Aunt Dimity Down Under Read Online Free PDF Page A

to stand between their beds.
    As always, I found it impossible to tell the sisters apart until one of them spoke. Ruth invariably opened our conversations.
    “Lori,” she said in a weak and breathy voice, “how kind of you . . .”
    “. . . to visit us at such a late hour.” Louise’s voice was as faint as her sister’s. “We won’t . . .”
    “. . . keep you long,” Ruth continued. “Please . . .”
    “. . . make yourself comfortable,” Louise finished.
    My throat tightened when I realized how much I would miss the Pyms’ ping-pong manner of speaking, but I swallowed my emotions, drew a chair from one of the dressing tables, and took a seat between the beds.
    “Rumor has it that you had a funny turn,” I said.
    “It’s only to be expected,” said Ruth. “We’re not . . .”
    “. . . spring chickens,” said Louise. “I rather think we’re . . .”
    “. . . ready for plucking,” said Ruth with a wheezy chuckle.
    “I wouldn’t put it quite so bluntly,” I said, wincing.
    “Ah, but we would,” Louise pointed out. “There’s no need to feel . . .”
    “. . . sad about our parting, Lori,” Ruth went on. “To everything . . .”
    “. . . there is a season,” said Louise. “Our season has been rich and full . . .”
    “. . . and much longer than most,” said Ruth. “My sister and I are almost ready to shuffle off . . .”
    To Buffalo? I thought wildly. The plucked-chicken metaphor had thrown me for a loop.
    “. . . our mortal coils.” Louise completed the Shakespearean tag matter-of-factly. “Before we do so, however, we must . . .”
    “. . . set our affairs in order,” said Ruth. “We must . . .”
    “. . . tie up some loose ends,” said Louise. “Unfortunately, we’ve left it . . .”
    “. . . a bit late,” said Ruth. “We are no longer able to do . . .”
    “. . . what needs to be done,” said Louise.
    “We need your help,” they chorused.
    “I’m yours to command,” I said promptly. “Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
    The Pyms’ voices had been growing steadily weaker and their eyelids were beginning to flutter. I was afraid they would fade into sleep—or worse—without clarifying their request, but they roused themselves sufficiently to manage a few more sentences.
    “Aubrey,” Ruth said. “Please . . .”
    “ . . . find Aubrey,” said Louise. “Mother and Father will want to know . . .”
    “. . . what happened to him,” Ruth said.
    They raised their right hands simultaneously to point at the fireplace.
    “Speak to Fortescue,” Ruth whispered. “He’ll explain . . .”
    “. . . everything,” Louise concluded.
    As their hands fell onto the coverlets, identical furrows appeared on their identical brows.
    “Don’t worry,” I told them. “I’ll take care of it.”
    Their brows smoothed, their bright eyes closed, and much to my relief, their thin chests rose and fell in the regular rhythm of sleep.
    “Save your strength,” I murmured, looking from one gently wrinkled face to the other. “I’ll speak to Fortescue. And I’ll find Aubrey for you.”
    It was a somewhat hollow boast since I had no idea who Fortescue was and I’d never heard of Aubrey, but ignorance had never kept me from taking action. I returned the chair to the dressing table, then went to search the fireplace for clues that might tell me what to do next.
    I found one immediately. A business card sat on the mantelshelf, propped against a charming porcelain tabby cat. Printed on the card in a flowery but legible script were the words:
    Fortescue Makepeace, Solicitor
Number Twelve, Fanshaw Crescent
Upper Deeping
(01632) 45561
    “The family solicitor? ” I murmured, pocketing the card. “I hope Mr. Makepeace knows who the heck Aubrey is.”
    Even as I spoke, I thought of someone else who might be able to fill me in on the mysterious Aubrey, but to test my hunch, I would have to return to the cottage.
    I tiptoed out of the bedroom and crept downstairs as