drawing room,” he told her gently. “Over tea, we will discuss your daily routine. Afterward, I will give you a tour of Fairworth. If you are to play the role of Lady Sarah convincingly, you will have to familiarize yourself with your ancestral home.”
“Very true,” Sally agreed, drying her eyes on her cape. “It wouldn’t do to send Henrique into an airing cupboard instead of the loo.”
“It would not,” Willis, Sr., said gravely. “Mrs. Donovan?”
Deirdre executed a flawless bob curtsy and led a bemused Sally Pyne into Fairworth House. Willis, Sr., remained behind to confer with me.
“Did the smuggling operation proceed smoothly?” he inquired.
“Like butter,” I replied. “Peggy tried to catch us out, but we slipped through her fingers.”
“Mrs. Taxman is a persistent woman,” he commented unnecessarily. “We will have to maintain a high degree of vigilance if we are to avoid falling into the traps she will no doubt lay for us.”
“We could ask Jasper to lock her in the storeroom at the Emporium until Henrique leaves,” I suggested.
“An amusing if impractical proposition,” said Willis, Sr. “You will be happy to know that I have devised a more sensible solution to a problem that may surface tomorrow.”
“Which problem?” I asked. “There are so many to choose from.”
“It has occurred to me,” he said, “that Señor Cocinero may stop in the village to ask for directions to Lady Sarah’s home.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, clapping a hand to my forehead. “If he goes into the Emporium, Peggy’ll grill him until he squeals.”
“Precisely.” Willis, Sr., nodded. “Should Señor Cocinero ask for directions, you must be the one to give them to him. Can you devise a reasonable excuse for loitering in Finch until he appears? We have no idea when to expect him, so you may be there all day.”
“Trust me,” I said. “I know how to kill time in Finch. After I drop off the painting at Crabtree Cottage, I can mosey over to Bill’s office, do some shopping at the Emporium, linger over a glass of lemonade at the pub, and have a snack at the tearoom. If you factor in incidental chitchat, I could spend up to eight hours loitering in Finch. I’m not sure how I’ll identify Henrique, though. I don’t know what he looks like.”
“Señor Cocinero is a well-to-do Mexican gentleman in late middle age,” Willis, Sr., reminded me. “He will, I suspect, stand out like a chili pepper in a blancmange as he drives through the village.”
“Good point,” I said. “If he stops in the village for any reason, I’ll introduce myself to him, hop in his car, and get him away before anyone can give him the third degree.”
“Excellent.” Willis, Sr., consulted his pocket watch, then returned it to his waistcoat pocket. “I must leave you now, to attend to Lady Sarah’s education, but I have one more question to ask before I go: Did you by any chance remove the brass compass from the billiards room?”
“No,” I replied, frowning. “Why? Is it missing?”
“It is not in its usual place,” Willis, Sr., acknowledged.
My frown deepened. “You don’t suppose someone at the party—”
“Certainly not,” Willis, Sr., cut in. “Please give my guests some credit, Lori. If there had been a thief among them, he or she would have pocketed something more valuable than the brass compass.”
“Where is it, then?” I asked.
“Mrs. Donovan must have taken it to the kitchen for polishing. She is a meticulous and conscientious housekeeper.” Willis, Sr., drew in a deep breath of fresh country air and rubbed his palms together vigorously. “I will bid you good evening, my dear. I must say that I am looking forward to transforming Mrs. Pyne into Lady Sarah. I feel as inspired as Professor Henry Higgins must have felt when he chanced upon Eliza Doolittle.”
Whistling a jaunty tune from My Fair Lady , Willis, Sr., mounted the steps, leaving me to stare after him, openmouthed.
I
“Very true,” Sally agreed, drying her eyes on her cape. “It wouldn’t do to send Henrique into an airing cupboard instead of the loo.”
“It would not,” Willis, Sr., said gravely. “Mrs. Donovan?”
Deirdre executed a flawless bob curtsy and led a bemused Sally Pyne into Fairworth House. Willis, Sr., remained behind to confer with me.
“Did the smuggling operation proceed smoothly?” he inquired.
“Like butter,” I replied. “Peggy tried to catch us out, but we slipped through her fingers.”
“Mrs. Taxman is a persistent woman,” he commented unnecessarily. “We will have to maintain a high degree of vigilance if we are to avoid falling into the traps she will no doubt lay for us.”
“We could ask Jasper to lock her in the storeroom at the Emporium until Henrique leaves,” I suggested.
“An amusing if impractical proposition,” said Willis, Sr. “You will be happy to know that I have devised a more sensible solution to a problem that may surface tomorrow.”
“Which problem?” I asked. “There are so many to choose from.”
“It has occurred to me,” he said, “that Señor Cocinero may stop in the village to ask for directions to Lady Sarah’s home.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, clapping a hand to my forehead. “If he goes into the Emporium, Peggy’ll grill him until he squeals.”
“Precisely.” Willis, Sr., nodded. “Should Señor Cocinero ask for directions, you must be the one to give them to him. Can you devise a reasonable excuse for loitering in Finch until he appears? We have no idea when to expect him, so you may be there all day.”
“Trust me,” I said. “I know how to kill time in Finch. After I drop off the painting at Crabtree Cottage, I can mosey over to Bill’s office, do some shopping at the Emporium, linger over a glass of lemonade at the pub, and have a snack at the tearoom. If you factor in incidental chitchat, I could spend up to eight hours loitering in Finch. I’m not sure how I’ll identify Henrique, though. I don’t know what he looks like.”
“Señor Cocinero is a well-to-do Mexican gentleman in late middle age,” Willis, Sr., reminded me. “He will, I suspect, stand out like a chili pepper in a blancmange as he drives through the village.”
“Good point,” I said. “If he stops in the village for any reason, I’ll introduce myself to him, hop in his car, and get him away before anyone can give him the third degree.”
“Excellent.” Willis, Sr., consulted his pocket watch, then returned it to his waistcoat pocket. “I must leave you now, to attend to Lady Sarah’s education, but I have one more question to ask before I go: Did you by any chance remove the brass compass from the billiards room?”
“No,” I replied, frowning. “Why? Is it missing?”
“It is not in its usual place,” Willis, Sr., acknowledged.
My frown deepened. “You don’t suppose someone at the party—”
“Certainly not,” Willis, Sr., cut in. “Please give my guests some credit, Lori. If there had been a thief among them, he or she would have pocketed something more valuable than the brass compass.”
“Where is it, then?” I asked.
“Mrs. Donovan must have taken it to the kitchen for polishing. She is a meticulous and conscientious housekeeper.” Willis, Sr., drew in a deep breath of fresh country air and rubbed his palms together vigorously. “I will bid you good evening, my dear. I must say that I am looking forward to transforming Mrs. Pyne into Lady Sarah. I feel as inspired as Professor Henry Higgins must have felt when he chanced upon Eliza Doolittle.”
Whistling a jaunty tune from My Fair Lady , Willis, Sr., mounted the steps, leaving me to stare after him, openmouthed.
I
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