Christmas At Pemberley
But then again, this was Scotland, and in the dead of bloody winter...
‘Just make sure I’m at the top of the list,’ Helen snapped, and rang off.
Now what was she to do? She couldn’t bear the thought of another minute spent in the company of that miserable, tight-lipped Scotsman who acted as if her very existence was a personal affront.
Still, she reflected as she hung up, for once events had conspired to her advantage. After all, she was sharing a roof – and quite a vast roof it was, too – with Dominic Heath and his fiancée, Gemma.
She couldn’t have arranged a better set of circumstances if she’d tried.
The sound of footsteps and low voices approaching echoed across the hallway. Helen risked a peek around the corner as Dominic and his girlfriend emerged from the dining room and made their way towards the stairs. She ducked her head back. They hadn’t seen her, thank God.
‘…glad you finally agree with me on this, Dom,’ Gemma was saying, her voice low but distinct.
‘I told you, babes, I want kids just as much as you do,’ he replied. ‘The time has to be right, that’s all.’
‘Well, then,’ she pointed out, ‘good thing we’re getting married in a few weeks’ time. A Christmas wedding in Northton Grange will be incredibly romantic, don’t you think? Even if we practically had to elope to manage it.’
Helen hardly dared to breathe. It would be embarrassing – not to mention awkward ‒ to reveal her presence now. She only hoped that they didn’t see her sitting here, blatantly eavesdropping...
‘We can’t have the paparazzi bollocksing everything up, can we?’ Dominic replied.
‘No, of course not. I want a proper wedding, with all the trimmings – and no bloody paps,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘I want bridesmaids in tartan gowns, and groomsmen in kilts, and a horse-drawn sleigh, and—’
‘And a Prada wedding gown,’ Dominic finished. ‘Yeah, I know, Gems. You’ve told me often enough. But if it were up to me, we really would elope. Or get married in a chapel at Gretna Green.’
‘Gretna Green?’ she demanded, and came to a halt, just yards from where Helen sat. ‘Have you lost your mind, Dominic? A girl only gets married once in her life, and her wedding should be perfect.’
‘Yes, of course it should! But damn it, babes, be reasonable!’ Dominic hissed. ‘Christmas is less than a month away. There’s no time to put a massive wedding together – not the kind of over-the-top wedding you fancy, at any rate – in a few weeks!’
‘Oh, very well. I’ll scale it back, then. I’ll only have six bridesmaids, instead of twelve. And I suppose I can make do without groomsmen in kilts...although I fancied having at least two, to hold the crossed swords over our heads as we exit the castle to leave on our honeymoon.’
Dominic didn’t bother to point out that they were in the middle of the Scottish bloody highlands, surrounded by snow with another foot on the way, and that the likelihood of pulling off even a scaled-down version of the dream wedding his bride-to-be wanted was slim to non-existent.
But he’d learnt to pick his battles. And this, he decided resignedly, wasn’t one of them.
‘Good thinking, babes,’ he told her instead, and leant forward to kiss her.
Helen heard the sound of smooching, followed by more smooching, and Gemma’s giggles. She winced. Dear God, but this was excruciating...
‘C’mon, Gems,’ Dominic growled, ‘let’s go upstairs and christen our bedroom again.’
‘But, Dom,’ her voice was scandalized ‘we can’t! It’s practically the middle of the day! We’re supposed to mix and mingle with the others. They’ll wonder where we’ve gone to—’
‘Screw ’em,’ he said, and smacked her on the bottom. ‘They can mix and mingle with each other for a bit. Let’s you and I go and make a baby.’
When they’d disappeared up the stairs to their rooms, Helen re-emerged from the shadows and wondered what she ought to do. She needed to call Tom, and soon; but she hadn’t anything to tell him, really.
Besides, she couldn’t very well call him on the house phone, in the middle of the great hall of Draemar Castle.
As she hovered indecisively at the foot of the staircase, Wren appeared, striding briskly towards the baize door that led to the kitchen.
She came to a stop. ‘Oh, hello! Helen, isn’t it? Had you any luck getting hold of a towing service?’
Helen shook her head. ‘They can’t send anyone until at least tomorrow. Or later, if the snow we’re expected to get arrives tonight.’
‘Oh, what a nuisance...I’m so sorry. Of course you must stay here with us,’ she decided. ‘We’ve plenty of room.’
‘I don’t want to be a bother—’ Helen began.
‘Nonsense, it’s no bother. I won’t hear of you staying at the gatehouse with Colm. He won’t welcome the company, and I’m sure you’ve no wish to spend another evening being glowered at.’
Helen laughed. ‘Not especially, no. Dreadful man, isn’t he?’
‘Well, he has his moments, I suppose,’ Wren allowed, ‘and he is a hard worker. Nevertheless, if he were clean-shaven and attired in proper evening kit, I vow he’d make a very credible Mr Rochester. Or Mr Darcy, come to that. He’s very much the broody, mysterious, nothing-much-good-to-say type, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Helen agreed. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘We’re about to meet in the drawing room for a tour of the castle,’ Wren went on, ‘if you’d care to join us?’
Helen nodded. ‘I’d like that very much. Thank you.’
And as Wren excused herself and resumed her path to the kitchens, Helen made her way across the hall to the drawing room to join the others.
Chapter 9
Later that day, after Dominic and Gemma re-emerged from their rooms, Tarquin and Wren led everyone on a tour of the castle, through the keeping room, buttery, bottlery, kitchens, dungeons, and great hall, and down the formidable length of the long gallery, until they trooped, exhausted, back to the drawing room for afternoon tea.
‘I can’t believe your father actually rode his horse up the staircase,’ Natalie said as she sank into a chair.
‘It’s true.’ Tarquin followed them inside. ‘There are still hoof marks on the treads. Grandfather gave him a good hiding for it, believe me.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ Gemma ventured as she accepted a cup of tea from Wren and balanced it on her lap, ‘is why butter wasn’t kept in the buttery? You said it’s where ales and meads were stored; so why not call it the ‘meadery’ or the ‘winery’? Makes no bloody sense to me.’
He nodded. ‘It’s all a bit confusing, isn’t it? Butter was kept in the larder, and bottles – ‘butts’ to use the Latin term – of ale and mead were stored in the buttery.’ His smile was wry. ‘One couldn’t drink the water back then, apparently.’
‘Yes,’ Rhys agreed, ‘I’ve heard the meat was so spoiled it had to be drowned in herbs and sauces.’
‘That’s a common misconception,’ Tarquin replied, ‘but it isn’t true. Animals were slaughtered and eaten within a few days, and the meat was likely fresher than what we buy at the market today. Spices were expensive; a cook wouldn’t waste them on rancid meat. I doubt it would’ve masked the taste, at any rate. So beef and mutton and pork were layered with salt to preserve it, or soaked in salt brine, or smoked and hung up to dry.’
‘You’re so knowledgeable, Tark!’ Natalie exclaimed, impressed. ‘I’d no idea.’
‘You have to remember, I grew up here,’ he replied, and shrugged. ‘Tour groups were always trooping through the castle – still do, on occasion ‒ which my father absolutely abhors. I used to tag along, when I wasn’t away at school. I learnt the tour guide’s script off by heart.’
‘This place must’ve been great fun for hide-and-seek,’ Gemma remarked. ‘All those rooms, and dungeons, and nooks and crannies...’ She shuddered and sipped her tea.
‘Well, the east and west wings were closed off when I was a boy,’ Tarquin said. ‘And my sister and I were strictly forbidden to play in the dungeons. So that limited our battlefields and hiding places considerably.’
Helen, who stood admiring a collection of family photographs on a table near the fireplace, picked up one of the framed pictures. A handsome young man with the Campbell family’s dark-ginger hair and a wide, engaging smile looked back at her.
‘Who’s this?’ she asked, curious. ‘He looks rather like you, Tarquin.’
He rose and came to stand beside her, and took the picture from her hands. ‘Ah. That’s Andrew. My oldest brother.’
‘Phwoar, he’s gorgeous,’ Gemma approved as she got up and joined them, peering at the photograph over Tarquin’s shoulder. ‘Is he married? Does he live nearby? Will we meet him?’
Tarquin set the photograph back down, his expression unreadable. ‘I’m afraid not. He died, Miss Astley, years ago. He drowned off the coast of West Africa. His body was never recovered.’
An awkward silence descended over the room. Gemma went pale. ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she began, stammering with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t know—’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ Wren said soothingly as she came up and slipped her arm around Gemma’s shoulders. She led her back to the sofa, and the warmth of the fireplace. ‘How could you possibly know?’
‘I remember reading about it in the papers,’ Rhys said. ‘Terrible tragedy. It must’ve been a difficult time for you and your family, Tarquin.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ With a shrug, Tark turned away from the table and returned to his seat by the fire, and stretched his legs out. ‘Eighteen years, to be exact. I was ten when it happened, and Andrew was twenty. He’d been away from home for a couple of years, traveling. He was always a great one for traveling. So we weren’t close. It devastated my father and mother, of course.’
‘I can imagine,’ Helen murmured. ‘It must be a horrible thing to lose one’s child.’
‘What happened, exactly?’ Natalie asked Tarquin, her face creased in concern. ‘Why was your brother’s body not recovered?’
‘Well, the beaches of the Sierra Leone are amongst the best in the world, unspoiled and vast, but the waters are rife with strong currents. Andrew was sailing when his boat capsized. He was an excellent swimmer, and he struck out for shore; but he got caught in a riptide, and was dragged out to sea.’
For a moment, the only sound was the snap and hiss of the flames in the fireplace.
‘Helen’s joining us for dinner,’ Wren said briskly, rising to her feet, ‘and she’s staying here tonight.’
‘The towing service can’t send a car until tomorrow,’ Helen added. ‘I hope you don’t mind the imposition.’
‘Not at all, and it’s no imposition,’ Tark said, and smiled. ‘The more the merrier, as they say. And we wouldn’t dream of inflicting Colm on you for another day, would we, Wren?’
‘I should say not!’
Over the ripple of laughter that followed this pronouncement, they looked up to see the groundskeeper standing in the doorway, a grim expression on his face.
Helen stood up guiltily. ‘Colm!’
He strode across the drawing room and thrust something at her. ‘This is yours.’
She looked down as she took the object into her hands. ‘It’s...it’s my mobile phone! You found it!’
‘Aye. It was on the floorboard of your hire car. I went to see if I could pull it out with the tractor, but it’s too far down the embankment.’ He turned to go.
‘Colm – wait.’
He paused. ‘Aye?’
Helen suppressed a wave of irritation. Damn the man! Why did he always make everything so bloody difficult? ‘The towing service can’t come out for another day or two. I’ll be staying here tonight, and possibly tomorrow night, as well. I just...wanted to let you know.’
He shrugged. ‘Good, then.’ He dipped his head at the others. ‘I’ll be off now.’ And he left.
‘Well,’ Natalie said tentatively when he’d gone, ‘that was awkward.’
‘I really put my foot in, didn’t I?’ Tark sighed. ‘Poor chap. I’d no idea he was standing there.’
‘Oh, not to worry,’ Wren assured him, ‘Colm’s got a hide like leather. You could fling spears and arrows at him, and like a rhinoceros, they’d just bounce off.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ Helen murmured. ‘I don’t know him very well, of course, but he strikes me as a man who feels things very deeply and holds a grudge for ever.’
‘How long has he worked here?’ Rhys wondered as he reached for another egg and cress sandwich. ‘Has he been with the family a long time?’
Tark shook his head. ‘He turned up three months ago, looking for work. Our groundskeeper, Mr Finney, had just retired, so the position was open. It was the most amazing good luck on our part. His too, I imagine.’
‘Yes,’ Helen murmured thoughtfully, and took a sip of her tea. ‘Wasn’t it just?’
Chapter 10
Late in the day, as she stepped into a beige silk chemise to dress for dinner, Natalie went pale.
‘Oh,’ she breathed, and sat down suddenly.
Rhys, knotting his tie in front of the mirror, paused. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned. ‘You’ve gone as white as the bedspread.’
‘It’s a duvet,’ she corrected him faintly, ‘and, yes, I’m fine. I just felt a bit...dizzy, for a moment.’
‘Shall I fetch a doctor?’
‘No, don’t be silly.’ Natalie pushed herself to her feet. ‘It’s probably low blood sugar, or all that walking I did this morning. And I didn’t eat much at lunch.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ he accused. ‘And why didn’t you? You’re not on another one of those ridiculous diets, I hope?’
‘I simply wasn’t hungry, Rhys, that’s all,’ she said with a trace of irritation. ‘And I ate a huge breakfast.’
‘You did rather pack it away this morning.’ He came to stand behind her and slid his arms around her waist. ‘Are you nearly ready to go downstairs for dinner, darling?’
‘Almost.’ And as he nibbled her earlobe, Natalie’s irritation melted away, and she closed her eyes, and smiled, and forgot all about her momentary dizziness.
As she rummaged through her suitcase in search of an outfit to wear to dinner, Helen despaired. She hadn’t anything remotely suitable for dining in a castle. Hell, she didn’t even have a properly pressed pair of trousers.
Natalie, she thought suddenly. They were roughly the same size, although Helen was a bit shorter. Perhaps she’ll have something I can borrow...
Then she remembered the sheath she’d bought at Heathrow in one of the duty-free shops. She found it and pulled it out. The black wool hadn’t wrinkled, amazingly enough; and although it was plain, she could dress it up with a bit of jewellery and some heels. But she had to hurry, it was nearly seven...
Ten minutes later, Helen surveyed herself in the cheval mirror with satisfaction. Not bad, she decided, and raised a brow at her reflection. She’d do.
She grabbed her mobile and headed downstairs.
In the great hall, she paused at the foot of the stairs. The sound of voices echoed from the drawing room where everyone had gathered for a drink before dinner. They wouldn’t miss her for a few minutes more.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she took out her mobile and scrolled to Tom’s number. No time like the present...
‘Bennett here.’
‘It’s me,’ Helen said in a low voice.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Scotland,’ she retorted, ‘as you very well know. It’s been snowing almost nonstop, and my hire car went down a bloody embankment last night.’
‘Shit! You’re all right, I hope?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said dryly, ‘not that you care.’
‘Not true.’ He paused. ‘Where are you, exactly?’
‘You’ll never believe it, but I’ve landed at Draemar Castle, where the celebrity lovebirds are staying with the Campbell family even as we speak.’
He let out a soft whistle. ‘And how did you manage that?’
‘The embankment I hove over just happened to be on the castle property,’ she told him, and cast another wary glance around her. ‘I’d no idea Dominic and Gemma were even here until this morning. I’ve been invited to stay until my hire car’s repaired...which might be a few days.’
‘Perfect. So...have you got anything for me?’
‘Not much. The wedding’s to be in four weeks. Gemma’s demanding a horse-drawn sleigh, and kilts, and masses of white roses, and all manner of ludicrous, romantic fol-de-rol.’ Scorn undercut her words.
‘Where’s it to be, then? At the castle?’
‘No. Northton Grange. It’s a tiny village in the highlands—’
‘Yeah, where Dominic’s got that estate he never goes to,’ Tom finished. ‘So when are they going on to Northton G? Soon?’
‘Oh, I imagine they’ll leave just as soon as this bloody snow stops falling.’ She glanced around her with a shudder. All those medieval instruments of war and knights in armour unnerved her. ‘And you can bet your arse that when Dominic and Gemma leave this pile of mouldering Scottish stone, I’ll be right behind them—’
At the sound of a footstep nearby, Helen broke off. She whirled around to see Colm standing there.
‘I’ll call you later,’ she murmured, and rang off. She glared at him. ‘What are you doing? How dare you creep up on me like that! You startled me.’
‘I think the better question,’ he said grimly as he took her by the arm and drew her aside, ‘is to ask what the hell it is you’re doing, Ms Thomas.’
Helen met Colm’s narrowed eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she snapped, and shook his arm off. ‘Why are you here, anyway, skulking around like a – a ghost? Shouldn’t you be outside, seeing as you’re the bloody groundskeeper?’
‘You were giving out information to someone, information about a Campbell houseguest. Who were you giving it to, I wonder? And why?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said scornfully. ‘You have a very active – and a very misguided ‒ imagination.’
‘Don’t lie, Ms Thomas.’ He clipped off her name like something distasteful. ‘I know what I heard.’ He leant his face closer, inches from hers. ‘And I know who you really are.’
As she stared into those hard hazel eyes, she suddenly understood how a snake must feel when the snake charmer mesmerized it. She was powerless to move or speak.
‘Helen! There you are. We’re just about to go in to dinner.’
Guiltily, Helen turned around. Wren and Tarquin stood in the drawing room doorway; their expressions were polite, but curious.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, flustered. ‘I was...I was just—’
‘I was just telling Ms Thomas that we’ve more bad weather coming in,’ Colm said. ‘It’s started up snowing again. I’ve stacked extra wood outside the kitchen door.’
‘Good. Thank you.’ Tarquin hesitated. ‘Listen, Colm, about my remark earlier, I owe you an apology—’
‘Dinnae know what you’re on about,’ Colm said, his words short. ‘I’ve brought wood enough inside to keep the fires lit through the night. G’night to you both.’
He didn’t wait for a reply, but thrust a flat cap on his head and left as abruptly as he’d come.
‘Aren’t you hungry, Helen? You’ve scarcely touched your dinner.’ Natalie’s voice was low and concerned.
Startled, Helen looked up from her plate of roast mutton and turnips. ‘No. I think perhaps I ate too many cucumber sandwiches with tea,’ she admitted, and smiled.
‘More wine?’ the butler offered.
She nodded. As he poured a deep red Syrah into her wine glass, Helen wondered how much – if anything – Colm had overheard. Damn the man, he was as silent as a wraith, for all his size. She scowled. He seemed to take pleasure in creeping up on her unexpectedly and scaring the bejeesus out of her.
‘I know what you mean,’ Natalie agreed, and laid her fork aside. ‘I’m not very hungry, either. I feel...’ she paused ‘...I feel a little sick to my stomach.’
‘You do look a bit green,’ Helen observed, her face creased with concern. ‘Here, let’s go and sit down.’
As the men stood and adjourned to the billiards room for port and cigars, Helen, Wren and Gemma assured Rhys that his wife would be well looked after, and led Natalie into the drawing room, to one of the sofas by the fire.
‘I do hope you’re not coming down with the flu,’ Wren murmured, and insisted on calling the local doctor. ‘You really do look awfully pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ Natalie assured her. ‘I only need to sit down for a bit.’
Still, she didn’t object as Wren picked up the telephone receiver and rang Dr McTavish’s surgery.
After speaking to the doctor for a few minutes, she rang off. ‘Well, he can’t make it out tonight; the roads are already impassible. He said it sounds as though you’ve either got a bad case of indigestion, or flu. Although he says you’d have a fever, if it’s flu. Let me just go and fetch a thermometer so we can be sure,’ she decided.
‘Don’t be silly!’ Natalie protested, and straightened. ‘I’m fine, really.’
Just then, there was a commotion at the front door. A blast of cold air, followed by stamping feet and the dogs erupting into a frenzy of barking, signalled that someone had come into the great hall.
Colm, Helen thought, her heart sinking. He’s come back to tell the family who I really am.
‘Hellooo,’ a young woman’s voice trilled. ‘Tarkie? Where are you? Is this any kind of a welcome home for your long-lost sister?’
Chapter 11
‘Oh, dear,’ Wren murmured, and went nearly as pale as Natalie. ‘Not that dreadful girl again... She’ll soon have the entire household at sixes and sevens!’
Without another word, she abandoned her guests and hurried out to the entrance hall.
‘Well,’ Helen mused as she raised a brow and set her drink aside, ‘what do you suppose that was all about?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gemma replied, and raised her brow, ‘but I say we go and see what’s going on. Are you with me, ladies?’
They rose and made their way out to the hall to find Tarquin already there. A young woman in tartan trews and a jaunty red duffle coat stood inside the door, her feet surrounded by luggage and Vuitton trunks. A tiny, biscuit-coloured dog regarded the Campbell wolfhounds from the safety of the girl’s arms; its expression could only be called smug. A young man stood next to her.
‘Caitlin!’ Tarquin exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’ He glanced at her companion. ‘And who is this?’
‘Oh, sorry.’ She turned to the silent young man beside her. ‘This is Jeremy MacDougal. He drove us up from Edinburgh. We had a bit of a hair-raising trip; thank God he’s got a Land Rover, or we’d never have made it through the snow. Jeremy, this is my brother, Tark.’
The two men exchanged wary glances and shook hands.
Tarquin returned his attention to his sister. ‘I thought you were still at school.’
‘Classes are over for the holidays,’ she said airily, and shrugged out of her coat. Natalie caught sight of the Pringle label before the girl tossed it aside as though it were made of cheap nylon and not costly Scottish wool. She removed her cap and shook a length of red-gold hair loose.
‘I also thought you were going to Ibiza with your friends for Christmas.’ Tarquin eyed the stack of luggage and Jeremy in turn, his expression unreadable.
‘Well, I was,’ Caitlin agreed, ‘but then I thought, with Mam and Dad gone off to Corfu, why not come home and enjoy the peace and quiet? Besides, I broke it off with Robert. I came home to nurse my broken heart.’
‘You don’t seem especially heartbroken to me,’ Tark observed.
‘I’m not,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t dump him sooner.’ She glanced at the women regarding her with undisguised curiosity from the drawing room doorway. ‘Where are your manners, Tarkie-poo?’ she scolded him. ‘You haven’t introduced me to your guests.’
After breakfast the next morning, Natalie felt much better. After howling all night, the winds abated and the snow had stopped; now the sun was out, sparkling on the windswept breast of the newly fallen snow.
‘Rhys, it’s a gorgeous day,’ she said as she knelt on the window seat in the drawing room and pressed her nose to the glass. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’