Nell proved to be an ideal traveling companion. She got me from Finch to Oxford without a hitch, and I couldn’t fault the route she’d laid out after that. The multilane M40 wasn’t a shortcut to Haslemere, but it was relatively wide, generally straight, and as boring as porridge.
Nell was a good passenger, too. She didn’t cling to the armrest or gasp in horror, at any rate, the way Bill did when I drove in England, and her occasional reminders to stay in the center of the lane weren’t prefaced with a semi-hysterical “For God’s sake, Lori ... ”
She didn’t make wisecracks about my car, either. Granted, the Mini wasn’t much bigger than a skateboard, but that was fine with me. Any car that made me feel like the smallest target on the road was fine with me. As far as I was concerned, the Mini’s only drawback was a lack of luggage space, but that didn’t seem to bother Nell. She was content to hold Bertie in her lap, and if she had any objections to stacking her large suitcase on the backseat atop the even larger case she’d insisted on packing for me, she kept them to herself.
I was pleasantly surprised. I’d never spent much time alone with Nell, in part because the opportunity seldom arose, and in part because I found her a bit daunting. She seemed so cool and distant, so self-contained, more mature at twelve than I’d been at twice her age. She dressed beautifully, spoke fluent French, and knew better than to mention birthing stalls in polite company. She didn’t talk much at all, in fact, and I was curious to know what was going on beneath that mop of golden curls. I’d have a twelve-year-old of my own to deal with one day, God willing.
Nell was looking somewhat pensive as we hit the M40, staring down at Bertie, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Worried about William?” I asked.
“No,” she said distractedly. “I’m worried that Bertie might be sick. He looks a bit peaky, don’t you think?”
Bang goes the myth of Nell’s maturity, I thought, with an inward smile. “Hold him up so he can see out of the window. It might help take his mind off of his tummy.”
Nell lifted the chocolate-brown bear from her lap and turned him to face the passing scenery. A quarter-mile later, she nodded. “Much better. Thank you, Lori. I expect you’ve had the same trouble with Reginald.”
“Not really,” I told her. “Reg is a good little traveler, though I don’t think he’ll enjoy being carted around in William’s briefcase.”
“He’ll be fine,” Nell said serenely. “William will, too, as long as Aunt Dimity’s there to look after them.”
“A disembodied bodyguard?” I smiled again, outwardly this time, not because Nell’s words were funny, but because they could well be true. In the past, Dimity had shown herself to be a less-than-blithe spirit toward those people she deemed objectionable. She’d haunt Cousin Gerald’s hide off if he so much as thought about harming Willis, Sr. “I suppose you’re right,” I admitted, “but all the same, I’m not too happy about the way William left the cottage. It’s not like him to rush off without telling anyone.”
“Oh, but, Lori, it is,” Nell said earnestly. “It’s exactly like him. If he’d told us he was going, we’d have wanted to go along, and he couldn’t allow that.”
“Why not?” I asked, intrigued.
“Because there might be trouble,” Nell replied, with a soft but nonetheless rapturous sigh. “He doesn’t mind facing it on his own, but he’d mind very much if you or I were dragged into it.”
“You think he’s being chivalrous?” I said thoughtfully. A shadowy corner of my mind had been busily manufacturing nightmares about senile dementia, but Nell’s astute observation cast a new light on the situation. My father-in-law was a classic gentleman—in his book, women and children always came first. If he’d wanted to leave the cottage on some dangerous mission, his only choice would have been to wait until he was alone, then make a run for it, leaving no tracks for us to follow. “I have to hand it to you, Nell. I do believe you’ve hit the nail on the head again. I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to why he’s gone to see Cousin Gerald.”
“I have, but ...” Nell gave me a hesitant, sidelong glance. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“Break it to me gently, then,” I coaxed.
“William’s told me once or twice that he hasn’t enough work to do back in Boston.” Nell stopped to look at me again.
“Has he?” I said uneasily.
“Yes. He said that Bill was doing everything and that he felt ... sort of ... useless,” Nell explained. “I think he may have gone to talk to Cousin Gerald about—”