I wished almost every day for things to be different. I’d seen my first aura, as I called it, not long after my mother died, killed while crossing a road. I’d been texting her when it happened and I was convinced she would have seen the car coming if she hadn’t been looking at her phone— at my message. Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, but I had a fast guilt trigger. My baby brother, Toby, had drowned in a pool where we were playing together. The burden of knowing I should have saved him had weighed heavily on me for the last twenty years.
Josh straightened his shoulders and looked at me. I could see that something had shifted inside him. “I’m sorry for reacting that way,” he said. “The auras are a gift. We’ll find out what we’re up against and do whatever it takes to save Fergus.”
I leaned into him, thankful as always for his steady strength and support. After a while, he gently pushed me away and stood. “Time to go find dinner. I’m hungry.”
We ate in what Fergus called the breakfast room, where a table that seated ten was set for the three of us. Fergus kept the conversation light, talking about the way Pierre had prepared the trout, the Sancerre we drank with it, and plans for his birthday party. He told us that fifty guests were expected. “I haven’t seen a few of them for years, not since I was working in Oxford, but most are locals. Josh will know some of them, like the Crays from over in Lochawe.” He topped up my glass of wine. “I hope it won’t be too boring for you, though. A bunch of old codgers reminiscing about better times, most likely. Half of them have at least a decade on me.”
At that point, I caught sight of Josh staring at Fergus so intently I was sure his uncle would notice. Josh couldn’t see the aura, of course. That privilege was mine alone, and I thought how unnerving it must be for him to have to take my word for it.
“We’re bringing in some staff to help Pierre,” Fergus said. “That will include waiters and some kitchen helpers. Pierre and I worked on the menu together, all based on local ingredients, trout, salmon and venison. Lachlan sourced the venison.”
“You mean he shot a deer?” I asked.
Fergus smiled at my look of horror. “Aye, we have a deer stalking permit. We cull a few dozen roe deer each year.”
“Do you shoot?” I asked.
“Naturally. I usually bring a few friends in, make it a party.”
The thought of men running around the estate with guns gave me goosebumps. Was that the source of danger to Fergus? With the urgency of the aura on my mind, I touched Josh’s leg under the table, nodding towards his uncle. This would be a good time to find out what was worrying him. Josh put his fork on his plate but, just as he opened his mouth to speak, lights flashed past the window and an engine revved.
Fergus raised an eyebrow. “That will be Duncan. Never walks if he can run and doesn’t acknowledge that a car has any gear except fourth and up.”
Car doors banged, and then I heard the rumble of suitcases being wheeled across the gravel driveway, the front door opening and a murmur of voices in the entry hall. A minute later, Josh’s older cousin walked into the breakfast room.
In spite of their eight-year age gap, Duncan and Josh looked surprisingly alike, both tall and lean, with the same glossy brown hair. The only visible difference between the two was in the eyes. Duncan’s were more grey than blue-green.
Josh jumped to his feet to embrace his cousin.
Duncan spoke with a lazy drawl that sounded put on. “It’s been a long time. How are you, old man?”
Old man? Did anyone speak like that anymore? Duncan’s turn of phrase matched his preppy outfit: tan suede loafers, khaki pants with a perfect crease, a striped shirt, and a navy blazer. “This is Lucy.” He introduced the woman next to him. “We’ve been dating for what? Three months, Luce?”
Lucy nodded and gave us a shy smile. She was a little younger than Duncan, I guessed, maybe in her early thirties. Slim, with high cheekbones and perfectly-cut blonde hair that hung like silk to her shoulders, she wore a long skirt over leather boots. I didn’t think Fergus had known that his nephew was bringing a girlfriend, but he kept smiling, made them both sit and poured them each a drink. They told him they’d eaten on the plane, which had been delayed for an hour. “It was almost too late to pick up our rental car,” Duncan said. “We got a sports car, which was a waste of time. All that bloody fog slowed us down.”
Lucy’s wineglass shook when she lifted it to her mouth. I imagined a hair-raising ride, speeding along country lanes in the dark and the mist. No wonder she seemed anxious. At least Josh was a careful driver, and we’d arrived in daylight. While the three men chatted, I tried to make small talk with her. “Are you in finance as well?” I asked. I knew that Duncan worked in the City, doing something with hedge funds.
She shook her head. “No, I’m a professor at King’s College, London, medieval history.”
“Oh, how perfect,” I exclaimed. “You’ll love it here then. The castle tower was originally built in the 1200s. It’s been repaired and expanded a few times, apparently, but it’s mostly original.”
Lucy nodded. “I can’t wait to explore the place. Duncan hasn’t told me much about it. He’s always so busy. But I read up on it a bit before coming up here.”
We chatted for a few minutes about our respective jobs. I kept my eyes on Lucy’s face or on my glass, avoiding the sight of the aura moving over Fergus.
“I suggest we go to the library and sample my single malt collection,” he said, getting to his feet. “We will be more comfortable there.”
The library was upstairs, occupying a large space, with triple-arched windows at one end, and floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound volumes. Two battered brown leather sofas, flanking a fireplace that glowed softly, faced each other across a coffee table strewn with more books.
“Let me introduce you to the drinks cupboard first,” Fergus said. We followed him into a small room off to one side of the library. It was lined with mirrored shelves. On them stood scores of bottles in different shapes and sizes, many full and some half-empty. Their contents gleamed in myriad shades of amber, honey, and caramel. It was an impressive collection. My drinks cupboard at home consisted of a bottle of cooking sherry and a half-drunk bottle of Limoncello, stored in the back of the spice cabinet.
“Choose any one you want.” Fergus passed each of us a crystal tumbler. I had no idea and selected the same Macallan as Josh. Duncan opted for a thirty-seven-year-old Lagavulin, and Lucy nodded. “I’ll have that too then.”
Fergus laughed. “I’ll have the same. You’ve got good taste, laddie. That’s a three-thousand-pound bottle of scotch.”
Lucy looked mortified. “Oh, no,” she said. “Give me something generic. I can’t tell the difference.”
Fergus poured her a generous measure of the costly Lagavulin anyway. “My father bought this one. In fact, he acquired most of these bottles. He was quite the connoisseur.”
Once we all had drinks, we settled on the sofas, sinking into the time-softened cushions. The fire cast ruddy shadows on our faces, and I was glad of the low light. It made it harder to see Fergus’s aura.
“A toast,” Duncan said. “To Uncle Fergus.”
We raised our glasses, and I took a sip of my drink. It was smooth and smoky and felt warm in my throat.
“Thank you for coming,” Fergus said. “We’re going to enjoy my birthday party on Saturday, but first, I need to talk to you two about the estate.” He pointed with his glass at Josh and Duncan.
Lucy and I looked at each other. “Do you want us to leave?” I asked Fergus. “We’d be happy to entertain ourselves for a while.” Secretly, I hoped we could stay. I wanted to find out what might be threatening Fergus.
“Heavens, no. Stay right where you are. You may as well listen to it all.”
Josh shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, looking anxious, obviously dreading what we might hear. I leaned forward, wondering if Fergus’s revelation would cast light on the presence of that aura.
“I won’t beat about the bush,” Fergus began. “The estate is in trouble. It costs nearly a quarter of a million pounds a year to maintain the buildings, pay the utilities and taxes, and employ a bare-bones staff to keep the house and land under control. Last year alone, we had two major plumbing problems, which cost a small fortune to fix. Then we discovered that part of the roof on the main building is rotting away, so I took out a loan to repair it. Another loan, that is. I already have one outstanding. But we can’t match the original roof tiles, so the historical society is insisting that we replace the whole damn thing.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Duncan asked, straightening up and staring at his uncle. “What kind of loan? What’s the interest rate?”
Fergus held up his hand, palm out. “Let me finish.” He swallowed a mouthful of whisky and leaned back against the sofa. “I’m trying out a few things to bring in extra income. I hired a chef to put on gourmet dinners on Saturday nights…”
“And is that working?” Duncan asked.
“It’s helping. We rent out a few bedrooms on a B&B basis, and we’re planning to turn the old Garden Cottage into a holiday rental. We’re leasing out our grouse-shooting rights, and that does make good money. But not enough to repay the loans.”
I thought about what Fergus was saying. The stress of running the estate might account for his aura. He might be ill, heading for a heart attack perhaps.
“I’ll show you the books if you like,” Fergus continued. “Duncan, you’ll want to take a look as you’re the heir to this sorry mess.”
Duncan’s expression was hard to read, but I guessed he was shocked. He sat rigid in his seat, gazing at Fergus without blinking.
“When your father died,” Fergus said to him. “I told him I’d look after you, and I will.”
When Duncan didn’t respond, Josh leaned over to pat Fergus on the arm. “You’re only sixty-five, minus a couple of days. It’s far too soon to be thinking of passing on the estate. You’ve got plenty of years to go yet.” He flicked a glance at me, and I bent my head over my glass. I didn’t want Fergus to see the tears in my eyes.
“That’s the thing,” Fergus said. “There will be no property to pass on. I’m going to sell it.”
3
When Fergus stopped talking, no one spoke. In the silence, the fire crackled and spat. Lucy looked from Fergus to Duncan and back. Josh gazed at me, his eyebrows raised.
“Sell the estate to whom?” Duncan asked eventually.
“And what happens to you?” Josh asked. “Where will you go?”
Fergus settled deeper in the sofa and swirled the remainder of the scotch in his glass. “There’s an interested buyer,” he said. “An American entrepreneur who works in Silicon Valley. He started up a technology company making an app of some kind, and he’s worth a fortune. His name’s Stanton Knox.” Fergus grunted. “He claims to be a descendant of John Knox, the Protestant reformer. He was a revolutionary and a misogynist if you take the dark view of him, but a courageous and enlightened founder of the Presbyterian church in Scotland if you don’t. I dare say young Stanton prefers the more complimentary version of his ancestor.” He sipped his whisky. “Anyway, I’ve done my research, and Knox definitely has the funds to buy the estate. He says he’s looked at several other properties in Scotland, but is attracted to this one because of its location, the private loch, and access to the river.”
“He’s already seen the estate?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, he visited last month for a couple of days.”
“What’s he like?”
“Well, he’s young and cocky. Apparently, he has quite a reputation. They say he’s always right about everything.”
“Is he going to move here permanently?”
“I doubt it. He owns property in Montana and Hawaii and has a sizeable estate near San Francisco. He’ll probably just visit here once a year or so.”
Duncan put his glass on the coffee table. Whether he intended to or not, he slapped it down hard and some of the precious single malt slopped over the side, spreading a circle of droplets that glowed red in the light from the fire.
“Has he made an offer?” he demanded.
“Duncan, give Fergus time to tell us the whole story,” Josh remonstrated. “We’ll get to the details in due course.”
Fergus nodded. “You’ll know everything I know before we’re done here tonight. Knox will arrive tomorrow morning to discuss the contract—”
“Contract?” Duncan shot forward in his seat. “What contract? You haven’t signed anything, have you?”
Fergus patted the air as though trying to calm his older nephew. “No, nothing yet. We’ve drawn up an agreement in principle but, as you can imagine, there are many, many issues to be considered. Beyond the physical property of the castle and the gardens, we own two farms on the estate, both leased under the 1991 Tenancy Act, which would preserve the tenants’ rights to farm that land. We have another three tenants with sheep-grazing rights on the grouse moors. Knox’s lawyer has indicated that his client wants to convert these leases to Limited Duration Tenancies, but I’m not happy about that. Knox should continue their leases. They’re all very experienced farmers and they know how to take care of the land. So that will be a major issue on the agenda tomorrow. I’ve got a good solicitor, Robert Dunne. He specializes in estates and trusts, and I’m getting solid advice from him on how to structure the contract.”
“And the income from the farms isn’t enough to maintain the property?” Duncan asked.
“I wish it were. It goes some way to mitigating the costs, but there’s still a gulf between those revenues and our outgoings. We had to pay significant death duties when your father died, which put us into debt we’ve never recovered from.” Fergus pushed his white hair back from his forehead. “I want you to know I’ve tried everything possible to generate new income.”
His eyes glittered with unshed tears. The combination of that ill-concealed emotion and the presence of the aura made my heart clench. We had to find a way to help him.
“As I said earlier,” Fergus continued, “I started the gourmet dinner program, and began renting out a few rooms on weekend nights. I brought in a second manager to work with Lachlan on organizing fishing expeditions and hiking trips.” Fergus trailed off and sighed deeply. “It brings in a little money, but not enough, especially now with the loans to pay off.”
He finished his scotch and stood up. “Anyone else for more?”
Duncan held out his glass, and his uncle took it into the drinks cupboard. I contemplated the value of all those single malts and of the picture gallery upstairs, as well as the rooms full of furniture and antiques. From an outsider’s perspective, the castle looked affluent enough, even though it was a little rundown and shabby in places.
I wondered if Duncan would ask about the contents of the castle. He was whispering with Lucy. I couldn’t hear their words, but Duncan looked furious, and Lucy’s cheeks were pink.
When Fergus came back with the replenished glasses, he must have noticed Duncan’s expression. “I’m sure you must be distressed, and very probably angry,” he said as he handed him his drink. “You’re not the only one. As you’d expect, there are plenty of people here who are outraged over my decision to sell, especially to a wealthy American who won’t run it the way it’s been run in the past. There have been threats.”
“What kind of threats?” I asked, pouncing on a possible lead to the source of the danger to him.
Fergus waved a hand around. “Nothing that bothers me. It’s understandable that the staff and tenants feel insecure and uncertain about their future here. I won’t be able to address their fears until I speak with Knox tomorrow. It’s my belief that he will keep on Mrs. Dunsmore and Lachlan at the very least, and that’s what I will recommend to him. He will need reliable, knowledgeable people here to care for the place in his absence.”
“When will the sale go through?” Duncan asked.
“Soon, I hope. The re
payment on the first loan is past due. Assuming we come to an agreement this weekend, Knox would present a formal offer in the next week or two, and the sale would close four to six weeks after that.”
“Bloody hell,” Duncan muttered and took a long swallow of his drink.
“Have you told my mum?” Josh asked. She was Fergus’s younger sister and had been planning to join us for his birthday party this weekend, but had fractured a bone in her foot and wasn’t able to travel. We’d promised to send her lots of photos of the festivities.
“Not yet,” Fergus said. “I didn’t want to bother her while she’s recuperating from her fall.”
Duncan got to his feet and stood with his back to the fire. It irritated me that he was blocking all the warmth. Lucy had shrunk into a corner of the pillowy sofa, gripping her glass but not drinking. She seemed to be very nervous around Duncan, and I didn’t blame her. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his temper under control. I’d be nervous around him, too.
“What about the assets?” Duncan asked, as I’d expected he would. “The silverware, the china, the paintings? If you sold all of that, it must add up to something?”
Fergus nodded. “Yes, but not as much as you’d think. None of the pictures are masterpieces, much as I cherish them. We could sell everything, maybe make enough to pay off the loan. But there will always be more repairs on a structure this old. I don’t want to strip this place of its history and live in a leaky, dilapidated building, and I’m sure you won’t want that either.”
“The library then.” Duncan pointed to the bookshelves. “Most of the books are valuable, first editions and the like. Or there’s the sword collection. You could sell that instead of letting it sit gathering dust. Are you quite sure you’ve thought of all the possibilities?”
“Sit down, Duncan,” Josh said. “This isn’t—”
He was interrupted by a cry from Lucy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I spilled my drink over your sofa.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll go find a cloth and clean it up.”
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 87
