Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

The wistful expression on Kate’s face gave way to one of warm affection. She reached up and punched Crowley lightly on the arm. “Humbug,” she said fondly. “Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve threatened to turn me in to Mother?” She faced Emma. “He used to do it all the time when I was a little girl. Had me and Grayson trembling in our wellies till it dawned on us that he’d never really rat us out.”

Unmoved, Crowley pointed sternly to the bowl. “The bouillon is cooling rapidly, Miss Kate.”

“Will we see you at supper?” Emma asked.

“ ’Fraid not. I only came back to make sure Syd got here in one piece. It’s all been a bit much for him. Gash will drive me back to Plymouth this evening, and I’ll stay there with Grayson to arrange for Susannah’s return. Dr. Singh thinks we should be able to bring her back in three or four days.”

Crowley opened the hall door. “I beg your pardon most sincerely, Miss Porter, but Miss Kate really must eat, then get some rest.”

Kate smiled wryly and picked up her spoon. “If you’ll excuse me, Emma, the warder here prohibits talk during mealtimes.”

Good old Kate is growing restless, Emma thought as she headed for the library. Still, it was unlikely that she’d ever leave Penford Hall. She seemed to love the place as much as Grayson, and the staff treated her with a special tenderness. To Bantry, Kate was the pride of Penford Harbor, and she was clearly the apple of Crowley’s eye.

Slowing her pace, Emma thought back to her conversation with Bantry early that morning. She’d found him in the kitchen garden, watering the vines on the birdcage arbor. When she’d asked if he knew what had happened to the oilcloth, he’d led her to a side room that served as his potting shed. It had been roofed over with tightly joined wooden boards and fitted out with a workbench, shelves, cupboards, a pegboard with hooks, and a standing pipe that supplied water from the hall.

Bantry had pulled the oilcloth from behind a coil of rope in one of the large cupboards. It had been washed and neatly folded, but Emma could see a ragged tear at one comer, where a grommet had been pulled out.

“Gash brought it back with him from Plymouth,” Bantry told her, “after he dropped off Kate and His Grace. Have to remember to bring it down to Ted Tregallis for mending.”

Emma fingered the frayed edges thoughtfully. “Did you tear it when you uncovered the wheelbarrow the other day?”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Miss Emma?” Bantry squinted at her, perplexed. “I never uncovered the barrow, and I‘d’ve had a thing or two to say to anyone who did. Don’t hold with leavin’ things lyin’ about for the damp to get at ’em.” He put the oilcloth back in the cupboard and brushed his palms together. “Nope. Lads on the chopper must’ve torn it, when they was loadin’ poor Miss Susannah aboard.”

Or, thought Emma, turning into the long corridor near the library, someone yanked the oilcloth off of the barrow hard enough to tear it. She slowed her pace once more. Peter had discovered blood on the handle of the grub hoe, hadn’t he? Emma came to a full stop as a moving image filled her mind.

In the clear light of morning, a faceless figure ripped the oilcloth from the barrow, seized the hoe, and swung the long handle at Susannah’s head. Susannah crumpled soundlessly and tumbled down the stairs. Panicked, the attacker shoved the hoe back into the barrow and fled the garden, leaving Susannah for dead.

Could that person have been Kate? Kate seemed to share Grayson’s fanatic loyalty to Penford Hall, and where there was fanaticism, there might be violence. Emma removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose unhappily. She liked Kate. She admired the way Kate had kept her head when dealing with the emergency in the garden, and her temper when faced by Susannah’s taunting. Still, Emma conceded reluctantly, Kate had a motive to silence Susannah. If the duke’s cousin exposed a cover-up of Lex’s murder, Kate Cole would lose everything she held dear.

As she approached the library, Emma felt a prick of anger toward Susannah for stirring things up, but it passed quickly. No one deserved a death sentence for asking uncomfortable questions. Emma reminded herself that she would do better to reserve her anger for the person who’d passed that sentence. Replacing her glasses, she opened the library door. Derek caught sight of her, got up from his chair, and crossed to meet her.

“Derek,” she began, but he cut her off.

“Not now,” he murmured. “Think you should hear what Syd has to say.”

Syd was seated on the couch. His face was ashen and the whiskey glass trembled in his hand. A fire was burning in the hearth and he stared at it without blinking. He didn’t seem to notice Emma’s arrival or Derek’s return. “Poor kid,” he mumbled. “Poor kid.”

Derek slid into his chair and waited for Emma to take the one beside him. He rested his hands on the arms of the chair, crossed his legs, then asked in a soft, level voice, “You’ve known Susannah for a very long time, haven’t you, Syd?”

It was like watching a hypnotist at work. Syd, the compliant subject, sat motionless, speaking in a flat monotone, as though a tape recorder were unreeling somewhere inside of him. “My grandpa was a tailor, and my old man went a step up, into fashion. That’s how I got my start, setting up my old man’s London office. Small potatoes, nothing fancy, not like them big shots on Savile Row. Stupid bastards wouldn’t take a look at Suzie.”

“But you would,” said Derek.

“You bet I would. Suzie’s ma brought her to me when she was, let’s see, now ... fifteen? Luckiest day in my life. Never seen anything like her. A regular ice princess. There’s a lotta guys’d give a kid like that all kinds of crap. Not me. Always looked out for her. Never let her take crap offa nobody.”

“You worked very hard to get her started,” prompted Derek.

“Not as hard as Suzie. Lotta kids know what they want. Not so many want to work to get it. Always been a hard worker, Suzie has.” Syd paused to wet his lips, then went on in his low monotone. “She hadda be, after her old man blew his brains out.”

Emma turned, wide-eyed, to Derek, who motioned her to silence, then resumed his gentle interrogation. “When did that happen, Syd?”

“Like I told you, Suzie was just a kid. Her old man got suckered into some cheesy investments and lost his shirt.” Syd shrugged. “Who hasn’t? There’s worse things could happen to a person, am I right? This poor schmuck didn’t think so. Checked into a hotel in Ipswich and put a gun in his mouth. Left Suzie’s ma in hock up to her fanny. That’s how come Suzie started working. That’s how come she won’t quit.”

“Why should she quit, Syd?” Derek’s voice suggested only mild curiosity, but his knuckles were white on the arms of his chair.

“Not so much work anymore. Not top dollar. Not for a while now. It’s a short-term deal, am I right? Fashions change, models get old. One day you’re it, the next day the phone stops ringing. Happens alla time. Truth is, Suzie’s broke.”

“But she was so successful,” Derek protested.

“She hadda pay off her old man’s debts. And support her old lady. And now she’s buyin’ stuff she can’t afford. What else is new? It’s hard to swallow, knowin’ nobody wants you. Don’t know how we’re gonna handle the doctor bills.”

“I’ve told you not to worry about that,” Derek soothed. “I’m sure that Grayson will see to anything the National Health doesn’t cover.”

“Damn right he will. He owes it to her.”

Derek leaned forward in his chair. “How do you mean, he owes it to her?”

Syd slowly turned to face Derek, like a teacher disappointed by an inattentive pupil. “I told you,” he said wearily. “Grayson’s father, he’s the one gave the bad tip to Suzie’s dad. He’s the reason Suzie’s dad killed himself.” He reached out a shaking hand to pat Derek’s knee. “Hey, it’s history, am I right? Maybe it’ll work out for the best. Could be the publicity’s all Suzie needs to get back on top.” The old man’s eyes returned to the fire. “Once they fix her kisser ...”