The Brande Legacy

by Alicia Hope

  The performance was earning him some vigorous head-shaking and reproachful tongue clicking, all of which he blissfully ignored.

  ‘... and blew off both his—’

  ‘Oh, you cad!’ she exclaimed with a snort. ‘Thanks so much for taking my dream seriously.’ She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him again, but her full lips twitched with mirth. ‘I bet you got a high distinction in “Larrikinism 101” at Butler College.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, much as I don’t like to brag,’ adding with a self-important expression and a plum in his mouth, ‘but there’s no denying it, I’m academically gifted.’ He bowed and sat beside her again, and they laughed together. She found herself admiring the way his easy smile lit up his good-natured face.

  He frowned but the grin lingered around his mouth when he said, ‘Just thought you were getting a bit intense back there. I was starting to worry.’

  Claire-Rose saw a predatory slant creep into Byron’s expression, and an injection of caution tingled through her veins.

  ‘This spot you picked for your ... er ... work,’ and he leaned forward, ‘is my favourite in all the garden. It’s surprising how much you can see from here.’ He gazed into her eyes. ‘So,’ he drawled, ‘what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’

  Claire-Rose’s head jerked and her eyebrow twitched.

  Oh, p-l-ease! That line’s straight out of Methuselah’s ‘Dating Women, for Dummies’, and I don’t think it even worked for the Big M back then.

  She squeezed her lips together to stifle the bark of derisive laughter rising in her throat, before saying as matter-of-factly as she could, ‘Yes, it is a lovely part of the garden. Well, thanks for delivering my lunch.’ Throwing him a significant glance, she bent to gather her things. ‘And for saving my laptop. I’d be lost without it. Now I’d better get moving before you-know-who comes a’calling again.’

  Byron immediately rose to his feet. ‘Of course, madam.’ He’d retreated to the safety of his butler persona again. ‘Then I’ll wish you a pleasant day.’

  ‘And the same to you.’

  He nodded and was about to walk off when he remembered what he was holding. Turning, he held it out to her. ‘This fell out of your bag when it was knocked over.’

  It was the postcard. As soon as her eyes fell on it, images from her dream resurfaced, and she stared mutely at him.

  Taken aback by her suddenly spaced-out expression, he prompted, ‘It’s your postcard. Of the Polly Brown, the ship that was wrecked and took Edward Lorienne to Davy Jones’ locker?’

  She took the postcard from him, mumbling, ‘Oh …yes….’

  ‘The original painting’s hanging in the castle’s reception area if you want a better look at it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He gave another nod and turned on his heal to stride purposefully away.

  Claire-Rose watched him go, chewing her lower lip.

  Thurs, 10 October, 05:45:31

  From: Claire-Rose.Brande

  To: Connie.Brande

  Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 4

  I knew it! You read more into my casual mention of Byron than was due, Mum. When are you going to accept that your daughter is a dyed-in-the-wool singleton who lacks the moral fibre to sustain a long term relationship? Really. I’ve accepted it, and so should you. Look at what happened with Kris. I’m not going down that road again.

  There’s no denying Byron is quite attractive and seems interesting enough, when he’s not coming over all Joey Tribiani-ish with the ‘How you doin’?’ act, but he’s probably already involved. I saw him out last night draped in arm candy. Mind you, he looked bored by her attentions, and she did appear to be a clingy little thing in her hardly-there outfit. But he was with her, nonetheless.

  So, how about we get off the subject of my love life and move on, shall we?

  Speaking of last night, I must tell you about the Aussies I met, first at the British pub on Tuesday, and at dinner again last night. Frank and Ali are Queenslanders and their friend Andy is from Western Australia. The guys work in IT and Ali’s a fellow HRian, like yours truly. They’re here for a fortnight’s holiday, doing all the touristy hotspots and having a fun time, by all accounts.

  On Tuesday night, after Thomas and Selena Meier left me to join a table of German tourists, the Aussies invited me to sit with them. We found a lot to talk and laugh about over our glasses of Stout, and the time went quickly. When I noticed the Meiers preparing to leave, I got up from the bench seat I was sharing with Andy.

  And that’s when all hell broke loose!

  Andy’s a large-ish guy, so I guess all his weight on one end of the seat upset the balance, because the other end shot into the air like a catapult! He quickly leaned over to right the seat, but this only made the end come down again in a rush. It hit the wooden floorboards with an almighty BOOM! The whole place shook like a dog drying itself.

  You should’ve heard the universal gasp as everyone looked around for the ‘bomber’. Most frowns were directed our way, but we were as shell-shocked as everyone else. The place was pin-drop silent ... until the wing at the booth’s outer edge, where Andy had put all his weight while righting the seat, came away. It gave a loud, drawn-out c r e-a-k as it nose-dived gracefully to the floor, landing flat-faced with a gigantic SLAM that resonated through the whole building!

  Oh Mum, by this time I was in hysterics, as were Frank and Ali. I wish you could’ve seen the expressions on all the faces in the room – priceless! Some were startled, others annoyed, but a few could see the funny side of it and were laughing with us. Poor Andy looked mortified. He tried desperately to fix the wing, but all the nails had been pulled out, so all he could do was rest it against the end of the booth. We decided to beat a hasty retreat before we were thrown out, so we made our way towards the stairs. But we heard another ominous creak behind us, and turned in time to see the wing heading for the floor again. It hit with another almighty BANG! Naturally, this caused more glares and more laughter.

  By this stage the publican was openly glowering at us, so we made good on our getaway. I had trouble seeing my way down the stairs I was laughing so much! We could imagine a sign pinned on the pub’s door the next day, sporting our faces in a circle with a big red line through it (a-la Ghost Busters), announcing that ‘Aussie tourists terrorists will be denied entry’!

  What a night, and what a laugh. I’m giggling again, just writing about it.

  So, last night the four of us met again at the Chinese restaurant, for another fun time. Andy and Frank couldn’t resist trying some mega-hot chilli sauce they’d seen a young Asian couple getting into. But this gastronomic adventure was very much to the detriment of their taste buds, and left them wiping sweat from their flushed faces. We christened the stuff ‘monkey brains’ because it was so vile, looked pretty ghastly – all red and lumpy – and had a bite like a rabid beast.

  It was while the guys were blustering and choking and guzzling water that Byron and his date came into the restaurant. He smiled when he recognised me, but the girl he was with quickly whisked him away to a secluded corner table – I have an inkling theirs may not be the most secure relationship. But I was too busy laughing at Frank and Andy to worry about what Byron was doing, although I did catch him looking over at us once or twice.

  Oh, why am I telling you this, Mum? You’ve already got the wrong idea about me and Byron. Not that there is a ‘me and Byron’. Crap, I’m only making things worse, aren’t I? OK, moving right along....

  I’m sending you a postcard with a picture on it of the Polly Brown, the ship Edward Lorienne was travelling in when it was shipwrecked. The impressive original painting of the ship is on display in the castle’s foyer. Oh, and there’s a group photo hanging in the gallery I think you’ll find interesting. I scribbled down its inscription which reads, 1892 Family portrait taken at front of castle. In the foreground is Henry Montville de Brande Barlow and his in
fant son, Charles. It’s a photo of great, great granddad Henry, and great grandad Charles! You must tell Gran I found it.

  Anyway, I’ve gotta dash now and get ready for the wine tour I’m doing today. I’ll send another email later – assuming I can still function after all the tasting, of course!

  Luv,

  CR xxx

  Chapter Seven

  Dates and Daydreams

  Byron had gone out of his way to speak to Claire-Rose at the Chinese restaurant the night before, but she wasn’t going to tell her mother that. With his date in tow, and fashionably dressed in acid-washed jeans and an open-collared, fitted shirt that revealed a length of strong neck, he’d approached her table confidently. On greeting her, his cupid’s bow-shaped top lip and straight, manly bottom lip, had tilted in a pleased smile over even white teeth.

  With a quick apology to Andy for interrupting him in the middle of a story, Claire-Rose introduced Byron to the others at her table. He gave each a friendly greeting, but didn’t bother to introduce his companion, who clung to his arm like a heavily made-up limpet. The prettiness of her features was soured by her sullen expression. It was clear she was less than thrilled about sharing her dinner partner’s attention with others, even when only for the briefest of pleasantries.

  ‘So, out on the town tonight?’ Byron enquired amiably, trying with limited success to peel himself away from his date’s clinging embrace.

  Claire-Rose smiled. ‘Yes. You too I see. So who’s catering for all the wants and whims of the castle dinner guests in your absence?’

  ‘No bookings tonight, which doesn’t happen all that often. When it does, I take full advantage.’

  He was looking at her with a light in his eyes that made her fidgety, the way she’d felt during their encounter earlier, when he’d delivered her picnic lunch. She shifted her gaze to his companion and received a haughty stare in return. Glancing back at him, Claire-Rose raised one expressive eyebrow.

  He gave a slight frown and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  ‘I’m going to grab us a table,’ his companion mumbled with a sulky pout. She looked about to pull him away with her when he said in a low voice that hummed with authority, ‘Fine, Skye. I’ll join you shortly.’

  She let go of his arm, but not before running one long painted nail along it, and throwing Claire-Rose a meaningful glare as she flounced off to flop into a seat at a corner table. As he watched the little performance, Claire-Rose glimpsed the shadow of a scowl on Byron’s face, which disappeared when he turned back to her with a smile.

  ‘Yes, well, as I was saying, I like to catch up with my friends whenever I can.’

  She nodded. ‘Naturally.’

  His uneasy gaze flicked over the four of them at the table. ‘I should’ve introduced Skye, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but....’ His voice trailed off as he glanced, frowning, toward his sullen companion.

  ‘Oh don’t worry, Byron,’ Claire-Rose said good-naturedly but with a mischievous glint in her eyes, ‘I’m sure you and your ... friend? ... Skye, didn’t come here to spend your precious time talking to a bunch of Aussie tourists.’

  He regarded her searchingly through half-closed eyes while she beamed innocently at him. A hint of rueful grin settled above his fashionably stubbled chin that widened into one of his charming smiles. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Hope you and your friends have a good night, Claire-Rose.’

  It was the first time he’d used her name. Up until then he’d only referred to her as ‘madam’, as was appropriate for a butler addressing a lady guest. She loved how her name sounded in his deep voice, and found herself thinking, so he’s gone to the trouble of finding it out. That earns him another big tick on the customer service checklist. If Mum has any call for butler consultants, I reckon she should head-hunt this guy.

  He was still standing in front of her, waiting for a response, and smiling a little crookedly as though trying to read her mind.

  ‘Oh yes, thanks,’ she replied hastily, ‘You too, Byron.’ As she watched him walk over to re-join his dinner date, who was sitting tapping the table with an impatient fingernail, a wicked grin crawled onto Claire-Rose’s face. She called after him with a provocative purr in her throat, ‘Will you make me breakfast again in the morning, Byron?’

  He glanced at her with a lopsided grin and a rebuke in his eyes, at which she openly laughed. He shook his head but the grin hovered until he turned to speak to Skye. Claire-Rose could imagine a whole league of fairies dancing on the young woman’s petulant bottom lip.

  ‘So, what’s the story there?’ Ali looked intrigued.

  ‘Oh, nothing really. He’s the butler at the castle – a very good one I might add – just making the most of a night of freedom, apparently.’

  ‘Doesn’t look too free to me, judging by the under-dressed little green-eyed monster hanging off him – who, by the way, looks fresh out of high school.’

  Both women looked over to see the couple deep in conversation. The girl’s sour expression hadn’t improved any, while Byron’s gestures indicated frustration and boredom.

  Ali smirked roguishly. ‘Like Andy, he seems quite taken with you.’

  ‘With me?’ Claire-Rose spun around to regard her with wide eyes.

  ‘Yes, you. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?’ When she didn’t receive an answer, Ali looked over at Byron again, studying him thoughtfully before adding, ‘He’s not a bad specimen ... for a Kiwi, that is.’ They giggled, and she went on, ‘And at least he doesn’t have the full-on Kiwi accent. He actually sounds almost Australian.’

  ‘And Andy?’

  ‘Oh, he’s just on the prowl. Been setting “traps” all over the place.’ She laughed at Claire-Rose’s puzzled expression. ‘That’s what we call his attempts to “catch” an unattached female. He nearly bagged himself a pretty young thing from Melbourne the other day. Sat beside her on the Big Red Bus tour – which was great, by the way, so do it if you get the chance – but the little minx was flying home to Victoria that night, so it was very much a “catch-n-release”.’

  At their loud chuckles Andy barked, ‘Hey, I’m trying to finish a story here!’

  Both women chimed, ‘Sorry!’ and Ali shot Claire-Rose a guilty glance.

  Resting their chins on their hands, they listened intently to the rest of Andy’s story. Although Claire-Rose felt inclined more than once to look over in Byron’s direction, she didn’t have to resist the urge for long. He and his date left shortly afterwards. As they passed by Claire-Rose’s table, he smiled and dipped his head at her, while Skye stalked past on her impossibly high heels, eyes fixed forward and both hands wrapped firmly around his arm.

  Claire-Rose had to be up early on Thursday morning. She knew her mother would be sweating on the next email update, and she didn’t have much time to send it off before having a quick breakfast – sans Byron as it turned out, perhaps he was breakfasting with the sultry Skye? – and collecting the bus for the wine tour. The early rise was no inconvenience though, as she’d been awoken by strange dreams once again. She had time to mull them over in the bus, en route to the first winery on their list. Internalising as she was, the passing scenery became a blur, and the chatter of the other passengers, merely background buzz.

  Living a whole ‘other life’ in my dreams, as a glamorous woman living in a more gracious time, has been thrilling, she mused, but now they’re getting to be a bit much. The dreams started after Gran first told me of the scandal involving Elizabeth, and they’ve become more intense since I got here. I guess it’s because I’m fascinated by the mystery. Sleeping in the castle’s shadow probably doesn’t help either.

  The tour bus turned off the highway and bumped along a dirt road. ‘The Jump’ vineyard was located near the chasm where one of the first commercial bungee jumping platforms had been erected. The winery offered a dazzling variety of both red and white wines, along with an expert and affable sommelier, and pleasant surroundings. The stone building housing the tasting area w
ould have been inclined to be cold if not for the low, warm blaze of a corner fireplace.

  At the sommelier’s insisting, Claire-Rose tasted all the tempting wine varieties on offer, with the odd water cracker and chunk of local cheese to cleanse her palate in between. When the time came to board the bus again, she felt warm and content, as did the other tourists, judging from their happy chatter.

  Thoughts of strange dreams drifted away....

  The next stops were as pleasant as the first, but it occurred to Claire-Rose that she should slow her sampling. She made sure to also drink water and eat some food, knowing she’d be no good to anyone, herself included, if she didn’t. But despite these self-preservation measures, she felt decidedly drowsy on the trip home, and wasn’t alone – the bus was full of nodding heads and soft snores.

  Pushing her folded cardigan under her head, she finally gave in to the sleep that was dulling her mind and weighing down her eyelids….

  In the dream, she found herself seated at a dressing table, brushing her long hair with a sliver-backed brush, as her grandmother materialised beside her. Putting both hands on Claire-Rose’s shoulders, Antoinette leaned in and whispered, ‘You’re in Elizabeth’s bedroom. It’s just like we imagined, isn’t it?’ And with a pleased smile, she was gone.

  Claire-Rose gazed into the ornate mirror. Elizabeth Lorienne stared back at her with a freshly-scrubbed face devoid of any cosmetic enhancements. To Claire-Rose, this only made her appear more beautiful. The shapely arm holding the brush over her already silken hair was paused in mid-stroke. Thick locks fell lustrously around her slender throat, above the low, wide neckline and off-the-shoulder puff sleeves of her embroidered nightgown. Visible behind Elizabeth’s smooth, bare shoulders was the rich décor and furnishings of a lady’s bed chamber.

  The dark burgundy drapes at the long sash windows were drawn over their lace counterparts, and firelight flickered off gold trims on the glistening candle holders in each corner of the room. The satin coverlet on the high Queen Anne bed was deep cream in colour, and its feather pillows and silk cushions beckoned wordlessly, ‘Come, retire to our sumptuous comfort....’