her footwear, managed a smile.
“He’s afraid people will get wind of Betty’s suspicions about Lady Fiona and insist she’s trying to destroy the woman’s character. He says there’ll be a lawsuit for defamation-Lady Fiona could use the money-and it will be in all the papers: COUPLE WHO WON LOTTERY ACCUSES FORMER HOUSE OWNER OF MURDER. Dad’s got a horror of the press because of the articles written about the accident that killed my mother. That’s one reason I want to find out what’s really going on-such as Nanny Pierce trying to drive us out of the house so that Mr. Gallagher can move back in when he returns from his travels.”
“A doddery old lady indulging in scare tactics?”
Ariel shifted restlessly in her chair. “Val could be helping her. Maybe that’s the real reason she moved into the Dower House and has been so helpful to Betty with the decorating. It gives her the perfect excuse to be in and out of Withering… Cragstone all the time. Maybe Nanny has promised to leave her a nice inheritance in return for her cooperation.”
I smiled. “You’ve read those gothic novels I sent you.”
“But you’re the expert on them, Ellie. You know how the plots are woven to lead readers astray… making us think we’ve figured out what’s going on and then springing a throat-gripping surprise at the end. What if both Betty and I have got it wrong? What if it isn’t Nanny Pierce who wants us out of Cragstone, but someone else who resents our moving in? Like Mr. Scrimshank, who’s a walking creep show. Just wait till you meet him!” She gave Mrs. Malloy a pitying look. “Perhaps he’s madly, obsessively in love with Lady Fiona and thinks that if we are forced out no one else will dare buy the place and she’ll get it back for next to nothing.”
“Or could the prankster be Mrs. Cake, the devoted cook?” I was compelled to suggest. “I know you’re fond of her, Ariel, but she’d need to appear likable and trustworthy in order for her scheme to work, wouldn’t she?”
“I suppose. This is why I need you, Ellie-and I suppose Mrs. Malloy as well, seeing that her sister lives in Milton Moor-to come home with me and help me solve the mystery.”
“Well, now, that does seem a solution.” Far from sounding vexed at Ariel’s begrudging inclusion of her, Mrs. Malloy beamed like a little girl on discovering she has sprouted a head of curls as a reward for eating her vegetables.
“There’s a problem,” I said. “Your dad and Betty have made it clear by not letting the family know where they live that they wish, at least for the time being, to be left alone. So I can’t imagine they will welcome a visit, particularly when they don’t know me, let alone Mrs. Malloy.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell them I was coming here. But if you take me back they’ll have to ask you to stay for lunch, at least. Dad might even want to, if Ben came too. I know it wouldn’t have been easy if the children were at home, but with them being at their grandparents’ it’s not a problem.”
“Ariel, Ben has his restaurant, and he wants to put in a lot of hours this week on the cookery book he’s starting.”
“Then we’ll just have to come up with a way to get Betty to decide she wants you to stay for a few days. It’s a pity you can’t sprain your ankle, but I suppose with Mrs. Cake already having done that it would seem too much of a bad thing and you’d be shoved hobbling out the door.” Ariel wrinkled her brow. “If only I could think of something really great to do for Betty to put her in a good mood.”
My spirits would improve, I thought, if Ben were to walk into the room before Tom or Betty rang, wanting to know why I hadn’t called back to let them know the reason for Ariel’s mad escapade. These were his relatives, not mine. The first thing I would do would be to whisk him away and ask if there had ever been the least suspicion that the car accident that killed Tom’s wife might not have been an accident. During the course of Ariel’s account, the nasty suspicion had crept into my mind that he of all people might be the one most likely to play games with Betty’s mind in the hope that she would react in the approved gothic fashion, by casting herself off the battlements. I didn’t want to think this. Tom was a cousin, and so far as I knew murder did not run in Ben’s family. What I would not contemplate was that Ariel might be a child of devious intent, equal to the evil little stepdaughter in
Some hopes are answered. Footsteps in the hall. I excused myself to Mrs. Malloy and Ariel, along with Tobias, whom I dislodged from my lap, and hurried from the room. Ben was in the hall, taking off his raincoat. It was one of those moments that crop up sometimes, even after all our years together, when time turns back to front and I seem to be seeing him for the first time, awed by his dramatic good looks and the energy he generates with an economy of movement. And this time there was the wonderful comfort of his arms, held open to gather me close.
“I left Freddy at the Dark Horse for someone else to bring home,” he murmured against my hair. “I should never have gone out on our first evening without the children. Forgive me, sweetheart. It was that damned review!”
“I know.” I returned his kiss. “Darling, you have no idea how lucky I feel. It’s like winning the lottery to realize how blessed I am to have you and how our normal life is. You see, while you were gone we had a surprise visitor.”
“Who?”
“You’ll never believe it.”
Through the open doorway I heard Mrs. Malloy telling Ariel about Madam LaGrange’s expertise in the arena of the supernatural.
4
I’m glad you’re coming,” I told Ben the following morning, “but I doubt it will be more than a turn-around trip. I can’t see the Hopkinses inviting us to stay for a few days. Especially after your saying Tom sounded as though he couldn’t wait to get you off the phone last night.”
“He was understandably embarrassed.”
“It’s Ariel’s finger-crossed hope they’ll feel under an obligation, especially as we are taking her back.”
“Who knows?” Ben handed me a pair of his pajamas to put in the suitcase. We were in our bedroom, a roomy apartment with warmly aged dark oak furniture and rose-patterned chintz fabrics. Bright sunshine poured in through the windows, as if eager to atone for the storm. “Betty may enjoy demonstrating her detective skills to you and Mrs. Malloy by flaunting a spyglass when looking under rocks for the body of the missing husband.”
“Who, according to Ariel”-I zipped up the case-“is in reality off on a safari or climbing Mount Everest. It seems the more probable scenario. Had his absence aroused suspicion, there would surely have been a hue and cry from the police.”
Ben eyed me thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you Ariel is hoping you’ll blow the Mr. Gallagher’s Ghost theory out of the water as a means of publicly humiliating Betty? That kid is a tough little customer if ever I saw one.”
“That could be a front.” I crossed to the dressing-table mirror and assessed my reflection critically. “She’s vulnerable. That’s something I can understand because so was I at her age. Where she’s thin and pasty, I was podgy and pie-faced. Under those circumstances, one learns either to stand up for oneself or let the bullies reduce you to a cowering huddle.”
“You were never pie-faced.” Coming up behind me, Ben placed his hands on my shoulders. “Must I punish you for such statements?” His lips brushed my neck.
“That’s how I saw myself. It didn’t help that I sat next to the prettiest girl in our class. Her name was Bridie O’Donnell. She had beautiful black curly hair, perfect skin, and the bluest eyes. I used to go to bed at night and pretend I was her. For good measure I gave myself a wonderful singing voice, a flair for languages, and the ability to perform cartwheels.”
“I bet you could give her a run for her money now.”
“Nice of you to say, Mr. H.” I smiled at him in the mirror and decided that I did look better than might have been hoped when I was twelve or thirteen. My hair had decided to comply that morning and stay put in its chignon, and a flick of mascara had brought out the green in my eyes, matching rather nicely the dress I was wearing. “Perfume,” I said, reaching for the bottle, but Ben turned me to face him.
