Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea (27 page)

“No,” Damian replied. “Thank you for clarifying the situation.”

“You’ve certainly put my mind at ease,” I chimed in cheerfully. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re not a horrible gang of drug smugglers. I never really thought you were. It just didn’t seem right. Not on Erinskil.”

“Certainly not,” Pastor Ferguson declared, straightening his tie. “But we must ask you, we must ask
both
of you: Will you keep our secrets? We are aware that our endeavors entail a certain amount of illegality. Are you going to turn us in? If you do, you’ll have to turn in every adult on Erinskil.”

“Including me.” Sir Percy had been silent for so long that his hearty voice made everyone jump, but he addressed his words directly to me and Damian. “Do you remember asking me about a laird’s responsibilities, Lori? There’s one responsibility I didn’t mention at the time. A laird is duty-bound to protect his people. The modern world offers threats every bit as dire as those offered by marauding Norsemen. I don’t know what your intentions may be, but I intend to defend my island from all pillagers—including and most especially the barbarians from the Inland Revenue.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said, looking around the circle of questioning faces, “you’ve saved your country more than you’ve taken from it. You’re doing what government is supposed to do but so seldom does—you’re keeping people healthy, well educated, and employed. All I have to say is, keep up the good work.”

“I’ll tell no one,” said Damian. “As Sir Percy pointed out earlier, your affairs are irrelevant to my assignment. I apologize for intruding.” He turned to Sir Percy. “I would like to know one more thing, however.”

“Only one?” said Sir Percy, raising an eyebrow.

Damian acknowledged the barb with a slight tilt of the head but went on, undaunted. “How did
you
find out about the treasure, sir? The elders refused to share their secret with the previous laird. Why did they share it with you?”

A mischievous gleam lit Sir Percy’s blue eyes.

“They didn’t share their secret with me,” he replied. “They shared it with Mr. Shuttleworth. Mr. Shuttleworth was a soft-spoken, amiable chap who spent two weeks on Erinskil four years ago. Mr. Shuttleworth was a keen walker and a huge fan of kittiwakes and puffins. He was an excellent listener, too.”

“Why are you talking about him in the past tense?” I asked. “Has he passed away?”

“You see him before you, my dear.” Sir Percy stood to take a sweeping bow. “I never consider a purchase until I know exactly what I’m buying. When I first laid eyes on Erinskil, I knew it was too good to be true, so I returned as Mr. Shuttleworth to carry out some reconnaissance work. Mr. Shuttleworth could give our young celebrities a lesson or two in the art and science of disguise.”

“I’ll be damned,” Damian muttered.

“I’m truly not as daft as I look,” Sir Percy said with mock earnestness. “Mr. Shuttleworth was every bit as affable as Peter and a hundred times more cynical than Cassie. It took him less than ten days to put two and two together. As you’ve told me so often, Lori, there are no secrets in a village, and what is Erinskil but a seagirt village?”

I gazed at him with unrestrained admiration. “You’re amazing, Percy.”

“Not I, my dear,” he responded. “The people of Erinskil are amazing.”

“Yes, they are,” I agreed, on a gurgle of laughter. “They’ve learned to spin gold into wool!”

S
ir Percy stood to survey the elders. “I believe our meeting has reached its natural conclusion, gentlemen. There’s nothing more to say.”

The elders murmured their assent. Chairs were returned to their original positions, and glasses were left for Mrs. Gammidge to clear away. Although the elders treated Damian and me politely, they continued to regard us with a faint air of disquiet, which was understandable. We were unknown quantities. There was no reason for them to trust us.

They did, however, trust Sir Percy. They were prepared to believe him when he promised yet again that Damian and I would never breathe a word of what we’d heard to anyone—except Bill, who, Sir Percy vowed once more, was unimpeachable. With that, and a last wee dram of single-malt, they had to rest content.

The storm raged unabated, and the lights flickered, then came back on while the elders were taking their leave of Sir Percy.

“I’m sure the castle’s beds are comfortable, your lairdship,” said Pastor Ferguson, “but we’d like to get back to our own. We’ll make use of the cars, though, if the offer’s still open.”

“Of course it is,” said Sir Percy. “Think I’d send you home on foot on such a filthy night?”

“We’ll be off, then,” said the pastor. “Thank you for a most . . . er,
unusual
evening, your lairdship. We know the way out.”

Sir Percy, Damian, and I shook hands with each of the elders as they filed from the library, as if we were in a receiving line at a wedding. I was afraid that Sir Percy would invite us to put the seal on our unusual evening by joining him in yet another nip of whiskey, but he had mercy on us.

“Time for bed,” he announced as thunder sounded overhead. “Past time, if truth be told. I hope my storm doesn’t keep you awake.”

“Nothing will keep me awake,” I asserted.

“Sir Percy,” said Damian, with a preoccupied air, “I’d like to know—”

“Enough,” Sir Percy interrupted in a magisterial rumble. He grasped us each by an elbow and hustled us toward the doorway. “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Damian. Quench your insatiable curiosity until after you’ve had some rest. Run along, now. I’ll snuff the candles.”

“Yes, sir,” said Damian.

As I stepped across the threshold, I paused, turned, and went up on tiptoe to kiss Sir Percy on the cheek.

“Good night, your lairdship,” I said. “Your people are lucky to have you.You’re a good man
and
a good manager.”

“I’m an all-around good fellow,” Sir Percy acknowledged buoyantly, and closed the door in our faces.

The sound of the storm dropped instantly to a distant rumor. The corridor’s thick, windowless walls insulated us from the sound-and-light show that seemed set to continue until dawn. Although I was beginning to droop with fatigue, I strode toward the elevator in high spirits. I was looking forward to sharing every detail of the night’s adventure with Aunt Dimity, who would be as delighted as I was to learn that Cassie’s suspicions could be tossed out with the trash. I was also looking forward with great anticipation to swapping my hiking boots for a pair of soft and supple bedroom slippers.

“We were wrong, wrong, wrong!” I crowed. “Ain’t it great?”

“I’m sorry to disagree with you,” Damian commented, “but
you
weren’t wrong. You’ve insisted from the beginning that the islanders were innocent. The rest of us were too cynical to listen to you.”

“Goody Two-Shoes triumphs again,” I said, with a wry chuckle. “Except that the islanders aren’t innocent. They’re thieves and liars and tax-dodgers.” I thumped my chest. “My kind of people.”

Damian allowed himself a brief smile but remained silent. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” I said as the doors closed.

“Are you?” Damian pressed the button for the third level. “I can’t imagine why. I’ve made such a hash of this assignment that I believe I’ll retire when it’s over. I’ll buy a cottage in a small village and open a flower shop. Much safer for everyone.”

The elevator had by now reached the Cornflower Suite. I gave Damian a narrow, sidelong glance as we stepped into the foyer and stood eyeing him severely until the elevator doors slid shut.

“You can wallow in self-pity if you like,” I scolded, “but you won’t keep me from being proud of you. Sure, you broke a few rules, but you did it because you thought a young man was in danger.You were willing to take on a whole gang of bad guys single-handed in order to rescue him. It was a
heroic
thing to do.”

“You already know my opinion of heroes,” he returned disdainfully. “And, as I said before, I shouldn’t have taken you with me.”

I shook my head. “You had no choice. You’re used to dealing with powerful men and women, Damian, but there’s no fiercer creature on earth than a mother defending her young. Peter Harris is like a son to me. No one could have kept me from going after him.”

“Stubborn as a stoat,” he murmured.

“Try messing with a stoat’s babies,” I retorted.

“She’ll bite your fingers off.” I reached over to squeeze his arm. “I won’t argue with you about early retirement—I don’t want you to die again, my friend, not even for a little while—but if you think life in a small village is peaceful, you’re in for a huge disappointment.”

“Even in a flower shop?” he asked.

“Especially in a flower shop,” I confirmed. “I’ve seen wars break out over bridal bouquets.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He put his hand on mine. “Thanks, Lori.”

“My pleasure,” I said, and spoiled the sweet moment by pulling my hand back to cover a cavernous yawn. “Sorry, Damian. It’s way past my bedtime.”

“It’s past everyone’s bedtime on Erinskil,” he said, “with the possible exception of Sir Percy. Sleep well.”

“At last!” I declared, opening the door to the suite. “An order I can obey!”

Damian rolled his eyes heavenward, but when I glanced over my shoulder at him from the doorway, he favored me with a smile that warmed me to the core.

Sir Percy’s storm reasserted itself the moment I closed the door. Wind roared, lightning flared, and rain hammered the balcony door. Needless to say, I had no desire to step outside for a closer view.

Although lamps had been lit in the sitting room, the fire hadn’t.The suite was colder and draftier than it had ever been before. The wind, I thought, was finding its way through chinks I hadn’t noticed. Shivering, I strode toward the bedroom, intent on lighting a fire, changing into my warmest flannel nightie, and snuggling under the down comforter with Reginald. I was contemplating the advantages of postponing my tête-à-tête with Aunt Dimity until much later in the morning when I noticed several things in quick succession, like snapshots flashed before my darting eyes.

The gilt mirror that guarded the emergency staircase was ajar. Reginald was sitting on the threshold, facing me. Beside him, as if dropped there by accident, lay a colorful toy knight.

I experienced a moment of utter disorientation. Had Andrew treated the twins to an adventure by bringing them to my room via the emergency stairs? If so, why hadn’t he closed the mirror behind him when he’d taken the boys back to the nursery? And why hadn’t the alarm sounded? I moved forward to investigate.

The mirror opened onto a spiral staircase. Wall-mounted lightbulbs encased in little cages provided the staircase with dim but adequate lighting. Cobwebs draped the low ceiling and hung in shreds from the iron handrail that ran along the curving wall, and the stairs were coated with a fine layer of gray dust.

The air smelled stale, but someone had used the stairs recently, in both directions, leaving a trail of scuffed footprints in the dust. I was about to follow the footprints upward, toward the nursery, when I heard a muffled cry that stopped my heart.

It was Will’s voice, coming from somewhere down below, and he was frightened.

There was no time to think or call for help. A flood of adrenaline released my frozen limbs, and I flew down the spiral stairs, caroming off the stone walls and clinging to the handrail to keep myself from falling. When a gust of cold air rushed up to meet me, I gave a panicked gasp and redoubled my pace. The cold air had to mean that the door to the coastal path had been opened—
someone was taking Will into the storm.

I leapt down the final few stairs, skidded on the rain-covered floor, and made for the open door. The wind was so strong that I staggered sideways as I dashed outside, and the lashing rain made it difficult to see. I curled an arm around my forehead to protect my eyes and glimpsed, in a searing blaze of lightning, a tall, thin figure striding far ahead of me, toward the overlook. He was dragging Will and Rob behind him.

His strength was terrifying. My boys were big for their age, but he pulled them along as if they were rag dolls. When they stumbled, he yanked them up without stopping and moved on.

Abaddon,
I thought, and the thought transformed my fear into cold fury. I bowed my head against the driving rain and pounded after him.

The sunken path had become a shallow, rushing stream, but I kept running in spite of the treacherous footing, peering ahead as best I could each time a lightning bolt ripped through the darkness, until I saw the shadowy figure come to a halt. He’d reached the overlook.

With one flick of his wrist, he could have thrown Will and Rob over the cliff, but instead he hauled them up and dumped them on the Slaughter Stone. There they lay, stunned and panting, while Abaddon made the sign of the cross over them. He stared down at them briefly, then spun on his heel, strode to the cliff ’s edge, and raised his arms, as if in supplication to the sea.

I flung myself behind the boulders bordering the path and clambered over them until I was crouching on a bed of rocky debris a few feet above the Slaughter Stone. My questing hand soon closed over a smooth stone. It was the same size as a cricket ball. When Abaddon swung about to face my sons, I stood and hurled the stone at him with all my might.

Abaddon’s head jerked. He dropped to the ground as if his bones had turned to dust.

I slid down onto the Slaughter Stone and pulled Will and Rob to me. They were barefoot and wearing their pajamas.

“I’m here, my babies,” I gasped. “Mummy’s here.” A sob silenced me as their arms tightened around my neck, but I blinked away my tears, lowered the boys gently onto the overlook, and climbed down after them. A quick inspection told me they were shaken but unscathed.