Aunt Dimity and the Next of Kin (19 page)

“Much better than I expected,” Emma replied. “Two couples from Cheltenham have already decided to sign their children up for lessons.” She would have gone on, but our quiet moment was over almost before it began.

The catering team swept in to replenish the depleted buffet; Bill went to help Annelise and the twins hang the colorful (and nearly legible) banners; and two more couples arrived, saying they’d seen Emma’s ad in the Cotswolds
Standard
. She took them off to see the stables, and I stayed behind to welcome newcomers who might arrive while Kit and Emma were otherwise engaged.

Shortly thereafter Kit escorted his tour group into the marquee for refreshments, then walked one of the couples to their car. He was still thanking them when the newcomers I was looking for arrived. I was pleased to see that they’d all come in the same car, and hurried across the drive to welcome them as they stepped out onto the gravel.

Joanna Quinn wore a loose-fitting white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, with a pale blue cardigan slung over her shoulders. Gabriel, too, was in jeans but he’d topped his with a corn-colored V-neck sweater. Little Chloe Quinn was as pretty as her name, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and rosy-cheeked, dressed in pink stretch pants and a white sweatshirt with a brown pony emblazoned on the front.

“You made it,” I said happily. “I’m so glad.”

“We thought we might as well come together in my car,” said Gabriel.

“To save on petrol,” Joanna added quickly.

“Very sensible,” I said, suppressing a grin, and called to Kit to come and meet my new friends. After everyone had been introduced, Kit looked down at Chloe, whose eyes were glued to the horses in the south pasture.

“Would you like to ride a pony, Chloe?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Chloe replied, very seriously.

Kit held out his hand and the little girl took it. “We’ll find a helmet and some boots for you. Then I’ll take you to meet Toby. You’ll like Toby.”

“If any customers show up, I’ll entertain them until Emma’s free,” I said.

Joanna watched anxiously as her daughter walked off, hand in hand with Kit.

“Chloe’s never ridden before,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Toby’s as gentle as a lamb, and I trust Kit with my sons’ lives almost every day. He’ll come and get you before he puts Chloe in the saddle.”

“Speaking of your sons . . .” Gabriel opened the car’s trunk and pulled out two sketchpads and a packet of drawing pencils. “I’ve brought gifts for the artists in your family. Where are the famous pair?”

“Come and meet them,” I said, and led the way into the marquee.

Rob and Will were delighted with Gabriel’s gifts, but when I told them that pony rides were in the works, they handed the sketchbooks back to him for safekeeping and galloped off to find Kit.

My hopes of nudging Gabriel and Joanna into a quiet, sylvan corner of the property were dashed when the marquee began to fill with other people I wanted them to meet. Emma returned, with the two couples who’d seen her ad, and Julian Bright arrived on the stroke of twelve, to add his blessings to the new venture.

“Lori tells me that you run a spy network,” Gabriel said, shaking hands with the priest.

“Alas, my cover is blown,” said Julian, laughing. “But I don’t run the network alone. Volunteers are always welcome.”

I looked from his engaging smile to the sketchbooks Gabriel had placed on a nearby table and smiled as Aunt Dimity’s words flashed before my mind’s eye:
Perhaps Gabriel should find more inspiring subjects.
Big Al, Limping Leslie, Blinker, and the rest of St. Benedict’s shabby crew might not be considered inspirational, but they’d make a change from lofty academics, and they certainly wouldn’t tell Gabriel to give them better hands. If Gabriel wanted to portray truth, I could think of few better places to find it than St. Benedict’s.

“I’ll bring him with me next week, Julian,” I said.

“I think I’ve just been volunteered,” said Gabriel.

“There’s no escape now,” Julian told him. “Lori’s profoundly persistent.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ve noticed.”

Derek returned from his impromptu forced march a short time later, followed by a straggling line of footsore and weary villagers. Suitably chastened, they exercised an admirable amount of self-restraint in their second assault on the buffet tables. A moment later, Kit arrived to tell Joanna that Toby was saddled and Chloe was ready to ride.

Joanna excused herself and accompanied Kit to the open-air arena. Gabriel paused long enough to snatch up a sketchpad before dashing off to join them. I was trailing in their wake, wondering if I’d ever be able to arrange some alone time for my fledgling lovebirds, when a matching set of shrieks brought my heart into my throat and set me running.

“Boys!” I shouted, sprinting toward the arena. “Will! Rob!
Mummy’s coming!
”

I knew with a mother’s absolute conviction that my sons had uttered those shrieks, and the visions of carnage that danced in my head as I neared the arena were vivid enough to freeze the blood in my veins. I skidded wildly across the graveled path encircling the arena, vaulted over the fence, and scanned the soft dirt, praying that my babies’ injuries would mend in time, and vowing that never, never,
never again
would I let them come within twenty yards of a horse.

“Where are they?” I cried. “Where are my sons?”

“We’re here, Mummy.”

I stood stock-still, breathing heavily, and looked toward the arena’s gate. Will and Rob were perched there, and their faces were alight with the purest of pure delight. Beneath them, tethered to the fence, stood a pair of gray ponies I’d never seen before. The ponies’ saddles were shiny and new, their manes were braided, and they eyed me placidly, unfazed by my dramatic entrance.

“They’re
ours,
Mummy,” the boys chorused blissfully. “Kit says they’re
ours
.”

“W-what?”
I managed as the red haze of panic slowly receded from my vision.

Kit climbed over the fence and approached me cautiously.

“Now, Lori,” he said, “calm down. I’m sorry about the screams. The twins were a bit overexcited when they saw their new ponies.”

“New ponies?” I said, baffled. “What new ponies? Bill and I didn’t buy ponies for the boys.”

“No,” said Kit, “but Miss Beacham did.”

I gradually became aware of the tranquil scene that surrounded me: Gabriel standing with his back to a tree, his pencil moving swiftly over the sketchpad braced in the crook of his arm; Joanna and Annelise, leaning companionably on the fence; Chloe, helmeted and booted, feeding carrots to Toby; my sons gazing down on their hearts’ desires with the light of heaven in their eyes. My knees wobbled as the high-octane maternal adrenaline drained from my body, and I leaned limply against Kit.

“Surprise!” he said.

“Any more surprises like that and I’ll need a heart transplant,” I said weakly. “Does Bill know about the ponies?”

“He will in a moment,” said Kit.

I looked up and saw Bill walking toward the arena, with Emma on his arm.

“It’s a conspiracy,” I growled. “You and Emma knew, and Derek must have known, too. How long have they been here?”

“They arrived yesterday evening,” said Kit. “It’s too soon to let the boys ride them—they’ll need a few days to settle in—but Miss Beacham wanted Will and Rob to meet their new mounts today, as part of the celebration.”

We crossed to the gate, where Bill and Emma now stood. Bill appeared to be as dumbfounded as I was.

“Did you tell Miss Beacham that the twins wanted ponies?” he asked, looking at me.

“I must have,” I said with a helpless shrug. “I must have mentioned the ARC’s grand opening, too.”

“Did you tell Miss Beacham that I’d like a yacht?” Bill asked hopefully.

“And that I’d like a new greenhouse?” Emma added.

“And that I could do with a new car?” Annelise chimed in.

“No,” I said shortly, “I don’t believe I did.”

“What a shame,” said Bill.

Emma and Annelise snickered.

“We’ve
named
them, Mummy,” said Will. “Mine is Thunder—”

“—and mine is Storm,” said Rob.

“Thunderstorm!” they chorused and laughed like drunken sailors at their own scintillating wit.

“Is it time for my pony ride?” Chloe asked. She’d run out of carrots.

“It is, Miss Chloe.” Kit opened the gate. “We’ll walk a little ways with Toby and then we’ll get started.”

Joanna climbed the wooden fence and sat on the top rail, to have a better view of her daughter’s crowning moment, but Gabriel stayed where he was, absorbed in his drawing, and Annelise remained leaning on the fence. While Kit lifted Chloe into the saddle, Bill and I took Emma aside and quizzed her about Miss Beacham’s unexpected gifts.

“It’s not that we’re not pleased,” Bill assured her. “We may not look it, but we’re thrilled. Still, it has come as a bit of a shock.”

“I knew when I heard from Miss Beacham’s solicitor that you wouldn’t mind,” said Emma. “After all, you’ve been meaning to buy ponies for the boys forever. They’re a sound pair, from a reputable dealer, and Miss Beacham left enough money to cover their boarding fees for six months. You two are, in fact, the ARC’s first paying customers.”

“It’s vintage Miss Beacham,” I said. “In one fell swoop, she’s made all of us happy—Will and Rob, me and Bill, and you and Kit.”

“I know something else that will make you happy,” said Emma. “I did the Internet search on Kenneth Beacham. I’ll give the results to you when things quiet down.”

She left to get back to work, and I flung my arms around Bill’s neck.

“At last!” I crowed triumphantly. “By the end of the day, I’ll know everything there is to know about Kenneth Beacham!”

“I hope you’re right,” said Bill.

A soft gasp from the arena caught our attention. Gabriel had finished his sketch and presented the pad to Joanna for inspection. She sat atop the wooden fence, staring at the drawing, while Gabriel gazed anxiously up at her.

“It’s just a rough study,” he said diffidently. “A souvenir of the day.”

“It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” Joanna turned her head to look down at him.

Gabriel’s chest expanded. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” said Joanna. She gazed deep into his eyes a while longer, then seemed to recall that she and Gabriel weren’t alone. She held the pad out toward Bill and me and invited us and Annelise to examine the pencil-drawn masterpiece.

Gabriel had found a surefire way to win Joanna’s heart. Instead of producing a dreamy drawing of his potential lady love, he’d done an enchanting portrait of her daughter. There was Chloe—stretch pants, sweatshirt, boots, helmet, and all—and there was Toby, patiently taking a carrot from her hand. The sketch captured perfectly the little girl’s quivering intensity. For her, at that moment, no one else existed but the sweet-natured old pony.

“Beautiful,” I murmured.

“Very nice,” said Bill.

“It’s only a rough drawing,” Gabriel protested.

“It’s perfect,” said Joanna and, leaning down, she kissed him on the cheek.

I promptly hooked elbows with Bill and Annelise and quietly hustled them away from the arena.

“Where are we going?” asked Bill. “What about the boys?”

“Shut up and keep walking,” I muttered. “Kit will look after the boys.”

I was fairly sure that Kit would have to look after all three children for a while. Joanna and Gabriel had vanished into a world of their own.

 
By six o’clock, the official closing hour of the festivities, the Anscombe Riding Center was fully booked. The empty box stalls had been filled, riding lessons had been scheduled, and the waiting list had grown to twenty-five names. The ARC’s grand opening was judged by all present to have been a complete and unmitigated triumph.

The villagers departed, with words of congratulations and a few blisters, Julian Bright drove back to St. Benedict’s, and Annelise took the twins home, after somehow convincing them that Thunder and Storm would sleep more soundly if they didn’t have two little boys staring fixedly at them all night. Joanna and Gabriel left, too, after Gabriel confirmed our plan to interview Kenneth Beacham’s former neighbors on Monday morning. Chloe, tuckered out by the day’s spectacular events, was asleep in her car seat before we’d finished saying good-bye.

When the multitudes had finally dispersed, the caterers—under top-secret instructions from Derek—reset the tables in the marquee for a splendid candlelit dinner. Bill and I sat down with Emma, Derek, Kit, and a few other close friends to a meal that would have done Buckingham Palace proud. Toast followed toast and the night air rang with so many rousing cheers that Thunder and Storm must have thought they’d come to live at a racetrack.

The party broke up at ten, when Derek declared that he could no longer keep his eyes open and went up to bed. Emma, too, should have been exhausted, but the unanticipated and wholly joyful banquet had given her a second wind. She was happy to usher Bill and me into her ground-floor office to give us the results of her Internet search. They were somewhat disappointing.

Emma had found less than a page of links related to Kenneth Trent Beacham. His birth announcement, which was posted on-line, indicated that he’d been named after his father; this was followed immediately by links to announcements of his father’s death in 1980 and his mother’s in 1986. Then came the announcement of his marriage to Dorothy Susan Fletcher, in St. Mary of the Fields Church, Cripplegate, on May 6, 1986.

There was no mention of his educational background. If he’d gone to university or taken a degree, he’d done so without notifying the media, and there was nothing to indicate what career path he’d taken. Another posting announced the birth of his and Dorothy’s only child, Walter James, at a private nursing home in London, on February 17, 1987. And that was it.