Read Online Stranger by the Lake by Jennifer Wilde - Free Book Online

expression of deep concentration on her long, plain face.
    â€œYou know, dear,” she said briskly, “you could use some of my herbs yourself. I don’t know that it’s healthy living in that crowded city with all those fumes and that nasty wet weather. I suppose you still have those dreadful habits, too. Sleeping till noon—shocking! I’ll make you some of my special tea. It’ll build up that tired blood.”
    â€œBut I don’t have tired blood,” I protested.
    â€œWorks wonders for constipation, too,” she continued, ignoring my comment. “Come along, Susan!” She nodded her head firmly and linked her arm in mine again, leading me on toward the kitchen. I felt absolutely helpless against her authoritative manner, and delighted, too. Aunt Agatha was like a force of nature, sweeping one along with her. I found it delightful to be swept along with such incredible gusto.
    Although she refused to take her pills and led the poor nurse a merry chase, Aunt Agatha’s one concession was to take a nap every afternoon after lunch. She wanted to make today an exception, but I insisted she go on upstairs. She did so with reluctance, first having a long consultation with Cook and then informing me we were to have a grand dinner that evening, candlelight and wine, quite formal. Dr. Matthews would be coming, and it would be super. After she had gone to her bedroom I decided to take a tour of the gardens. I hadn’t seen Craig Stanton since he showed me to my room. I supposed he was working on his book or, perhaps, searching for the manuscripts. I didn’t particularly want to see him again just yet, and touring the gardens would give me an opportunity to think about some of the remarkable things I had learned this morning.
    The terrace was charming, the cracked white tiles washed with sun and dappled with soft purple shadows from the trees growing around it. Earl was curled up on a shabby chaise longue with green plastic cushions, and an old yellow straw hat and a pair of shears rested on a low white iron table beside the chaise longue. Pots of vivid blue delphiniums added a friendly touch. It was a peaceful spot, one Aunt Agatha had described in many of her letters. I knew she liked to sit out here in the morning sun, write her letters, and read the bloodthirsty thrillers she devoured so ardently.
    Earl looked up with sleepy eyes when he heard my heels tapping on the tiles. He gave a formidable yawn, shook his sleek silver body, and leaped from his bed. I allowed him one kiss, then told him in no uncertain terms that our friendship was going to be strictly platonic. He tilted his head to one side, listening intently, and I could have sworn he understood every word. Nevertheless, he gave me another slurping smack on the cheek and capered about like an overgrown puppy, following me down the low white marble steps that led to the gardens. Outrageous animal, I thought, rather flattered to have inspired such immediate and abounding affection.
    Although the lawns and gardens of Gordonwood were vast and wooded, the gardens near the house were neater, more formal in arrangement, a flagstone path winding among them and narrow white marble steps leading down from one level to another. There were shady arbors and tall green shrubs and latticework trellises covered with thick honeysuckle making fragrant tunnels, cool and green. I wandered aimlessly, admiring the full-blown yellow and salmon-orange roses in their neat beds. Hollyhocks and blazing red poppies grew against rough-hewn graystone walls, and birds scolded from the leafy seclusion of the oak boughs overhead. Earl ran on ahead with energetic leaps and bounds, looking around to see that I was following, quite clearly showing off for my benefit.
    I paused at one of the lower levels, looking back up toward the house. Seen from this distance, it was still large and formidable, black-green ivy growing up one of the gray walls, crumbly