by Sk Quinn
‘And he’s sorted Ray King out,’ says Danny. ‘For good.’
‘What do you mean, sorted?’ I ask, looking from Danny to Grey.
‘He won’t be bothering anyone anymore,’ says Grey. ‘Ever again.’
‘You mean …?’
Danny nods.
I swallow. I guess it’s for the best …
‘Well then.’ Danny claps his hands together. ‘Isn’t anyone going to invite me in for a cup of tea?’
32
We set Danny up in one of the West Tower bedrooms. And then I say my goodbyes to Bertie.
It’s hard. Partly because Bertie is so distant.
Watching Patrick lead him by the hand and walk him to the Land Rover … it absolutely breaks my heart.
Are we doing the right thing? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I spend the rest of the day hanging out in Wila’s bedroom, staring out the window.
Wila practises her ballet moves and chatters away in her fast little voice.
I don’t think she really gets how serious this all is. I guess that’s the nice thing about being a little sister. Someone else always takes care of the big stuff.
I call the housekeeper and ask for supper in Wila’s room.
We eat roast beef in giant Yorkshire puddings and sticky toffee pudding while watching trashy TV.
Just as we’re finishing our pudding, there’s a gentle knock on the door.
I know it’s Danny before he pushes the door open.
I guess I’m picking up Patrick’s intuition or something.
‘Come in Danny,’ I shout, moving my empty bowl to the dressing table.
‘How’d you know it was me?’ says Danny, poking his head around the door. He’s wearing a red dressing gown and slippers.
‘Just a guess. Are you okay? Do you need anything?’
‘Yep,’ says Danny. ‘I need to get out of here and get a drink in a proper pub.’
He’s still limping a little bit and looks sore. But I can tell he’s on the mend.
‘No way Danny,’ I say. ‘You’re not well. You’re recovering.’
‘I’m fine!’ Danny insists. ‘I’m not even taking painkillers any more. I’ve been in hospital for ages. Come on sis, do me a favour. It can’t be good for me, being bored like this. Where can a bloke get a drink around here?’
‘I’m bored too,’ Wila pipes up. ‘I’ve been stuck in this castle all day. Grey isn’t here. Can’t we all go out somewhere Sera? Please?’
‘No,’ I say, my voice stern. ‘What’s the matter with you two? Wila – the doctor said you should rest. And Danny—’
‘Hold up.’ Danny raises a hand. ‘Doctor? Are you all right Wils?’
Wila stares at the duvet.
‘She’s fine,’ I say.
‘I lost the baby,’ says Wila, twiddling an embroidered pattern on the duvet.
I see tears come, and I put my arm around her shoulder.
Danny looks between the two of us. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says softly.
Wila nods. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Oh Wils.’ Danny puts his arm round her too, wincing a little bit. ‘Christ, I’m sorry. I really am. You would have been a lovely mum. We would have loved that baby.’
Wila nods and sniffs. ‘I know. But …’ She pulls herself upright and takes a deep breath. ‘Life goes on, right? No use dwelling on it. Just get on with things.’
‘That’s right,’ I tell her.
‘The Harper family motto, isn’t it?’ says Danny.
‘But I’m not a Harper,’ says Wila, managing a little smile, tears still in her eyes.
‘Well you’ve been brought up by Harpers,’ says Danny. ‘So you’re one of us as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘And Harpers are strong,’ says Danny. ‘They get through.’
‘They certainly do,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ says Wila. ‘And I will.’
‘Good girl,’ says Danny. ‘Now listen you two. You’ve got faces longer than those curtains.’
‘I’m worried about Bertie,’ I admit. ‘It’s getting unbearable. It’s dark out there and Patrick still isn’t back. I’m scared.’
‘Don’t be,’ says Danny. ‘That man of yours will take care of the little boy. I promise you that. He’s safe.’
‘Easy enough to say.’
‘Look, there’s no sense sitting around here dwelling on things,’ says Danny. ‘I’m bored out of my tree. You need distracting. And Wila needs cheering up. What do you say we all go out and find a pub? Just for a few quick ones.’
‘Wila isn’t old enough,’ I point out.
‘Oh come off it,’ says Danny. ‘When did you have your first drink? Thirteen? Fourteen?’
I glance at Wila. ‘Still …’
‘She’ll be fine with a shandy or something. No harm will come to her. And we all need a bit of cheering up.’
I sigh. Wila does look totally miserable. And lord knows, I could do with a distraction.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘There’s a pub not far from here. In the village. I’ll see if the housekeeper can find us a driver. But listen Danny – just ONE drink, okay?’
Danny grins at me, all chipped teeth. ‘Of course Sezza. What do you take me for?’
33
The housekeeper arranges a cab to take us into the village. It’s a three minute journey really – totally walkable. But I don’t want Danny out in the cold. Nor Wila, for that matter.
When we get to the pub, Danny grins from ear to ear.
‘Ah, this is more like it,’ he says, propping his elbow on the wooden bar.
‘Danny,’ I warn him. ‘Just one drink, okay? No more. And no shorts. Just a beer.’
‘Fine, fine,’ says Danny, waving at the bar lady. ‘All right darlin’? Pint of Guinness love. When you’re ready.’ He winks at her, even though she’s old enough to be his mother.
‘Where are you from, pet?’ she asks. ‘London?’
‘Absolutely right,’ says Danny, grinning. ‘Our fair capital. But may I say, it’s a pleasure to be in beautiful Scotland this evening. With a beautiful barmaid serving the drinks.’
I roll my eyes. Danny can certainly lay it on thick when he wants to.
‘What brings you to Scotland?’ says the bar lady, smiling.
‘Rest and recuperation,’ says Danny, patting the bandage around his head. ‘I was in a car accident. Head on collision. Very nasty. So Lord Mansfield is putting me up in his castle.’
‘Lord Mansfield?’ says the lady. ‘You mean Patrick? You’re staying at Mansfield Castle?’
‘I am indeed,’ says Danny. ‘Patrick is marrying my little sister, here.’ He nods towards me.
‘Oh my goodness!’ The bar lady starts patting her cheeks. ‘You’re the new Lady Mansfield?’ She stares at me. ‘Keith! Keith! Get the champagne out – we have Lady Mansfield and her brother here!’
The whole pub turns to stare at me.
‘Thanks a lot Danny,’ I mutter.
‘We need to toast the wedding!’ says the bar lady, banging champagne glasses on the bar. ‘Everybody! Bubbles on the house. LADY MANSFIELD is here!’
The bar area gets very crowded all of a sudden. And I find myself jostled and patted and hugged by complete strangers.
Danny pulls himself up on a bar stool and grins at me.
‘Told you you’d make something of your life, sis,’ he says.
‘Danny, this is not making something of my life,’ I reply. ‘This is nothing to do with me. It’s about who I’m marrying.’
‘And you’re marrying someone special. Which makes you special.’
The bar lady leans over. ‘Have you picked a dress yet? Come on, we won’t tell anyone. Will it be lace? Silk?’
‘Um. I really don’t know.’
I glance at Danny, who’s laughing.
‘Excuse me,’ I tell the bar lady, grabbing Danny and Wila. ‘We’re just going to … family business to talk about.’
I drag them to a quiet table, Danny clutching a glass of champagne.
‘Wow!’ says Wila. ‘You really are famous around here.’
‘So it would seem,’ I mutter. ‘But for the wrong reasons.’
‘Don’t seem like the wrong reasons to me,’ says Danny. ‘Getting married to some rich lord.’ He takes a big swig of champagne. ‘So are you wearing silk or lace sis?’
‘I don’t know. And I don’t care right now. I’m too worried about Bertie.’
34
We get back from the pub pretty early. Wila had a half glass of champagne and she’s all glossy eyed and giggly. I hope she doesn’t get a taste for drinking. That’s the last thing she needs.
I tuck her up in bed. Then go to Bertie’s room, praying that Patrick’s brought him home already. But his bed is empty.
I feel a horrible shiver in my stomach.
I sit on Bertie’s bed for a long time, staring out the window, missing him.
Then I hear the sound of Patrick’s Land Rover.
‘Patrick!’ I bang on the window.
The Land Rover pulls to a stop by the main entrance.
Patrick climbs out. Then he opens the back door and lifts Bertie out too.
Oh my god. I start to panic. Is Bertie okay?
A few moments later, Patrick arrives at Bertie’s bedroom.
‘Patrick. Is Bertie all right?’
‘Physically, yes. He’s just sleeping, that’s all.’
He lays Bertie carefully on the bed and puts the duvet over him.
We both watch Bertie for a moment. He’s fast asleep, but still looks troubled.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘Nothing good,’ says Patrick. ‘But he’s back with us now. That’s the main thing.’
‘What about Anise?’
Patrick frowns. ‘She still didn’t want to come back. And she’s an adult. She has to make her own choices. No matter how much those choices hurt others.’
‘Did she and Bertie … I mean did they get along? She was okay with him, wasn’t she?’
‘She was okay. But she wouldn’t leave.’
I sigh. ‘Poor Bertie. Was he happy to see her?’
‘Yes. And Regan too.’
‘Mmm. That’s not good.’
‘No. It isn’t.’
‘Patrick? You seem … distant.’
‘Thoughtful,’ says Patrick, with the twitch of a smile. ‘There’s a lot to think about.’ He slides his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Somewhere I can think.’
Patrick strides out of the room.
Now I’m confused. And a little afraid too. I’m already losing Bertie. I can’t lose Patrick too.
‘Wait!’ I shout, running after him. ‘Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be alone. Not after everything that happened today. I’m so scared, Patrick. I’m so scared for Bertie.’
Patrick frowns. ‘Seraphina—’
‘Please Patrick. Don’t leave me alone right now.’
‘Fine. Come with me then.’
‘Where to?’
‘Jamie’s room.’
35
Jamie’s bedroom door is unlocked.
I’m surprised.
‘Who opened it?’ I ask.
‘It stayed open,’ says Patrick. ‘After that night with the Calders. It was locked to stop strangers going in there. But there are no strangers in the castle now.’
‘Glad to hear I’m not a stranger,’ I say, but there’s no lightness in my voice. ‘Why did you want to come up here Patrick?’
‘This is where I go to think,’ he says.
‘To think about Jamie?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes. But more often just to think about life. It helps. Being up here. I can’t explain why.’
‘I think I understand,’ I say, taking his hand. ‘It sounds like Jamie was a beautiful person.’
‘He was,’ says Patrick, and his other hand goes to the scar on his cheek.
‘Patrick?’
He drops his hand.
‘Why did you touch your scar just then?’
‘I was thinking of Jamie. When he died.’
‘And what were you thinking?’
‘Always the same thing,’ says Patrick. ‘That I could have done more.’
‘No,’ I say, my fingers going to his scar. ‘You couldn’t. You nearly died to save him. This scar proves that.’
Patrick clasps his hand on my fingers. ‘I would have died. Sometimes I wish I had. But not since I met you. Now there’s something worth living for.’
‘Do you think Bertie will come back to us?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know,’ says Patrick. He takes my hand from his face and goes to the bookcase. It’s full of spy novels and modern books – no dusty classics up here. ‘Bertie would have loved his Uncle Jamie.’
‘I bet he would,’ I say.
‘Jamie would have read comics to him. Taught him how to paint. Tamed a little of the beast in him.’
‘The beast?’ I ask.
‘All men are born with a beast inside them,’ says Patrick. ‘We’re born to hurt others. Jamie less than most, I’ll admit.’
‘I don’t see you hurting others,’ I say. ‘I see you protecting them.’
‘Maybe. But I have violence in me too.’
I smile. ‘You’d never hurt me.’
Patrick’s eyes widen. ‘Of course I wouldn’t. I’d never strike any woman. And any man who did would find himself on the end of my fist.’
‘What was he like?’ I ask. ‘Jamie I mean. What was it like growing up with Jamie?’
‘At times terrifying. He had a taste for danger. Jumping off rooftops. Swimming in fast moving waters. But I was always there. To pull him out of trouble. Sometimes I think if I’d have let him learn more … let him find his own way … maybe he’d never have been killed.’
‘You can’t think that way Patrick. What happened was an accident. Soldiers die. It happens. You tried to save him.’
‘He always liked to read and paint too,’ says Patrick. ‘When my father wasn’t watching, of course. The old man wasn’t too happy about his son doing any of that sort of nonsense.’
‘Did you ever paint or anything like that?’ I ask.
‘Why paint when you can go outdoors and see the real thing?’
‘Not all paintings are about the outdoors,’ I smile. ‘What about portraits?’
‘Again. I’d rather see the real thing.’ He takes my hands. ‘But there’ll be a portrait of you in the great hall soon. Lady Mansfield.’
I feel a little cold, suddenly. Remembering the big scene at the pub. ‘Ye-s,’ I say slowly.
‘Why the pause?’
‘Just …’ I shake my head. ‘Sorry. The whole “Lady Mansfield” thing still feels a little intimidating.’
‘Have you chosen a wedding dress yet?’
‘Are you kidding me? With everything that’s been going on? With Bertie?’
‘But you and Hugo … correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the two of you go shopping?’
‘Yes. For clothes. A wedding dress is a much bigger deal.’
‘Then you’d better hurry up and choose one. The cathedral is booked for the end of this week.’
‘What?’
‘I think Lady Mansfield would say “Pardon”.’
I know Patrick is joking, but nothing seems all that funny right now.
‘Patrick – the end of this week? We can’t possibly … I mean, there’s everything with Bertie. And your father … there’ll be a court case. And Anise … it’s too soon.’
‘No it isn’t.’ Patrick pulls me to him. ‘It’s exactly what this family needs. My grandmother is absolutely right. We need a celebration. Something to tie us all together. To remind us there’s still a great deal of joy in the world.’
‘But the end of this week. I need to tell people. Friends … they’ll need to arrange tra
nsport. Time off work.’
‘No they won’t,’ says Patrick. ‘All transport will be laid on. And I can compensate anyone who has to take time off work.’
I can’t help but smile. ‘So this is what being rich is like? No more problems.’
‘Oh rich people have problems. Believe me. They’re just of a different sort.’
‘Still …’ I bite my lip. ‘It’s so soon.’
Patrick pulls my lip gently out of my teeth. ‘Seraphina. Don’t worry. I promise you. As far as the wedding goes, everything will be fine.’
‘Well. I guess that just leaves Bertie to worry about.’
36
The next week passes and Bertie doesn’t talk any more about his mother. I suspect he doesn’t want to go back to Thornburn farm. And he won’t tell me how he felt when he was there.
I feel we’re growing a little closer. He’s eating well and seems to enjoy the woods in the afternoon.
Patrick and I take him walking together and I love the three of us – like a family.
It becomes a nice routine, and I think Bertie likes the familiarity of it.
After one of our woodland walks, the three of us are heading back to the castle when we hear the roar of a monster truck.
We’re on the castle lawns, heading towards the main entrance.
Bertie, already close by my side, grabs my hand.
Up ahead, I see gravel flying as a huge monster truck storms up the driveway.
Patrick stands tall, slinging his rifle into his hands.
‘Who is it?’ I ask.
‘No one I invited here, that’s for sure. Take Bertie into the castle.’
‘But Patrick—’
‘It’s Mummy!’ Bertie shouts.
‘What?’ I squint at the truck as it comes hurtling towards us.
‘Into the castle!’ Patrick growls.
I try to yank Bertie towards the castle, but he digs his heels into the gravel and holds firm.
The truck skids to a stop a few metres away.
Oh my god. Bertie is right.
In the driver’s seat is Regan Thornburn. And beside him is Anise.
‘MUMMY!’ yells Bertie.
He tries to run towards the truck, but I won’t let go of his hand.
Regan Thornburn throws open the vehicle door and jumps down, trainers splashing on the gravel.