A glance at the clock on the bedside table told me that it was seven o’clock. I stared drowsily at the raftered ceiling for a while, wondering what my neighbors in Finch were saying about the strangers who’d moved into my cottage. Devoted gossips one and all, the villagers were no doubt having a field day inventing stories to explain our departure. I took some pride in knowing that we’d provided them with such a rich, ongoing source of entertainment. Compared to their inventions, the true story would probably fall flat.
Chuckling quietly, I placed Reginald on the bedside table and reached for Aunt Dimity’s journal, curious to find out what, if anything, she’d learned about Brother Cieran while I slept. I leaned back against a heap of pillows and opened the blue journal on my lap, but before I’d opened my mouth, Aunt Dimity’s fine, old-fashioned copperplate flew across the page.
You must tell Damian about the light.
I sat up a bit straighter. “It wasn’t Brother Cieran?”
Definitely not. Much of what Sir Percy told you about Brother Cieran is true, but the poor soul left the islet some centuries ago. He is no longer “in residence,” as you so tactfully put it, nor is the old earl. I don’t know what created the light you saw, and I don’t like not knowing. If Abaddon is hiding out on Cieran’s Chapel,
“How could he be?” I cut in. “How could he know where we are? Even if he did find out, how could he follow us so quickly? We’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, Dimity. And how on earth could he get out to that forsaken chunk of rock?”
Anyone can hire a boat, Lori, and e-mail can be sent from anywhere. Abaddon may have already been in Scotland when he started sending his vile messages to Bill. I don’t know how he could have discovered your present location, but you mustn’t assume he hasn’t.You must tell Damian about the light. Let him investigate it. It may have nothing to do with Abaddon, but surely it’s better to know one way or the other.
I leaned my chin on my hand, grimacing. “Damian’s going to be incredibly unhappy with me for not telling him the truth right away.”
Are you a timid mouse quaking in the corner or a bold lioness defending her cubs? Put some starch in your backbone, Lori, and tell Damian.
I cocked an ear toward the foyer and heard the familiar thunder of little feet. “I’ll tell him, Dimity, but I have to go now. My cubs are on the prowl.”
I managed to stash the journal in the bedside drawer mere moments before Will and Rob came scampering into the bedroom. Clad in sweatshirts, jeans, and sneakers, they bounced onto the bed, demanding that I get dressed.
Rob sprawled across the duvet and kicked his heels in the air. “We’ve been awake for ages, Mummy.”
“Andrew wouldn’t let us come down until a decent hour,” Will informed me.
“It’s a decent hour now,” Rob pointed out.
“Time to rise and shine,” Will declared. “Andrew’s taking us to the beach after breakfast.”
“And the sun doesn’t last all day,” Rob concluded sagely.
“Andrew?” I called. “May I speak with you?”
The young man came into the bedroom. He was wearing another colorful rugby shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and looking rather anxious, as though he expected me to scold him for setting the boys loose on me.
“Thanks for keeping Rob and Will occupied for so long,” I said. “I haven’t slept past six since they were born. When’s breakfast?”
A relieved smile swept across Andrew’s freckled face. “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Rob and Will thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“Ten minutes is all I need.” While Andrew retreated to the sitting room, I shooed the boys off the bed and got ready to face the morning.
Damian joined us for breakfast in my sitting room, and although he wasn’t the life of the party, he’d at least dressed down for the day, in a blue crewneck sweater, khakis, sneakers, and a loose-fitting rain jacket. I’d followed my sons’ example and donned sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. After we’d eaten, I followed Damian’s example and added a rain jacket.
Andrew hoisted a large day pack to his back. He’d filled it with plastic buckets and spades, the twins’ cricket bats, and their rain jackets. When I asked if he’d included a bottle of sunblock, he nodded.
“Rain gear and sunblock,” he said, chuckling. “Tells you all you need to know about April in Scotland.”
“Which is why we should be going,” said Damian, getting to his feet. “The weather could turn ugly in an instant.”
On that optimistic note, we boarded the elevator, descended to the tower’s ground level, and entered a circular chamber that had been converted into a changing room for beachgoers. It held a shower stall, curtained cubicles, marble benches, and open shelves filled with fluffy towels. There were no windows, but the plastered walls had been decorated with trompe l’oeil paintings depicting seaside scenes.
Damian led the way to a side door and nodded casually at another door half hidden in shadows on our left.