“Living out of a duffel bag gets old after a while,” Cassie explained, “as does living in huts, tents, and rusty old caravans. Peter and I love the wilderness, but it isn’t the best place to raise a family.”
“A family!” I exclaimed, putting my good hand out to Cassie. “Are you—”
“Not yet,” she said, laughing, “but I hope to be, soon.”
Peter gazed at his wife with such tenderness that tears sprang to my eyes even as I smiled. I might never have another child of my own, I told myself, but I’d have the infinite pleasure of pampering theirs.
“Cassie and I were ready to put down roots,” said Peter, “but we didn’t know where to put them until an old friend told us that Mum was getting fed up with her role at the riding school.”
I blinked back my tears and went on the alert. If Peter’s old friend turned out to be Dabney Holdstrom, I’d know for certain who Aunt Dimity’s puppeteer was.
“Who told you about Emma?” I asked. “And when were you told?”
Peter and Cassie exchanged speculative looks.
“It must have been five, maybe six, days ago,” Peter replied, “though it seems like a lifetime ago. One of Mum’s horticultural chums wrote to me, to let me know about the situation at home. Her name is Beverley St. John. She lives near Upper Deeping and she was around a lot when Mum and Dad first bought Anscombe Manor. She helped Mum with the landscaping.”
“Peter calls her Auntie Bev,” said Cassie. “He’s known her since he was a boy and they’ve always kept in touch.”
“Did Auntie Bev mention a man named Dabney Holdstrom in her letter?” I asked.
“No,” Peter answered. “Who’s Dabney Holdstrom?”
“Never mind,” I replied. “Tell me about the letter.”
“Auntie Bev told us what Mum hadn’t told us,” said Peter, “because Mum never complains.”
“And suddenly, the way ahead seemed clear to us,” said Cassie. “We hated the thought of sponging off our families, but if we could earn our keep by taking on a job Emma detested, everyone would be happy. We wouldn’t feel like parasites and Emma wouldn’t be chained to a desk.”
“We talked it over, rang Mum, and here we are,” said Peter. “Your new old neighbors.”
“I couldn’t be more pleased,” I said. “Will and Rob will turn cartwheels when they see you.”
“We’ll be there to greet them when they show up for their lessons tomorrow morning at . . . eight?” Cassie said tentatively.
“Eight it is,” I said. “You’ve learned the schedule already. I’m impressed.”
“It’s a work in progress,” she cautioned. “I’ve just about memorized Saturday, but the rest of the week is still a blur.”
The horses tied to the hitching post whinnied as a car pulled into the driveway.
“Bill’s home early,” said Peter, turning to look through the bay window. “Our cue to leave, I think. We’ll say a quick hello to him and be on our way.”
“I’m so glad you came by,” I said. “Thanks again for all the presents.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow night,” said Cassie, rising. “Look after your thumb.”
“I won’t have to,” I told her. “Bill will look after it for me.”
My comment was meant to be humorous, but it proved to be an accurate description of Bill’s intentions. When I told him I’d spent the morning chatting with Mr. Barlow and Selena Buxton as well as with Peter and Cassie Harris, he locked the front door, carried me upstairs, and forbade me to leave the master bedroom, regardless of how many times the doorbell rang. He made a lovely asparagus omelet for my lunch and left the room while I ate it, so I wouldn’t be tempted to expend energy talking to him.
In truth, I had no energy left to expend. I finished the omelet, pushed the tray aside, and settled down for a long-delayed, much-needed nap. Will and Rob tiptoed into the bedroom at some point and I assured them drowsily that Mummy was fine, but nothing else penetrated my overtaxed brain until morning.
Twenty-one
As usual, Aunt Dimity was right. Sleep was the best medicine. I woke at half past seven on Saturday morning, feeling almost normal. My thumb ached a little, but not enough to require medication, and the room didn’t tilt when I got out of bed.
I put on my bathrobe and wandered downstairs to find a note on the kitchen table informing me that Bill had taken Rob and Will to their riding lessons and would, at their urgent request, stay to watch their jump class.