“I had to do something,” he said. “Work is the only excuse the Harpies will accept for my absence.” He frowned down at me. “You’re not planning to roll out the red carpet for them, are you?”
“I’m not planning on it,” I said, “but if Amelia asks me to come over, I will. She hasn’t met Charlotte and Honoria before. She may need my support.”
“No,” Bill declared adamantly, getting to his feet. “I can’t let you face those dragons unprotected.”
“I won’t be unprotected,” I said. “Bess will be with me.” I caught his hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Bill, and Amelia will be a lot less nervous without you there, huffing and puffing and muttering death threats under your breath. I could be wrong, but I don’t think her wedding plans include a double homicide at Fairworth House.”
Bill laughed in spite of himself.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t ask you to come over,” he said. The clock on the mantel shelf chimed softly and he bent to kiss Bess and me. “I’d better be on my way or the boys will start making beds for themselves in the hayloft.”
He kissed me a second time, then left the study. He’d closed the front door behind him before it dawned on me that I’d failed to do the one thing I’d set out to do when I’d entered the study. Although I’d been closeted with Aunt Dimity for nearly an hour, I hadn’t asked her a single question about Arthur Hargreaves.
“I’ll ask the villagers about him after church tomorrow,” I murmured complacently. “You don’t know it yet, baby girl, but we’re surrounded by the most comprehensive spy network on the planet.”
Chuckling softly, I settled in to savor another moment of private bliss with Bess.
Five
A moderately alarming telephone call from my father-in-law’s fiancée interrupted our pre-church readiness drill the following morning. I picked up the phone in the kitchen, leaving Bill to run a wet comb through Rob’s hair, make sure Will’s socks matched, place Bess in her car seat cum carry cot, and replenish the diaper bag’s ever-diminishing contents.
“I’m afraid William and I won’t attend church today, Lori,” Amelia began. “And I’m very sorry to say it, but we’ve canceled brunch as well.”
I blinked in surprise. My father-in-law seldom altered his routines. On Sundays, as regular as clockwork, he attended the morning service at St. George’s, then hosted a family brunch at Fairworth House. He seemed to regard each activity as a sacred duty, so it came as something of a shock to hear that he was backing out of both. Since the weather was flawless, I could think of only one reason for his defection.
“Is William ill?” I asked.
“Not in the least,” Amelia replied. “He’s in fine fettle at the moment, but I think—and he agrees with me—that he should conserve his strength before his sisters arrive tomorrow.”
“How right you are,” I said feelingly. “William will need all the rest he can get before Honoria and Charlotte invade Fairworth House because he won’t get much while they’re there. What time do you expect them?”
“Noon or thereabouts,” said Amelia. “I plan to be here by nine, to oversee last-minute preparations. Not that there will be much for me to oversee. As you know, Deirdre Donovan is an excellent housekeeper.” She hesitated, then went on more quietly, as if she didn’t wish to be overheard. “To tell you the truth, Lori, I’m a bit apprehensive about meeting William’s sisters. I gather they can be somewhat . . . overwhelming.”
“Overwhelming is one way to describe them,” I said dryly. “I can think of a few others. But don’t worry, Amelia. Bess and I will be there to soften them up for you. We’ll go straight to Fairworth House after we drop Will and Rob off at school.”
“And Bill?” she asked.
“He’s swamped with work,” I replied, resisting the temptation to inform Amelia that Bill had swamped himself with work for the express purpose of avoiding his aunts. “He’ll be chained to his desk all week—there’s no avoiding it—but he and I will come to William’s dinner on Saturday.”
“Wonderful,” said Amelia. “What time should I expect you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be with you as fast as I can,” I promised.
It crossed my mind to ask Amelia if Willis, Sr., had ever spoken to her about Arthur Hargreaves, but a glance at the kitchen clock told me that I had to cut the call short or risk arriving at church even later than usual.
“I’m sorry, Amelia, but I have to dash,” I said. “Give William my love. Tell him his granddaughter can’t wait to see him.”
“I will,” she said. “Please convey our apologies to the vicar.”
“Consider it done,” I said.
I said a final good-bye, then dropped the phone onto its cradle and ran outside to join Bill, Will, Rob, and Bess, who were waiting for me in our canary-yellow Range Rover.
“Who called?” Bill asked as he backed the Rover out of our gravel driveway and into the lane.