Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 2

Sebastian had been deep in thought when he heard what sounded like a distant crash of crockery. He bent to add a log to the fire from the huge wicker basket. Mrs Keel had done a grand job laying the kindling; heat already radiated from the first few logs in the fireplace. With the log added to the inferno, he glanced at the others.

Across the room, and deep in conversation about Candida’s next writing project, none of them had registered the noise. He supposed he was closest to the door, left ajar to make it easier for tea to be brought in. But, after what he’d heard, Sebastian thought it fair to assume tea might be somewhat delayed.

‘Back in a minute,’ he said to nobody in particular, pulling the door closed behind him. It was typical of Olivia to employ someone with little more, it seemed, than a cursory check of their credentials, but her lack of sensitivity where their mother was concerned had surprised him.

He would need to find a way to speak to his sister – to make her understand. Or perhaps it would be simpler to let the housekeeper go. Find fault with her work and send her packing as soon as possible. Looking at her day after day would be such a cruel reminder for his mother.

Plus, a housekeeper from a temp agency must be costing a small fortune – one which the Kirkshield Estate coffers would struggle to cover.

He headed through the picture gallery in the direction of the kitchen. Kirkshield Castle had stood on this Highland spot in one form or another for more centuries than Sebastian cared to count, but in its present incarnation much of it dated to a relatively more modern eighteenth century. Still, the weird comparisons it seemed to draw to modern life never failed to amaze him. The picture gallery was huge, large enough to be used as a banqueting hall or to hold a ball, but its original purpose was to do nothing more than house all the portraits of family members. Many of them still hung there, forever immortalised by the brushes of the favoured artist of the time. A bit like the gallery of photos held on his mobile phone, except those were immortalised forever in a digital cloud, the machinations of which Sebastian was sure he wouldn’t ever understand.

Nearest the arched passageway leading to the working part of the castle was the portrait of his father, suited and booted and with his customary glare caught perfectly by the artist.

‘ Thanks for nothing ,’ Sebastian mouthed as he passed underneath it.

Taking a right turn in the passageway beyond the gallery, he saw movement beyond the open door of the kitchen. A splash of white liquid across the umber flagstones, a teapot in pieces with its contents sprayed wide and evidence of broken crockery littering the floor reinforced his guess as to the source of the noise.

Jess was beyond the door on her hands and knees, stacking up bits of broken cup and saucer. Her dog was seated under the scrubbed oak table as it watched her, tongue lolling from its mouth until it caught sight of Sebastian, when it let rip with a volley of wheezy barks. Jess looked up, her cheeks colouring as she clambered to her feet.

‘What on earth happened here?’ he said, frown deepening as he saw just how much of the castle’s everyday crockery lay smashed on the flagstones.

‘I can’t believe what I’ve done,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

‘No. I’m fine. It was the dog,’ she said, shuffling pieces of saucer in her fingers. ‘I didn’t see him in front of me and I tripped.’

Sebastian noted the appealing grey of her wide eyes, the stress in her strikingly attractive features, and felt a tug of sympathy for her. It wasn’t her fault she’d landed up here, adding unwittingly to the combination of problems currently faced by the inhabitants of Kirkshield Castle. Nevertheless he maintained his frown. Now was hardly the time to show sympathy. He needed to concentrate on how this woman’s presence would be impacting his mother, and the way her wages would be adding themselves to the estate’s mounting debt. Not to mention the cost of replacing the smashed tea service.

He ran a hand across his forehead. ‘Can you be more careful in future? This might be the everyday crockery, but it’s not cheap to replace – it’s Royal Doulton.’

Jess dumped a pile of broken ceramics in the bin, then wiped her hands, a frown forming on her forehead as she stared at him.

‘Do you want me to pay for replacements?’ she said.

Sebastian paused. Perhaps he should insist she did. That alone might be enough to send her packing, but it did seem like a rather unreasonable response.

‘It was an accident,’ she said, almost as though she’d read his thoughts.

‘I don’t doubt it.’ He pulled in a deep breath, then added, ‘But there’s also a whole room of antique Wedgwood dinnerware off the dining room – all monogrammed with the Kirkshield crest and irreplaceable. Best leave that alone, don’t you think?’

Jess stared at him. Was it politic to call your new employer a prick within the first twenty-four hours, or should she wait a while longer?

Fair enough, he hadn’t bawled her out too badly over the broken crockery, or insisted she pay for replacements – which would probably take the lion’s share of her first month’s wages. She should probably be grateful for that. But why was he pulling bragging rights over her with an entire room full of bone-china tableware? Telling her not to touch it with her clumsy, commoner hands? Like anyone wouldn’t already know the bloke had enough of everything without him having to show off a million bowls and plates stamped with his family crest, for the love of God.

‘Mine’s all from Ikea,’ she said, eventually.

She’d already noticed how tight and difficult his smile seemed to be, as though he wasn’t comfortable showing emotion in this environment – or in front of a stranger. That was probably more accurate. She was a stranger, and a temporary employee to boot. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to waste energy smiling properly at her, so instead was giving her the economy version.

He arched his eyebrows. ‘So was mine, in the London flat I was renting, anyway. I particularly loved their glass mugs.’ Sebastian sighed.

It almost sounded as though he would miss the cheap mugs now he was here, taking over the earldom, or earlship or whatever his role was officially called. With everything he’d just inherited, Jess wasn’t sure he would need to spend all that long being heartbroken about leaving behind some glass mugs. Although he was right – those mugs were fantastic.

Digby crept out from his bolt-hole under the table and began to lick at what was left of the contents of the milk jug.

‘Being helpful?’ Sebastian said, his focus and words clearly for the dog.

‘That’ll be a first,’ Jess said, then she pulled in a breath. ‘If you could give me a few minutes, I’ll tidy up the mess and bring the tea through. I’m so sorry about the breakages … and for dragging you away from your family. You must want to be with them at a time like this.’

Sebastian’s elegant eyebrows arched, accompanied by a wry expression. He seemed to be about to say something, but instead bounced a hand on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and left the room.

The mission to serve tea was successful on the second attempt, and Jess left the family to it while she took the time to explore her surroundings.

When she’d arrived at Kirkshield Castle later than planned, she’d been glad of Mrs Keel’s welcome, along with her explanation as to where the family had gone. Hailing from the village, Mrs Keel was someone the family had relied on to sweep in and help out whenever necessary – at least, that had been the case until she’d announced her plans for retirement. With a conspiratorial elbow nudge, she’d suggested the family hadn’t taken much notice of her decision to retire and still called upon her for moments exactly like this – to welcome new staff to the castle.

To be honest, Jess had been very appreciative of the presence of Mrs Keel. She’d shown Jess much of the working area of the castle, including the room in which she’d be sleeping. It was placed conveniently close to the kitchen, in which Mrs Keel did her best to explain the vagaries of the Aga, and then moved on to give her a whistle-stop tour of some of the rest of the downstairs. But they’d walked at such a brisk pace, opening and closing so many doors on so many rooms, that Jess’s sense of direction had been blown out of the water.

Darkness had fallen outside, so now wasn’t the ideal time to begin any kind of reconnaissance, but Jess wasn’t about to sit in the kitchen and twiddle her thumbs. If this place was going to be somewhere she would be calling her home for the next six weeks, she needed to know her way around the place, at the very least.

Dark wood panelling and the low wattage of the hallway bulbs gave Jess a distinct Hogwarts vibe – all she needed was a wand and that map which showed where each person was – and the gloominess continued as she moved on through the dark-green dreariness of the dining room. Temptation proved too great, and Jess pulled open the door to the plate room to take a look, catching her breath as she eyed the rows upon rows of glistening white dinnerware, each piece punctuated by a coat of arms. She closed the door softly, worried any sudden movement might cause a plate tsunami, and the termination of her employment.

Next to the dining room was a library the likes of which she’d never seen before.

With a double-height ceiling, bookshelves towering along three of the four walls and everything lit by a huge chandelier, the depressing feeling of the rest of the downstairs was gone. Everywhere she looked, the rich hue of polished mahogany shelves was balanced out by a riot of different colours from the thousands of book spines. A massive bow window, boasting a set of the largest French doors she’d ever seen, would provide plenty of light during the daytime. Jess thought it looked as though there were steps outside, but wherever they led was lost in the darkness.

Digby had remained surprisingly tight to her leg as she looked around. Perhaps the dog was worried about getting left behind or being shut in one of these rooms and forgotten about. Or perhaps he was feeling penitent after tripping her up. Jess stifled a laugh. More likely the dog was hungry.

Jess gave up on her recce, retracing her steps and heading back to the kitchen. In the scullery, which held a huge ceramic Belfast sink and the prehistoric dishwasher, she reached for a scoop of dog food.

When Digby didn’t touch it, instead beginning to whine, Jess realised what he wanted.

‘Do you need to go out?’ she said. ‘Is it time for a pee?’

A small bounce on his front legs seemed to confirm Jess’s suspicions. She unlocked the scullery door and was about to reach for the dog’s lead, when he nosed his way past her, swinging the door far enough to be able to slip through and disappear into the gloom.

‘Damn it.’ Grabbing his lead and her coat, Jess headed after him, but he was already lost in the foggy darkness. Jess switched on her phone’s torch app but rather than increasing her ability to see, it only brought to life the swirling white of the dense fog. So instead she called for Digby as she inched forwards.

Doing her best to quell the desire to fire off a series of varied and colourful swear words at the dog, a volley of barking grabbed her attention. Some were of Digby-Dog origin – she could tell his ‘I might sound wheezy but I’m also deadly’ woofs a mile off – but there were other barks, too.

Absolutely typical of Digby to manage to find himself some mischief to be part of – the little dog was fearless. Jess crossed her fingers as she sent a quick prayer skywards for the dog’s safety. ‘Please, not on my watch,’ she breathed, white crystals of foggy air twisting in front of her.

Keeping the beam from her torch app pointed at or near ground level so at least she could see where she was treading, Jess hurried in the direction of the barking.

Sebastian edged his plate onto a side table, brushing the remnants of a very decent scone from his black trousers. He would wait until the others had finished their tea, then load up a tray and take it through to the kitchen. His mother would probably harrumph at him helping the help, as it were, but it was time to face facts.

His father had done a very good job of hiding the extent of the financial problems, but Sebastian had been called to a meeting with the estate’s accountant before he’d travelled to the Highlands for the funeral, and it had become starkly obvious that he had inherited an estate snagged on some very sharp rocks, its hull irreparably damaged.

Olivia might have thought employing Jess would help to maintain the status quo, but things were going to have to radically change, starting with the family learning to pick up their own socks and cook their own food.

‘I thought Declan did well with the reading,’ his mother said, her teacup pinched between tight fingers. Sebastian could see how firmly she was holding the handle, the skin white around her perfectly painted fingernails. The desire to retain the veneer of civility remained strong, even though she was fooling nobody in this room. They all knew what had led to Sebastian’s father’s untimely death.

Not that any of them would say a word.

‘He did an excellent job. I thought the whole service went very smoothly.’ Sebastian opted to play his mother’s game, keeping the talk small and staying away from the multiple elephants even this large room was struggling to hold.

Another log went onto the fire, and he set about poking at its fire-blackened predecessors, sparks flying as they disintegrated and set free more of the heat hidden in their cores.

Setting the poker down, he turned to the others. Three sets of eyes were watching him, had been watching him for most of the day. He had stepped into shoes he didn’t want, didn’t have the first clue how to fill. But they were shoes which, for now, he would have to pretend he could cope with.

‘It’s been quite a day. I think I need a proper drink,’ he said, crossing the room and pulling open the drinks cabinet. ‘Anyone want to join me?’

Sebastian wiggled a bottle of gin at them. His sister, Olivia, nodded, her shoulders relaxing a fraction as Candida smiled and dumped her teacup and saucer onto a tray.

‘Yes, please. I’ll get rid of the tea things,’ Candida said, crockery chinking as she piled everything up.

‘Do you stack?’ Olivia said, her expression cracking into a smile as Candida shrugged and grinned at the old joke. An ancient Barclay-Brown relative had once commented that she’d stayed somewhere which was lacking sufficient staff, because the plates and dishes had to be stacked at the end of each course before they were removed from the room. It was ever afterwards seen as a joke, of sorts. The days of the Downton Abbey levels of staffing, where every plate could be placed or lifted at the same time and carted in and out by dozens of maids and menservants, were long, long gone. But although today the joke was laced with an even greater irony than the rest of the people in this room realised, it did make a dent in the gloomy atmosphere, and Sebastian found himself stifling a laugh.

With a sudden inhalation, his mother unfolded herself from her chair, a frown burrowing its way across her forehead.

‘I think I need to lie down,’ she said, stalking from the room before anyone could say a word.

Sebastian met his sister’s gaze, and they raised their eyebrows almost in unison. Sebastian wondered for how much longer their mother planned to pretend. How much longer they were all going to have to pretend.