“Okay,” I said, “but why is using the track so important?”
“Quentin felt that when an adult villager ventured up the track and spoke civilly to a member of his family, it would be time to repair the old cart path and to reestablish the connection between Hillfont and Finch.” Arthur cocked his head to one side and smiled. “You ventured up the track. You spoke civilly to me. You, Lori, are Hillfont’s emissary.”
“I don’t recall volunteering for the position,” I said.
“It’s yours, whether you volunteer for it or not,” said Arthur, chuckling. “You’ve already told someone about meeting me, haven’t you?”
“Only my husband,” I protested. “And Grant Tavistock and Charles Bellingham. And Lilian Bunting. And . . .” I suddenly recalled mentioning my first meeting with Arthur to the group of women gathered around Bess in the churchyard after the Sunday service. I cleared my throat. “And I take your point, Arthur. I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut.”
“Which is why you’ll be a wonderful emissary,” he said.
“Can I tell them everything?” I asked.
“It’s entirely up to you,” he said. “If you want your neighbors to know that the only thing keeping them in their homes is a form of charity, then by all means, tell them everything. There’s a remote possibility that the media might pick up the story, but your neighbors are strong enough to handle it. It wouldn’t dent their pride to be known in Tillcote, for example, as charity cases.”
I smiled wryly.
“Another point taken,” I said. “Your secret is safe with me.” I turned my head to gaze at the yellowing map of Finch, then looked up into the Summer King’s blue eyes. “If it weren’t for your family, Arthur, Finch wouldn’t be Finch. I’ll never let the villagers know how much they owe you, so you’ll have to let me thank you on their behalf.” I rolled onto my knees and leaned forward to kiss his weathered cheek. “Thank you, Arthur. Thank you for protecting my village.”
“Shall we join the children?” he proposed, his eyes dancing. “Shall we watch the kites?”
“We shall,” I said. “After I change Bess’s diaper.”
Arthur’s laughter filled the room and this time I joined in. There would always be kindly laughter, I thought, in the realm of the Summer King.
Twenty-three
I had every intention of sharing Arthur’s remarkable story with Bill and with Aunt Dimity on Friday evening, but life got in the way. A flat tire during the school run, a cricket ball through the kitchen window, and an exploding diaper that would have taxed the cleanup skills of a fully trained hazmat team made me glad simply to crawl into bed at an early hour.
I spent Saturday morning persuading Will and Rob not to pack every toy, book, and piece of clothing they possessed for their overnight at Anscombe Manor. I spent Saturday afternoon brushing lint from Bill’s tux, searching my closet for an evening gown I could squeeze into, and listening to Bill grumble about his aunts. By the time we finished dressing for dinner, I was ready to stuff a sock in his mouth, but I thought I looked pretty good.
I’d chosen a strapless gown in midnight-blue silk satin primarily because it would allow easy access to the snack bar, but also because its mermaid shape flattered my motherly figure. Bill was too busy girding himself for battle to notice.
I’d dressed Bess in a pretty pale-blue cotton frock Sally Cook had made for her, then added a few backup onesies to the diaper bag in case she needed a quick change en route. The diaper incident was still fresh in my mind.
At half past seven, we climbed into the Rover and drove to Fairworth House. Deirdre Donovan greeted us at the front door, looking as lovely and as unflappable as ever.
“William and Amelia are in the drawing room with the tartars,” she murmured as she relieved us of our coats and the diaper bag.
“How do you do it?” I said quietly. “You’ve had to kowtow to them for nearly a week. Why haven’t you ripped your hair out by the roots?”
“It’s simple,” she said. “I’ve discovered what they like to eat.”
“Diet pills?” I hazarded.
“Vodka martinis,” said Deirdre. “Stirred, extra dry, no olives. They lap them up like a pair of thirsty puppies, then doze off. They’re not bad company when they’re asleep.”
“Ingenious,” I said.
“Let’s get this over with,” Bill growled, squaring his shoulders.
I gave Deirdre a speaking look.
“Stay cool, Bill,” she said. “I’ll have you out of here by ten.”
“Nine would be better,” Bill muttered.