“Nemos Moore is in that book?” Miranda and Judd exclaimed together.
“Yes. A paper sorcerer, he is now.” He smiled over her shoulder at Judd. “Come to rescue me, did you?”
“Well, of course. Along with Emma and Hesper.”
“Invaluable women.”
“Gwyneth was here, too, most of the afternoon, until her aunt sent a message to the inn and found out that Judd had come here,” Miranda said. “She requested rather adamantly that her niece return home for tea. We were prepared to take the other Aislinn House by storm, except that the house refused to let us in.”
“I’m so very, very glad it did. Nemos Moore was an evil, dangerous old man; his cooking alone would have killed me if you hadn’t sent Hesper in time. He would have had no mercy for any of you, either.”
“I am so sorry,” Judd said ruefully.
“How could you have known? He was under my nose, and I didn’t recognize him. Anyway, he was a wonderful cook.” He cocked a sympathetic brow at Judd. “I suppose we’re back to Mrs. Quinn.”
“Indeed not,” Miranda answered. “I lent him Mrs. Haw. My guests spend most of their time there anyway; she was wasted here, and most unhappy.”
“What a marvelous idea!”
“Wasn’t it?” Judd agreed, smiling.
“Ridley.”
“Yes, my dear one?”
“You were going to explain to us how you rescued Aislinn House from Nemos Moore and changed the voice of that bell.”
“Yes, it does sound completely different, doesn’t it?” He paused; they waited. “Well. It’s complicated.” He hesitated again. “Very.”
The door opened; Emma put her head in. “Excuse me,” she said, and saw Ridley. She put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, you’re back. Oh, Mr. Dow, is everything—”
“Yes.”
“I knew it,” she whispered behind her hands. “I knew it when I heard that bell. That everything was right again. And so did Lady Eglantyne.”
Miranda opened her mouth; nothing came out for a moment. “Were you with her?” she asked abruptly.
“Yes, miss. My mother is still at her bedside. We all heard the bell. Lady Eglantyne just said, ‘Good.’ Then she closed her eyes and—and went. Shall I send for Dr. Grantham?”
“Yes, please, Emma.”
“I am sorry, miss.”
“So am I,” Miranda murmured. She was silent a moment, touching her fingertips quickly to her eyes. She dropped her hand, continued steadily, “And tell Mrs. Blakeley and Mr. Fitch. Tell them not to worry. They will still have their places in this house for as long as they choose.”
“I will.” Emma lingered, a line across her brow. “She must have opened a few doors in her life, to understand what happened.”
Miranda nodded, blinking. “She understood a great deal. Much of it always between the lines in our letters. Where Nemos Moore never thought to look.”
Emma’s eyes moved to Ridley. “Ysabo?” she asked softly.
He nodded reassuringly. “I don’t know what we would have done without her. She helped us all with enormous courage. She can tell you everything when you find her again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dow. I’m very glad to see you safe.”
“So am I, Emma. So am I.”
Judd left him to wait for Dr. Grantham and to tend to the domestic details of death with the new lady of Aislinn House. Miranda offered him a horse, which he accepted gratefully, wondering, as he rode home in the lingering spring dusk, what he would find in the way of chaos among his own staff and the new cook, all left to deal with the rambunctious guests by themselves. But the scene seemed much as usual when he arrived: gambling in the taproom, Mr. Quinn calling orders down the stairs, wonderful smells wafting up them.
“I took your father his supper,” Mr. Quinn told him. “He’s been asking for you. He seemed a bit worried. I took the liberty of mentioning Miss Blair; that calmed him down.”
“How did you—?”
“Small town, Mr. Cauley, small world.” He produced a rolled-up manuscript with a wildflower wilting underneath its ribbon. “She sent this up to you.”
Judd read Gwyneth’s story later to his father, when the inn quieted, and they could drink a beer together. Dugold listened without a word, giving it far more careful attention than he had to Nemos Moore’s adventures.
At the end of it, he grinned. “Now there’s a tale you might believe in! She made all that up? Are we sure?”
“That some previous Lord Aislinn didn’t gamble away his daughter to some ruthless sea folk? Not to mention one of your ancestors gambling away our inn.”
“It rings true,” Dugold said stubbornly, and Judd smiled.
“It does indeed. We’ll ask her.”
Ridley came back late; they stayed up even later, while Ridley told another story of the bell, so complex, so full of mystery and magic that Judd found it as unbelievable as the secret Aislinn House. But there it was.
The next day, he was summoned to tea in a note from Gwyneth, by order of her aunt. He brought the manuscript with him, to the delight of the twins, who met him at the door and wrested it out of his hands.
“She sent it to you before she even read it to us,” Crispin grumbled. “We had to wait for the ending.”
Pandora was regarding him with a disconcerting intensity, as though trying to understand what exactly had possessed her older sister. She smiled sweetly at him in a manner he found vaguely ominous.
“Will I do?” he asked her finally.
“I suppose, if she must. Anyway, you’re much better than the bird. Aunt Phoebe is wonderfully annoyed.”
But Phoebe seemed resigned when he ventured with trepidation into the overstuffed parlor. She greeted him graciously, and poured him tea with only the faintest of sighs. Raven and Daria were already there, along with Ridley Dow, who had been at Aislinn House most of the day. Judd was surprised to see him.
Gwyneth came to him, slipped a hand under his elbow, and smiled at him. The simple, trusting gesture took his breath away; his teacup rattled on the saucer.
“Gwyneth,” he said softly, with a great deal of satisfaction.
“Judd?”
“Nothing. Just that. I wanted to say your name.”
She smiled again. “Did you like my story?”
“Yes, very much. My father is convinced that it must be true, though how the Cauleys got their inn back from the wicked sea folk, he couldn’t say. Perhaps that should be your next story.”
“I don’t know . . . I’m unsure about my ending.”
“Why? What don’t you—”
But Phoebe interrupted them, raising her voice. “Gwyneth. Mr. Cauley. Mr. Dow says he has a piece of news he came especially to tell us first.”
“Oh, what is it, Mr. Dow?” Daria asked eagerly. “Have you fallen in love with Sealey Head? Are you going to take up residence?”
“Part of the year at least,” Ridley answered. He paused, searching for words, it seemed, in the face of the Sproules’ anticipations. He continued finally, gently, “Miss Beryl and I have been secretly engaged for over a year. We didn’t want to announce it during the sad time of Lady Eglantyne’s illness. Now that it is over, we can be open about our decisions. Miss Beryl has become quite fond of Sealey Head and plans to keep Aislinn House as a peaceful haven from the noise and crush of Landringham.”
Daria interrupted, her voice so high it fairly squeaked. “You’re getting married?”
“To Miss Beryl?” Raven said incredulously. “But you never—you hardly seemed to—”
“We couldn’t speak of it,” Ridley said apologetically. “For various reasons. It is my dearest hope that you can share our happiness.”
There was a thump: Aunt Phoebe sitting down hard on the rocker. “Why, Mr. Dow!” she exclaimed. “I never imagined—you seem so unlikely!”
Gwyneth gave a hiccup of laughter, caught it behind her hand. Phoebe flushed bright red. Ridley only chuckled.
“I understand.”
“I beg your—”
“No, no, Miss Blair. Perhaps it’s more that Miss Beryl has seemed unlikely. When you know her better, and I hope you do, you’ll understand why she might choose a bookish, bespectacled scholar with uncivilized habits and inexplicable interests.” He cast another apologetic glance at Judd. “Since we plan to marry in Sealey Head at the end of the summer, I’m afraid you must put up with those of our noisy friends who have also been enchanted by Sealey Head.”
“So much for spending the summer reading your books. My father will be pleased.”
“The end of summer,” Daria murmured, her stunned expression easing a little. “That’s ages away. Anything could change by then.”
“Yes,” Raven said, with a little sideways glance at Gwyneth.
“Yes,” Aunt Phoebe agreed.
Gwyneth drew a step closer to Judd, told them both firmly, “No.”
They heard a sudden shout from Pandora, two closed doors away in the library. It brought Phoebe to her feet.
“What ails the child?”
“Oh, dear,” Gwyneth said ruefully. “She must have read the end of my story.”
Judd put his teacup down and squared his shoulders. “That reminds me ... Is your father at home?”
Phoebe sighed again, audibly. “Mr. Blair is in the library, Judd. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
Judd found Toland Blair and Mr. Trent there, with the twins, one disgruntled, the other grinning. The two men, immersed in the final pages of Gwyneth’s story, nodded absently to him.
“I can’t believe she killed poor Eloise,” Pandora muttered, sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Crispin said cheerfully.
“I think it’s diabolical,” Mr. Blair murmured. “Have you read this, Judd?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you still want to marry her?” He glanced up, smiled at the expression on Judd’s face. “If my daughter is pleased with you, so am I. Maybe you can persuade her to change her ending, show us all some mercy.”
“Oh, could you?” Pandora was on her feet suddenly, clinging to Judd’s arm. “I think if my sister can please herself, she might allow Eloise to do the same.”
“I wonder if any of it is true?” Mr. Trent said, looking over his spectacles at Judd. “Do you know?”
Judd hesitated, found the most ambiguous answer the most accurate. “No.”
“I’ll have to look into my histories.”
“I do think she could come up with another ending,” Pandora insisted stubbornly. “One where they all live happily ever after and the sea people become their friends.”
Crispin groaned. Pandora flung herself back on the sofa to expostulate. Judd left them in dispute and went into the hall, where he found Gwyneth waiting for him.
“He was most reluctant to give up his beloved daughter,” Judd told her, “but could not deny her what she seemed, so peculiarly, to want.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, taking his arm. “He’s relieved that anybody at all would want a woman with such a deranged imagination and abnormal sensibilities. I just bade Mr. Dow good night; he has gone back to Aislinn House for the evening. Raven is under the table playing with Dulcie; Aunt Phoebe and Daria are making dire predictions about the romance between Miss Beryl and Mr. Dow. It will end, they think, around midsummer. Miss Beryl will flee to Landringham in complete, crashing boredom, complaining that she cannot get Mr. Dow’s attention for the book that’s always under his nose. Mr. Dow will contemplate throwing himself over Sealey Head into the sea, but will eventually allow himself to be consoled by Miss Sproule ...”
“And you and I?”
“Will watch the sun go down every evening from the Inn at Sealey Head, and listen to the bell.”
“Will you ever write the true story?” he asked her.
“Of course I will, when you and Ridley get around to telling it to me,” she said, leading him out the door and down the road toward the headland bathed in light from the lowering sun. “But no one will ever believe it.”