Chapter Three
Clementine woke up aware of a warm lump by her feet. In the night, a cat had joined her and brought a blanket. Smiling, she and the cat out-stretched each other, and then she opened her case to find some socks and a jumper. This place was freezing, and despite three suitcases in the car she wasn’t sure she had packed enough jumpers. In one sense, she was excited about the challenge ahead of her.
It had only been three months since Ari had inherited the vast Hiverton Estate spanning the country. With the help of her four sisters, she was trying to come to terms with it. They had grown up in the East End of London, dirt poor but happy. Until the death of their parents, the worst things they’d had to struggle with were spots and being first in the queue for the bathroom. The last ten years had been an unremitting slog through grief and penury. Then their mother’s brother had died and they discovered that their mother had been the black sheep of her family. The illustrious de Foixes, the Earls and Countesses of Hiverton. With her uncle dead, Ari, as eldest daughter, inherited the entire estate and suddenly the sisters’ money worries were over.
None of the girls had ever been to Scotland and didn’t even know anyone Scottish. They now had to decide if they kept the estate together or sold bits of it off. Nick, the financial brains in the family, wanted the castle sold as fast as possible. According to the finances, it was a complete money pit. Nick had built her own investment company from the ground up and knew all the ins and outs of the last penny. And if she said the castle was a money pit then the only question was how big a pit.
Ari didn’t want to sell off any of the estate until she had got a better grasp of their new way of life. So Clem had volunteered to head north and see the lay of the land. It’s not like I have anything else to do, she thought sourly.
She lifted the cat up for a cuddle and went off in search of whoever had put the blanket over her. According to the solicitor, the castle was run by a housekeeper and a skeleton staff. No more information was available. Ari had warned her that reading between the lines, Mr Fanshawe, their solicitor, did not see eye to eye with the housekeeper and there may be problems with her. A delicate touch was required. Clem was annoyed with her sisters when they roared with laughter, but what could she say? She was well known for punching first and asking questions later. She knew this didn’t always make her popular, but she didn’t much care about that. What she cared about was getting things done.
Padding out into the huge hall, she started to open and close heavy wooden doors. Each door revealed another dim room with large curtains hanging closed. Sheets covered lumpy pieces of furniture sitting dormant. Clem steadily made her way along various corridors. Everywhere was covered in light dust, a sense of casual neglect rather than total abandonment. The dark oak panelling on the walls seemed to make the walls loom in and, despite the high ceiling, there was a claustrophobic, gloomy feeling. This place would come to life at Hallowe’en. Hugging the cat a little closer, she was rewarded with a purr and a nuzzle.
In one room she stumbled towards the windows and swept back the curtains, sneezing as dust filled the room. The cat jumped out of her arms and she fell backwards, thumping her hip against a large piece of covered furniture. Swearing she looked under the sheet to reveal an enormous table that could probably seat the entire cast of Downton Abbey.
Rubbing her side, she had a look around; the room was beautifully proportioned, with a large bay window looking out towards actual mountains. Moving towards the window, she leant on the deep wooden windowsill and marvelled at how thick the wall was. But that was nothing compared to the view beyond. Those were real live mountains out there with snow on the top. No matter which way she looked, she couldn’t see another building. Just fields and trees and countryside and mountains. And just wow. Clem stood and stared in wonder. The cat rubbed against her leg, reminding her that she wasn’t the only living thing around.
Sunlight flooded the room and she smiled at the simple beauty of it as it illuminated the pretty room. Still, it felt weird wandering around such a large, silent building without seeing another soul. She felt like she was trespassing and kept waiting for someone to shout at her.
The cat had disappeared; maybe he had left some breadcrumbs she could follow. Closing the door behind her, she found a smaller corridor and decided to see where it led. At the far end was a heavy door and the cat was sitting patiently outside it.
‘Is this where we find breakfast?’ Leaning down, she scratched the cat on the head and opened the door.
As it swung open, she was startled to see a room full of people. At least ten people were sitting around a long kitchen table, mugs of tea in front of them, and all of them were staring at her. Clem straightened up and brushed off any imaginary dust from her jumper. Not the best first impression but that was okay. She could handle this. Whatever this was. She was about to smile and say hello to everyone when a sharp voice slapped the smile off her face.
‘Decided to join us, have you?’
Startled, Clem looked around to determine the speaker. A skinny old woman sat at the head of the table. Her face was unsmiling and her tone reminded Clem of every teacher who had ever mocked or sneered at her. She bristled immediately. The others looked towards Clem to see how she would respond. She could see a few amused faces and a few winces. It was like being twelve again. Well, she learnt long before high school that crying about being stupid wasn’t going to get her anywhere. If this old cow thought she could intimidate Clem, as she did the others in this room, then she had another think coming. She ignored the challenge and just took the bull by the horns.
‘I take it you’re Miss Farano. The housekeeper? Who are all these people?’ Clem glanced at the others and then ignored them. If they thought they were going to enjoy a free show, she was going to make them pay.
The old woman stood up slowly, forcing Clem to wait for her reply. She stood silently looking at Clem, and just as Clem opened her mouth to repeat her question, she cut her off.
‘I am Miss Ottoline Farano, chatelaine of Ruacoddy Castle. This is Mrs Fitzallen, cook; Mr Iain McKenzie, head of estates.’ Miss Farano worked her way down the line of seated staff as they muttered hello or nodded their head. Clem tried to return each smile and nod, but she was shaking internally and her smiles were weak and unconvincing. The staff registered her discomfort, but could do nothing to save her from Miss Farano’s dismissive delivery.
‘This is John the gillie…’
Clem glared at her; this was ridiculous – whoever this woman was she was just making up words now, trying to belittle her. What the hell was gillie supposed to mean? She stopped her in mid-flow.
‘Stop it. I want to speak to the housekeeper. I was told there were just three people here: a housekeeper, a cleaner and a gardener. I don’t know who you are. Or who all these people are. But if you could just tell me who the housekeeper is I’ll sort things out with her.’
There was an embarrassed silence and the staff began to place their mugs back on the table. Their expressions had rapidly turned from those of interest or amusement to ones of concern and alarm. They looked between the two women and waited for the older one to reply.
‘I thought I had made myself clear. I am the chatelaine of the castle, or if you prefer, the housekeeper.’
Clem flushed. Why did people have to use big words to make her feel small? How was she supposed to know what a chatelaine was? She didn’t speak any Scottish. Miss Farano was clearly doing it deliberately to make her feel stupid. Realising, though, that she had lost any sense of control of the conversation, she decided to try to be friendly.
She was determined not to look at anyone sitting at the table: their mocking expressions would undo her. Which was a shame because if she had looked at them she would have seen sympathetic smiles and small grins of encouragement. Everyone at one time or another had fallen foul of Miss Farano’s scorn. She took a deep breath and smiled.
‘I’m sorry I don’t speak Scottish but…’
‘It’s French.’
Clem looked confused. ‘What?’
‘Chatelaine. It’s a French word. Not Scottish.’
‘Oh, right,’ snapped Clem at the end of her tether. ‘Well, that makes perfect sense. Why the hell are you using French words like chatelaine and gillie in Scotland?’
‘Oh dear,’ observed Miss Farano, ‘you are getting in a muddle, aren’t you? Gillie is Scottish.’
Collectively, the room winced. Miss Farano could be withering at the best of times, but this was brutal.
‘What! Oh for feck’s sake, are you deliberately trying to wind me up? Right.’ She glared at the rest of the table. ‘You lot, take the day off. Madame Frenchie and I are going to sit down and work out what the hell is going on, and I will see you all tomorrow to find out who actually works here.’
No one moved. With horrified expressions, they looked back towards Miss Farano to see if she was going to do anything to sort out this mess that she had provoked. Instead, she looked at the staff and said, ‘Come on now, the little mistress has spoken. Please return tomorrow at eight to see if you will starve next week.’
As one they fled the room, desperate to leave these two to it and praying they would still have a job in the morning. As they were leaving, one of the younger men grabbed the plate of biscuits with a grin. ‘No point in starving today though, hey?’ And with a wink at Clem, he legged it along with the rest of them.
Otto sat back down and watched in silence as the younger woman walked around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. She had been shocked when the girl had first peered around the door. Her startled expression was exactly the same as her grandfather’s and Otto had been swept back to a time she thought could no longer hurt her. The unexpected pain had been shocking. Had Henry been that young when she first met him? She thought not; this girl seemed younger but there was no mistaking the family similarity. Her memories had dulled how beautiful he had been, but in a tidal wave of memories he had swept back into the room and left her feeling weak and vulnerable. Last night, when she slept Otto had not seen the family resemblance in the girl’s face. Now, in her vibrancy, her genes screamed out at Otto.
Looking at Henry’s granddaughter, she was amazed that she was so poorly educated and defensive. She remembered the girl’s father as being a swaggering oaf of a man, his once fine features bloated by indulgence and sloth. His wife running after him and their pampered young twins as though they were an indulged prince and princess. That was the last time the family had visited, and Otto was surprised to realise that that must have been over twenty years ago. David had continued to visit occasionally for the season, but his wife didn’t shoot and the children had found everything about the highlands boring. And now he was dead and his daughter was here, banging and slamming doors. Otto knew she had exacerbated the situation, but the girl had wrongfooted her. She would now need to work quickly to undo the damage she’d caused, but every fibre of her resented this girl’s easy life and arrogant dismissal of the staff.
‘What are you looking for?’ She tried to smile, but even she could hear the waspishness in her question.
‘The coffee.’
‘There isn’t any. The staff drink tea. I keep things to a necessary budget.’ Otto tried again to be friendly. ‘May I pour you a cup and perhaps we can start again?’
Clem pulled a chair out and sat down. ‘I don’t drink tea. You can tell me where the closest shop is in a bit and I’ll go and get some stuff in. In the meantime, how are all these people being paid?’
Otto wondered how to explain how the staff were being paid and decided that only half the truth would do.
‘The estate is largely self-financing. Mrs Fitzallen does some outside catering; sometimes we hold events here; Mr McKenzie and John run shoots and hunting trips. All of these activities tend to cover the additional staff wages, and so the London accountants just need to cover the three staff, myself, Mrs Fitzallen and Mr McKenzie. The estate takes care of the rest.’
That sounded plausible to Clem and she was glad that she wouldn’t need to lay anyone off, having only just arrived. She asked a few more questions and, whilst she got a rough idea of how the castle ran, it was like pulling teeth. Miss Farano offered no more than was asked, and each sentence was short and lacking in flourishes or warmth. All that Clem really understood was that Miss Farano lived in the castle, the others came in and worked on a daily basis, and apparently there were occasional staff for larger events. Although Miss Farano seemed reluctant to say when and what these were. Eventually, Clem decided she needed a break to take it all in. She didn’t know how a castle worked, so she had no idea if this was even normal. With an excuse, Clem left the kitchen, asking where the closest loo was and promptly got on the phone to Ari.
***
Half an hour later she hung up, feeling like an idiot. She returned to the kitchen but found that Miss Farano had left. Furious, she started shouting out for her, wandering back around the corridors until she found the housekeeper sitting in a small, elegant little room. A writing desk was open with paperwork across it, but Miss Farano sat at a little side table, a pen in her hand, working on the day’s crossword.
‘I spoke to my sister and she asks where the estate income is going?’ Clem cocked her head. ‘The accountant hasn’t mentioned any income, just bills. How is this being paid for? Do you have a separate bank account? Where is all the paperwork? Where exactly is all the money?’ Clem didn’t want to use words like fraud, theft or fiddling, but they hung in the air between them.
Otto drew herself up. ‘What are you implying?’ She glared at the small girl standing there with her arms crossed. To hell with it, she wasn’t going to be spoken to like this. She folded her newspaper and headed towards the door. ‘I don’t have to sit here and listen to your accusations.’
Clem stared at her in amazement. She was right; this old woman had been stealing from the estate and she had discovered it. Why else would she be walking away from the truth?
‘Where are you going? If you leave now, you can pack your bag and walk out the door.’ Clem was almost shaking with pride and confidence. She grabbed onto the chair so Otto wouldn’t see how nervous and shaky she was. She had come up to Scotland, terrified of messing things up and had almost instantly discovered a massive deception.