Every time I put out an elbow I was afraid I would never see it again. But after a few minutes I was able to separate the adults from the squealing squalls of children. Girls with flying hair raced past; boys in T-shirts, blue jeans, and sneakers bumped into me. Their faces continued to blur, but occasionally I found myself returning a broad smile, some minus front teeth and others a silvery flash of braces. I eased my way between two women holding cups of tea and talking their heads off. They were raving about the sausage rolls, mini-Cornish pasties, and wonderful little cakes with fondant icing.
“Have you tried the salmon patties with the lemon dill sauce?” one woman, in a dwarfing broad-brimmed red hat, asked another.
“Not yet,” floated the reply. “I’m devouring my fourth chicken wing. The fresh ginger glaze is divine. And I’d have two seafood tartlets left on my plate, if some fiend hadn’t snatched them in passing.”
“The food’s much superior to what was served in previous years. I wonder who did the catering.”
I stopped in my tracks but had no time to do more than draw a breath before Lady Fiona drifted up to me. Today she was attired in misty gray chiffon and a marvelous hat in the same shade. She was sufficiently tall that the wide brim accentuated her height rather than diminished it, as had been the fate of the woman in the red straw hat.
“Good afternoon, your ladyship.” I held out my hand and she took it in a surprisingly firm clasp.
“How pleasant to see you again, Mrs. Honeywood. I remember, you did ask me to call you Edith. If you would be so kind, please mention this sad business about Nanny Pierce to your aunt when you next communicate. I am sure she would wish to know.”
“Certainly,” I murmured, catching sight of Betty standing with Mrs. Malloy.
“Not that they got on particularly well. Nanny once made a rather tactless remark to her, saying that Gibraltar was a rock even a seagull wouldn’t land on willingly. I regret to say, not too many people liked her very well-not your aunt; I am referring to Nanny. I’m afraid being fond of her fell almost entirely on my husband’s shoulders. It really is amazing he didn’t run away from home more often, and why I never thought I could remonstrate with him about it when he did.”
“How very awkward.”
“We all have our trials. Nanny Pierce was ours. I wonder if that great-niece of hers will object to my moving into the Dower House? It was always Nigel’s and my dream to retire there. A change of scene for people our age… a new beginning, so invigorating.”
“Absolutely.”
“My dear, you are so like your aunt. I do hope her hair stopped falling out. Ah, I believe I see Mr. Scrimshank; I want to ask him if he’s had any more phone calls from Nigel. If you will excuse me…” She ebbed away and I cut a path through the throng toward Betty and Mrs. Malloy. In getting to them, I passed Frances and Stan Edmonds, whose smiles had the determined sheen of people who have had their feet trodden on once too often. My impression of Stan was the same as formerly. He did resemble a weasel. But that meant nothing; looks can be deceiving. Although I doubted that was the case with Mr. Scrimshank, whose dead brown eyes were on Lady Fiona as she talked to him.
Reaching my targets, I asked Betty if Ariel had changed her mind about joining the madding crowd.
“I just saw her flit by with a couple of children her age.”
“Her hair looked nice.” Mrs. Malloy swallowed lemonade as if wishing it contained something stronger.
“She let me do it for her. She even agreed to wear the dress I bought her at the beginning of the summer, which hadn’t been off the hanger. I’d be celebrating if I weren’t scared half out of my mind, wondering who’s going to end up dead next. It’s not about playing detective anymore. It’s a matter of how Tom and I are going to sleep at night, worrying whether Ariel is safe in her bed.”
I could have said she was worrying about that unnecessarily; there was no reason to fear the girl was in danger, she being no threat requiring removal, even if Lady Fiona had murdered both her husband
“It’s that blasted underwire poking at me again. I didn’t mean to wear this one again. It was for the ragbag when I got home, but I picked it up by mistake.”
No time for commiserations; we were interrupted. A man came up and held out a spoon containing an
“Would you mind taking this?” he said. “Some child just palmed it off on me, saying she’d be back in a minute, but I’ve seen someone I need to speak to, so if you wouldn’t mind…” He was there, and then he was gone. I had that nudging feeling you get when trying to place someone. His dark hair was threaded with silver, and I associated him somehow with the wild outdoors. He was Heathcliff in conventional clothing. Except for one thing. There was something sadly amiss with his ears. The left one was twice the size of the right one. Some afflictions, as in Lord Darkwood’s interesting limp and noble scars, add to a man’s heroic appeal. But, unfairly, mismatched ears didn’t cut it.
“There’s a piece of paper under that egg,” said Mrs. Malloy.
“There is?” Betty stared down.
I removed the egg and set it in a saucer on a nearby table and, when Betty picked up the small folded square, did the same with the tablespoon.
“Go on, open it up. See what it’s got written on it.”
“There may not be anything.” Betty’s hand was shaking. “Maybe the child wanted something to hold the egg better in place.”
“Don’t be daft,” said Mrs. Malloy. “That’d be more hindrance than help. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s egg-and-spoon races. Like I’ve told Mrs. H, if they was ever to put them in the Olympic games, me sister, Melody, would get a gold medal.”
Betty unfolded the paper. After standing stock-still for the count of ten, she said she couldn’t show it to us. “It’s the message Nigel spoke about at the seance. He told me not to tell anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean us, we’re Johnnies on the spot,” retorted Mrs. Malloy. “Anyway, if that voice was from the spirit world, the man had his head in the clouds and can’t be counted on to talk sense.”
Betty held the paper as if afraid it would explode; then in a trembling voice read the words aloud: “
“My goodness!” Mrs. Malloy’s taffeta bosom heaved. “Should we take that to mean that’s where we’ll find-”
“No,” I said, “because we won’t go looking. Mr. Gallagher’s grizzly remains can wait for the police.”
“I won’t!” Betty flared. “I gave Nigel my word and I intend to keep it.”
“Let’s at least find Tom,” I urged.
“And waste time while he tries to talk us out of it? He’s a wonderful man in many ways, but action has never been his forte. Besides, Nigel’s instructions were specific. I’m to go alone.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “Like it or not, Mrs. Malloy and I are coming with you.”
“If you insist.” I glimpsed relief on Betty’s face before she turned on her heel, weaving between and around the clusters of people still capable of enjoying the afternoon.
“I hope this isn’t Ariel’s idea of a practical joke,” I said to Mrs. Malloy, as we followed closely behind. “Somehow I can’t believe she’d pull something this unkind. She seems to have been making strides in her relationship with Betty, but that girl is so unpredictable.”
“Only one way to find out, Mrs. H.”
“If not Ariel, why the roundabout way of passing the note to Betty?”
“Maybe Nanny had a premonition that something would happen to her and left instructions with someone to get the information to Betty without Lady Fiona’s knowledge, and whoever it was didn’t want to be involved any more than possible.” Mrs. Malloy marched ahead of me.
We caught up with Betty in the passageway between the two parts of the house and went up the back stairway and into the west wing through the heavy door. The unease I had experienced on my first visit returned in full force when we stepped into the wainscoted ballroom. Betty turned on all lights, but no amount of electricity could push back the crouching darkness. I glanced nervously at the wardrobe looming in the corner ahead of us.
