Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 1

For an elderly dog supposedly plagued with arthritis, Digby could move like greased lightning when it suited him. Jess had only turned her back on him for a moment – maybe two – and he’d gone and disappeared. Again .

And in a place the size of Kirkshield Castle, it might take her forever to find the little so-and-so.

‘Digby, where have you gone now?’ After slamming the Aga door closed on a batch of scones and checking on the sponge cake she’d slid onto a cooling rack on the huge oak table a while earlier, Jess dumped the oven mitts and headed out along the corridor, hoping to catch sight of the tufty beige miscreant. Failing that, maybe she’d hear the patter of his gnarled claws on the flagstone flooring, or the snort of his compromised airways echoing around the fifteen-foot-high ceilings.

Dogs were supposed to be charming. Bouncy and fun and waggy. Typical, then, that she’d managed to end up with the grubbiest, naughtiest and – to be brutally honest – smelliest dog she’d ever met. Jess remained convinced the cockapoo wasn’t anywhere near this badly behaved when his real owner, her aunt Vivi, was around. Although, to be fair, the dog had always been a bit smelly. His breath could probably floor a Russian dictator, should one be unfortunate enough to take a direct whiff.

They’d only been at Kirkshield Castle for a matter of a few hours, and Digby had wasted no time making exploration of this new territory his number one priority. The dog might have a better sense of direction than Jess did, but he had very little in the way of social graces – and she didn’t need the new earl’s first impression of her to be through the lens of her smelly, snorty, cockapoo companion.

Jess had become familiar with the vagaries of being a temporary housekeeper: the way she was constantly on the move and never fully got to grips with any of the places she ended up working. Her nomadic lifestyle might not suit everyone, but she’d perfected the art of arriving somewhere new, getting into the kitchen, baking something tasty almost immediately and sliding into favour on the back of a sugary treat. Although this was her first deployment with added dog.

She heard a sudden volley of barks, followed by a choking intercostal wheezing, then further barks and finally Jess located Digby in a huge room at the front of the castle. With his front feet pressed up against the ancient glass of an arched window, and his back feet making small indents in the delicate fabric of a window-seat cushion, he continued to bark.

‘Down, Digby-Dog. Get down .’ Jess may as well have been talking to herself for all the impact she had on the dog. His barking was becoming increasingly fervent, hackles rising, tail flailing at some perceived danger. From the sound of the little dog, the driveway must be inundated by an army of the undead, at the very least. A thousand orcs with some dragons as backup. Maybe even the postman.

Pulling her sleeve over her hand, Jess wiped at the Digby-condensation on the rippled glass and peered through it. The failing light of late afternoon made it difficult to see precisely what was happening outside, but the large vehicle Digby had heard had all its doors open, with people milling around it in the semi-darkness. There was a crunch of gravel, car doors slamming and raised voices as the engine revved, then the car disappeared sedately into the sludgy grey of a heavy early-December fog. The passengers headed for the castle’s main entrance; the darkness after the car’s headlights had faded only momentary before the bright beam of the security light flashed on.

Finally, it dawned on Jess – the family were here. A familiar trickle of anxiety at meeting a new employer washed its way across her. Would they like her? Would she like them? Her nerves were compounded by the realisation she hadn’t completed her preparations.

‘Nothing’s ready for them,’ she said to the empty space moments ago occupied by Digby. He’d already scuttled off along the corridor in the direction of the main hallway and was far enough away to ignore her final admonishment. ‘And it’s all your fault.’

After Sebastian slammed the car door, he hoisted a large black umbrella above their heads, doing his best to draw the heavy, black raglan coat he’d hidden inside all day closer around himself. It was bloody freezing outside; as he shouldered open the castle door, bone-deep damp cold from the fog wrapped itself around him equally as tightly as the coat. The temperature didn’t seem to register as being any higher once they were inside.

How anyone was supposed to call this place home when it was always icy cold was beyond him.

Kirkshield Castle, hereditary seat of the earl of the same name, might boast some stunning Scottish parkland and beautiful views over the village of Kirkshield, multiple reception rooms important enough to have been noted in various historical publications, and a series of stone battlements and gargoyles surrounding the roof, but what it didn’t have was an effective heating system.

Where Sebastian was concerned, a warm welcome had always been outside the remit of the family home. In more ways than one.

He supposed he should have been pleased his father had chosen to make stringent plans for his own funeral sometime in the past, and all Sebastian had had to do was attend the lavish wake which had taken place at the castle the previous day. Top-flight caterers from Inverness, free-flowing Dom Pérignon and a Sheildaig Scotch had ensured his father’s closest compatriots had raised more than a few glasses to ‘good old Henry’ while Sebastian had done his best not to clench his jaw so hard he gave himself a headache. Once the final four-by-four and oversized Jaguar had finally veered away down the driveway, all that was left was a quarter of an inch of single malt in a bottle and the huge invoice. And the actual interment at the local church, from which they’d just returned.

‘Thank God that’s over.’

Sebastian’s mother, Dee, drew immaculate black gloves from her elegant fingers as she spoke, adding another swirl of cold air to the already frigid space as she swept past him.

Behind his mother came Sebastian’s older sister, Olivia, accompanied by Candida, her closest friend. Even though the rest of the family knew their relationship was far more than a friendship, their father’s attitude had driven any reference to the truth underground. Sebastian smiled at Candida – it was amazing she’d stuck around so long. He supposed she must really love his sister, to be prepared to spend so much time pretending.

‘It’s a shame Freya and Christian couldn’t come back to the house,’ Olivia remarked, earning herself a sharp look from her mother.

‘They had a flight to catch,’ Dee said, unfastening the top few buttons of her long black wool coat. ‘My grandchildren to return to. Far more important than coming back here for tea and cake.’

‘I asked Freya to keep her eyes open for my latest book – it’s supposed to be going into airports this month,’ Candida said.

‘That’s wonderful news,’ Sebastian said.

Battling with the idea that he would be expected to jettison the warmth of his coat at any moment, his fingers were still hovering against the buttons when his attention was taken by an unfamiliar snuffling noise, accompanied by the clicking of what sounded like claws.

There hadn’t been any dogs in the house since his father’s beloved but unbelievably aged black Labrador had finally shuffled off this mortal coil the previous year, but the approaching noises weren’t dissimilar to the last memories Sebastian had of Atticus. He turned, half expecting the ghost of his father’s old dog to round the corner – possibly followed by an otherworldly vision of the father they’d only just buried. Instead, an utterly unfamiliar small dog shot into the entrance hallway, orangish-beige and with fluffy tufted fur bouncing in all directions. The dog made a beeline for his ankles, barking furiously as it approached, then snuffling at his shoes.

He was so preoccupied by the dog circling his legs that Sebastian failed to notice another arrival in the entrance hallway until she spoke.

‘I am so sorry – I couldn’t stop him. Digby-Dog, will you come here ?!’

The edge of desperation in her words had Sebastian straightening, taking in the owner of the voice for the first time. Light-brown hair was caught back from her face in a loose ponytail, and there was an anxious expression framing her pale blue – no, they were grey – eyes and tightening her lips into a nervous smile. The young woman, another total stranger, just like her dog, finally gained the animal’s attention and dragged him away.

‘ Sit ,’ she said, with a forlorn edge to the attempted gravitas.

The edges of a smile crept onto Sebastian’s face, tickling further when the dog stared up at her, tongue lolling as it huffed and puffed and remained resolutely on all four paws. The woman frowned and said something under her breath to the dog, the gist of which was completely obvious even if the words were unintelligible.

Sebastian sensed his mother was about to speak, and he could imagine whatever she was about to say wouldn’t necessarily be favourable, so he stepped forward, hand extended.

‘I’m Sebastian – and you seem to have the advantage over me. Are you here with Mrs Keel?’

The frown on the young woman’s face intensified, and she looked even more anxious as she stared at his hand as though it was unexploded ordnance. Eventually she took both a deep breath and his hand, shaking the latter firmly.

‘Mrs Keel was here when I arrived. She gave me a quick tour and said that now I’d arrived she should head home to the village. She left a while ago. I’m Jess – Jess Wight. I’ve come from the Home From Home agency. There was a bit of a delay with the trains, and I only got here a few hours ago. I’m your temporary housekeeper and cook.’ She bit at the edge of her bottom lip, then said, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

‘We seem to have crossed the Atlantic while nobody was looking.’ Sebastian’s mother kept her tone as cold as the space they were standing in.

Olivia sighed. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, they say it all over the world. Even in the Highlands.’

‘Well, I still think it sounds disingenuous.’

‘It’s a universally used phrase, as well you know. And I arranged for her to be here. I thought it would be nice to have someone to look after us, especially you, Mummy.’

The fact that Olivia had sourced a new housekeeper without telling anyone didn’t surprise Sebastian, but he would have hoped she might have had more sensitivity than to employ such a beautiful young woman after what had happened with the last one. It was no surprise his mother’s spine had tightened and her words were becoming increasingly acidic; Jess’s presence must be pushing all manner of buttons. He did his best to block out his mother and sister’s bickering, instead focusing on the warmth of Jess’s expression, the way a stray strand of her hair whispered against her jaw as she gave him a tentative smile.

‘Thank you. It’s been a difficult time for us all,’ he said.

‘I can only imagine.’ Jess kept her gaze on him, too. ‘Mrs Keel said she would light the fire in the drawing room before she left. Would you like me to bring the tea in there?’

‘That would be fantastic, thank you.’ The thought of a room warmed by a roaring fire lifted Sebastian’s spirits for the first time since he’d heard the news about his father.

Jess hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip again. ‘Um … Could I ask, where exactly is the drawing room?’

With her internal map of the house more firmly fixed by Sebastian’s clear directions, Jess headed back the way she’d come and regrouped in the kitchen. She’d just shaken hands with Sebastian Barclay-Brown. The twenty-second Earl of Kirkshield – as of about ten days ago, when his father had unexpectedly passed away.

Not that Jess had ever been particularly impressed by the idea of the aristocracy. In fact, as far as she could work out from the history she’d studied at school, and the information stored within the Horrible Histories books she’d adored as a kid, most of these people had gained their huge houses and lands from sucking up to royalty and treating the locals like dirt.

However, the aristocracy also tended to be the ones with all the cash, and like most people in the world, Jess needed to earn a living.

And with Digby-Dog in tow, her placement choices had been limited. In fact, Kirkshield Castle had been the only option: it was the only place willing to accept a temporary housekeeper with added dog. And there was no way Jess was abandoning Digby. She’d promised Vivi she would look after him while she recovered from her accident, and that’s exactly what she intended to do. There wasn’t much Jess wouldn’t do for Vivi, truth be told. After all, Vivi had been the one who had provided Jess with stability, unconditional love and a long-term home after she’d bounced from foster placement to foster placement as a kid. Vivi had also scooped Jess up again when her attempts at a career as a singer had fallen flat, and provided Jess with employment in her temping agency for household staff – and, inadvertently, a best friend in agency administrator, Amina. It suited Jess well, moving from place to place, never putting down roots – her whole childhood had been like that until Vivi had appeared on the scene, and her aunt remained the only fixed point in Jess’s life.

The Barclay-Browns had been so desperate to find a housekeeper willing to do some cooking to tide them over during the Christmas period that there hadn’t even been a formal interview. Apparently, they were happy to accept Jess solely on the agency’s recommendation. Or perhaps it was that the family didn’t much care who was doing the work for them, so long as someone was doing it.

In the castle kitchen she pulled the tray of freshly baked scones from the Aga, swearing under her breath at the amount of colour they’d caught in the time she’d been away. Scratching around in the huge dresser stacked with crockery, Jess found a cake stand for her sponge, which seemed to have sighed and fallen in the centre since she’d left the room. With an extra dollop of buttercream smothered into the sunken layers to hide the dip as best she could, the cake looked presentable enough. She slid the warm scones onto an oval plate with a similar design to the cake stand. She would bring the food through once she’d delivered the tea and crockery.

With tea brewing in a large pot, cups and saucers stacked next to some small plates and a jug of milk all on one tray, Jess headed for the drawing room, instructing Digby-Dog to stay put.

Instead, he threaded his way past her, and she lost sight of him beneath the large tray. He must have paused right in front of her, because before she could work out where he’d gone, her foot made contact with a warm, furry obstacle robust enough to take the forward momentum out of her step. The weight of the tray carried her forwards, but without a foot to balance the burden. There was a split-second in which she knew it was all going to end badly, and then she was staggering her way across the flagstones, desperately trying to hold on to the tray, while the teapot, milk jug and piles of cups, saucers and plates spilled and smashed across the floor in the almightiest crescendo of noise.