by Rachel Secor
“I’m not amused!”
“You’re still skittish after last night, and I knew that if we stopped to discuss it, we’d never get in here. But here we are. Let’s look around.”
The light flickered throughout the vault as May-Jewel held the lantern up over her head. Their eyes fell first on a few empty wine racks along one wall and then on the dirt flooring, which was pocked with dozens of shallow holes.
“It looks as if someone has been digging,” May-Jewel remarked, stepping over a small crater. “Or a large animal was trying to get out of here.”
The room was nothing more than a large chamber, an old wine cellar. Moldy earth lined the floor which had grown sour from centuries of leaking wine and decaying wood. Empty casks and crates were chaotically stacked on one side of the room as if they were thrown there to clear the center of the floor. Cracked and broken bottles lay cradled in sagging racks that were arched against the rear wall. In one corner, the light exposed a rocking chair, half hidden in the shadows.
“Who would want to sit down here?” Katherine asked, as she stepped over and pulled the rocking chair into full view. As she did so, her blood turned cold, and she shuddered as if someone had walked over her grave. “I feel as if we’ve just opened a tomb. The very air seems charged with horrid secrets of long ago and I-.” But Katherine’s words were interrupted as from the shadowy far corner came a sudden thud.
“What was that?” May-Jewel gasped, almost dropping the lantern.
“Someone else… or something else must be down here. Come on!” Katherine whispered. Grabbing her sister’s arm, she quickly pulled her toward the door.
Not looking behind them, they flew back up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
As the heiresses reached the great hall and neared the stairs, Alex suddenly strode from the library to answer the front door. The caller stood hidden from the women’s view.
“I wouldn’t have bothered to knock,” a deep voice said, “but there seems to be a new lock installed since I was here last.” He pocketed a key as he entered. The man walked past Alex, dropping his baggage as he entered, and looked around the hall. “There have been changes! It’s emptier than I remember it being. Where’s Charles?”
“Look here,” Alex said moving to halt the intruder’s advance. “You can’t just walk into another man’s home! State your business or I’ll have you forcibly thrown out.”
The stranger settled his gaze on Alex as if debating whether to answer. The longer the man took to answer, the more annoyed Alex became. Alex stood, his arms folded across his chest in defiance. Then he saw a smirk on the stranger’s face and knew that he was being toyed with. He grew livid. “Answer me or I have you thrown out!” He stated firmly with gritted teeth.
May-Jewel moved closer to Katherine. “Whoever he is,” she whispered, “he’s made Alex awfully angry.”
“He certainly has. But what I want to know is just who Alex is going to get to toss the gentleman out. You and I… or Charles?”
“No,” May-Jewel snickered and suggested, “Molly.”
Their soft laughter was drowned out by Alex’s boisterousness.
“I demand to know who you are and what you are doing here.”
The man slowly removed his riding gloves. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alexander Fleming, manager of this estate.”
The stranger looked greatly surprised and gave Alex an inspecting stare. “Well, Alexander Fleming, I’m Garth Craig, owner of this estate.”
Every trace of color drained from Alex’s face. Words formed on his paled lips but no sound came from them. At the mention of the stranger’s name, May-Jewel clutched Katherine’s arm and started to speak. But Katherine motioned for her to be quiet.
Finally finding his voice, Alex blustered, “Garth Craig is dead!”
“Obviously not!” the man replied. “Pity you’ve not been informed of my resurrection nor of my intentions of returning here. No matter.” A wry smile creased the corners of his mouth as he looked past Alex and spied the women. He then started in their direction.
Grabbing the man’s arm, Alex impugned his claim. “This is impossible! Garth Craig is dead and, even if he weren’t, you’d not pass for him for you don’t look anything like the Garth I remember.”
“I could say the same for you!” The man answered back. “The Alexander Fleming I grew up with would be much taller by now.” He raised his hand above Alex’s head. “About so high. So maybe you aren’t Alexander after all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alex frowned as he slapped the man’s hand away. He was growing worried for as much as he didn’t want it to, there was something about this man that began to nudge at Alex’s memory. To hedge his bet in case he was wrong, Alex demanded, “No doubt, sir, you have a document or a letter of identification?”
“I do indeed, but you’ll not see it.” Garth Craig replied. His face grew dark and his voice threatening. “And I’ll not be restrained as if I were a ganging body looking for a handout, or a factor of old come to burn down the place! I’m the laird of this manor, and I’m here to take possession of what’s mine!”
“What be all the ruckus aboot?” Charles arrived at the great hall and shuffled toward the two men.
Garth, seeing him pushed past Alex and met the servant halfway. “Charles! Finally a face I remember.” He firmly grasped the frail shoulders. “I’m glad to see that you’ve not joined my father in the great hereafter!”
Charles stood rigid, staring into the man’s face, his memory jolted by the unexpected. “Tis ye?” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper, “Back from the dead!”
“Aye, ‘tis myself, you old rack of bones!” Garth replied, slapping the old man good-naturedly on his back.
The servant’s cracked lips spread into a smile.
“Charles, you fool!” Alex broke in, his voice tight with rage. “You know this isn’t Robert’s son! You’ll recall Mister Jameson’s visit with the news telling us of his death.”
“Aye, I do.”
“Then how can you believe this man? You haven’t seen the master’s son since he was a boy!”
“Nor have ye,” the servant replied. Ignoring Alex, Charles turned to Garth. “Sir, I have somethin’ to tell ye.”
“Whatever you have to say, old man, can wait until I’ve washed the dust off from my travels. I’ve come a long way. How about preparing my old quarters?” He patted Charles on the back again.
But the old man was insistent. “Sir, your father’s…”
Garth frowned. “Time for that later. See to my quarters. I’m tired and thirsty.”
“Stay where you are, Charles!” Alex ordered. “I don’t accept this! Robert sent his son away over nineteen years ago where he died in India. If he were alive, no one, including you, would possibly recognize him! This man could be an impostor!” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration for he knew he was losing control of the situation.
Charles looked at Garth recognizing more his brooding expression than his face. “He has his ma’s gloomy eyes an’ dark hair,” he said nodding his head. “An’ the Master’s square cleft-chin.” That seemed to settle it because without waiting to be dismissed, Charles picked up the man’s baggage and took his leave up the stairs. Jumbled thoughts formed on his lips in broken utterances. “The master will need ta know o’ the new wife an’ the dead bairn.” Pausing at the door of what was to be Garth’s room, the old servant listened to the angry voices still rising from the hall below, shook his white head, and entered the bedroom, saying, “Aye, I’ll be speaking with Master Garth soon.”
Watching the men argue, Katherine tried to make sense of this newest development. Hadn’t Alex said that the two families were like one, united in friendship for many generations? Yet there they stood, Alex and Robert’s son, face to face, and they didn’t know each other! But it had been a long time since they had seen each other. Could both have changed so much? Then a notion exploded in her mind.
Even if, at the start, she hadn’t wanted to be a mistress of Wistmere, she now felt sick at the idea of losing it. Could that happen? But Mr. Jameson had signed all the papers! The estate was legally theirs… wasn’t it? Could this man really take it away from them? Katherine leaned against her sister. “He can’t be Sir Robert’s son! Can he?”
“I’ve searched my mind over and over,” May-Jewel whispered, “and I don’t recall Robbie ever mentioning his son. But what if he is?”
Shaking her head, Katherine lifted her finger to her lips to quiet her sister.
Flustered and growing desperate, Alex rushed toward the stairs, blocking Garth’s further advance into the manor. “You can’t claim this estate just on the ramblings of a senile old man! A letter to the solicitor will expose you. If I were you, I wouldn’t unpack those bags.” Turning, he flew up the stairs, and stormed into his quarters, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
Has the impossible happened?
Locked within his chamber, Alex paced the expanse of the room in long angry strides. The man has to be an impostor! Of that I’m sure. I knew him when we were boys, and he doesn’t look anything like the Garth I remember. Garth Craig is dead, has been for years.
Alex had built his plans on that one concrete fact. He had controlled the estate for a long time and needed to continue to do so. Manipulating two illegitimate daughters was child’s play in light of this new development. His pace grew slower.
What if it’s true, and this is Robert’s son? What then?
His mind whirled, and he remembered the time when he and Garth were children. They had been friends but then came the turbulent doings that separated them forever. The years did nothing to release Alex from the guilt he bore. His behavior toward Garth had become alien even to himself, and only after hearing that his friend was dead did Alex feel released from that guilt. Now it came back, twice fold, waving over him and gripping his stomach.
He walked to the window and looked out across the fields to the moor that lay beyond. All seemed quiet and peaceful there. He took a few deep breaths to calm the chaos of his mind and decided upon the only stand on the issue that he could take… denial of what might be the truth. He must be an impostor. He must be! Well we’ll see who wins out in the end. And how could that old fool Charles say he recognizes Garth when it’s been almost two decades since he saw him last? Then another thought entered his mind, a black, dangerous one. As if speaking to the man downstairs, Alex threatened, “And don’t put your hopes in that old man vowing for you for he is, indeed, old and might not live much longer.”
* * *
The strange quiet in the great hall had left the heiresses no proper means to escape without drawing notice to themselves.
“Always was a rude fellow,” Garth said glancing after Alex. Then moving toward them, he stated. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around to introduce us. You’ve heard me say who I am, but I don’t know who you are. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
May-Jewel stared at him with the same intolerance that Alex had displayed. “We’re the daughters of Robert Craig,” she stated, squaring her shoulders and trying to look down her nose at the man who stood above her.
Garth’s black eyebrows rose. His gaze darted from May-Jewel to Katherine. There it lingered. “My father, it seems, was… a very busy man. What are your names… sisters?” He smiled.
“I’m May-Jewel Belwood Craig,” she answered, her face in a defiant pout.
Katherine remained silent, her green eyes riveted on the face of the stranger. Though his manner was sure and his speech arrogant, she saw uncertainty in his stormy gray eyes. An electric current raced through her. His nearness disturbed her in a manner with which she was unfamiliar.
“I’m Katherine St. Pierre,” she finally answered.
“What, no ‘Craig’?” he teased.
“I won’t have ‘Craig’ added to my name.”
Although she tried to keep the bitter tone from her words, the man apparently noticed for his smile disappeared. Then he reached forward and plucked a black cobweb from her shoulder.
A tiny gasp fell from her lips as she looked down at her attire. She had forgotten about being in the wine cellar, forgotten the dirt and dust that must have soiled her clothing and hair.
“Are the daughters of Robert Craig employed as maids?” He blew the cobweb from his fingers.
Katherine felt the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. Then the man lifted her be-smudged hand to his lips. His sudden touch awakened something in her. Feeling suddenly quite vulnerable, she pulled her hand from his grasp. A disconcerting smile spread across his face as his bold eyes took possession of hers. But Katherine looked away.
Watching the discourse between the two, May-Jewel couldn’t believe how her sister suddenly became like putty in the man’s hands. A disgusted frown creased her face.
Suddenly the man’s tone grew somber. “I hope Mr. Fleming isn’t attached to living here for I fear I might have to evict him. I get the impression that he’s trying to arrogate to himself ownership of this manor.”
“He is quite bossy,” Katherine replied. “And at times he takes everything too seriously, including himself.”
“He was Robbie’s partner,” May-Jewel added stamping her foot and frowning at Katherine. “And still holds partial ownership in the shipping line.”
“My father’s partner? What could Father have been thinking?”
This time Katherine frowned. “Surely you, as Sir Robert’s son, would have known of the partnership?”
He didn’t hesitate as he answered, “If we had had a normal father and son relationship, I suppose I would have. As it stands…” He didn’t finish but simply bowed slightly and smiled, adding, “Ladies, until later.” He headed up the stairs.
Watching him leave, Katherine feared that this truly was Robert’s son. And… she was strangely drawn to him. Fear and attraction; they were a dangerous combination, especially in her who was not familiar with either.
“Is he really Garth?” May-Jewel whispered, glancing up the stairs.
Her sister’s question broke the spell that had taken hold of Katherine. And she was grateful for it. “Well, he’s arrogant enough to be a Craig. He’s probably just who he claims to be.”
May-Jewel’s face darkened. “That remains to be proven. If he’s who he says he is, then we’ll lose our inheritance. If I understand Scottish law, he’d have the right to throw us out. And I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of returning to my former life.”
Katherine was silent as she too began the ascent up the sweeping stairs. She was sure how she felt, and she wasn’t going to give Wistmere up that easily either. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she missed most of what her sister was saying.
“… and we don’t know how cruel he is. He doesn’t owe us any loyalty or concern. Why, no one knows better than I that the love of position and money is a hungry love, and it has to be constantly fed.” They reached the top step. She looked at Katherine’s placid face. “You can’t tell me that this doesn’t upset you.”
“Yes, it upsets me. But I’m afraid that if he is Garth, he is legally more entitled to his father’s estate than either of us.”
May-Jewel stammered angrily. “What we have to do is write to Mr. Jameson, secure police action against this fraud, and boot him out of the manor. We’ll be the ones to prove he’s a fake.”
“This matter should be left in Mr. Jameson’s hands. It isn’t for us to prove or to disprove that man’s identity.” Pausing before her door, she added, a wry smile crossing her lips, “But on the other hand, maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“I was wondering. It would be interesting to know if there was a family Bible around just to see what it has to say about Garth. And to give us forewarning in c
ase someone else suddenly appears trying to claim the title of an heir to Wistmere. A Bible would have names, dates of marriages, births and deaths, all duly recorded.”
“Of course, there has to be a Bible. For all we know Robbie even had a diary,” seeing the look on Katherine’s face, she corrected herself. “I mean, a journal or papers or whatnot. Ah, but wait, what’s better than a journal or the Bible to learn about family history?” When her sister didn’t answer, she supplied it, saying “Gossip!”
“Gossip won’t prove anything. It usually only reveals a fraction of the truth, if that, and from somebody else’s point of view. No, we need to find a Bible.”
“But the fraction of truth that it divulges might answer a few questions. Like how many times Robbie was married, and how many children he actually had, and the truth about him and his son.”
“We can ask Neal or Charles those questions. They would know.”
An exasperated look fell over May-Jewel’s face. “Not Neal or Charles. I was thinking about the cook. Molly would know. Charles is addlepated, and I don’t trust his memory. And I’ll wager he’s a part of the fraud, if there is one going on. And Neal isn’t likely to come here for weeks. I don’t think that man is Garth Craig. He doesn’t look a bit like Robbie. Robbie had fair skin, and his hair was rusty colored. That man’s complexion is dark like a Spaniard, and his hair is jet black!”
“My word, May-Jewel, that doesn’t prove anything. Your hair is black and my skin is dark, and we don’t look like Robert either! So what does that prove?” They entered Katherine’s bed chamber. “As for Charles, he’s well into his eighties. He’s a harmless old man who wouldn’t be taking part in a scheme like this, if it is a scheme. It’s Alex and his possessiveness toward Wistmere that we have to watch out for. This stranger, if he’s an impostor, can be dealt with rather easily with the help of the bailiwick.” Pacing the length of the room, she spoke again. “But something inside tells me that the man is Garth Craig! I’m going to speak to Charles. But first I need to wash up.”
