“He was drunk at the time,” I reminded Kit.
“Precisely,” he said in an oddly elated tone of voice. “He was drunk.”
I could almost hear the gears clicking in his brain, so I did nothing more to disrupt his concentration until we reached the Mini, when I said, “I assume you’re concocting another cunning plan.”
“It’s a fairly straightforward plan, actually,” he said. “Meet me here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and be prepared for a hike.
We’re going back to Aldercot Hall. I need to speak with Henrietta.”
He smiled down at me so suddenly and so sweetly that it was as if the sun had risen in the night sky. “You had it right from the start, Lori.
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Leo is a nice man. He and I are going to be great friends.” He gave me a quick, strong hug, then spun on his heel and headed for the courtyard and his flat.
I leaned against the Mini, to recover from the smile and the hug, then slid behind the wheel and started the engine. As I drove back to the cottage, I marveled at the powerful pull of family ties. A few short hours ago, Kit would have recoiled in horror from the thought of revisiting Aldercot’s kitchen for any reason. Now he was so bent on proving his newfound uncle’s innocence that he was willing to place himself within Henrietta Harcourt’s astonishingly long reach and risk having his pretty chin chucked yet again.
I’d taken a bullet for my children, but my sacrifice seemed trivial compared to the one Kit was making for Leo. Families, as Kit had so wisely noted, were funny things.
It was half past nine when I walked into the cottage, and everyone, including Stanley, was in bed and asleep. I regretted missing the twins’ bedtime, but when I went upstairs to look in on them, I reminded myself that, since the odds of a train filled with chlorine gas derailing next to their school yard were microscopic, there would in all likelihood be many more bedtimes to come.
When I went back downstairs, I found a message from Annelise lying on the kitchen table, conveying the wonderful news that Bill would be home on Thursday, barring further cat fights within the Shuttleworth clan. I crumpled the message and tossed it into the wastebasket, then went to the study to fill Aunt Dimity in on the day’s events. After giving Reginald’s ears an affectionate twiddle, I lit a fire in the hearth and sat in the tall leather armchair with the blue journal in my lap.
Aunt Dimity’s handwriting curled across the page as soon as I opened the journal.
Did you and Kit have any luck in Upper Deeping?
“Yes,” I said, “but it wasn’t the luck we expected. We didn’t discover anything new about the DuCarals, but we found out who Leo is.”
200 Nancy Atherton
The Leo who’s camping in Gypsy Hollow? The cad who toyed with Charlotte DuCaral’s affections?
“Yes and no,” I said. “Leo is camping in Gypsy Hollow, but he never meant to toy with Charlotte’s affections. You’re not going to believe this, Dimity, but it turns out that Leo is Kit’s uncle.
Kit’s mother was Leo’s older sister, and she invited Leo to stay at Anscombe Manor forty years ago. . . .”
I launched into a dramatic recapitulation of Leo’s story, telling Dimity of his misspent youth, his transformative love for Charlotte, her parents’ staunch opposition to the match, and the midnight elopement that had ended in heartbreak and tragedy. When I finished, several minutes seemed to pass before Aunt Dimity responded.
Well? What are you going to do about it?
“What am I going to do about what?” I asked.
What are you going to do to exonerate Leo Sutherland?
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but Kit has a plan. We’re returning to Aldercot tomorrow morning to talk with Charlotte’s cook, Henrietta Harcourt. I don’t know what Kit hopes to accomplish, but he seems to think—” I broke off as Aunt Dimity’s fine copperplate sped across the page.
You’re being obtuse, Lori. Kit is trying to find out if Leo killed Maurice DuCaral intentionally, accidentally, or at all. Since there’s a great deal of difference between murder, manslaughter, and grievous bodily harm, I think you’ll agree that it’s important to establish the facts. Leo was drunk at the time of the shooting, so his account of the affair is unreliable. Maurice and Madeline DuCaral are dead, so Kit can’t turn to them for the truth. There is, however, one other person who was there that night and who might be willing to tell Kit what really happened.
“But Henrietta’s only been at Aldercot Hall for a year or so,” I said. “She won’t be able to—”
Not Henrietta, my dear dunderhead! The gamekeeper!
“Oh. Oh. ” My eyebrows shot up as the penny finally dropped.
“I’d forgotten about the gamekeeper. He was on the scene before Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
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Madeline showed up. He may have witnessed the whole encounter between Leo and Maurice.”