“I was,” I said, realizing at once that Kit had been having a little fun at my expense while I’d been away, to repay me for leaving him with Charlotte.
“And you must have been so very grateful when he caught the branch that was about to fall on you,” said Charlotte.
“I was relieved and grateful,” I agreed, nodding earnestly.
“And if he hadn’t pushed you to the ground when the lightning struck,” said Charlotte, “heaven knows what might have happened.”
“It wouldn’t have been pretty,” I said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Charlotte, “but I’m forced to agree with Kit. It was ill-advised of you to propose an outing in such inclement weather.”
“Yes, it was incredibly stupid of me, wasn’t it?” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“When Bellamy informed me of your unexpected arrival,” Charlotte went on, “I thought you might be the campers responsible for the column of smoke I saw rising above the hills yesterday.”
I popped a last bite of smoked salmon into my mouth and waited for Kit to tell Charlotte how he’d put out the forest fi re I’d started after he’d saved me from the river, the falling branch, and the lightning bolt, but she’d evidently hit upon a subject they hadn’t yet discussed, because he responded truthfully for a change.
“No,” he said, “that wasn’t us. There’s a man camping in Gypsy Hollow, in a small caravan. Lori and I had lunch with him yesterday.”
“He’s absolutely charming,” I said. “He’s spent most of his adult life in Australia, but he lived around here when he was younger.
His name is Leo, and he was so kind to Kit and me, and so funny.”
I looked at Kit and grinned. “Remember his story about the sheep shearing contest and the . . .” My voice trailed off when the expression on Kit’s face changed from one of amusement to one of deep concern.
146 Nancy Atherton
“Charlotte?” Kit asked. “Are you all right?”
I looked at Charlotte. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost.
Her mouth had fallen open, and she’d gone white to the lips. Although she blinked slowly, her breathing was too fast, and she swayed on the couch, as though she were going to faint. She looked so dazed that Kit and I both started forward with our arms outstretched to catch her before she hit the floor. When she managed to stay upright, we sat back, exchanging looks of utter bewilderment.
“Charlotte?” Kit said again. “Would you like me to fetch Mr.
Bellamy?”
“I’m . . . I’m perfectly well,” she said, though there was a distinct tremor in her voice. “Lori? Did you say that the man’s name is . . . Leo?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“How old is he?” she asked.
Kit and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“Sixty?” I guessed. “Give or take a few years.”
Charlotte pressed a trembling hand to her lips, rose from the couch, and walked stiffly to the fireplace. She stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the porcelain shepherd on the mantelshelf.
Then she lifted the delicate figurine from the shelf and held it level with her eyes.
“The man’s eyes,” she said, with her back to us. “Are they blue?”
“Yes,” I replied, mystifi ed.
“Bright blue?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said again. “They twinkle.”
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. The nape of her neck flushed red, and she began to speak in jerky spurts, as though she were choked by a fury so intense that she could barely get the words out.
“The nerve . . . show his face . . . after he . . . My father would have . . . Unforgivable . . . All these years . . . How dare he? How dare he?”
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
147
Although I couldn’t see her face, I could hear her spittle sizzling on the grate and almost feel the waves of rage radiating from her.
With a sudden, savage movement, she hurled the shepherd into the fire, where it shattered into a million tiny fragments. Kit and I goggled at her. In the space of a few minutes, Charlotte had undergone a transformation so complete that she was scarcely recognizable.
We didn’t know what she might do next.
“I’m going for Mr. Bellamy,” Kit said under his breath.
“I’m coming with you,” I whispered back.
We were halfway out of our chairs when the hall door opened and Mr. Bellamy returned, with our clean pullovers, shirts, socks, and trousers folded neatly in his arms. His gaze flitted from Charlotte, who was now muttering to herself nonstop, to the scattered slivers of shepherd that littered the hearth and finally came to rest on me and Kit.
“Please, come with me,” he said to us, without betraying a fl icker of emotion.
I thought it was an excellent suggestion, but Kit hesitated.
“Will your mistress be all right?” he asked.
“Miss Charlotte is none of your concern, sir,” said Mr. Bellamy.
“If you will come this way, please?”