Chapter Seventeen
Lara chose the stairs to reach the family apartment in the castle. She certainly wasn’t going to take the lift and risk having to be rescued by Carlos or Flynn.
Her conversation with him the previous day had helped set her mind at rest. The ‘rumours’ about his personal life were nothing more than the gossip that inevitably circulated in an enclosed community like Ravendale.
They were vague and largely involved Flynn having been seen with a woman in a pub and having left behind a trail of broken hearts in Cornwall.
Both stories were based on speculation, from what Lara could work out.
To be fair, Jazz had stressed at the restaurant that she didn’t give any credit to such tittle-tattle either.
Now Lara was annoyed with herself for even wondering why Flynn was talking to Molly at the Christmas market.
Of course he would be polite and pleasant to her.
She knew him from the café and the Spectacular and she – and her grandmother – clearly loved a chat.
Flynn was very good with people, despite claiming to be grumpy.
Lara was pleased he had his friend, Harvey, living nearby, so he wasn’t completely isolated from his old life.
She wasn’t even that miffed that he’d mentioned knowing about the job again.
She was just relieved that there was no ‘secret woman’ or whatever had been implied by the Ravendale rumour mill.
She’d already agreed with Jazz that he’d have had to be a fast worker to start seeing someone in Cumbria so soon after starting work at the castle.
Well, someone other than her.
But Lara was annoyed with herself for caring what Flynn did in his private life. She was well aware that she’d been acting inconsistently: pushing Flynn away yet being jealous about who else he might be seeing.
She needed to behave more professionally from now on.
She knocked on the door of the Penhaligons’ apartment and Henry opened it. He was wearing his Barbour and a tweed hat and had an excited gleam in his eyes.
‘Sorry, I can’t stay, my dear. I’m off for a drive around the estate with the estate manager. Fiona’s finally agreed to let me out for good behaviour.’
Fiona gasped. ‘You make me sound like a prison warden!’
‘You’d make a good one,’ Henry replied, kissing her on the cheek. ‘See you later, and enjoy making the arrangements for the ball. I know you will.’ With a wink, he exited into the corridor and Lara heard him talking to the estate manager, a man with a distinctive Highland accent.
‘I do hope he’s careful,’ Fiona said, a worried crease between her brows.
‘I’m sure he will be. He looks very excited to be going out. How is he?’
‘Still waiting for further tests but, in himself, a lot better. Thanks for coming up here. Why don’t you make us both a coffee while I fetch something I promise you’ll find interesting?’
Wondering what Fiona could mean, Lara went into the kitchen. She was unsure whether to make real coffee or instant, but she could hardly delve into the cupboards for the real stuff, so she decided instant would do.
She went back into the sitting room with the mugs but Fiona was still nowhere to be seen. Lara thought she could hear a dull thud of a door opening and closing towards the corridor that led to the family bedrooms.
Sipping her coffee, she marvelled again at what a strange life it must be to own and live at Ravendale.
Although it was mid-morning, a fire burned in the hearth and the lamps were on, making the tinsel and baubles shimmer in their light.
Lara still hadn’t managed to decorate her own cottage, and now she’d have to give up some of her spare time to help Flynn find a costume.
Actually, why had she done that? He hadn’t asked and now she’d have to spend half an hour with him getting undressed and dressed in various outfits.
Not that she’d be there when he got undressed, a prospect that sent a thrill right through her.
Argh, why hadn’t she said Flynn could take the costumes back to his cottage to try them on? She didn’t need to supervise, and Flynn’s outfit should have been the least of her worries. She hadn’t even decided what she was going to wear herself.
‘Penny for them?’ Fiona broke into her thoughts. She was holding two photo albums and Lara hadn’t even heard her re-enter the room.
‘Oh. Sorry, Fiona. I was well away.’
Fiona’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘Yes, you were staring into that fire as if it held the answers to life and the universe.’
‘Er, I was just thinking about what I might wear for the ball.’
Fiona’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Haven’t you decided yet?’ She laid the albums on the Chesterfield sofa and beckoned Lara to sit down in the armchair nearby. ‘I thought you’d have got everything sorted out by now.’
‘Not yet. I’ve been so busy.’
‘Gosh, yes. I should have realised. I didn’t mean to sound critical.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Lara said. ‘And I can easily borrow one of the re-enactment costumes. I just can’t decide which one.’
‘The guides’ costumes?’ Fiona wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re getting a bit long in the tooth now. I was thinking we ought to invest in some new ones. You don’t really want to wear one of those, do you?’
‘Well, they’re probably more authentic than anything I could find in the hire shops. With everyone booking for the ball and other New Year events, they’ll probably only have giant bananas or Elvis left by now anyway. I don’t think Bananaman counts as a historical figure.’
‘Oh, we can’t have that,’ Fiona declared. ‘But the reenactment costumes are huge.’
Lara accepted this was true. They all had drawstring waists that could be pulled in, but they were still very much ‘one size fits no one’.
‘And I think I can help.’ Fiona tapped the top photo album.
‘These two albums contain photographs from the balls that took place between the wars.’ She handed over a large leather-bound album to Lara.
‘This is the one from 1920 to 1928.’ She kept the other on her lap.
‘And this album covers the years up to the Second World War.’
‘Wow, these must have so much history. I’d love to look through them.’
‘I thought you might, and what’s more, I have an ulterior motive for showing you. Have a flick through both and then I’ll share my plan with you.’
Twenty minutes later, Lara had browsed through scores of black-and-white photographs of guests, all protected by leaves of embossed tissue paper.
There were groups and individuals in a huge variety of costumes, from Roman emperors to pharaohs, alongside fictional heroes such as Robin Hood and King Arthur.
‘The family always employed a professional photographer, right from the 1920s,’ Fiona said, turning the pages and smiling. ‘Family and guests could pose in the hall by the tree when they arrived. It was a novelty to have a photograph then.’
‘What a brilliant memento of the ball,’ Lara said. ‘And of your family.’
‘I’m ashamed to say that some of the outfits would now be considered, quite rightly, entirely inappropriate,’ Fiona said, grimacing at one of the photos of a group of men in First Nations dress.
Lara winced. ‘Hmm. You could look on it as a historical record of the changing times,’ Lara said, and turned the page to a group dressed as Peter Pan, Tinkerbell and Nana the dog. ‘Some seem to have interpreted historical figures very loosely.’
‘We’re pretty relaxed on the theme now, and no one who works here would ever wish to cause offence.
The thing is, Henry and I – well, me, really – have decided to take inspiration from these albums and choose a costume referencing something one of our ancestors wore.
One of the acceptable ones,’ she added hastily.
‘Oh? That sounds interesting.’
‘Hopefully. I also thought that, as you haven’t decided what to wear yet, you might like to choose something too.’
‘Oh. I—’ Lara had to think before replying. ‘That’s incredibly generous of you, but won’t it be a lot of trouble? And take a lot of time?’
‘We’ve already chosen our outfits and Tessa has measured us. It’s really cheered Henry up.’
‘If you’ve already given Tessa the measurements, will she have time to fit me in?’ Lara asked, thinking of the very clever seamstress who lived locally and was an expert in historical costumes.
‘Of course. She won’t mind. She’s a treasure.’
With only four weeks to the ball, Lara was afraid that Tessa would mind quite a bit. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I really don’t want to put anyone to that much trouble.’
‘Nonsense. You’ve worked so hard and the ball is designed specially to thank the staff, so it’s the least we can do.
Please do take the albums and have a look overnight.
Why don’t you decide if there’s something you like in there, unless you have any other ideas.
We only used the albums for inspiration.
Then let me know what you fancy and Tessa can measure you up. ’
‘I – well, that’s very kind of you. I’ll enjoy looking at these,’ Lara said, realising that refusal might cause offence.
Besides, she really did need a costume and a made-to-measure outfit would solve all her problems. Her mind was already buzzing with medieval princesses and Regency ladies.
Then again, Flynn was definitely no Mr Darcy.
A pang of guilt struck her: she’d be forcing him to wear a tatty second-hand affair while she’d be making an entrance in a made-to-measure costume.
Setting the albums and her fantasies aside, she refocused on the organisation of the ball, discussing the latest responses from the guest list and the period musicians and entertainers she’d booked.
This included a troupe of jesters, fire eaters, a Regency quartet, and a swing band for later to get the real party going.
Lara had already shown Fiona a YouTube video of the fire eaters.
‘Good grief,’ Fiona said in awe. ‘That’s pretty impressive, but I hope the whole place doesn’t go up in smoke on my watch.’
For a moment, Lara thought Fiona was going to mention the Lucky Chalice and its curse, but instead she asked if there were enough car-park stewards.
‘Plenty. The same company who are marshalling the illuminations are sending a smaller crew for the ball. They’ve coped with thousands of visitors, so they can handle a few hundred. And there’s enough room in the staff and disabled parking area without using the grassed areas.’
‘Good. We can’t have anyone tramping through the mud in their finery.’ Fiona applauded Lara. ‘Looks like you have everything in hand. I hope you can fully relax on the night. That’s the general idea – that all the staff can let their hair down after a hectic season.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Lara said, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to fully relax when she’d been in charge of the organisation. At least Jazz had finalised the menu and was overseeing the caterers, so she didn’t have to worry about that.
Once again, Fiona had been so kind to her and yet Lara was keeping the secret of the chalice. She almost confessed there and then, but realised it would be terrible timing when Fiona was so happy and Henry was recovering. It might even set him back.
‘What have you decided on for your costumes?’ she asked, sounding even to herself like she was strangled with guilt. ‘You haven’t said yet.’
Fiona tapped the side of her nose and said mysteriously, ‘Oh, we’re keeping ours a surprise until the big night. But let’s say it will be linked to a key moment in Ravendale’s history.’
‘Oh? That sounds intriguing,’ Lara said.
‘Yes, but I’ve hinted too much already. Our lips are sealed. Please don’t even breathe word of our conversation to anyone. Henry and I want to make a real entrance at the ball. I think it will be great fun for everyone.’
‘I’m sure it’s going to be amazing,’ Lara said, picking up the albums. They weighed a ton, rather like her conscience. ‘I promise I’ll make a decision tonight and bring these back tomorrow.’
Lara spent ages leafing through the albums before she took them back.
Although Fiona had said she could choose any costume she wanted, she was mindful of poor Tessa and didn’t want to pick anything too elaborate.
That was pretty difficult, however, because the more she looked, the more she realised that the wealthy guests of the past had really been out to impress.
There were a few pictures of servants and locals, but they were in much plainer outfits that they’d clearly made themselves.
Most of the photos that had made the album were the poshos.
There were peacock feathers, velvet cloaks, hilarious wigs, buckled shoes that had obviously been made purely for the occasion – and, yes, a sprinkling of codpieces worn by portly men with their hands on their hips, trying to channel their inner Henry VIII.
Yuck. Who would ever want to channel a psychopath, thought Lara, rapidly turning the page.
What could she wear that would be simple, appropriate and, because she wasn’t immune to vanity, flattering?
She wanted to look nice, not so much to make an entrance, but to feel confident and not look ridiculous.
Every time she wondered what Flynn would think of her being a shepherdess or in a crinoline, she dismissed the thought.
She should choose solely on what she’d feel comfortable in.
Even so … she half-wished he was here to give his opinion.
‘No. No!’ she said out loud, then started laughing.
In the end, she realised she’d returned time and again to a page with a group of people dressed in medieval costumes and an idea dropped into her mind with such a clang that she burst out with a ‘Yes!’
Flynn would be bound to ask what she was wearing. She was filled with childish glee. She wouldn’t tell him. Like Fiona, she’d be keeping it a secret until the night.