Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea (8 page)

Sir Percy had hung a Waterford crystal chandelier from the dining room’s ceiling and covered the walls in crimson silk. The hearth had been walled off, he explained, when he’d moved the kitchens from their traditional location belowstairs to rooms adjacent to the dining room.

“Ridiculous to transport meals down miles of drafty corridors,” he opined, with impeccable logic, “unless you have a taste for tepid soup and congealed gravy.”

The polished mahogany table was large enough to seat twenty, but Sir Percy, Damian, and I clustered at one end of it, in the shadow of a silver candelabra, to eat a lunch fit for a highly successful business mogul: pea soup with truffle oil; seared salmon with grilled eggplant and hollandaise sauce; and sticky lemon cake drizzled with heavy cream. The meal was served by Mrs. Gammidge.

Sir Percy had changed for lunch. He looked every bit the country squire in a tweed blazer, a yellow waistcoat, a pair of tweed plus fours, and argyle knee socks. I’d done nothing more than replace my jacket with a cable-knit cardigan before leaving the suite. Although the rooms were warm enough, Sir Percy had been correct in describing Dundrillin’s corridors as drafty.

As Mrs. Gammidge made the rounds with the soup tureen, I couldn’t help wondering why a housekeeper taxed with the enormous job of running a castle would add waitressing to her list of responsibilities. My puzzlement must have shown on my face, because when Mrs. Gammidge returned the tureen to the kitchen, Sir Percy answered my unspoken question.

“I have a staff of twelve in residence at the moment,” he explained, “but Mrs. Gammidge
insists
on serving meals. She’s a perfectionist, of course—wants to see the job done right—but she’s also an unrepentant nosey parker.” He leaned toward me and added in a stage whisper, “She likes to listen in on conversations.”

I laughed and spread my napkin on my lap. “Will Kate and Elliot be joining us?” I asked, although the answer was self-evident: Only three places had been set.

“Good heavens, no,” said Sir Percy. “Time is money, my dear girl. They’ll eat at their desks and like it.” He noted the flicker of disapproval in my eyes and laughed heartily. “I jest, Lori, I jest. I have tried many times to pry my young assistants away from their desks but have yet to succeed. Cook sends bounteous feasts to them in the office, I promise you.”

I smiled ruefully. I should have known that he’d been joking. Sir Percy Pelham was many things, but a tyrant he was not.

“Sir Percy,” said Damian, “might I add a few comments about security?”

“Fire away,” said Sir Percy, and turned his attention to the pea soup.

Damian turned to me. “You and your sons are Sir Percy’s only guests at the moment. There’s no need for you to memorize the staff’s names and faces. Andrew and I know who belongs here.”

I hadn’t planned to memorize any names or faces, but I nodded wisely.

“Andrew and I have familiarized ourselves with Erinskil’s residents as well,” Damian went on. “You needn’t worry about them.”

“There are bound to be travelers visiting the island,” I pointed out. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave the castle. Abaddon might come to Erinskil disguised as a tourist.”

“He might,” Sir Percy acknowledged, looking up from his soup, “but we don’t get many tourists. Just the odd bird-watcher and a handful of island-baggers.”

“Island-baggers?” I said.

“Tourists who collect islands,” Sir Percy translated. “They have to be jolly intrepid to collect Erinskil. The interisland ferry can’t land here, you see. Visitors have to take a launch from the ferry to the concrete jetty—a bit of a challenge in rough seas. Apart from that, there aren’t many places for them to stay. They can either pitch a tent—an unpleasantly damp choice—or use one of the two guest rooms at the pub. No, Erinskil will never play host to a horde of tourists, and we can easily keep watch over the few that do come.”

“No tourists?” I said, surprised. “I would have expected the place to be crawling with them. The island looked amazing from the air. Don’t people come here just for the scenery?”

“Other islands have dramatic scenery and more besides,” said Sir Percy. “Stately homes, gardens, distilleries, stone circles . . .” He shrugged. “We have a ruined monastery, of course, but otherwise it’s just birds, sheep, and rocks.”

“If there’s no tourism,” I said, “how do the islanders make a living?”

“Now, that’s a
most
interesting subject.” Sir Percy the businessman waxed enthusiastic. “Feel the sleeve of this jacket,” he said, holding his arm out to me. “The fabric was woven right here on Erinskil. Supple as cashmere and tough as nails.”

“It’s beautiful as well,” I said, admiring the tweed’s heathery shades.

Sir Percy planted his elbows on the table and tented his fingers. “The islanders formed a cooperative some sixty years ago, to make tweed.They raise the sheep, process the wool, and weave it in Stoneywell, using traditional tools and techniques. It’s terribly exclusive and therefore frightfully expensive.They sell it via the Internet these days. As Erinskil’s laird, I’m pleased to say that it all seems to tick along quite happily.”

I looked up from my salmon. “Did I hear you right, Percy? Did you call yourself the laird of Erinskil?”

“Indeed I did,” said Sir Percy proudly. “Bought the title off the Earl of Strathcairn when I bought the island from him. Dundrillin was originally known as Strathcairn Castle. It was built by the ninth earl, a chap who took the role of laird to heart. He was a bit of a loon, if truth be told. He constructed the castle and armed it with cannons to protect his people from marauding Norsemen, blithely disregarding the fact that he was some eleven hundred years too late.”

I smiled inwardly. My first impression of the castle had been more accurate than I’d realized. “Why did the Earl of Strathcairn decide to sell the island?”

“He was strapped for cash,” Sir Percy replied. “Couldn’t maintain his ancestral seat, let alone a castle that had seen better days. Dundrillin took a bit of a battering during the Second World War, you see, when the island was evacuated and used by the Royal Navy for target practice. A bomb-disposal unit was stationed here for several years after the war, to rid Erinskil of the unexploded ordnance that kept popping up in odd places.”

I glanced at the crimson-clad walls and the deep embrasures surrounding the windows. Everything seemed to be intact. “Why wasn’t the castle pulverized?”

“The navy was ordered to avoid direct hits on Dundrillin,” Sir Percy explained. “There were a few unfortunate mistakes, naturally, but Dundrillin was made to last. It rests on solid bedrock, and the walls are twelve feet thick at their base. The ninth earl may have been daft as a badger, but he knew how to build a castle.”

“I feel sorry for the people who were forced to leave the island,” I said, with sincere fellow feeling. “The evacuation must have been wrenching for them.”

“Needs must in times of war,” Sir Percy said breezily. “Erinskil’s families returned to rebuild their homes shortly after the war, but the castle was left to rot. The Strathcairns couldn’t afford to repair it, but I could.” He winked. “The oil business was very kind to me.”

“It must have been,” I said, bemused. “What’s it like, being a laird?”

“The islanders gave me a chilly reception at first,” Sir Percy admitted. “They’d put in an offer of their own for the castle, you see, and I’d outbid them. But they warmed to me as soon as they understood that I wanted nothing from them and had no intention of changing their way of life, except for the better. I modernized the windmill farm, for example, made it ten times more efficient than it used to be.”

“I assumed the windmills were your idea,” I commented.

“The islanders installed the original system twenty years ago,” said Sir Percy. “They’re quite keen on self-sufficiency. They’re keen on hard cash, too, and I employed quite a few of them to work on the castle’s renovation. Cal Maconinch and his good wife act as caretakers when the castle’s vacant. Cal’s the local harbormaster, and he appreciates the extra income.”

“Don’t certain responsibilities go along with being a laird?” I asked.

Sir Percy nodded. “It’s like being a rather grand landlord, but my tenants have been gratifyingly undemanding so far. Haven’t had to repair so much as a dripping tap in the past three years, except for the ones in Dundrillin.”

“One more question,” I promised, “and then I’ll let you eat in peace.”

“I’m yours to command,” said Sir Percy, with a gentlemanly bow.

“The parlor and the dining room are charming,” I said. “And the tower suites are lovely.” I rested my chin on my hand. “So why is the entrance hall so . . . dreary?”

Sir Percy’s amiable smile became a sly grin. “I take a certain perverse pleasure in seeing the looks of dread on my guests’ faces when they first arrive.
You,
for example, looked like a condemned prisoner on her way to the gallows. I think you’ll agree that the entrance hall makes the rest of Dundrillin come as a delightfully cozy surprise.”

“You’re a bad man, Percy.” I clucked my tongue, then settled down to enjoy the rest of the marvelous lunch. When I asked Mrs. Gammidge if I could have the recipe for the sticky lemon cake, she obligingly retrieved it from the kitchen.

“It’s been Sir Percy’s favorite pudding ever since he was a boy,” she told me, gazing indulgently at her boss.

“It’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m going to make it for my husband as soon as I . . .” My voice faded and my spirits faltered. Sir Percy’s lively account of the island’s history had helped me briefly to forget the true and terrible reason for my visit to Dundrillin, but thoughts of home brought it rushing back.

“As soon as you get home,” Sir Percy finished firmly, “which will happen before you know it.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and pushed his chair back. “Please thank Cook for an excellent meal, Mrs. Gammidge. My guests are going to help me walk it off. Come along, you two. Come and see my castle!”

Sir Percy had poured his heart and soul—not to mention quite a big chunk of change—into Dundrillin. What had once been a virtual ruin was now a leisure palace so complete that only die-hard nature lovers would ever feel the need to leave it.

His guests could view movies in the forty-seat screening room or swim in the heated pool. If they preferred a good read, they could lose themselves in the library. There was a computer room for those who wished to keep in touch with the outside world, and an observatory at the top of the southwest tower for those who wished to keep in touch with worlds beyond their own.

The workout room would satisfy all but the most demanding fitness freaks, and the sunroom would provide a happy retreat for those who liked to loll.The wine cellar seemed to go on forever, and if guests needed to clear their heads after an evening spent imbibing, they had only to stroll out onto the battlements and breathe in the crisp, clean air.

We bypassed the business offices and the family’s private apartments but walked along the battlements to look in on the rest of the guest suites, which were located in the other towers. As we moved from room to room Sir Percy kept up a running commentary on the improvements he’d made in the castle, and the engineering feats that had made the improvements possible.

Although the tour was fascinating, it left me feeling unsettled. Rooms not needed for our immediate use had been left under dust sheets, and the hearths had been cold and bare. The corridors seemed to go on forever, and the thick stone walls deadened even Sir Percy’s oversized voice. A scant handful of guests wasn’t enough to fill a place designed to entertain dozens, and a staff of twelve was hardly adequate to guard it. As our footsteps echoed hollowly in the stairwells, I began to wonder if the castle was as secure a refuge as it had at first seemed. Abaddon might have trouble getting through the gate, I thought, but once inside, he’d find no end of hiding places.

I glanced at Damian and felt a little better. He was, without doubt, the most humorless, paranoid, cold fish of a man I’d ever met, but even so, it was comforting to know that he was watching my back.

T
he castle tour lasted long enough for me to be glad that I’d worn comfortable shoes. We met up with Andrew, Will, and Rob in the parlor for tea, and after surveying the substantial repast Cook had provided, I decided that it would also serve as the twins’ dinner. They’d been far too enthralled by their new surroundings to settle down for naps, so an early night was in order.

After they’d eaten their fill and told me every detail of their fabulous afternoon, I returned with them to the nursery, stopping on the way to show them the Cornflower Suite. I wanted them to know where to find me in case homesickness struck before morning.

Damian remained in the sitting room while Andrew helped me to get the boys bathed, in their jammies, and in bed. I answered their questions about Daddy, Annelise, Stanley, Thunder, and Storm as best I could, listened while they took turns reading a chapter of
The Black Stallion
to me, and stayed by their sides until they fell asleep.