“The owner is a friend of ours, my dear. Young Grayson Alexander...”
“... the duke of Penford. A delightful young man. We met him quite by accident. His automobile ran off the road ...”
“... directly in front of our house...”
“... straight through the chrysanths ...”
“...and the birdbath. So exciting.” Louise sighed with pleasure. “He sent buckets of chrysanths to us afterwards, as well as a new birdbath, and ...”
“... kind Mr. Bantry to roll the lawn and Mr. Gash to repair the wall. We later discovered ...”
“... that we had a dear friend in common. Most unexpected ...”
“... for ours is a very small village.”
“We have kept up with him ever since.”
“It was. unfortunate about his papa, of course.”
“Poor as a church mouse ...”
“... and proud as a lion.”
“Gone now, poor man ...”
“... and now Grayson has the title...”
“... and the estate...”
“... and the worries that come with it. You really must stop by ...”
“... as a favor to us. Penford Hall is on your way...”
“... and you would do us a great service if you would bring him word of our...”
“... continued warm regard.” “Penford Hall?” Emma asked, her eyes widening. “Isn’t that where—”
“Yes, my dear,” Ruth broke in, “but that was long ago and it has all been sorted out...”
“... as we knew it would be. Such a thoughtful young man could not possibly be guilty ...”
“... of truly serious wrongdoing. Here, we’ll send a note with you ...”
“... a little note of introduction.”
Ruth opened her handbag and produced a calling card, while Louise opened hers and withdrew a fountain pen. They each wrote something on the back of the card, then handed it to Emma.
“Now, you must promise us that you will look in on our young friend.”
“And you must visit us on your way back to London.”
“The vicar will be able to find Finch for you on one of his maps.”
“He will be able to direct you to Penford Hall as well.”
“He is clever with maps. He has scores of them in his glovebox ...”
“... and he used every last one to bring us down from Finch today.”
“Come along,” said Ruth. The Pym sisters stood and Emma stood with them. “Let us find the dear man.”
Emma accompanied the two ladies to the car park, where they found the vicar dozing peacefully in the backseat of the Morris Minor. He insisted on presenting Emma with an ancient roadmap, so creased with use that she was afraid it might fall apart in her hands, upon which he marked the location of Penford Hall.
She thanked them all, promised to stop in Finch on her way back to London, and waved them off in a flurry of maps as they began their return journey. When they’d passed from view, Emma looked down at the card in her hand. On the back, the sisters had written:
This is our dear friend, Emma.
She knows gardens.
The parallel lines of curticued script were identical.
3
“Isn’t that where Lex Rex died?”
Mrs. Trevoy, the matronly widow who ran the guest house where Emma had spent the night, leaned so far over the breakfast table that the frills on her apron brushed the top of Emma’s teapot. She answered Emma’s question in a confidential murmur, presumably to avoid disturbing the honeymoon couple breakfasting at the far end of the small dining room. Glancing at the self-absorbed pair, Emma thought that nothing short of cannon fire would have distracted them, but she appreciated Mrs. Trevoy’s sensitivity and kept her own voice down.
“Five years ago,” Mrs. Trevoy hissed. “Went down just outside Penford Harbor, the whole drunken lot of them.” She leaned closer to add, with obvious relish, “Drowned like rats.”
“Drowned?” Emma said, alarmed.