The Brande Legacy

by Alicia Hope

  The Brande Legacy

  By Alicia Hope

  Book One in the Brande Legacy Series

  (revised since first release)

  A legacy can be a gift ... or a curse.

  While holidaying at Lorienne castle, Claire-Rose Brande becomes embroiled in an age-old mystery that touches her life, and her heart, in more ways than one....

  Does she dare expose what lurks in the shadows?

  Can she really put an end to an age-old wickedness?

  And what does a holiday flirtation hold in store for Byron McAlister, handsome co-owner of the castle?

  Mysteries swirl wraith-like within the castle’s walls, chilling all they touch.

  Are they imprisoned beneath the stone battlements forever, or will love triumph over the darkness, the deceit ... and the bitterness?

  The Brande Legacy (2nd release)

  Alicia Hope

  Copyright 2013 Alicia Hope

  ABN 59573352521

  Smashwords Edition

  The situations, organisations and characters in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to an existing or past entity is entirely coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To my family and friends for patiently listening to me prattle on about my stories,

  and to my wonderful husband and brilliant sis for all your help and support,

  thank you.

  You make writing a joy!

  Table of Contents

  Brande Family Tree

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - A Castle, and a Cat

  Chapter 2 - The Butler Did it

  Chapter 3 - A Perilous Night

  Chapter 4 - A History Lesson

  Chapter 5 - The Ten Dollar Tourist

  Chapter 6 - Silken Slips and Tall Ships

  Chapter 7 - Dates and Daydreams

  Chapter 8 - History and Mystery

  Chapter 9 - Nothing is Off-limits

  Chapter 10 - 007, Licensed to Chill

  Chapter 11 - Dear Diary....

  Chapter 12 - Father and Son

  Chapter 13 - Encounters

  Chapter 14 - My Hero

  Chapter 15 - The Reading

  Chapter 16 - An Admission

  Chapter 17 - Big News

  Chapter 18 - The Word’s Out

  Chapter 19 - Walls Have Ears

  Chapter 20 - Horsing Around

  Chapter 21 - Bedazzled

  About the Author

  Discover Other Titles

  Connect with Alicia

  Brande Family Tree

  The Brande Legacy

  By Alicia Hope

  Prologue

  ‘What do you see, son?’ The well-dressed man squinted into the tree’s swaying canopy above his head.

  ‘Just one moment, father.’ As the boy clambered monkey-like along a sturdy branch, he checked for breaks in the foliage that might reveal views.

  ‘Take care, lad,’ his father cautioned, dismounting. He sat at the base of the tree, holding the reins of both horses, who lowered their heads and began picking at the grass.

  ‘Yes!’ came a boyish cry from above, making him look up. ‘I see it, father.’

  The man leapt to his feet. ‘What? What is it you see?’

  ‘The harbour, I see the harbour.’

  ‘And the open ocean, do you see it also?’

  ‘Yes, I see the ocean.’

  ‘And the port?’ This met with scrabbling sounds above, so he called more urgently, ‘Do you see the port?’ But only grunts and a shower of leaves greeted him. ‘Son?’

  ‘I’m alright, father,’ the boy called, breathless with exertion.

  ‘Do you see the port?’

  ‘I....’

  More leaves fell on the man before his son exclaimed in a voice squeaky with excitement, ‘Yes, I see it! I see the port.’

  ‘Yes!’ the man cried jubilantly, hastening to tie the horses so he too could climb the tree and take in the views for himself.

  Man and boy sat side-by-side on the branch, legs dangling, staring out through the leafy canopy.

  ‘Well done, my son. We have found a most favourable situation.’ His gaze swept over the ocean at the mouth of the harbour and up to the busy port. ‘From here I will watch the arrival and unloading of ships bearing my timber, as will you and your sons.’ Throwing an arm around the boy’s youthful shoulders, he exclaimed, ‘This will be our new home, Edward. Our home, our castle.

  And our family’s legacy.’

  Chapter One

  A Castle, and a Cat

  Mon, 7 October, 15:17:49

  From: Claire-Rose.Brande

  To: Connie.Brande

  Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 1

  Hey Mum, hope you’ve kept your Blackberry charged up, ’cos lots of travelogue is coming your way!

  Look, I know you’re miffed I went ahead with the holiday while you had to stay home, but after all, it was you who said it would be good for me to get away. And I promise to tell you all about the places I see and the people I meet, and of course, the foody stuff. I know how important that is to you! :-)

  Well I’ve arrived in New Zealand, safe and sound. Spent the three hour flight thinking over your accountant’s advice. Sure, he makes it sound easy, but what will you do with yourself if you hand over management of the business? The company has been the focus of your life, like forever. You’d go crazy without another project to take its place, but finding a sufficiently worthy one ... now that’s going to be hard.

  I’m on the shuttle now, so typing is a bit tricky, especially on this winding road. Heading along the peninsula, and ... oh wow, I’d forgotten how fabulous the view is from up here! Green hills, glistening harbour, and the wind-swept ocean, home to albatross, penguin and seal colonies....

  We’ve just passed through the entrance gates and I’ve glimpsed Lorienne’s Castle, presiding grandly over the ocean end of the peninsula. And here it comes again, the same overwhelming sensation of coming home I had on a day trip to the castle last year. Only back then I didn’t know why I felt that way – now I do, thanks to Gran.

  Anyway, gotta go check in.

  E u L8R!

  Luv,

  CR xxx

  Claire-Rose dragged her heavy, travel-weary suitcase out of the shuttle bus. She humped it up the steep steps under the watchful eyes of a pair of stone lions standing guard on either side of the landing. Pausing to take a breather, she set down her case and drew the cool ocean air into her lungs.

  From this higher vantage point she surveyed the castle’s impressive grounds, taking in the manicured lawns and garden beds with their harbour backdrop. Turning toward the building again, her gaze travelled up to the castle’s battlements, and she marvelled at the curious mixture of gothic revival and colonial architectures. On close inspection, the grey stone exterior shone pale silver in the afternoon light, but the shadow of a dark grey cloud hovering over the castle dulled the glow from the smooth stone surface.

  Her nose picked up a delightful pot pourri of scents – perfume wafting from flowering shrubs in the well-tended garden, the tummy-teasing aroma of bread baking in a warm kitchen somewhere, and a hint of salt and sea on the air – and she heard the cries of sea birds that floated effortlessly on air currents far above.

  And over her every sense, an inexplicable feeling of déjà vu traced its bony finger.

  She gave an involuntary shiver and bent to pick up her suitcase. Aft
er bumping through a pair of leadlight doors, she found herself standing at the reception counter. Glancing inquisitively around the room, which was obviously a screened-off section of the castle’s original entrance foyer, she ran her eyes over its stone walls and the collection of sepia-coloured photos featuring the castle and grounds. On another wall, an oil painting of a gracious tall ship had pride of place, and she paused to read the plaque beneath the picture.

  A nineteenth century tall ship at anchor in her home port of Lyttelton Harbour, NZ. A three-masted iron-hulled barque built in Belfast in the late 1800s for the deep water trade, the Polly Brown carried timber, salt, grain and coal to many countries around the world. Noted for her gracious lines and top speed of fourteen knots, her main mast was as high as a ten storey building, and her sails the size of an Olympic swimming pool. She was described by some as ‘the most beautiful ship built in Belfast’.

  Sadly, in 1902 she struck a reef en route to New Zealand, carrying passengers and a cargo of timber. Among the passengers was New Zealand timber merchant Edward Lorienne, who lost both his valuable timber and his life in the wreck.

  There were no survivors.

  Raising her eyes again, Claire-Rose swept a glance over another section of wall containing oval-framed portraits, featuring subjects in the usual stiff dress and stern poses of days past. One portrait, of a handsome young couple, stood out from the rest. The subjects in it looked different, not at all severe. The man, a classic example of tall, dark and handsome – or TDnH in Claire-Rose speak – stood casually smoking a cheroot, with one arm around the slender-waisted woman standing at his side and smiling tenderly up at him. Claire-Rose leaned closer to peer at the photo, drawn by the familiarity of the woman’s face....

  The sudden blast from a car horn made her spin around. A taxi had driven up the circular drive and sat just below the stone steps with its motor running, clearly waiting to collect a pre-booked fare. A man in a crumpled suit standing at the reception counter threw a quick, impatient glance over his shoulder while waiting anxiously for the receptionist to complete his check-out.

  As soon as she handed him his receipt, he mumbled with a hint of accusation in his tone, ‘Thanks. Wish I could say I enjoyed my stay ... never been so scared in my life.’ He hastily collected his suitcase and charged out to the waiting cab.

  As the glass doors closed quietly behind him, Claire-Rose turned toward the receptionist with an intrigued frown.

  The young woman was staring after the man, smiling a little ruefully, and said softly to no-one in particular, ‘Well, not everyone appreciates the vagaries of life in a neo-gothic castle.’ Appearing otherwise unfazed, she returned to finalising the departing guest’s paperwork, leaving Claire-Rose to wonder what could have frightened a grown man so much.

  Is the castle home to enormous cockroaches, man-eating arachnids, or ROUSs – rodents of unusual size?

  She chuckled to herself and took her place at the counter. The receptionist’s head was still bent over some documentation, so Claire-Rose let her eyes stray around the room again while she waited. She admired the Michaelmas Daisy wallpaper above the dado, and the Rimu reception desk with its age-old, but well preserved, leather top. She heard the receptionist tapping on a computer keyboard. That piece of modern technology had been cleverly concealed behind a panel, so as to not be out of place among the period décor.

  Nice touches, she thought to herself, someone has good taste.

  When the receptionist looked her way, Claire-Rose smiled but received only a begrudging simper in return. ‘Another gawping tourist’, the young woman’s rather bored expression seemed to say. But then her smile brightened to a practised polish, as though she’d remembered that tourists, annoying as they could be at times, were a valuable, necessary evil.

  She straightened, smoothed the tailored but slightly worn jacket of her stylish uniform, and said pleasantly, ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘Hello. I’d like to check-in please? Name’s Brande, Claire-Rose Brande.’

  ‘Yes Miss Brande, welcome to Lorienne Castle. My name is Emma.’ She flicked her darkly made-up eyes impersonally over Claire-Rose before turning to the computer again. ‘I won’t be a sec, just calling up the details of your booking.’

  Claire-Rose looked quizzically at her for a second, before her eyes strayed to the floor-length mirror on the wall opposite. Seeing herself reflected there, she stood straighter and wondered how Emma perceived her. Peering at her reflection and trying to be objective, she saw a slim woman in her twenties of a little over average height, dressed in jeans and tailored shirt. Long, honey-blonde hair was tied in a glossy ponytail, with a long fringe parted at the side and swept across the top of her brow. A heart-shaped face sported a smattering of freckles across a straight nose, underneath which a wide mouth – a tad too wide she’d always thought – tipped at the corners as though inclined to grin. Full, naturally-shaped brows and a frame of thick, dark lashes softened a large pair of unusually coloured, sharply perceptive eyes that sparkled with what she hoped was intelligence – or was that wishful thinking? She grinned sheepishly to herself.

  Emma looked up again. ‘Have you stayed with us before, Miss Brande?’ She had slipped into a well-rehearsed spiel as she went through the all-too-familiar check-in procedure.

  ‘Haven’t stayed before, but I’ve been here on a day trip, and looking forward to spending longer this time.’

  When she glanced at Claire-Rose again and their eyes met, Emma quickly dropped her gaze, as though uncomfortable maintaining eye contact. Claire-Rose was reminded of a facilitator at a management seminar she’d attended recently. The pompous pratt had taken a dislike to her for some reason, and in front of everyone had spouted condescendingly, ‘...you need to work on your people skills, Ms Brande. You tend to subject others to very direct visual assessments, which many find intimidating.’

  What crap, she thought with annoyance, the only ones who find it intimidating are those with something to hide. She was sure it was her unusually coloured eyes some people found off-putting, while others, like Kris, regarded them as delightfully different.

  Or so he said.

  No, I mustn’t go there.

  She turned her attention once more to Emma, whose head was bent over a large, old-fashioned guest register on the counter. Its gold-edged pages contained hand-written names against columns of room numbers and dates. Emma ran a long scarlet fingernail down the list of names.

  Mr A and Mrs S Jenkins,

  Mr P and Mrs J Fox,

  Mr T and Mrs S Meier,

  Mr M and Mrs R Singh-Samra,

  Ms C Brande.

  Clacking on the computer’s keyboard, she called up a record. A slight frown creased her well made-up brow. ‘I see your booking here for thirteen nights, Miss Brande, but the entry on the computer has a Mrs Brande accompanying you?’ She looked up with raised, plucked-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives eyebrows.

  ‘Oh yes, Mum was meant to come on this holiday with me, but a last minute surgical procedure spoilt her plans. So now she has to enjoy the holiday via email from her convalescent couch at home. I did phone last week to advise I’d be on my own?’

  ‘Oh, I see now.’ Emma was looking at the computer screen. ‘There’s a comment at the bottom of your booking, noting the change.’ When she saw Claire-Rose looking inquisitively at the old-fashioned register, she explained, ‘We use a combination of manual and electronic systems, so if the computer goes down, the wheels don’t completely fall off the castlemobile.’

  Claire-Rose smiled grimly and gave a knowing nod. Like most people in business, she was well aware that complete reliance on technology was perilous. It had a nasty tendency to fail at the most critical moments.

  ‘Everything appears to be in order with your booking,’ Emma went on to say, ‘and I’m sorry to hear about your mother. I hope she’s doing well now?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, although she’s gotta be the grumpiest convalescent I’ve ever known. I wasn’t sure at first
I’d go ahead with this holiday, but after spending a few days with her following the procedure … let’s just say she helped make a tough decision easy!’

  With a polite but perfunctory laugh, Emma handed Claire-Rose a key. ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your stay with us. You’re in the stables, what’s now known as The Lodge, in room number sixteen. And don’t worry, it’s not a horse stall – well, not anymore anyway. Not since Elizabeth Lorienne’s favourite horse and its feline stable mate vacated it.’

  She smiled down her nose a little, reciting somewhat mechanically, ‘The stables were fully renovated and the rooms are quite lovely, so I’m sure you’ll be comfortable. And as a house guest, you’re entitled to dine in the castle itself with the owners, the McAlister family, if you so choose; that is, if you’re not put off by the possibility of spectral entertainment. As you saw, it’s not for everyone,’ and she nodded pointedly at the glass doors through which the frightened man had disappeared.

  Narrowing her eyes, she ran another critical gaze over Claire-Rose, who returned her look with some amusement and said cheerfully, ‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay, thank you, and I’ll certainly take the option to dine in the castle.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts, but wouldn’t be put off even if I did. They’d probably make more interesting dinner companions than some I’ve had.’ This drew little response, and when the young woman turned away Claire-Rose studied her appraisingly.

  She’s competent in the job, sure, but the hospitality industry demands more than that. Customer service staff are expected to go the extra mile, to connect with clients and exceed rather than simply satisfy their expectations. Surely the castle’s owners would be unhappy about a front office employee displaying a bored and slightly patronising demeanour toward guests?