Part 15 (1/2)
”Hullo, Nell,” he said.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. ”I knew you'd come. That's why I sent the others away.”
”You shouldn't be alone,” Kit scolded gently.
”I'm not.” Nell managed a ghost of a smile, but in the next moment her dark blue eyes were glazed with tears. ”Claudia wants to shoot Deacon.”
”I won't let her,” said Kit. ”It wasn't Deacon's fault.” Nell's chest heaved. ”Mine?” she asked in a very small voice.
”No.” Kit reached down to brush away a tear that had trickled down Nell's silken cheek. ”There were wires, lights-someone tampered with the hurdles. When you're stronger, Lori will explain, but you must rest now.”
”Simon's demon,” Nell whispered. Her breath quickened. ”You must tell Grandpapa. He knows-”
”Hush.” Kit placed his hand on the pale one that lay atop the coverlet. ”Lori will speak with your grandfather. Your only task is to get well. You need to be strong enough to drive Rosie's sleigh when you come home at Christmas.”
”I'm not coming home,” said Nell.
”No?” Kit gave her a troubled, searching look as his hand drifted to his side, but when he spoke again his voice was calm and soothing. ”The Seine is lovely in winter. You must try to be well enough by then to savor its beauty. Sleep now and dream of Paris.”
Nell's steady gaze never left his face. ”I'll dream,” she murmured, ”but not of Paris.”
Kit stepped back. ”I . . . I should go,” he faltered. ”Good-bye, Nell.”
Nell closed her eyes and whispered, ”Au revoir, Kit.”
Kit swallowed hard, then stumbled toward the door. He would have blundered past me and into the corridor if I hadn't held him back while I made sure no one was out there. He maintained a preoccupied silence until we found Bill waiting for us in my room, when he said, without preamble: ”Nell's not coming home for Christmas.”
Bill's eyes s.h.i.+fted to mine. When I responded with a minute shrug, he said, ”I imagine her studies are-”
”It's nothing to do with her studies.” Kit looked stricken. He sank onto an armchair by the fire and leaned his forehead on his hands. ”It's me. She left Ans...o...b.. Manor because of me, and she's staying away because of me. I'm keeping her apart from her family, her home. It can't go on.”
”It won't.” Bill gestured for me to keep back as he crossed to sit in the chair facing Kit's. He must have been yearning for sleep after the long and trying day, but there was no trace of impatience in his voice, only kindness and understanding. ”Nell loves you Kit, and she knows you don't love her. It's taken a tremendous amount of courage for her to accept the truth and move on.”
Kit raised his head to look at Bill. ”I don't think she's moving on.”
”She will,” said Bill, ”given time and distance and a university full of handsome young Frenchmen. You'll see. She'll come home at Easter with Pierre or Jean-Luc or Francois in tow, and you'll have to reconcile yourself to being just another uncle figure in her life.”
Kit sighed. ”If I could believe that . . .”
”Believe it.” Bill gave Kit an encouraging smile, then asked, ”Are you planning to spend the night here? Because if you are-”
”I'm not,” said Kit. ”I brought the van.”
”He parked it two miles away,” I put in.
Bill rose. ”I'll drive you to the van.”
”It's nearly one in the morning,” Kit protested.
”I'm too restless to sleep,” said Bill. ”Maybe the drive will calm me down.”
Kit reluctantly accepted the offer and went into the dressing room to change out of Bill's trousers and into his own. When he was safely out of earshot, I put my arms around my husband's neck.
”You are my idea of the perfect man,” I said, running my fingers through his hair. ”But Kit's right about Nell.”
”Then let's hope I'm right, too.” He pulled me close, then went to fetch his raincoat.
Kit returned, clad once again in his jeans, parka, and boots. He retrieved the bulb-festooned wire from the floor and handed it to me.
”You'll speak with Lord Elstyn,” he said.
”I'll speak with everyone.” I gave him a tight hug. ”Thank you, Kit. I dread to think what might have happened if you hadn't come here tonight.”
”It's in your hands now.” Kit turned as Bill hastened back from the dressing room. ”Ready?”
”Let's go,” said Bill, and led the way into the corridor.
When the two men had gone, I wound the wire into a coil, placed it next to Reginald on the bedside table, and picked up the blue journal.
Twenty.
Chambers?
I carried the blue journal to the armchair nearest the hearth, where I could watch Aunt Dimity's fluid script unfurl by firelight.
I don't recall ever hearing the name, but there's no reason I should. Edwin would hardly discuss his valet with me. I'm somewhat puzzled by Simon's instant recollection of the man. Valets don't, as a rule, interact with children.
”Chambers did,” I told her, settling into the chair. ”He used to spend his days off with Simon, Oliver, and Derek. He took them fis.h.i.+ng.”
Fis.h.i.+ng? With three little boys? How peculiar. I've never encountered a valet who would sacrifice his day off to the dubious joys of baiting hooks for three rambunctious little boys.
”Maybe he was trying to impress his employer,” I suggested.
A valet impresses his employer by attending to his employer's needs, not those of the children in the house. Take it from one who knows, my dear: Chambers's behavior would have been considered rather eccentric.
”He may have been eccentric then,” I commented, ”but he's bonkers now.”
As I've said from the start, poison pens are notoriously unstable. Chambers-if Chambers is the culprit-has merely proved my point.When indirect action failed, he escalated his campaign. What had been annoying very nearly became murderous. Thank heavens for Kit. If it weren't for him, we might never have discovered the wicked act of sabotage that injured both Simon and Nell.
”It wasn't easy for Kit,” I murmured pensively. ”Seeing Nell, I mean.”
He was troubled to discover that her time abroad has not lessened her affection for him.
My eyebrows rose. ”How did you know?”