Chapter Six
Passing the stone circle again, she drove back down the hill and through a wooded area. She kept looking left and right but there were no more traces of the deer; in fact, looking into the lines of tall trees and long, dark shadows she thought she was more likely to see wolves running alongside her. The road continued downhill, following a small stream as it tumbled over rocks and boulders. Even though it was freezing, she drove slowly with her window open, enjoying the sound of the water and the smells of the clean fresh air. It didn’t hurt that her seat was heated. Damn she loved this car; of all the sudden advantages of being rich and having a title, this car was to date her greatest joy. She continued to smile as she slowly drove back to the castle, enjoying the sights now that her mood was calmer. Ahead of her, she spotted a woman bringing her bins back in off the road and she slowed down until she came alongside.
‘Hello!’ she called out as she wound her window down. ‘Silly question. Can you tell me where the closest shop is? I’m after some coffee.’
The woman smiled so broadly at Clem that Clem wondered if she should know her.
‘Didn’t find any in the castle then?’ and then when Clem looked at her in astonishment, the woman continued, ‘I’m Moira Fitzallen. I work up at the castle and was in the kitchen this morning when you and Miss Farano had words.’
Clem cursed; normally, she was great with faces but this morning she’d been thrown a curve ball and then run straight into a fight. She hadn’t really taken time to take much of anything in.
‘Closest shop is five miles away, but it’s only the local post office and the coffee is that nasty stuff, the overpriced muck that’s bought by desperate campers.’ Smiling broadly, she invited Clem to come inside and join her for a cuppa.
‘I’m not normally home at this time of day, so I’m enjoying the chance to potter. Come and join me.’ Telling Clem to park her brute of a car around the side, she headed back to her front door.
The whitewashed house stood alone by the side of the road. Clem could see the garden had been fenced off and seemed to be mostly empty beds. It all seemed a bit bleak to Clem, but Moira seemed happy enough as she waved her into the house and out of the cold. Inside, the house was toasty warm and surprisingly modern. Clem scolded herself for expecting something from Brigadoon. Instead, there were photos and pictures on the magnolia walls, mostly of family groups and landscapes, and a few exquisite pencil sketch portraits. Pot plants hung from macramé holders and the whole house had the air of a home furnished in the eighties and not updated much since then. There was wall-to-wall carpet everywhere; even the kitchen had some sort of soft floor tiles, and every shelf and display cabinet was full of elephants.
‘My boy brought one home for me after a school trip to the zoo and it sort of became a habit. Last year he was backpacking in Thailand, and he would post me back one a week! Alan, that’s the postie, started to call me Nelly.’
As she bustled around the kitchen, and bustling was the only word for it, Clem listened to her chatter on. She was almost as short as Clem and about as wide as she was tall. Her hair was grey and set in tight curls, the old-fashioned hairstyle seemed at odds with her bright pink sweatshirt with an elephant on it but Clem liked the contrast.
She watched as her host opened a battered tin and placed a few biscuits on a plate and pushed them towards Clem along with her coffee. Declining the milk and sugar, Clem sipped her drink and sighed loudly, and then helped herself to a delicious buttery lemony melt.
‘God, I needed that. I’m really sorry again that I didn’t recognise you. I was on the wrong foot this morning.’
‘Easily done in the presence of Miss Farano. She’s not a bad person really, but she doesn’t have what I’d call the human touch. Not your touchy-feely huggy sort.’
‘Have you worked there long?’ asked Clem as she began to relax.
‘About fifteen years, but she was there long before me; in fact, I think she’s been there longer than any of the current staff. Some of the old hands said she arrived as a guest years ago and just stayed on. But the old staff didn’t talk about her much. They were very loyal to the old earl.’
‘David?’
‘No dear, Henry, his father. And I suppose you are…?’
Moira left the question dangling. This young woman was totally unexpected.
‘His granddaughter. David was my uncle.’
‘Your uncle? Are you the new heir then?’
‘God no,’ scoffed Clem. ‘That’s my sister. Ari is now Countess Hiverton.’ Eager to move the subject away from the family, Clem asked about the biscuits and was pleased when Moira beamed back.
‘Hobby of mine. I love baking, sets my mind at rest. It might have been better for my figure if it was running or the like, that put my mind at rest.’
Clem spat crumbs across the table and apologised as she continued to laugh.
‘I know exactly what you mean. I run. I have to: for me, an open packet is an empty packet. I’ll have to do at least ten laps of the castle to make sure this divine biscuit doesn’t end up in my saddlebags.’
She looked about her; she had so many questions but started with the most pressing one for a girl who grew up in the inner city.
‘Is it weird living in this house in the middle of nowhere? I still can’t get my head around the silence.’
Moira laughed. ‘You’re not the first to ask. Originally, we had a place in Inverkeshen, but when Neil, that’s my husband, came back from the Gulf, he found he couldn’t cope with the noise of the town. The army called it PTSD but having a label didn’t really help. He had counselling but it wasn’t getting anywhere. So I went and had a word with Miss Farano and asked if there was anywhere we could live that was quieter. And she came up with this place within a week. There was a young family in here and they were glad to be able to swap it for something with more conveniences.’
‘Is Inverkeshen the village I drove through last night, just before I got here?’
‘No dear, that’s Pitton. Inverkeshen is north of here, about seventeen miles away.’
‘So, is it just you and your husband then?’
‘No dear, he died a few years back. My eldest lad was already living away, but my youngest lad still lives with me. We both have cars so we’re not cut off. Except when the snow comes in. I keep telling him he needs to move out but I think he’s a bit overprotective. Children don’t always see their parents in the same light that their parents do, do they?’
‘No, I guess not.’ Clem wanted to say she was sorry that the woman’s husband had died but wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding trite. She had listened to too many people offer her their condolences and she had gradually realised that offering condolences simply put the burden of care straight back onto the shoulders of the grieving. So many times she had found herself consoling people who were sobbing about how dreadful her situation was. She wished they would all just shut up. Offering Moira the same courtesy, she changed the subject and asked her what she did up in the castle.
And so Moira went on to explain the three indoor staff mostly cleaned and the other outdoor staff took care of the grounds and maintenance.
‘There’s more outdoors staff these days on account of no one really using the house indoors. Just Miss Farano and she’s closed down lots of the rooms, so we don’t even go in there anymore. Not even to dust. It’s a shame really; the old place used to have a real buzz about it, so I heard. We wondered when the new heir took it on if they might bring it back to life. There’s so much you can do with it.’
‘Easiest thing might be to sell it.’
Moira pulled back from the table. ‘Right then. Well yes, I suppose that’s none of my business.’
Clem was aware that the mood had changed and realised she had just put her foot in it. She was about to apologise, when a guy her own age came in through the back door and kissed Moira on the back of the head, grabbing a few of the biscuits.
‘Hello again,’ smiled Clem. ‘You were the one who finished off those biscuits this morning. Have you got worms?’
Moira and the lad looked at Clem, startled, and then he laughed. ‘No, I’m just a greedy sod and I can’t resist Mam’s cookies. They’re the best. I see from your mouth you haven’t been stinting either.’
‘Duncan!’ snapped Moira. ‘This is Lady Clementine. The new heir, or her sister anyway. Where are your manners?’
Horrified, she turned back, apologising to Clem who was busy wiping the crumbs off her mouth.
‘Don’t apologise. I started it. And please just call me Clem. I’m only using “Lady” when I want something.’ And so saying, she stuck out her hand and was pleased when he shook it back firmly.
‘So, are we all out on our ears then? Going to sell the place and do a bunk?’
‘Duncan!’
‘What? I’m only asking,’ protested Duncan. ‘It’s our jobs on the line after all. Not hers.’
Moira scowled at her youngest. All those years trying to bring him up properly and the first thing he did was challenge their employer and landlady.
‘She is a guest in my house and I won’t have any guest made to feel uncomfortable.’
‘Genuinely, I don’t mind,’ Clem jumped in quickly. The last thing she wanted was to start a row between mother and son. ‘I like plain talking. You know where you are. Get it out in the open and have a proper look at it.’
Clem was surprised when the two of them did a small double take and looked at each other.
‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Moira, ‘it’s just something Miss Farano always says.’
That caught Clem off-guard. The idea that she had anything in common with the housekeeper seemed unthinkable.
‘Oh, right then. But look, I don’t know what my sister has in mind for the castle. She’s only just inherited and has a lot on her hands. I’ve come up to have a look around, make sure everything is okay and see if anything immediately jumps out. Good or bad. Which I suppose is what I should really get on with.’
Getting up and thanking Moira for the coffee, she was touched when the lady poured out half the jar into an old Tupperware box.
‘By the way, who’s the artist?’ she asked, pointing at the pencil sketches of Moira, her sons and presumably her husband. ‘They’re beautiful.’
‘Ah, they’re Miss Farano’s doodles. Every year she draws a little sketch on the inside of our Christmas card. It seems a shame to throw them away, so Neil framed them and I carried on. Pretty, aren’t they?’
Clem was astonished: pretty was an understatement. The talent was remarkable; Otto seemed to have captured the emotions and personalities of her sitter in just a few sketches. Maybe she and Miss Farano did have some common ground after all. Perhaps Clem could try and use that knowledge to find a way to have a civil conversation with her.
Refusing the temptation of further biscuits, Clem left, thanking them and smiled ruefully as she could still hear Moira berating her son as she walked to the car.