Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea (18 page)

“Is Cassie your girlfriend?” Rob asked, out of the blue.

“She’s a chum,” replied Peter, blushing.

Will wasn’t buying it. He studied Cassie for a moment before saying matter-of-factly, “You and Peter could get married at the castle if you like. Sir Percy won’t mind.”

“Thank you,Will,” said Cassie, flushing crimson. “But Peter hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

“You should,” said Rob, focusing his relentless gaze on Peter’s beet-red face. “Cassie likes you.”

Dinner’s timely arrival spared my friends further torture at the hands of my insightful sons, and we distracted them afterward with games, but they returned to the subject after they’d had their baths, when Peter was helping me to settle them—and their seal pups—in their beds.

“When you and Cassie have babies,” said Will, as though he’d given the subject serious consideration, “you can leave them at Anscombe Manor with me and Rob.”

“We’ll teach them how to ride,” said Rob, yawning.

Will nestled his head sleepily into his pillow. “When they get bigger, we’ll let them ride our ponies.”

“I’ll tell Cassie,” Peter promised.

“G’night, Peter,” the twins chorused, and fell asleep without even asking for a bedtime story.

Peter sat on the edge of the bed, gazing down at Will’s tousled head. “They’ve got it all worked out,” he said softly.

“Have you?” I asked.

Peter looked up at me with a crooked smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. She’s a wonderful girl, Lori—fearless and kind and wise. I think she’d say yes if I asked her.” He ducked his head shyly. “I’m just waiting for the right moment, I suppose.”

“You’ll find it,” I told him, and bent low to kiss my brilliant baby boys good night.

Andrew came in to take the night shift, and the rest of us went down to the dining room for what promised to be a truly memorable dinner.

Sir Percy greeted Peter and Cassie with his customary ebullience and listened avidly while Cassie told him of their travails with the press. Cassie was forced to do all the talking, because the smoked-haddock chowder and the crabmeat-stuffed ravioli commanded every particle of Peter’s attention. When the roasted rack of venison appeared, surrounded by roasted potatoes, carrots, and onions, I half expected him to forsake his true love, run from the dining room, and propose marriage to Cook instead.

Sir Percy knew Cassie’s father and Peter’s grandfather.

“Festhubert and I were at school together,” he told Cassie while Mrs. Gammidge served the venison. “He was a pompous ass as a boy, and I’m sorry to say that he hasn’t changed much since then, though I’m sure he’s a fine father.”

“He is,” said Cassie. She seemed slightly taken aback but mostly amused by Sir Percy’s frankness.

“And you,” Sir Percy went on, turning to Peter, “you’re Elstyn’s grandson, eh? I know your grandfather, of course, the stiff-necked old buzzard, and I saw his letter in the
Times.
It’s a pity he landed you in it by trumpeting your virtues in public, but hardly surprising. Pride was ever his downfall.”

Peter was too familiar with his grandfather’s foibles to be offended by Sir Percy’s unflattering observations.

“Grandfather hasn’t quite come to terms with the twenty-first century,” he explained, with a wry smile. “He much prefers the eighteenth, when gentlemen were gentlemen, ladies were ladies, and everyone else was obligingly invisible.”

“He’s been more than generous to the Seal Conservation Trust,” Cassie put in, casting a swift glance in Peter’s direction.

Peter caught the glance, put down his knife and fork—with some reluctance—and turned to gaze attentively at Sir Percy. I watched, ate, and waited. I had a feeling that the pair were about to solicit a donation from their wealthy host.

“Grandfather has been generous,” Peter agreed. “Thanks to him we’ll be able to open a second observatory this year.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sir Percy boomed. “Fascinating creatures, seals. Erinskil has its own colony, you know. They breed on the rocks near the Devil’s Teeth—the stacks off the western shore.”

“I’m aware of the Devil’s Teeth colony.” Peter stared down at his folded hands for a moment, then looked again at Sir Percy. “If you find Erinskil’s seals fascinating, sir, why won’t you allow the trust to study them?”

Sir Percy responded with a faintly puzzled smile. “Sorry, old man, you’ve lost me. I’ve nothing to do with the trust.”

“But you’re Erinskil’s laird,” Peter countered. “Dr. Withers, the project director, has written to you several times, asking for permission to build our new observatory on Erinskil. He has yet to receive a reply.”

“I haven’t replied to your project director,” said Sir Percy, “because none of his letters have reached me.”

“He sent them, I assure you,” said Peter. “Three or four of them.”

“Has he, by God?” Sir Percy’s mouth tightened, and he beckoned to Mrs. Gammidge. “Would you please ask Elliot to join us? My personal assistant,” he explained to Peter and Cassie. “Elliot handles all my correspondence.We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”

Sir Percy was, for once, being overly optimistic. Elliot Southmore had never seen the letters written by Jocelyn Withers.

“Did Dr. Withers write to Sir Percy’s corporate address?” Elliot inquired.

“No,” Peter answered. “He wrote last summer, when Sir Percy was in residence on Erinskil. He thought the proposals would have a greater impact if Sir Percy was on the island when he received them. He sent the letters to Dundrillin Castle.”

“They must have gone through the Stoneywell post office, sir,” Elliot said promptly, turning to his employer. “Rather, they
didn’t
go through the post office. It appears that they were . . . diverted.”

Sir Percy drummed his fingers on the table. “Someone’s been playing silly buggers with my post. How very interesting.”

“Shall I investigate, sir?” Elliot asked.

“Leave it with me,” said Sir Percy, and reached for his wineglass. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, Elliot.”

“Not at all, sir.” Elliot nodded to each of us and left the dining room.

Damian’s features were inscrutable, but I could tell at a glance what Peter and Cassie were thinking:
The drug smugglers strike again!
Erinskil’s wicked residents didn’t want an observatory in their midst because they didn’t wish to be observed, so they’d intercepted Sir Percy’s mail and disposed of Jocelyn Withers’s applications. My young friends must have been sorely tempted to speak out, but they were true to their word. Although their covert glances spoke volumes, they kept their suspicions to themselves.

“I owe you an apology, Sir Percy,” said Peter. “I feel as though I’ve abused your hospitality. I had an ulterior motive for coming here tonight—and I assure you that Lori knew nothing about it. She invited us here in complete innocence.” He gave me an apologetic nod before turning back to his host. “I wanted to know why you’d turned down our request, but I’d no idea that my question would lead to such a disturbing revelation. You must be distressed.”

“Must I?” Sir Percy pursed his lips and peered at the Waterford chandelier, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m sure there’s been a miscue somewhere, a simple misunderstanding that will be easily resolved. Elspeth MacAllen—Erinskil’s esteemed postmistress—is a woman of unimpeachable integrity. If she waylaid my post, I’m certain she did so with the best of intentions. And your apology, by the way, is unnecessary. If I were in your shoes, I’d have done the same—gone to the source to find the answer. Nothing wrong with that, my boy.”

Peter’s eyes began to twinkle. “I understand now why you and Lori get on so well, sir.You both like to think the best of people.”

“I’m afraid you’ll think the worst of me in a minute,” Sir Percy cautioned. “Because I have to tell you that, as Erinskil’s laird, I would have withheld my permission to build your observatory even if your applications
had
reached me.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “May I ask why, sir?”

Sir Percy rested his elbows on the table and tented his fingers. “Erinskil is a perfect jewel.To add or subtract anything would diminish its brilliance. I’ll contact your director and explain the matter to him. If he wishes, my people will help him to find another location that meets his requirements.”

“We’ve already found another location,” Peter informed him, “but thanks all the same.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Sir Percy,” said Cassie, looking up from her plate, “didn’t your refurbishment of Dundrillin Castle add an awful lot to Erinskil?”

“Dundrillin is occupied only during the summer months,” Sir Percy told her, “and my guests do not intrude on island life. They come here to conduct business and to enjoy the castle’s many pleasant features, one of which is its fine cuisine.” He picked up his fork and waved it at Cassie. “Eat up, eat up. I don’t want Festhubert to accuse me of starving you.”

“There’s no danger of that.” Cassie laughed and renewed her assault upon the venison.

Peter needed no encouragement.

Sir Percy told travel tales throughout the rest of the meal and coaxed Peter and Cassie into telling some of their own. By the time Mrs. Gammidge served the sticky lemon cake—with strawberries this time, and enough clotted cream to clog every artery on the island—he’d formed a high opinion of the two. When he invited them to stay for an after-dinner film followed by a midnight swim in the heated pool, however, they begged off.

“We’re usually asleep by ten,” Peter confessed, stifling a yawn.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” Sir Percy sighed. “A word in your ear before you go, chaps. I run a tight ship at Dundrillin, but leaks are inevitable. I have little doubt that news of your persecution by the paparazzi will be common knowledge in Stoneywell by tomorrow morning. I don’t think the islanders will mind in the least—in fact, I’m sure they’ll sympathize—but if you feel uncomfortable, please feel free to come here and stay for as long as you like. I’ve plenty of room, as you can see, and I enjoy your company. Elstyn and Festhubert may be a pair of old fossils, but you’re not.”

Sir Percy offered to have Elliot Southmore drive them back to the village, but Peter and Cassie refused, saying that they’d sleep better if they had a chance to walk off some of Cook’s magnificent meal. They promised to return the next day for dinner, and Sir Percy, Damian, and I accompanied them to the entrance hall to wave them on their way.

“A fine young couple,” Sir Percy commented after they’d left. “They’re weathering their first storm like seasoned sailors. It’ll take more than a few pesky photojournalists to knock them off course.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

“Sir Percy,” Damian said quietly, as we climbed the gray stone staircase, “would you like me to look into the situation at the post office?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, old man,” Sir Percy boomed. “You’ve got a job to do, and it’s a damned sight more important than tracing the whereabouts of a few piffling letters.You leave the mystery of the missing post to me.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “Anyone for a swim? Or we could jog up to the observatory and have a peep at the stars. The sky’s on fire tonight.”

I sagged against the balustrade and groaned.

Damian almost smiled. “I believe Lori is telling you, in her own subtle fashion, that she’s tired, Sir Percy.”

“I couldn’t jog from here to the top of the stairs,” I conceded, “much less to the top of the southwest tower. We walked from one end of Erinskil to the other today, Percy. If I don’t get to bed soon, Damian will have to carry me there.”

“One end of Erinskil to the other, eh?” Sir Percy glanced at me shrewdly. “It seems a long way to go to convince the islanders of your passion for bird-watching. You could have spent the day sitting comfortably on the Slaughter Stone and created the same impression.”

“I wanted to stretch my legs,” I said quickly. “And, believe me, they’re stretched.”

“Hobble off to your suite and rest them, then,” said Sir Percy. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

We parted at the red-carpeted corridor, but not before Sir Percy had nailed me with another penetrating glance. I ignored it. I was determined to avoid telling him the true reason for our extended tour of the island. Erinskil was, in his mind, a perfect jewel. I didn’t want to be the one who diminished its brilliance.

I
kicked off my shoes the moment I reached the Cornflower Suite, where lamps had been lit, a fresh fire laid, and the bed turned down. Reginald had evidently won the chambermaid’s heart, because a small upholstered armchair had been appropriated from the nursery for his use. My pink flannel rabbit sat serenely near the fireplace in the bedroom, looking for all the world like a country squire awaiting his pipe and slippers.

I touched a match to the blocks of dried turf in the hearth and sank with a grateful sigh into the standard-size armchair in the bedroom. After greeting Reg, I put my weary stockinged feet up on the hassock, propped Aunt Dimity’s journal on my knees, opened it, and launched with hardly a pause for breath into a rapid-fire account of Erinskil’s alleged criminal activity. Dimity, however, proved true to her gossip-laden upbringing in Finch by interrupting me and asking first and foremost to be informed about the “nature of the relationship” between Peter and his dark-haired companion. I told her what I knew.

Fearless, kind, and wise—what splendid qualities to praise! They’re far more practical than mere prettiness, and more durable as well.
Dimity’s fine copperplate acquired so many extra curlicues that the journal page began to resemble a Victorian valentine. She was extremely fond of Peter.
I do hope Peter won’t spend too much time searching for the right moment, or that Cassie will be fearless enough to choose the moment herself. She sounds a perfect match for the dear boy—so clever of her to dye her hair!—and he deserves nothing less. Emma and Derek will be so pleased.