by Sk Quinn
‘I should go too,’ says Grey, slapping his cutlery on his plate. ‘But before I do, I’d better take the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. It’s only polite, after all.’
‘Since when did you worry about being polite with your dirty dishes?’ I say.
‘Oh … since, mmm. Now when was it? Last night I think.’ Grey grins.
I shake my head. ‘Come on Bertie. Let’s eat.’
8
After lunch, I send Bertie for a sleep in his room. He looks pale and exhausted.
I wonder how much sleep he had with the Thornburns.
Probably hardly any. He must have been so frightened.
When Bertie is fast asleep, I creep back to the great hall and sit with a cup of coffee, thinking, thinking, thinking. Bertie is still lost – May is right. But this morning has taught me I might be able to bring him back.
The question is how?
There’s Anise, of course. Having Bertie’s mother talking sense again will help a great deal. She’s still not in a good way. Jabbering about Regan being the love of her life and how Dirk Mansfield is innocent.
I don’t want her near Bertie right now – she’s still talking crazy. I don’t want to confuse him. But eventually, we need to bring the two of them together.
I feel firm hands on my shoulders.
‘Patrick.’
‘Ah – so you knew it was me? Perhaps you could be a hunter some day yourself.’
‘I knew it was you because I can see your hands,’ I say. ‘I missed you at lunch. Where were you?’
‘I had lunch in the office. Just a few rounds of sandwiches. We were working.’
‘And by a few rounds, do you mean four or five?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I know your appetite by now.’
‘Thinking about Bertie?’
‘Yes,’ I admit.
‘How was this morning?’
‘Okay. I saw glimpses of the old Bertie. But he’s still … I don’t know. Kind of empty. Like there’s something missing.’
‘Try not to think too much,’ says Patrick. ‘You won’t help Bertie that way.’
‘So how do I help him?’
‘Just being with him.’
‘You’re right. We need to help Anise too. I don’t think he’ll ever truly heal until he gets his mother back.’
‘Be patient. He’ll come around. Anise will too.’
‘I don’t know. Patrick … about Anise. I mean, right now she’s an unfit parent. Right?’
‘I agree with you.’
‘So … should we contact social services or something? Make a record of what’s going on? Because right now, Anise could take custody of Bertie any time. And that wouldn’t be right.’
‘Anise doesn’t have custody of Bertie,’ says Patrick. ‘I do.’
‘You do? But … how?’
‘When Anise was under my father’s watchful eye, I thought it the sensible thing to do. I never did trust my father. So. I got a custody order. Anise was all for it. She understood my reasons.’
‘Oh. Well. That’s good I suppose.’
‘This afternoon, I’ll take Bertie to the stream. We’ll go fishing. Gregory can come too. See if we can’t bring Bertie out of himself a little.’
‘You’ll have to show me what to do. I have no idea about fishing.’
‘You won’t be there. You’ll be staying at the castle.’
‘What? Why?’
‘You have an appointment with Hugo Paul this afternoon. Your wedding planner and stylist.’
9
My stomach flips over. ‘You mean the man who’s styled members of the royal family?’
‘The very same. You’ll like him. I promise. And he’s the best. Come on.’
‘Where?’
‘To meet Hugo of course. He’s waiting for you in the parlour.’
Patrick shows me to the parlour – a room I’ve never seen before.
It has white-washed walls, beautiful tapestries and wooden antique tables and chairs. Kind of like a meeting room for princesses.
It looks out towards the woods and feels lovely and light.
A completely bald man sits on an antique wood chair, red boots propped on the table, a huge smile on his face.
He has tiny bright-pink glasses, a round nose like a gnome and a neat little white beard with stripes cut into it.
I think maybe he’s sixty-ish. But it’s pretty impossible to judge his age. His energy is very young.
He claps his hands when he sees me.
‘Seraphina! You are just too perfect. Patrick, you’ve made my dreams come true with this bride of yours.’
Hugo leaps up and kisses me on both cheeks, then takes my hand and shakes it warmly.
He embraces Patrick, kissing him too.
To my surprise, Patrick doesn’t object. He just laughs and pats Hugo heartily on the back.
‘Good to see you, old friend,’ says Patrick. ‘Can’t think of anyone I’d rather have for the job. And yes – Seraphina is rather perfect, isn’t she?’
‘She certainly is,’ says Hugo. ‘Perfect, perfect, perfect! Even the hair colour. The ideal Scottish bride.’
‘But I’m English,’ I point out.
‘Who cares?’ Hugo waves a hand at me. ‘You’re becoming a Mansfield. They’re as Scottish as they come. Now.’ He claps his hands. ‘Patrick. Off you go. We need to talk dresses. And colours. And flowers. And all that nonsense I’m sure you’ll just hate. Go on!’ He shoos Patrick out the door. ‘Go, go.’
I cover my mouth, trying not to laugh.
It’s just the funniest thing, seeing Patrick bossed around by this short little man.
At the door, Patrick raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Something funny?’
‘No!’ I squeak.
‘Out!’ Hugo shouts, pushing Patrick out the door.
I can’t hold it in then. I burst out laughing.
‘You’d better watch it, Miss Harper,’ says Patrick with a wink. ‘Laughing at your future husband. I might have to give you another employment review before the day is over. See you for supper.’
‘Yes, yes, bye bye.’ Hugo slams the door.
‘You know, not many people can get away with talking to Patrick like that,’ I say.
‘Big men never mind being bossed around,’ winks Hugo. ‘It’s the little men who have issues. Now! Let’s talk wedding dresses.’
‘Oh. Um. I mean, I really hadn’t thought … I suppose I like red …’
‘RED!’ Hugo puts his hands on his hips. ‘No, no, no. You CANNOT have a red dress. This is a wedding, not a carnival. You’re marrying Lord Patrick Mansfield! This is a big deal.
‘You’ll be in all the magazines. All the newspapers. You want people to be talking about the devil wedding dress? I don’t THINK so! Now. I know some very good local designers. Beautiful gowns. And not all the boring names people already know. Okay?’
‘Um—’
‘I can see from looking at you there’s a personality in there. Look at this!’ He plucks at my sequin jumper. ‘Beautiful! Custom made?’
‘Yes. Well, I mean, I made it.’
‘So you’re a designer yourself!’
‘Oh, I really wouldn’t say that. I just sort of alter things. I hardly ever make—’
‘Excellent, excellent.’ Hugo claps his hands again. ‘So you’ll be able to say exactly what suits you. And maybe even have a few ideas of your own. BUT! Listen honey. I need you to think big for this, okay? Big, big, BIG!’
‘But—’
‘Oh your figure is amazing, just amazing. To die for.’ Hugo twirls me around. ‘Look at those curves! But slim too! Now, I brought some books with me.’
Hugo picks up a bright yellow satchel from the stone floor and smacks it onto the table.
Then he pulls out a load of swanky designer wedding dress catalogues. Actually, not so much catalogues as beautiful handmade books with beautiful ribbons, fabric samples and lace decoration.
He flicks through pa
ges, pointing and chattering away.
‘This one? Don’t you think? To die for on you. Oh, and how about this? A hint of Vivienne Westwood, but not too much. Still traditional. And the lace – hand-sewn in Nottingham. Beautiful.’
I stare at the wedding dresses, feeling like a stranger in a foreign land.
I mean, Hugo is right. The dresses are beautiful. Truly beautiful. But the girls wearing them look nothing like me. They’re all snooty looking, leggy models with icy blonde hair and pouty lips.
‘Are you sure this sort of thing will work on me?’ I say. ‘I mean, I’m just a normal girl from Camden. I’m nothing special.’
‘Oh but you are special,’ says Hugo. ‘More special than any of these girls.’ He slaps a catalogue. ‘Because you’re unique. You have a look. And that beautiful red hair …’
He picks up a strand of my hair and gazes at it adoringly.
Then he drops it suddenly, his face lighting up. ‘I have an idea! Your sister is a ballerina, is she not?’
‘Yes, she—’
‘How about Swan Lake? You – the beautiful Odette. Feathers around your ears and a swooping long gown. The ballerinas – your swan sisters. Gorgeous white tutus and ballet shoes.’
‘Doesn’t Odette die in Swan Lake?’ I ask.
‘Yes, but she dies beautifully.’
‘I don’t know, Hugo. This is hard. I mean, it’s all a bit of a shock to the system. I’m not from this world. I’m scared, to be honest with you.’
‘I understand, I understand,’ says Hugo, patting my hand. ‘We’ll take things one step at a time. First – a new wardrobe for you. We need to take you out into society. Introduce you as the soon-to-be Lady Mansfield. Then, when you’re a little more comfortable, we’ll talk wedding dresses.’
‘Society?’
Hugo waves his hand. ‘Yes, yes. All the high society dinners and luncheons and so forth. Surely Patrick has told you about the events you must attend as a Lady?’
‘He mentioned it, but I’m not a Lady yet.’
‘Then you’d better start practising! No time like the present. Okay darling?’
I open and close my mouth. ‘Um …’
‘So. Forget the wedding dress for now. Let’s get you some everyday things. Glam you up a bit. What you’re wearing is lovely, but we can do better. Let’s go shopping.’
10
An hour later, we’re in the centre of Edinburgh city.
I love it straight away. All the gorgeous glass shop fronts and brightly lit restaurants. And the beautiful castle and bunched-up brown-brick buildings.
Hugo takes me straight to Taylor and Cursy, where we’re met by a personal shopper – Alice.
She’s a nice lady with big curly blonde hair, ruddy cheeks and a little-Miss-Moneypenny suit. Apparently she has a daughter about my age. And she guesses my dress size straight away, squeezing my hip bones and saying ‘Och, you’re a tiny thing aren’t you?’
We’re whisked to the top floor, where we’re seated next to a mini catwalk. It has those big can lights overhead, just like a real catwalk.
There’s a silver tea trolley loaded with coffee, pastries, cakes and … to my disbelief … whisky.
I perch on my seat, all awkward.
Hugo lounges and plucks a pastry from the trolley.
‘These pastries are to die for.’ He nibbles at a cinnamon and brown sugar bun, then pushes the tea trolley towards me. ‘Eat, eat my darling. Or you’ll waste away. Cream in your coffee?’
‘Just a little bit please,’ I say.
‘Whisky too?’
‘Sure, why not,’ I say, thinking it would be good to steady my nerves.
I’ve been in posh department stores in London but only to window shop.
I’ve never actually bought anything from a place like Taylor and Cursy – it’s way out of my price range.
The idea of buying clothes here makes me feel giddy.
I take a sip of coffee, laced with cream and whisky, and feel my throat turn warm.
‘Let’s see next season.’ Hugo claps his hands. ‘Alice? The spring collection?’
‘Ready to go!’ beams Alice. ‘Come on in, girls!’
Doors open at the back of the catwalk, and three leggy models appear wearing the most amazing designer clothes.
Icy pastel-coloured gowns. Amazing cut-out leather boots. Elbow length silk gloves. Huge floaty hats.
Wow, wow, wow.
The clothes are amazing.
And the models are really friendly – they come right up to me, smiling and chatting.
One of them asks me about Patrick, and whether he’s as handsome in real life as he is in pictures.
I smile and say: ‘More handsome.’
We all laugh.
Hugo shouts instructions as the models parade around – ‘Alice, that dress is divine. The perfect colour for Seraphina. No, no – not that one. It will drown her. But the hat will work.’
As he barks orders, assistants get to work pulling out clothes for me to try.
I’m just kind of watching, caught up in this whirlwind, not quite believing what’s happening.
Finally, when we’ve seen the whole collection, Hugo says: ‘Well my darling. I’ve picked out all the things that will work for you. Let’s try them on.’
Wow, wow, wow!
Isn’t life crazy? Here I am in Taylor and Cursy, able to buy absolutely anything I like. Shoes, hats, accessories … the whole lot.
We head into a huge changing room.
It’s full of clothes, hats and shoes ready for me to try on.
‘There’s a lot,’ I say. ‘An awful lot.’
‘If you’d prefer, we can just buy it all and take it back to the castle,’ says Hugo.
‘No!’ I say. ‘If we’re buying things, I definitely need to know I can wear them. I don’t want to be wasteful.’
‘Beautiful inside and out. Well. What should you try first?’
‘I think that light green dress,’ I say, pointing. ‘With those boots. And those white gloves. And that hat.’
‘Great eye, Seraphina. Careful now. Don’t do me out of a job.’
‘That won’t happen,’ I tell Hugo. ‘I’d be so overwhelmed if you weren’t here.’
Hugo smiles. ‘Honey. Thank you. I can’t wait to see you in these clothes. You’re going to look amazing.’
We end up buying more clothes than I’ve ever owned in my life. I blame Hugo. Every time I said: ‘Oh, I just can’t decide between these two dresses …’ he shouts, ‘Get them both! Everything you love, you buy!’
I mention that I’d like to alter a few pieces. And Hugo claps his hands and tells Alice to ‘make it happen’.
‘But I can do the alterations myself,’ I insist.
‘Darling,’ says Hugo. ‘You’ll be Lady Mansfield soon. The lady of the house doesn’t sew her own clothes.’
‘But I like doing it.’
‘Oh tsh tsh! You’ll be too busy attending parties and charity functions soon to do anything like that. Embrace your new life, my dear. You have staff now.’
‘That’s going to take some getting used to.’
11
We drive back in a limo filled with white Taylor and Cursy bags and boxes.
I really can’t wait to wear some of this stuff. It’s out of this world.
I’m so glad Hugo was with me. I NEVER would have been brave enough to get some of the more formal outfits. But he really pushed me to try everything, and when I did I saw a new me in the mirror.
Okay – I’m not Lady Mansfield just yet.
But maybe, just maybe, one day I will be.
When we get back to the castle, Patrick is waiting.
‘How’s Bertie?’ I ask.
‘Okay. He didn’t fish. Just watched us. But he ate some of Gregory’s biscuits.’
‘Well that’s something,’ I say. ‘Where is he now?’
‘He and Gregory are in the music room. Gregory’s playing him the violin. Did you have fun?�
� Patrick watches the chauffeur unloading armfuls of shopping bags and boxes.
‘Lots of fun,’ I say. ‘I think Hugo is right. Having the right clothes will help.’
‘Help?’
‘Yes. Help me become Lady Mansfield.’
‘You don’t have to become anything. You’re perfect the way that you are.’
‘Yes, but … like you said. The people around here will have certain expectations. Of the wedding day, but also of me. And I don’t want to let them down.’
‘Spoken like a true Lady,’ says Patrick. ‘Well now, Lady Mansfield. Since you have a whole new wardrobe, what do you say we show it off? May I have the pleasure of taking you out to dinner tonight?’
‘I’m not sure. There’s Bertie. And Wila …’
‘Bertie will be sleeping. And Wila is going bowling with Grey tonight.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a little party of them going. Vicky and Rab too. It was Grey’s idea. He thought everyone needed a bit of cheering up.’
‘Mmm. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea Patrick.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Grey? Out with my sister?’
Patrick laughs. ‘Don’t you go getting overprotective. Your sister is only sixteen. Grey may be a lady’s man, but he’s no cradle-snatcher. I promise you Grey won’t go anywhere near her.’ He lowers his voice. ‘To tell you the truth, I think he has his eye on Vicky. He didn’t invite her boyfriend on the trip, that’s for sure.’
‘Oh.’
Wila certainly could do with a bit of cheering up. She’s been so sad, sleeping all the time. A night out probably would do her good. And I trust that Patrick is telling the truth. After all, he’s known Grey most of his life.
‘But what about Bertie?’ I ask.
‘Gregory’s here.’
‘I suppose … as long as it’s just for a few hours …’
Patrick laughs. ‘Don’t let me twist your arm.’
‘No, no, I’d love to go out for dinner. Truly. It’s just Bertie is having a very difficult time right now. And I want to make sure he knows I’m there for him.’
‘He knows,’ says Patrick, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Trust me. He knows.’
12