do the trick with the husband. Otherwise, he might say he’d only come out if he had Mr. Scrimshank’s okay.”
“It may still take some persuasion on Melody’s part. Do you have a phone number to give her?”
“Mrs. Cake said it’s in the directory under Ed the Locksmith.”
“Oh, do let’s hope that nothing goes wrong if he agrees.” I shivered, not only because it was chill and damp in the conservatory, even without water dripping from the ceiling, but I also kept seeing little Mr. Tribble’s ghost sitting perilously close to the edge of his chair. If only he had been wearing a seat belt and not been drinking while perched. O vain regrets!
“Death casts a long shadow,” quoth Mrs. Malloy.
“Shadows I can take,” I replied. “I just don’t want any more of the real thing.”
“I’m not going to phone Mel at the office, just in case Big Ears should be listening; I’ll go round and see her again this evening. For right now, if you should want me I’ll be in me bedroom, writing a eulogy to Mr. Tribble. It’s amazing how I’m getting the hang of this poetry business.”
The rest of that day blurred into the rain that sheeted down the windows with very few letups. Ben was fully occupied in shopping for and preparing what could be made ahead for the garden party. We had the occasional idyll, when meeting on the stairs or in the hall. But I stayed out of the kitchen and mealtimes naturally included other people, making it impossible for any real conversation between the two of us. But given what had so recently transpired, I would have basked in our restored happiness, had the feeling not lingered that something of a distressing nature was about to happen.
Wednesday arrived in an uncertain mood. The sky was a watery blue, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds every now and then. The rain had turned to fitful drizzle, but every so often there was a rumble of thunder. When I met Mavis on the stairs, as I was going down and she was coming up, she said, somewhat morosely, that this looked to be a better day than yesterday. I hoped she would be proved right, as I was eager to get out of the house, if only for ten minutes. This became increasingly appealing when an army of cleaners came marching through with enough equipment to scour Buckingham Palace from top to bottom in no time flat.
This convergence put Ariel, who had come fairly speedily out of her Monday shopping sulk, back in a snit. This time it was her father who annoyed her by getting on her again about her hair.
“He’s mad because I wouldn’t go with Betty when she left to have hers done,” she told me. “But I didn’t feel like sticking my head in one of those cooker things.”
“You could have told the hairdresser you like to let your hair dry naturally.”
“I don’t. I hate having it damp around my face.”
I was tempted to tell her to suit herself, as Betty might have done, but a peek out the front door showed clearing skies and I decided not to delay my walk in the grounds any longer. It was not yet noon, which would give me sufficient time before lunch. I felt a little guilty slinking off when the house was swarming with workers, which included Ben in the kitchen and Mavis, whom I’d not seen since she had gone upstairs.
Begrudgingly, Ariel offered to accompany me. So we each donned a waterproof jacket and set off down the drive before crossing onto the lawn that separated Cragstone from the Dower House.
“What does Mavis do when the cleaning crew comes in?” I asked, as we trudged soggily past ornamental trellises and beds filled with flowers now even more lush and fragrant for their good soaking.
“I think she sorts out cupboards, that sort of thing.” Ariel dragged her hood over her head. “Betty says it isn’t fair to make her take every other Wednesday off. It would mess her about where her pay is concerned.”
“That’s thoughtful of Betty.”
“I’ve said she doesn’t have a lot of good qualities. I didn’t mean she has none.”
“She tried hard to find you something nice to wear on Thursday.” Suddenly I realized that was tomorrow.
“I know.” Ariel plodded on, head down. “Next you’ll be telling me a psychologist would say I’m afraid of getting close to her in case one day she isn’t there-just like with my mother.”
“There are always huge risks in loving anyone,” I said.
“Speaking from experience?” She stopped and pushed back the hood.
“Absolutely. I’ve been the worst coward when it came to relationships, and I still have relapses.”
I felt her hand slip into mine as we continued walking. A small glimpse of sunlight warmed my heart. Let her be happy, I thought; she has the possibility of growing into a special woman if her family of three can find their way to one another.
“See who’s coming our way.” She pointed toward the Dower House. “She looks like she’s in a hurry from the way she’s galloping along.”
“She certainly does.” As we drew closer, I could see that Val’s black hair was windblown and heightened color had been whipped into her face. She was wearing a raincoat that was misbuttoned, the belt left dangling.
“Oh, dear!” She shoved back her sleeve to look at her watch. “I’ll have missed it. The bus, I mean. I didn’t hear Aunt Valeria leave and was hoping she was only a few moments ahead and I could catch her on foot. But she must have set off at least ten minutes ago to walk to the bus stop. She’s meeting Lady Fiona in the high street for lunch and she’s forgotten her senior citizen pass, which will ruin her whole afternoon.”
“What a shame,” I said.
Val smiled distractedly. “I don’t understand why she always refuses to let me drive her… Yes, I do.” She paused to exhale. “She wants to keep doing things the way she always has. And everything about her Wednesday afternoon has its routine: the ten-past-twelve bus going and the four-thirty coming back.”
“Ritual has its security,” I said lamely, and heard Ariel giggle.
“It’s not fair for me to try and change her at this stage of her life.” Val plucked at her black curls, and they responded charmingly. “I’ll get my car and go after her. There are several places where she and Lady Fiona could have lunch, but I’ll find them. And if Aunt Valeria has her pass for coming back it should cheer her up a bit.”
“Wouldn’t the driver, seeing her age, overlook her not having it with her?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But there are always those officious types who insist on going by the book.” Val waved as she walked back to the Dower House, where I could see the outline of a car parked outside. In the short time we had spent talking, the mist had thickened.
“Let’s go back inside.” Ariel gave an elaborate shiver.
“Okay.” I turned with her toward Cragstone’s soaring roofline and imposing gloom. “Now tell me, why did you giggle just now when I was talking to Val?”
“You sounded so preachy!”
“Grown-ups do that. It’s to mask our horrible sense of inferiority in the presence of children. We know we are doomed to disappointment where most of them are concerned, and it inevitably takes its toll.”
“You are ridiculous!” She skipped along beside me.
“You need to talk to my brood of three sometime; they’ll be in complete agreement. They don’t find Ben quite so trying. It’s a scientifically proven fact of nature that fathers in seventy-two point three percent of cases get off easier than mothers.”
“Men being the weaker sex? Poor things!” Ariel raised her face to the now sharply blowing wind.
“I hope Val catches up with her aunt,” I said, as we walked up the drive.
“She doesn’t approve of us.”
“Val?”
“No, silly, Nanny Pierce. For one thing, she’s made it clear that she’s not keen on Roman Catholics. That’s why she’s upset that Val’s brother went to live in Ireland, where the place is full of them.”
“But aren’t they Irish?”
“Only way way back, Miss Pierce told me, and she added, ‘Thank God.’ I’m sorry she’s old, but she’s not a nice person. She disapproves of everyone except her dear Mr. Nigel. Would you believe that the other reason she disapproves of us is that she thinks Dad and Betty have a wild lifestyle?”
“Whatever gave her that idea?” We were approaching the steps leading to the front door.
“She said she’s seen car lights coming down the drive several times in the middle of the night. She said so the morning after Mrs. Cake fell down the stairs. She told me the glare through her bedroom window had woken her up at three A.M. I didn’t want to repeat that to Betty and get her going on her murder mystery merry-go-round.” Ariel turned to me and clutched my hand. “But it did worry me, just on the off chance that Nanny Pierce wasn’t hallucinating.” She looked away from me, and I wondered sharply if her reason for wanting Mrs. Malloy and me to come to Cragstone had less to do with proving Betty wrong than with setting her own fears at rest.
