Freezing or not, Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks when she was free of Piper’s welcome attack. She turned in a circle and stood gaping. The house—the incredible stone behemoth—in front of her, was too large to see the entire thing from her proximity. The white gravel driveway leading up to it was too long to see the end where they must have come in, and curved away into the distance. She looked up and saw rows and rows of windows, miles and miles of ivy crawling up the aged gray stones. The place was massive and clearly ancient. What Evelyn was looking at was a fortress, a castle, not some country cottage.
“What is going on?” she asked in a tiny voice, looking at Piper and shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me you inherited Hogwarts?”
“Come on, come inside.”
Piper grabbed her arm and dragged her through the giant oak door, having to lean on it to close it behind them. She bobbed up and down on her heels and hugged Evelyn again, who couldn’t do anything other than stand and gawk at her surroundings.
She was surrounded on all sides by stone and glossy old wood. A scary looking chandelier hung directly over their heads.
“Come on, I know, believe me.”
Piper continued to drag her down a dimly lit hallway, the sconces on the walls flickering as if they were gas lamps. They were gas lamps, Evelyn realized, trying to inspect them more closely while getting yanked along by Piper.
They reached a somewhat normal sized door. Behind it was an incredibly messy library. A large modern executive desk was completely covered with piles of papers and books, with stacks of books on either side and spilling over to the front. There were cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked all along the walls, hiding bookshelves and paintings. Some of the boxes were opened, with packing peanuts and bubble wrap in untidy piles near them. Every available surface was covered with books or papers.
Piper swept a stack of binders off of a straight-backed chair and gestured for Evelyn to have a seat. Doing so, Evelyn inspected her oldest and dearest friend. She looked completely frazzled, her shiny dark hair half bedraggled, half flattened to her head, and all the way unsuccessfully pulled into a ponytail. Deep dark circles stood out under her eyes and her lips were gnawed and chapped.
“Piper, why are you dressed like Katharine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story?” Evelyn asked, at a loss as to where to start.
Piper let out a strangled little laugh and looked down at her high waisted cream riding pants and belted cashmere sweater. She nervously ran her hands over her outfit.
“These were her clothes, my great-grandmother. Aren’t they fantastic? She was my size.”
She dumped some books off of another chair and pulled it over to sit opposite Evelyn.
“What the hell, Piper? Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
“I was overwhelmed. I mean, you can see … “
“Does this place even have electricity?” Evelyn eyed the flickering wall sconces.
“Some of it does, where the bedrooms are does. This part’s still gas, and there are parts that don’t even have that.” Piper nervously took out her ponytail and began scraping her hair back to put it up more neatly. “When I first got here, it was a mess. And not just what you see here. Lawyers kept calling for meetings and wanting answers or signatures, then I had to fly to Saudi Arabia to deal with some things there— ”
“Lawyers? More than one? Saudi Arabia? Wait, what? Why?” Evelyn interrupted.
Sam quietly came in and leaned against the edge of the desk. A few papers slid to the ground but no one seemed to care. Piper looked tired, but soldiered on with her explanations.
“Fenella, that’s my great-grandma, remarried after my grandmother ran away from Scotland. You remember how I told you she would never talk about it, her past or her family or any of it? We always thought she was pregnant with my mom and had to run off in disgrace, but really, the timing doesn’t match up, and Fenella didn’t seem strict or religious or anything that would have warranted that. Uh, anyway. She remarried an Arabian oil magnate and they went back and forth for a while but ended up over there for good three years ago, right?” She looked to Sam and he nodded. “Her husband died last year and he left her everything, and then when she died she left it all to me. And it’s taking forever to get it all sorted.”
“Wow, Piper.” Evelyn was stunned.
Piper nodded. “I know.”
“Are you a millionaire now? Are you filthy stinking rich?”
Piper did her unnatural bark of a laugh again and her eyes went a little wild. “Yes, I think so. I think filthy stinking rich is probably an understatement, though.”
Evelyn could see how this would cause Piper to have a bit of a nervous breakdown. She’d always been a free spirit, doing what she wanted when she wanted to do it, leaving college in the first semester to take a job on a cruise ship, then jumping ship after six months to work in a hotel in the Bahamas, and since then doing everything from medieval fair tavern wench to balloon animal artist at kid’s parties to managing a karaoke bar. Having a big mess of money dumped in her lap and being presented with a history she never knew about would be just the thing to send her over the edge.
“Well, you know I don’t know any more about money than you do, but I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
Evelyn reached over and patted Piper’s hand. Sam made a strangled noise from his post at the desk. Piper gasped and looked at Evelyn with wide, borderline crazy eyes.
“Oh, Evie,” she said, choking back a sob. “It’s not the money that’s got me so upset.” She took a deep shuddering breath but couldn’t hold back her tears. Sam stepped forward and squeezed Piper’s shoulder as she tried to get herself under control. “It’s so much worse than the money.”
Chapter 5
Piper sat with her face in her hands, breathing raggedly. Evelyn looked to Sam questioningly, but he just shook his head.
“Piper, what is it?” Evelyn grabbed Piper’s clammy hands and pulled them away from her face. “Just start at the beginning and tell me what the problem is.”
Evelyn was starting to feel a lump of fear forming in the pit of her stomach. Unless Piper was having trouble involving a handsy drunk or needed to know the societal ramifications of being a single parent, she didn’t know how she could help, or why she’d been flown at great expense all this way at such short notice.
“Piper, come on, get it together here.” Evelyn tried using her Ms. Trecher voice.
Their eighth grade field hockey coach could always get them to stop fooling around and at least pretend to try to play. Piper looked up gratefully with her first genuine smile since Evelyn’s arrival and took a deep shuddering breath.
“The beginning. Well we first … , oh God, what is today?” She looked frantically at Sam.
“Thursday,” he supplied calmly. “Thursday evening. When was the last time you got any sleep?”
Piper threw up her hands and looked around the room for someone else to answer this question for her.
“When did he … ?” she asked Sam.
He glanced at Evelyn, who was completely lost, and scowled. “That was Sunday. Sunday evening. You called Evelyn on Tuesday, or was it Wednesday, really early? Is it even Thursday now?” Sam stopped to think. “Jesus, I think we all need some sleep.”
“It’s actually Friday, you guys, and I’m not really that tired because I took a Benadryl on the plane and slept like a baby the whole flight. I didn’t even eat my beef Wellington. Oh, thanks for the first class ticket, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” Piper said.
A tear trickled out of her eye and rolled unheeded down her cheek.
“Okay, I’ve had enough of this mystery.” Evelyn stood up and hauled Piper to her feet and started shoving her toward the door. “You either need to just spit it out or get some sleep. What do you choose?”
“It’s a long story and we kind of have to show you,” Piper said.
“Well, whatever’s going on has been going on since Sunday
, or so you think, so can’t it wait a few more hours? Just take a little nap, and I’ll get a shower, because I actually feel sort of gross and my skin is super dry from your horrible weather.”
Evelyn glared at Sam, who looked at his feet, unable to defend the Scottish weather.
“Okay, Evie. That sounds good,” Piper said, sounding like the world’s saddest crazy person. “I guess I can sleep now that you’re here. Then we’ll figure it all out.”
“That’s exactly right, we’ll figure it out together.” Evelyn stopped herding Piper in the hallway. “I don’t know where to go now.”
Piper straightened up and shook herself like a dog. “Oh my gosh. Come on. I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow of course, but for now I’ll just show you your room.”
Piper took her hand and started to lead her up the grand winding staircase of about a hundred stairs. Sam called up from the bottom that he was going to get something to eat and then he’d be in his room if they needed anything. Piper waved absent-mindedly in his direction. They were halfway down a brightly lit, floral carpeted hallway before Evelyn remembered she never thanked him for the ride, then realized he’d said ‘his room’.
“Does he live here?” she asked.
Piper shook her head. “He lives in the village, but he’s staying here while, uh, until we get things settled.”
Evelyn looked around her, noticing the second floor was bright and cheery, with paintings lining the cream brocade papered walls and electric sconces with etched glass globes and shiny brass fixtures. Except for the deep stone window sills, it didn’t scream medieval torture chamber so much as the downstairs did.
“This is a modern addition,” Piper explained. “This floor and the three above it are from the mid 1800s. This is the only floor anyone’s lived on in years.”
Piper opened a shiny paneled oak door and held out her arm like a hotel steward, letting Evelyn go in first.
It was a pretty, airy room, with a strange mix of furniture. The bed was clearly antique, a giant dark wood four poster hung with gossamer curtains that were embroidered with butterflies. There was a little brass vanity table that screamed 1960s and the rug looked like it might have been an entire sheep at one point. A cozy sitting area around an enormous stone fireplace consisted of two dainty Louis XIV armchairs and a bright blue mid century modern settee. Against the wall opposite the bed was a dark wood wardrobe that probably could have fit all of Narnia in it, or at least her bathroom back home.
“The decor’s a little bipolar,” Piper apologized. “We’re trying to get this place set up for tours again, but it was empty so long, so much stuff was crated up. I’m just putting out stuff as I come across it. That bed was always in here, though. I don’t think Atlas could move that thing.”
“I think it’s great. God, Piper. You really own all this.”
Piper laughed, but still not a real one. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. If you’re hungry, just go to the kitchen, it’s down behind the stairs. There’s a long hallway that leads to the left, just follow it and you’ll get there all right.”
“You mean I can’t just ring a bell for food?” Evelyn joked.
“I haven’t gotten a live-in staff yet, and the housekeeper won’t be back until the morning,” she said, wrinkling her forehead in a frown. “Listen, explore if you want, but just stick to this floor or downstairs. I really wouldn’t go upstairs or off in the side wings. Parts of this place are close to a thousand years old and there are some rotten floors. And if you see anything that looks like it might be a secret passageway, it probably is. Do not go in them.”
“Are you serious?” Evelyn asked, trying to keep from appearing as slack jawed as she felt.
“Very serious.”
They stared at each other for a minute until Piper burst out laughing.
“My third day here I got lost in one for hours. It was pitch dark and scuttering with who knows what. I thought I was a goner for a while. I finally came out in the garden, all the way down at the bottom of the hill in the back. This place is … well, you’ll see for yourself tomorrow.” She grabbed Evelyn in a rib cracking hug and held on for dear life. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t come.”
“Go get some sleep, Piper,” Evelyn said. “You seem like you need it.”
“Yes, now you’re here I can.”
Evelyn had to physically push her in the direction of the door. Piper was tottering on her feet with exhaustion.
A few minutes later Sam knocked on her door to deliver her suitcase. When she opened her mouth to try to question him he shook his head resolutely, and told her he’d be at the end of the hall if she needed anything.
After getting something like a shower in the leaky, far less than modern bathroom, she padded back to her room and tried to get cozy in the titanic bed. She could lay across it twice and there’d still be room for two other people.
She rummaged her guilty pleasure paperback out of her suitcase and opened it up to where she’d left off before she fell asleep on the plane, but not even the misadventures of Lady Hannah Montgomery-Davenport and rogue Highland warrior Gavin McTavish could distract her from wondering what could possibly be going on here in the real life Scottish Highlands.
Her stomach rumbled and she decided to brave the downstairs and try to find the kitchen. She’d read so many period romances and watched so many British PBS shows about old manor houses that she was bristling with excitement to actually be in one. And Piper had said it was close to a thousand years old! Her American brain couldn’t even wrap itself around something that old.
Taking a votive candle from the little vanity table to light her way, she found the kitchen without too much trouble, running the last bit when she was sure she heard a scuffling sound behind her in the dark hallway.
The kitchen was remarkably modern, and she found a treasure trove of sandwich fixings in the large chrome subzero refrigerator. After eating a huge ham and brie on crusty homemade wheat bread with adorable little sprouts that she thought might be watercress, she still wasn’t the least bit sleepy.
A small door at the back wall of the kitchen was telling her to open it and explore, and Piper had said the downstairs was all right. She picked up her votive and pulled open the door, leaning over to see what was inside, expecting to be disappointed to find a pantry or broom closet.
“Score!” she said, delighted to find a passageway. It probably leads to servant’s quarters, she thought, heading in.
Once she got under the short doorway she was able to stand up in the passage. An inspection of the walls turned up a lack of light switches. Carefully propping open the door to let in as much light from the kitchen as possible, she headed down the narrow corridor. The kitchen light was completely useless about ten yards in and she held the votive in front of her with one hand and felt along the side wall with the other. The wall was made of rough wood and was dusty and cobwebbed, but she was more scared of smashing her face into a dead end than she was of a little dirt. A whiny draft kept blowing through from the kitchen, threatening to extinguish her candle and giving her the creeps. She was starting to think she should give up and turn back when she came upon another little wooden door. It took a bit of kicking and yanking to get it open to reveal a stairway leading down.
Absolutely not, she thought, imagining the stairwell collapsing the moment she stepped onto it. Holding her weak little candle as far out over the stairway as she could, she took a firm grip on the doorframe and leaned over to see what was down below. Her flame glinted off of rows and rows of bottles, and reflected off the metal rings of what had to be barrels. A wine cellar.
Evelyn started to rethink her fear of the staircase. Piper’s great-grandmother had lived here up until three years ago, and had surely used the wine cellar. The staircase couldn’t have gone to hell in just three years?
Tentatively, she pressed some of her weight on the first step, still gripping the door frame. It seemed as solid
as any stairs she’d ever been on. Keeping a firm hold on the door frame, she descended as far as her arm would let her. Moment of truth. She let go of the door and took another step down, felt stupid for being so scared and continued to the bottom.
The wine cellar stretched further than her candle would allow her to see so she started toward the center of the room, stopping to look at various bottles, wondering if Piper even knew about this room yet.
One label on a bottle was handwritten with the date 1784 and she held it for a long time, trying to imagine that long ago. She decided to take it back upstairs to show Piper, and found herself wanting to find something even older. She wound her way through the rows of wine racks, pulling out bottles at random. They didn’t seem to be in any sort of order. A 1973 was next to an 1890. The cellar was quite a bit colder than the passageway had been, the walls were made of stone and she figured she was underground. A ripple of goosebumps passed up and down her arms, from the chill and from her imagination starting to work overtime.
Clutching the old bottle of wine, she started back in what she thought was the direction she’d come but instead ran smack into the stone wall. Crap. She turned around and held her candle aloft, creating an eery circle of light that did nothing but scare her further. She was in the middle of some racks, the wall was behind her and the rows seemed to go on forever in every direction.
You better not panic, she told herself firmly. Just follow this row until you get to the end. But she knew that wouldn’t work because she’d wound her way through the racks to this point, instead of a sensible straight line. Dummy, she berated herself. Idiot.
Something bumped against her leg and she screamed and dropped her candle. The glass votive holder shattered on the stone floor, the candle guttering out and leaving her in total darkness.
Panicking, she turned abruptly in the opposite direction and ran into the wall. Keeping one hand on the wall, she swept her other hand in a low wide arc, hoping whatever had bumped against her leg was gone or that she could scare it away with her frightened flailing, and smacked her hand on the spigot of a barrel. She’d just brushed up against a barrel and freaked out, and now she had no light and was in the middle of a wine maze.
Lost Highlander Page 3
