I remembered Pierre saying Nick had walked out on the job a couple of times previously and had come back drunk. It was sad that he’d turned to alcohol. The young man had obviously been stressed by his work situation, and I imagined it must be hard to find employment up here. His options had probably been very limited.
The inspector went to his car after that, to follow the ambulance that carried Nick’s body and his grieving father. Fergus paced around the drawing room. He’d rubbed his eyes until they were red and kept tugging at his beard. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I should have intervened. There was plenty of work here for both Nick and Pierre. I should have done more to make sure Nick was kept busy and happy.”
I thought about Pierre. He hadn’t shown much concern for the young man he’d replaced. Perhaps he should have mentored him, given him the benefit of his talent and experience. But maybe he’d tried, and Nick had resisted. It wasn’t fair to judge without knowing the whole story.
As Josh tried to calm Fergus, we heard the helicopter flying overhead. Ten minutes later, Knox and his two colleagues came in, accompanied by Mrs. Dunsmore.
“What happened?” Knox asked. “There were police cars outside when we landed.”
When Fergus explained what had happened, Knox shrugged. “Never drink alone by a body of water,” he said. “Bad idea.”
That was helpful, I thought, disturbed by his casual and rather callous reaction. He had other things on his mind, apparently, as he asked Fergus if he could borrow Lachlan to help him unload boxes from the helicopter. The four boxes turned out to be cases of Dom Pérignon champagne, Knox’s contribution to the party that evening.
“Maybe chill them in the meat locker,” Mrs. Dunsmore suggested, “as there isn’t any space left in the wine refrigerator.”
While Lachlan lugged the champagne downstairs, Mrs. Dunsmore took Knox and his team back to their rooms where, they said, they planned to work on the draft of an agreement for the rest of the afternoon. That seemed to leave Fergus unsettled and unfocused.
“I should go talk to Nick’s father,” he said suddenly. “Offer him any help I can.”
“Isn’t it a bit soon?” Josh suggested. “Give it a day or two?”
“No. Nick died on my property and he worked for me. I have a responsibility. The least I can do is offer my condolences to Mr. Jameson.”
“Then I’ll drive you to the village if you like,” Josh said.
Fergus climbed to his feet, looking as though he was in pain. I went with them to the front door, where Josh kissed me on the cheek before going down the steps.
“We won’t be long,” Fergus promised.
After watching them go, I returned to the drawing room, but Duncan had left. That was too bad. I wanted to ask him what he’d been looking for in the library. Perhaps he’d gone back there to resume his search. I set off to find him but the only person in evidence was Lucy. She sat at the small writing desk in the corner, pen in hand.
“What are you working on?” I asked, walking over to stand next to her.
“The list of books that Fergus plans to keep.” She bowed her head over a sheet of lined paper, clearly not planning on talking to me.
“Is this the original catalogue of all the books that Fergus owns?” I picked up a leather binder filled with yellowed papers.
She looked at it. “Yes.”
“So, what’s the plan? How will Fergus decide what to keep and what to sell?”
“He’s already decided what he wants to keep, more or less.” Lucy put her pen down with a sigh. “Once he’s made his final choices, they will be marked in the catalogue, and those books pulled out and crated up. An appraiser will value the remainder of the collection, which Knox will pay for.”
“I doubt he’ll know what he’s getting,” I said. “But having books on shelves will impress his friends.”
“Actually, I’ve heard he’s very well-read,” Lucy said. “Apparently, he’s one of those people who can absorb huge amounts of information almost instantly.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised that she knew anything about Knox. “I didn’t mean to judge him,” I said. “It’s just that this is so distressing for Fergus, having to part with the house and its contents. I hope he finds some peace when it’s all over.”
At that moment, I decided to tell Lucy about Fergus’s aura. I needed all the help I could get, and she was working with him now. At the very least, she could keep an eye on him when Josh or I couldn’t.
“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Shall we sit over by the fireplace? It’ll be more comfortable.”
Lucy settled at one end of the sofa, smoothed her blond hair into place and twitched her long skirt into neat folds. I took a seat in an armchair opposite her. “What I’m going to tell you will sound outlandish, perhaps a little insane,” I said. “But I’m sharing it with you because Fergus’s life is in danger, and it’s possible you know something— even if you don’t realize you do— that might help save him.”
Ignoring her expression of incredulity, I hurried on, telling her about my ability to see auras that predicted death. “Fergus has an aura, and he only has a few days to live, unless we do something to help him,” I said. “There’s a chance he has a medical condition, but I’m beginning to believe the danger is somehow wrapped up in the sale of the estate.”
“An aura?” Lucy’s tone gave me hope that she’d hear me out. She sounded more curious than skeptical. I recalled her excursion to the east wing. She clearly had an inquisitive mind, and I would take advantage of that.
“That’s what I call it,” I said. “Air spins in circles over the victim’s head. The faster the spin, the more imminent the danger.”
“So Fergus is going to die?” Lucy’s eyes widened.
“Yes, probably, unless I can do something to change his… fate.” I hated that word, fate. It sounded so final, so inescapable. Yet I had managed to save people in the past. And I was determined to save Josh’s uncle.
“You can make the aura go away?”
“I can sometimes alter circumstances just enough to save the victim. Then the aura disappears.”
“That’s quite a responsibility,” she said, twisting a gold bracelet around her wrist. “But I’m not aware of a single thing that might affect Fergus’s safety. What makes you imagine I can help?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, really. But perhaps you will come across something when you’re working on these inventories. Maybe Fergus will mention something that might indicate what the source of the threat could be.”
She tilted her head. “I’m happy to do what I can. But honestly…” She let the sentence trail off. “I like Fergus,” she continued. “I hope nothing bad happens to him.”
“I intend to make sure it doesn’t.” I spoke with far more confidence than I felt.
Lucy leaned forward towards me. “Do you see other things? Other supernatural phenomena?”
As she appeared to be open to the idea of auras, I decided I might as well tell her everything. “Yesterday, out on the moor near the ruins of the old building, I saw a vision.” I described how the man in the black robes had plunged a knife into the back of the woman holding a book.
Lucy went very pale and put her put her hand on the armrest to steady herself. “How terrible,” she said. “Do you think it was something that really happened?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. It felt real.” I shivered. “It’s sad. The girl was so young.”
“I’d love to learn more about it,” Lucy said, with the color coming back into her cheeks. She seemed to accept my bizarre story at face value. “I’ve never had any encounters myself with, you know, ghosts or anything, but I find it all fascinating. In medieval times, people were very superstitious, and, with the rise of the Catholic Church and its threats of Hell, the living were quick to believe that spirits wandered the earth, looking for help to escape Purgatory. I’ve read hundreds of stories about hauntings, many of which can be r
ationally explained away, of course. But sometimes not.”
The gilt clock on the mantelpiece chimed six. I got to my feet. “We’d better get ready for dinner. Will you keep an eye open this evening? With all these guests in the castle, it will be hard to protect Fergus.”
“Do you think your vision has something to do with the threat to Fergus?” Lucy asked as she stood up to join me.
“How can a five-hundred-year-old murder have any connection to him?” Mine was a rhetorical question that Lucy didn’t answer.
She walked with me to the door and gave my arm a squeeze. “Try not to worry. We’ll look after him.”
12
By the time I reached my room, I realized I didn’t have long to get ready for the party. Fergus had asked us to be there early to help greet the guests. I was tired and distracted, still unsettled by the discovery of the body earlier, but I found my make-up bag, and put on eyeliner and mascara. My thick, wavy hair always looked more elegant tied up, so I wound it into a chignon and tried to secure it with a pin. But my fingers were shaking, and the pin didn’t hold. I was on my second attempt when Josh came back. I let my hair fall down around my shoulders and gave him a hug.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“As you’d expect. Not well. Nick’s father refused to open the door. He just shouted at us to go away and said he never wanted to talk to Fergus again.” Josh sank onto the bed and took off his shoes. “I’m sure he’ll come around. We probably shouldn’t have gone over there so soon, but Fergus thought it would help if he expressed his sympathies in person. It was hard though. Jameson obviously holds him responsible.”
I sat down next to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry. But I suppose it’s understandable that Nick’s father will look for someone to blame for the loss of his child.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly light-headed. I’d only been a child myself when my little brother died. Now I remembered the raw grief of my parents as though it had happened yesterday. My father had been the most changed by the tragedy, perhaps because, after an initial outburst of anguish, he’d done that British stiff upper lip thing. He rarely spoke of Toby and had thrown himself into his work, leaving at dawn each day to take the train into the City. He was a barrister and had always worked hard. But, after Toby’s death, he took on double the caseload and seemed determined to bury himself in legal files and documents. They filled his home office and bulged from his briefcase. Quite often, he’d come home after I was already asleep in bed.
Josh, clearly sensing my distress, pulled me closer to him.
The years after Toby died had been painful. I’d felt so guilty that I’d been in the pool when Toby drowned that I had withdrawn into myself, choosing not to spend time with my friends. My grades had suffered, and I dreaded going to school. With my mum still grieving and my father at work so much of the time, my big brother Leo had been my savior. Once he realized what was happening to me, he waited every morning at my bedroom door until I’d dressed and then he walked with me to school. He made sure I did my homework and he dragged me with him to tennis lessons. I proved to be useless at tennis, but my grades improved, and I gradually rejoined my friends in the school playground. Years later, when my dad retired, he let down his guard, and went through another period of mourning. This time, though, Leo and I were old enough to be able to help, talking with him when he wanted to, distracting him when he didn’t. I certainly understood the agony Nick’s father must be feeling.
“Could Mr. Jameson be the threat to Fergus?” I asked finally.
“Possibly. But I find it hard to imagine. The idea of being furious enough to kill someone seems a bit unreal.”
I leaned my head against Josh’s chest and felt the strong pulse of his heart against my cheek. I knew what he meant, but there was nothing unreal about death. It could change our perceived reality in a moment. Not for the first time, I wished I didn’t see auras. I really struggled with the uncertainty and fear they brought with them.
Josh stroked my hair as though he’d guessed what I was thinking. After a couple of minutes, he pushed me away gently. “I’m going to my room to get dressed. Tonight, we have to be vigilant, but we should join in the celebrations. I want Fergus to enjoy himself.”
While he was gone, I slipped my dress from its hanger in the wardrobe. A deep midnight blue, with spaghetti straps, it was my favorite dress-up dress. The softness of the silky fabric against my skin made me feel pampered and special. I was putting on my high-heeled sandals when Josh returned. In a Stewart tartan kilt, with high socks to his knees, a white shirt and black jacket, he was breathtaking. I stood up, taller in my heels, but still shorter than him, and pressed my lips against his before straightening his bow tie.
“I have to ask,” I said when the tie was perfectly aligned.
For a second, he looked confused and then he laughed. He grabbed the hem of his kilt and flipped it upwards. “Check for yourself.”
I reached under the heavy wool fabric and slid my hands up his thighs.
After a moment or two, I let the kilt fall and took a step back. “Boxers? Really?”
“At least they match the kilt. I intend to do a lot of dancing tonight and I wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone with an accidental flashing.”
I shook my head in mock dismay. “So are you a true Scot or are you a Sassenach?”
He held his hand over his heart. “You know how to wound a man.” He pulled me close. “You look delicious, and I won’t be crass enough to enquire what you’re wearing underneath.”
We stood for a minute, holding each other, and I was able to imagine that we were going to a lovely party and would have a wonderful time. No auras, no imminent death. It was a pleasant fantasy.
“We should go,” he said, smoothing my hair back into place.
Holding hands, we began the walk to the Great Hall. In our traditional evening clothes, instead of jeans and wellingtons, I felt an elemental link to the castle and its history. As we passed through the gallery, I was sure the eyes of Josh’s ancestors were on us, beaming their approval of my dashing young Scotsman.
When we reached the top of the main staircase, we saw the entry hall was filled with arriving guests. Their excited chatter floated up the stairs as they divested themselves of coats and jackets, assisted by several young people in black pants and white shirts. Mrs. Dunsmore had told me that, although Pierre could handle all the cooking, she’d hired a team of wait staff from a catering company in Inveraray. We hurried on, anxious now to check on Fergus before too many people arrived.
The Hall was beautiful, with vases of yellow flowers on every flat surface. A dozen tables draped with white linen were grouped around one fireplace where flames leapt with a welcoming glow. At the other end, the floor had been cleared for dancing. A three-piece band would play later on the raised dais, but for now a piper stood alone, filling the room with music that sent tingles through my fingers and toes. I had no Scottish roots, and didn’t recognize the tune, but I was captivated by the unfamiliar harmonics, accompanied by the wheezy exhalations of the pipes. Behind the piper hung a banner wishing Fergus a Happy Birthday.
The room gradually filled with a colorful array of tartans in red, green, yellow and black, as the guests greeted each other with smiles and handshakes— old clan rivalries forgotten or buried, at least for tonight. I doubted there’d be any fighting or swordplay to mar the evening’s festivities, which was a comforting thought. The women mostly wore evening gowns, although one or two wore ankle-length tartan skirts, white-frilled shirts and tartan sashes. Jewels sparkled, and wine glasses gleamed under the warm light of the massive chandeliers. As I gazed around the splendid room, I felt sad. Although I’d normally enjoy the pageantry of such a formal gathering, tonight I could think only of Fergus. The elegant clothes, polished manners, and the rituals involved in serving and eating an elaborate dinner would be wasted on me.
Stanton Knox nodded a greeting at me when he arrived, dressed in ta
n jeans and a black sports coat. Boat shoes with no socks were a step up from his usual flip-flops at least. His personal assistant wore a dinner jacket, however, and his lawyer, Maya, looked gorgeous in a long cream dress that perfectly complemented her coffee-colored skin. Fergus, splendid in his dark green kilt and sash, guided them off to introduce them to some local dignitaries. I noticed that Robert Dunne, Fergus’s solicitor, stood with them too. He’d changed his tight blue suit for a jacket and kilt.
“One of us needs to stay close to Fergus at all times,” Josh said. “I’ll join him now, and you keep your eyes open for any sign of trouble.”
I nodded, grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took up my position near the door, where I could observe everyone who entered. Not that it would do much good, I thought. They were all strangers to me. How could I tell if one of them was a potential assassin? When Lucy came in, I waved her over, hoping to enlist her help in protecting Fergus. She was lovely in a rose-colored dress, her blonde hair pinned up with a silver comb.
“Where’s Duncan?” I asked.
“He’s on his way. He said he had to make a phone call first. Something to do with work.”
After waiting until she had a glass of wine in her hand, I explained that we needed to watch out for Fergus. “If you notice anyone doing anything suspicious, please tell me or Josh as soon as you can.”
Lucy frowned. “Do you really think something could happen here? With all these people around?” She gazed around the room, scrutinizing the guests.
I was grateful she seemed to be taking me seriously. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but we have to be on guard,” I said.
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 94