Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) (8 page)

I blinked, confused by Nicole’s words, and Adam interceded on my behalf.

“Hot cocoa, please, Mrs. Hollander. And those extra blankets, if you will.”

“Of course,” she said, and hurried out of the room.

“Don’t need blankets,” I muttered, sitting up. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“That’s what you said this morning,” Adam reminded me. He moved aside so that I could swing my feet to the floor, and I got my first good look at him.

He was wearing a black fleece pullover over skintight cycling
pants, and he seemed to be wet through. Raindrops sparkled like diamonds in his dark hair, his pullover had damp patches, and his pants and running shoes were streaked with mud.

“I should take you to task for overexerting yourself,” he said sternly. “But you’ve had a hard enough lesson as it is. If you hadn’t propped the door open—”

“I didn’t prop the door open,” I broke in. “I had a book with me, Adam, and I dropped it when I fainted, but I didn’t use it as a doorstop.”

“Then the book must have fallen where it did by accident.” He pulled the cashmere blanket from my lap and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Fate certainly seems to be on your side. It’s a miracle that you didn’t crack your skull. Those stone steps weren’t designed for soft landings.” He narrowed his eyes. “I warned you not to overdo.”

“I know,” I conceded, “but overdoing seems to be my fatal flaw. Bill never tires of reminding me…” I winced as a sharp pain lanced through my head.

“Lori?” said Adam. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, and decided then and there to say nothing more about what had happened on the hidden staircase. If I started babbling about weird laughter and glowing eyes, Adam would whisk me off to the hospital to have my head examined. “Why are you here, anyway? And why are you so wet?”

Instead of answering directly, Adam reached over the arm of the sofa to retrieve a bicycle helmet from the end table nearest the fire. He cradled the sleek plastic dome against his chest, waggled his eyebrows, and raised his free hand with a flourish, asking, “Do you believe in magic?”

I laughed, taken by surprise. “Sure,” I said.

“Abracadabra,” he intoned, and pulled a rabbit from his helmet.

“Reginald!” I seized my pink flannel bunny and hugged him to me. “Oh, Adam, you
are
a magician. What on earth have you been up to?”

“You sounded so desolate when you mentioned the little fellow that I simply had to rescue him.” Adam tossed his helmet aside. “Your cell phone was smashed to bits, I’m afraid, but your suitcase and shoulder bag should be in your room by now.”

“How did you get them?” I eyed his bicycle helmet. “And how did you get them here?”

“I cycled to Mr. Garnett’s garage to pick up my car, chucked the bike in the back, did a bit of reconnoitering, spotted the Rover, and retrieved those items I thought you might find useful.”

His nonchalance was utterly disarming. I reached up to brush the raindrops from his curls.

“Climbed up and down the mountain just like that, huh?” I wagged a dampened finger at him. “Captain Manning won’t be pleased with you.”

“So long as you are.” Adam turned to stretch his hands out to the fire.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am.” While Adam’s back was turned, I subjected Reginald to a careful inspection and found, to my great relief, that he’d escaped the wreck unscathed. “Oh, Reg,” I murmured, “you just wait till you meet Teddy.”

Adam stiffened, his hands still reaching toward the
flames, but when he swung around to face me, he was smiling. “Teddy?” he said. “Do I have a rival?”

I grinned. “No, but Reginald might. Teddy’s proper name is Major Ted, and he’s a very dashing, military sort of teddy bear. I’ve nearly lost my heart to him.”

“How did you meet?” Adam inquired.

“Nicole left him in my room to keep me company,” I replied. “He’s right up your alley, Adam. His uniform is vintage World War I.”

“I hope you’ll introduce him to me.” Adam leaned back against the sofa’s arm and favored me with a speculative gaze, turning his head this way and that before reaching out to wipe a dusty smudge from my chin. “Please forgive me for saying so, Lori, but you look terrible. Why are you down here, working, when you should be in bed?”

I grimaced. “Because I’d rather sleep in the fishing hut than in the room Josiah’s given me. It’s absolutely—”

“Josiah?” Adam interrupted. “Surely you mean Jared.”

“Slip of the tongue,” I said.

“Fatigue,” Adam shot back. He got to his feet. “I prescribe an ample dose of bed rest, to be taken immediately. I really should be going anyway.”

“Please don’t go yet.” Almost without thinking, I reached for his hand and gripped it tightly.

“No need to panic, Lori. I won’t go if you don’t want me to.” He sandwiched my hand between both of his and sat again, much closer than before.

His gentle touch seemed to thaw the wintry chill I’d brought with me from the darkness on the hidden stairs. I lowered my eyes but didn’t slip my hand from his.

“I’ve been feeling a little off-kilter all day,” I confessed. “I guess the accident did shake me up a bit.”

The study doors creaked open and Mrs. Hatch entered, with Nicole close behind. Mrs. Hatch carried a silver tray set with a cocoa pot and a pair of dainty, pansy-covered cups and saucers. She placed the tray on the coffee table while Nicole deposited an armload of cashmere blankets on a nearby chair.

“Should you be sitting up?” Nicole inquired worriedly. “I’ve rung Dr. MacEwan, but he’s delivering Mrs. Martin’s baby and won’t be here for some time.”

“Hot cocoa’s all the medicine I need,” I told her.

Nicole’s gaze came to rest on my hand nestled snugly between Adam’s. She quickly looked away, colored to her roots, and began to back out of the room. “I’ll…I’ll leave you to your visitor,” she stammered. “Mr. Chase won’t mind pouring, I’m sure.” She gestured for Mrs. Hatch to join her and hastened from the room, closing the screeching doors firmly behind her.

Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Have we started a new rumor, do you think?”

“I’d say we’re good for at least a dozen,” I assured him.

“She’s very young,” Adam observed.

“She’s also married to an arrogant toad.” While Adam poured the cocoa I told him about Jared’s insufferable behavior, his disdain for Blackhope, and his refusal to employ villagers. When I accused the local ladies of resurrecting Josiah’s ghost for their own vengeful purposes, Adam’s gaze drifted to the oil portrait above the rolltop desk.

“If the ladies are using Josiah,” he said, “they’re doing a good job of it. When I told Mr. Garnett that I’d be stopping
here today, he did everything he could to dissuade me. The man was terrified.”

The evil laughter echoed in my mind, and for a moment I shared Mr. Garnett’s fear. Then I told myself to get a grip. I’d been so jittery since the accident that I’d probably manufactured both the laughter and the weirdly glowing eyes. I reminded myself sternly that ghosts were a force for good. They didn’t stick around on earth just to torment people.

“Mr. Garnett has the wrong idea about ghosts,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Adam, but he sounded unconvinced. “I believe you were going to tell me about your room. I take it that it’s not to your liking?”

“It’s hideous,” I declared. “Honestly, Adam, they’ve got me sleeping in Vlad the Impaler’s boudoir.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he said.

“It’s worse,” I insisted. “It’s decorated with dead animals. There’s a monkey on the wardrobe who watches my every move.”

“Why don’t you request its removal?” Adam asked.

“I don’t want to hurt Nicole’s feelings,” I replied. “The animals were Jared’s idea and she worships the ground he walks on.”

“Tell Nicole that her husband’s furry friends wreak havoc on your allergies,” Adam suggested. “Tell her that you’ll come out in a rash if the creatures aren’t herded from your room immediately.”

I finished my cup of cocoa and sighed deeply, lost in admiration. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’ve been absorbed in your work,” Adam replied. “How is it going, by the way? Discover any treasures?”

“One,” I said. “It’s not worth a lot of money, but it’s my kind of gem. Where did you put the book you found wedged in the hidden doorway?”

Adam retrieved
Shuttleworth’s Birds
from the rolltop desk and handed it to me.

I opened the book to the flyleaf as he resettled himself on the sofa, then passed it to him. “Isn’t it splendid?” I said. “It’s the best thing I’ve found all day.”

Adam was so still that I thought for a moment he’d stopped breathing. Slowly, with the tip of his finger, he traced Claire’s name, then Edward’s. His hand lingered on the page, as he read and reread the inscription. Then he closed the book and gazed down at the cover, saying, “He was killed in action in 1914.”

“I know.” I called to mind the book’s whimsical verse. “What a waste. Aubrey Shuttleworth was a charming writer. His books are so…
civilized.
I’ve never been able to picture him in the trenches.”

“He loved the moors,” Adam said softly. “He spent his
summers very near here. He knew every bird, every flower, every fish that swam in every hidden pool.”

Sadness seemed to radiate from him in cool, dark waves. Instinctively, I put a hand on his arm, to comfort him. “It must be difficult to distance yourself from the soldiers you write about.”

“Occupational hazard.” He smiled briefly, but his eyes remained somber.

“Adam…” I hesitated, then plunged into my request before I could have second thoughts. “If you can spare an hour or two from your writing, would you consider showing me the moors?” I looked toward the windows. “If the fog ever lifts, that is.”

“It will.” Adam’s dark eyes turned toward me. “And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to share a sunny morning with you.” He placed the book on the end table and cleared his throat. “Have you any idea who Claire is?”

“Not a clue,” I said. “I’m going to ask Nicole. She seems to know a lot about her family. I want to know about Edward too. He must have been a special friend, to give Claire such a lovely gift.”

“Perhaps he was a little bit in love with her.” Adam shifted his position, resting his arm on the back of the sofa to half encircle me. “I’m sorry your room’s so grim and ghastly, Lori. I’d like nothing more than to bring you back to the fishing hut with me. But you really must stay on here, if only to find the rest of Claire’s books.”

“Do you think there may be more?” My voice sank to a husky whisper and I trembled, not with cold, but with a sudden, intense longing that both baffled and distressed me.
Before things could go further, the study doors burst open, the hinges screaming wildly in protest.

I had another visitor, and this one was livid.

“W
hat the hell are you playing at, Chase?” Guy Manning stormed into the room with a face like thunder, leaving Nicole to trail round-eyed in his wake.

Adam and I sprang apart like a pair of guilty teenagers.

“Ms. Shepherd’s vehicle and the road leading to it are strictly off limits to civilians,” Guy bellowed. “As you well know.”

“Ms. Shepherd is entitled to her personal possessions,” Adam observed calmly. “As
you
well know.”

“Ms. Shepherd’s possessions would have been returned to her in due course,” Guy lectured. “In the meantime—”

“In the meantime,” Adam broke in, standing, “she’d have been left without so much as a toothbrush while you dragged your feet with yet another of your pointless investigations.”

Guy stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Adam eyed the soldier contemptuously. “I think you know what I mean, Captain Manning. I’m flattered by your interest, naturally, but if you have any more questions about my background I hope you’ll direct them to me instead of interrogating my editor. If you had an ounce of courage, not to mention courtesy, you’d have done so in the first place.”

Guy approached the sofa, his jaw muscles working. “I could arrest you for violating a secure area.”

Adam stepped forward, until the two men were standing nearly toe to toe. “My editor would welcome an essay on military justice.”

Guy clenched his fists, and Adam widened his stance, his thigh muscles bulging beneath his cycling pants. I was on the
verge of throwing myself—or Reginald—between the two combatants when a gruff voice with an unmistakable Scottish burr sounded from the doorway.

“That’ll do, gentlemen. Ms. Shepherd’s had enough excitement for one day. You can take your discussion elsewhere.”

The gray-haired man in the rumpled tweed suit had evidently overheard the argument. Now he strode purposefully into the room. He was older than Adam by at least thirty years and his head scarcely reached the captain’s shoulder, but such was his air of authority that he made the two enraged men look like a pair of sulky schoolboys.

“You can apologize to Mrs. Hatch on your way out, Guy. She told me that you frightened her half to death, barging past her.” He turned to Adam. “And you can wipe the smug gleam from your eye, laddie. It’s men like Captain Guy Manning who make it safe for you to scribble your wee essays.” He jerked his head toward the study. “If you can’t settle your differences amicably, don’t come running to me for stitches.”