by H. Y. Hanna
He glanced up as they came in and Caitlyn saw something flicker in his dark grey eyes, then a polite mask came down over his face as he came towards them. She was seized by a sudden panic. How was she to greet him? She’d never been comfortable with the European custom of casual hugs and kisses, and now with the strained atmosphere between them, it was even more inconceivable to greet James with a peck on the cheek. And yet shaking hands seemed ridiculously unnatural and formal as well. Thankfully, Mosley the butler came to the rescue, arriving at the same time as James and bearing a silver tray with an assortment of drinks.
“Hello Evie. Caitlyn…” James gave them a perfunctory smile, then seized on the convenient distraction provided by the butler and waved a hand towards the tray. “What will you have?”
“Ooh, can I have a champagne?” asked Evie, wide-eyed.
“Of course,” said James, reaching for one of the crystal flutes filled with fizzy gold liquid.
Mosley cleared his throat pointedly, his expression appalled. “Sir! Allow me…” With great flourish, he flicked a white-gloved hand, lifted a champagne flute from the tray, and presented it to Evie.
It was all done with such comical self-importance that Caitlyn felt a smile tugging at her lips and, when she glanced up, she caught a twinkle of amusement in James’s dark grey eyes too. Their gazes met. Caitlyn caught her breath—for a moment, it was almost as if last week had never happened and they were just sharing a moment of amusement, like they’d often done. Then James stiffened, the warmth fading from his eyes, and he looked away. Caitlyn felt like someone out in the cold who had seen a doorway open into a warm room… and then suddenly had it slam in her face.
She was grateful when the butler—completely oblivious to the undercurrents—turned towards her and enquired:
“And what would madam like to drink?”
“Oh… er… just something non-alcoholic. I’m driving.”
Mosley gestured to various glasses on the tray. “Orange juice? Tonic water? Perrier?”
“Er… orange juice is fine.”
Caitlyn accepted her glass and sipped it, grateful to have something to do with her hands. An awkward silence descended on them. Evie was looking around, over-awed with the surroundings, and it was obvious she wasn’t going to help with the conversation. Finally, James cleared his throat and said to Evie:
“I’m glad you came tonight. I believe this is the first time you’ve been here—at least, since I inherited the title?”
Evie nodded shyly. “I came with Mum once when she dropped off some herbal salve for the head gardener, but I stayed in the car.”
“I must give you a little tour after dinner,” said James with a smile. Then his gaze shifted beyond them and he said, “Ah, Chris… did you want to speak to me?”
They turned to see a teenage boy standing in the doorway of the Ante-Chamber. Evie gave a muffled squeak. It was Chris Bottom. He pushed his shock of sun-bleached blond hair off his forehead as he leaned against the doorjamb and addressed James:
“I’ve fixed the modem in your office. It’s working fine now. I thought I’d push off… unless there was something else you wanted me to do?”
“No, no, that’s super. Thanks very much. But why don’t you join us for a drink or even stay for dinner?” invited James. He gestured towards Evie. “Look, Evie’s here—you go to the same school, don’t you? You could sit together.”
“Thanks but I—Evie?” Chris did a double take.
Evie went bright red as he stared at her. “H-h-hi Chris,” she stammered.
“Chris, would you like some champagne? Or a glass of wine, perhaps?” asked James, beckoning for Mosley with the tray.
“Uh… no, no thanks… I have to get back… Dad and Aunt Vera will be expecting me for dinner. It’s roast tonight and Aunt Vera gets really annoyed if we’re not sitting at the table when the lamb comes out of the oven,” Chris said, talking to James but still staring at Evie.
“Oh, well… perhaps next time then,” said James.
Chris nodded absently and turned to go, although his eyes remained riveted on Evie.
James held up a hand. “Actually, Chris, I was just telling Evie that I’d give her a little tour of the Manor, since this is her first visit… but I won’t be able to do it until after dinner. If you’ve got a moment, perhaps you could show her around?”
“Uh… sure.” Chris held a hand out to Evie. “Come on, I’ll show you the Library and the other rooms on the visitors’ tour.”
Evie stood rooted to the spot, looking like she was going to faint. Caitlyn gave her a surreptitious nudge. Thank goodness for the bewitched high heels, she thought as Evie’s feet seemed to suddenly move of their own accord and she walked gracefully over to join Chris at the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was only after Evie and Chris had left that Caitlyn realised she was now in exactly the situation she’d been dreading: she was alone with James. Even though Evie hadn’t said much, her cousin had still acted as a sort of buffer. Desperately, Caitlyn looked around, searching for a distraction. Then she frowned slightly as she realised something she should have noticed as soon as she’d arrived, if she hadn’t been so pre-occupied.
“Where’s Pomona?” she blurted. “I thought she was back from London tonight.”
“Yes, she is—she arrived a short while before you did, actually, and I did try to persuade her to join us for drinks, but she insisted on going up to her room first. She said she had to ‘freshen up and change for dinner’.” James’s forehead knit in puzzlement “To be honest, I didn’t understand why she had to change. Her dress was lovely and more than appropriate for a dinner party, but Pomona seemed horrified when I suggested that she just come as she was.”
Cailtyn smiled to herself. Maybe she had been worrying for nothing. It didn’t sound like Pomona had changed at all. Her cousin’s standards of fashion and glamour were so high that she wouldn’t be seen dead in outfits most other women would have thought perfectly fine. Besides, Pomona never passed up any excuse to change into a new ensemble.
James glanced at his watch. “Hmm… I would have thought that she’d be down here by now.”
Caitlyn laughed. “Oh, Pomona’s probably decided to wash her hair or do a revitalising facial and total body scrub or something. She’ll make a grand entrance in a moment, looking so fabulous that you’ll agree all her extra primping was worth it.”
“You look fine without it,” James said. “More than fine, actually.”
Caitlyn blushed, torn between delight that James had noticed her appearance and embarrassment over how to reply. She was immensely relieved when a scrap of black fur seemed to materialise out of nowhere and scampered up to her.
“Nibs!” She bent down to scoop the little kitten into her arms. “I didn’t realise that you were in here.”
“He shouldn’t be in here,” said James dryly. “I was worried about him getting under guests’ feet so I left him in my study, together with Bran, but the little monkey must have got out somehow.”
“Has he been giving you trouble?” asked Caitlyn, cuddling the kitten close to her chest.
James’s face softened. “No—well, no more than usual,” he said with a chuckle. “Of course, most of the staff simply can’t resist his cheeky little face, so they let him get away with murder.”
The arrival of the kitten seemed to have eased the tension between them and James’s manner warmed perceptibly as he talked about Nibs. Caitlyn was glad that at least they still had this between them. They had rescued the kitten together from a disused quarry in the woods and although he was originally meant to live at the Manor, Nibs had had his own ideas. After stowing away with Caitlyn and hitching a ride back to the chocolate shop, the little kitten had wormed his way into the Widow Mags’s heart. Like a typical cat, Nibs had soon managed to have things arranged exactly how he wanted: now he lived part of the time at the Manor and the rest of the time at the chocolate shop, and was ridiculously spoilt in both
his homes.
“He can come and live at the chocolate shop full-time if he’s too much hassle at the Manor,” Caitlyn offered.
“Good God, no,” said James, laughing. “I think I’d have a mutiny on my hands! The staff are all besotted with Nibs—they’d be bereft if he wasn’t here. Even Old Palmer, the head gardener, seems to be softening. I actually caught him patting Nibs on the head the other day, when he thought nobody was looking. And Bran would be desolate. They eat together, sleep together, do everything together…” James shook his head, chuckling. “I think they’re almost becoming as much of a tourist attraction as the Manor itself; people love seeing a huge English mastiff being led around by a tiny kitten.” He glanced across the room at the couple he had been talking to earlier and added, “But I’d better put him back in my study now. Sir Henry’s wife, Sherry, said she’s allergic to cats and I wouldn’t want Nibs to trigger a bad reaction.”
He reached for the kitten and Caitlyn reluctantly passed Nibs over. As James turned to go, Evie re-entered the Ante-Chamber. The girl’s face was flushed and she was walking as if she was in a dream. She barely acknowledged James as she passed him heading out; instead she drifted slowly across the room to where Caitlyn was standing.
“How was the tour?” asked Caitlyn with a grin.
Evie’s cheeks were pink. “We only saw half of the rooms, then Chris had to go. But he… he said that he’d show me around the rest of the place the next time I come up to the Manor.” She leaned closer and whispered, “My feet are killing me! I didn’t realise I’d be walking around so much…” She took the weight off one foot and wriggled it, grimacing. “Do you think it’s okay if I slip my shoes off for a moment?”
Caitlyn glanced around, then pointed to a chair tucked against the wall behind them. “Why don’t you go and sit there for a moment? Then it won’t be so obvious if you take your shoes off.”
As Evie hurried to comply, breathing an audible sigh of relief as she eased her toes out of the pointed stilettos, Caitlyn turned and eyed the other guests curiously. There was a young man of about James’s age, fashionably dressed in a trendy top and dark jeans, who was talking earnestly to an older man with the most enormous sideburns Caitlyn had ever seen. Beside them, a stout middle-aged woman was talking to the couple that James had been with earlier. Caitlyn recognised the woman as Mrs Gibbs, a Tillyhenge resident—one of the bossy ladies who presided over the village committee and spent most of her time complaining about the tourists—and she realised that the couple must be Sir Henry Pritchard and his wife.
While she had never met Sir Henry, Caitlyn had heard his name mentioned several times in the village. A wealthy, self-made businessman who owned the lands adjoining the Fitzroy estate, Sir Henry was known for his blunt, down-to-earth manner and his love of a good drink. He was a regular at the village pub and was proud of his humble beginnings as a farmer’s son, despite having been given a knighthood by the Queen. With his balding head, red, jowly face, and faded tweed waistcoat stretched over his bulging belly, he looked exactly like the stereotype of the “English country squire”.
He was a startling contrast to his well-groomed wife, who looked at least twenty years younger and had the sort of slim, taut figure that was achieved from hours at the gym and iron-control over one’s diet. She was sipping her glass of wine now with small, tight movements, as she stood beside her husband and watched him talking loudly.
Sir Henry’s booming voice carried easily across the room: “…so I told him, he could sod off and take his fancy machines back where he came from!”
“Quite right, Sir Henry, quite right,” said Mrs Gibbs, nodding her head approvingly. “I’m glad we have someone like you to stand up to those smug big-city executives—”
“Big city? Pah! Bunch of nancy-boys—wouldn’t last one day on a farm, I tell you! Oh no, here in the country, we need a real man… eh, poochykins?” Sir Henry leered suddenly at his wife.
She simpered. “Ooh yes, honeybun—a real man like you.”
Sir Henry guffawed and gave his wife an affectionate smack on the bum, for all the world as if she was a favourite mare. She jumped slightly, but her smile didn’t slip and Caitlyn blinked in disbelief. The woman must have had the forbearance of a saint!
At that moment, James returned to the Ante-Chamber and the butler hurried up to him.
“Sir… Mrs Pruett is wondering if you will be sitting down soon? She is worried some of the dishes will spoil if kept warm for much longer and she is keen to start serving.”
“We’re just waiting for one more guest, Mosley.”
“Would that be Miss Pomona Sinclair, sir?”
“Yes.” James glanced at his watch and frowned. “I’m hoping she’ll be down any minute…”
“Very good, sir. Would you like a fresh drink?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mosley. I’ll sort myself out—I know where the bar is,” said James, indicating the antique bar cabinet in the corner of the room.
“Sir! You must allow me—”
James grinned at the butler’s distress. “Honestly, Mosley, I can manage. I know it’s probably not what you’re used to but I’m more than happy to look after myself. I was doing it for years, you know, before I inherited the title. Oh, it’s no reflection on your service—you’re an exemplary butler,” he added hastily. “I’m just used to being more independent.”
“Of course, sir,” said Mosley stiffly. “As the new master of Huntingdon Manor, it is understandable that you’d want to break with tradition.”
“I certainly don’t intend to turn my back on tradition and etiquette,” said James with a laugh. “But maybe we can just respect them in a slightly more relaxed way, eh?”
The butler watched James wander off to the bar cabinet with such a pained expression on his face that Caitlyn wanted to laugh. Then she saw Mosley turn towards the connecting door that led to the Dining Room and a look of bewilderment crossed his face. Caitlyn followed the direction of his gaze and nearly gasped out loud in horror.
A pair of stiletto heels was walking by itself across the room.
Caitlyn swung her gaze around to where Evie was still sitting on the chair by the wall. Her young cousin was staring dreamily into space, swinging her bare feet against the chair, but on the floor in front of her was now an empty space. Her high heels, freed of her feet, had obviously decided to go walking by themselves.
“Evie!” Caitlyn hissed.
“Huh?” Evie started, then came out of her reverie, blinking. She looked around in confusion. “Yes?”
Caitlyn pointed frantically. “Evie, your shoes!”
Evie turned to look, then her eyes bulged and she made a strangled sound in her throat. She sprang up from her chair and rushed over to where Caitlyn was standing.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“You need to go and catch your shoes!”
“No, wait—I can reverse the spell from here,” said Evie confidently, pointing a finger at the stilettos and chanting something under her breath.
There was a loud crackling, like the sound of static, and the stilettos glowed like hot coals again. Caitlyn watched hopefully but instead of subsiding back into a normal pair of high heels, the stilettos sprang into the air and began dancing a jig.
“Evie…!” Caitlyn groaned. “What are you doing?”
“I… I thought I was un-bewitching them!” cried Evie. “Maybe… maybe they’re too far away. I need to get closer.”
“We need to catch them before someone sees them!”
The stilettos were now mincing along the edge of the Persian carpet, stopping every so often to do a twirl as they danced to some imaginary music. Thankfully, the other guests were too engrossed in conversation to notice, but Mosley was staring at them, his mouth slightly open. He rubbed his eyes and was just about to take another look when Caitlyn rushed in front of him, blocking his view, and gabbled:
“Er… Mosley, I hate to be a bother but I was wondering if you could make up a mo
cktail for me? I’m feeling a bit left out drinking boring old orange juice while everybody else is enjoying champagne.”
“Certainly… madam… Er… What would you like?” asked Mosley in a distracted voice as he leaned to one side, trying to peer behind Caitlyn’s shoulder.
She shifted around so that she kept blocking his view. “I’d like a blend of fresh orange juice and apple juice… and um… cranberry juice… with lemonade and some… er… passionfruit puree… and… and mint leaves… and… er…” She racked her brains for something that would really complicate the order and keep him busy. “Er… and a raw egg.”
That got his attention at last. He stared at her. “A… a raw egg, madam?”
“Yes,” said Caitlyn stoically. “Mixed in thoroughly. Oh, and it must be free range.”
The butler gave her a funny look but, to her relief, his training had obviously disciplined him to take guests’ peculiarities in his stride. He departed to the kitchen to hunt for the free-range raw egg to mix into her drink. As soon as he had gone, Caitlyn turned around to see Evie skulking on the other side of the room. Her cousin was creeping up behind the pair of stilettos, which was hovering next to the other guests’ feet, as if it wanted to go up and say hello to the other shoes.
Evie made a sudden dive but the stilettos darted sideways at the last moment, neatly evading her hands. They skipped away from her, pausing only to raise one pointy heel at her in a rude gesture.
Caitlyn groaned and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Evie rushed after the shoes… and collided straight into James, who was returning from the bar cabinet with his drink.
“Evie!” he said in surprise as he caught her arm and steadied her.
“Oh! J-James… I mean, Lord Fitzroy—”
“Come on, you’re not seriously going to call me by my title,” he said with a chuckle. “What’s the matter, Evie? Where are you going in such a rush?”
“Oh… um… er…”
Caitlyn saw Evie glance over James’s shoulder, then turn to shoot her an agonised look. She followed Evie’s gaze and saw the reason for the anguish. The pair of stiletto heels were skipping towards the Ante-Chamber door. In fact, even as she watched, they pirouetted through the open doorway and disappeared.