You’ve always had a hungry mind, Lori. It sounds as though Arthur fed it.
“That’s it,” I said enthusiastically. “You’ve hit the nail on the head, Dimity. Arthur’s like a walking, talking encyclopedia, but he wears his knowledge lightly. He dispenses it with a diffidence and a sense of humor that makes you forget how much you’re learning. He must have been a fantastic lecturer. I could listen to him all day, only he wouldn’t let me because he’s as curious about people as I am.” I sighed happily. “I don’t think I could ever be bored at Hillfont Abbey. I don’t think anyone could.”
I’m not sure your neighbors will agree with you. Will you tell them that you strode willingly into enemy territory?
“Enemy territory,” I scoffed. “Arthur Hargreaves isn’t my enemy. If the villagers give me the stink-eye for saying so, so be it. Their disapproval won’t keep me away from Hillfont.”
Their disapproval might, however, interfere with the friendly chats you intend to have with them tomorrow.
“True,” I acknowledged. “It’s awkward to chat with people who’ve turned their backs on you. I’ll save my scandalous news for another day.”
A wise decision. I’m somewhat surprised that Arthur made no mention of the feud.
“I think he’s as oblivious to it as his great-great-grandfather was,” I said. “And I’m not going to be the one who brings it up with him. It makes the villagers look moronic.”
Blind prejudice is moronic. The only way to combat it is with education.
“Everyone’s a teacher,” I said, smiling fondly as I repeated Arthur’s words. “Maybe my job is to teach my neighbors to stop being such idiots.”
I pressed the Test button on the baby monitor, to make sure that it was still working.
Is something wrong, Lori?
“I think it’s called twitchy mommy syndrome,” I replied. “I thought Bess would be fussy after her action-packed day, but I haven’t heard a peep out of her.”
Perhaps she’s conserving her lung power. She may need to rescue you from Bill’s aunts again.
“If Bess can plan that far ahead,” I said, “we definitely have a genius in the family.” I stifled a yawn, then glanced again at the monitor. “If you don’t mind, Dimity, I think I’ll look in on my little genius before I turn in.”
I don’t mind in the least. You, too, have had an action-packed day. I look forward to hearing the conclusions you draw from tomorrow’s tour of Finch.
I didn’t think my tour of Finch would alter my opinion of Marigold Edwards one iota, but I was too groggy to debate the point.
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” I said. “Good night, Dimity.”
Good night, Lori. Sleep well.
The curving lines of royal blue ink faded slowly from the page. I returned the blue journal to its shelf, twiddled Reginald’s ears, turned off the lights, and went upstairs to the nursery.
The baby monitor hadn’t misled me. Bess was sleeping as peacefully as I would be as soon as my head hit my pillow. I glanced at Bianca, wondering if the white unicorn had the same calming effect on my daughter that my pink bunny had always had on me. Smiling, I gazed down at Bess.
“If you did rescue me from the aunts,” I whispered to her, “keep up the good work. As long as we have your howl, we won’t need my hatchet.”
Seventeen
Bill had opened up a can of worms when he’d suggested that Didier Pinot reexamine his will. The busywork he’d concocted for the sole purpose of avoiding his aunts had, much to his dismay, turned into real work. He couldn’t stop at home after Tuesday’s school run because he had to rush in to the office to discuss further changes Monsieur Pinot wished to make.
“Hoist by his own petard,” I said to Bess. “Or, to put it another way, it serves Daddy right!”
It was nearly eleven o’clock. Bess and I were in the Range Rover and on our way to Finch. I’d hoped to leave for Finch earlier, but the clean-dirty diaper cycle and a series of volcanic eruptions from Bess had delayed our departure. I was in my third blouse of the day. Bess was in her fourth onesie.
The weather couldn’t have been lovelier. A brief rain shower in the small hours had left the world gleaming. I made a mental note to thank the Summer King for his handiwork the next time we met.
Guilt assailed me as we passed Willis, Sr.’s gates. Had I been Amelia, I would have had three weeks’ worth of debilitating headaches, but she was less devious than I was. The aunts were no doubt torturing her over brunch at Fairworth House.