artillery barrage.” The solicitor cleared his throat. “He has no grave.”
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” I allowed a moment of silence to pass, out of deference to the dead, then pressed on. “I assume, then, that Ruth and Louise were talking about another Aubrey. You said there was more than one.”
“So I did,” Mr. Makepeace acknowledged. “The second Aubrey was the son of the first.” The solicitor clasped his hands together and smiled at me. “My clients respectfully request that you, Ms. Shepherd, attempt to establish a direct line of communication between them and their nephew, Mr. Aubrey Jeremiah Pym, Junior .”
“I see, I said, nodding. “Would you happen to know where Aubrey Pym, Junior, might be?”
“Indeed, I would,” Mr. Makepeace said cheerfully. “My clients have given me permission to furnish you with Mr. Pym’s last known address.”
I squinted at him in confusion. “If you have his address, Mr. Makepeace, why haven’t you contacted him already?”
“I’ve tried, dear lady.” He sighed heavily. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Much to my dismay, Mr. Pym has failed to respond to my letters. I can think of several reasons for his silence—the address may be out of date, for example, or he may be out of town—but the only way to know for certain is to send a personal representative to find him and to speak with him directly. Hence my need for your services.”
“But . . . why bother with letters? ” I asked, baffled. “Why don’t you just march up to his front door and knock on it?”
“His front door is, alas, beyond my reach,” Mr. Makepeace answered. “It is, most unfortunately, located in Auckland, New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?” I echoed.
“New Zealand,” he confirmed.
“Oh.” I cocked my head to one side and peered at him questioningly. “New Zealand is . . . pretty far away from here, isn’t it?”
“It is approximately one thousand miles southeast of Australia,” Mr. Makepeace explained helpfully.
“New Zealand is a thousand miles southeast of Australia ? ” I said, my voice rising to a squeak.
“It’s down under Down Under,” he told me, chuckling happily at his own wit.
I was too stunned to chuckle. I’d come to Upper Deeping fully prepared to spend a day, or perhaps a few days, squelching through muddy graveyards in search of an obscure headstone. Neither Aunt Dimity nor I had considered the possibility of leaving England, not to mention the Northern Hemisphere, in order to track down a live human being.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, eyeing Mr. Makepeace doubtfully. “Ruth and Louise want me to go to New Zealand to find their nephew? ”
“Correct,” he confirmed.
“Why can’t you go?” I demanded. “You’re their solicitor. Isn’t it your job to find long-lost family members?”
“I would go if I could,” Mr. Makepeace assured me, “but my health will not permit me to make the journey.” He patted his chest. “High blood pressure, you know, and a touch of diabetes. My doctors have advised me most strongly to avoid prolonged flights.”
“You could hire a private detective,” I suggested, adding with a perplexed frown, “Do they have private detectives in New Zealand? ”
“I’m quite certain they do,” said Mr. Makepeace, “but my clients do not wish to entrust such a delicate mission to a stranger.”
“What’s so delicate about finding someone’s nephew?” I asked.
Mr. Makepeace drummed his fingers on his waistcoat and regarded me levelly. “Family affairs are often fraught with difficulty, Ms. Shepherd, and my clients’ situation is more difficult than most. I’m sorry to say it, but their late brother was not a shining example of British manhood. He was, in fact, a bit of a black sheep. He left England because his involvement in a series of regrettable incidents created a deep rift between himself and the rest of his family.”
I had to credit the solicitor with a high degree of tact.
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” I allowed a moment of silence to pass, out of deference to the dead, then pressed on. “I assume, then, that Ruth and Louise were talking about another Aubrey. You said there was more than one.”
“So I did,” Mr. Makepeace acknowledged. “The second Aubrey was the son of the first.” The solicitor clasped his hands together and smiled at me. “My clients respectfully request that you, Ms. Shepherd, attempt to establish a direct line of communication between them and their nephew, Mr. Aubrey Jeremiah Pym, Junior .”
“I see, I said, nodding. “Would you happen to know where Aubrey Pym, Junior, might be?”
“Indeed, I would,” Mr. Makepeace said cheerfully. “My clients have given me permission to furnish you with Mr. Pym’s last known address.”
I squinted at him in confusion. “If you have his address, Mr. Makepeace, why haven’t you contacted him already?”
“I’ve tried, dear lady.” He sighed heavily. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Much to my dismay, Mr. Pym has failed to respond to my letters. I can think of several reasons for his silence—the address may be out of date, for example, or he may be out of town—but the only way to know for certain is to send a personal representative to find him and to speak with him directly. Hence my need for your services.”
“But . . . why bother with letters? ” I asked, baffled. “Why don’t you just march up to his front door and knock on it?”
“His front door is, alas, beyond my reach,” Mr. Makepeace answered. “It is, most unfortunately, located in Auckland, New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?” I echoed.
“New Zealand,” he confirmed.
“Oh.” I cocked my head to one side and peered at him questioningly. “New Zealand is . . . pretty far away from here, isn’t it?”
“It is approximately one thousand miles southeast of Australia,” Mr. Makepeace explained helpfully.
“New Zealand is a thousand miles southeast of Australia ? ” I said, my voice rising to a squeak.
“It’s down under Down Under,” he told me, chuckling happily at his own wit.
I was too stunned to chuckle. I’d come to Upper Deeping fully prepared to spend a day, or perhaps a few days, squelching through muddy graveyards in search of an obscure headstone. Neither Aunt Dimity nor I had considered the possibility of leaving England, not to mention the Northern Hemisphere, in order to track down a live human being.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, eyeing Mr. Makepeace doubtfully. “Ruth and Louise want me to go to New Zealand to find their nephew? ”
“Correct,” he confirmed.
“Why can’t you go?” I demanded. “You’re their solicitor. Isn’t it your job to find long-lost family members?”
“I would go if I could,” Mr. Makepeace assured me, “but my health will not permit me to make the journey.” He patted his chest. “High blood pressure, you know, and a touch of diabetes. My doctors have advised me most strongly to avoid prolonged flights.”
“You could hire a private detective,” I suggested, adding with a perplexed frown, “Do they have private detectives in New Zealand? ”
“I’m quite certain they do,” said Mr. Makepeace, “but my clients do not wish to entrust such a delicate mission to a stranger.”
“What’s so delicate about finding someone’s nephew?” I asked.
Mr. Makepeace drummed his fingers on his waistcoat and regarded me levelly. “Family affairs are often fraught with difficulty, Ms. Shepherd, and my clients’ situation is more difficult than most. I’m sorry to say it, but their late brother was not a shining example of British manhood. He was, in fact, a bit of a black sheep. He left England because his involvement in a series of regrettable incidents created a deep rift between himself and the rest of his family.”
I had to credit the solicitor with a high degree of tact.
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