seated, she sat midway between us, on the Chippendale sofa. The fi re’s warmth almost made me forget the chilly corridor.
“Bellamy insisted on the dressing gowns,” Charlotte explained apologetically. “They belonged to my late parents, who were rather more extravagant than I am.” She sighed. “Dear Bellamy. He’s terribly protective of my things.”
“He has every right to be,” I said. “We were fi lthy.”
“Yes, he told me that the storm caught you out,” she said. “I do hope you’ll be able to fi nd your way when you leave.”
“We will,” I assured her.
“Bellamy tells me that you’re an American, Lori,” said Charlotte. “How long have you been in England?”
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“Nearly eight years,” I replied. “I live in a cottage not far from here, with my husband and my sons. And a nanny and a cat,” I added, in the interest of full disclosure.
I thought my answer would pique Charlotte’s curiosity, but she simply nodded politely, then turned her attention to Kit.
“And you, Kit?” she said. “Where do you live?”
“I have a flat in Anscombe Manor,” he said. “It’s not far from Lori’s cottage.”
“Anscombe Manor,” she said, and something seemed to freeze behind her eyes. “How long have you lived there?”
“Several years, recently,” said Kit. “But I spent the earliest years of my childhood there as well. My family once owned the manor. I should be familiar with the trails by now, but the storm—” He broke off, interrupted by Charlotte’s short gasp of surprise.
“You’re Christopher,” she said, putting a hand to her breast.
“Christopher Anscombe-Smith. You’re Sir Miles’s son.”
Kit looked as startled as Charlotte, and I thought I knew why.
Only a handful of his closest friends knew his full name, and none of us ever used it. And no one, including Kit, ever talked about his father.
“Did you know my father?” he asked Charlotte.
“Not well,” she said, shaking her head. “But I knew your mother.
She was closer to my age than your father was. She married quite young.”
Kit shifted his gaze from Charlotte’s face to the fire. “My mother was twenty-one when she married. She was nearly twenty years younger than my father.”
“She died young, too.” Charlotte sighed. “What happened to Sir Miles? I lost touch with him after he remarried.”
I watched Kit from the corner of my eye, wondering if he would tell Charlotte DuCaral the truth. Would he tell her that his father had hanged himself after a long battle with severe mental illness?
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Or would he tell her simply that Sir Miles Anscombe-Smith had died?
“He died nine years ago,” said Kit.
I looked down at my hands. I couldn’t blame Kit for withholding the details of his father’s death from Charlotte. If my father had committed suicide, I would have been equally reluctant to discuss it with someone I’d just met.
“I’m so sorry,” said Charlotte, and she sounded as if she meant it. “Ah, here’s Bellamy with the tea. I know it’s too early for tea, but I thought you might enjoy it after your adventures.”
A soft knock had sounded at the door, and Mr. Bellamy reentered the music room, pushing a three-tiered tea trolley. A splendid old silver tea service and three bone china cups and saucers sat on the top tier, but the lower two held serving dishes filled with the cakes and cookies I’d seen cooling on the counter in the kitchen.
Mr. Bellamy rolled the trolley to within Charlotte’s reach, bowed, and departed.
“Shall I pour?” Charlotte asked, placing the silver tea strainer on one of the cups.
Her question made me uncomfortably aware of how much I’d already had to drink in the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” I said. “May I use the restroom?”
“Of course,” said Charlotte. “It’s at the opposite end of the corridor from the staircase, on the right.”
“Please don’t wait for me,” I told her, getting to my feet. “I may be a while.”
“Take your time, dear,” she said.
I could feel Kit’s suspicious gaze follow me out of the room, but I chose to ignore it. After closing the door behind me and making sure that I had the corridor to myself, I took off my slippers and held them in one hand while I hiked up my kimono with the other. Then I ran full-tilt for the lavatory. I planned to use it as speedily as nature would Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
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allow, because I also planned to make a small excursion before I returned to the music room.
If Kit was unhappy about being left alone with our inquisitive hostess, he had only himself to blame. Since he refused to stay overnight at Aldercot Hall and since I refused to stay overnight there without him, I had no choice but to make the most of today’s visit. If I didn’t dash up to the attic right then, I reasoned, I might never have another chance.
“I won’t break down the door, Dimity,” I muttered. “But I can’t leave Aldercot Hall without trying the handle.”