The Brande Legacy

by Alicia Hope

  The harbour was calm so we cruised around the edge water while the captain pointed out the different birds, animals and landmarks on the way. We saw blue penguins, terns, petrels, flocks of Sooty Shearwaters, and Mollymawks. The boat took us past the port where Edward Lorienne’s timber ships used to be loaded and unloaded. I could visualise him standing commandingly in the prow of a tall ship as it was relieved of its precious cargo....

  Yeah, I know Mum. Focus, CR, focus!

  When we came to our first mooring on the cruise, I joined the queue to disembark for the visit to the yellow-eyed penguin colony. I was standing waiting, when....

  ‘NOH, NOH, VE DON’T VANT TO SEE ZE YILLOW-EYED PENGUIN, VE ONLY VANT TO SEE ZE ALBATRRROHSSS!’

  This booming eruption in a German accent caught me, and everyone else I think, totally by surprise. I whirled around to see our little tour guide being accosted by an angry Albert. He’d rounded up his mates and they were standing pressed together like a bunch of (sour!) grapes at the front of the line, so they could be first off the boat I ’spose (so competitive!).

  I was impressed with the tour guide’s response to these stand-over tactics. She fixed Albert with a calm gaze and patiently repeated that this was only the first stop on the cruise, to be followed by a visit to the albatross colony. Oh-so-indignant Albert merely grunted in reply, but appeared satisfied he and his group weren’t being ‘forced’ to see penguins instead of albatross – quite the wrong species of bird, thank you very much!

  So, after that little altercation, we left the boat and tramped over sand hills to the penguin colony. Our guide told us in no uncertain terms to keep our voices low, otherwise the little critters would be scared away. This must have been VERY hard for Obstreperous Albert!

  The yellow-eyes are rare, solitary penguins. They’re pretty birds with slate-blue backs, white undersides, red bills, and gold feather ‘crowns’ on their heads. Their call is musical, not like the harsh squawks of other penguins. From the hide in a sand hill we saw them returning from the sea, where they’d been hunting for fish and squid. The guide whispered to us that they often cover long distances over rough ground. Tough, loveable little fellas. It’s a shame their population is declining because of habitat loss and the effects of introduced species.

  When we joined the boat again, it took us into open sea and we saw albatross soaring on thermals above their colony and fur seals sunbaking on the rocks. The seals have narrow snouts, fine grey-brown hair and a thick chestnut ‘underlay’ of fur, and the most endearing big, brown, puppy dog eyes. They’re like waterproofed Labradors! Apparently they can dive to over two hundred and fifty metres under water to fish, all the while avoiding the sharks, killer whales, and sea lions who prey on them. As we cruised past, a few were lolling around on boulder beaches while others were diving into rock pools to cool off, expressions of pure bliss on their whiskered faces. :)

  The local species of albatross, the northern royal, look similar to the wandering albatross, but with different colouring. With a wing span of three metres they can fly at over one hundred miles per hour (‘I feel the need … the need for speed’!). You should see how elegant they are in the air, Mum, as opposed to on the ground, where they’re klutzy in an ‘Aw, cute’ way. We sticky-beaked through a huge bird hide and saw devoted parents and their downy chicks, and adolescent birds posturing like troublesome teens. It was a privilege to watch these majestic, and unfortunately endangered, seabirds living their daily lives. It felt kinda like ‘Big (Bird) Brother’!

  But all too soon it was time to return to the boat. We cruised back to the jetty, sipping the captain’s champers, listening to the slap of water against the hull, and watching the sun setting over the hills ... *sigh*. Even the noisy Germans grew peaceful, and that’s saying something!

  So, tonight I’m dining in the castle again where I expect there’ll be some interesting conversations around the table. I ran into Alan and Sally Jenkins earlier, and they reckon the ‘ghostly’ activity in the castle is increasing – you talk about my overactive imagination! I’m trying not to scoff at the reports of ‘spooky’ things being seen and heard by the other guests, who are doing a bang-up job of talking themselves into believing all this ghost guff!

  Now, getting back to Elizabeth’s ‘hidden’ evidence, I’ve looked everywhere I can. All that’s left now are the off-limit areas, like the locked rooms downstairs. I think one of them might be the music room Gran mentioned as being Elizabeth’s favourite, so I’m dying to get into it and have a look around. I simply have to see those off-limit areas. They must contain some secrets....

  Luv,

  CR xxx

  Claire-Rose sat staring into the bright flame of a nearby candle. The chatter went on around her as Byron served their courses. A savoury beef consommé and crusty French bread was followed by braised spatchcocks and steamed vegetables, and a delightful charlotte russe for dessert.

  Kathryn had arrived at the dining room in fine form, wearing Victorian dress. Everyone marvelled at the richness of her black and gold striped gown with cinched drop waist, black velvet jacket, and a full skirt complete with bustle.

  ‘The Victorian hostess’s main goal was to flaunt her status and impress her guests,’ she announced grandly. ‘She took great care in her choice of menus, and in dressing both herself,’ and she graced them with an elegant twirl, ‘and her dining room for the occasion. Food was served in one of two ways: a la Francaise, where food was carved at the table and passed around, and a la Russe, as we do here, where food was ready to be served when brought to the table. Guests were given menus, often written in French. Dining tables were ornately decorated, usually with a centrepiece of flowers or a fruit pyramid like this one, which is all local produce.’ She pointed at the lustrous tower of fruit presiding over the table’s centre, around which guests had to peer to see those on the other side.

  Claire-Rose peeped around the pillar of glossy red apples, plump strawberries, fuzzy kiwi fruit, golden pears and purple grapes, and saw that Emma had chosen to join them that evening. By her expression, she was unimpressed with her mother’s flamboyant performance. Byron, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying playing the straight guy to Kathryn’s ostentatious Victorian lady. Thankfully for Claire-Rose, this kept him too occupied to approach her with probing questions about her sleuthing. He did, however, find an opportunity for a quick word with her when serving the entrée.

  Placing a steaming bowl of consommé in front of her, he said quietly, ‘I’m off-duty tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ she mumbled, closing her eyes to inhale the soup’s fragrant aroma.

  He paused to look searchingly at her. ‘We were talking yesterday about going out for dinner on my free night?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right.’ She blushed at her dullness.

  ‘So, does tomorrow suit?’

  ‘I ... sure ... tomorrow should be fine.’ A thought occurred to her and she looked up at him from under her lashes, an innocent smile on her lips. ‘Will Skye be joining us?’

  His mouth tightened and he narrowed his eyes at her. With a curt, ‘No,’ he moved on to serve the next diner.

  Claire-Rose swallowed a giggle.

  As the evening drew to a close, she was the first to rise and wish everyone ‘goodnight’. But on leaving the dining room she slipped into the butler’s pantry. It had been cleared of dinner dishes and was in scrupulous order again. Once inside, she paused and listened. Apart from the hum of voices from the remaining guests lingering over coffee in the gentlemen’s drawing room, all was quiet.

  Looking up, she was gratified to see the bunch of old-fashioned keys hanging from the hook on the wall. Being careful not to let the keys jangle, she grasped the heavy brass ring and lifted it off the hook. Staring at the keys in her hand, hoping her hunch was right, she proceeded to wrap them in a wad of tissues so they wouldn’t make any noise when she moved. Putting them in her pocket with care, she poked her head around the door. The coast was clear so she tiptoe
d along the hallway and into the ladies’ drawing room.

  Without hesitation, she made her way to the bay window. Stepping into its recess, she drew the heavy damask drapes across the opening, making herself a hiding spot. Settling herself comfortably on the window seat, she waited for the castle to be empty and hers to explore.

  Sitting hidden and silent while the minutes ticked slowly past, her mind wandered to another night, a dreadful night. She squeezed her eyes shut and winced, recalling how she had struggled to recognise the bruised, swollen face in the still body lying pale and silent in the hospital bed, surrounded by banks of frightening but life-saving machines. Blinking, she shook her head to dislodge the memory, but another agonising image lunged at her, of the newspaper headline the day after the accident....

  RECKLESS RIDING ENDS IN TRAGEDY. Local medical practitioner sustains head injuries after being thrown into a fence by his champion show-jumper. One observer described Dr Kris De Voss as ‘charging straight out of the stables to tackle the six bar jumps without giving his mount a warm-up’, saying this sort of recklessness is out of character for him. Dr De Voss is in intensive care and his condition is described as serious.

  The sound of footsteps on aged timber floorboards jolted Claire-Rose back to the present. She held her breath and listened. The tread was a woman’s, she heard the click of high heels. Kathryn had been wearing a fine pair of Victorian heeled slippers that evening, and was probably closing up after the last diner’s departure.

  Claire-Rose’s straining ears caught the sound of another set of footsteps approaching with a light but determined tread.

  ‘Mum?’

  She recognised Emma’s voice.

  ‘I’m here,’ Kathryn replied.

  ‘Look, I’ve been trying to talk to you all night but you’ve been too busy poncing around in your fancy dress, or avoiding me, or both.’ Some of Emma’s words were slurred.

  There was a pregnant pause before Kathryn said evenly, ‘How much wine did you have this evening?’

  ‘Don’t try to change the subject, Mum.’

  Kathryn sighed resignedly. ‘I wasn’t avoiding you, Emma. And you know it’s important for our guests to be entertained at dinner.’

  ‘Well, clearly you believe it is.’

  Kathryn sighed again. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

  ‘I think you know.’

  ‘Not this again ... Emma, we’ve been through this before. I don’t want to sell the castle, and neither does Byron.’

  Claire-Rose heard Emma give a derisive snort.

  ‘I don’t think you realise, mother, that want and need are two different things. You and Byron may not want to sell the castle, but you must realise we need to. Make that have to. This damn castle’s leaching money from our very bones.’

  ‘Oh, Emma, you’re exaggerating.’

  ‘Am I? And our bank manager, our accountant, our bottom line, are they exaggerating too?’ Emma hissed, ‘Mum, you can’t keep avoiding this. The castle’s draining us dry.’

  This was greeted with silence. Claire-Rose found herself holding her breath again.

  ‘Dad was right,’ Emma muttered broodingly, ‘buying the castle was a bad idea.’

  ‘Oh!’ Kathryn exclaimed loudly, ‘so you think your father was right? Right about the castle, right about how he treated Byron, and right to walk out on us all—’ A choked gasp was followed by silence again, broken only by Emma’s soft words.

  ‘Sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Then what did you mean?’ Kathryn’s voice was swollen with unshed tears.

  ‘Just….’

  Claire-Rose heard the sound of fretful feet scuffing the floorboards.

  ‘… we have to face facts, Mum. The castle’s not paying for itself, it’s not viable. And if we don’t sell it soon, we’ll all go to the wall.’

  ‘But, Emma, it’s our life!’

  ‘Yours maybe, and Byron’s … although I think his commitment might be more from obligation than anything else. Because of what happened between him and Dad.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about that.’

  ‘No, let’s sweep it under the carpet with the rest of our family dramas.’

  ‘That’s enough, Emma. I don’t want to discuss this any further now.’

  ‘So when will we discuss it?’

  Kathryn’s only reply was an exasperated sigh. With a click of high heels and a purposeful tread, she set off toward the family’s quarters.

  Claire-Rose heard Emma whisper, ‘Damn,’ as she trudged after her mother. As she went, Emma switched off the lights, leaving the castle in darkness. There was a thump as she closed the last heavy door behind them.

  Taking a deep breath, Claire-Rose reached under her jacket for her small but powerful torch. Tentatively pulling aside the drapes, she shone the beam around the room. Empty. She rose and made her way stealthily toward the stairs leading to the lower level, thinking as she went, well, what an interesting little conversation to overhear. Poor Kathryn, I wonder what the future holds for her castle – or should that be great, great, great uncle Edward’s castle? And what’s the skinny on Byron and his father? It seems the closets here contain more than one skeleton....

  As she passed the entrance into the gentlemen’s drawing room, she gave a start as something emerged from it. Topaz. He wandered out to smoodge against her legs while she scolded him under her breath for scaring her. But her burning curiosity soon had her concentrating on finding her way, followed by her tabby friend, through the darkness to the locked room downstairs.

  And the secrets she hoped it contained.

  * * *

  Claire-Rose pulled the door to behind her and carefully locked it again. She stared at the large brass key in her hand and then slipped the bunch into her bulging pocket, before turning to tiptoe along the corridor and up the stairs. She paused once, certain she could hear something, but it was only Topaz trailing behind her. She grinned at him and whispered, ‘Thanks for keeping me company, buddy.’ He graced her with a feline smile and a cheerful flick of his striped tail.

  Soon her light but purposeful tread had her outside the butler’s pantry. She went inside and took the bunch of keys from their tissue nest in her pocket, still careful not to let them jangle, and returned them to their hook.

  Now, here’s hoping my other hunch is right and I’ll be able to get out of here without a key.

  It had only just occurred to her that all the external doors might be key-locked, in which case she and Topaz would be trapped inside the castle until morning. And how would she explain that if they were discovered?

  Making her way stealthily to the back door, she held her breath and turned the old brass handle. When the door obligingly opened with only the faintest creak, she exhaled in relief before slipping outside and heading toward the Lodge.

  Mon, 14 October, 00:57:27

  From: Claire-Rose.Brande

  To: Connie.Brande

  Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 8

  Sorry for the lateness – or should that be earliness? – of this email, Mum, but I can’t wait to tell you the news. You know how you suggested I ask the owners for special permission to look into the castle’s restricted areas? Well, that was a great idea, I got to check out the rooms … but I have to be honest, I took the ‘ask for forgiveness rather than permission’ approach. I decided it was prudent to stay ‘off the radar’ for the time being. I didn’t want to risk delaying my investigation or making others curious about my intentions.

  Don’t look at me like that! Everything turned out OK.

  After dinner I managed to stow away inside the castle. While in hiding, waiting for everyone to leave, I overheard an interesting conversation ... but more of that later. On my first night here I’d noticed a bunch of keys hanging on a wall in the butler’s pantry, and among them a big old brass key I’d decided was significant. So I pocketed the keys with my trusty torch and penknife (standard equipment for we n
osey types!).

  When all the lights had been switched off, and I heard the castle’s main door close … agent OO7 came out of hiding, checked she was alone, and used her flashlight to find her way downstairs to the ‘no public access’ areas. It would take more than a pesky sign to stop this intrepid sleuth from sleuthing....

  Hah! Sorry Mum, couldn’t resist going into secret agent mode for a sec! Yeah, I know, focus....

  First I explored the unlocked ‘staff only’ rooms. I can understand why they’re off limits, they’re in bad repair. One was piled high with furniture that looked like it should’ve been dumped years ago, and another had its window – or where the window used to be – boarded up. In the last one I went into, a smashed crystal chandelier littered the entire floor. I was glad I’d chosen to wear my thick-soled sneakers – hah, sneakers, definitely appropriate attire!

  And then I got to the locked room, the one I really wanted to see inside. Elizabeth’s music room, or so I hoped. I was wishing like crazy my hunch was right, but didn’t believe I could be so lucky as to have the key for this very room in my pocket. So you can imagine how I felt when the big brass key slipped into the lock like a hand into a glove. When I turned it, the key ground metal-on-metal, and I froze, scared someone would hear, but luckily all stayed quiet.

  When I pushed the door open, I found myself on the threshold of a dark room. I had to take a firm hold of my courage to step into the blackness, but when I shone the torch around I could see there was nothing sinister ... (this is where I’d cue creepy ‘wooeeoo wooeeoo’ sounds if I were making a scary movie!).