Free Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree by Nancy Atherton Page A

of Lady Sarah Pyne’s American cousin.”
    “You mean ... you’ll do it?” I said incredulously.
    “Of course I shall do it. Mrs. Pyne is depending on me. When Señor Cocinero arrives at Fairworth tomorrow, he shall find Lady Sarah Pyne entertaining her American cousin, William Willis, who is whiling away the summer months as a guest in her splendid home. It is a role I was born to play.” He gave a satisfied nod before adding, “I have already taken the Donovans into my confidence and secured their full cooperation. As it happens, Mrs. Donovan is fluent in six languages, one of which is Spanish. She will be a most useful accomplice.” He glanced at his watch. “You must telephone the tearoom immediately.”
    “No time,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll explain everything to Sally after church.”
    “Mrs. Pyne may miss church this morning, but Rainey will almost certainly be there,” said Willis, Sr. “The child will need a word of warning about the story we are about to unveil. For now, ask her merely to agree with everything we say. We will acquaint her with the details later, when we have more time.” He stood. “While you are making the call, my dear, I will gather Bill and the twins. We shall await you in the Range Rover.” He smoothed his impeccable waistcoat and left.
    I stared speechlessly at his retreating back. My father-in-law was a methodical, meticulous thinker. His eagerness to grab a leading role in an absurd masquerade was as out of character as his interest in sheep and his hasty decision to hire the Donovans. I’d heard that retirement could be a liberating experience, but Willis, Sr., seemed to be taking it to a whole new level. It was a bit unnerving.
    A series of blaring honks from the Rover’s horn reminded me that I was supposed to be telephoning Rainey. I hit the speed dial on my cell phone and she answered on the first ring. Though mystified by my brief and cryptic message, she instantly agreed to follow our lead.
    “I’ll do anything to help Gran,” she said earnestly. “She loves Finch. It would break her heart if she had to move to another village.”
    A granddaughter, I thought, smiling, can be a great support in times of strife.

    Elspeth Binney was playing the first chords of the processional as Bill, Willis, Sr., Will, Rob, and I slid hurriedly into a pew. I nodded to Rainey, who was seated across the aisle from us, then tried to pay attention to the service.
    Theodore Bunting’s sermons were rarely stimulating, and this morning’s was no exception. It was all I could do to keep from nodding off as he elucidated yet another obscure biblical text, but I wasn’t alone in my struggle. The previous night’s revelries had taken a toll on almost everyone, and it was a subdued group of parishioners that shuffled into the churchyard at the service’s end. The only people who appeared to be well rested were Will and Rob, who ran off to play hide-and-seek among the headstones, and Peggy Taxman, who was sailing majestically toward me.
    My cowardly husband took his father by the elbow and suggested that they pay their respects to the cemetery’s newest residents, a pair of ancient and identical twin sisters named Ruth and Louise Pym, who’d been laid to rest beneath a single headstone less than a year ago. Similarly, most of the villagers shot off home, to peruse the Sunday newspapers over a leisurely breakfast beyond the reach of Peggy’s voice. A select group, however, streamed after Peggy, knowing that they could rely on her to ask questions they were too polite—or too sleepy-headed—to ask.
    “George Wetherhead tells me that he saw a ratty old van drive through town last night, after the party was over,” Peggy boomed as soon as she was within earshot. “He seems to think it was headed for Fairworth House. Did some of William’s guests arrive late?”
    “No,” I replied. “His new housekeeper and his new gardener—a married couple—had car trouble on their