“And you’ve had Bill to help you, of course,” said Honoria. “Such a dear, thoughtful man.”
“Honoria and I were delighted to hear that he went into the office today,” said Charlotte. “He’s spent so much time at home with you and the children that we were beginning to think he’d retired.”
“Bill’s a wonderful husband and father,” I said stoically. “I don’t know how I would have managed if he hadn’t taken time off from work after Bess was born.”
“You could have hired a nanny,” Honoria said brightly. “But I suppose a fully qualified nanny might object to working in such a remote location. Where on earth would she go on her day off? There’s nothing for miles around except fields and sheep.”
Bess shifted her head restlessly, but relaxed when she heard her grandfather’s voice.
“Finch is not as remote as it might seem,” he said. “Oxford is nearby and the local market town of Upper Deeping is no more than twenty minutes away.”
“I believe we passed through Upper Deeping on our way here,” said Honoria, adding dismissively, “It seemed like a quaint little town.” She turned toward the entrance hall. “What can be keeping Amelia? Does your fiancée always leave you alone when you entertain guests, William?”
“Perhaps she’s lost,” Charlotte suggested. “Fairworth House must seem like a maze to her after her cottage.”
“Amelia has not always lived in a cottage,” Willis, Sr., informed her. “Her previous home was twice the size of Fairworth House.”
“Was she compelled to sell it?” Honoria asked, feigning sympathy. “Artists are so often the victims of their own excesses.”
“They are,” Charlotte said in a sorrowful tone of voice that was equally bogus. “An eminent psychiatrist told me that creative people are prone to alcoholism, drug addiction, and a whole host of mental illnesses.”
I glanced at Willis, Sr., hoping he’d seen through their act, but he appeared to take their barbed comments at face value.
“Amelia is guilty of no excesses,” he said. “She came to Finch because her former home no longer suited her.”
Charlotte and Honoria looked thunderstruck.
“She moved to Finch voluntarily?” Charlotte said.
Before Willis, Sr., could respond, Amelia returned to the drawing room, carrying the bouncy chair.
“Forgive me,” she said, nodding apologetically to each of us. “I was detained by a telephone call. William? A messenger delivered the papers you were expecting. They’re on your desk in the study.”
“Please excuse me,” Willis, Sr., said to his sisters. “Although I have retired, a few of my clients still rely upon me.”
“Business before pleasure,” said Charlotte, “is our family motto.”
“A motto your son would do well to remember,” said Honoria, with a sly, sidelong glance in my direction.
“Run along, William,” said Charlotte. “Take as much time as you need. We’ll indulge in a little girl-talk while you’re gone.”
Willis, Sr., left for the study and the sisters fixed their poisonous gazes on Amelia.
Amelia looked as though she’d collected her wits as well as the bouncy chair. She placed one at my feet and used the other to start a conversation about gardening. She must have thought that no one could attack her on such a neutral subject, but she’d scarcely begun to speak when Charlotte cut her off.
“Did you really come to Finch of your own volition?” Charlotte asked.
“Y-yes,” Amelia stammered, thrown off her stride. “After my husband died, my old house felt like a mausoleum. I wanted a cozier home and I found one in Finch.”
I knew that Amelia had come to Finch to hunt for something other than a cozy home, but I would have undergone oral surgery without anesthetic before I revealed her secrets to the Harpies.
“But there’s nothing to do here,” Honoria expostulated.
“A common misconception,” said Amelia. “Finch is, in fact, a hive of activity. We have the harvest festival, the Nativity play, the flower show, jumble sales, sheep dog trials—”
“The full country calendar,” Charlotte interrupted sarcastically. “I’m sure you find ways to keep busy, Amelia, but you can hardly compare a flower show to the opera or a harvest festival to the symphony.”
“I wasn’t comparing—” Amelia began, but again she was cut off.
“You’re being unfair, Charlotte,” said Honoria. “You can’t expect to find the same level of sophistication here as you do in Boston. Operas and symphonies would be wasted on the local inhabitants. One would be casting pearls before swine.”
“Very true,” said Charlotte. “I’m sure the villagers are content with their jumble sales and their sheep dog trials. Simple pleasures for the simpleminded.”
Bess pulled her head out of the crook of my neck and let loose a wail a banshee would have envied. The sound seemed to pierce Amelia’s heart, but the sisters were more concerned about their eardrums.