“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.