‘What about a Scottish theme?’ I said.
She snorted. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
‘No, I’m serious,’ I said. ‘The history of your grandmother working for the Queen Mum would go down a treat—the public love all that stuff. We could decorate the room with thistles and you could tell Charlie Chingo your stories about the young Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon.’
‘You know about that?’ Kathleen stopped buttering bread. ‘Perhaps my grandmother’s life might interest viewers. I’ve got a bundle of tartan tea cloths, somewhere that we could put out.’
‘There must be some simple Scottish recipes I could manage.’
Kathleen put down her knife. ‘Hmm…The Queen Mother loved her fish. I know from my grandmother’s stories that Herring in Oatmeal was one of her favourites. It’s easy enough, although I’m assuming you’ve never learnt how to de-bone?’
I shook my head.
‘Best avoided then… How about apple-stuffed pheasant breasts…? Us Scots like our game.’
‘What, like tossing the caber?’
‘No, lassie – I mean game as in hunted birds.’
‘Really?’ I said innocently.
Kathleen gave me a grin. ‘It’s an infallible recipe, Gemma, and will look fine with a prune sauce. Served with simple mashed potato, it’ll appear as good as anything on those fancy cookery programmes. Thanks to Mr Thompson, we always have plenty of pheasants. We could start early tomorrow. Aye. Wonders can be achieved with a bit of hard work. I can freeze our practice batches. We’ve got bacon and breadcrumbs… All you’ll need to nip into town for are prunes.’
I pulled a face. ‘It sounds mega complicated. Can’t I just deep fry pizzas and Mars bars. They are Scottish meals, right?’
She folded her arms. ‘Despite what the papers say, not all Scots live off chocolate and lard. Meat and two veg—you can’t go wrong with that. This pheasant dish is straightforward and doesn’t require a whole range of skills.’
‘What about a starter?’
Kathleen snorted. ‘After yesterday’s disaster, stick to two courses. It’s said the Queen Mother loved a Bloody Bull. How about that cocktail to start, instead?’
My brow furrowed.
‘As it happens, Noel Coward, who supposedly visited here once, invented the drink – it’s a Bloody Mary, with beef consommé added in. Canny red colour. I saw it in a magazine once.’
‘Like tartan, that’ll fit in with the colour scheme.’ I grinned. ‘I’ll insist that they drink it whilst cooking. We’ll all be in a good mood then.’
‘Cranachan for pudding,’ she continued. ‘That’s traditional with its honey, Scotch whisky, double cream and raspberries. The most challenging part is toasting the oatmeal topping and I’ve lots of fruit in the freezer from our garden’s summer harvest. As a dessert, it’ll look as pretty as that Henrietta Hamilton-Brown.’
‘You think she’s pretty?’ I asked, my voice suddenly all squeaky.
Kathleen’s eyes narrowed and she studied my face for a moment. ‘Indeed. I feel a marriage coming on soon. It’s only a matter of time before a man snaps up that girl.’
My stomach twisted a little and I wasn’t sure why.
‘Lord Edward… Do you think I should tell him who I really am?’ I said.
Kathleen shook her head vigorously. ‘Nae – that would be a huge mistake. Your cousin can’t bear dishonesty. He’s…come across deception before in his life and despises lies and…and… having to lie with a vengeance.’
Ooh, that sounded intriguing, but Kathleen shot me a cutting stare which clearly meant ‘don’t ask any questions’.
‘Reveal your true identity to no one,’ she ordered. ‘Especially that young Nick.’
I shrugged. ‘He’s been very helpful since I got here.’ Hmm, better not tell her about Plan Sex-up.
‘Huh. Ideas above his station, he’s got.’ She straightened her apron. ‘So. Tomorrow morning. In here. Seven o’clock sharp.’
‘Seven?’
She raised one eyebrow.
‘I mean, wicked – thanks very much.’ I got to my feet and gave her a quick hug.
‘Och, there’s no need for that, dearie,’ she said, cheeks tinged pink. ‘Right, go and join the men in the Parlour.’
‘I might stroll around the garden first to clear my head.’ I needed to get back into character before I spoke to His Lordship – or, rather, Uncle – and Edward.
I left through the back door. Jean was digging in the vegetable patch and waved. Straight ahead, to the left of the maze, Nick sat on top of one of those big lawnmowers. It was shiny red and apparently another investment the Croxleys had made with the twenty-five thousand pounds. Further in the distance were the little cemetery and the forest. The grass all around looked as green as the best astroturf. I breathed in. Was there any better smell than a cut lawn?
If I was a crap cook, I owed it to everyone to give this sex-up Applebridge Hall plan my best shot. Awkwardly, I made my way over to Nick, court shoes rubbing, the small heels sinking into the turf. While not as hot as yesterday, it was still sunny, although there was an autumnal breeze.
‘Good day,’ I said.
‘That it is, Miss,’ he said and removed a long blade of grass from between his lips. ‘I heard about the baked apples,’ he said and grinned. ‘Roxy said you’d certainly helped liven up tomorrow night’s show.’
‘My, um, nerves overcame me, I’m afraid to say.’
Nick jumped down from the lawnmower and put an arm around me. ‘You did your best.’ He glanced towards the house. ‘They’re filming, by the way, so…’ Nick pulled me close.
I turned around. Cameraman at her side, Roxy hovered by the main entrance. She turned away as soon as she noticed me gaze in her direction. Ooh, the gossip-mongers must have been in full swing on Facebook. I’d have to take a look tonight.
‘If only we could create some really interesting footage,’ I said and stepped away. It was nice, being close to Nick – comfortable. Relaxed. Yet I didn’t want our supposed relationship to look too obvious on screen. There had to be some doubt, so that Abbey’s reputation could be defended.
‘Like what?’
‘Something visual. For example… I don’t know, think of the really romantic scenes from movies – ones your, um, girlfriends might have watched. It might give us some ideas.’
‘How about that Darcy guy walking out of a pond?’ he said and stepped away to brush grass clippings off his shirt.
‘Hmm. Pride and Prejudice is a bit of a cliché for a stately home. Officer and a Gentleman, is awfully romantic when Richard Gere, in uniform, sweeps that woman up into his arms.’ I clapped my hands (oops, shouldn’t show too much excitement for a lady). ‘That’s it! We should enact scenes from certain films.’ Duh! I should have come up with that idea before, when reading Edward’s blog. Gaynor had suggested that he came over all Mr Darcy and bathe, fully dressed, in the pond, hadn’t she? Of course, he’d said absolutely not– so Nick and I could make up for his lack of adventure! It’d be fun— an occasional break from the continual pressure of pretending to be someone else.
‘Very funny,’ he said.
‘No, I’m not joking! It’s a super idea. What other slushy scenes can you think of?’
‘My last girlfriend insisted we see romantic vampire movies.’
‘The Twilight series? Yes! My, um, lodger, Gem, is obsessed with that. Although it might be too much if you stalked me with fangs and red eye contacts.’
‘I can just imagine Mr Thompson as some old werewolf,’ said Nick.
We smiled at each other.
‘Then there’s Titanic… Don’t laugh, Nick. I’m serious. This would jolly well liven things up.’
Nick shook his head. ‘Okay…Yeah, Titanic might work – what with the class divide, you’d make a perfect elegant Rose, me pretending to be the working-class geezer, Jack.’
‘It’s a quite lovely scene when they are both up on the ship’s bow, arms outstretched,
his hands around her waist. But how could one recreate that?’ I strained to control the bubble in my voice. This could be mega fun.
My eye caught the lawn mower. No. That was a bonkers idea. I was meant to be a lady, now. But still… Uh oh. Arenaline rush. My heart raced. I was going to do something stupid.
Five minutes later, Nick burst out laughing again after I’d told him of my plan. ‘It’s certainly visual. But perhaps a little dangerous?’ he stuttered.
‘I’m game if you are,’ I said. Okay, I admit maybe I was getting carried away. ‘Or haven’t you got the nerve?’ There was something irresistible about his cheeky face that urged me to dare him on.
He snorted and wiped away a tear of laughter.
‘And, in a roundabout way, I am your employer, so I could pull rank, be beastly and, say, threaten you with losing your job.’
‘Looks like I haven’t got much choice, then.’ Nick grinned.
‘Super! Now, please, drive the lawnmower up the hill, past the cemetery, before I change my mind. And Nick?’
He nodded.
‘I, um, know it’s an awfully unorthodox plan. I do so appreciate your help. After this morning’s debacle with the pork stew, I have ground to make up. So, thank you very much. I wouldn’t normally behave in such a vulgar manner, of course, but this is not the time for me to be reserved. My family’s future is at stake.’
‘I’m at your service, Miss. Any time.’ Nick bowed his head and the breeze caught his aftershave.
‘Is that your jumper on the ground?’ I asked and pointed to a heap of green material.
He nodded. ‘Today there’s a nip in the air.’
‘Let me wear it,’ I said. ‘Just to keep the viewers guessing a little – let’s not make it one hundred per cent clear that it’s me.’
Nick winked, passed me the jumper and climbed up onto the lawnmower’s seat.
I put it on and gazed back to the house, before following him on foot. Roxy and the cameraman were still there, no doubt kicking themselves that I wasn’t wearing a personal mic. Nick drove right past the cemetery, near to the forest and higher ground, before turning the lawnmower around. I clambered onto the ship – ahem, I mean, machine—in front of him, feet on the foot rests, facing Applebridge Hall down below. With the sprawling ivy and decorative chimney stacks, to anyone else it would just look impressive. Yet I was beginning to see it as a home – kind of cute and welcoming. Nick’s arms slipped around me from behind and his fingers grasped the wheel. Standing tall, I closed my eyes for a second to imagine old-fashioned cruise ships and icebergs.
‘Now or never,’ I muttered and opened my eyes as Nick turned on the engine.
‘You’re sure about this, Miss?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ No. But what choice did I have? My job here was to help the Croxleys win.
Kate Winslet style, I stretched out my arms, trying to remember what her character, Rose, said to Jack at this point. The ship’s helm – I mean lawnmower—moved forward and, within seconds, hurtled down the hill.
Whee! Past the cemetery, air whizzing into my mouth, arms still crucifix style. As we passed the maze, I gulped a large mouthful of air. The mower jolted up and down. Hey, hey, heeeeeeey! Good thing my old chicken fillets weren’t stuffed down my bra – by the time we reached the bottom they’d have moved to form shoulder pads. Roxy pointed in our direction. This was fab, like some fairground ride! Then Titanic Rose’s words finally popped into my head – they were something like…
‘Look at me fly!’
Which, all of a sudden, exactly described my move.
Despite Nick struggling to keep me steady by clamping my waist tightly between his arms, the mower hit something and, at speed, veered sharply to one side. With a scream, I rocketed through the air and crash-landed onto the turf.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Monday 3rd September
‘Comments’
6p.m. I thought reading about your favourite apple dishes before I went to dinner might whet my appetite. And you have not disappointed me – thanks to everyone who commented.
Historybuff, I didn’t know the apple was probably the oldest cultivated fruit and has featured heavily in worldwide mythology. So, China grows the most? I don’t think Applebridge can compete with their rate of production! I agree with you, it takes a lot to beat the natural fruit. You like green? Red are my variety of choice. I even eat the core, which used to make my mother’s toes curl. She insisted the seeds would give me appendicitis.
Knityourownmansion, mmm, toffee apples too are delicious. They remind me of autumn nights as a boy, and Kathleen helping me persuade Mr Thompson to try apple-bobbing. Blogger569, I like the sound of apple brandy on pancakes.
And Cupcakesrock, of course, who could forget scrumptious American Caramel Apple Betty? I didn’t realize you’d just moved over from the States. Thank you for telling your family about the show. It must be terrific to be one of five brothers and sisters. How super that they are following our progress online. In answer to their questions, no, I don’t have a valet. We don’t eat cucumber sandwiches. Nor does Abigail say she must ‘powder her nose’ if she wishes to use the lavatory.
Chapter 11
Listen, micro-light yoga… It’s a new craze. Hold the crucifix position while travelling at speed.
Look, I’m a white witch. Nick was helping me cast a complicated good luck spell over Applebridge Hall. Jeopardizing one’s life on a lawnmower was all part of sealing the charm.
Okay. Hands up. It was a selfless suicide mission. We can’t compete with the Baron of Marwick’s booze-fuelled banquets, so what could be more dramatic than the death of two young people, to attract viewers?
I sighed and leant back into the sofa. It was Tuesday night. Everyone was in the Parlour to watch the next episode of Million Dollar Mansion. I still hadn’t thought of how I was going to explain my Titanic behaviour. To be honest, I couldn’t really explain it myself. It hadn’t even looked romantic. What on earth had come over me?
Roxy and the cameraman had rushed over, not even stopping to carry over their equipment.
‘What did we hit—an iceberg?’ I’d muttered, glad to see my only injuries were a grazed knee and elbow. Finally, Nick managed to tame the mower and bring it to a halt. Forget Driller Killer, Manic Mower would make an ace horror film. Luckily, Jean hadn’t actually seen what had happened or he really could have been fired for such reckless driving.
‘Wowsers,’ Roxy had said with a giggle as the dumbstruck cameraman helped me to my feet.
‘You, um, like that Kate Winslet movie then,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t it have been safer to recapture this scene on one of the many cruises I’m sure you must go on?’ Once again, she dissolved into giggles. ‘It was so cool. Who would have thought that Miss Abigail Croxley, I mean… That was real rock ‘n’roll!’ Roxy gazed at my knee, a worried look on her face. ‘Um, are you sure you’re okay, Abbey? That was quite a fall.’
My chest had tightened as the now familiar guilt took hold. If only I could tell her the truth and say: ‘I’m not bonkers. You don’t need to worry about me. This is all part of a plan to win.’.
‘I’m fine. Thank you. It was, um, an accident. I stood on the lawnmower to thoroughly enjoy the estate’s views and the engine suddenly sprang to life. There was little Nick could do. I, um, stretched out my arms to provide some sort of balance…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I assume it goes without saying that neither of you will mention this to anyone or on the Internet…’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘And if you must show the footage, please edit out the ending, which is close up.’
Reluctantly, Roxy and the cameraman nodded. Then I made my excuses and, despite the initial aches and pains, headed back inside to my four-poster bed for a lie-down.
Thank God I didn’t sleep on the top floor, like the staff, along the Long Gallery – I couldn’t have coped with all those relatives in the portraits glaring at me for risking their reputation. Fingers crossed they understood that I was fighti
ng the good fight for their sakes.
Later in the afternoon, the Earl and I finished off our tour of Applebridge Hall. I tried to find the words to warn him about my bonkers antics, but it was impossible.
‘You’ve practised your cooking today, Abigail?’ said the Earl gruffly, seated in his usual high-backed chair. Tonight he’d spurned tea and Kathleen’s yummy chocolate-dipped shortbread for a glass of brandy and, of course, his pipe. ‘Miss Diamond rang me today, once again ranting about yesterday’s cooking.’ He put down his drink and chuckled. ‘That’s quite an achievement you pulled off, ruffling her feathers. Normally she’s jolly calm about everything.’
‘Kathleen’s helping me to, um, conquer my nerves before tomorrow’s lesson,’ I said. ‘She’s a real treasure.’
The Earl nodded. ‘My wife used to call her that.’
Kathleen blushed. ‘This shortbread was the Countess’s favourite biscuit.’
‘Along with your Dundee Cake,’ said Edward and offered the cook another cup of tea.
‘Hmm, and you make a mean whisky fudge,’ added Mr Thompson.
‘Here we go, at last,’ said Nick, glancing at the screen as the theme music to our show played. He took off his iPod, just as his phone rang. Edward glared at him and he switched off his mobile.
I sat on my hands. Hopefully, no one in the room would realize that it was me on the lawnmower with Nick. The Marwick Castle footage came first, featuring a corporate team-building trip, now that the weekend’s hen party posse had left—cue professionals dressed in combat gear doing paintballing, fencing, archery and shooting.
‘Now tell me, Baron,’ said Charlie Chingo, from the screen. ‘Since broadcasting that hen party in your dungeons on Saturday, I believe you’ve had a lot of business enquiries?’
The Baron clapped Charlie across the back, cheeks bulging more than ever.
‘Och, he’s a smug so-and-so,’ muttered Kathleen.
The Baron looked straight into the camera. ‘What’s not to like?’ he boomed. ‘All you guys and gals out there, come to Marwick Castle for the time of your life. It’s the recession – everyday life is tough. You deserve to treat yourselves to a day or two of opulence. Feasts with tables of meat joints, breads, fresh fruit and pickles and cheese… Beer on tap and wine in huge goblets… Hunky waiters and waitresses whose sole aim is to treat you like kings and queens. During the day play paintball in the forest or learn how to shoot clay pigeons. There’s no class system at Marwick Castle. Dosh is the only thing you need here to enjoy pursuits normally reserved for the stuffy aristocracy.’
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