Aunt Dimity Takes A Holiday Part 5

The question begged for laughter, but I could only manage a wan smile. "Whoever's threatening to kill him, for a start."

I'm sorry?

I shoved all thoughts of Bill and Gina to the back of my mind and concentrated on telling Dimity about the poison-pen letter and the torched topiary.

It would certainly hurt Simon to hurt Hailesham. He loved it here when he was a boy.

"He loves it even more, now that he's grown up." I thought for a moment, then went on. "Nell Harris seems to connect the fire to Simon, too. When Edwin told her not to worry about it, she gave Simon one of her meaningful looks."

Nell's skilled at reading people, as I'm sure you've discovered. What's your opinion?

"It's arson," I said bluntly. "I could smell kerosene from fifty yards away. If you combine arson with a death threat, it's hard to avoid the conclusion that Simon's being singled out for hara.s.sment." I reached over to twiddle Reginald's ears. "I wonder if he's up to something or if the letter-writer's just plain crazy."

It could be a bit of both. Simon was a charming boy, but he had a streak of mischief in him as well. He rather enjoyed disconcerting people.

"He still does," I said, recalling the touch of his fingertips on my face.

Ask Simon if he knows why the writer objects so strenuously to his presence at Hailesham. I doubt that he'll give you a straight answer, but ask nonetheless.

"I intend to." I looked toward the balcony. "It must be an inside job, Dimity."

I agree. Edwin's always been a stickler for security. A stranger would find it difficult to flit about the property unnoticed.

There was a pause as Dimity collected her thoughts. Has anyone else received a nasty letter? You might inquire.You should also make it your business to discover who had the opportunity to deliver the letter to Simon's room.

"I suppose one of the servants could have done it," I said, "or any of the others who arrived before he did. I'll find out."

Have you told Bill about the death threat?

"No," I said, and hurried on. "He's been really busy since we arrived and he was exhausted when we finally came upstairs, and if I told him, he'd insist on calling the police."

True. As an attorney, Bill's accustomed to utilizing official resources. He might even be correct in doing so. A death threat should never be taken lightly, Lori.

"I'm not taking it lightly," I said. "I'm respecting Simon's wishes. He asked me not to tell anyone about it."

Simon asked you to keep a secret from your husband? And you agreed? Dimity didn't write tsk, tsk, but I could almost hear her clucking her tongue. Tread carefully, Lori. You've walked this path before.

I was sorely tempted to tell her that my husband had fallen asleep with another woman's name on his lips, but I kept silent. How could I question Bill's behavior when my own track record was less than spotless? I'd never been unfaithful to him-in the strictest sense of the word- but Dimity knew that I'd had more than my share of close calls. She was tactfully reminding me of my unfortunate susceptibility to charming men to whom I was not married.

"I'll be okay," I a.s.sured her. "Simon's such a flagrant flirt that I'd be embarra.s.sed to be seduced by him."

Three cheers for self-respect. Now, tell me, what did you have for dinner?

"For dinner?" I blinked, surprised by the change of subject, then remembered that Dimity was supposed to be enjoying a carefree holiday. "Consomme, poached salmon, roast partridge, white asparagus, lemon sorbet, treacle tart, fresh peaches, and the usual a.s.sortment of wines and cheeses."

Treacle tart? An unusual choice for such a formal meal, but I'm sure it was delicious. In my day, Edwin was known far and wide for the splendor of his table. I'm glad to know that high standards still prevail. Did he use the family dinner service?

"The china was marked with the Elstyn crest, if that's what you mean," I said.

Lovely. And were you able to cope with the partridge?

"I poked the knife into the joints, the way you told me to, and the legs just fell off." I frowned in puzzlement. "Why do you suppose Simon wants me to meet him in the library?"

Isn't it obvious, my dear? He wants your help in finding the books vandalized by the poison pen.

I chided myself for not catching on more quickly, then remembered that I hadn't been thinking very clearly when I'd left the rose garden.

It seems our holiday at Hailesham Park will be every bit as adventurous as you predicted.You must promise me that you'll conduct your investigation with the utmost caution. Poison pens are notoriously unstable. If ours discovers that you're in league with Simon, he may come after you as well.

Her warning tweaked my curiosity. "Has anyone ever sent you a death threat, Dimity?"

Yes, once, long ago. It's an occupational hazard for anyone with wealth.

I nodded thoughtfully. "What did you do about it?"

I turned it over to Scotland Yard. They never discovered who sent it. But I did.

I sat up, intrigued. "Who was it?"

One of my most trusted a.s.sistants. She made the mistake of clipping letters from a report issued by the Westwood Trust. The typeface was unusual and the report had a limited circulation. It didn't require much delving to reveal the culprit's ident.i.ty.

"Did you turn her in to the police?" I asked.

I had no choice but to inform the authorities. She'd become dangerously deranged, Lori, which is why I want you to be on guard.

"I'll watch my step," I promised.

In the meantime, I suggest that you turn the light out and get some rest.You must be alert tomorrow.

"Good night, Dimity."

Sleep well, my dear.

I waited until her words had faded from the page, then set the journal and Reginald on the bedside table, climbed under the covers, and switched off the light. I leaned back against the mound of pillows and gazed silently at the wall that separated my room from Simon's.

I was glad he'd come to me with the threatening letter. I'd been looking forward to guarding Derek, but the prospect of taking an active role in Simon's investigation was more appealing still. There was a certain thrill in knowing that a madman-or madwoman-walked among us.

Who would it be? I wondered. Who hated the likable Simon enough to attempt to drive him away from the grand reunion?

Derek's was the first name that came to mind. My friend didn't seem overly fond of his cousin, and had reason to resent him. While Derek was the earl's estranged and hostile son, Simon was the earl's favorite. As such, he posed a potential threat to Derek's inheritance.

"No, Reg, it can't be Derek," I said, glancing at my pink bunny. "He's not sneaky enough. I can picture him punching Simon in the nose maybe, but I can't see him pasting together an anonymous death threat. It must be someone else."

Could Claudia be the culprit? I asked myself. It was difficult to imagine clueless Claudia plotting anything more complex than a shopping spree, but there might be more to her than met the eye.

Then there was Oliver, the bashful younger brother who'd grown up in Simon's shadow. Truckloads of demented resentments could spring from being ignored, overlooked, and dismissed as second best. Perhaps Oliver had finally had enough. Perhaps he'd decided to grab some of the spotlight for himself by casting a shadow over Simon. Oliver was a definite possibility.

Last, but not least, there was Gina. Had she grown tired of watching her husband offer his arm-and who knew what else?-to other women? Had she sent the death threat to punish him? Or was someone else wandering the halls, unknown to the rest of us?

I pulled the covers up to my chin and gazed into the fire. I'd never admit it to Dimity, but the thought of spending more time alone with Simon held a certain thrill as well. I wasn't drawn to him simply because of his beguiling manner or his enchanting good looks, or even because I needed someone to distract me from whatever might be going on between my husband and his wife.

In truth, I felt a sense of kins.h.i.+p with him. We were both out of step with the vulgar, ma.s.s-produced, disposable world into which we'd been born. My cottage might be humbler that Hailesham, but I treasured every hand-hewn joist and floorboard. On a more personal level, we share the fate of spouses who were left alone too often, and we were, each of us, pa.s.sionate creatures.

I couldn't forget the tender look he'd given me when I'd urged him to be careful. He hadn't been playacting. His suave mask had fallen away, revealing the face of a man so starved for affection that a simple gesture of concern caught at his heart. It seemed pathetic that a man with so much charm could be so lonely.

"Poor little rich boy," I murmured. "Could it be that you have everything you desire except someone who cares about you?"

I rolled onto my side and looked at Reginald. His black b.u.t.ton eyes gleamed softly in the dying firelight.

"Simon thinks that he and I are birds of a feather, Reg, but he's wrong. Poor Simon's stuck with Gina, while I've got my own sweet Bill." I frowned distractedly at the faded grape-juice stain on my bunny's snout. "At least I think I've got him. . . ."

Eight.

Oliver Elstyn was alone in the dining room when I went down for breakfast. Bill had risen at an unG.o.dly hour to spend the morning huddled with Gina, Derek, and Lord Elstyn in the earl's study, but I'd slept until half-past seven before showering and getting dressed. I intended to carry on as if I'd never heard Bill whisper Gina's name.

Dimity had directed me to a demure twinset and a tweed skirt in heathery shades of green and lavender. The conservative outfit made me feel like a country-house veteran, and I was relieved to see that Oliver's clothes were equally informal: a herringbone tweed jacket over a beige s.h.i.+rt, and brown wool trousers.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, noting the empty chairs.

Oliver looked up from his food. "Emma, Nell, and Claudia have gone riding and Simon's gone with them. He's putting his new hunter through its paces."

He nodded toward the twelve-paned windows and I saw a row of ivy-covered hurdles on the great lawn. As I scanned the grounds, four riders came into view, galloping along the edge of the ornamental lake. Three rode past the hurdles, but the fourth, a tall figure on a huge dappled gray, sailed easily over the first hurdle and took the rest without breaking stride.

I thought the lead rider must be Simon but couldn't be sure. I recognized Emma as the shortest of the four, but at a distance the cousins were indistinguishable-long-legged, slender, and dressed in black velvet helmets, tall black boots, fawn breeches, and black riding coats.

"Better them than me," I said, shaking my head. "Riding's right up there with emergency dental work on my list of favorite activities."

The quip won a tentative smile from Simon's younger brother.

"You're not fond of horses?" he inquired.

"I'm fond of them," I said, "as long as I don't have to climb up on them."

"My uncle will be disappointed," Oliver commented. "He believes riding to be an essential skill for every gentlewoman."

I snorted derisively. "Scratch me off the gentlewoman list, then. I'll get over it."

Oliver gave me a searching look, then nodded once, as if in approval. "If you'd like fresh tea or coffee . . ."

"I'll be fine with what's here." I turned to survey the silver serving dishes crowding the sideboard. "Your uncle must have a s.h.i.+pload of galley slaves down in the kitchen."

Oliver shrugged diffidently. "The regular staff's not as large as you might expect. Uncle Edwin takes on extra help when he has guests."

He seemed almost apologetic, as if he were embarra.s.sed by his uncle's aristocratic lifestyle. I wondered if he shared Derek's aversion to conspicuous consumption.

I loaded a plate with kippers, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and kedgeree and took a seat across from Oliver. It was the perfect opportunity to ask if he'd received a poison-pen letter, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. It wasn't a subject that came up often in everyday conversation.

"Enjoying the reunion?" I began.

"Not much." Oliver shrugged. "I manage my uncle's portfolio. I'm better with paperwork than with people."

"Even when it's family?" I said.

"Especially when it's family," he murmured.

I raised a forkful of kedgeree. "Did you all travel down together?"

Oliver looked as though I'd asked him to juggle the kippers.

"We never travel together," he a.s.sured me. "I like to arrive early, Claudia always runs late, and Simon and Gina prefer absolute punctuality."

"So you got here first," I prompted, fixing the timetable in my head.

"Yes," he replied. "Though Cousin Nell was here before me. I believe she arrived from Paris two nights ago. Uncle Edwin sent the car to fetch her from Heathrow."

While Oliver addressed his fried eggs, I ruminated. If Oliver had his facts straight, the Honorable Nell Harris-Derek's darling daughter and the apple of Lord Elstyn's eye-had arrived at Hailesham Park two days ago, in plenty of time to create the poison-pen letter and deliver it to Simon's room. She could have torched the turtledove as well.

I thought back to Nell descending the grand staircase as we crossed the entrance hall the night before. She'd been the last to come down to dinner. Had she been busy comforting her pyrophobic teddy bear, as she'd claimed? Or had she been scrubbing the stink of kerosene from her clothes?

I remembered, too, the strange look she'd given Simon when Lord Elstyn had declared the fire accidental. In retrospect, it seemed as if she'd been gauging Simon's reaction, checking to see if he'd made the connection between the fire and the death threat.

Was the exquisite, intelligent Nell attempting to protect her father's interests by driving Simon-the earl's favorite-from the house? Or was Oliver attempting to cast suspicion on someone other than himself?

I gazed contemplatively at the man sitting across the table from me. His meek exterior might disguise a veritable snake pit of jealousy and resentment. He might envy Simon's looks, his easy way with people-even his marriage.

"Are you married, Oliver?" I asked.

Oliver turned beet-red and ducked his head just as Giddings arrived with fresh toast. Giddings placed the toast rack at my elbow, examined the serving dishes on the sideboard, and departed.

"You know, Oliver," I said after a moment of silence, "marriage isn't for everyone."

"It is in my family." A note of wistfulness entered his voice. "I simply haven't been lucky enough to find someone as . . . useful . . . as Gina."

It was a revealing comment. Oliver, it seemed, was being subjected to the same kind of pressure Derek had experienced as a young man. Like Derek, he was expected to make a useful match-to place duty before love. Derek had been strong enough to resist the earl's demands, but Oliver seemed more frail.

"I'm not sure usefulness is the first quality I'd look for in a mate," I said gently.

"You would if you were an Elstyn." Oliver paused. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he glanced at me. "On second thought, perhaps you wouldn't. You'd marry for love and d.a.m.n the consequences."

I looked at him closely. "What sort of consequences?" "Estrangement from one's family." He lowered his eyes. "A questioning of rights that would otherwise be a.s.sumed."

"Is that why everyone's here?" I pressed. "Is Derek's birthright in question?"