Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

“Don’t worry, Emma,” Nell said consolingly. “Everyone won’t be mad at you forever.”

Emma’s only response was a prolonged and pathetic groan.

“That was a good scold you gave Papa last night.” Nell’s voice was filled with admiration and an unaccustomed earnestness. “I never heard anyone scold him like that before.”

Emma peeked over the edge of the bedclothes, horrified. “You weren’t there, were you?”

“ ’Course I was,” said Nell. “Up in the gallery.”

“You should’ve been in the nursery,” Emma reminded her.

“Bertie wanted to know what was going on. You can see everything from the gallery. I watched Dr. Singh fix Mattie’s arm. He’s a good doctor.” She pointed to Em-ma’s bruised knuckles. “You should let him fix your hand.”

I should donate my body to science, Emma thought miserably. A twinge shot through both shoulders as she reached for her glasses, and there was a distinct tenderness where her knees met the bedclothes through her flannel nightgown. Her palms were sore and her knuckles throbbed, but those aches and pains were minor compared with the pangs of conscience that assailed her. How could she have let herself go like that? Why had she said all those dreadful things? Kate would probably strangle her, the duke would banish her, and Derek would never speak to her again. She put her glasses on and lay back on her pillows, wondering what on earth had come over her.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be affecting Nell, as well. The ethereal princess who’d carried herself with such dignity and grace was now bouncing on the bed and looking as though she were bursting with news. More extraordinary still, her bear was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Bertie?” Emma asked.

“Keeping Peter company,” Nell replied. “Dr. Singh says he’s supposed to stay in bed all day. Do you want to have your bath now?”

“I don’t know, Nell.” Emma sighed. “I may just stay in bed for the next few weeks.”

Nell giggled. “That’s what Bantry said when he saw the garden.”

Emma braced herself for more unpleasant news. “How bad is it?”

“It’s a bloody mess,” Nell replied cheerfully. “But Bantry said he’d still rather be out there than in the bloody hall with a bunch of bloody lunatics. Oh, Emma, it’s been such an exciting morning.”

“I’ll bet it has,” Emma said weakly. She looked toward the balcony door, then propped herself on her elbows, knowing that she had to get up. She couldn’t leave Bantry to clean up the garden rooms by himself. “You can tell me all about it while I’m having my bath.”

Emma watched in amazement as Queen Eleanor scrambled to the floor and scampered toward the bathroom, shoelaces flying, tossing a stream of gleeful, breathless chatter over her shoulder.

Groaning, Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled toward the bathroom, feeling as old as the Pym sisters but not half as spry. Nell was waiting for her in the dressing room, and when she opened the bathroom door, billows of steam emerged, redolent with the heavy scent of camelias.

“Use a little bath oil?” Emma asked, wiping the steam from her glasses.

Nell nodded proudly. “Smells pretty, doesn’t it?”

As the clouds of steam dissipated, Emma saw a stupendous mountain range of bubbles covering the tub. One majestic peak had made its way over the lip of the mahogany surround and was cascading slowly to the floor. Emma put a towel on the sudsy puddle, then reached into the tub to feel the water. It was still blessedly hot.

With a fine sense of decorum, Nell had remained in the dressing room, leaving Emma to face the laborious task of pulling her nightgown over her head, wrapping her hair in a towel, and easing herself gingerly through the bubbles and into the water. The heat was so deliciously soothing that Emma could almost imagine getting dressed and facing the consequences of her intemperate behavior. But not just yet. Not until she had a better idea of just what she was about to face. Settling back against the terry-cloth pillow, she called to Nell.

Nell entered the bathroom carrying Emma’s blue bath-robe in both arms. She heaped the robe on the marble bench across from the tub, then climbed up to sit beside it, her sneakers dangling well above the floor. “Do you feel better now?”

“I’m beginning to,” Emma replied. “Thank you, Nell. A long soak in a hot bath is just what I needed.”

“Grayson, too. But just his head. That’s what Kate told him, anyway.”

Emma thought that one through, then blanched. “You mean, Kate told Grayson to go soak his head?”

“Uh-huh. At breakfast. She said he needed to get his pri-phtor—”

“Priorities?” Emma suggested.

Nell nodded. “She said he had to get those straight. And then Nanny Cole tried to talk and Kate told her to shut up.”

“She didn’t,” Emma gasped.

“She did. I heard her. Nanny Cole looked very surprised. And then Kate threw her napkin on the floor and stomped out of the dining room.”

Emma closed her eyes and slid slowly down the back of the tub until the water was lapping her lower lip.

“And then Papa said what did Grayson expect and Grayson said why didn’t Papa ring up Mrs. Higgins and Papa said why didn’t he mind his own business”—Nell took a quick breath before racing on—“and Grayson said children were everybody’s business and Papa said he was a fine one to talk and why didn’t he get some of his own and then Syd told them both to pipe down and stop acting like a pair of palookas.”

“Oh, God ...” Emma moaned, covering her face with her hands.

“It was wonderful.” Nell kicked her legs back and forth, wriggling with delight. “ ’Specially Kate. She shouts almost as good as you do.”

“Now, Nell, there’s nothing good about shouting,” Emma protested feebly. “It’s never good to lose your temper. I feel terrible about shouting at your father. I said all sorts of things I shouldn’t have said.”

Nell nodded sympathetically. “Papa says I do that all the time.”

“Well, sometimes you can hurt people by doing that. I’m sure I hurt your father.” Emma wiped bubbles from her chin. “I’m going to have to apologize to him.”

“You can’t,” said Nell. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Emma asked. “Gone where?”

“I don’t know. He stomped out of the dining room, just like Kate. But he didn’t throw his napkin.”

“That’s good,” Emma said hopefully.

“He threw his whole plate!” Nell’s peal of laughter rang with such unabashed joy that Emma couldn’t help smiling, though she was ashamed of herself for doing so. “That’s when Bantry stomped out to the bloody ruins and Nanny stomped up to her bloody workroom and Grayson stomped off to the bloody library. Syd and I helped Hallard clean up Papa’s eggs,” she added virtuously.

Emma sobered as the mention of Syd Bishop reminded her of Susannah, and of Mattie. Pushing herself up and moving the bubbles aside so that she could see Nell more clearly, she asked, “Did anyone mention how Mattie’s doing?”

Nell’s swinging legs slowed, then stopped. “Mattie’s sleeping,” she said briefly. “Dr. Singh gave her some pills. Crowley’s sitting on a chair next to her bed. He’s been there all day. And Syd’s ...” Nell scratched her nose. “Syd’s with Susannah, but she’s awake. I heard them talking. Syd said ...” Frowning, Nell scratched her nose again, then fell silent.

Wordlessly, Emma reached for a towel and wrapped it around her as she rose from the tub. Stepping quickly to the bench, she pulled on her blue robe, then sat beside Nell, looking down on her tousled curls. Nell’s head was bowed and her hands twisted restlessly in her lap, as though seeking the kind of comfort only Bertie could provide.