“He can’t be blamed,” said Lucy. “People have such colorful ideas about my mother’s second marriage that the truth sounds dull, even to me. The fact is, Swann kept . my mother sane during a very trying period in her life.”
“Tut.” Swann spread a generous slab of butter on his bread. “Anthea’s the sanest woman I’ve ever known. A bit balmy about horses, I’ll grant you, but I can live with that.” He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and added, in a stage whisper, “I’ve had to. I’d never laid eyes on a loose box until I married Anthea, but I’ve mucked out more than my share since.”
Lucy got up to collect the soup bowls and serve the soufflé, then took her seat again. “The director of Cloverly House called to tell me that you’d visited Uncle Williston,” she said. “It was very kind of you, Lori. I hope my uncle wasn’t too much of a shock for you.”
“He would’ve been more of a shock if you hadn’t filled us in on Julia Louise and her two sons,” I told her.
“I thought he was lovely,” said Nell. “He really thinks he is Sir Williston.”
“He does,” Lucy agreed.
“Why was Sir Williston afraid of his mother?” Nell asked. “I was very surprised when Uncle Williston told us that he was afraid of Julia Louise.”
I slowly turned my head to look at Nell. I’d studied the transcript she’d pilfered from Sir Poppet, and I could remember no mention of Julia Louise’s name. What was she up to?
“I can’t imagine why he told you that,” Lucy was saying. “Sir Williston had no reason to fear his mother. He was a good and dutiful son—quite the opposite of his brother.”
“That would be Lord William,” said Nell.
“Lucy and Anthea are balmy about Julia Louise, too,” Swann put in, directing his comment to me. “In my humble opinion, J.L. was a dreadful old dragon.”
“Swann,” Lucy murmured, shaking her head tolerantly, as though she’d heard it all before.
“I’m familiar with Anthea’s research,” Swann reminded her. “She was up half the night showing it off to Cousin William, so it’s fresh in my mind. Honestly, Lucy, think about all those lawsuits Julia Louise instigated. A day didn’t go by when she wasn’t picking a fight with someone.”
“She was protecting her family’s interests,” Lucy explained calmly.
Swann continued his protest, regardless. “Then, to top it off, she sends her own flesh and blood into exile for sowing a few wild oats.”
“She was protecting her family’s good name,” Lucy asserted.
“Well, it was a lucky stroke for Lord William, if you ask me,” said Swann. “It was poor Sir Williston who had to stay at home with the dragon.” He waved a crust of bread in Nell’s direction. “I think young Nell has it exactly right. I think Sir Williston must have been terrified of Julia Louise. I know I would have been.”
Lucy opened her mouth to reply, but Nell spoke first.
“Did Julia Louise have a ward?” Nell inquired. “A young orphan girl, perhaps, whom she took in and looked after?”
Lucy looked perplexed. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Something else Uncle Williston said,” Nell replied easily. “It’s not important.”
Lucy lifted a forkful of soufflé, then set it down again. “The thing you must remember about my uncle,” she said earnestly, “is that he isn’t so much re-enacting an historical event as ... hiding behind an historical disguise. He interprets everything through the filter of his own illness.”
“That’s what we were told at Cloverly House,” said Nell, and promptly changed the subject by asking Swann if she might brew a pot of Sir Poppet’s herbal tea for me. I gave a brief summary of the tainted-pudding episode, and while Nell prepared the tea, Swann entertained us with a series of anecdotes about his own encounters with exotic foods in far-flung places. He was in the midst of explaining that declining dog meat in Beijing was nearly as difficult as detecting it when I gave a yawn so big I nearly inhaled my teacup.
“Oh, I say, do forgive me.” Swann looked contrite. “You must be knackered after your long drive. Lucy, take your cousin upstairs immediately. A lie-down before dinner will do her a world of good.”
The bedroom Lucy took me to was furnished country-style—a double bed with a simple oak headboard and a patchwork coverlet, a chintz-covered easy chair and ottoman, an oak wardrobe and dresser, and a colorful braided rug on the floor. Reginald was sitting on the bedside table, beside the telephone.
“He’s adorable,” said Lucy, crossing to pick Reg up. “Have you had him for a long time?”
“Ever since I can remember,” I said, blushing. I wasn’t used to introducing Reg to strangers.
“It’s so sweet of you to bring him with you.” Lucy sank onto the armchair, touching her nose to Reginald’s pink snout.