“You don’t want to hear what I think,” I said. I darted past him and fled up the stairs to the master bedroom, where I slammed the door and locked it. I was not going to give Bill the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
13
Some people are lucky enough to look like Bambi when they cry. I look like Rudolph. I woke up the next morning with a headache and a shiny nose, and promptly blamed Bill for both.
I took a long, hot shower, then pulled on some jeans and a Fair Isle sweater I’d bought in London. When I slid open the door to the deck, a blast of wind nearly knocked me back inside. One glance at the overcast sky told me that this would not be my day for hill climbing, and as my breath condensed in the cold air, I wondered how often it snowed in the south of England in late April.
The back garden almost made up for the gloomy sky. It was spilling over with bright blossoms and the cold didn’t seem to affect them at all—a pair of redbuds were just coming into leaf in the meadow beyond the stone wall. I recalled what Emma had said about the lilacs, but dismissed it when the first windblown splashes of rain sent me back inside to unpack.
I put my books on the shelves, set Reginald’s shoebox in the bottom of the wardrobe, and stowed the rest of my gear in the bureau. I only had enough for three of the large drawers, so I decided to put the emptied canvas bags in the fourth one, and that’s how I found the box. It had been shoved way back in the corner of the bottom drawer, and I would have missed it if it hadn’t shifted forward when I jerked the drawer open.
I carried it to the windows, where a sickly gray light was beginning to leak into the room. Covered with smooth, dark blue leather and die-stamped with a curlicued W, the box fit easily in the palm of my hand, and when I saw a tiny keyhole on one edge, my heart fell. I didn’t want to damage it, but I wanted very much to find out what was inside. If it held a picture of Dimity, it would be the first I’d ever seen.
“Damn,” I said; then, “Oh, what the hell.” I tried the lid and it opened without hesitation. The box held a locket, a gold locket in the shape of a heart, with flowers incised on the front. It hung from a fine gold chain. I lifted it gently from the box, slipped a thumbnail into the catch, and opened it.
It was empty. There were places for two small pictures, one in each heart-shaped half, but they held nothing. I closed the locket and regarded it thoughtfully. According to my mother, Dimity had been looking at albums of photographs when the neighbors had found her alone in the cottage, in a state of nervous collapse. Where were those albums now? What if the photograph that had been given to my mother had come from one of those albums, and what if the page had been labeled, and what if… I hung the chain around my neck to remind myself to search for Dimity’s albums, then went to listen at the hall door.
The wind rattled the windows and the rain pounded the roof, but there was no other sound. I hadn’t heard a peep out of Bill since the night before. With any luck, he’d have the good sense to move in with the Harrises for the rest of the month.
*
The lights had been turned off throughout the cottage, and a fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace in the study, proof, I thought, that Bill had given up on the ghost hoax. If he hadn’t, he would have called upon my alleged magical powers to start the fire for him. I wondered if he had stayed up all night in the study, reading the Aunt Dimity stories and—I hoped—feeling ashamed of himself.
My experience with the crumpets, and the absence of witnesses, gave me the confidence to try an omelette for breakfast. To my great delight, and even greater amazement, the result was light and fluffy and oozing with melted cheese. I ate in the solarium, watching the rain cascade down the glass panes and hoping that the poor vicar’s repairs had been finished in time. When the telephone rang, I went to the study to answer it.
“I do hope I’ve gotten the time change right.” The line crackled with static from the storm, but Willis, Sr.’s thoughtfulness came through loud and clear. “I haven’t disturbed your sleep, have I, Miss Shepherd?”
“No,” I replied, “and it wouldn’t matter if you had. It’s wonderful to hear your voice.”
“Thank you, Miss Shepherd. It is pleasant to speak with you as well. I take it that you have arrived in good order?”
“Paul drove us to the doorstep last night.”
“And the cottage—it meets with your approval?”
“I’d like to wrap it up and bring it home with me,” I said. “I’m in the study right now, looking out through the ivy with the rain pouring down and a fire in the grate. It’s so beautiful… I wish you could see it. And we had a wonderful time in London, too. Bill was… um…”
“Yes, Miss Shepherd? You were saying?”
“Bill was fine,” I said quickly, too quickly to fool Willis, Sr. I could hear his sigh even through the static.
“Would I be correct in assuming that my son has done something objectionable, Miss Shepherd?”