“I wonder if he was at that bus stop when Nanny Pierce took her spill.”
“It’s a thought, isn’t it?”
“Did you talk to Melody about Nanny’s death?”
“Some. But she wasn’t listening. Her mind was on whether Ed could open the safe.”
“No word yet from Milk Jugg?” We reentered the house by the side door.
“Not a dicky.”
“At least you can fill in the time, Mrs. Malloy, by writing another eulogy: this one for Nanny.”
“The one I did for Mr. Tribble never got going. I couldn’t get past the first few lines.”
I awaited the recitation, and it was forthcoming:
“No one could call him tall,
In fact he was quite small,
With a religious bent,
And gentle, kind intent,
To stand him in good stead,
Now that he’s dead.”
“The laureateship awaits,” I said.
“Oh, bugger that,” replied Mrs. Malloy. “I’m all out of poetry. If I was to meet the Queen herself this afternoon I couldn’t come up with a verse.” Luckily, she teetered off on her high heels before I could come up with a reply.
To my surprise, the next couple of hours passed rapidly. I showered and changed into the best of the few dresses I had brought with me, a simple sheath in a buttery yellow. Despite a lack of enthusiasm, I took pains with my hair and limited makeup. Ariel had said that no one would be looking at her, and the same could be more truly said of me. There would be few people present that I had yet met or would be likely to get to know much better. Ben came into the hall as I came down the stairs and caught me in his arms.
“You look delectable, sweetheart.” He kissed my mouth and my throat, his hands making their wondrous way down until I laughingly pulled away.
“Will I see you out and about?” I asked.
“As soon as Tom and I have supplied the necessary replenishments after the five thousand have worked their way through what we’ve already set out. He’s been a great help this last couple of days. He can’t seem to stay busy enough. Every time there’s been a lull he comes up with something else for us to cook. You’d think he was providing against an oncoming famine.”
“Betty’s been toying with the idea of their turning the west wing into a restaurant and gift shop. Maybe you could give Tom some ideas on how to go about it, if you think he’s on board.”
“It would be a good career solution, given the size of this place. He could hire a chef to get them started and learn as he goes. Now that the shock of winning the lottery has passed off a little, it might be the right time for him and Betty to come up with a plan to save them from the void they’re now in.”
Ben returned to the kitchen and I went forth into the garden party. At first I thought I was in a maze of people. Every time I put out an elbow I was afraid I would never see it again. But after a few minutes I was able to separate the adults from the squealing squalls of children. Girls with flying hair raced past; boys in T-shirts, blue jeans, and sneakers bumped into me. Their faces continued to blur, but occasionally I found myself returning a broad smile, some minus front teeth and others a silvery flash of braces. I eased my way between two women holding cups of tea and talking their heads off. They were raving about the sausage rolls, mini-Cornish pasties, and wonderful little cakes with fondant icing.
“Have you tried the salmon patties with the lemon dill sauce?” one woman, in a dwarfing broad-brimmed red hat, asked another.
“Not yet,” floated the reply. “I’m devouring my fourth chicken wing. The fresh ginger glaze is divine. And I’d have two seafood tartlets left on my plate, if some fiend hadn’t snatched them in passing.”
“The food’s much superior to what was served in previous years. I wonder who did the catering.”
I stopped in my tracks but had no time to do more than draw a breath before Lady Fiona drifted up to me. Today she was attired in misty gray chiffon and a marvelous hat in the same shade. She was sufficiently tall that the wide brim accentuated her height rather than diminished it, as had been the fate of the woman in the red straw hat.
“Good afternoon, your ladyship.” I held out my hand and she took it in a surprisingly firm clasp.
“How pleasant to see you again, Mrs. Honeywood. I remember, you did ask me to call you Edith. If you would be so kind, please mention this sad business about Nanny Pierce to your aunt when you next communicate. I am sure she would wish to know.”
“Certainly,” I murmured, catching sight of Betty standing with Mrs. Malloy.
“Not that they got on particularly well. Nanny once made a rather tactless remark to her, saying that Gibraltar was a rock even a seagull wouldn’t land on willingly. I regret to say, not too many people liked her very well-not your aunt; I am referring to Nanny. I’m afraid being fond of her fell almost entirely on my husband’s shoulders. It really is amazing he didn’t run away from home more often, and why I never thought I could remonstrate with him about it when he did.”
“How very awkward.”
“We all have our trials. Nanny Pierce was ours. I wonder if that great-niece of hers will object to my moving into the Dower House? It was always Nigel’s and my dream to retire there. A change of scene for people our age… a new beginning, so invigorating.”
“Absolutely.”
“My dear, you are so like your aunt. I do hope her hair stopped falling out. Ah, I believe I see Mr. Scrimshank; I want to ask him if he’s had any more phone calls from Nigel. If you will excuse me…” She ebbed away and I cut a path through the throng toward Betty and Mrs. Malloy. In getting to them, I passed Frances and Stan Edmonds, whose smiles had the determined sheen of people who have had their feet trodden on once too often. My impression of Stan was the same as formerly. He did resemble a weasel. But that meant nothing; looks can be deceiving. Although I doubted that was the case with Mr. Scrimshank, whose dead brown eyes were on Lady Fiona as she talked to him.
Reaching my targets, I asked Betty if Ariel had changed her mind about joining the madding crowd.
“I just saw her flit by with a couple of children her age.”
“Her hair looked nice.” Mrs. Malloy swallowed lemonade as if wishing it contained something stronger.
“She let me do it for her. She even agreed to wear the dress I bought her at the beginning of the summer, which hadn’t been off the hanger. I’d be celebrating if I weren’t scared half out of my mind, wondering who’s going to end up dead next. It’s not about playing detective anymore. It’s a matter of how Tom and I are going to sleep at night, worrying whether Ariel is safe in her bed.”
I could have said she was worrying about that unnecessarily; there was no reason to fear the girl was in danger, she being no threat requiring removal, even if Lady Fiona had murdered both her husband and Miss Pierce. I could have added that Mrs. Malloy and I were convinced, had her ladyship done so, it had been with Mr. Scrimshank’s collaboration. But I didn’t open my mouth. I hesitated a moment too long. Mrs. Malloy was complaining about her bra.
“It’s that blasted underwire poking at me again. I didn’t mean to wear this one again. It was for the ragbag when I got home, but I picked it up by mistake.”
No time for commiserations; we were interrupted. A man came up and held out a spoon containing an egg to Betty, who was nearest.
“Would you mind taking this?” he said. “Some child just palmed it off on me, saying she’d be back in a minute, but I’ve seen someone I need to speak to, so if you wouldn’t mind…” He was there, and then he was gone. I had that nudging feeling you get when trying to place someone. His dark hair was threaded with silver, and I associated him somehow with the wild outdoors. He was Heathcliff in conventional clothing. Except for one thing. There was something sadly amiss with his ears. The left one was twice the size of the right one. Some afflictions, as in Lord Darkwood’s interesting limp and noble scars, add to a man’s heroic appeal. But, unfairly, mismatched ears didn’t cut it.