My ears pricked up.
“Do you like to conduct experiments?” I asked. “My father-in-law has seen bright lights in the sky above Hillfont. He’s heard explosions, too. He thinks you’re a fireworks fanatic.”
“I’m fond of fireworks,” Arthur acknowledged, “but I believe your father-in-law may have experienced the side effects of my son’s experiments in rocketry. They’re quite safe,” he added. “Phillip is a cautious and conscientious young man. The European Space Agency is lucky to have him.”
“How old is he?” I asked. “Twelve?”
“Phillip is thirty-two,” Arthur said, smiling.
“A senior citizen,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Honestly, Arthur, I’m beginning to think that every member of your family is a genius.”
“All children are geniuses,” he said, “given half a chance.”
I thought he was underestimating his progeny. Bill and I gave Will and Rob as many chances as we could grab for them, but I doubted that anyone, including me, would classify them as geniuses.
“Who’s the map collector?” I asked, moving on to a section of wall covered with a wide array of framed maps, some of which appeared to be quite old.
“I am,” said Arthur.
“You’d get along with my friend Emma Harris,” I said.
“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding, “the other American.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“Do you know Emma?” I asked.
“I’ve never met her,” said Arthur, “but I’ve heard of her riding school. I believe she’s the only American riding instructor in the entire county. Her fame precedes her.”
“She’s good with horses,” I said. I allowed my gaze to rove over maps of places I’d never been—Stockholm, Albuquerque, Moscow, Tokyo, Mexico City—then pointed at one that seemed familiar. “Is that Boston Harbor?”
“Well spotted,” said Arthur. “It’s a Revolutionary War map drawn in 1775. A colleague presented it to me after I gave a series of lectures at MIT. It was a gag gift, from a resident American to a departing Englishman.”
“Good joke,” I said. I was impressed by the colleague’s generosity. His gag gift had probably cost an arm and a leg. “What were your lectures about?”
“I delivered them so long ago that I can hardly remember,” Arthur replied, “but I think they had something to do with science. They were terribly tedious.”
“Tedious?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I seriously doubt it. You’re the least tedious person I’ve ever met.” I bent to examine a faded, yellowing, hand-drawn map that hung low on the wall. “Is that . . . Finch?”
“Indeed,” said Arthur. “It’s from the fifteenth century—1485, to be precise.” He patted an oak portfolio cabinet. “I have a map of every village within a fifty-mile radius of Hillfont Abbey.”
“Finch hasn’t changed much,” I said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Arthur. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“Why not?” I asked, straightening. “I realize that the cart track is rough and likely to flood if you burst into tears while you’re on it, but if Bess and I could handle it, you could.”
“I seldom leave Hillfont,” he said.
“You go to Tillcote,” I countered.
“I don’t go there often.” He sighed tiredly as he looked from one map to the next. “I gave lectures in each of those cities and many more, Lori. Traveling taught me to appreciate the comforts of home.”
We’d reached the fireplace. A heraldic shield held pride of place above the mantel shelf. The shield’s design was unlike any I’d seen before. Yellow bars divided its sky-blue ground into three equal sections, and each section was emblazoned with a different creature: a bulldog, a bee, and a unicorn.
“That’s our coat of arms,” Harriet said, speaking for the first time since Bess had fallen asleep in her arms. “My great-great-great-great-grandfather made it up because he couldn’t be bothered with inherited knighthoods and peerages. He believed that we each of us make our own way in the world, based on our talents and our hard work. The coat of arms is on our flag, too.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“The bulldog stands for tenacity, the honeybee stands for hard work, and the unicorn represents the power of the imagination,” she explained, as if she’d learned the words by heart. “Ideas start up here”—she tapped the side of her head—“but they won’t go anywhere if you don’t work hard to make them real. And you need to stick with them until you do make them real or until you find out they won’t work. That’s where the tenacity comes in.”
I had a hunch that Harriet was more of a bulldog than a unicorn, but since she was a Hargreaves, I expected her to surprise me.