“We were both shaken up, and as we sat there that afternoon, we began to remember all sorts of things that we had dismissed as they were happening, little things—warped boards that straightened overnight, tools that were always at hand when we needed them, boxes of nails that never seemed to run out—all sorts of things that we could explain in all sorts of ways, except when we added them up. When we did that, we had to admit that, as impossible as it seemed, something—or someone—was… helping us. I thought it sounded preposterous, until Derek reminded me of an even stranger experience we’d had in an old chapel in Cornwall. In the end, I was forced to agree that something extraordinary was taking place.”
It sounded so familiar; all the little, easily explained happenings that added up to something inexplicable. I realized that I was sitting there with my mouth hanging open, so I closed it, then said, “Well, at least she’s a friendly ghost.”
Emma laughed. “Yes, we were pretty sure we knew who was helping, but we didn’t know why.”
“Until Bill’s father called you.”
“Almost a year after Dimity died, the cottage was as complete as we could make it. Soon after that, Mr. Willis contacted us to ask us to get it ready.” Emma stood and rummaged through another shelf on the dresser until she found a tin tea caddy similar to the one at the cottage. Prying off the lid, she sat down again. “The day before you arrived, I went over to the cottage to stock the pantry. In the middle of the kitchen table I found this.” She pulled from the caddy a single piece of pale blue stationery. The note read: Thank you. By then I knew the handwriting as well as I knew my own.
“I can see now why you wanted to warn me,” I said.
Emma put the note back in the caddy and returned the caddy to the shelf, giving me a sidelong look. “Our motives weren’t entirely selfless. If all of that had happened to the bit players, we couldn’t wait to see what would happen to the star. I take it that there have been further developments?”
“You could say that.” I reached for the manila envelope.
*
Because of her previous experiences, Emma took the story of Reginald and the journal in stride. She was far more intrigued by my mother’s account of Dimity’s collapse.
“That’s a new one on me,” she said. “Dimity never breathed a word about it to us, and if anyone in Finch knew of it, I’m sure we would have heard by now. As for the location of the clearing… I think I may be able to help you there. I discovered orienteering when I moved to England. It’s taught me the value of recognizing landmarks.” She noticed my blank expression and explained, “It’s a kind of cross-country race, using a map and compass.”
“Is that what Derek meant when he said you were always off roaming the countryside?” I asked.
“I’m afraid my husband doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the sport,” she replied. “But Peter and Nell and I belong to a club in Bath. It frequently holds meets in this area.” She pointed to one of the distant hills in the photograph. “It’s hard to say for sure—places like this change so much over the years—but I think… I think that’s the ridge Peter fell from last summer. No damage done, but it took a while to get him back up to the top. We came in last that day. Let me get some of my maps and—”
“Will this do?” I offered her the topographic map.
“Oh, yes, that will do nicely,” said Emma. “Now, let me see….” Her eyes darted back and forth from the photo to the map, as her finger moved along the curving lines. “They have contests like this in the orienteering magazines,” she commented. “I must say that I never expected to…” Her finger stopped. “I think… yes, that has to be it. I should have recognized it right away. It’s much steeper and more heavily wooded than most of the hills around here. It’s called Pouter’s Hill.”
“It’s right behind the cottage?”
“It’s part of the estate,” Emma explained. “I’ve never been up there myself, but it’s the correct orientation to give you this view of those hills.”
“Is that a path?” I asked, touching a broken line that ran up the hill.
“Yes,” said Emma. “It starts on the other side of the brook out back.” She pointed. “Here. From the way it’s marked I’d say that it was pretty rough going. I wouldn’t try it today if I were you.”
“Just knowing where it is is enough for now.” I started as a cold nose nudged my hand. Ham had come to claim a reward for his good behavior and he’d certainly earned it, curled patiently on his blanket while the humans had chattered endlessly. “Hello, you sweet thing.” I scratched behind his ears and glanced at Emma for permission to give him a treat from the table.
She shrugged. “Why should you be any different?” Ham approved of my oatmeal cookies, too, and wolfed down three of them before Emma called a halt. “Would you like to have a look round the place?” she offered.