by Alicia Hope
The jug boiled and switched itself off, so she proceeded to fill the little teapot. ‘Unless the water boiling be,’ she sang softly to herself, ‘making the pot—’ She stopped abruptly, still holding the jug over the now fragrantly steaming teapot.
Byron was looking at her with a curious grin dancing around his mouth.
She winced self-consciously. ‘Oh, you heard. How embarrassing!’ Soft colour infused her cheeks. ‘I’m so used to singing that song when I make a pot of tea.’
‘Don’t feel bad, I often find myself performing little song and dance numbers while I work. Helps relieve the boredom.’ His cheeky grin put her at ease. ‘What was that song anyway? It didn’t sound like a latest chart-topper, but who am I to critique another musician’s performance?’
She chuckled. ‘It’s a little ditty—’ At his raised eyebrows she interjected with a roll of her eyes and a long-suffering sigh, ‘I know, it’s a funny word. And yes, I know what it rhymes with! So, anyway, my gran sings this little SONG whenever she makes a pot of tea. It goes, “Unless the water boiling be, making the pot spoils the tea”. Cute, hey?’
‘Very.’ It was only one word but it held a lot of meaning and, judging by the look in Byron’s eyes, he wasn’t only commenting on the song.
Claire-Rose paused and a glance passed between them. Taken aback, she lowered her eyes and fussed over fitting the pot with a cosy before placing it on the tray. Her fingers fumbled opening the packet of biscuits, and when the plastic finally tore, the cookies nearly exploded out of the bag as though ejected. She managed to catch them and put one on each saucer.
When she glanced at Byron, she found him laughing and nodding his head at her. ‘Glad to see it’s not only me that does that.’
‘You? I can’t imagine you having any food-packaging malfunctions, Mr “Just-Right” Jeeves!’ She grinned and lifted the laden tray.
‘Thanks ... I think. But I’m not only a butler, you know. I’m in the final year of my MBA and— Oh, here, let me.’ He strode over to take the tray from her.
When his fingers brushed against hers, Claire-Rose gasped as a sudden zap of energy arced between them. It tingled all the way up her arm and into her face, bringing warmth and another pink blush with it. When she saw Byron pause to gaze at her with a perplexed expression, she realised he’d felt it too.
They stared at each other and then simultaneously spoke.
‘I guess we should—’
‘Would you like me to—’
They stopped and laughed together.
‘As I was saying, I guess we should have our tea before it gets cold.’ She threw him an open-mouthed grin before demurely lowering her eyes.
‘And I was about to ask if you’d like me to pour?’ His grin was just as wide but he kept his eyes fixed on her face.
‘No, let me do the honours. It’s gotta be my turn, surely.’
They made their way to the table and Byron set down the tray. Before taking a seat, Claire-Rose pushed the drapes as far as she could to the side, so they could take in the full expanse of the view through the French doors. More soft sunlight flooded in.
Byron sat and watched her pouring the tea. First she checked its consistency by testing the colour in the initial pour. Its deep amber shade obviously passed the test, as she then proceeded to fill their waiting cups. He found himself admiring the smooth efficiency of her movements and the capable elegance of her hands. In the morning light, her skin had a satin sheen. As she bent over the teapot, her hair, loose but for a small band keeping it off her face, tumbled in glossy waves around her neck and shoulders. Her soft scent wafted gently around him.
To fill the growing silence he said, ‘Can we get back to the cold case? Sorry to rush you, but I’ll have to scoot off soon and I want to hear the story before I go. I’m a sucker for a good mystery.’
‘OK.’ She busied herself pouring their tea. ‘An ancestor of ours, a young woman, was accused of wrongdoing, and I’m trying to prove her innocent.’
He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. ‘And does it have something to do with the castle?’
Unable to think of a response that didn’t give away any secrets but also wasn’t a direct lie, in the end all she could do was bluster, ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ She reached for the milk jug as he leaned forward to do the same.
When she raised one eyebrow at him, he withdrew his hand with a rueful shake of his head. ‘Sorry, old habits. Just milk, thanks. I’m sweet enough, or so I’m told.’ He took a sip from the cup she handed him and smiled across the table at her. ‘Nice cuppa. So, how are you going to prove your predecessor’s innocence after all these years?’
Leaning back in her chair, she regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You’ve hit on the big question.’ She stirred her tea and sighed. ‘One I haven’t found an answer to yet, despite dreaming about this case almost every night.’ Flicking him a glance, she was relieved to see no incredulity or scorn on his face. ‘And my preoccupation with it has been distracting me from other things, like enjoying your chef’s excellent culinary skills I’m sorry to say.’
He crinkled up his chin and tried to look stern but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. ‘It is the opinion of this court, that being preoccupied with a mystery is sufficient cause for you to be pardoned of that particular offence.’
Grinning, she dropped a curtsy. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’
‘So, can I help solve the case? Mystery is my middle name, by the way.’
‘Oh yes? Byron Mystery McAlister. Has a nice ring to it.’
‘What’s yours?’ he teased, and then in his best butler’s voice, ‘Madame Claire-Rose Clandestine Brande?’
‘Mistress Claire-Rose Clandestine Brande, if you please.’
They laughed together until, with a quick glance at his wrist watch, Byron hurriedly finished his tea.
‘Damn, I’d like to hear more but I’ve gotta rush. The scullery calls. Others may work from sun to sun, but a butler’s work is never done.’ He rose to his feet and smiled warmly at her. ‘Thanks Claire-Rose. Been nice sharing tea and mystery with you. We must do it again, soon.’
She had a sudden thought as she rose to see him out, and replied as casually as she could, ‘Yes, and maybe you could tell me what you know about the Lorienne story? I’m assuming there’s more to it than what’s in the brochure.’
‘Sure, happy to tell you what I know.’ He turned to look into her eyes. ‘Maybe we could discuss it over dinner one night? I have an off duty coming up soon.’
She gave a friendly but non-committal nod and held the door open for him. He went out, leaving a fresh, woodsy man-scent in his wake, over which she allowed her nose to linger. Another guest was going past so Byron simply gave a small bow, and in his butler voice, wished Claire-Rose a ‘pleasant morning’.
She grinned and watched him stride away.
I wish I could’ve shared the full story with you, Byron, but it wouldn’t be prudent, what with you being a part-owner of the castle and all. There might be things I’m about to do you wouldn’t approve of. And after all, I hardly know you, although it feels like we’re growing closer all the time.
Lost in her thoughts she closed the door and went back to sit at the table. The teapot was still warm under its woollen cosy, so she poured herself another cup. Grabbing her mobile phone, she dialled her mother’s number. After talking to Byron, she had decided not to wait for a response to her latest email. She wanted answers. Fast. Before he had the chance to ask more tricky questions.
‘Hey Mum! It’s your one-and-only heir to the throne here. Calling all the way from New Ziland.’
‘Practising our Kiwi accent are we, my darling girl?’
‘You bit!’ Claire-Rose giggled. ‘So, how’s the recuperating going?’
Connie’s frustrated sigh bounced off the satellite and straight into her daughter’s iPhone. ‘Well, according to my damn doctor, I’m doing fine.’
‘But how do you feel?’
‘
Bored,’ Connie rapped sourly.
As expected, Claire-Rose smiled to herself. ‘Well, according to the latest statistics, you won’t die of boredom, Mum. And not from anything else for a while now either, thanks to “Dr Damn”. And I think I might have something to take your mind off being out of action.’
‘Ah, yes. I just read your email. Sounds like your nose for mystery has picked up a strong scent.’
After hearing Claire-Rose’s latest news, Connie mused, ‘Yes, it’s all very intriguing, this mystery of Elizabeth’s. But are you sure your overactive imagination isn’t running away with you? That’s happened before, you know.’
‘Yeah, OK, guilty as charged. But now I’m really only following up on what Gran told us about Elizabeth, and I assume that was all true, not imagined. My dreams are probably just my subconscious working to solve the mystery.’
‘Well … alright then. But Claire-Rose?’
‘Mm?’
‘Be careful. Don’t let that inquisitive nose of yours get you into trouble.’
‘Oh Mum, as if! And you can blame yourself for this nose of mine.’
‘No, I blame your father. He was the imaginative one in our relationship, while I had all the common sense.’ She added tenderly, ‘I see a lot of him in you.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. I have fond memories of Dad coming up with great ideas for adventures and games. Like the time he made a quicksand pit in the back yard so I could “sacrifice” my dolls to its gooey embrace, and then promptly rescue them from it! He said everyone should experience the joy of being a hero at least once.’
‘Yes,’ Connie said dryly, ‘I remember the quicksand pit. I fell prey to the damn thing on my way to the clothesline once, almost twisting my ankle! And when I complained, Michael said he wished he’d made it bigger so he could’ve rescued me and been my hero. The annoying, sweet man, as if he could ever be anything but my hero.…’
‘And to make up for your ankle he built that secret garden for you – remember? – full of sweet-smelling gardenias, plump cabbage roses, and geraniums with blooms like scarlet flames. He told the most wonderful bedtime stories about that garden. And I still remember the funny limericks and songs he made up for us to sing together. I find myself humming them every now and then.’
They both paused as though lost in their memories, and then Claire-Rose asked gently, ‘Do you still miss him, Mum?’
‘Every single day.’
‘You never think about finding another—’
‘Stop right there, young lady. When I lost your father to that … disease, I lost the only man devoted enough, interesting enough, strong enough, but also gentle enough, to be my soul mate. And that’s the end of it.’
‘And you wonder why I’m still single? Look in the mirror, Mum!’
‘Well, if you do take after me in that regard, I can stop worrying. Your soul mate will simply arrive out of the blue one day and you’ll all but fall over him, no matter which way you turn. And despite all your defences, he’ll worm his way into your heart and never leave.’
Claire-Rose gave an indulgent sigh. ‘Whatever you say.’ After a moment she said more seriously, ‘Hey Mum, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘How come you never took Dad’s name?’
‘That was one subject your father and I agreed upon right from the beginning. I already had a professional reputation when we married, so we decided I should keep my maiden name. And when you came along, Michael encouraged me to pass the Brande surname to you. His family name has a cloud hanging over it, thanks to that brother of his who’s always in trouble of some sort. And I think Michael had an inkling even then that his was to be a short but sweet life.’ Connie paused before murmuring, ‘But I sometimes wonder if that was the right thing to do, or if by granting his request I denied you both of something important.’
Claire-Rose frowned. The uncertainty in her mother’s voice sounded foreign; she was normally so confident, so sure about everything she did.
‘You haven’t denied me of anything, Mum, I have wonderful memories of Dad I’ll never forget. And if my taking your surname was what he wanted, then it was definitely the right thing to do. And I’m thrilled to be a Brande, and to think I might be like you. You’re wonderful, Mum, you know that, don’t you?’
Connie’s voice held a smile. ‘Oh, go on! Now hang up and ring your gran. My physio will be knocking on the door any minute, ready to inflict the next dose of torture.’
After signing off, Claire-Rose dialled her grandmother’s number and grinned when she heard Antoinette’s cherished voice answer, ‘Hello?’
‘Hello Gran, it’s Claire-Rose here, calling from New Zealand.’
‘Claire-Rose, how lovely to hear from you, dear. Are you having a good holiday?’
‘Yes, wonderful. I’m calling from my room in The Lodge at Lorienne Castle, looking out at my balcony and the harbour below.’
‘Oh, how delightful, dear. A Brande in Lorienne Castle again....’ Antoinette sighed and her tone grew wistful. ‘That brings back memories. Did I tell you your great-great-grandmother, Constance, stayed in the castle for a while? It was when her son, your great grandfather, Charles, first started school.’
‘I saw a photo here, of great grandad Charles and his dad, Henry.’
‘Oh yes? I can’t remember exactly when it was that Constance and Henry were there. Their business ventures had them moving around a lot in the early years. But I do recall her describing castle life to me. It sounded rather splendid. I think she was quite sorry to leave.’ A warm smile crept into Antoinette’s voice. ‘She was a wonderful woman, Claire-Rose. I liked her so well, I named your mother after her. Constance was chuffed about that, and said I was like the daughter-in-law she never had. Charles was her only child and he never married. Did you know that?’
Claire-Rose smiled to herself. Her gran was off and running, and wouldn’t be expecting a response. It was so like her to provide answers without having been asked any questions.
‘But he did have a son out of wedlock, who came to live with him when the boy’s mother died. There was no denying he was Charles’ son, one look at those topaz eyes, a legacy passed down through the generations of Brandes, dispelled any doubts. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, the boy was your grandad, James, my darling husband. And Constance helped Charles raise him, so James was like another son to her. She never looked down on him for the unfortunate nature of his birth, nor would she allow others to do so. And boy, did she give me the once over when James first took me to meet her!’
‘How did Constance feel about the change of surname from de Brande Barlow to plain old Brande?’
‘What do you mean, plain? Brande is a fine name, and you should be proud of it.’
‘Sorry, Gran, I didn’t mean it like that. I am proud to be a Brande, very proud in fact. I’m just trying to put all the pieces together.’
‘So you’re still determined to find proof of Elizabeth’s innocence?’
‘Yes. Ever since you told me that story, I’ve been dying to have a go at exonerating Elizabeth, and clearing the de Brande Barlow name.’
‘It’s possible nobody else remembers anything of this.’
‘I know. But we do.’
‘Well, as long as you keep in mind this all happened a long time ago. The evidence you’re looking for may have disintegrated, or been found and removed. And Constance only mentioned its existence to me in passing, so I may not have the details right.’
‘Don’t worry, Gran, I’ll keep my feet on the ground. Now, about Constance and the name change?’
‘Oh yes. When it happened, she told me she was glad Henry shortened their surname to one word, as she’d never wanted triplets. What a card!’ Antoinette gave a tinkling laugh before continuing. ‘But thinking back … I recall her later complaining that the change of name caused problems in their business dealings. She was a bit sour that the disadvantage stemmed from “youthful wickedness”, I think
is how she described it, and was scathing when she told me of Elizabeth’s final words to Henry. On receiving news his sister was near death, he had rushed to the castle to be by her bedside. As though having held on until his arrival, she called him close and whispered that she’d left proof of her innocence hidden in the castle.’
Sucking in a breath, she cried gleefully, ‘Oh! You know what?’ I think I can even remember her exact words, told to me by Henry. Now, what were they again? Oh yes. “There is something hidden that needs to be found. It will lead you to the truth, and the deliverance of your stricken sister.” But Elizabeth died before she could tell him what was hidden, and where.’
‘And instead of trying to find whatever it was, he changed our surname to distance the family from the scandal. Hmph! That was big of him.’
‘Understand, darling granddaughter, that in those days, a man’s family honour meant everything. Unlike today,’ and Antoinette launched into one of her favourite gripes about modern society.
Claire-Rose let her talk for a while longer, before interrupting gently but firmly. ‘Been lovely talking to you, Gran, and thanks for the info. Now I’d better get on with my holiday, otherwise it’ll be over before I know it!’
‘Yes dear, you do that. Rug up now, it’s a lot cooler over there than here, and make sure you bring home lots of photos. I want to see this castle for myself.’
OUR castle, Claire-Rose found herself thinking. If Elizabeth and Edward had survived, we would’ve been directly related to their descendants. We might’ve visited or even lived in the castle.
Now, there’s a thought....
Chapter Ten
007, Licensed to Chill
Sun, 13 October, 17:45:07
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 7
Sorry Mum, I haven’t been keeping up with my touring updates. Got side-tracked with all the mystery stuff. Guess I’d better redeem myself....
I’m not long home from the harbour cruise I took today. The captain was an expert on the local wildlife, and there was plenty around for us to see. The cruise took in the yellow-eyed penguin, royal albatross and fur seal colonies. On the boat I once again found myself surrounded by people from all over the world. The Germans I’d seen at the British Pub were there, along with their ‘Director of German Proceedings’, a big bloke with an equally big voice who I heard being called Albert.
