“Wait a minute,” I said. Emma’s leaden hints had been falling thick and fast all morning, so I was ready to call a halt to what was clearly a manufactured argument. Emma and Derek weren’t fighting for the privilege of conveying me to Haslemere, they were trying to stop me from getting behind the wheel and driving there myself. They had no faith whatsoever in my driving skills. They were afraid I’d put the Mini in a ditch or wrap it around a light pole, or something worse. They were, in my opinion, overreacting.
I wasn’t that bad a driver. It was true that I was occasionally rattled by oncoming traffic when driving on the wrong side of the road. It was also true that I tended to hug the verge in self-defense. And I could scarcely deny that I’d flattened four side mirrors against the hedgerows lining the narrow lanes around Finch, and scraped enough paint off the passenger‘s-side door to keep Mr. Barlow busy for weeks with his retouching tools. But I’d never had an actual collision with another vehicle, and I’d ended up in a ditch only once, when the sharp bend near the Pym sisters’ house had been covered with ice.
“Thank you for your concern,” I went on, “but we’re not calling the police, and neither one of you is driving me to Haslemere.” I raised my hand to silence Derek’s protest. “If Aunt Dimity’d thought the police could help, she would’ve told me to call them, just as she would’ve told me to take the train if that had been a better idea. But she didn’t. She told me to drive down to Haslemere, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Train’s a good idea,” Derek muttered, folding his arms. “What in the word could be so essential about having a car?”
“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe I’ll have to make a fast getaway. Derek,” I went on, more gently, “listen to me. Do you honestly think that Dimity would have come back from two years of resting in peace if she didn’t think William was in serious trouble?”
Derek lowered his eyes and shrugged.
“But that shouldn’t keep you from letting one of us do the driving,” Emma persisted.
“You’d have a nervous breakdown if I dragged you away from the garden right now,” I told her firmly. “And as you pointed out, Derek has a roof to repair. I won’t be held responsible for a dripping bishop. He’s not a well man as it is, and—”
“Be that as it may,” said Derek, drawing himself up to his full and considerable height, “I can’t possibly permit you to drive all that way by yourself. Even if you don’t crash the Mini, you’re sure to get lost. You’ve never even been to Haslemere.”
“Bertie and I have,” Nell said quietly. She rose to stand between her father and stepmother. “We’ve driven with Lori, too. She’s a good-enough driver, as long as she has someone with her to watch for signs and read the road maps. And I’m brilliant with maps. You said so yourself, Papa.”
Was Nell volunteering to come with me? I looked at her, surprised, and a little sheepish. I hadn’t treated her very nicely so far today, and I wanted to make it up to her. If she felt the need to come along, I’d give her my support. I wouldn’t mind the company, and, besides, she really was good at reading maps.
Derek rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know, Nell ... Dimity implied that the situation might be dangerous.”
“I’ll look after Nell,” I promised. “I’ll see to it that she fastens her seat belt and doesn’t come to any harm.”
“And Nell’s perfectly capable of looking after herself,” Emma reasoned.
“Please, Papa,” Nell added, and Ham trotted over to nuzzle Derek’s hand.
What choice did the poor man have? He was outnumbered, three to one—four to one, counting Ham. He nodded, grudgingly, and Nell flew into his arms.
“With two provisos,” he added. “No driving after dark, and no driving in London.”
“Done.” I got up from my chair. “Remember—not a word to Bill about this. If he calls, tell him ...”
“Tell him we’ve gone to Saint Bartholomew’s to see the bells,” Nell suggested.
“Perfect.” I smiled approvingly at Nell. “Now, a quick bite of lunch before we leave, I think.”
I hadn’t been in the mood for breakfast, and I wasn’t about to embark on any expedition on an empty stomach. While Nell ran home to throw a few things into an overnight case, Emma, Derek, and I repaired to my kitchen to fix a salad-and-sandwiches lunch that ended with a plateful of the butterscotch brownies I’d baked the night before. I’d used my mother’s old recipe, a great favorite from my childhood, and as Nell and I cleared away the crumbs, I wondered when I’d get a chance to make a batch again.
The bag Nell had packed was about five times larger than the usual overnight case, so perhaps she sensed what I sensed. Something told me that our search for Willis, Sr., wouldn’t end after a brief visit with Cousin Gerald. When Aunt Dimity got involved, things almost always turned out to be more complicated than they seemed.
6.