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RAINBOW SHERBERT &

MURDER: BOOK 43

AN OCEANSIDE COZY MYSTERY

SUSAN GILLARD
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Copyright 2018 by Guardian Publishing Group, LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or

reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or
otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and

incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

 CONTENTS

1. Sherbet and Surprises

2. Smoke and Mirrors
3. Fire
4. A Pretty Crime Scene
5. Recuperating
6. Ashes
7. Another Attempt
8. Wanda Wanders
9. Alibis
10. The Long and Short of It
11. The Planner’s Plans
12. Donuts and Questions
13. Another Client
14. Checking
15. The Final Bride
16. Figuring Out the Files
17. The Dress
18. Movie Under the Stars

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About the Author
 SHERBET AND SURPRISES

“I don’t know how you’re able to come up with all these

yummy flavors, Mrs. Shepherd,” Nicolas said.
“This new one looks amazing, Mom,” Lilly seconded.
Dave wagged his furry white tail in agreement and Cupcake, the
kitten, mewed. Heather smiled at everyone. Her daughter and best
friend had been feeling crafty and had been painting pictures in the
backyard. However, they pushed aside their watercolors when they
saw the tray of donuts approaching them.
“I get my inspiration for flavors from all sorts of places,” Heather
said as she set the snacks down on the table. “This week when I
was creating a recipe I started thinking about tasty summer treats. I
wanted something that was light and sweet.”
“And colorful,” Lilly said, pointing. “They’re almost as bright as all
our paints.”
“We better not spill any on them,” Nicolas joked.
“What do you call it?” asked Lilly.
“This is the Rainbow Sherbet Donut,” Heather announced. “It’s
filled with a creamy center that has been whipped, so it still tastes
light. And the icing has been decorated with all the wonderful colors
that sherbet comes in: orange, green, purple, and pink.”
 “It really looks delicious,” said Lilly.
“And I’m glad we don’t need a spoon,” Nicolas added.
“Go ahead and try one,” Heather said, handing each of them a
donut.
The kids quickly dove in and devoured the snacks. Heather broke
off some small samples for her animal companions to enjoy and then
took a Rainbow Sherbet Donut for herself. She grinned in between
bites. She was always pleased when she was able to capture another
dessert’s essence in donut form. She thought she’d accomplished it
with this treat that could be served heated or chilled.
Because they were outside in Key West’s summer heat, she had
opted to bring out cooled ones to the children. However, she
planned on having warm ones at their movie night.
When Lilly and Nicolas finished chewing, they began
complimenting the donuts.
“It’s a sherbet sure bet that people are going to love these,” said
Lilly.
“And they’ll be great to serve with the movie,” said Nicolas.
“Since they are almost every color of the rainbow, they’ll match
the signs we’re making,” said Lilly.
Heather walked around the table so she could get a better view
of what was being created. The Shepherd family had recently
invested in an outdoor movie projector, so they could move their
movie nights into the backyard and watch films under the stars.
They planned on having a test run that night and were going to
have a party later in the week where they invited all their friends to
join. Lilly and Nicolas had decided this party needed decorations and
had begun creating their own. Heather loved seeing the faux movie
posters they had come up with.
 “These will look wonderful hung up around the house,” said
Heather.
“And is everything else coming together for the party?” asked
Lilly.
Heather nodded. “You’re taking care of the decorations. Your dad
is going to pick up extra seating. I’ll buy some popcorn and then
snacks will be taken care of – as long as you do like these donuts.”
“Yes!” they both cried out. Dave and Cupcake joined in as well.
Heather was laughing when her best friend entered the yard.
Amy closed the gate behind her and greeted the enthusiastic
animals. Then she looked at Heather.
“Did somebody mention donuts?”
“Did you actually hear us talking about donuts?” Heather asked.
“Or do you just assume that we’re always talking about them?”
Amy shrugged. “So, can I have one?”
Lilly and Nicolas were faster than Heather and presented Amy
with a Rainbow Sherbet Donut. Amy admired it and then ate it
quickly.
“You know, I don’t think I got every color of the rainbow in the
swirls in my frosting on that one,” said Amy with a smile. “I think I
need a second.”
“Go ahead,” said Heather. “And you can bring some up to Jamie if
you want.”
“Maybe this will cheer him up,” Amy agreed.
Amy and Jamie lived in the home above Heather’s with their dog,
Miss Marshmallow. However, Jamie had not been coming out of the
house the last few days. After briefly being accused of murder and
having a run-in with a stalker, he had not been himself. He had been
morose and moody.
 “These donuts would cheer me up,” Nicolas said. “It’s worth a
try.”
“Since I love him so much, I’ll make sure I don’t eat them all on
my way up the stairs,” Amy said. “And Josh and Josie are arriving
today. They’re going to sign the papers for the house they’re going
to get. Then, they can settle into it right after the wedding.”
“I bet between his oldest friend’s visit, the snacks, and the
sneak-peek movie night tonight, he’ll start feeling back to his old
self,” said Heather.
It looked as if Amy was about to respond, but before she could,
another voice rang out across the yard.
“Did somebody say donuts?”
They turned and saw an excited Josie waving at the fence.
Heather gestured for her to join them and she skipped inside.
“I was just kidding,” Josie said with a smile. “I didn’t really hear
anyone say donuts. I just thought it might be something that was
mentioned with this group of people. And I hoped I might be able to
get one.”
Heather handed her a donut and Josie beamed.
“I’m so lucky to have you as friends. You’ve been so supportive
of Josh and my whirlwind wedding. And you always give me tasty
treats.”
“Speaking of this whirlwind,” Amy said. “How are plans going?
Are we in danger like from a tornado?”
“I don’t think so. Plans have been going very well,” Josie said.
“Since we decided to have the reception at the restaurant that Josh
is going to open when we come back from our honeymoon,
everything has really been falling into place. And we’ve decided to
stick with the courtroom wedding. It’s not going to be a very large
gathering. But I think it’s going to be lovely.”
 “I’m glad to hear that,” Amy said. “When you asked us to be
bridesmaids, and you didn’t live on the island, I was afraid there was
going to be a ton of work involved.”
“After today, it should be official that we live here,” Josie said,
happily. “Though we’ll still be staying with you for a little while until
the house is ready.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Heather said. “Jamie has been
feeling down, and I think this will help him.”
“I’m sure Josh will help him feel better,” Josie agreed. “But there
is one thing that I’ll need your help with.”
“Eating donuts?” Amy joked, reaching for it.
Dave barked as if stealing someone’s donut was too mean a
thing to do.
Josie laughed. “Actually, I need help finding my wedding dress.
My maid-of-honor cousin can’t come until next week. So I was
hoping that you might be able to go with me while I search for the
right one.”
“We’d love to,” Heather assured her. “We can go tomorrow if
you’d like. I’d offer tonight, but I promised a practice under-the-stars
movie night.”
“That’s right,” Lilly piped up. “And she can’t back out of it. Well,
unless she had a murder case that she needed to investigate.”
“That does seem to happen a lot,” Nicolas agreed, “because Mrs.
Shepherd and Miss Amy are such good private investigators.”
Heather thanked him for the compliment and then invited Josie
to join the movie as well. Maybe if they brought Jamie down, he
would have a good time.
“I’d love to. I’ll see if Josh and Jamie are free after the
paperwork signing. But first I want to eat this donut.”
 However, before Josie raised the donut to her lips, she held it up
and eyed the colorful icing. Then she said something that was just
as terrifying to Heather as hearing about a new case.
“This is a pretty design. I wonder how it would look as a
bridesmaid dress.”
 SMOKE AND MIRRORS

T he next morning, Heather found herself lost in thought as

she wiped down the counter at her shop, Donut Delights.
She was thinking about the practice movie night. Even though it
wasn’t their official party, it had still been a large crowd. Lilly and
Nicolas had selected an animated comedy about outer space to
christen the projector’s first under-the-stars movie and had laughed
all night. She sat with her husband, Ryan, who was between
homicide cases at the Key West Police Force and was able to relax
for the evening. Amy and Jamie did come to the movie with Josh
and Josie who were very excited about their new house.
The only people who were missing from their usual gathering
were Eva and Leila. However, the two seniors and good friends were
out for the evening with Eva’s beau, Vincent, who had gotten them
all tickets to see an older singer that they used to be crazy about.
When it was time for their party, there would be even more
people in the audience. They had invited the family of Lilly’s other
best friend on the island, some friends from the force, and Heather’s
employees.
While Heather had enjoyed the movie and was looking forward to
the larger party, there was something about the night that caused
her concern. Jamie had come out, but he was still acting withdrawn.
He seemed to be constantly distracted. She wished there was
something more she could do for her friend, but besides offer her
support and provide donuts, she wasn’t sure what else she could do.
(She had already made sure that the culprit would stay behind bars!)
Maybe this was just one of those emotional wounds that needed
time to heal.
“Is everything all right?” Heather’s assistant, Janae, asked. “You
don’t have a case you’re working on now, do you?”
“No, not a new case,” Heather said, looking at the young woman
who had hair as red as hers. “I’ve just been thinking about an old
one and how it affected my friend. Jamie is still upset about what
happened.”
“I don’t blame him. I can’t imagine having a stalker.”
Heather set down her cleaning rag. “But how are things with
you? With everything going on, I feel like we haven’t had a chance
for a real heart to heart.”
“You mean about how things went with Detective Peters?” asked
Janae.
Heather nodded.
“I’m all right,” her assistant assured her. “It’s probably for the
best that he is trying to work things out with Hope. I think my recent
crush on him has been because I’ve been on the rebound after my
relationship with Fire Frank. I did like Peters, but I think why I was
starting to pursue him was more because I wanted to move on from
Fire Frank than about him. And that wouldn’t be a good place to
begin a relationship.”
“I think you’re looking at this very maturely,” said Heather.
“I guess so. And I’ve decided to start focusing on myself again
before I start looking for love. I don’t think I’m completely over the
break up yet. But I am moving forward. I’m going to discover some
new trails that I can lead bike tours on and all the online orders that
need to be filled here will also keep me busy.”
Heather nodded and reiterated that she thought that focusing on
“me time” would be good for Janae. Heather didn’t understand why
Fire Frank had broken up with Janae when they had been so in love,
but she suspected his near-death experience in a fire had affected
him more than he cared to admit.
After baking some more Rainbow Sherbet Donuts, Heather was
happy to hear the shop door open and see Amy and Josie entering.
“Are you ready to look at wedding dresses?” Josie asked
excitedly.
Heather nodded. She made sure Janae and the other assistants
were ready to take over running the shop. Then she brought some
donuts over to a table so she and the other ladies could discuss their
plan for browsing.
They happily munched on the donuts and Josie showed Heather
the list they had come up with in order of which dress shop to visit
first. Heather suspected that Amy had started this list when she had
been hoping for Jamie to propose to her, but she didn’t say
anything. Though Amy still wanted a proposal, she had become less
anxious about waiting for it. Neither she nor Jamie were people who
were willing to rush into things. Amy also must be more worried
about getting Jamie out of his funk than getting him to buy a ring.
“I think we should start at Kelly’s Custom Dresses,” Josie said. “It
sounds like the cutest little boutique. Her website says that she has
several styles of dresses and that she can add accents to make it
one of a kind for a bride. I think that sounds perfect. I’d like to have
something unique, but I know there’s not much time until my
wedding. This sounds like the perfect solution. But of course, we
have other places we can visit if we don’t like what we find there.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Heather said. “And, by the way, have
you given any more thought to what you’d like your bridesmaids to
wear?”
Josie shrugged. “Just something bright and cheery. Maybe like
those donuts you made.”
Heather kept the smile on her face, but it was hard. She loved
the donuts she made, but she didn’t want to wear them. She also
wasn’t sure how the Rainbow Sherbet design would look with her
hair. However, she did want the bride to be happy – even if those
pictures of her in a hideous dress would be kept forever.
They finished their snacks and headed out to the dress shop.
Amy drove them, and Josie talked the whole way about how excited
she was to try on the white dresses and spin in front of the mirrors.
Her joy was infectious, and Heather forgot about the fear of what
she might end up wearing.
They parked and walked toward the shop door. Josie was dancing
on her toes as they approached Kelly’s Custom Dresses. However,
Heather stopped her before she opened the door.
“Josie, wait!”
“What’s wrong?” Josie asked, starting to look scared.
Heather pointed along the edges of the glass door. Some smoke
was issuing out.
“Oh no,” Amy said. “Where’s there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“We might have to put dress shopping on hold,” Heather said.
“We need to call for help.”
 FIRE

H eather was grateful that the fire truck arrived just

minutes after she placed the call. She had been
agonizing over what she should be doing. Should she go inside and
see if anyone needed help? Would this just be putting herself in
danger where she would be no help to anyone? Would opening the
door allow more air into the room and further inflame the fire?
The 911 operator had told her not to enter the dress shop, but it
was hard to heed these instructions. Heather didn’t like standing on
the sidelines, especially if someone was in trouble.
“I hope everyone is okay,” Josie said. “And I hope this isn’t a bad
omen about my wedding.”
“Of course it’s not,” said Heather. “Your upcoming marriage didn’t
cause a fire.”
The three women stood to the side with a few other people from
the nearby shops that had come out when the fire truck arrived.
Though Heather didn’t want to admit that there was a silver
lining in a situation that she wasn’t sure didn’t have any victims, she
did like seeing Fire Frank back to work. He had gotten a leg injury
when he had tried to save someone from a burning building. It had
taken a while to recover, and he had been on desk duty until it
healed. However, now Heather was able to see him and his team
rush into the building.
They weren’t using the large hoses on the truck, which Heather
thought might be a good sign. However, when Fire Frank
approached her with a serious expression on his face, she was less
sure.
He asked the three women to move closer to the firetruck, so
they were away from the other people watching what was
happening.
“We were able to stop the fire,” he explained. “It was contained
to a large trash can and didn’t spread to the rest of the shop.”
“That sounds like good news,” Amy said. “Why are you saying
this like it’s not good news?”
“Because there was a victim inside the shop,” Fire Frank said,
frowning.
“Of the fire?” asked Heather. “I didn’t see you bring anyone
outside. Does that mean she died? If it wasn’t a large fire, how so?
Was it smoke inhalation?”
“I think it was a more direct cause of death,” he said. “I’m not a
medical examiner, but it looks to me like a blow to the head was
what killed her.”
“So it wasn’t the fire,” said Amy.
“Oh, this is terrible,” Josie said, wrapping her arms around herself
for security.
“I think she was murdered,” Fire Frank said finally. “I called Ryan
to tell him that the police were needed and they should be here any
moment. I’m sure he’ll want you to stay and describe what you saw.
And, probably to help with the case like you’ve been doing so well
with other ones.”
 They thanked him for the update. Josie and Amy headed back
toward the crowd. Heather was about to join them when Fire Frank
stopped her.
“Maybe this isn’t the right time, but there is something I wanted
to ask you.”
“What?” Heather asked, not sure what it could be.
“How is Janae?” He looked hesitant, but it was clear that he
cared about the answer.
“Well,” Heather said. “She’s getting by. She’s been putting extra
hours in at Donut Delights and is excelling at the recipes. And she’s
been creating new bike tours to lead. If you’d like more information
than that, I think you’re going to have to talk to her directly.”
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” he said quickly.
Then he headed back inside the building. Heather was
disappointed because she wanted to talk to him more about both
about his interest in Janae’s wellbeing and about the person who he
had found dead inside the dress shop.
Luckily, Ryan and his partner Detective Peters arrived at the
scene soon after that. Ryan and the young officer greeted them and
then went to examine the scene, saying they would talk more after
they had a look around the shop.
“Oh dear,” Josie said. “I thought we were going to have such a
fun day, trying on dresses. Now it looks like we’re going to have to
give statements to the police and deal with a murder.”
“I know it’s not the plan we had for the day, but don’t worry,”
said Heather. “We’ll make sure that you get a beautiful dress before
your wedding, and that there is justice for the poor woman inside.”
“I wonder if it was the owner,” Josie said, starting to tear up.
“She’ll never get to make pretty dresses for brides again.”
 Ryan and Detective Peters returned to them, and Peters looked
very awkward when he realized Josie was crying.
“Don’t mind her.” Amy quipped, “Wedding dresses always make
her cry.”
Heather found some tissues and handed them to Josie, who
gratefully accepted.
“We’re sorry to talk to you when you’re upset, but we need to
find out everything we can about what happened,” Peters said. “Did
you know the victim well?”
“Who was it that was found inside?” asked Heather.
“It was the owner of the dress shop, Ann Kelly,” Ryan explained.
“We’ve never met her,” said Heather. “This was our first time
coming here.”
“We were going to look at her dresses,” Josie said sadly. “She
was on the top of my list of who to visit. And now she’s dead.”
Heather and Amy quickly updated the detectives on their arrival
on the scene and the little they knew. Josie just kept voicing how
she couldn’t believe the dressmaker was dead and that they were
about to stumble across it.
“Why don’t we take Josie home? Then Amy and I can come
back,” Heather suggested. “It will give the police a chance to process
the scene and then we can assist with analyzing it. And we can
make sure that Josh and Jamie will look after Josie. I think you need
a cup of tea and maybe a hot bath.”
“Okay,” Josie said. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to look at
dresses anymore anyway.”
Heather and Amy led her away. Heather’s mind was already
racing. Who would want to kill the dressmaker? And why had a fire
been set inside the store?
 A PRETTY CRIME SCENE

“I t’s a shame,” Amy said, looking around the dress shop.

“I think Josie would have liked these dresses.”
Heather nodded. Even though there was some smokiness on
some of the white dresses, it was evident that they were all lovely
pieces.
Ryan and Detective Peters met them by the door.
“How is Josie?” asked Ryan.
“Not quite as bubbly as usual,” said Amy. “But I think she’ll be all
right. We left her with the boys and a box of donuts.”
“I’m glad she didn’t actually see the body,” said Heather.
“The medical examiner removed it already,” said Ryan.
“Was the cause of death a blow to the back of the head like Fire
Frank thought?” asked Heather.
Ryan nodded. “Of course, the medical examiner will check to
make sure that there were no other signs of foul play. However, she
was definitely hit on the back of the head.”
“And we think we’ve found the murder weapon,” said Peters.
“That was fast,” said Amy.
“Or what’s left of it,” Peters amended.
 “It seems like today everyone gives us good news, but it quickly
changes to bad,” Amy said, shaking her head.
Peters led them toward the back of the shop. To one side were
mirrors and a changing room. To the other side was an office.
Heather looked toward the office and saw a large trashcan inside.
Based on the smoky smell, she guessed this was where the fire was
set.
However, she suspected that Ann Kelly was murdered in the area
between the office and the mirrored dressing area. There was some
blood on the floor and some large blue broken pieces of something.
“Is that a vase?” Heather asked.
“Yes,” Peters said. “She has a matching one on the other side of
the shop on a pedestal.”
“This is a big and heavy vase,” Amy noted. “That’s why I don’t
like to furnish my house this way. I don’t want things like this to be
used as murder weapons.”
“We didn’t find any prints on the pieces with our initial search,”
Ryan said. “But we’ll bring them to the lab and see if there’s
anything else that can be learned from them.”
Heather nodded. “But why was the fire set? It doesn’t look like it
was right next to the body.”
“Right,” said Amy. “So it wasn’t started to hide that a murder
took place here. If anything, the fire would have attracted people
and told that something was wrong at the shop if the smoke got
thicker.”
“I think the killer had another reason for starting the fire,” Ryan
said and gestured that they should follow.
They walked into the office, careful not to disturb the pieces of
the vase on the ground as they went. The office looked like a normal
shop office, though a bit more ornate than Heather’s was and with a
lot more wedding pictures on the walls.
There were several filing cabinets around the room. Most of the
space was neat and tidy, but one of the cabinet’s drawers had been
ripped out. It lay empty on the floor, making the whole room look
disheveled.
Heather peered into the trashcan. It contained the ashy
remnants of papers and file folders.
“The fire was set to destroy what was in that drawer,” Heather
said. “It’s interesting that the killer set the fire here instead of
stealing what was inside it.”
“Maybe he panicked,” said Peters. “He didn’t want to be caught
with the documents.”
“Or maybe all the papers were heavy,” said Amy. “I don’t know
how fast a getaway I could make if my arms were weighted down.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to recover much of what was lost
here,” Ryan said. “As quickly as the firefighters arrived on the scene,
paper burns faster.”
“Maybe we can still figure out what it was,” said Heather. “Has
everything in here been dusted for prints?”
The detectives assured her it was. She put on a pair of gloves
and opened another filing cabinet drawer. She opened a few files at
random and saw what they contained. Each file was for a bride’s
dress and described the alterations that were made to it to make it
unique for her. It contained information about the dress, the bride,
any information about the wedding that could affect movement in
the dress, and when it was finished and collected.
Heather returned them to the slot she picked them out of and
then began examining all the drawers’ contents, looking for how Ann
Kelly had sorted them. It wasn’t alphabetical, but there did seem to
be a system. Finally, after looking through many of them, she had
her answer.
“The victim was a little more organized than I am,” Heather
admitted. “She had a file on every bride’s dress that she made. It
looks like the open orders are in this filing cabinet closest to the
desk. They’re arranged in order of the requested pickup date. It
looks like the cabinets that hold her records are organized the same
way. They are arranged by when the dresses were picked up. And it
looks like the drawer that was missing contained files for this week a
year ago.”
The detectives checked the drawers as well and agreed with the
pattern she had found. Now they knew what was missing, but they
still didn’t understand why.
“Good work,” Ryan said. “Maybe we can track down whose
information was in this drawer.”
“And why someone would want it burned,” Heather agreed.
“The dress couldn’t have been that ugly, right?” Amy joked.
“I wouldn’t think so,” said Heather. “But there has to be some
reason why this drawer of files was destroyed and why the
dressmaker was murdered.”
 RECUPERATING

A fter finishing their examination of the crime scene, Heather

and Amy headed home. There was still time until Heather
needed to pick Lilly and Nicolas up from their friend Chelsea’s house,
so she decided to go upstairs with Amy and check on Josie.
As they entered, Heather couldn’t help feeling happy as she saw
that the house had no lasting effects from the stalker’s visit.
Everything has returned to its usual state of looking both
comfortable and artistic.
Well, there was one difference, but Heather was not sure if it was
a temporary one. Amy and Jamie’s pampered pooch, Miss
Marshmallow, was joined by a second dog. This was a black
miniature poodle named Prince who had been a missing witness on
a previous case. Before adopting Miss Marshmallow, the couple had
protested their intention to make her an official part of the family for
a long time. Heather wasn’t sure if it would be a similar situation
with Prince. Prince’s former owner didn’t have any close relatives so
the dog would be staying at Amy and Jamie’s until a decision of
where he should go was made. Jamie was adamant that he did not
intend to keep the dog. Heather wasn’t sure if this was a repeat of
what happened last time or if he was serious because Prince was a
reminder of the case Jamie wanted to forget.
They walked into the living room and saw that comfort was in no
short supply. Josie was under a blanket on the couch. Josh was next
to her, placing an arm around her and whispering soothing words.
Prince was on her other side, cuddling close and providing her face
with occasional licks. Josh didn’t seem pleased by that action but
didn’t say anything because it was helping Josie.
Jamie sat in a chair nearby with Miss Marshmallow at his side.
She looked up at Amy as if to say she was worried about her owner.
Amy hurried over to Jamie and hugged him. She sat on the arm
of the chair to stick close. Jamie leaned his head against her, but his
smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
Heather opted to sit on the couch with the other couple. Prince
wagged his tail and walked over to say hello before returning to
Josie.
“Did you catch the killer?” Josie asked.
“What?” asked Amy. “We’re great P.I.s, but we’re not that fast.”
“We are working on it though,” Heather assured her. “And how
are you holding up?”
“I feel much better now,” said Josie. “Josh always makes me feel
happy and safe. And I love when we visit his best friend, Jamie. The
dogs have been so charming too. And I think it’s upsetting because
a woman died and because I thought we were embarking on such a
happy task, but the positive thing to focus on was that because we
were there, we were able to stop the fire from spreading.”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it. She’s always so positive,” Josh
said appreciatively. “Of course, I’ve been wondering if we chose the
wrong time to move here if crime continues to be on the rise.”
 “Nonsense,” said Josie, removing her blanket. “We love it here.
We love the beaches and being close to our friends. And it will allow
you to open your dream restaurant. This is still paradise for us.”
“But what happened today?” Jamie asked, finally speaking.
“I’m sure Josie caught you up on our arrival,” Heather said. “And
we discovered some unusual things when we were at the crime
scene.”
“The victim was killed with something that was inside the shop so
it could have been premeditated or not,” said Amy.
“The fire was set to destroy some files, but probably not to
destroy the evidence of a murder. The files were put in a large
trashcan and burned. While this could have spread, if the killer really
wanted to burn down the shop, they could have set the files on fire
directly on the ground or near any of the dresses,” Heather
explained.
“What was in those files that someone wanted to destroy them?”
asked Josh, “Proof of embezzlement? Blackmail? “
“It appears to be records of custom dresses that were bought,”
said Heather. “It’s possible that there was something else hidden
inside, but the files were from this week in August a year ago. That’s
when the dresses were picked up.”
“But that doesn’t mean that’s when the weddings took place,”
said Josie.
“That’s right,” Heather said with a sigh. “With all the records
gone, it’s going to be difficult to determine why they had to be
destroyed.”
“Do you think someone didn’t want the record of their wedding
kept?” asked Josh. “So she was even destroying the proof of the
dress?”
 “That could be possible,” Heather said. “Maybe she didn’t want to
be convicted of bigamy. Or she was part of a con of some sort.”
“Or maybe she just really hated her dress,” Amy joked.
They all let out a little laugh except for Jamie. When he realized
this, he muttered, “Sorry.”
“I’d like to track down all the brides who picked up their dresses,”
Heather said. “But I’m not sure how to do this. Fire Frank is assisting
us as this is partially an arson case. I’m hoping he might be able to
recover something from what was burned in the trashcan. If he
can’t, we’ll have to look into everyone who was married in Key West
within the last year.”
“And hope that the wedding wasn’t called off and that’s a motive
for the murder,” said Amy. “Or that the bride took her dress off the
island to get married somewhere else.”
“It does seem like a difficult task,” Josie said, with a little frown.
“But don’t worry,” Heather said quickly. “We’ll figure out who did
this, and we’ll still have time to go dress shopping with you.”
“Are you sure?” asked Josie. “I could try looking at dresses
alone.”
“No,” Amy said. “The bride needs her bridesmaids with her for
this, and we will be there. Regardless of what you end up making us
wear.”
“We can go tomorrow,” Heather assured her.
A thoughtful expression came over Amy’s face and then she said,
“You know? I just realized something. We might have our work cut
out for us catching the killer. She could be a real bridezilla.”
 ASHES

T he next morning, Heather brought some Rainbow Sherbet

Donuts to the police station. She was eager to hear what
Fire Frank had been able to uncover in the ashy evidence.
Suspecting he might not have been able to salvage anything, she
wanted to bring in something to cheer them all up.
“Are those the Rainbow Sherbet Donuts I’ve heard so much
about?” Chief Chet asked when he saw the investigators enter.
Heather smiled at him. He was a laid-back police chief who
trusted his officers to get the job done. Though he cared about the
safety of his town, he operated on “island time.” He insisted that
everyone call him by his first name (hence Chief Chet instead of
Chief Copeland), and he was a huge fan of Heather’s donuts. He was
also the father of Lilly’s friend, Chelsea, and Heather guessed that
was where he had heard about the new flavor.
“That’s right,” Heather said, opening the box she carried so he
could take one.
He murmured words of pleasure as he devoured the donut.
When he had finished it and licked the frosting from his fingers, he
said, “As delicious as ever, Heather. They always live up to your shop
name and are a delight.”
 “Thank you.” Even though she was anxious to learn more about
the case, she did enjoy receiving honest compliments about her
donuts.
“And now I’m even more excited about your under-the-stars
movie night party,” he said. “The kids told me that these donuts
would be served there.”
“We just better hope that there’s no crime going on that night if
you, Ryan, and Detective Peters all attend,” Amy joked. “Though I’m
sure it would be dramatic to watch you all run off.”
Chief Chet brushed the idea away. “There are other officers who
can cover that night. Though I do hope that this current murder
case you’re all working on is solved by then. I’ve already gotten
some calls from anxious brides about whether their dresses will be
released from evidence.”
“But these calls were all from current customers?” asked Heather.
“No calls from someone who ordered a dress a year ago?”
“Only current ones. Loud and emotional current ones,” he said
with a shudder.
“Well, we are working on it,” Heather assured him. “We’re waiting
for Fire Frank so he can discuss if any evidence was saved.”
“That redheaded fireman?” Chief Chet asked. “Why, he’s already
here. He’s talking about the evidence with Ryan and Peters.”
Heather tried not to groan. She gave the chief a second donut
and then hurried off to catch up with the others.
“Sometimes his desire to have crimes solved is really at odds with
his desire to get as many of your donuts as possible,” Amy
grumbled.
Heather nodded, but when she entered the room that the
detectives and firefighter were in, she saw that they hadn’t missed
much. Her “cheer up” donuts were in order.
 “I apologize that I haven’t been able to recover much,” Fire Frank
said.
“That’s all right,” said Heather. “That’s what we thought when we
first saw the damage.”
“There were only two words I was able to recover from it all,”
Fire Frank said. “The word long and the name Wanda. I don’t know
if they go together at all or not.”
Amy nodded. “Wanda might have wanted a long veil or someone
else might have.”
“I can check and see if there were any Wandas who got married
in the area in the last year,” Ryan said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and
find out she ordered a dress from the victim.”
“Good idea, partner,” Peters agreed.
They shook hands with Fire Frank and promised Heather and
Amy they would update them on their progress. Heather told him
that they would do the same, but admitted to herself that she wasn’t
exactly sure what her next move was.
“It’s funny,” Peters said to Ryan as they left. “All this wedding
talk. Even if it’s related to a case, it sure gets you thinking about the
future. I mean, I know I’m not there yet. But I see a life with my
girlfriend, you know? I can see myself waiting at the end of the aisle
for her to walk down in a pretty white dress.”
“I know what you mean,” said Ryan. “Part of me knew there was
a future with Heather the first moment I met her. Of course, I tried
to fight it. I was interviewing her as a person of interest in a murder
case at the time.”
Heather wasn’t sure how much of that conversation they were
supposed to hear, but she felt her cheeks blushing and couldn’t help
grinning. She tried to bring her attention back to the case and
asked, “What about how the fire was set? Could that point us to the
killer?”
“I’m sorry,” Fire Frank said to her though he was still watching
the doorway where the detectives left. “I must have explained that
before you arrived.”
“Stupid Chief Chet and his sweet tooth,” Amy muttered.
“I found remains of matchsticks at the scene. They appear to be
standard issue sold at any store. They’re the ones that come in little
boxes, so we won’t be able to match them to a matchbook where
they are torn off,” Fire Frank explained. “And there doesn’t appear to
be an accelerant used. The papers burned on their own.”
“So this means that anyone could have done it?” Heather
summed up.
“I’m afraid so,” he agreed. “But maybe this Wanda person is
involved, and I did get you one clue?”
“Thank you for all your help,” she said. “I’m not sure what to do
for the case next, but we promised Josie that we would attempt
wedding dress shopping with her again.”
Heather was about to leave with Amy when Fire Frank said
suddenly, “Peters seems very happy.”
“He sure does,” Heather said. “I’m glad everything is finally
settled.”
“Is he good to Janae?” he asked, looking down.
“What?” asked Heather. “Peters is dating a reporter named
Hope.”
“I assumed they would have gotten together,” Fire Frank said.
“Peters had been interested in her, and he’s a good man. I thought
she liked him too.”
“Well, you know what happens when you assume,” said Amy,
crossing her arms.
 Heather took a step toward the firefighter. “I never really
understood why you broke up. Do you still have feelings for her?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, gathering his things. “I should get
back to the station.”
Heather and Amy watched him go and then turned to one
another.
“Why does everything need to be so complicated?” Amy asked.
 ANOTHER ATTEMPT

“I f this building ends up being on fire, I’m going to tell

Josh that we’re not getting married,” Josie joked.
Heather and Amy were taking her to her second choice to try on
dresses: Bea’s Boutique. Happily, there was no sign of smoke when
they approached. Heather pushed the door open, and it jingled to
announce their arrival.
A woman with large hair and an avant garde dress greeted them.
“Hello and welcome to Bea’s Boutique. I’m Bea Milo, and I’d be
happy to assist you in making your dreams come true. Tell me, are
you one of the poor dears whose dress was lost at Kelly’s Custom
Dresses?”
“No,” Josie began.
“But we’ve heard all about it,” Heather said, jumping on the
question and hoping she might learn some gossip that could lead to
real evidence. “It’s so terrible. Can you believe that happened? Do
you think someone is targeting brides and boutiques? Or just that
Ann Kelly?”
“I can assure you that you are perfectly safe here,” said Bea. “I
can’t imagine anyone going after brides. It must be someone who
was after Ann Kelly for some reason.”
 “Do you know anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?”
asked Heather.
“I suppose we’re similar in many ways, but I wouldn’t exactly call
us close,” said Bea. “We do both own our own shops and basically
run them by ourselves. We do both have an assistant, but they’re
both away on their separate honeymoons right now. Isn’t that just
the zaniest coincidence?”
“That certainly is,” Josie agreed. “But summer weddings are nice.
I’m getting married soon myself. Though I suppose the weather is
always nice in Key West.”
“You’re the bride? Congratulations!” Bea said, hugging her.
“Thank you!” Josie said, getting excited about dress shopping
again.
“And if your wedding is coming up soon, then we better find you
something special quickly,” said Bea, leading her toward the displays
of dresses.
“They’re all so lovely,” said Josie as she began looking. “I don’t
want anything too outrageous though. I’m just having a courtroom
wedding, but we’ll have a reception afterward. And I need to find
something for my bridesmaids. Even if they’re not an official part of
my simple ceremony, they’re an important part of my day. Heather
and Amy here are two of them, and my cousin is as well.”
Josie was having a good time, examining the dresses with Bea
and picking out some options. Heather knew that Josie would look
beautiful in any style they picked, and if she wanted something
understated, then they might just succeed in finding the perfect
dress that afternoon.
Heather didn’t want to ruin the mood, but she was hoping that
she could find out some more information from Bea about the
victim. When Josie went into the changing room, Heather found her
opportunity.
“Is it difficult to maintain a wedding dress boutique here?”
Heather asked.
“Yes and no,” said Bea. “Many of the weddings here are
destination weddings where the brides had already gotten their
dresses before they arrived. However, I do make ends meet. And I
love doing what I’m doing. It’s so nice to see the brides so happy.”
“Do you make custom changes to the dress like Ann Kelly did?”
asked Heather.
“I can make slight alterations in size,” Bea said. “But I mostly
allow the talented designers who are displayed in my shop to shine.
I sell what has already been created, but they are all amazing
dresses. And all that matters is that the bride is happy.”
“Are there ever any brides that aren’t happy?” Heather asked,
trying to sound casual. “Maybe one of them could have started that
fire and killed the other dressmaker?”
“That is possible,” said Bea. “Emotions are running high when a
wedding is involved.”
“Could that have happened even if it was a year after the fact?”
asked Heather.
Bea shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Do you know any of Ann Kelly’s clients?” asked Heather. “Maybe
a Wanda?”
“Why are you so curious about what I knew about her?” Bea
asked, turning. “A morbid fascination about death near a wedding?”
“That must be it,” said Heather. “And I think Josie mentioned that
a Wanda had suggested we go to Ann Kelly’s dress shop, but Josie
was set on coming here. Of course, then the fire really forced our
hand.”
 “I do know some of the women who went to Kelly’s Custom
Dresses,” Bea admitted. “I try to stay on top of the competition and
see what is selected for weddings besides what I sell. I think I
remember a Wanda, but it was a while ago. Maybe a year ago. But
her name stuck with me because once she was married, it became
Wanda Wu. That was around the time of Sheila Long’s wedding. I
remember her because her sister bought one of my dresses and I
thought Sheila would as well. Yes, they were just about a year ago.”
Heather was elated by the news. The weddings Bea described fit
into the timeframe of when the dresses could have been picked up
from Kelly’s Custom Dresses – and could have been included in the
burned files. Not only had she discovered who the Wanda from the
file was, but she might have found another bride as well. What if the
word “long” that Fire Frank had found was a last name? Then, Sheila
Long could be a suspect too.
However, Heather was even happier when she saw Josie emerge
from the room. Despite hearing her teasing complaints that Amy had
kept her in the dressing room forever (which Amy responded to by
giving a wink to Heather, and her partner knew that she had been
giving her some time with the dress seller to get some information
out of her), Josie looked radiant.
“I know it’s the first one I tried on,” Josie said, looking in the
mirror. “But I love it. I think it might be the one.”
“Perfect,” Heather said, feeling that this had been a very
productive shopping trip all around.
 WANDA WANDERS

A fter learning the potential full name of the bride, Heather

quickly reported it to Ryan. She and Amy brought a smiling
Josie home where she told Josh that she had found her wedding
dress, but was still deciding on the bridesmaid ones.
“Meaning she didn’t find one that was as colorful as your sherbet
donuts,” Amy said with an eye roll.
Josie picked up Prince to hug him, and Amy checked on Jamie
who was still looking glum. Then Heather received a call from Ryan
informing her that they had tracked down Wanda Wu.
Heather and Amy hurried to meet him and Peters as they went to
question her. They arrived at the Wu home where they found Wanda
working in the garden. They approached her, but she kept working.
“Mrs. Wu, I’m Detective Shepherd, and this is my partner
Detective Peters. Accompanying us are two private investigators who
assist us on certain cases. Do you mind if we ask you some
questions?”
“I guess not,” Wanda said, though she continued wandering
through her garden and working with her flowers. “Is this about
Wallace?”
“Is that your husband?” asked Peters.
 “That’s right. Though it doesn’t usually feel like it,” she said with
a sigh. “He’s never home.”
“Was he home yesterday morning?” Heather asked.
“No. He was in Chicago or Cancun, I think. One of those places.”
“Well, there’s quite a difference between those two places,” Amy
said. “You don’t know where he was?”
“I forget what route he’s on. He’s a pilot,” Wanda explained. “He
flies all sorts of places. They change up his schedules. But it always
means that he’s not home when he thinks he’ll be. He just keeps
flying more planes.”
“What about you?” asked Heather. “Were you home yesterday
afternoon?”
“I must have been doing something to try and chase off my
boredom,” she said. “I was probably wandering around town.”
“Can you be more specific?” asked Peters.
“I went to a plant store to get some supplies. And I wandered
around the library to get some new books. And I got an ice cream
cone. But why does this matter? What are you investigating
anyway?”
“Did you buy your wedding dress from Kelly’s Custom Dresses?”
asked Heather.
Wanda continued digging in the dirt. “That’s right.”
“And you picked it up almost exactly a year ago.”
“Right again. I thought my wedding was going to be the happiest
day of my life. And maybe it was. But now I just look at it with
regret. Why did I decide to marry a pilot? I thought it would be so
exciting, but it just means I’m alone all the time. What a mistake.”
“Have you tried talking to him about this?” asked Amy. “He is
supposed to be your partner.”
 “It wouldn’t matter,” Wanda said bitterly. “He wouldn’t want me
to clip his wings. I should never have married.”
“What did you think of your dress?” asked Amy.
“My wedding dress? It was beautiful. It just was a mistake to
wear it.”
“Did you blame Ann Kelly for your marital problems at all?” asked
Ryan.
“The lady who made my dress? Why would I blame her? She
couldn’t have known how this would all turn out. She couldn’t have
known that Wallace would fly away so often.”
“So you bear no ill will towards her?” asked Peters.
“No,” said Wanda.
“Do you know anyone who might?” he continued.
“I think everyone I saw at the shop was really happy when they
came in. Most brides are. Maybe there was this one who wasn’t. She
had this big tattoo on her shoulder that she was having trouble
covering. It was a big dolphin.”
“Do you know her name?” asked Heather.
Wanda shook her head. “No. And I think it all got worked out
eventually. I heard them talking about a cape at one point. But this
was all a while ago.”
“Has anything come up recently to make you think of the shop or
your wedding dress?” asked Ryan.
“Do you mean, did I get so fed up with Wallace that I decided to
burn my gown?” Wanda asked with a laugh as she wandered around
the garden. “No. It’s still hanging in my closet. I don’t blame the
dress for Wallace never being home. That’s my fault for not realizing
what I was getting into.”
“Why did you jump to mentioning fire?” asked Heather.
 “I don’t know,” Wanda said with a shrug. “Isn’t that normally
what people do when they want to destroy something? Burn it?”
“I don’t know,” said Amy. “I usually throw things in the trash.”
Heather listened as a few more questions were asked and Wanda
denied knowing anything recent about Kelly’s Custom Dresses. She
would have to check on the alibi, but if Wanda was so upset with her
absent husband, she might have started looking for someone else to
blame for her problems. It was also very interesting that she had
already mentioned fire.
 ALIBIS

“I think Wanda could have done it,” Amy said.

“I agree that she could have had a motive,” Heather
said. “She might have wanted to seek revenge for the bad marriage
on her husband, but because he wasn’t around, she might have
projected her angry feelings onto Ann Kelly. She might have killed
her out of rage and then tried to cover up that she had ever been a
customer there by burning her file.”
“And she burned all of the files for the same week she picked up
her dress because she was in a hurry,” Amy said with a nod. “She
wanted to destroy all the evidence, but karma had it, so her name
remained.”
“It all comes down to her alibi though,” said Heather. “We might
understand a reason why she could have committed the crime, but if
she was at the flower shop or ice cream stand or library at the time,
then she couldn’t have done it. Wanda can’t be in two places at the
same time.”
“I guess you’re right,” Amy said. “Well, hopefully, we’ll figure this
out soon.”
Heather nodded. After they spoke to Wanda, Ryan and Peters
had returned to the station because the medical examiner wanted to
talk with them. Heather and Amy had decided to try and see if
Wanda’s alibi could be verified. Heather called her friend Bernadette
who ran the bookshop on her street because she knew how friendly
she was with the local librarian. Bernadette promised to question the
librarian about Wanda Wu’s presence there in exchange for one of
Heather’s newest donuts. That was an easy bargain to make.
Then Heather and Amy headed to a flower shop to see if anyone
there remembered Wanda. While they waited to find an employee
they could question, they started looking at the flowers.
Amy sniffed a long-stemmed rose and said, “This might not be a
waste of time even if we don’t discover an alibi. We can tell Josie
about all the flowers here. They might be ones she’ll want to use at
the restaurant for her reception.”
“That’s a great idea,” Heather said. “There are all sorts of
different types here. I’m sure she’ll find something that she would
like to decorate the tables.”
“We’ll just have to be careful that she doesn’t find something
here to inspire her to find an even uglier bridesmaid dress,” Amy
joked.
A sales associate with a long braid came up to them. “Can I help
you find something today?”
“We’re going to bring our friend back to look at flowers for her
wedding,” Amy told her. “As long as there’s nothing too frilly here.”
The associate looked a little confused and was about to leave,
but Heather stopped her.
“There is something else that we’d like to ask that’s unrelated to
our friend’s wedding. You see, we’re private investigators who are
helping the police with a matter.”
“Really?” the girl asked.
 Heather nodded and showed her the ID badge that Chief Chet
had made for them to show they worked as consultants for the
force.
“We’re trying to establish whether someone came into this shop
yesterday.”
“I worked pretty much all day yesterday,” the girl said. “Maybe I
can remember who it was. What did they look like?”
Heather and Amy described Wanda Wu, and the girl laughed.
“That’s right. I do remember her. She kept wandering the aisles, and
it took a long time for her to decide what to buy. I got the sense she
was bored and killing time. But the main reason I remember her is
because she was eating an ice cream cone as she walked around.”
“And what time was this?” asked Heather.
“I guess she got here around one and stayed until about three.”
Heather thanked her. Amy asked if they would be able to hide
any ugly flowers when they returned and the girl looked confused
again. The investigators left the flower shop, discussing what they
learned.
“I think we got to the dress shop close to eleven,” said Heather.
“And the fire couldn’t have been started too long before that.”
“So Wanda arriving at this shop at one doesn’t prove anything
either way,” Amy pointed out.
Heather’s cell phone began ringing. “No. But maybe this will.
Bernadette is calling. She might have news.”
Heather happily answered the call and listened as Bernadette
told her that the librarian did remember seeing Wanda there that
morning. She had arrived about nine o’clock and wandered around.
The librarian helped her find a few things, and Wanda left around
noon, saying she was hungry. Heather thanked her for the news and
promised to bring her a whole box of Rainbow Sherbet Donuts.
 After she told Amy the news, they decided that Wanda Wu
couldn’t be the killer. She had an alibi for the time of the murder.
“Unless that’s Bernadette calling to tell us there’s more
information she forgot,” Amy said as Heather’s phone began to ring
again.
“It’s Ryan,” Heather said before picking up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Heather. Any luck with Wanda’s alibi?”
“We’ve actually gotten it verified,” Heather reported. “Any
developments with you?”
“Yes. The medical examiner finished his report, and there was
something odd about it. The vase wasn’t the murder weapon.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Ann Kelly was hit with something else first that killed her. She
was hit with the vase afterward, perhaps to disguise what was used
to kill her.”
“And it might have been something that the killer brought with
them to commit the crime,” Heather said, thinking aloud.
“The wound was distorted, but it was something with a rounded
section and a flat part.”
“The killer might have succeeded in distorting it then,” said
Heather. “Because that’s a very vague description.”
After saying goodbye to Ryan, Heather recapped what she’d
learned to Amy. They were back to square one with the murder
weapon.
Another random document with
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 CHAPTER II

I HAVE decided not to show Edelgard my manuscript again, and my reason

is that I may have a freer hand. For the same reason I will not, as we at
first proposed, send it round by itself among our relations, but will either
accompany it in person or invite our relations to a cozy beer-evening, with a
simple little cold something to follow, and read aloud such portions of it as I
think fit, omitting of course much that I say about Edelgard and probably
also a good deal that I say about everybody else. A reasonable man is not a
woman, and does not willingly pander to a love of gossip. Besides, as I have
already hinted, the Edelgard who came back from England is by no means
the Edelgard who went there. It will wear off, I am confident, in time, and
we will return to the status quo ante—(how naturally that came out: it
gratifies me to see I still remember)—a status quo full of trust and obedience
on the one side and of kind and wise guidance on the other. Surely I have a
right to refuse to be driven, except by a silken thread? When I, noticing a
tendency on Edelgard’s part to attempt to substitute, if I may so express it,
leather, asked her the above question, will it be believed that what she
answered was Bosh?
It gave me a great shock to hear her talk like that. Bosh is not a German
expression at all. It is purest English. And it amazes me with what rapidity
she picked it and similar portions of the language up, adding them in
quantities to the knowledge she already possessed of the tongue, a fairly
complete knowledge (she having been well educated), but altogether
excluding words of that sort. Of course I am aware it was all Jellaby’s fault
—but more of him in his proper place; I will not now dwell on later
incidents while my narrative is still only at the point where everything was
eager anticipation and preparation.
Our caravan had been hired; I had sent, at Frau von Eckthum’s direction,
the money to the owner, the price (unfortunately) having to be paid
beforehand; and August the first, the very day of my wedding with poor
Marie-Luise, was to see us start. Naturally there was much to do and
arrange, but it was pleasurable work such as getting a suit of civilian clothes
adapted to the uses it would be put to, searching for stockings to match the
knickerbockers, and for a hat that would be useful in both wet weather and
sunshine.
 “It will be all sunshine,” said Frau von Eckthum with her really unusually
pretty smile (it includes the sudden appearance of two dimples) when I
expressed fears as to the effect of rain on the Panama that I finally bought
and which, not being a real one, made me anxious.
We saw her several times because of our need for hints as to luggage,
meeting place, etc., and I found her each time more charming. When she was
on her feet, too, her dress hid the shoes; and she was really helpful, and was
apparently looking forward greatly to showing us the beauties of her sister’s
more or less native land.
As soon as my costume was ready I put it on and drove out to see her.
The stockings had been a difficulty because I could not bear, accustomed as I
am to cotton socks, their woollen feet. This was at last surmounted by
cutting off their feet and sewing my ordinary sock feet on to the woollen
legs. It answered splendidly, and Edelgard assured me that with care no
portion of the sock (which was not of the same colour) would protrude. She
herself had sent to Berlin to Wertheim for one of the tailor-made dresses in
his catalogue, which turned out to be of really astonishing value for the
money, and in which she looked very nice. With a tartan silk blouse and a
little Tyrolese hat and a pheasant’s feather stuck in it she was so much
transformed that I declared I could not believe it was our silver wedding
journey, and I felt exactly as I did twenty-five years before.
“But it is not our silver wedding journey,” she said with some sharpness.
“Dear wife,” I retorted surprised, “you know very well that it is mine, and
what is mine is also by law yours, and that therefore without the least
admissible logical doubt it is yours.”
She made a sudden gesture with her shoulders that was almost like
impatience; but I, knowing what victims the best of women are to
incomprehensible moods, went out and bought her a pretty little bag with a
leather strap to wear over one shoulder and complete her attire, thus proving
to her that a reasonable man is not a child and knows when and how to be
indulgent.
Frau von Eckthum, who was going to stay with her sister for a fortnight
before they both joined us (the sister, I regretted to hear, was coming too),
left in the middle of July. Flitz, at that time incomprehensibly to me, made
excuses for not taking part in the caravan tour, but since then light has been
thrown on his behaviour: he said, I remember, that he could not leave his
pigs.
“Much better not leave his sister,” said Edelgard who, I fancy, was just
then a little envious of Frau von Eckthum.
“Dear wife,” I said gently, “we shall be there to take care of her and he
knows she is safe in our hands. Besides, we do not want Flitz. He is the last
man I can imagine myself ever wanting.”
It was perfectly natural that Edelgard should be a little envious, and I felt
it was and did not therefore in any way check her. I need not remind those
relatives who will next winter listen to this that the Flitzes of Flitzburg, of
whom Frau von Eckthum was one, are a most ancient and still more
penniless family. Frau von Eckthum and her gaunt sister (last time she was
staying in Prussia both Edelgard and I were struck with her extreme
gauntness) each married a wealthy man by two most extraordinary strokes of
luck; for what man nowadays will marry a girl who cannot take, if not the
lion’s share, at least a very substantial one of the household expenses upon
herself? What is the use of a father if he cannot provide his daughter with the
money required suitably to support her husband and his children? I myself
have never been a father, so that I am qualified to speak with perfect
impartiality; that is, strictly, I was one twice, but only for so few minutes
each time that they can hardly be said to count. The two von Flitz girls
married so young and so well, and have been, without in any way really
deserving it, so snugly wrapped in comfort ever since (Frau von Eckthum
actually losing her husband two years after marriage and coming into
everything) that naturally Edelgard cannot be expected to like it. Edelgard
had a portion herself of six thousand marks a year besides an unusual
quantity of house linen, which enabled her at last—she was twenty-four
when I married her—to find a good husband; and she cannot understand by
what wiles the two sisters, without a penny or a table cloth, secured theirs at
eighteen. She does not see that they are—“were” is the better word in the
case of the gaunt sister—attractive; but then the type is so completely
opposed to her own that she would not be likely to. Certainly I agree that a
married woman verging, as the sister must be, on thirty should settle down to
a smooth head and at least the beginnings of a suitable embonpoint. We do
not want wives like lieutenants in a cavalry regiment; and Edelgard is not
altogether wrong when she says that both Frau von Eckthum and her sister
make her think of those lean and elegant young men. Your lean woman with
her restlessness of limb and brain is far indeed removed from the soft
amplitudes and slow movements of her who is the ideal wife of every
German better-class bosom. Privately, however, I feel I can at least
understand that there may have been something to be said at the time for the
Englishman’s conduct, and I more than understand that of the deceased
Eckthum. No one can deny that his widow is undoubtedly—well, well; let
me return to the narrative.
We had naturally told everybody we met what we were going to do, and it
was intensely amusing to see the astonishment created. Bad health for the
rest of our days was the smallest of the evils predicted. Also our digestions
were much commiserated. “Oh,” said I with jaunty recklessness at that, “we
shall live on boiled hedgehogs, preceded by mice soup,”—for I had studied
the article Gipsies in our Encyclopædia, and discovered that they often eat
the above fare.
The faces of our friends when I happened to be in this jocose vein were a
study. “God in heaven,” they cried, “what will become of your poor wife?”
But a sense of humour carries a man through anything, and I did not
allow myself to be daunted. Indeed it was not likely, I reminded myself
sometimes when inclined to be thoughtful at night, that Frau von Eckthum,
who so obviously was delicately nurtured, would consent to eat hedgehogs
or risk years in which all her attractiveness would evaporate on a sofa of
sickness.
“Oh, but Frau von Eckthum——!” was the invariable reply, accompanied
by a shrug when I reassured the ladies of our circle by pointing this out.
I am aware Frau von Eckthum is unpopular in Storchwerder. Perhaps it is
because the art of conversation is considerably developed there, and she will
not talk. I know she will not go to its balls, refuses its dinners, and turns her
back on its coffees. I know she is with difficulty induced to sit on its
philanthropic boards, and when she finally has been induced to sit on them
does not do so after all but stays at home. I know she is different from the
type of woman prevailing in our town, the plain, flat-haired, tightly buttoned
up, God-fearing wife and mother, who looks up to her husband and after her
children, and is extremely intelligent in the kitchen and not at all intelligent
out of it. I know that this is the type that has made our great nation what it is,
hoisting it up on ample shoulders to the first place in the world, and I know
that we would have to request heaven to help us if we ever changed it. But—
she is an attractive lady.
 Truly it is an excellent thing to be able to put down one’s opinions on
paper as they occur to one without risk of irritating interruption—I hope my
hearers will not interrupt at the reading aloud—and now that I have at last
begun to write a book—for years I have intended doing so—I see clearly the
superiority of writing over speaking. It is the same kind of superiority that
the pulpit enjoys over the (very properly) muzzled pews. When, during my
stay on British soil, I said anything, however short, of the nature of the
above remarks about our German wives and mothers, it was most annoying
the way I was interrupted and the sort of questions that were instantly put me
by, chiefly, the gaunt sister. But of that more in its place. I am still at the
point where she had not yet loomed on my horizon, and all was pleasurable
anticipation.
We left our home on August 1st, punctually as we had arranged, after
some very hard-worked days at the end during which the furniture was
beaten and strewn with napthalin (against moths), curtains, etc., taken down
and piled neatly in heaps, pictures covered up in newspapers, and groceries
carefully weighed and locked up. I spent these days at the Club, for my leave
had begun on the 25th of July and there was nothing for me to do. And I
must say, though the discomfort in our flat was intense, when I returned to it
in the evening in order to go to bed I was never anything but patient with the
unappetisingly heated and disheveled Edelgard. And she noticed it and was
grateful. It would be hard to say what would make her grateful now. These
last bad days, however, came to their natural end, and the morning of the
first arrived and by ten we had taken leave, with many last injunctions, of
Clothilde who showed an amount of concern at our departure that gratified
us, and were on the station platform with Hermann standing respectfully
behind us carrying our hand luggage in both his gloved hands, and with what
he could not carry piled about his feet, while I could see by the expression
on their faces that the few strangers present recognized we were people of
good family or, as England would say, of the Upper Ten. We had no luggage
for registration because of the new law by which every kilo has to be paid
for, but we each had a well-filled, substantial hold-all and a leather
portmanteau, and into these we had succeeded in packing most of the things
Frau von Eckthum had from time to time suggested we might want.
Edelgard is a good packer, and got far more in than I should have thought
possible, and what was left over was stowed away in different bags and
baskets. Also we took a plentiful supply of vaseline and bandages. “For,” as
I remarked to Edelgard when she giddily did not want to, quoting the most
modern (though rightly disapproved of in Storchwerder) of English writers,
“you never can possibly tell,”—besides a good sized ox-tongue, smoked
specially for us by our Storchwerder butcher and which was later on to be
concealed in our caravan for private use in case of need at night.
The train did not start till 10:45, but we wanted to be early in order to see
who would come to see us off; and it was a very good thing we were in such
good time, for hardly a quarter of an hour had elapsed before, to my dismay,
I recollected that I had left my Panama at home. It was Edelgard’s fault, who
had persuaded me to wear a cap for the journey and carry my Panama in my
hand, and I had put it down on some table and in the heat of departure
forgotten it. I was deeply annoyed, for the whole point of the type of
costume I had chosen would be missed without just that kind of hat, and, at
my sudden exclamation and subsequent explanation of my exclamation,
Edelgard showed that she felt her position by becoming exceedingly red.
There was nothing for it but to leave her there and rush off in a droschke
to our deserted flat. Hurrying up the stairs two steps at a time and letting
myself in with my latch-key I immediately found the Panama on the head of
one of the privates in my own battalion, who was lolling in my chair at the
breakfast-table I had so lately left being plied with our food by the miserable
Clothilde, she sitting on Edelgard’s chair and most shamelessly imitating her
mistress’s manner when she is affectionately persuading me to eat a little bit
more.
The wretched soldier, I presume, was endeavouring to imitate me, for he
called her a dear little hare, an endearment I sometimes apply to my wife, on
Clothilde’s addressing him as Edelgard sometimes does (or rather did) me in
her softer moments as sweet snail. The man’s imitation of me was a very
poor affair, but Clothilde hit my wife off astoundingly well, and both
creatures were so riotously mirthful that they neither heard nor saw me as I
stood struck dumb in the door. The clock on the wall, however, chiming the
half-hour recalled me to the necessity for instant action, and rushing forward
I snatched the Panama off the amazed man’s head, hurled a furious dismissal
at Clothilde, and was out of the house and in the droschke before they could
so much as pray for mercy. Immediately on arriving at the station I took
Hermann aside and gave him instructions about the removal within an hour
of Clothilde, and then, swallowing my agitation with a gulp of the man of
the world, I was able to chat courteously and amiably with friends who had
collected to see us off, and even to make little jokes as though nothing
whatever had happened. Of course directly the last smile had died away at
the carriage window and the last handkerchief had been fluttered and the last
promise to send many picture postcards had been made, and our friends had
become mere black and shapeless masses without bodies, parts or passions
on the grey of the receding platform, I recounted the affair to Edelgard, and
she was so much upset that she actually wanted to get out at the next station
and give up our holiday and go back and look after her house.
Strangely enough, what upset her more than the soldier’s being feasted at
our expense and more than his wearing my new hat while he feasted, was the
fact that I had dismissed Clothilde.
“Where and when am I to get another?” was her question, repeated with a
plaintiveness that was at length wearisome. “And what will become of all
our things now during our absence?”
“Would you have had me not dismiss her instantly, then?” I cried at last,
goaded by this persistence. “Is every shamelessness to be endured? Why, if
the woman were a man and of my own station, honour would demand that I
should fight a duel with her.”
“But you cannot fight a duel with a cook,” said Edelgard stupidly.
“Did I not expressly say that I could not?” I retorted; and having with this
reached the point where patience becomes a weakness I was obliged to put it
aside and explain to her with vigour that I am not only not a fool but decline
to be talked to as if I were. And when I had done, she having given no
further rise to discussion, we were both silent for the rest of the way to
Berlin.
This was not a bright beginning to my holiday, and I thought with some
gloom of the difference between it and the start twenty-five years before
with my poor Marie-Luise. There was no Clothilde then, and no Panama hat
(for they were not yet the fashion), and all was peace. Unwilling, however,
to send Edelgard, as the English say, any longer to Coventry—we are both
good English scholars as my hearers know—when we got into the droschke
in Berlin that was to take us across to the Potsdamer Bahnhof (from which
station we departed for London via Flushing) I took her hand, and turning
(not without effort) an unclouded face to her, said some little things which
enabled her to become aware that I was willing once again to overlook and
forgive.
 Now I do not propose to describe the journey to London. So many of our
friends know people who have done it that it is not necessary for me to dwell
upon it further than to say that, being all new to us, it was not without its
charm—at least, up to the moment when it became so late that there were no
more meals taking place in the restaurant-car and no more attractive trays
being held up to our windows at the stations on the way. About what
happened later in the night I would not willingly speak: suffice it to say that
I had not before realized the immense and apparently endless distance of
England from the good dry land of the Continent. Edelgard, indeed, behaved
the whole way up to London as if she had not yet got to England at all; and I
was forced at last to comment very seriously on her conduct, for it looked as
much like wilfulness as any conduct I can remember to have witnessed.
We reached London at the uncomfortable hour of 8 A.M., or thereabouts,
chilled, unwell, and disordered. Although it was only the second of August a
damp autumn draught pervaded the station. Shivering, we went into the sort
of sheep-pen in which our luggage was searched for dutiable articles,
Edelgard most inconsiderately leaving me to bear the entire burden of
opening and shutting our things, while she huddled into a corner and
assumed (very conveniently) the air of a sufferer. I had to speak to her quite
sharply once when I could not fit the key of her portmanteau into its lock
and remind her that I am not a lady’s maid, but even this did not rouse her,
and she continued to huddle apathetically. It is absurd for a wife to collapse
at the very moment when she ought to be most helpful; the whole theory of
the helpmeet is shattered by such behaviour. And what can I possibly know
about Customs? She looked on quite unmoved while I struggled to replace
the disturbed contents of our bags, and my glances, in turn appealing and
indignant, did not make her even raise her head. There were too many
strangers between us for me to be able to do more than glance, so
Edelgard most inconsiderately leaving me to bear the entire burden of opening and shutting
our things

reserving what I had to say for a more private moment I got the bags shut as
well as I could, directed the most stupid porter (who was also apparently
deaf, for each time I said anything to him he answered perfectly irrelevantly
with the first letter of the alphabet) I have ever met to conduct me and the
luggage to the refreshment room, and far too greatly displeased with
Edelgard to take any further notice of her, walked on after the man leaving
her to follow or not as she chose.
I think people must have detected as I strode along that I was a Prussian
officer, for so many looked at me with interest. I wished I had had my
uniform and spurs on, so that for once the non-martial island could have seen
what the real thing is like. It was strange to me to be in a crowd of nothing
but civilians. In spite of the early hour every arriving train disgorged
myriads of them of both sexes. Not the flash of a button was to be seen; not
the clink of a sabre to be heard; but, will it be believed? at least every third
person arriving carried a bunch of flowers, often wrapped in tissue paper and
always as carefully as though it had been a specially good belegtes
Brödchen. That seemed to me very characteristic of the effeminate and non-
military nation. In Prussia useless persons like old women sometimes
transport bunches of flowers from one point to another—but that a man
should be seen doing so, a man going evidently to his office, with his bag of
business papers and his grave face, is a sight I never expected to see. The
softness of this conduct greatly struck me. I could understand a packet of
some good thing to eat between meals being brought, some tit-bit from the
home kitchen—but a bunch of flowers! Well, well; let them go on in their
effeminacy. It is what has always preceded a fall, and the fat little land will
be a luscious morsel some day for muscular continental (and almost
certainly German) jaws.
We had arranged to go straight that very day to the place in Kent where
the caravans and Frau von Eckthum and her sister were waiting for us,
leaving the sights of London for the end of our holiday, by which time our
already extremely good though slow and slightly literary English (by which I
mean that we talked more as the language is written than other people do,
and that we were singularly pure in the matter of slang) would have
developed into an up-to-date agility; and there being about an hour and a
half’s time before the train for Wrotham started—which it conveniently did
from the same station we arrived at—our idea was to have breakfast first and
then, perhaps, to wash. This we accordingly did in the station restaurant, and
made the astonishing acquaintance of British coffee and butter. Why, such
stuff would not be tolerated for a moment in the poorest wayside inn in
Germany, and I told the waiter so very plainly; but he only stared with an
extremely stupid face, and when I had done speaking said “Eh?”
 It was what the porter had said each time I addressed him, and I had
already, therefore, not then knowing what it was or how it was spelt, had
about as much of it as I could stand.
“Sir,” said I, endeavoring to annihilate the man with that most powerful
engine of destruction, a witticism, “what has the first letter of the alphabet to
do with everything I say?”
“Eh?” said he.
“Suppose, sir,” said I, “I were to confine my remarks to you to a strictly
logical sequence, and when you say A merely reply B—do you imagine we
should ever come to a satisfactory understanding?”
“Eh?” said he.
“Yet, sir,” I continued, becoming angry, for this was deliberate
impertinence, “it is certain that one letter of the alphabet is every bit as good
as another for conversational purposes.”
“Eh?” said he; and began to cast glances about him for help.
“This,” said I to Edelgard, “is typical. It is what you must expect in
England.”
The head waiter here caught one of the man’s glances and hurried up.
“This gentleman,” said I, addressing the head waiter and pointing to his
colleague, “is both impertinent and a fool.”
“Yes, sir. German, sir,” said the head waiter, flicking away a crumb.
Well, I gave neither of them a tip. The German was not given one for not
at once explaining his inability to get away from alphabetical repartee and so
shamefully hiding the nationality he ought to have openly rejoiced in, and
the head waiter because of the following conversation:
“Can’t get ’em to talk their own tongue, sir,” said he, when I indignantly
inquired why he had not. “None of ’em will, sir. Hear ’em putting German
gentry who don’t know English to the greatest inconvenience. ‘Eh?’ this
one’ll say—it’s what he picks up his first week, sir. ‘A thousand damns,’ say
the German gentry, or something to that effect. ‘All right,’ says the waiter—
that’s what he picks up his second week—and makes it worse. Then the
German gentry gets really put out, and I see ’em almost foamin’ at the
mouth. Impatient set of people, sir——”
“I conclude,” said I, interrupting him with a frown, “that the object of
these poor exiled fellows is to learn the language as rapidly as possible and
get back to their own country.”
“Or else they’re ashamed of theirs, sir,” said he, scribbling down the bill.
“Rolls, sir? Eight, sir? Thank you, sir——”
“Ashamed?”
“Quite right, sir. Nasty cursin’ language. Not fit for a young man to get
into the habit of. Most of the words got a swear about ’em somewhere, sir.”
“Perhaps you are not aware,” said I icily, “that at this very moment you
are speaking to a German gentleman.”
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t notice it. No offence meant. Two coffees, four boiled
eggs, eight—you did say eight rolls, sir? Compliment really, you know, sir.”
“Compliment!” I exclaimed, as he whisked away with the money to the
paying desk; and when he came back I pocketed, with elaborate deliberation,
every particle of change.
“That is how,” said I to Edelgard while he watched me, “one should treat
these fellows.”
To which she, restored by the hot coffee to speaking point, replied (rather
stupidly I thought),
“Is it?”
 CHAPTER III

S HE became, however, more normal as the morning wore on, and by

about eleven o’clock was taking an intelligent interest in hop-kilns.
These objects, recurring at frequent intervals as one travels through
the county of Kent, are striking and picturesque additions to the landscape,
and as our guide-book described them very fully I was able to talk a good
deal about them. Kent pleased me very well. It looked as if there were
money in it. Many thriving villages, many comfortable farmhouses, and
many hoary churches peeping slyly at us through surrounding groups of
timber so ancient that its not yet having been cut down and sold is in itself a
testimony to the prevailing prosperity. It did not need much imagination to
picture the comfortable clergyman lurking in the recesses of his snug
parsonage and rubbing his well-nourished hands at life. Well, let him rub.
Some day perhaps—and who knows how soon?—we shall have a decent
Lutheran pastor in his black gown preaching the amended faith in every one
of those churches.
Shortly, then, Kent is obviously flowing with milk and honey and well-to-
do inhabitants; and when on referring to our guide-book I found it described
as the Garden of England I was not in the least surprised, and neither was
Edelgard. In this county, as we knew, part at any rate of our gipsying was to
take place, for the caravans were stationed at a village about three miles
from Wrotham, and we were very well satisfied that we were going to
examine it more closely, because though no one could call the scenery
majestic it yet looked full of promise of a comfortable nature. I observed for
instance that the roads seemed firm and good, which was clearly important;
also that the villages were so plentiful that there would be no fear of our ever
getting beyond the reach of provisions. Unfortunately, the weather was not
true August weather, which I take it is properly described by the word bland.
This is not bland. The remains of the violent wind that had blown us across
from Flushing still hurried hither and thither, and gleams of sunshine only
too frequently gave place to heavy squalls of rain and hail. It was more like a
blustering October day than one in what is supposed to be the very height
and ripeness of summer, and we could only both hope, as the carriage
windows banged and rattled, that our caravan would be heavy enough to
withstand the temptation to go on by itself during the night, urged on from
behind by the relentless forces of nature. Still, each time the sun got the
better of the inky clouds and the Garden of England laughed at us from out
of its bravery of graceful hop-fields and ripening corn, we could not resist a
feeling of holiday hopefulness. Edelgard’s spirits rose with every mile, and I,
having readily forgiven her on her asking me to and acknowledging she had
been selfish, was quite like a boy; and when we got out of the train at
Wrotham beneath a blue sky and a hot sun with the hail-clouds retreating
over the hills and found we would have to pack ourselves and our many
packages into a fly so small that, as I jocularly remarked in English, it was
not a fly at all but an insect, Edelgard was so much entertained that for
several minutes she was perfectly convulsed with laughter.
By means of the address neatly written in Latin characters on an
envelope, we had no difficulty in getting the driver to start off as though he
knew where he was going, but after we had been on the way for about half
an hour he grew restless, and began to twist round on his box and ask me
unintelligible questions. I suppose he talked and understood only patois, for
I could not in the least make out what he meant, and when I requested him to
be more clear I could see by his foolish face that he was constitutionally
unable to be it. A second exhibition of the addressed envelope, however,
soothed him for a time, and we continued to advance up and down chalky
roads, over the hedges on each side of which leapt the wind and tried to blow
our hats off. The sun was in our eyes, the dust was in our eyes, and the wind
was in our faces. Wrotham, when we looked behind, had disappeared. In
front was a chalky desolation. We could see nothing approaching a village,
yet Panthers, the village we were bound for, was only three miles from the
station, and not, observe, three full-blooded German miles, but the dwindled
and anæmic English kind that are typical, as so much else is, of the soul and
temper of the nation. Therefore we began to be uneasy, and to wonder
whether the man were trustworthy. It occurred to me that the chalk pits we
constantly met would not be bad places to take us into and rob us, and I
certainly could not speak English quickly enough to meet a situation
demanding rapid dialogue, nor are there any directions in my German-
English Conversational Guide as to what you are to say when you are being
murdered.
Still jocose, but as my hearers will notice, jocose with a tinge of
grimness, I imparted these two linguistic facts to Edelgard, who shuddered
and suggested renewed applications of the addressed envelope to the driver.
“Also it is past dinner time,” she added anxiously. “I know because mein
Magen knurrt.”
By means of repeated calls and my umbrella I drew the driver’s attention
to us and informed him that I would stand no further nonsense. I told him
this with great distinctness and the deliberation forced upon me by want of
practice. He pulled up to hear me out, and then, merely grinning, drove on.
“The youngest Storchwerder droschke driver,” I cried indignantly to
Edelgard, “would die of shame on his box if he did not know every village,
nay, every house within three miles of it with the same exactitude with
which he knows the inside of his own pocket.”
Then I called up to the man once more, and recollecting that nothing
clears our Hermann’s brain at home quicker than to address him as Esel I
said, “Ask, ass.”
He looked down over his shoulder at me with an expression of great
surprise.
“What?” said he.
“What?” said I, confounded by this obtuseness. “What? The way, of
course.”
He pulled up once more and turned right round on his box.
“Look here——” he said, and paused.
“Look where?” said I, very naturally supposing he had something to
show me.
“Who are you talkin’ to?” said he.
The question on the face of it was so foolish that a qualm gripped my
heart lest we had to do with a madman. Edelgard felt the same, for she drew
closer to me.
Luckily at that moment I saw a passer-by some way down the road, and
springing out of the fly hastened to meet him in spite of Edelgard’s demand
that I should not leave her alone. On reaching him I took off my hat and
courteously asked him to direct us to Panthers, at the same time expressing
my belief that the flyman was not normal. He listened with the earnest and
strained attention English people gave to my utterances, an attention caused,
I believe, by the slightly unpractised pronunciation combined with the
number and variety of words at my command, and then going up (quite
fearlessly) to the flyman he pointed in the direction entirely opposed to the
one we were following and bade him go there.
 “I won’t take him nowhere,” said the flyman with strange passion; “he
calls me a ass.”
“It is not your fault,” said I (very handsomely, I thought). “You are what
you were made. You cannot help yourself.”
“I won’t take him nowhere,” repeated the flyman, with, if anything,
increased passion.
The passer-by looked from one to another with a faint smile.
“The expression,” said he to the flyman, “is, you see, merely a term of
recognition in the gentleman’s country. You can’t reasonably object to that,
you know. Drive on like a sensible man, and get your fare.”
And lifting his hat to Edelgard he continued his passing by.
Well, we did finally arrive at the appointed place—indeed, my hearers
next winter will know all the time that we must have, or why should I be
reading this aloud?—after being forced by the flyman to walk the last twenty
minutes up a hill which, he declared, his horse would not otherwise be able
to ascend. The sun shone its hottest while we slowly surmounted this last
obstacle—a hard one to encounter when it is long past dinner-time. I am
aware that by English clocks it was not past it, but what was that to me? My
watch showed that in Storchwerder, the place our inner natures were used to,
it was half-past two, a good hour beyond the time at which they are
accustomed daily to be replenished, and no arbitrary theory, anyhow no
perilously near approach to one, will convince a man against the evidence of
his senses that he is not hungry because a foreign clock says it is not dinner-
time when it is.
Panthers, we found on reaching the top of the hill and pausing to regain
our composure, is but a house here and a house there scattered over a
 The sun shone its hottest while we slowly surmounted this last obstacle

bleak, ungenial landscape. It seemed an odd, high up district to use as a

terminus for caravans, and I looked down the steep, narrow lane we had just
ascended and wondered how a caravan would get up it. Afterward I found
that they never do get up it, but arrive home from the exactly opposite
direction along a fair road which was the one any but an imbecile driver
would have brought us. We reached our destination by, so to speak, its back
door; and we were still standing on the top of the hill doing what is known as
getting one’s wind, for I am not what would be called an ill-covered man but
rather, as I jestingly tell Edelgard, a walking compliment to her good
cooking, and she herself was always of a substantial build, not exaggeratedly
but agreeably so—we were standing, I say, struggling for breath when some
one came out quickly from a neighbouring gate and stopped with a smile of
greeting upon seeing us.
It was the gaunt sister.
We were greatly pleased. Here we were, then, safely arrived, and joined
to at least a portion of our party. Enthusiastically we grasped both her hands
and shook them. She laughed as she returned our greetings, and I was so
much pleased to find some one I knew that though Edelgard commented
afterward somewhat severely on her dress because it was so short that it
nowhere touched the ground, I noticed nothing except that it seemed to be
extremely neat, and as for not touching the ground Edelgard’s skirt was
followed wherever she went by a cloud of chalky dust which was most
unpleasant.
Now why were we so glad to see this lady again? Why, indeed, are people
ever glad to see each other again? I mean people who when they last saw
each other did not like each other. Given a sufficient lapse of time, and I
have observed that even those who parted in an atmosphere thick with
sulphur of implied cursings will smile and genially inquire how the other
does. I have observed this, I say, but I cannot explain it. There had, it is true,
never been any sulphur about our limited intercourse with the lady on the
few occasions on which proper feeling prevailed enough to induce her to
visit her flesh and blood in Prussia—our attitude toward her had simply been
one of well-bred chill, of chill because no thinking German can, to start with,
be anything but prejudiced against a person who commits the unpatriotism—
not to call it by a harsher name—of selling her inestimable German
birthright for the mess of an English marriage. Also she was personally not
what Storchwerder could like, for she was entirely wanting in the graces and
undulations of form which are the least one has a right to expect of a being
professing to be a woman. Also she had a way of talking which disconcerted
Storchwerder, and nobody likes being disconcerted. Our reasons for joining
issue with her in the matter of caravans were first, that we could not help it,
only having discovered she was coming when it was too late; and secondly,
that it was a cheap and convenient way of seeing a new country. She with
her intimate knowledge of English was to be, we privately told each other,
our unpaid courier—I remember Edelgard’s amusement when the
consolatory cleverness of this way of looking at it first struck her.
But I am still at a loss to explain how it was that when she unexpectedly
appeared at the top of the hill at Panthers we both rushed at her with an
effusiveness that could hardly have been exceeded if it had been Edelgard’s
grandmother Podhaben who had suddenly stood before us, an old lady of
ninety-two of whom we are both extremely fond, and who, as is well known,
is going to leave my wife her money when she (which I trust sincerely she
will not do for a long time yet) dies. I cannot explain it, I say, but there it is.
Rush we did, and effusive we were, and it was reserved for a quieter moment
to remember with some natural discomposure that we had showed far more
enthusiasm than she had. Not that she was not pleasant, but there is a gap
between pleasantness and enthusiasm, and to be the one of two persons who
is most pleased is to put yourself in the position of the inferior, of the
suppliant, of him who hopes, or is eager to ingratiate himself. Will it be
believed that when later on I said something to this effect about some other
matter in general conversation, the gaunt sister immediately cried, “Oh, but
that’s not generous.”
“What is not generous?” I asked surprised, for it was the first day of the
tour and I was not then as much used as I subsequently became to her instant
criticism of all I said.
“That way of thinking,” said she.
Edelgard immediately bristled—(alas, what would make her bristle now?)
“Otto is the most generous of men,” she said. “Every year on Sylvester
evening he allows me to invite six orphans to look at the remains of our
Christmas tree and be given, before they go away, doughnuts and grog.”
“What! Grog for orphans?” cried the gaunt sister, neither silenced nor
impressed; and there ensued a warm discussion on, as she put it, (a) the
effect of grog on orphans, (b) the effect of grog on doughnuts, (c) the effect
of grog on combined orphans and doughnuts.
But I not only anticipate, I digress.
Inside the gate through which this lady had emerged stood the caravans
and her gentle sister. I was so much pleased at seeing Frau von Eckthum
again that at first I did not notice our future homes. She was looking
remarkably well and was in good spirits, and, though dressed in the same
way as her sister, by adding to the attire all those graces so peculiarly her
own the effect she produced was totally different. At least, I thought so.
Edelgard said she saw nothing to choose between them.
After the first greetings she half turned to the row of caravans, and with a
little motion of the hand and a pretty smile of proprietary pride said, “There
they are.”
There, indeed, they were.
There were three; all alike, sober brown vehicles, easily distinguishable,
as I was pleased to notice, from common gipsy carts. Clean curtains fluttered
at the windows, the metal portions were bright, and the names painted
prettily on them were the Elsa, the Ilsa, and the Ailsa. It was an impressive
moment, the moment of our first setting eyes upon them. Under those frail
roofs were we for the next four weeks to be happy, as Edelgard said, and
healthy and wise—“Or,” I amended shrewdly on hearing her say this, “vice
versa.”
Frau von Eckthum, however, preferred Edelgard’s prophecy, and gave her
an appreciative look—my hearers will remember, I am sure, how agreeably
her dark eyelashes contrast with the fairness of her hair. The gaunt sister
laughed, and suggested that we should paint out the names already on the
caravans and substitute in large letters Happy, Healthy, and Wise, but not
considering this particularly amusing I did not take any trouble to smile.
Three large horses that were to draw them and us stood peacefully side by
side in a shed being fed with oats by a weather-beaten person the gaunt sister
introduced as old James. This old person, a most untidy, dusty-looking
creature, touched his cap, which is the inadequate English way of showing
respect to superiors—as inadequate at its end of the scale as the British army
is at the other—and shuffled off to fetch in our luggage, and the gaunt sister
suggesting that we should climb up and see the interior of our new home
with some difficulty we did so, there being a small ladder to help us which,
as a fact, did not help us either then or later, no means being discovered from
beginning to end of the tour by which it could be fixed firmly at a
convenient angle.
I think I could have climbed up better if Frau von Eckthum had not been
looking on; besides, at that moment I was less desirous of inspecting the
caravans than I was of learning when, where, and how we were going to
have our delayed dinner. Edelgard, however, behaved like a girl of sixteen
once she had succeeded in reaching the inside of the Elsa, and most
inconsiderately kept me lingering there too while she examined every corner
and cried with tiresome iteration that it was wundervoll, herrlich, and putzig.
“I knew you’d like it,” said Frau von Eckthum from below, amused
apparently by this kittenish conduct.
“Like it?” called back Edelgard. “But it is delicious—so clean, so neat, so
miniature.”
“May I ask where we dine?” I inquired, endeavouring to free the skirts of
my new mackintosh from the door, which had swung to (the caravan not
standing perfectly level) and jammed them tightly. I did not need to raise my
voice, for in a caravan even with its door and windows shut people outside
can hear what you say just as distinctly as people inside, unless you take the
extreme measure of putting something thick over your head and whispering.