Chapter 5 #2
But Finn is walking away from me. With my short legs, I have to jog to catch up. He leads me down a few steps to a dirt path
the color of terra-cotta. The path winds through the closest set of gardens.
“The castle was originally constructed for Kenneth MacAlpin,” he begins. “Descendant of Kenneth the Hardy, the first king
of Scotland. The British took it by force not long after as they claimed control of Scotland.”
“How does that land with you, as an Englishman?” I ask, taking in the magenta foxgloves and bright yellow primroses. I’m tempted
to pick them and make a bouquet. “Where are you at on the guilt scale?”
“Let’s just say, I’m relieved Queen Victoria did some damage control there, thanks to her love of Scotland.” He gestures at a stone bench in the middle of the floral labyrinth, and we sit. “And, truly, what’s not to love?”
“I agree. But you’ve got to admit, royal families in general are problematic jackasses.”
“Are they, now?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Unequivocally. Now, take me inside so I can see how those jackasses live.”
Finn coughs and stands up with me. He leads me up a small set of stone steps to a path shaped like an hourglass. We take the
side that leads toward the grand front door, which reminds me of a miniature drawbridge.
“Inveresk is one of many properties owned by the royal ‘jackasses,’ as you call them. While they’re away, the castle is open
to the public.”
“Are they here now?” I ask, looking around. My Anglophilia doesn’t extend beyond books and movies, and truth be told, I know
almost nothing about the royal family.
“They’re in the South of France, I believe,” Finn says, “but the castle’s closed to the public for the bank holiday, so your
timing is perfect, really. You can get settled and do some training in the gift shop without the pressure of actual customers.”
“Sorry,” I say, confused. “Do you also work here or something? How do you know all this?”
He shrugs. “My family used to drag me here a lot on school holidays. They love visiting these old castles.”
He pulls on a large iron ring, opening the door.
“Hold on,” I say. “Is it okay to just . . . go inside?” I look side to side, searching for someone in a uniform to grant us permission.
I mean, you can’t just walk into a castle, can you?
But Finn is holding the door open for me, tapping his foot with exaggerated impatience, and so I step inside.
It’s one thing to see opulence on a television or imagine it while reading a book. It’s quite another to be face-to-face with
it. Finn’s saying something about how this is still a working estate with farmland, a den for the endangered grouse they protect,
as well as Highland cattle and ponies. But all I can think is How do people still live like this? And I’ve only seen the entrance hall with its pine-paneled walls and an oak fireplace with ornate carvings. I make out some
floral designs and shields and . . .
“Wait,” I say, pointing to the frame. “Tell me that’s not a series of unicorns.”
“It’s Scotland’s national animal,” Finn explains, as though that’s totally normal. “If you mock it, I’ll report you to the
king.”
I mime buttoning up my lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two maids peeking around a pillar down the hall. They scurry
away. Oh god, are they going to call security on us? I debate pulling Finn back outside, but I really want to see more of
the castle, so I decide to take the risk of an awkward interaction later. Finn seems like the type who can talk his way out
of anything.
He shows me a cozy drawing room that’s all creams, golds, pinks, and sage greens, then leads me through a red hallway that gives me The Shining vibes (the creepy sculptures of famous Scotsmen don’t help the horror-movie factor). We end up in a dining room that has too
many animal heads on the walls for my taste.
“It must be daunting to look in the eyes of the animal you’re eating,” I say, the taxidermic head of an elk staring deep into
my soul.
“I’m more of a lover than a hunter,” Finn agrees.
“I bet.”
“I’m saving the best part of the castle for last,” Finn says as we go back out to the hallway. He leads me to the most exquisite
room I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, this is the best part of any home anywhere,” I say, taking the castle library in. The tartan curtains let just enough light through to give the room a
romantic, hazy feel. The carpet and furniture are plush, in rich blues and reds. Most importantly, there are books as far
as the eye can see, all perfectly stacked, shelved, and organized. I let out a long sigh. “I’m in love.”
“I’m flattered,” Finn replies. “But I’m not really the ‘settle down’ type.”
I give him a playful whack on the arm. “With this library, not with you.”
“Noted.”
“Can I . . . ?” We’re hovering in the doorway, and I need to step inside the room. I need to. “Will we get in trouble?”
“Only if we get caught,” he says, making a big deal out of looking around to check if the coast is clear. He waves me in.
My first step is trepidatious, but as soon as I’ve crossed the threshold, there’s no holding me back. I reach out and touch
the glossy, mahogany desk that’s probably worth more than my parents’ house. I run a finger along the deep royal blue chaise
longue, changing the grain of the velvet, and then I rub it back. Just as I’m wandering toward the first of the enormous bookcases,
Finn clears his throat. “I should get you to the gift shop.”
“Right, of course.” You’re here to work, I remind myself. A job that I was hired for without so much as an interview. I have to make a good first impression. I follow
Finn back into the hallway.
“Beverly’s waiting to train you. She’s a bit of a dragon, so don’t get on her bad side.”
I nod, unsure whether he’s joking about Beverly.
“Right. And you said you arranged a place for me to stay?”
“Yeah, most employees here live in town, but there was a free cottage in the servants’ area, so they said you could stay there.”
“ ‘I am excessively fond of a cottage,’ ” I say, slipping into an English accent without thinking.
“Um, what?”
“Sorry, it’s a quote from Sense and Sensibility.”
Finn clucks his tongue. “I thought we agreed you’d never attempt the accent again.”
“You said I shouldn’t try a Scottish accent!”
“Well, your English accent is somehow even worse. Though I didn’t imagine that such a thing could be possible.”
He flashes me a grin, then leads me back outside toward the clock-tower building, which I now see has a sign that says Gift
Shop on it.
“How did you make all this happen?” I ask, realizing I never quite got clarification on that. “A family friend?”
He ignores the question and instead says, “Your luggage will be waiting for you at your cottage. Have Beverly show you the
way after she’s done with you.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, slightly dazed by how much he seems to have done behind the scenes, how many strings he probably
had to pull. The words don’t feel like enough, so I reach out and touch his arm. He freezes. “I mean it. Thank you so much.
This is insanely nice of you.”
“Best of luck, American Hannah.” Something flashes across his face, but I don’t know him well enough to interpret it. And
now I never will.
“If you ever want to come visit sometime, I’ll buy you a thank-you gift from the shop.”
He laughs, louder than I’m expecting. Then he raises his hand in farewell and disappears down the path toward the parking lot.
Okay, time to switch into professional mode.
I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back, and walk into the gift shop.
The first thing I see is an elderly woman in a pink cardigan, smiling at me like I’ve hung the moon. A dragon she is not.
The second thing I see are the mugs she’s putting price tags on, each one featuring a different face. There’s King Augustus,
who I recognize. (The crown is a giveaway.) Queen Charlotte. And then their adult children, who I only recognize in context:
Prince James, Princess . . . something or other. Two others. And then a few younger faces, who must be the grandchildren.
A pretty redheaded girl I think is named Arabella. Or maybe Annabella? And then—wait, what?
The face on the next mug is very familiar, but not from the internet or magazine covers.
It’s him, Finn.
Prince Finneas, the text reads.
It’s a prank. It’s got to be a prank. Beverly is probably Finn’s grandmother or something and he had all the mugs made to
mess with the naive American. I’ve just about convinced myself this is the case, when I look around and take in another piece
of merchandise—the entire royal family on a gigantic serving platter: the king, the queen, all the others . . . and Finn.
Still a prank, still a prank, I think, as Beverly is introducing herself to me. How hard would it be to edit Finn into the photo of the royal family?
And then print that on a platter—I glance at the display—about three dozen times. Okay, so an elaborate, expensive prank,
but still doable . . . right?
Suddenly, I’m not so sure.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity,” I hear myself tell Beverly. “I promise, you won’t regret it.” I try to smile, but
I’ve just spotted a tin of candy called Prince Finneas’s Sherbet Lemons. Could someone have gone to this much trouble to prank me? Maybe, but certainly not this quickly. Finn told me about the job less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Of course. His royal highness said you had loads of retail experience back in America,” Beverly says kindly.
A lie, but that’s the least of my problems right now.
She called Finn “his royal highness.” No. No, this is not happening. And suddenly, memories I didn’t realize I’d stored come
rushing to the front of my mind. Magazine covers glimpsed in line at the grocery store, clickbait gossip columns I ignored
but still registered. “Royal Gone Wild: Can Prince Finneas Be Tamed?” and “Prince Finneas Leaves Trail of Broken Hearts on
Commonwealth Tour.”
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I’ve been hanging out with the damned prince of England, and I had absolutely no idea.
“Well. Let’s get started.” Beverly begins giving me a tour of the shop, where I see more and more trinkets with Finn’s stupid face on them.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I referred to his whole family as “problematic jackasses.”
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I am the biggest fool on the planet and right now he’s walking around the estate he owns and laughing at me.
I really am going to end up in prison here because the next time I see him I’m going to kill Prince Finneas.