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better things to do than watch for kitchen theft. We’ve our trip to London to plan. That’s the important thing—proving your father is innocent.”
    George didn’t seem to hear her. He swept a dark forelock out of his eyes. “The thieves must have been scared off before they found anything truly valuable,” he concluded. “I expect they’ll try again another night. I’m not having the silverware and family portraits stolen on my watch.”
    Pippa tried to convince him that he was judging the Gypsies too harshly.
    “They are travelling people. They live in their wagons. What do you suppose they would do with your family portraits?” she asked sensibly.
    “Sell them, of course,” George insisted. “My father always said that they would not be out of place in a museum. There arecollectors all over the country who would pay handsomely to get their hands on them.”
    Gordon chuckled. “I have to walk past the portraits of some of your ancestors to have my bath. I’d pay a good penny to have them taken away.”
    George shot Gordon a stern look and the younger boy instantly dropped the smile from his face.
    “How can you be sure it’s the Gypsies?” Pippa asked.
    “It has to be the Gypsies,” Gordon cried. “Who else could it be? George is right. We have to stay here and defend the hall.”
    Gordon’s bravado brought a frown to George’s face. Gordon was only repeating the argument George had made to Hepplewaithe earlier that day, but it sounded ridiculous. He thought for a long moment as he gathered his ideas. “The Gypsies wouldn’t dare come near the house in broad daylight. We’re safe to go to London for the day still. We just have to be back for the night to keep watch.”
    “Were you planning on sleeping at all during this?” Pippa asked.
    Now that a plan was forming, George was less easily offended. “I won’t have to stay awake all night. I’ll sleep at the top of the Rook on the south lawn. It has a perfect view of the house, and if there’s any break-in, I’ll be sure to see it.”
    “You can’t sleep in the folly,” Pippa protested. “You’ll catch your death.”
    “Nonsense,” George replied. “I’ve plenty of blankets and a waterproof, if required. I’ll keep watch for a few nights to make sure our intruder isn’t coming back. We can take the train to London in a few days.”
    Gordon offered to join George on his vigil in the folly, but both George and his sister overruled him.
    Pippa glanced from Gordon to George wearily. “This whole thing is folly, if you ask me.”
    George ignored her objection. “You’ll be more use to us up here at the house, old bean,” he told Gordon. “Keep an ear open for anything strange, yes?”
    Gordon snapped to attention and saluted sharply in the manner his father had shown him when he’d sailed off for France.
    The sound of a car on the gravel outside made Norman put the book down. That would be his mom and Dora returning, so there would be hope of dinner soon.
    Norman closed his eyes. He couldn’t decide if it was weird that George had a folly, too. A month ago he hadn’t even heard of them. Now they were appearing everywhere.
    That morning in the ruined abbey folly he had been able to imagine himself inside a book. Could he do it again? Could he make the bookweird work? It had started the first time when he’d eaten part of a book. It had been difficult to break the habit of nibbling the corners of his pages, but he had forced himself to stop—partly out of fear of it happening again, partly out of fear of it
not
happening. He wanted to hang on to the possibility of going back there someday.
    Norman inhaled deeply and tried to visualize it. He told himself he was in the great hall of Lochwarren. All the stoats were asleep, but the castle would soon be roused by the bells of the nearby chapel of St. Sleekyn. Young Malcolm would come bounding down the stairs and order breakfast. Once again, Norman could almost taste the lingonberry