Page 157 of Storm of Bells
‘Very sure.’
These people had to stay out of everyone’ssight as much as humanly possible.
Striding towards Benson, I placed areassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. Everythingis going to be all right.’
A pained expression flickered across thebutler’s face. ‘I’ve had to quarter guests in thestables,My Lady. Without offering them so much as a cup of tea. My worldisn’t going to be all right for quite some time.’
‘The sacrifice will be worth it. Trustme.’
At least if today goes as planned.
Today.
The day of my meeting with Dalgliesh.
Leaving the butler to suffer in silence, Imade my way downstairs. The entrance hall was completely empty andsilent. No one, particularly not Mr Ambrose, was anywhere in sight.Only from the back of the house, where things were being set up forthe wedding reception, could I hear the chatter of voices, therustling of tent cloth and the clinking of cutlery. Good.Everything was going as planned. Nobody would try to stop me, orinterfere with my—
‘What are you doing here, girl?’
I turned and…
I blinked.
Was I hallucinating? Was I dreaming? Or wasthis truly my Uncle Bufford stepping out of the shadows?
‘Uncle?’ I had almost forgotten he was here,so well had he managed to stay out of sight. ‘What are you doingthere?’
‘Hiding!’ he grumbled into his beard. ‘I wasin my room minding my own various businesses, just like every day,when suddenly, this female called Parsley stormed in and—’
‘Patsy, Uncle. Patsy. She’s been my bestfriend for years.’
‘Yes, Parsley, just like I said. She stormedinto my room and demanded that I…,’ his beard trembled in outrage,‘…that Ihelp create flower decorations.’
‘How shocking.’
‘I know! And she would not leave, not evenwhen I threatened her with trespassing charges.’
I resisted the urge to pat him on theshoulder. ‘That might have worked better if you’d been at your ownhome instead of staying at someone else’s place.’
Uncle Bufford’s beard bristled. From whatlittle I could see of his face, he was scowling. ‘Don’t remind me,girl! Next time you want to get married, donotinviteme.’
‘Next time?’ One corner of my mouth quirkedup. ‘You think I intend to make a habit out of it?’
‘Hm.’ He scrutinized me from beneath hisbushy eyebrows, with far more acuity than suited me right at themoment. ‘I don’t know. Are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean, girl, is that you don’t exactlylook like a happy, carefree, silly little bride engaging infantastical flights of fancy about unrealistic futurehappiness.’
‘What do you mean?’ I did my best to conjurea blissful smile onto my face. ‘I’m happy! Of course I amhappy!’
‘What’s with that grimace? Have you gotconstipation?’
‘That’s a smile!’
‘It is?’ He took a step towards me—then,suddenly, with far more agility than I’d expected from the oldbear, his hand shot out and slid into the folds of my bustle.
‘Uncle!’
