Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree by Nancy Atherton Page B

laughed. “I can’t argue with you, Dimity. Life in Finch is full of drama.” I glanced at the dust sheet-wrapped painting Bill had deposited in the study. “Life in Fairworth House is becoming more interesting, too, and not only because of the grand charade. It’s possible that someone stole the brass compass from the billiards room.”
    The compass recovered from the old stables?
    “That’s the one,” I confirmed.
    Have you asked the twins if they know where it is?
    “Are you accusing my sons of theft?” I asked, knowing full well that Aunt Dimity would never do such a thing.
    Don’t be absurd, Lori. Seven-year-old grandsons don’t steal from their grandfather. They borrow. The brass compass is just the sort of gadget that would captivate a pair of intrepid little explorers like Will and Rob. If I were you, I’d ask them about it in the morning.
    “I’ll hold off until I speak with William,” I said. “He thinks Deirdre Donovan, the patron saint of housekeepers, took the compass to the kitchen for cleaning. I don’t know why she would,” I added. “I polished it myself last week and when I saw it last night, it was perfectly clean and shiny. But I guess my standards aren’t as high as hers.”
    Do I detect a note of peevishness in your voice, my dear?
    “Probably,” I admitted. I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair, then burst out, “Have you ever met someone who’s good at everything, Dimity? Deirdre’s a brainy, attractive neat-freak who can cook. It’s enormously irritating.”
    Indeed it is. I’m sure you’ll agree, however, that it’s better for William to have a multitalented housekeeper than a useless one.
    “I suppose so,” I conceded. “But it’s still irritating.” A yawn escaped me and I glanced at the clock. “Time for me to hit the hay, Dimity. I have to be in Finch early tomorrow, to get a jump on Henrique Watch.”
    I wish you the best of luck, Lori, and the quickest of reflexes. You’ll have to move fast to keep Peggy Taxman from flinging herself in front of Señor Cocinero’s car.
    I chuckled as Aunt Dimity’s handwriting faded from the page, then closed the blue journal and returned it to its shelf. After saying good night to Reginald, I banked the fire, turned off the lights, and headed upstairs.
    As I climbed into bed beside Bill, I made a mental note to ask Deirdre to air Fairworth House thoroughly before the week was out. Though Aunt Dimity had convinced me that Willis, Sr., was as sane as he’d ever been, I wanted to make sure he stayed that way.

    Willis, Sr., telephoned during breakfast on Monday morning to let me know that the missing compass had, as he’d suspected, been taken to the kitchen by Deirdre Donovan, who’d subjected it to a rigorous scrubbing, using an environmentally sound polishing paste of her own invention. I suppressed the urge to hiss like a spiteful cat and asked how Lady Sarah was holding up.
    “She is understandably overwhelmed by the situation,” he informed me. “But I believe she will calm down by the time Señor Cocinero arrives. Mrs. Donovan is taking great pains to put her at ease, as am I, naturally.”
    “I’ll call you as soon as I spot Henrique,” I said, and hung up.
    “Is Sally suffering from stage fright?” Bill asked from the kitchen table.
    “Pas devant les enfants,” I said, giving him a warning look.
    “What’s ‘not in front of the children’?” Will asked brightly.
    I did a double take, then demanded, “Since when do you speak French?”
    “Nell’s teaching us,” Rob replied. “On parle Français bien ici.”
    “What’s ‘not in front of the children’?” Will repeated.
    “What’s stage fright?” Rob joined in.
    “Your father will explain everything to you on the way to Anscombe Manor,” I said. It was a cop-out, but a justified cop-out. Bill should have known better than to mention Sally in front of the boys.
    “Is Daddy taking us to the stables?” asked Will.
    “He’ll drop