The door was unlocked, so a desperate person could have taken what he needed from the motor home, but after surveying its cramped quarters I decided that a person would have to be truly desperate to need anything that Leo owned. His possessions were so shabby that they would have been rejected by a thrift shop.
Kit nodded at a neat pile of logs that filled the space between the bed and the small table. “He carries his own fi rewood.”
“Now we know how he got a fire going in such damp weather,”
I said.
“He must still be in the village,” said Kit.
154 Nancy Atherton
“I hope so.” I looked from the dented teakettle to the frayed blanket that covered the tiny bed. “It’s easy to see why he needs an infusion of cash. He doesn’t exactly live in the lap of luxury.”
“He seems happy, though,” Kit said.
“I know,” I said. “He’s cheerful, charming, generous. . . . How could such a nice man make Charlotte so angry?”
“Families are funny things,” said Kit. “He might show one face to us and an entirely different face to his sister.”
“Multiple personality syndrome,” I said wisely as we climbed out of the motor home.
“I wish you’d give the jargon a rest, Lori,” Kit said, with a tired sigh. “Not every character trait is a mental illness, and as you said before, you’re not an expert on the subject.”
I blinked at him, then ducked my head and colored to my roots, suddenly aware of how tactless it had been of me to harp on mental illness in the presence of a person whose father had suffered so cruelly from depression that he’d eventually hanged himself. I felt terrible, but I didn’t know how to apologize without mentioning Sir Miles, which would only make matters worse.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, too embarrassed to meet Kit’s eyes.
“Forget about it,” he said shortly. “Do you want to wait for Leo, look for him in Finch, or head home?”
“Home,” I said unhesitatingly. With my trousers soaked through again, I didn’t want to stay outdoors any longer than I had to.
“Let’s go,” said Kit.
We made our way through the gap in the trees to the muddy track that led to Anscombe Manor. An awkward silence hung between us until, at last, Kit spoke.
“I’ll look in on Leo in the morning,” he said. “In the meantime I’ll run an online search and see if the Web can tell us anything about the DuCarals.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m as useless with computers as I am with horses.”
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
155
“You won’t be useless with horses for much longer,” said Kit. “I hope you haven’t forgotten your promise to take riding lessons.”
“I haven’t,” I said, grimacing. “But I was hoping you had.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Lori,” said Kit. “I’m a superb instructor.”
“Humble, too,” I muttered.
Kit smiled, and the tension between us dissolved.
“If there’s nothing on the Web,” he said, returning to the main topic of our conversation, “and if I fail to connect with Leo, I have another idea. How would you like to spend a day in Upper Deeping?”
“What’s in Upper Deeping?” I asked.
“The Upper Deeping Despatch, ” he replied. “It’s been the local newspaper for nearly a hundred years. We might find some mention of the DuCarals in the Despatch’s archives.”
“It’s worth a try,” I said, brightening. “In fact, I’d like to search the archives regardless of what happens with Leo and the Web. We could find some valuable information there—like birth announcements for two DuCaral brothers.”
“It’ll have to wait until Monday,” Kit warned. “The office is closed on Sunday.”
“Monday’s fine by me,” I said. “I couldn’t go tomorrow anyway.
Annelise is spending the day with her fiancé, and I promised to take Will and Rob to the Cotswold Farm Park after church.”
“All right, then,” said Kit. “I’ll pick you up at the cottage at nine on Monday morning, and we’ll see what we can find in Upper Deeping.”
Kit offered to drive me home when we reached Anscombe
Manor, but I was able to turn him down because, as I explained to him, Mr. Barlow had kept his promise. An old, beat-up, rust-red Morris Mini sat among the sleek sports cars parked in front of the manor house, looking like a potato in a bouquet of tulips.
“Now, there’s a car I can drive in dirty trousers,” I said.
156 Nancy Atherton
“I don’t think Mr. Barlow will mind,” Kit agreed.
“I don’t think Mr. Barlow will notice, ” I said contentedly.
I dumped my day pack in the Mini, then went with Kit to the stables to check in with Annelise. I found her chatting with Fabrice, one of Nell’s many French admirers, while the twins watched the local farrier shoe Rocinante, Nell’s chestnut mare. Kit had evidently worked out a signal with Will and Rob, because before I quite knew what was happening, the twins’ hands were in mine and I was being led, gently but inexorably, to Toby’s stall.
The old gray pony stood with his head over the stall door. He snuffl ed when he saw the boys.
“Toby’s saying hello, Mummy,” Rob explained.
“You can let him smell your hand,” said Will. “He won’t bite.”