“My Lord Duke,” Josef began with a steady and loud voice. He bowed his head and very nearly tugged at a forelock of hair while he was at it.
Ondine was impressed that her father knew the correct way to address a duke. But then Da loved his tradition, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.
“We apologize for the late hour and the interruption to your family, but time is against us. My name is Josef de Groot and my family owns The Station Hotel. Our clientele is well behaved and law-abiding, but tonight my daughter, Ondine, overheard people in our public bar plotting to do harm to your person. We came as quickly as we could. To warn you.”
“Really?” The Duke’s voice carried across the room. It was hard to tell from the distance, but he didn’t seem that interested. He stroked his goatee again. “And why should I take your word for it? How do I know you’re not scamming for money? You could be part of the plot, looking to be paid off.”
“Yes, Your Grace, all good points. Your criticism does you credit. Perhaps my daughter could explain,” Josef said, giving Ondine a nudge of encouragement.
From behind her ear, she heard Shambles’s reassuring whisper, “Tell him what I told you about the plot, that they plan tae do him in at the railway station tomorrow morning, at the opening of the new overpass.”
So Ondine did, trying to make her voice loud enough to be heard, but not shouting, which would be rude.
Then Shambles gave Ondine a detailed description of the men’s faces, and told her to tell that to the Duke as well.
“One of them was also missing the top half of his index finger,” Ondine relayed with due diligence.
“Aye, probably picking his nose when someone punched him in the face,” Shambles whispered.
That bit did not bear repeating. Ondine needed all her strength to bite her tongue and stop the bubbling laugh in her throat from escaping. It didn’t take Psychic Summercamp lessons to know the Duke would not appreciate comedy at this point. Not when people wanted to kill him in the morning. With an audience and everything.
“Hmm,” the Duke said after thinking some more. “Step closer.”
The sentry allowed them to take six paces before stopping them once again. They were closer, but far from intimate.
“You came upon this plot how?” the Duke asked.
Ondine repeated everything Shambles told her. “I was serving a table nearby, and overheard some of their conversation. I came back and cleared another table so I could keep listening.”
For a while the Duke stopped stroking his goatee and pondered the information, as was his right. He’d just been delivered a huge shock. He was entitled to paranoia. This time somebody really was out to get him. He was well within his rights to pause and think.
After a few more moments of thought, in which Ondine shifted her weight from her left leg to her right and back again, the Duke motioned to the sentry to let them get even closer. Another six steps. They were about three meters apart.[19]
“How old are you, child?”
“Say you’re eighteen, say you’re eighteen,” Shambles whispered furiously from behind her ear. The ferret was smart to remind her, because if she told the truth, the Duke might ask questions about a fifteen-year-old working in a pub. Not good at all.
“I’m nineteen, Your Grace,” Ondine said, figuring if she had to lie, she might as well make it a good one. “And I think I’d like to stay nineteen for a long while to come.”
A smile split the Duke’s face. “I understand. My dear wife has been thirty-four for many years now.”
Ondine dared not look at her father, in case he became confused and gave the game away. To his credit, he started making excuses about getting back to the hotel, lest the patrons take advantage of reduced staff numbers. The Duke had other ideas. He wanted more information, and it was clear from his expression that he wouldn’t let them cross back over the threshold until he had it.
The sound of footsteps caught their attention. It came from the top of the curved timber staircase to their right. The conversation stopped.
An embarrassing heat crept up Ondine’s neck and face as she looked at the handsome owner of the footsteps, with his tousled dark blond hair and deep brown eyes.
“Lord Vincent.” Josef gave a diplomatic nod of his head, while at the same time his hand reached towards Ondine’s. “We will not trouble your father a moment longer. Come along, Ondine, good girl.”
Good Girl? Ondine cringed.
“On the contrary. You’re no trouble,” the Duke said.
But Ondine’s father had other concerns. Naturally, he’d know the name of the Duke’s son – his paternal radar knew the identity of every bachelor in the immediate three counties. Despite what her mother had said earlier in her father’s defence, Ondine found it really hard to see things through Da’s eyes. OK, a lot of men were drunks, but not all the men who came to the pub got roaring drunk, and not every man in the world spent time in pubs. Was he ever going to see things that way, or was he stuck in the Middle Ages?
Ondine wasn’t looking at the master of the house any more, she could only look at the son, while her pulse started beating just that naughtily bit faster in her ears. He looked perhaps nineteen, maybe a little older, and his expression gave him an air of moneyed confidence. Like his father, he wore a suit and tie – an updated version, the kind that looked effortlessly expensive. Lord Vincent descended the staircase and walked deliberately towards her, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. All of which gave Ondine the chance to appreciate his features.
“Vincent, is there something you want, boy?” The Duke’s voice sounded terse.
The young lord’s buoyancy dimmed a fraction. Ondine could see an annoyed look cross his face. A familiar pang took hold in Ondine. Despite their differences in social status, they shared something in common – parents who expected them to behave as adults, but treated them like children.
“No, sir,” Vincent said. In the blink of an eye he reset his features, giving him fresh confidence as if nothing could trouble him. “I was merely on my way out to an engagement.”
“Right then. Be home by two, and don’t bring any flotsam back with you this time,” the Duke said.
A nod was all the Duke received in return. As Vincent walked past Ondine towards the door, she dared a glance and saw him roll his eyes. An inappropriate giggle formed, but she tamped it down.
“I don’t like him,” Shambles whispered.
If not for the Scottish accent, Ondine would have sworn the words had come straight from her father.
When the meeting with the Duke finally finished, Josef hustled them back to the hotel so they could resume work, all the while lecturing Ondine about the dangers of unruly boys.
“Don’t fall for the first boy who pays you attention. Keep yourself nice,” he said as they approached the back door.
“Da, give me a little credit, please, and stop treating me like a kid,” Ondine whined, betraying her maturity.
“That’s right, you’re nineteen, aren’t you? Trying to act all sophisticated to impress the little lord.”
“I was not! I only lied about my age because the Duke asked how old I was, and if I’d told him the truth, then he’d wonder why an underage girl was serving alcohol. I was saving your skin.”
“Hold your tongue,” Josef said. “We’re home now. Time for you to get back to work.”
Just when Ondine thought she’d won the argument, Da had pulled the “I’m your father” routine, using it like a get-out-of-jail-free card. His timing, as always, was perfect, because he usually called an end to their debates just as Ondine thought of some great comeback lines. Like, “You were born old” and “You’re just grumpy because it saves time being anything else.” Words that would, for now, remain unspoken.[20]
Before Ondine could work up a full head of steam, she saw something that took her breath away.
It was a scene that made her appreciate her eldest sister more than cinnamon toast and marshmallows, be
cause what they witnessed on that balmy summer evening made her father forget all about potential problems between Ondine and Lord Vincent.
There was her eldest sister Marguerite, in the darkened beer garden, all kissy-face with a young man.
“Margi, what is going on?” her father spluttered.
For a fleeting moment, Ondine felt sorry for her sister. In some respects, she could understand why Da raged at her about boys, because she was the youngest. But Margi was positively ancient and old enough to do whatever she liked in Ondine’s eyes.
“This ought to be good!” Shambles said, positioning himself on Ondine’s shoulder for a better view of the oncoming fireworks.
Chapter Four
Marguerite and the lad sprang apart, their eyes round like golf balls, mouths open in shock. It must have been serious, because Marguerite’s normally perfect hair looked tousled. For a long second, nothing happened, but Ondine knew it was only the kind of lull that heralded something ominous, like the stillness between a bolt of lightning and the resulting thunderclap.
The young man stood up first, ran his hand through his short brown hair, straightened his rumpled jacket, then extended his trembling palm towards Josef to shake his hand. Josef offered nothing in return.
The lad let his hand drop, along with the expression on his face. “Mr de Groot, this isn’t what it looks like. I have nothing but the most honourable intentions towards your daughter.”
“Good opening gambit,” Shambles said. “It’ll buy him five seconds before yer da runs him through.”
“Who are you?” Josef asked. It sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.
“Da, please, calm down. That’s no way to treat your future son-in-law,” Marguerite pleaded.
“My what?”
In the darkness, it was hard to tell, but Da’s face was probably close to purple.
“Sir,” the lad started again, holding his hand forward for the second time, which was a pretty gutsy gesture, given the circumstances. “My name is Thomas Berger and I would like your permission to marry your daughter Marguerite.”
A sharp intake of breath was all Ondine could manage, such was her shock.
Marguerite? Engaged? Already?
“Aw, the nice!” Shambles said. “They’re in looove.”
Finally, Josef extended his hand to Thomas but it wasn’t a shake. More like a death grip. Awkward silence ensued.
Everyone looked to the ground. Margi scrunched her hands in her lap.
“I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark,” Da said at last.
“Maybe if you didn’t fly off the handle all the time, we wouldn’t have to keep secrets,” Margi said.
Go Margi!
“What are you doing out here?” The voice came from the back door, and they turned as one to see Ma standing on the threshold. “Back inside all of you, there’s work to be done. Oh, hello there, Thomas dear, how are you?”
Another sharp intake of breath made Ondine’s lungs fit to burst.
“Good thanks, Mrs G,” the young man replied. His familiar tone with Ma told everyone this relationship with Marguerite must have been going on for a while. This latest revelation left Ondine light-headed with equal portions of excitement and confusion.
“Lovely.” Ma turned to the rest of the party. “Josef? In here please, I need you to tap the next keg. Margi, when you’re ready you can relieve Cybelle at the bar. Oh good, Ondine, you’re here too. You can get started on the dishes piling up in the sink.”
“This isn’t finished, young lady,” Josef warned Marguerite as she headed for the relative safety of the public bar. Her father wouldn’t dare upset the patrons by arguing in front of them, but that didn’t stop him from venting his anger in the relative quiet of the hallway. “This isn’t finished by a long shot.”
“Show’s over, but nawt for long I bet,” Shambles said as he and Ondine headed for the kitchen, where teetering towers of greasy plates awaited. “I’m really warming to Da. I’ve met plenty like him. Such good fun. Thought he’d pop a blood vessel.”
“Hush up, Shambles, or I’ll use you as a dishcloth,” Ondine warned.
LATER THAT NIGHT – actually, it was early the next morning – after they’d guided the last patrons out, locked the doors, mopped the floors, wiped the bar, washed the dishes, locked the takings in the safe under the kitchen floorboards and turned out the lights, everything descended into quiet.
A tense kind of quiet, judging by the looks that had passed between Marguerite and Ma, and then from Ma to Da.
Cybelle tucked her straight bob behind her ears as she helped Ondine dry and polish the last of the cutlery. “Wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall tonight, eh, Ondi?”
“Brilliant idea.” Shambles took his leave from Ondine’s shoulder and disappeared in a blur of black fur up the back stairs towards their parents’ quarters.
“For once, I’m glad I’m not the oldest,” Ondine said. “Margi’s really taking one for the team tonight.”
“Da will get over it. He just has to get used to the fact we’re not babies any more,” Cybelle said.
“Lucky we’re not Catholic, or he’d have shipped us off to the nunnery.”
“Don’t give him ideas. He’ll convert us in a heartbeat,” Cybelle said with a soft giggle.
The chink and clunk of silverware (not sterling silverware, this was the cheaper kind) muffled their conversation. In any case, Ma and Da would be too caught up in “the Marguerite situation” to pay them much heed, so they could keep talking.
“So, what’s going on with you and Shambles?” Cybelle asked.
Ondine dropped her fork. “Wh-at do you mean?”
“Come on, Ondi. I’ve seen you listening to him. He talks to you, doesn’t he? And you talk back.” Cybelle’s pale brown eyes looked so dramatic under all that eyeliner and thick fringe. They positively bored into Ondine’s soul. Despite her earlier brush with deceit at the Duke’s house, Ondine found it impossible to lie to her sister.
“So far only Ma and I can hear him. Ma knows who he is – he used to be a real man once. He was the Laird of Glen Logan, that’s what Ma says anyway. He knew great-aunt Col, back when she was our age.”
“You mean Witchy Woman?” Cybelle’s eyes gleamed and her eyebrows disappeared under her fringe.
It was their secret name for their great-aunt, not that they ever said so within adult hearing.
“Shh, Auntie Col can get very upset when she’s offended,” Ondine said, then she relayed an abridged version of how Col the Older had treated Shambles, after the way Shambles had behaved at the debutante ball, which only made Cybelle’s eyes gleam even more.
“So, how old is Shambles? He’d have to be eighty at least if he was around when Old Col was young.”
“That’s the lucky bit. Thanks to Old Col’s spell, he hasn’t a hair of grey on him, and he’s so sprightly. He acts more like he’s our age,” Ondine said with a shrug of her shoulders as she dried the last spoon. She picked up the cutlery and clunked it all in the drawers. “Phew, that’s it for the night. I’m fair knackered.”
“You’re what?” Cybelle asked.
“Just something Shambles says.”
WHEN ONDINE AND CYBELLE tucked themselves into their beds later that night, Shambles leapt into the room and dived for Ondine, snuggling into the warmth of her neck.
“What are you doing, Shambles? You’re supposed to sleep in the laundry,” Ondine said as his soft warm fur caressed her skin. It wasn’t right to have a man in her bed, but then Shambles wasn’t really a real man as such, so perhaps that made it OK. What with all the shocks and revelations today, she barely knew what to think. And he wasn’t really in the bed, it was more like sharing a pillow, and where was the harm in that?
“Aye, but the laundry’s mockit. This is the nice.”[21]
“He’s talking to you, isn’t he? What’s he saying?” Cybelle whispered.
“I have no idea. He’s reverted to Scottish.”
In a few hours’ time, after the sun came up, there would be an attempt on the Duke’s life at the station. But right now Ondine was more interested in dramas closer to home.
“Yer da says she’s too young, but he can’t see that ye’ve all grown up and he can’t control ye any more. Yer ma was more circumspect,” Shambles said as he made himself comfortable on Ondine’s pillow. “She says Thomas would move in and then they’d have an extra pair of hands at the bar, and Margi wouldnae work out front any more and be leered on by drunks. Sure and it would be better if she married and stayed close to home, than married and ran away. She also said she’d get a refund on the Summercamp, owing to the fact you’ll be needed here now and won’t be going back.”[23]
Ondine shook her head as a wry smile crept over her lips. “Trust Ma to appeal to his practical side.” Secretly she felt glad her mother wanted her back.
“What did he say?” Cybelle asked.
The wry smile turned into a huff. “I feel like a parrot, having to repeat everything. Shambles, how come Ma and I can hear you and Cybelle can’t?”
A cheeky look crossed Shambles’s face and he winked at Ondine. “Because you’re the fairest in the land.”
A giggle percolated in her tummy, but she held it in check. “Um, he’s not sure,” she said, feeling a little embarrassed at the compliment. High time to switch off the light – that way Cybelle wouldn’t be able to see Ondine grinning. Cybelle also wouldn’t be able to see how furiously she was blushing, judging by the heat pouring through her neck and face as the man in ferret form cuddled against her skin.
“So, what next?” Cybelle asked.
Shambles relayed what he heard to Ondine, and Ondine relayed what she heard to Cybelle. “Yer ma wants the wedding to happen as soon as possible. They’re planning an engagement party, and yer da will have to get used to having another man around the hoose.”
The Ondine Collection Page 3
