Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

In her own way Nell was as tough and brave as Peter, Emma conceded, but she wasn’t Lady Nell or Queen Eleanor or a wise old woman in disguise. She was just a little girl who’d been working hard to make sense of the world on her own, and who’d learned enough to realize that she couldn’t do it anymore. Nell had come to Emma, finally, to help her make sense of the world.

“What did Syd say?” Emma asked, putting her arm around Nell’s shoulders.

Nell’s troubled eyes scanned the sink, the mirror, the ceiling, and the towel rack, finally coming to rest on Em-ma’s knees. “Syd said that Mattie ... hit Susannah.” She began to rock, very slightly, back and forth. “Was Syd telling the truth?”

“Yes,” said Emma. “Syd was telling the truth.”

“Oh.” The rocking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Was Mattie angry?”

Emma rocked with the child. “Mattie was afraid and confused. She didn’t mean to hurt Susannah. And she’s sorry that she did.”

“Is she very sorry?” Nell asked.

“She’s very, very sorry,” Emma confirmed.

The little girl stopped rocking, snuggled up to Emma for a moment, then sat back and released a rushing sigh. “Poor Mattie,” she said. “Poor Susannah.”

Yes, Emma thought, poor Mattie, and poor Susannah. The best they could hope for was that Syd would be able to convince Susannah that Mattie had suffered enough already.

Nell had clambered off the bench and was kneeling at the side of the tub, carefully molding a mound of suds into a rounded dome. Emma went to kneel beside her.

“I know about the window,” Nell said suddenly.

Emma kept her eyes on the little girl’s busy hands, feeling preternaturally alert to Nell’s every word. “What do you know about the window?” she asked.

“I know that it’s changed,” Nell replied. “I went to see it today, for Peter. It’s white, like an angel. Peter says it’s Mummy.”

Emma watched as Nell teased her dome of bubbles into a taller, narrower shape that bore a faint resemblance to the silhouette of the lady in the window. “Do you believe what Peter says?”

Nell stared at the glistening, quivering pillar of fragrant bubbles. “I don’t remember Mummy,” she said softly, “but I think angels are in heaven.” She blew on the sudsy sculpture, and bubbles swirled into the air. “Could she be in two places, do you think?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t see why not. What do you think?”

“I think Mummy can be wherever she wants to be,” Nell concluded firmly, as though the subject had been settled to her satisfaction. She rested her chin on her hands and said slyly, “I know something else about the window, Emma.”

Emma was so relieved to see a mischievous glimmer return to Nell’s eyes that she was willing to play along. Leaning her own chin on her hands, she asked brightly, “What’s that, Nell?”

“I know what made it change.”

“Do you?” Emma asked, trying to sound enormously intrigued.

“Uh-huh.” Nell nodded vigorously. “It was the light.”

Emma sat back on her heels and stared at the child, disconcerted. “The light?”

“The really bright light that lit up the rain last night. That’s what made the window change.”

Emma frowned slightly. “Are you talking about the flares Kate shot off?”

Nell snickered. “Kate said Grayson was a twit and she didn’t know anything about any ratty old flares. It’s not flares, Emma.”

Emma’s heart began to beat double-time. “But you saw what made the light? You saw where the light came from?”

“You can see everything from the gallery,” Nell reminded her.

“Can you show me where the light came from?” Emma asked.

“ ’Course I can.”

Emma nodded. It was ridiculous to let herself get so excited. Nell had probably been working on a story all morning and was about to try it out. Except that all of Nell’s stories so far had been true. Emma pulled the towel from her head and let her hair fall loose. Ignoring mild protests from her back and shoulders—the hot bath really had worked wonders—Emma scooped Nell up from the floor and carried her across the bedroom and out onto the balcony.

“Okay, now, Nell,” said Emma, swinging the child onto her hip, “show me where the light came from.”

Nell slowly raised a dimpled finger until she was pointing directly at the elaborate wrought-iron finial on the top of the birdcage arbor. Emma’s jaw dropped.

“Emma?” Nell asked, fluffing Emma’s hair.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Emma asked distractedly.

“What’s a palooka?”

Emma looked at the child’s face, only inches from her own, then planted a kiss on Nell’s cheek and put her on the ground. “I’ll explain while I get dressed,” she promised, taking the little girl’s outstretched hand and leading her back into the bedroom.

24

Grayson was trudging stolidly up the main staircase when Nell and Emma came hurrying down it. He stood to one side, eyeing Emma warily until he caught sight of her left hand, which Nell had insisted on bandaging from wrist to fingertip with what seemed like several yards of white gauze and an equal amount of medical tape acquired, according to Nell, from the stores of the ever-helpful Nurse Tharby.

“Good Lord, Emma,” Grayson exclaimed. “I’d no idea you’d injured yourself.”

“Just a scratch,” Emma said. She flexed her hand to prove it, then tucked it out of sight in the front pocket of her violet-patterned gardening smock. Looking down at the toes of her wellington boots, she began, awkwardly, “Er, Grayson—”

“I’ll meet you in the banquet hall,” Nell said abruptly. She looked from Emma’s face to Grayson’s, then turned and ran back up the stairs.

When Nell’s footsteps had faded into the distance, Emma tried again. “Grayson—about last night. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. My behavior was inexcusable and I apologize.”

“Oh, I don’t know....” Grayson leaned back against the banister and sighed. “Had it coming, I suppose.”

“That may be true,” Emma said, “but it shouldn’t have come from me.”

The duke smiled wryly. “I’ve gotten plenty of it from Kate since then. Kate and everyone else. Even Crowley, preoccupied as he is, found time to sniff disapprovingly in my direction when I stopped by to look in on Mattie. But, then, Kate always was his great favorite.”

“How’s Mattie doing?” Emma asked.

Grayson’s smile faded and his brown eyes clouded over. “Time will tell,” he replied gravely. “Dr. Singh believes that she’ll recover from her physical injuries readily enough, but as for the rest ...” Grayson sank down onto the stairs, as though too burdened by misery to consider finding a more comfortable spot. “It’s my fault, of course. I can’t help thinking that, had I been more welcoming to Susannah—”

“Hold on a minute, Grayson.” The birdcage arbor would have to wait. Emma looked down at the duke’s slumping shoulders and remembered the way he’d showered the staff with praise for creating Lex Rex, shrugging off his own contributions. The duke’s generous nature seemed reserved for others; he kept all the blame for himself.

“Before you start the mea culpas, may I remind you of a few things?” Emma sat beside Grayson on the steps, rested her hands on the padded knees of her gardening trousers, and regarded the duke with sympathetic eyes. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the ... ill, but Susannah did show up here without an invitation. She used a very tenuous family connection to move herself and her manager into your home for an unspecified amount of time. While she was here, she hounded Derek and insulted your staff. She was rude, overbearing, and malicious, and her sole purpose in coming here was to ruin you because of something your father did. I’m not saying that Susannah deserved to be hit in the head with a grub hoe, but ...” Emma put her hand on the duke’s shoulder. “Under the circumstances, I’d say that you were more than gracious to your cousin.”