Christmas at a Highland Castle

Chapter 8

The piano in the Kirkshield village hall was almost as out of tune as the one Jess used to play in the community centre around the corner from Vivi’s mid-terrace. The musty, unloved smell in the space was the same, too: damp wood and plaster never provided with sufficient heating, mixed with the unmistakeable smell of burning dust coming from the recently fired-up space heater, all doing battle with the chill of late afternoon.

Learning to play the piano had turned out to be a passing phase for Jess, but it clearly meant far more to Sebastian, if the way he effortlessly sight-read the carol accompaniments was anything to go by.

Their arrival had caused a bit of a stir among the rest of the singers, and Mrs Keel had rattled through introductions far too quickly for Jess to catch many of the names. They were mostly locals if the way they greeted Sebastian was any indication. Some were enthusiastic to see him, a few seemed reverential. But it was impossible not to notice the subsequent glances between many of the villagers, the muted enthusiasm at his presence, the negative, under-the-breath comments Jess caught as she took her place at the end of one of the rows of singers, closest to the piano, with Digby at her feet.

None of them were as rude as she had been to Sebastian when they had been in the attic, at least not to his face. Nor were they as openly antagonistic as the landlord in The Old Goat. Jess might have appeared to have been studying the range of optics behind the bar when Sebastian and the landlord had been talking, but she’d heard every word – and Jess’s curiosity had been piqued by whatever had happened between Sebastian and the landlord’s daughter, Catriona. Presumably a relationship of some depth which had gone wrong. Jess wondered how, and why. Not that she herself was renowned for her ability to hold down a relationship with anyone for very long, truth be told. Running for the hills wasn’t outside her remit, especially if things looked like they might be getting serious.

Jess flicked at the booklet of carols Mrs Keel had shoved into her hand on their arrival. ‘Good King Wenceslas’ was next up. A carol all about a member of the nobility who went out of his way to help the poor and needy. Jess glanced at Sebastian as he took his lead from Mrs Keel and began to play, wondering if the carol had been picked for anything other than its musical appeal.

As she sang the final verse, Jess decided she was being too cynical. Mrs Keel seemed to be in charge of the choir, and passive aggression didn’t seem to fit with her otherwise forthright attitude. Jess got the feeling that if Mrs Keel wanted to say something, she’d say it. She wouldn’t bother to dress the sentiment up.

‘Can I just say, I haven’t heard such a beautiful voice in quite some time,’ Mrs Keel said, beaming a smile in Jess’s direction. ‘Did you not hear her, Your Lordship? Jess out-sang every last one of us.’

Jess felt her cheeks spike with heat as she glanced around, hoping Mrs Keel’s words wouldn’t antagonise the rest of the singers. Thankfully, the nods and grins she was met with were enough to set her mind at rest.

‘I wonder if you might allow Jess some time to join us – she could be our soloist if she likes, what with Aggie being struck down with laryngitis,’ Mrs Keel said.

‘Not surprising, given her cottage is as damp as a frog’s belly,’ muttered someone further back in the ranks.

Sebastian either didn’t hear the stray comment or chose to ignore it. ‘You don’t need my permission.’ He aimed his words in part at Mrs Keel, but also to Jess.

‘I suppose I could,’ Jess said.

Mrs Keel clapped together her hands. ‘That’s decided, then. Excellent. I’ll let you know when the next rehearsal is. And if Your Lordship is at a loose end, we would all benefit from your skills on the piano, if you wouldn’t mind. What with Aggie being our pianist, too.’ She didn’t give him a chance to argue, turning away and saying, ‘For now, thank you everyone, sheet music on the piano before you leave if you don’t mind.’

Maybe it was all in Jess’s imagination, but it looked as though Mrs Keel’s words had pleased Sebastian. He closed the piano lid gently, his hand resting for a moment on the flaking veneer of the fallboard as a scud of different emotions passed across his face, before it settled back into his customary inscrutable gaze.

As they headed back to the castle, Sebastian glanced at Jess. He had heard her sing; it would have been impossible not to hear the quality of her voice, the clarity of her tone shining bright among the rest of the voices.

He should ask her about her singing, find out more. It would be great to have someone to talk about music with. But he’d also heard the comment about Aggie Fernell’s cottage. Another complaint. Another issue to add to the ever-lengthening list. It was one thing to have a clearer idea of the work needed, both in the castle and the properties in the village, but he was no nearer finding out how he was going to finance it all – and continuing to pay for the services of a housekeeper they didn’t need wasn’t going to do anything to help the situation.

Apart from the rents from the estate’s properties, and the tenant farms, the only incoming revenue stream available to the estate seemed to come from the shoot days. Which was ironic, as it was the thing Sebastian had most wanted, from a very young age, to put a stop to.

He was aware some would class him as a hypocrite – after all, he’d never so much as entertained the notion of being a vegetarian – and yet, the idea that shooting birds as they were terrified into flying away should be considered fun, or a sport, had never sat well with him. Even if the birds were destined for the food chain, and restaurants were crying out for fresh pheasant, Sebastian had never managed to stop his throat drying at the thought of what was happening whenever he could hear the guns.

Plenty of people did seem to enjoy it, though, and a meeting with Robbie – someone he had always liked, despite the reason for his employment on the estate – had sent Sebastian into a greater quandary. Robbie had explained how many dates had been put in the diary for this coming winter, how many birds the old earl had insisted they should rear and release into the woodland, how many folks were travelling from all over the world, no less, to participate in a shoot day on Kirkshield Estate.

The bottom line was that, regardless of Sebastian’s discomfort, it was the only current enterprise which generated any serious income for the estate. And income was what was needed to ensure the estate didn’t fall any further into the red.

The situation had been doing laps around Sebastian’s brain all day. He had given Robbie permission to continue as had been planned by his father, and Sebastian knew it was the only logical decision to make for the immediate future, nevertheless it sat very heavily.

Jess probably thought him rude, but he shut down any attempt she made at conversation on the way back to the castle, more determined than ever to terminate her contract as soon as possible. Even though the saving made by not paying her wages would be a bit like attempting to stop a runaway truck with a feather, it would be a start – and he needed to start somewhere. There seemed no way around the fact that Sebastian would be facing nothing but difficult decisions for the foreseeable future.

Much later, when he was sure everyone had gone to bed and the castle had fallen silent, Sebastian headed for the music room. This was the first time since his return that he’d allowed himself entry.

With the doors from the breakfast room and the drawing room firmly closed, and moonlight spilling in from the large double French doors which led out to a formal garden, Sebastian ran a hand over the top of the grand piano which stood in the centre of the room. It was sleek and elegant, but had been silent for far too long; Sebastian wondered how badly out of tune it had become. Hopefully not as badly as the old upright in the village hall.

But that wasn’t why he wanted to play. This wasn’t about the maintenance of the Steinway; this was more about the maintenance of his own mental health. He should never have made such a ridiculous promise to himself – that when his time with the Philharmonic came to an end and he was called back to Kirkshield, as he’d always known he would be eventually, he would set aside his violin. He’d promised himself he would make up for his years away, indulging himself in his passion, by forsaking the instrument once he became earl.

What he hadn’t bargained for was the rapidity with which he would be forced to give up his precious instrument. As he propped open the lid, then pushed back the fallboard to reveal the keys, he hoped the piano would go some way towards bridging the gap. Before he’d begun to learn the violin, the piano had been his first musical love. This piano had stood in the same spot for the whole of Sebastian’s life, a fixed point in the roaring waters of his adolescence. And although it had been one of the many aspects of his character which didn’t seem to live up to his father’s hopes, his mother had always encouraged him in his musical endeavours.

Pulling out the piano bench, he settled onto its familiar tapestry-upholstered seat, resting fingers on well-worn keys as he checked he could comfortably operate the pedals. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers found their way across the keys, and he began to play. The sounds came softly at first, a smile edging onto his lips as he realised the instrument wasn’t too badly out of tune and his rendition of ‘Für Elise’ was recognisable. The smile spread as he remembered Freya sitting at the far end of the stool, watching him, remembered his own delight when he first managed to play the piece from beginning to end without error, and how his little sister had clapped and called it his special Furry Knees music.

With nothing but the light from the moon to guide him, and blocking out thoughts of anything else, Sebastian played piece after piece, losing himself in the simple pleasure of making music.

Jess had taken Digby out for a final comfort walk and was about to go to bed when she thought she heard something. Fairly sure the family had all retired for the night, Jess shut Digby in her room and pulled on her metaphorical big-girl pants, deciding to make a lap of the ground floor just to be sure everything was as it should be.

The sound came again as she rounded the vestibule corridor near the front door and headed back down the picture gallery. The door to the breakfast room stood wide, and nothing was out of the ordinary in there – if ‘ordinary’ was the correct term to use for having a room purely in which to eat breakfast – but the sound came again. It was music. Someone was playing a piano.

She cracked open the door at the far side of the breakfast room, widening the gap enough to get a look at the piano and its player, even though she was sure she knew who was playing.

It was Sebastian.

In the doorway, Jess stayed put, almost holding her breath as she found herself transfixed. Above and beyond the way he’d played in the village hall, there was a subtlety to the way he was delivering this far more complex piece of music, a confidence in his interpretation – something Jess had noticed from professional musicians. It was as though the music wasn’t even coming from the piano but was somehow manifesting itself in the room at Sebastian’s command, like a conjuring trick.

She lost track of how long she stood there, watching Sebastian play by the light of the moon, with his back to the door and not a single piece of sheet music anywhere to be seen. It was like being at a concert but being the only person in the audience. Afterwards, she wondered if it might have been better if she’d slipped away, unseen. If he’d never realised she was there. But she had shifted her weight and a floorboard had creaked in a particularly soft passage in the music. Sebastian turned at the noise and saw her standing there.

‘That was amazing,’ she said, hoping maybe to strike up a conversation about his clear love for music, but he looked annoyed to see her standing there.

Jess tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘You could invite the village choir to practise here – that way at least the piano would be in key.’

She smiled. He didn’t. He turned away from her, pulling down the fallboard with a snap. The magical atmosphere he’d created with the music was gone, the room was cold and dark again, and without saying a word he swept past her and was gone, too.

Dee could hear the music from her bedroom. She recognised so many of the pieces her son was playing, remembered listening to him learning to play them. Remembered the constant undercurrent of disapproval which had flowed from Henry every time a music teacher had arrived at the castle to give Sebastian a lesson. Dee had stood sentinel outside the music room to ensure Henry hadn’t gone in and interrupted whenever Sebastian went in there to practise – which had been very often. She’d been there to deflect and distract while giving her son the time he needed.

It seemed extraordinary, now, that she’d gone to such lengths – or rather, that she’d had to go to such lengths – to allow her son to play the piano. If it had been one of the girls, Dee felt sure her husband wouldn’t have cared – he probably would have encouraged them. After all, they were girls, so it didn’t really matter what they did so long as it was interesting and attractive to men. Whereas he wanted Sebastian to match up to his own ideals of what his son should be. What being a man was all about. And playing piano, or the violin for that matter, with the skill and the subtlety of the truly gifted, didn’t appear anywhere on Henry’s wish list.

Would it have been better to have left? To have taken the children and run? It was easy to say that, now. But everything had happened incrementally. It was child’s play to look back with a cold, hard dose of hindsight, and see just how controlled they had been. Just how brave Sebastian had been to leave. How desperate Freya had been to move to Austria with Christian.

It had been far more difficult to spot the creeping control as it was happening. When did you decide enough was enough? How easy was it really to set a line in the sand, to say that a particular action or behaviour would be the moment you packed up and left?

After all, Henry had never once shown any sign of being aggressive or physical with her or any of the children. He’d been unfaithful, yes. But so were many husbands. He’d blustered and been demanding, but he’d never threatened them physically. It had only ever been psychological – and how did you go about explaining that to people outside the environment?

And anyway, who would have felt any sympathy for someone like her? A countess, no less, calling her life into question, when she lived in a massive house in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, with a healthy family and people looking after her every whim? How could she have anything to complain about when there were people in the world without a roof over their heads, or enough money for food?

No, she understood the hierarchy of pain, and she’d made her choices. She had made her bed and had chosen to continue to lie in it. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her – never had.

Dee sighed, refocusing on the music filtering into her ears. Maybe it had been worth it. With a bit of time to adjust, Sebastian would come to realise he was in his rightful place and would set about making a far better job of looking after Kirkshield Castle and everyone on the estate than his father had ever done. There was nothing stopping him continuing to play his music – Dee hoped it wouldn’t take him too long to lift a bow to his violin again, and she could again listen to him play the instrument he loved the best. Freya had promised to bring her family for Christmas, and Olivia was here; she hadn’t ever left. At last Dee would have all the important members of her family back with her, even if it was only fleeting, in Freya’s case.

The music stopped. Dee continued to stare into the darkness of her bedroom for a while, then turned onto her side and closed her eyes. She imagined her thoughts would continue to swirl, ebb and flow around her children and their futures, and yet she found her mind’s eye filled with someone else. A strong image of Robbie, his dogs running freely around him, while he stared in her direction.

Even though it was dark, Dee felt sure her cheeks burnt crimson at the way the man stole into her thoughts. Like a movie playing in her head, she was back on the path to the waterfall, watching him lifting a hand to acknowledge hers, a slight smile on his lips. Or was that bit purely in her imaginings? Had he smiled, or had the smile been only on her own lips?

Dee frowned into the darkness. Why did it matter so much? She was simply overtired, that was the problem. A good night’s sleep was what she needed, and there was no place for Robbie in her thoughts. Dee huffed, turned over with a thump on her pillow, and did her best to shut out all her thoughts and allow sleep to claim her.