Christmas at the Castle

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Excellent,’ Angus said and smiled. Holly thought: Don’t do that. Don’t smile. I can be engaged to you all you like as long as you don’t turn on that smile.

  And, as if on cue, his smile faded, as if he, too, sensed danger.

  ‘No strings,’ she said, seemingly making no sense at all, but apparently he knew what she was saying. What she was thinking.

  ‘No strings,’ he agreed.

  ‘Then that’s all right,’ she said and turned away before he could smile again, before she could feel that strong and dangerous tug...

  ‘It has to be all right,’ he told them both. Holly knew he was watching her, but she was looking—fiercely—at the ring.

  ‘Excellent,’ she managed and, with that, Holly Margaret McIntosh was formally betrothed to Lord Angus McTavish Stuart. For better or for worse.

  For Christmas.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AT SEVEN THE next morning Stanley arrived to take them to the castle. He barely spoke to them. He was the estate manager escorting the new hired help to his employer. He tossed their belongings into the back of the estate wagon without saying a word.

  ‘As estate manager, he’s practically above stairs,’ Maggie whispered to Holly as they were transported to their new employment. ‘It’s a wonder he talks to us at all. As cook and housekeeper, we’re definitely beneath his notice.’

  But Holly had spent a restless night with a heavy ring on her finger, her unease had been building and this man’s covert antagonism had her thinking: upstairs, downstairs—some things had to stop now.

  All or nothing.

  ‘We’re not the hired help any more,’ she whispered, flashing her ring. ‘We just got elevated.’

  Then she took a deep breath and moved into her newly acquired role.

  ‘How many guests are we expecting for Christmas dinner, Stanley?’ she asked from the back seat, where she was wedged with Maggie and Maggie’s three large knitting baskets. Holly might only own a handbag and a plastic bag full of charity shop clothing, but Maggie made up for it in the luggage department. Everything she owned she seemed intent on taking, ‘in case we need it’.

  ‘How can we possibly need four feather dusters?’ Holly had demanded as she’d watched her gran stuff cleaning supplies into Grandpa’s old golf bag.

  ‘If you think I’m using what’s been lying round the castle for years you have another think coming,’ Maggie had said darkly. ‘If I were you, I’d be packing a rolling pin.’

  ‘I’ll make him buy me a new one if there’s not a good one,’ Holly had said and Maggie had chuckled again—her chuckle was seeming almost normal now.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ she said. ‘Ooh, Holly, I think we might be about to have fun.’

  But now, as Holly waited for Stanley’s answer, she wasn’t so sure and Maggie was looking nervous, too.

  ‘You’ll have to ask His Lordship,’ Stanley said in a voice that said even thinking of asking would be an impertinence.

  ‘I’m asking you,’ Holly said evenly and fingered her ring with resolution.

  ‘It’s not my place to tell you,’ Stanley snapped.

  ‘As His Lordship’s fiancée, I believe I can ask you everything I need to know,’ Holly retorted. ‘And I believe His Lordship will back up my belief that it’s your place to tell me.’

  Maggie gasped. There was a deathly silence in the car while Holly rethought what she’d decided last night. That it wasn’t enough to tell Delia she was engaged—the engagement would have to be played out the entire time she was at the castle. Otherwise, one phone call would have the kids telling Delia they’d both lied and where would that get them?

  She’d expected Angus to have told Stanley the truth. Obviously he hadn’t—therefore it was up to Holly to position herself where she needed to be.

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ Stanley growled and Holly held up her ring finger so he could see it in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Love at first sight,’ she said sweetly. ‘Ask His Lordship. Meanwhile, how many for Christmas dinner?’

  There was another silence while Stanley stared at the ring and Holly worried about staying on the road.

  ‘Just His Lordship and the children,’ Stanley said at last, sounding so shocked he didn’t know what he was saying.

  ‘No friends? No family retainers?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well, that makes it easy,’ Holly said cheerfully. ‘Thank you, Stanley.’ Maggie nearly choked but Holly recalled that was just the first barrier. This next three weeks was her gran’s future, she thought, and if the fiancée deception was exposed at the first hurdle the whole thing could end in disaster. Therefore, she’d do this properly or not at all.

  Bring it on.

  And then they rounded the last bend before the castle and His Lordship was standing at the vast doors, waiting, and she thought: What am I thinking? Bring it on?

  What have I done?

  Lord of Castle Craigie. That was what Angus looked like, even though he’d ditched the kilt. He was wearing casual clothes—cream chinos, an open-necked shirt and a lovely blue, V-necked sweater, rolled up to the sleeves.

  He stood at the entrance to his castle home, he looked every inch a Lord, and it was all Holly could do not to jump out of the car and turn tail and run.

  She needed to pretend to be engaged to this man?

  She must.

  The estate wagon pulled to a halt and Angus strode forward to open the doors for them. Nice, Holly thought appreciatively, and she liked it even more that he greeted Gran first.

  ‘Welcome, Mrs McIntosh,’ he told her, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy in your new employment.’

  ‘Nice,’ Maggie said approvingly, echoing Holly’s thoughts. ‘Call me Maggie.’

  ‘Maggie,’ he said and smiled in a way that made Holly’s insides do a back flip. ‘And Miss...’ he caught himself ‘...Holly.’

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Holly said and wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  She’d thought this through last night. All or nothing, she’d thought. Either she was his fiancée or she wasn’t.

  It had all seemed sensible—last night.

  This morning, as she kissed him and felt him freeze with shock, she thought: Uh-oh, what do impertinent cooks get for kissing their Lord and master?

  Dismissed? Or picked up and carted to His Lordship’s chambers forthwith?

  There was a minefield in between.

  But she kissed him properly, soundly, as a solid, assured fiancée would surely kiss her beloved. His mouth felt strong and warm. His hands fell instinctively to her waist and held and, for a moment, for just a moment, she let her body believe this was real, this was true.

  Nice? Her body was thinking of better descriptors.

  But it was play-acting. Her body had better get itself in control and tug back. He released her. Was she imagining it or was there the faintest hint of reluctance?

  Imagination. Know your place, she told herself fiercely. She was a below-stairs employee, paid to act above-stairs.

  ‘Hello...sweetheart,’ the Lord of the Castle managed and she managed a grin in return.

  ‘Very good. We can do this. You might need to do some explaining to Stanley; he’s a bit shell-shocked. Okay, show us to our quarters and get this Christmas under way.’

  ‘It’s still cold,’ Angus warned. ‘We won’t have heating until I get some tradesmen in.’

  ‘We won’t be cold, will we, Gran?’ Holly said. ‘We have far too much to do. Actually, let’s leave Stanley to deal with our bags. If you start with a tour of the castle, we can figure out exactly what needs to be done.’

  * * *

  ’Twas like a great man’s kitchen without a fire in it.

&n
bsp; Where had she heard that analogy? It fitted, Holly thought as Angus led the way through the vast halls and corridors and parlours. But maybe this was worse.

  Like a great man’s house without a heart in it.

  It wasn’t just that it was cold—though it was definitely cold. It was that the place was a great stone monument with no attempt made to make it liveable.

  ‘I think I’d rather live in a cave,’ she whispered to Maggie as they followed Angus. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor—three sets of footsteps: Angus’s brisk tread, the soft hush of Holly’s dried out trainers and the brisk click of Maggie’s sensible low heels. Maggie had appeared all in black this morning, looking very much like a housekeeper in a very reputable establishment. Angus looked the part, too, Holly conceded, casual but still aristocratic. A Lord on his day off.

  Holly, on the other hand, felt as if she’d wandered into a movie set and any minute she’d be ejected. She had to put personal feelings aside, she told herself, staring despairingly into yet another dust-sheeted something-room. Even Maggie’s shoulders were sagging.

  ‘Show us where the children’s bedrooms would have been when they were living here,’ she said.

  Angus looked doubtful. ‘I think I can find it.’

  ‘You think...’

  ‘Stanley showed me through once but I still have trouble figuring out where I am,’ he admitted. ‘I’m almost up to laying trails of salt behind me so I can retrace my steps.’

  But he did find the rooms where Delia and her children had lived and Maggie and Holly stared at them in horror.

  They were three bleak rooms off the kitchen. They looked as if they’d been left exactly as they were when they’d moved out. One bedroom with three hard single beds lined up in a row. A smaller bedroom with a single bed—Delia, it seemed, had left the marital bed. A tiny sitting room, four chairs, a table, a threadbare rug.

  ‘You don’t need to say it,’ Angus said heavily. ‘My father was a tyrant.’

  ‘Interested only in money,’ Maggie said darkly and then threw a dark look at the current Earl. ‘So how come you’re prepared to pay us so much?’

  ‘Because I want these kids to have a decent Christmas,’ Angus said savagely. ‘Like I... Like we never had.’

  ‘You never had decent Christmases in America?’ Maggie asked and Holly saw his expression become shuttered.

  ‘We need to make this place more comfortable,’ he said tightly and Holly took a deep breath and thought that if she was going to do this—why not do it? She glanced down at the ring on her finger and thought that Angus had just bestowed on her the title of future Lady of the Castle.

  Maybe she should do, then, what it seemed previous Ladies of the Castle hadn’t been able to do.

  This man was an Earl. Rumour was that he was absurdly wealthy. What was a future Lady of the Castle—albeit a temporary one—for, if not to spend His Lordship’s money?

  ‘They’re not sleeping here,’ she said flatly, and Angus and Maggie both looked at her in surprise.

  ‘They’re coming for nostalgic reasons,’ Angus said. ‘They might want their old bedroom.’

  ‘Then we put clean sheets on their beds and leave this room exactly as it is,’ Holly said. ‘So if they want to use it they can. But they’re teenagers, or almost teenagers. Let’s give them the teenage fantasy. There must be some vast stately rooms in this place. Why don’t we move heaven and earth and give this place—these kids—the send-off they deserve?’

  ‘If they’re coming on Friday we can hardly do much,’ Angus said, but Holly shook her head in disgust.

  ‘I thought you were an Earl. Can’t Earls order stuff?’

  ‘Yes, but...’

  ‘Gran, you know places we can order from?’

  ‘The village won’t have...’

  ‘Of course the village won’t have,’ Holly said. ‘Not the stuff we want.’

  And then she hesitated. Her heart was warming to the fantasy here. In truth, Holly hadn’t had a decent Christmas since her parents had died. Her Australian grandmother had been into austerity, and once Holly started working in restaurants, because she didn’t have a family, it always seemed reasonable that she had been rostered on.

  Maggie, too... Since Grandpa had died, they’d always phoned each other on Christmas morning. ‘Here’s another one to get through, Holly, love,’ Gran had said every time. ‘If I can do it, so can you.’

  Another one to get through... Holly thought of those austere beds, of kids in this appalling excuse for a home, and thought: Why not have a real Christmas? Why not have a Christmas to make up for all the Christmases she’d...they’d missed out on?

  ‘If you really can afford it,’ she said, talking to Angus but almost talking to herself as well, ‘I’m talking opulence. Thick carpets by the quarter acre, feather mattresses, pillows by the score. I want light bulbs in all those dusty chandeliers. I want heat and light. Is there somewhere we can hire paintings?’ She glanced at the empty walls and then out to the vast corridors behind her. ‘We need ancestors.’

  ‘Ancestors,’ Angus said faintly.

  ‘Any ancestors will do,’ she said blithely. ‘And suits of armour and stags’ heads, plastic if necessary. I know what a good castle should look like and this isn’t one. Maggie, I think we need a bit of help in the dusting department. We’ll need electricians and plumbers. Do you know any locals who might...?’

  ‘I know locals who’d love,’ Maggie said, staring around her in awe. ‘If His Lordship’s happy to pay...’

  ‘Um...wait just a minute,’ Angus said faintly and Holly put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a stare.

  ‘We’re engaged to be married, are we not...dear?’ she demanded.

  ‘For three weeks.’

  ‘Then for three weeks I’m the Lady of the Castle,’ she retorted, ‘and my reputation is at stake. You can just thank heaven you’re not leg-shackled for life—imagine what I’d cost you then—but it’s all or nothing, My Lord. Make up your mind now.’

  ‘Plastic stags’ heads,’ he said, even more faintly, and Maggie coughed.

  ‘I think I can find real ones,’ she said. ‘The Craigenstone Historical Society has about ten stored in their back shed. They might be a bit moth-eaten...’

  ‘We can buy a bit of artificial fur and patch ’em up,’ Holly said. ‘Excellent.’ She hauled a notebook from her pocket and a pencil, and wrote ‘Stags’ on top. ‘Now,’ she said happily, ‘let’s make lists.’

  * * *

  He’d set a whirlwind in motion.

  This was no subservient miss. He’d employed a maker of lists.

  She drew a map as she went. Every room they went in, she wrote things down.

  Two-thirds of the rooms they entered, dust-sheeted seemingly for generations, Holly simply noted as DND on her list.

  ‘Do Not Disturb,’ she explained. ‘If we take those dust-covers off we might disturb ecosystems that’ll have David Attenborough and the Discovery Channel here by lunchtime, and we have enough to do before Christmas, thank you very much. And the kids will love exploring them for themselves.’

  But in the rooms she thought they might use—the grandest of the grand—her pen went into overdrive. He stood in the background as she wrote things down and Maggie borrowed his cell phone and started calling.

  ‘My cousin’s grandson’s an electrician,’ Maggie told him while Holly wrote more things on her list. ‘He’ll be here by lunchtime, and his two sisters are at home for the holidays and would kill for a chance to check out the castle. They’re great girls—we’ll have this place shiny in no time. As for plumbers, Mrs McConkey’s nephew will come and he has a team. Did you know three of your bathrooms are blocked? Were you planning on using one bathroom for all of you?’

  Yes, he was. Stanley had already told hi
m—dourly—there was no hope of getting tradesmen by Christmas, and here were Maggie and Holly promising tradesmen by lunchtime.

  ‘Maggie’s owed favours everywhere, and with your pay rate it’s easy,’ Holly said cheerfully. ‘We need to move fast, though, if we’re to get this done.’

  Fast? They were a whirlwind, sweeping through the castle as if it were a two-up, two-down council house. He should leave them to it but it was strangely magnetic. And...Holly was wearing his mother’s ring.

  What was it about the ring that had him staying around, even interjecting occasionally? He had a mass of work he should be doing—the world’s financial markets were still operating and he wasn’t here on holiday. He was here to settle his father’s affairs, but he’d brought his work with him.

  He should...

  ‘Is there anything else you need to be doing?’ Holly asked sweetly, and he blinked.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s just...you’re a bit unsettling, hovering.’

  ‘Holly!’ Maggie gasped reprovingly, but Holly grinned.

  ‘Well, he is. Don’t tell me you don’t find him unsettling, too. My Lord, you’re our boss. We’ll be more productive if you leave us to get on in peace.’

  ‘I thought I was your fiancé,’ he growled and she grinned.

  ‘So you are. Well, then, sweetheart, off you go and play some golf or do some other manly thing because we girls want some time together.’

  Sweetheart.

  ‘I hate golf,’ he said.

  ‘Fish, then,’ she said and, to his astonishment, she reached up, took his shoulders, turned him and steered him towards the door. ‘Bye, dear.’

  And the door was closed behind him.

  Leaving him gobsmacked.

  He had a fine housekeeper in New York, an invisible being who did for him while he was at work. He left pay and a bonus at Christmas, but, as far as he was concerned, housework was a mystery.

  So why was he feeling as if he wanted to be involved now?

  Because one feisty Australian chef was bossing him around?

  Because one feisty Australian chef had kissed him?