“Bang bang, crash,” Mrs. Truman snapped irately as Abby ascended the steps. “All day yesterday, all day today. Those workmen are loud. My dogs are in a state!” She stepped out of the way for Abby to precede her into the entry, all three dogs moving around Abby’s calves calling for attention. Then Mrs. Truman continued as she slammed the door, “I want a word with Fraser. You give me his phone number the minute you take off your coat.”
Abby considered the emotional turmoil Cash put her through that morning (she was blaming him as it was far easier on her peace of mind then to blame herself or the unthinkable, give in to her current dilemma). Then, once she handed her coat to the older woman, Abby very unkindly pulled her mobile out and gave Mrs. Truman the number.
“Hang on, hang on,” Mrs. Truman chanted, her arm up, hand waving in the air, “let me get my phone.”
She led Abby and the three dogs (who appeared to be happy and excited, not in a “state”) down her hall into the sitting room where Fenella and Cassandra were both seated. Fenella was biting into an enormous scone filled with clotted cream and jam. Cassandra was holding a saucer in one hand and daintily sipping from a delicate china teacup in the other.
Abby greeted them both with a wave and all three dogs jumped up on the sofa beside Fenella and her scone.
Abby, at Mrs. Truman’s orders, was there to have tea with Fenella and Cassandra in order to devise a strategy to defeat a ghost.
Bearing in mind that Abby’s move from being Cash’s pretend girlfriend to his real girlfriend (or possible mistress, depending how you looked at it, and Abby was trying not to look at it at all) was approximately nine hours old, it was likely not good that she was already withholding something from him.
Trust was important in a relationship.
Then again, Cash would probably, first, flip out that she was going to sit down with his cousin, a witch-cum-clairvoyant and Mrs. Truman and decide a plan of action to conquer a ghost.
Then he’d have her committed.
So Abby thought it her best option to enter the part of her life’s journey that included Cash by, essentially, lying to him.
She was, she found, totally okay with that.
“Abigail, I’m ready, give me his number,” Mrs. Truman demanded as Abby seated herself in an armchair next to Cassandra and across from Fenella.
Mrs. Truman was standing with hand on hip, other hand curled around a phone, thumb at the ready.
Perhaps at this juncture calling Cash wasn’t such a good idea.
“Maybe you can call him after we have our chat,” Abby suggested.
“But I’m angry now. I might cool off after I eat a scone. I baked those scones myself and I bake the best scones of anyone I know,” she bragged with not a shred of humility. “If I eat a scone, I might want to take a nap instead of have my word with Fraser.”
Abby came up with a better idea. Not only was it her turn, it would mean Cash’s torture would last a whole lot longer (and he couldn’t hang up).
Therefore she suggested, “We’ll have you to dinner.”
“When?” Mrs. Truman snapped.
“Tomorrow?” Abby asked.
Mrs. Truman immediately dropped the phone into its receiver, accepting Abby’s invitation by announcing, “I don’t eat celery,” she sat down beside Fenella and reached for the teapot, “or peppers. They give me wind.”
Abby heard Cassandra chuckle and Fenella raised her eyebrows, her lips pressing together in an effort not to laugh.
Mrs. Truman poured Abby a cup of tea and splashed a dash of milk in it while going on, “And if you make beef, I won’t eat it unless it’s well done. I’m English. We cook our beef through. That’s the way we’ve always done it, that’s the way we’ll always do it. No one does tradition like the English.”
“I bet the Italians would have something to say about that,” Cassandra put in.
“Pah!” Mrs. Truman retorted.
“And the Spanish,” Fenella added timidly.
“And practically everyone else, but the Americans,” Cassandra finished with a cheerful wink in Abby’s direction and Abby decided instantly she liked her.
Mrs. Truman handed Abby her tea. “Are we here to talk tradition or are we here to talk ghosts?” Once she’d divested herself of Abby’s tea, she turned to Fenella and pointed at her. “You! Start!”
Fenella’s eyes moved to Abby and she began, “Well –” but Mrs. Truman cut her off.
“And don’t be all mealy-mouthed about it. Spit it out!”
As ordered, Fenella rushed on.
Eyes on Abby, she asked, “You didn’t slip when you were in the bathroom, did you?”
Abby blinked in surprise and then looked at Mrs. Truman. “Did you tell her?”
“No. I. Did. Not,” Mrs. Truman stated clearly. “Abigail Butler, how many strangers do I ask in for tea?” Abby didn’t have time to respond, Mrs. Truman went on talking. “I heard her banging on your door and I went out to see what the all racket was about. She told me who she was and I decided to ask her over and pump her for information. She told me about Vivianna Wainwright and how she thought you’d been injured by a ghost. I told her I knew all about it and we were going to figure out a plan to defeat the ghost and she said she wanted to be involved.”
Abby’s surprised eyes went to Fenella. “Are you sure?”
“Well, no,” Fenella replied hesitantly then swallowed, “Vivianna’s scary and she’s mean. She never hurt any of us, not us girls, but she doesn’t like Alistair and she’s always doing stuff to him. And the servants. I don’t want to be on her bad side.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be involved,” Cassandra said gently and Fenella’s eyes moved to her.
“I also don’t want her around anymore,” Fenella looked at Abby. “I don’t want her to hurt anyone else and especially not someone like you.”
“Like me?” Abby asked, confused.
“Like you,” Fenella answered.
“What does that mean, like me?” Abby pushed when Fenella’s answer didn’t contain any further information.
“The love of Cash’s life!” Fenella announced way-too-loudly, almost in a screech.
Abby felt her heart stutter to a stop.
Then she whispered, “I’m not the love of Cash’s life.”
“You are,” Fenella returned.
“Honestly, Fenella, I’m not. We’re –” Abby began.
“You are,” Fenella interrupted, “even if it wasn’t obvious to everyone around, she knows. She knows. Vivianna knows exactly who Penmort’s master loves best and dearest. True love. Complete, devoted and unconditional. Only those loves does she kill.”
Abby’s eyes skipped around the room to Mrs. Truman then to Cassandra and back to rest on Fenella.
They all were watching her.
“Fenella, honestly, Cash and I are –”
“In love,” Fenella finished.
“No, we aren’t,” Abby insisted, her voice getting stronger.
“Okay, well, I haven’t known Cash all that long but I do know some stuff. First, I know he never brought a woman to Penmort and he’s had loads. Loads and loads and loads,” Fenella stated.
“We get it, loads, move on,” Mrs. Truman demanded, circling her hand.
“Second, every time he comes, he acts like the minute he enters he wants to leave. He doesn’t like Suzanne and he hates Alistair. The only one he really likes is Mummy. When you were there, it was different. He was different. I’ve never seen him that way with anyone. None of us had. Mummy, Honor and I were in a lather about it for days!” Fenella went on.