Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

“Hey, Petey-boy, thanks a million. That’s some chapeau.” Syd admired the hat at arm’s length, then plopped it on his head. “Need to take care of the old noodle, huh? That’s real thoughtful of you. You gonna help us out with these here dandelions?”

Syd spent the rest of the morning pottering contentedly from dandelion to dandelion and chatting with the children, the straw hat pulled low on his forehead, his checked pants acquiring a patina of rich, dark soil. When lunchtime came around, he was reluctant to leave, and though he took a nap that afternoon, he was back in the garden the following morning, with a surer step and a clearer mind. The news of Susannah’s extended stay at the hospital didn’t seem to faze him, and by the next day, Emma was convinced that her green-thumb therapy was working.

She doubted that it would have been half as effective without the children’s help. Peter had taken to gardening with a vengeance, and now spent most of his waking hours near the chapel. Nell’s approach was more relaxed but no less productive. Her daisy chains decorated Syd’s hat and the handles of the old wheelbarrow, and her posies brightened the shelves in the potting shed and the bedside table in the rose suite.

In the evenings, when the tools were put away and the sun was sinking low on the horizon, Nell entertained them all with stories of the bold Sir Bertram’s amazing deeds. Emma found herself unexpectedly caught up in Bertie’s battles with the evil Queen Beatrice, and Syd was vastly amused by the misadventures of the lazy buffoon, Higgins.

The only one who wasn’t amused was Derek, and that was because he never showed his face in the garden. Nell seemed serenely unconcerned about her father’s absence, but, though Peter said little, it was hard to ignore the way his head swung around every time the green door opened, and difficult to miss the disappointment in his eyes when Bantry or Syd Bishop came through it.

Emma told herself that it was just as well. She wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but, whatever it was, she wanted to stop it before it got out of hand. It would be unfair to Peter and Nell for her and Derek to start something they couldn’t finish. Children needed a future, and that was the one thing Emma couldn’t possibly give them.

16

On the eighth evening of the long week following Susannah’s accident, Emma dined alone. The candles were lit in the dining room, and Crowley saw her to her chair, but hers was the only place set at the table. Crowley informed her that the children had eaten supper in the nursery with Nanny Cole, and Syd Bishop had taken a light meal on a tray in his room, then gone directly to bed.

“He’s not ill, Miss Porter,” Crowley assured her, when she expressed mild concern. “Quite the contrary. He informed Hallard that he was retiring early because he intended to be, er, ‘up and at ’em’ at the break of dawn. Gardening seems to agree with him.”

As for Derek, Crowley knew only that Mr. Harris had retired to his room late that afternoon, leaving strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed by the staff.

Emma told herself that she’d worn her newest Nanny Cole creation—a flowery William Morris print in bronze and gold and copper—to suit herself, not to please Derek. Still, she had to admit that, if she’d known that Crowley would be her sole companion in the dining room, she might not have anticipated supper quite so eagerly.

Emma ate quickly, then went up to her room to change into a skirt and blouse and pull on Nanny Cole’s heathery angora sweater. She left her room for the library, stopping just long enough to knock on Derek’s door, hoping that his instructions to the staff did not apply to her. Receiving no reply, she went on her way. She was usually in bed and asleep by ten o’clock, but she’d been meaning to read up on old Bourbon roses and tonight seemed the perfect opportunity. She peeked into a few other rooms on her way to the main staircase, then wandered into the billiards room, the music room, the drawing room, and various salons on the first floor before settling in the library with one eye on her book and the other on the tall case clock in the comer.

When the clock chimed ten, Emma decided that what she really needed was a breath of fresh air. Armed with a flashlight provided by Crowley, she made straight for the chapel. The moon had not yet risen, and stars blanketed the sky. The castle ruins were a maze of shadows, and she had to step carefully to avoid falling on her face. She wasn’t hurrying, she was simply walking briskly, because it was a proven fact that exercise promoted sound sleep and she had every intention of sleeping soundly that night. When she pushed open the chapel’s low rounded door, she saw immediately that Derek wasn’t inside.

But his son was. Peter was wearing a blue melton jacket over striped pajamas, and warm woolen socks stuffed into brown leather slippers, and he carried a Day-Glo-orange emergency lantern, the kind Emma kept in the trunk of her car at home. He was halfway to the back door by the time Emma’s flashlight picked him out, but when she spoke his name, he stopped.

“I’m sorry,” said Emma. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go away, if you like.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder at her, then looked away again. He shrugged. “I don’t mind if you stay.”

Emma hesitated. She respected Peter’s privacy, but she was curious to know what had lured him to the chapel in the dead of night. He hadn’t struck her as the kind of boy who would get up to any mischief, but he was obviously AWOL from the nursery. What had compelled him to risk the wrath of Nanny Cole?

Emma walked slowly up the center aisle. “I’d rather not stay by myself,” she said, sitting on the front bench. She was careful to speak softly. She didn’t want Peter darting out the back door in the dark.

Peter turned the lantern on and placed it on the shelf below the lady window, then backed slowly to the bench and sat beside Emma, his hands jammed in his jacket pockets, his eyes never leaving the lady’s face.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he murmured.

“Yes, she is.” Even in the darkness, the window retained its power. The lantern picked out glimmerings of color and softened the fire in the lady’s eyes. Her face hovered above them, serene as a full moon sailing across a midnight sky.

“Dad says that lots of people think Miss Ashley-Woods is beautiful,” said Peter. “But I don’t.”

Emma kept her voice steady as she asked, “Why not?”

“She’s all bones,” Peter replied bluntly, “and she has mean eyes. She was bothering Dad all the time before you came. Keeping him from his job.”

A job that was, for some reason, very important to the boy. A chill hand seemed to grip Emma’s heart. Oh, no, she thought, could it be as simple and as terrible as this?

“Peter,” she said, “is this where you were that morning, when Miss Ashley-Woods fell down the stairs?”

Peter’s body tensed and for a moment Emma thought he might bolt. Instead, he gave a forlorn sigh and bowed his head, and the tension left his body as tears began, silently, steadily, falling bright as diamonds on his dark wool jacket.

“Nanny Cole told me to play outside,” he said, “but —but I didn’t want to. She’s supposed to give me lessons and she wouldn’t and I was—was angry.”

“So you came out here instead?” Emma prompted gently.

“I’m not supposed to,” the boy admitted. “Dad—Dad wants me to get fresh air and—and sunshine. But I like it here. The lady needs me.” The boy sniffed, then scrubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.