Aunt Dimity and the Enchanted Cottage by Nancy Atherton

Author:Nancy Atherton [Atherton, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Pussywillows had not changed Mr. Windle beyond all recognition. He exchanged more words with old Mrs. Craven than he had with any of his previous callers, but after accepting the colorful lap quilt, he closed his door as firmly on her as he had on everyone else.

Mrs. Craven didn’t appear to be offended or abashed by Mr. Windle’s behavior. She seemed quite cheerful as she turned away from Pussywillows, and she nodded amiably to us when we motioned for her to join us. She refused, however, to take the fourth seat at our table.

“I won’t sit with my back to the window,” she declared as Henry escorted her to the table next to ours. “I’d rather not have to spin around to see what’s going on.”

She ordered a small pot of tea and two slices of lightly buttered toast. It would have struck me as a pathetically meager meal had I not known that Sally’s toast was thickly sliced and packed with hearty grains.

“We noticed that Mr. Windle didn’t invite you in for a cup of tea,” said Lilian.

“I noticed you noticing,” said Mrs. Craven, her eyes twinkling. “To tell you the truth, I’d have felt like a traitor if he had invited me in. As it is, I feel a wonderful sense of solidarity with my fellow rejects.”

“I wouldn’t let Opal, Millicent, or Selena hear you describe them as rejects,” said Amelia.

“How, I wonder, would they describe themselves?” said Mrs. Craven. “Choosy? Selective? Discriminating?” She chuckled. “Yesterday they were in here claiming that they’d never wanted to set foot in Pussywillows in the first place.”

Amelia smiled and shook her head. “The things we do to protect our fragile egos . . .”

“I didn’t hear them firsthand,” Mrs. Craven admitted. “Grant Tavistock filled me in on the delicious details when he came by for a chat last night. Elspeth,” she added significantly, “didn’t have a bad word to say about Mr. Windle.”

“He didn’t close his door on her,” I said. “He didn’t open it, either, but still . . .”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” said Lilian. “I believe she feels a profound sympathy for Mr. Windle.”

“You could be right,” I said. “Why else would she describe him as a little lost waif?”

“Why else indeed?” said Lilian. “The others may have been engaged in their usual manhunt on Saturday, but Elspeth saw something in Mr. Windle that touched her heart.”

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if the waif saw something in her?” I said.

“He will,” said Amelia. “Pussywillows will make sure he does.”

Henry returned with the pot of tea and the toast, which Sally had cut into manageable triangles. Mrs. Craven thanked him, then filled her cup without waiting for the tea to steep. She had a well-known preference for weak tea.

“I must say that Mr. Windle looks a little healthier than he did on Saturday,” she went on. “More color in his cheeks. The enchanted cottage must be giving him a new lease on life.”

“I rather think it’s a touch of sunburn,” said Lilian.

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