What spoke do you propose to put in his or her wheel?
“No idea,” I said, “but I’ll think of something.”
I’m sure you will. Your meeting with Marigold Edwards should prove to be quite instructive.
“Don’t worry, Dimity,” I said. “I’ll wangle the truth out of her.”
I have the greatest respect for your wangling skills, Lori, but before you employ them on Finch’s behalf, may I make a suggestion?
“Fire away,” I said.
You have thus far spoken with three people about Marigold Edwards.
“Mr. Barlow, Lilian Bunting, and Amelia,” I said, nodding.
It’s a rather small sample upon which to base such a momentous conclusion, don’t you think? I suggest you spread your nets wider. Chat with Peggy and Sally and the rest of your neighbors. Ask them to describe their encounters with Marigold’s clients.
“Why bother?” I said. “I already know what they’ll say. They’ll claim they behaved with perfect propriety.”
Perhaps they did. The only way to know for sure is to ask them. If the encounters went well, you may have to rethink your suspicions. If they went badly, your suspicions will be vindicated. Either way, you’ll be better prepared for Friday’s meeting.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take Bess for a stroll through the village tomorrow. I’ll chat with whoever met Marigold’s clients. And I’ll try not to let my suspicions get in the way of the facts.”
Excellent. Now, about Charlotte and Honoria . . . What on earth inspired them to discuss Finch’s fate with you?
“They were discussing it with each other,” I said. “And they weren’t simply discussing Finch’s fate—they were inventing it. They can’t imagine why anyone would live in Finch year-round, so they came up with a story about a developer transforming it into a summer retreat. When they finished taking potshots at Finch, they took aim at Amelia.”
Was William present?
“Most of the time,” I said. “When he was in the room, the Harpies pretended to be concerned about Amelia because they have it on good authority that all artists are drunk, drug-addicted lunatics.”
What utter nonsense. I hope William leapt to Amelia’s defense.
“He calmly explained to them that Amelia isn’t a drunk, drug-addicted lunatic,” I said. “I would have gone after them with a hatchet, but I’m a little more excitable than William.” I smiled mirthlessly. “I’m also on to their game, which he isn’t.”
What did they say about you?
“Let’s see . . .” I counted on my fingers. “I’m old, I’m fat, I’m a lousy dresser, and I’m ruining Bill’s career by forcing him to stay away from the office because I’m also a lousy wife and an incompetent mother. Oh, and Bess should be called Elizabeth because only ignorant peasants like me use nicknames.”
What kept you from going after them with a hatchet?
“I didn’t have a hatchet,” I said. “I had Bess, though, and she was terrific. Once she started howling, the aunts couldn’t get rid of us fast enough.”
Why was Bess howling?
“I’m not sure,” I said. “She had a full belly and dry diapers and she certainly wasn’t lonely.”
Perhaps she objected to her great-aunts’ unkind remarks.
“Bess is barely fifteen weeks old, Dimity,” I said, giggling. “If she understood a word they said, we may have a genius in the family after all.” I stretched my legs out on the ottoman and got ready to astound Aunt Dimity. “Speaking of geniuses, you’ll never guess where we went after we left Fairworth House.”
I presume you went to the Emporium to purchase a hatchet.
“You’re not even close,” I said, laughing. “Bess and I went to Hillfont Abbey to visit the Summer King. The faux abbey matched your description. It’s a whimsical country house loosely based on a historical model, but it’s more than that, Dimity, much more. . . .”
I told Aunt Dimity everything I’d told Bill, but in far greater detail. My eyelids were drooping by the time I finished my epic tale, but it was such a pleasure to talk about Arthur Hargreaves instead of Bill’s aunts that I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
“I’ve never met anyone less uppity than Arthur,” I concluded. “He’s as unpretentious as his mix-and-match tea set and he’s the exact opposite of mean-spirited. If Peggy Taxman could see him with Bess, she’d change her mind about him. And his allegedly mysterious corporate connections aren’t mysterious at all. He traveled the world, giving lectures to students who later became CEOs. It’s as simple as that.”
He has since turned into a recluse, however, so Charles and Grant weren’t entirely wrong to refer to him as the Hermit of Hillfont Abbey.
“If Crabtree Cottage were half as interesting as Hillfont Abbey,” I said, “Charles and Grant would become the Hermits of Crabtree Cottage. I can understand why Arthur loves his home. Besides, someone has to look after the children.”