Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

Grayson rested his chin on his fist. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “Still, I can’t help feeling that, if I hadn’t placed so much importance on preserving Penford Hall, Mattie might not have gone to such drastic lengths to protect it.”

“Mattie wasn’t thinking about the hall,” Emma said. “She was trying to protect her grandfather. Besides, if she’d gone to Crowley in the first place instead of going off half-cocked, none of this would have happened.”

“True,” the duke admitted grudgingly. “Crowley would’ve given her whatever story Hallard’s concocted about Lex Rex’s death, and Susannah would’ve had to lump it. She might even have been persuaded to go away.”

“But Mattie took matters into her own hands, and that’s not your fault.”

The duke squinted at Emma suspiciously. “If I didn’t know you better, my dear, I’d say that you were doing your level best to cheer me up.”

“I wish I could,” Emma admitted. “If Susannah decides to press charges—”

Grayson bowed his head. “Susannah must do as she sees fit, of course, but I hope she’ll be lenient. Syd’s been in with her since—” He broke off, looking up in consternation as an uproar sounded from the second floor.

“Unhand me, you lout!” thundered Nanny Cole. “I can find my way to Susannah’s room without any help from you.”

“Sure you can, Mrs. Cole.” Syd’s voice drifted down to them, pitched to a placating murmur. “But you know how it is—a gentleman always wants to lend a hand to a fine lady such as yourself.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t be seen dead in those bloody awful trousers,” Nanny Cole responded tartly.

“Funny you should mention my ensemble ... Excuse me a minute, will you, Mrs. Cole?” Syd’s face appeared over the railing of the second-floor landing. “Emma, sweetheart, how’s it goin’? Nell said I’d find you here. Hey, Duke! You still willin’ to foot the bills?”

“Absolutely,” the duke replied.

“Catch you later.” Syd winked before disappearing from view. A moment later, his conversation with Nanny Cole resumed. “Like I was saying, Mrs. Cole, I got a little proposition for you. Strictly business, you understand.”

“What the bloody hell else would it be, you appalling tick?” Nanny Cole grumbled, and then a door closed, cutting off the rest of her words.

The duke continued to stare upward for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “I do believe that Syd’s hit upon a possible solution. Susannah’s always placed great importance on her career.”

“Nanny Cole and Susannah?” Emma turned the idea over in her mind.

“Mmm ...” Grayson tapped a finger against his lips. “An exclusive new line of women’s clothing? A boutique, perhaps ?”

“It might work,” Emma said doubtfully, “as long as Syd’s around to keep the peace.”

“There is that,” Grayson conceded. He ran a hand through his silky blond hair, then leaned back on his elbows. “Ah, well. We must simply put our faith in Syd and hope for the best.” He eyed the upstairs landing speculatively. “Wonder if he’d consent to act as my go-between. Kate’s locked herself in the south tower and won’t have anything to do with me. Hasn’t happened since we were children.”

“You’re not children anymore,” Emma reminded him. She got to her feet and pulled the duke up with her. Brushing her hands lightly across the shoulders of his tweed jacket, and straightening his tie, she went on, “I’ve heard that you can charm water from a rock, Grayson. So I want you to go up to the south tower and persuade Kate to come with you to the banquet hall in the castle ruins.”

“You want us to come to the kitchen garden?” the duke asked.

“In fifteen minutes.” Emma started down the stairs, but turned back to ask, “Do you know where Gash is?”

“Finishing his repairs on the power plant. Hallard will call him for you, though. He’s in the library, sorting out the candles.” The duke bit his lower lip, bemused. “You’re being very mysterious, Emma.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Emma repeated. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Grayson muttered, turning to fly up the stairs.

Though Gash had reported that Mr. Harris had driven off in his battered orange van early that morning, Hallard was unable to inform Emma of Derek’s immediate whereabouts. Stifling her disappointment, Emma gave instructions to Hallard to pass along to Gash, then invited the bespectacled footman to join her in the banquet hall. “Bring your laptop,” she added. “You may be able to use this in your next thriller.”

The weather had been the last thing on Emma’s mind when she’d carried Nell out onto the balcony, so she was faintly shocked when she stepped onto the terrace. The sky was a flawless arc of blue, the air was sweet, and a gentle breeze ruffled the grass on the great lawn. Had it not been for the apple trees, now stripped of leaf and blossom and trailing broken branches, she would have been hard-pressed to prove that a raging storm had indeed passed this way. But the apple trees were only a hint of what she would find within the castle ruins.

The storm had ravaged the garden rooms. As Emma surveyed the wreckage, she tried to remind herself that no one had died, but gratitude wasn’t easy. The perennial border was a tattered, ragged mess, the rock garden was more rock than garden, and there was not a single bud or blossom left on any of the rose bushes. By the time she reached the banquet hall, Emma was almost numb.

Bantry crouched ankle-deep in mud, plucking green tomatoes from a tangle of battered plants. He’d cleared most of the debris from the graveled path, pulled the broken vines from the towering arbor, and filled the wheelbarrow with salvaged vegetables. When he caught sight of Emma standing dazedly in the doorway, he held out a tomato, calling cheerfully, “Looks like we’re in for a spate of Madama’s chutney!”

Emma raised a hand to her mouth and shook her head forlornly.

“What’ve you done to your hand, Miss Emma?” Bantry asked, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing really. Nell was practicing her nursing skills.” Emma waggled her gauze-wrapped fingers to reassure him, then folded her arms. The kitchen garden looked as though it had been trampled by a herd of cattle, but there were a few green sprouts here and there.

“Don’t you fret, Miss Emma.” Bantry tossed the tomato into the wheelbarrow, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the scene without flinching. “It’s a right old mess and no mistake, but we’ll sort it out soon enough. That’s the way it is with gardens. Never the same two days in a row.”

The old man’s optimism began to revive Emma, and Hallard’s arrival reminded her that she’d come here with a mission. Raising her eyes to the top of the arbor, she asked Bantry if he knew how the finial was attached to the dome.

Bantry squinted upward, scratching his head. “Well, now, Miss Emma, I were just up there this mornin’, cut-tin’ back the runner beans. Seems to me there’s a big old bolt holdin’ that fancy bit in place.”

Gash walked in while Bantry was speaking, and when Emma had relieved him of the toolbox and oilcan she’d asked him to bring, she sent him to help Bantry fetch a ladder from the potting shed. She tucked the oilcan into the pocket of her smock and squatted down to rummage through the toolbox for a hammer and a long-handled monkey wrench. She was slipping the tools into her pocket when she heard Peter call out.

The boy seemed to have grown two inches overnight. He was tearing along the grassy corridor, bright-eyed, undaunted by last night’s ordeal. Nell trotted in his wake, carrying Bertie and regarding her big brother with such pride that Emma bit back a reminder about Dr. Singh’s orders and flung her arms wide.