"This is it!" Antonia Stonewright announced, opening the wide front door. "What do you think?"

Elizabeth Connor looked around the beautifully proportioned hall; the wide, curved staircase with its shallow, broad steps; and the airy drawing room just visible through the half- open door to her right. "It's absolutely lovely. No wonder Dixie hated to leave."

"Part of me thinks it a shame to use it for base moneymaking activities, but heck, we've tried for a year to rent it out with no luck. Seems the locals consider it tainted."

"That oily estate agent said as much."

Antonia creased her high forehead. She'd been as unimpressed with Mike Jenkins as Elizabeth had. "Nasty little snirp, wasn't he? Mind you, he was helpful--dealing with painters and electricians and so forth. No doubt made a little on the side, but it's done." She walked across the polished floor and opened wide the double doors into the drawing room. "This is going to be one of the main sales rooms."

The only furniture was the built-in corner cabinets. "When are the tables and other stuff coming?"

"In the next couple of weeks. Sooner, if we're lucky. We've still got the outside work to do. Dismantling some old buildings and removing an air raid shelter left over from the Second World War and expanding the stables to make the tearoom."

"And when will that get done?"

"Right away, now that I'm here."

Elizabeth didn't doubt it. Vampires had a way of getting what they wanted. "Want to unload the computers and so forth?"

"Might as well. We don't have an audience, so we can work at our own speed. We can set up our office in the breakfast room."

Elizabeth threw open the back doors of the van. It was packed to the roof with desks, computers, a printer, and filing cabinet, everything Antonia deemed necessary to set up a temporary office. "We should have taken sleazy Jenkins up on his offer to come out to the house with us. He could have helped heave this little lot. He did offer to help whenever we needed, didn't he?" Elizabeth couldn't resist a grin. The man had fairly oozed at them. "We could call him over. He'd make dinner for you."

"Spare me! I'm particular where I put my fangs."

Antonia was particular about everything, including the exact positioning of desks to avoid direct sunlight from the French windows. And she was not happy that the promised phone line was not connected. "Make that the first priority in the morning," she told Elizabeth. "That and internet connection. I'm getting this show on the road if I have to throw glamors over half the population."

They had everything set up in time that would have left mortals blinking. Antonia surveyed the room with grudging satisfaction. "At least it looks as if we mean business. I'll drop you at the car hire place, and we can meet back at the hotel."

"Let me see the attics Dixie mentioned first." Antonia obviously didn't like the idea. Too bad! It hadn't been that long since the entire vamp colony had been very happy to have a witch on their side.

Antonia followed her into the kitchen and up the narrow staircase, concealed behind a door. At first sight they were in two attics with pitched ceilings and tiny windows overlooking the garden, but . . . Elizabeth looked around. The shelves were bare, but in the middle of the floor sat three packing cases addressed to her. She pulled one open, delved in the shredded packing, and pulled out a jar with spidery, dark handwriting on a yellow label. She was actually looking at mandrake root. Bless Dixie! She had it all packed up as promised. Elizabeth pulled out half a dozen jars--some almost empty; others containing shriveled contents, ground powders, desiccated leaves or petals--before realizing Antonia was watching with a wry expression. "I've never before had a chance to actually go through an old-time herbalist's storeroom."

"Don't forget the lot you inherited this from were more than little old lady herbalists."

"I know, but not all of this is harmful. Look, this is arnica. Used to heal bruises and aches." She set the jar on the table and smiled at Antonia. "You'll be telling me next that your mother kept all this on her kitchen shelves."

Antonia smiled. "No, ghoul. My father had a skilled herbalist in his service. My mother spent her time trying to convert my father to her newfangled Christianity."

That was a conversation for another day. "What am I going to do with all this? Have it sent on to Tom's, I suppose." They were eventually converting these attics and the kitchen into the caretaker's accommodation.

Not often Antonia laughed, but that tickled her funny bone. "Better warn him first. On the other hand, since he's sleeping with a witch, he can't be too put out at..."

"Stow it!" Inelegant, yes, but really, vamps did have a tendency to intrude.

"You mean you're not sleeping with him?" Antonia deserved a shove in the ribs for that, but no point in risking breaking an elbow. "We don't actually sleep that much," Elizabeth replied with a grin. "I only need a couple of hours a night, assuming I feed, and talking about feeding, I really need to before I go meet the Collins's. Don't want to get dizzy driving."

"Think you can last while we check the rest of the house?"

She could.

They went through every room: The long drawing room with sliding doors that gave onto a parlor that looked over the back garden and caught the morning sun. The dining room paneled in exquisite pear wood with beautiful built-in china cabinets and a vast mirror in the overmantel that Antonia avoided. Upstairs were five rooms, and the old book room still lined with shelves. "We can take those out if we need too," Antonia said, "but I keep hoping we can find a bookseller to join us."

They ended up in the kitchen with its vast Aga and delft- tiled fireplace. "We are keeping those, aren't we?" Elizabeth asked. Seemed a shame to yank them out.

"Yes, but not here. The Aga will be a feature in the tearoom. Not sure what to do with the tiles." She frowned a little as if thinking. "I knew a potter once. Dutch. Refugee. Odd people, potters." Elizabeth was tempted to ask when and a refugee from which war? But Antonia ran her hand through her short hair and said, "Let's grab something for you to eat and then get you a car."

They were heading for the door when the bell chimed. Antonia opened the door to a smiling, bright-faced young woman in the advanced stages of pregnancy. "I'm Emma Gordon," she said. "One of your neighbors. I nipped in to say hello and bring you a basket of goodies. I thought with moving in, you'd like something to nibble on."

If the fates were kind, there would be meat in the basket of goodies. "How nice of you," Elizabeth said. "You live close?" This had to be the Emma Dixie had mentioned.

"Next door but two. Just past the new semidetached. That's us. I thought you could use a cup of tea. There's a thermos in there and cups. I know what it's like moving. We just moved half our stuff next door, and it took me ages to find spoons and spare socks."

"Won't you come in and join us?" Antonia asked. "We've not much furniture, but we've desks and chairs."

It didn't take long to unpack Emma's basket of goodies and pour tea.

"You moved next door?" Elizabeth asked. Seemed odd.

"We needed the space. Where we are used to be a terrace of four cottages. Then they got converted into two houses. We bought ours when Peter was born. This"--she patted her bump--"will be numbers four and five. Plus I run a catering business--you've got a few samples there." She nodded toward the basket. "So, when our next door neighbor moved away, we got a truly frightening mortgage and bought the other half. It's brilliant. We have bedrooms and to spare, and a wonderfully massive kitchen for the business." She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Ian says I have the shortest commute to work in history: downstairs and turn left."

Elizabeth took a sip of tea. "The catering business sounds fantastic, but a heck of a lot of work. How old are your children?"

"The eldest is in school. The other two in a play group this afternoon, and when they're not, I have a wonderful au pair, Nina from Sweden." The scent of meat from the basket was getting close to overwhelming. Steak, from what it smelled like. "She's fantastic, and the sprogs love her, and even better, listen to her," she paused. "That's enough about me. If you ever need food for a party or dinner, my phone number and price list is in the basket."

"I've heard great things about your food." Elizabeth said.

Emma stared. "Was it Mike Jenkins?"