Louise been Sybella Markham’s legal guardian? Had the dragon-mother done something “truly wicked” to her ward?
“What happened to Sybella?” I wondered aloud, and shivered as a chill passed through me, as though someone had stepped on my grave.
23.
I slept straight through dinner. The lingering scent of roast beef wafted up to me as I descended the staircase, but the sound of animated discussion drew me to a sitting room just off the entry hall. I recognized Anthea’s voice along with Nell’s and Lucy‘s, and their conversation seemed to indicate that they’d spent the afternoon trekking around the farm.
I stood for a moment unnoticed in the doorway. The sitting room was as inviting as the kitchen and as generously proportioned. The walls were hung with framed watercolors of horses, and the mantelpiece was chocka- block with trophies, rosettes, and ribbons. An eclectic collection of furniture added to the cheerfully cluttered atmosphere—an island of chintz-covered chairs and a cushy sofa filled the space before the fireplace, with a sprinkling of unmatched ottomans, paisley cushions, and tables of assorted shapes and sizes. Heavy drapes had been drawn across the windows to keep out the cool night air.
One corner of the room had been turned into a kind of study, with another Irish-pine bookcase to match the one that held dishes in the kitchen, and a long dining-room table serving as a desk. The table was littered with pens and pencils and a score of well-thumbed books, but an ancient Remington typewriter held pride of place, surrounded by piles of paper that I thought must be Anthea’s biography of Julia Louise, the one Lucy had mentioned back in London. A peculiar sensation crept over me when I saw another portrait of Julia Louise on the wall in front of the typewriter. She was dressed in gold brocade, with a choker of diamonds and pearls, and it was hard to shake the feeling that she was watching me.
Anthea sat between Lucy and Nell on the couch in front of the fireplace, with a photograph album opened in her lap. Lucy still wore her casual clothes, but Nell had, predictably, decided to dress for dinner. She’d changed into a blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a crocheted collar; Bertie, who sat in her lap, wore a dashing black cape lined in red silk.
“Lori,” Anthea said, coming over to greet me. She’d let her gray hair down and exchanged her riding clothes for a spectacular flowing gown of sea-foam green. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’m sorry for that shout-up in the village as well. Selling a horse always puts me in a foul temper. I simply hate to let one of my darlings go.”
“You must be famished,” Lucy put in, joining us. “I’ll ask Swann to bring a tray in here for you, shall I? He and your man Paul are doing the washing up.”
“Swann’s tickled to have another man about the place,” Anthea told me as Lucy left the room. “I’m afraid your father-in-law wasn’t much use. Too preoccupied with...” She waved toward the work space in the corner. “Bores poor Swann speechless, which is quite a feat. Now, you must come and hear what Nell’s been up to while you were resting.”