“I guess not,” I conceded, and continued to peer downward while Sir Percy flew in a series of S curves that allowed us to view the island from coast to coast.
Erinskil’s long central valley was surrounded by a necklace of steep hills. Along the coasts, foaming waves unfurled on white-sand beaches or crashed with a flourish against tall, craggy cliffs. Hundreds of thousands of seabirds rose in swirling clouds from the cliffs as we passed, their beaks open nearly as wide as their wings as they objected raucously to our intrusion.
“Those are the Devil’s Teeth,” Sir Percy informed me, as we flew over a cluster of stark, jagged stone columns jutting up from the sea, “and that’s known as the Sleeping Dragon,” he went on, turning to follow the spine of a long, spiky ridge that wound into the island’s green interior.
A small, mirror-bright lake lay at the foot of the Sleeping Dragon, and emerald-green fields stretched out beyond it. We flew over pastures hemmed by stone walls and strewn with boulders—though many of the boulders turned out, at second glance, to be sheep. A two-lane paved road ran north to south down the center of the island, with dirt tracks leading off it to what I presumed were farmsteads. We were flying so low that I could plainly see a woman hanging laundry on a line near one whitewashed house.To judge by the way the shirts flapped in the wind, they wouldn’t take long to dry.
In the island’s northeastern corner, the land dipped down to what appeared to be a natural harbor. At its lowest and most sheltered point, a concrete jetty jutted out from the shoreline and bent at a right angle to form a breakwater. A small construction crane stood at the jetty’s elbow, permanently mounted on a concrete base. A few boats lay at anchor inside the breakwater, several more had been drawn up on the slipway, and a collection of whitewashed stone buildings straggled up from the jetty along a cobbled street.
“Stoneywell,” said Sir Percy, “Erinskil’s harbor and only village. Smaller than Finch it may be, but it possesses all the hallmarks of civilization: church, schoolhouse, post office, pub. My little home-away-from-home stands above the village, in a spot that affords marvelous views of the sea as well as . . .”
The narration continued, but I was no longer listening. I was staring in delighted disbelief at another, much larger building that crowned the grassy headland above the village.
“A castle!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know you owned a castle!”
It wasn’t a fairy-tale castle, with delicate turrets, slender pillars, and pointed arches. The edifice on the headland was a blunt, blocky, businesslike fortification that seemed to grow out of the living rock. An unpaved track wound up from the village to the massive gatehouse in the castle’s south wall, and the east wall overlooked the harbor, but its north and west walls had their backs to the sea.
As Sir Percy flew in a wide circle around the headland, I could see that the castle was roughly rectangular in shape, with a squat, round tower at each corner. The gatehouse opened onto a flagstoned courtyard surrounded on three sides by a U-shaped building, a central block with two wings. The three-story building had evidently been built for durability rather than looks. It sat snugly against the castle’s outer walls, as though it had been grafted onto them when the castle had been built.
The outer walls were topped by wide walkways, hung with balconies, and pierced by many windows. I was alarmed to see a half dozen sinister-looking black cannons resting on the lead roof of the northeast tower, their barrels pointing through the crenellations.The bristling weaponry made the castle seem belligerent, as if it were issuing a gruff challenge to would-be pillagers: “Listen up, Viking hordes: No one lands here without my permission.” From a pole atop the gatehouse, a flag flew, bearing the Pelham family crest.
Sir Percy’s voice boomed suddenly in my headphones: “Surprise!”
I grinned weakly, glanced at my wide-eyed sons, and began to have second thoughts about the safety of our safe haven. If the boys didn’t plunge headlong from the castle walls into the sea, they stood a good chance of blowing themselves to smithereens with Sir Percy’s explosive version of patio furniture. I hoped fervently that the big guns were decorative rather than functional, then clutched my armrests as the helicopter stopped in midair, hovered briefly, and began to descend. My heart—and stomach—quaked when I realized that Sir Percy intended to land the helicopter on the edge of a windblown cliff.
I would have shouted “Are you nuts?” if I hadn’t been terrified of distracting Sir Percy from what I considered to be an unnervingly finicky maneuver. The gusts that drove Erinskil’s windmills were sure to flip us over and send us crashing to our doom. I turned to reassure Will and Rob, but their blissful expressions told me that they were in seventh heaven, and I quickly decided to keep my mouth shut. The flight was one big roller-coaster ride to them, and I wasn’t about to spoil their fun with boring old intimations of mortality. As the ground rose to meet us, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and hoped for the best.
A gentle bump jarred my seat, but it wasn’t until the engines began to wind down that I realized we’d landed. A swift glance through the window told me that my fears had been needless. We were sitting steady as a rock on a helipad of poured concrete surrounded by a smooth, wind-deflecting berm. I smiled sheepishly as Sir Percy emerged from the cockpit, looking buoyant.
“Great landing,” I said.
“It was rather good, wasn’t it?” As he stowed our headsets and helped the boys undo their safety belts, he added over his shoulder, “Glad you’re not a nervous Nelly. Some people go all to pieces during the final descent.”
“Do they?” I said airily. “I can’t imagine why.”
Sir Percy dumped the remnants of the twins’ snacks into a garbage bag and paused to admire their artwork before putting sketch pads, crayons, and binoculars back into the red plastic boxes, which he presented to them. While he retrieved my carry-on bag from a rear compartment, Atkinson opened the helicopter’s exit door, unfolded the steps, and stood by to help the twins and me climb down.
I’d seldom been happier to feel solid concrete beneath my feet, but I didn’t have a chance to kiss the helipad. Atkinson unloaded our suitcases at top speed and carried them through a gap in the berm, then climbed back into the helicopter, pulled the steps up, and closed the door behind him. Sir Percy promptly hustled us through the gap, paused, and swung around to salute Atkinson as the helicopter’s blades began to turn.
“Where’s Atkinson going?” Will asked, as the helicopter soared skyward.
“To the mainland, old son,” said Sir Percy. “We can’t keep the chopper here for any length of time, unfortunately. The winds can get pretty ferocious. But Atkinson’s only a phone call away, weather permitting. Come along, now. . . .”
Sir Percy ushered us out of the landing area and into a strange little vehicle into which Atkinson had already loaded our luggage. The vehicle looked like a cross between a golf cart, a Jeep, and a grape. Its roof and chassis were painted a bright, metallic purple, and its windows were slightly convex, like bugs’ eyes. Sir Percy pushed a button on the dashboard to start it, and when he put his foot on the accelerator, the engine produced only a faint hum.
“Electric,” he said proudly. “Designed it myself. Too flimsy for the Peking-to-Paris race, but just the ticket for short hops on the island. On we go!”
We bumped along the unpaved track from the landing pad to the castle, and as we approached the gatehouse, Sir Percy pushed another button on the dashboard and the iron-banded wooden gate blocking the entrance slid up and out of our way as easily as if it had been an automatic garage door.
“Good, eh? Designed it myself,” said Sir Percy, pointing to the gate as we passed beneath it. “It’s a type of plastic—stronger, lighter, more fireproof, and less prone to rot than wood. But it looks the part, doesn’t it?”
Sir Percy parked the purple car in the courtyard and told me not to bother with the luggage.
“My housekeeper will see to it,” he said, and turned to the boys. “Sorry,
chaps, but I have no ponies to offer you. There haven’t been horses on Erinskil since before the war.You’ll have to use your feet while you’re on the island.”
Will and Rob favored the grape car with speculative glances, and I made a mental note to ask Sir Percy to lock it up. It was too easy to imagine the thrilling adventures my sons would have, joyriding in a push-button car.
The courtyard was paved in gray flagstone and decorated with a menagerie of gargoyles that won the twins’ devoted admiration.Will and Rob spun in circles, trying to decide which grotesque beast they liked best as Sir Percy led us to the staircase of the U-shaped building’s central block. He sprinted ahead of us up the broad stone stairs, pushed open the pair of studded wooden doors, and stood aside while we filed past him into an entrance hall that looked as though it hadn’t changed much since the Dark Ages.
Everything seemed to be made out of dull gray stone—the floor, the walls, the staircase that rose from the center of the hall to the upper stories. Sunlight filtered dimly through a stained-glass window at the staircase’s first landing, illuminating the few things that weren’t made from stone: two tarnished suits of armor, a few pieces of ponderous wooden furniture, and tapestry drapes behind which, I imagined, there would be dim passages leading to other parts of the castle. The overall effect was gray, grim, and distinctly chilly. When Sir Percy closed the studded doors behind us, I had the queer feeling that he was sealing us into a tomb.
Sir Percy seemed undaunted by the entrance hall’s funereal ambience. He dashed past me, leapt onto the staircase’s bottom step, and flung his arms wide. With his twinkling blue eyes and fluffy, windblown hair, he looked like a slightly mad Santa as he proclaimed, “Welcome to Dundrillin Castle!”
His words were still echoing from the walls when a tapestry drape was pushed aside and a gray-haired, angular woman strode across the entrance hall to join us at the bottom of the stairs. She wore a pale gray twinset, a tweed skirt, and sensible shoes, and her long, pointed face was dominated by a long, pointed nose. She was as thin as a rail and almost as tall as Sir Percy, and she wore her iron-gray hair in a neat, chin-length bob that only served to emphasize her bony jawline.
“Ah, Mrs. Gammidge,” said Sir Percy. “Lori, Will, Rob—this is Mrs. Gammidge, my housekeeper.”
“How do you do, Ms. Shepherd, Master Will, Master Rob?” she said, nodding to each of us in turn.
“Mrs. Gammidge manages all of my estates,” Sir Percy explained. “We don’t usually come north until late May, but she and a few of the staff traveled up from Kent early, to make the castle ready for you.”
An unexpected lump rose in my throat. Kent was in the south of England, hundreds of miles from Scotland’s Western Isles.
“That’s a long way to go at a moment’s notice,” I said, much moved.
“We had nearly a week’s notice, Ms. Shepherd,” Mrs. Gammidge put in. She had a clipped, no-nonsense manner of speaking and the faint trace of a Scottish accent. “We could have made the journey and prepared for your arrival in far less time, had the need presented itself. We are a well-organized household.”
“Bill rang me ten days ago and asked me to be on standby, just in case,” Sir Percy informed me. “We would have made the move next month at any rate, and what’s a few weeks between friends? Mrs. Gammidge has been apprised of the situation, of course, and has taken appropriate action.”
“What appropriate action?” I said, puzzled.
“It’s not uncommon for a man in Sir Percy’s position to become a target for all manner of unpleasantness,” said the housekeeper. “Corporate espionage, blackmail, and kidnappings as well as the occasional death threat are not unknown to us. Security, therefore, is our watchword. I’ve swept your room for bugs—”
“Bugs?” I interrupted, more puzzled still.
“Listening devices,” she explained. “I’ve swept your sons’ rooms, too, and I’m pleased to report that I’ve found nothing suspicious. Cook, of course, has been with us for nearly forty years, so there’s no need to worry about the food. Won’t you come this way?”
As she led our little group up the staircase, I stared at the back of her head in dismay. I hadn’t been worried about food until she’d mentioned it. It had never occurred to me that Abaddon might try to poison us, and the thought of him spying on us electronically hadn’t crossed my mind. As the boys and I raced to keep up with Mrs. Gammidge, it struck me that Sir Percy Pelham inhabited a world quite different from my own. In mine, housekeepers checked under the beds for dust bunnies. In his, they looked for concealed microphones.
Mrs. Gammidge turned right at the second-story landing, strode down a red-carpeted corridor, and came to a halt before a pair of rough-hewn oak doors with elaborate black iron handles.
“I’m sure your guests will wish to see their rooms and freshen up after their journey,” she said, addressing her remarks to Sir Percy, “but I thought it advisable for them to meet Mr. Hunter and Mr. Ross straightaway.”
“Hunter and Ross here already?” said Sir Percy. “Good. We’re on schedule.”
“We are ahead of schedule, sir,” said Mrs. Gammidge. “Mr. Hunter and Mr. Ross arrived last night. I’ve set out a little light refreshment in the parlor, and lunch will be served in the dining room at one o’clock. Would you care to advise Cook on dinner, or shall we leave it to her to decide the menu?”
“Best leave it to Cook,” said Sir Percy. “She’ll know what we have on hand.”
While they discussed household affairs, the boys and I surveyed the corridor. Although carpeted, it had a stark, slightly spooky feel to it.The ceiling was arched in a barrel-shaped curve, and the stone walls were rough and unfinished, like those in the entrance hall. Wrought-iron torch brackets fitted with electric bulbs had been mounted on the walls at regular intervals, but the bulbs flickered so erratically that they seemed to shed more shadow than light—they made Mrs. Gammidge’s angular face look positively skeletal. The eeriness did not go unnoticed by Will or Rob. Although they didn’t breathe a word, they edged so close to me that they were nearly standing on my feet.
“Shall I send Mr. Hunter and Mr. Ross down now, sir?” Mrs. Gammidge inquired.
“The sooner the better,” said Sir Percy. “Thank you, Mrs. Gammidge, I’ll take it from here.”
The housekeeper nodded and sped off down the corridor. Sir Percy took hold of the black iron handles and pushed the oak doors inward.
I winced, and the boys cried out in pain.
Five
The light was so bright it hurt.
“Jeez, Percy,” I complained as the twins pressed their faces to my sides. “You could have warned us.”
“Awfully sorry,” he said contritely. “I’m accustomed to the parlor, but of course you’ve never been here before. Bit of a shock to the system, eh?”
“A bit,” I granted, blinking.
We’d stepped directly from the murky corridor into a room flooded with sunlight. The oak doors faced an uncurtained wall of mullioned windows. The leaded panes of wavy antique glass that would normally fill the Gothic frames had been replaced by single sheets of clear, modern glass that overlooked a vast expanse of blue sky and sparkling sea. The results were blinding.
When my eyes had adjusted to the glare, I realized that Sir Percy’s idea of a parlor, like his notion of a housekeeper, was very different from mine.The room was at least fifty feet long and thirty wide.
“It used to be twice as large,” said Sir Percy, following my astonished gaze. “Looked like an airplane hangar and cost a fortune to heat, so I lowered the ceiling and added a couple of walls to break up the space.” He pointed to a door on his left. “New dining room’s through there.”
The parlor no longer looked like an airplane hangar but like a homely, if grandly proportioned, living room.The walls had been smoothly plastered, painted a warm, buttery yellow, and hung with gilt-framed seascapes. Flower-filled vases set here and there filled the air with fragrance, and a dozen well-worn Turki
sh carpets covered the planked floor, overlapping each other in a muted riot of color.
None of the furniture matched, and all of it was slightly shabby. Assorted tables, sofas, and overstuffed armchairs were clustered around the stone hearth at the east end of the room or placed in half circles before the windows, as if Sir Percy could think of no finer entertainment than to spend a quiet evening watching the waves.
A refectory table sat opposite the oak doors, covered with a white linen cloth and set with Mrs. Gammidge’s light refreshment. Once the boys’ vision had returned to normal, I had to physically restrain them from launching themselves onto the piles of crustless sandwiches and mounds of fruit that had been arranged on china plates.
“You’ll spoil your lunch,” I said repressively, and limited them to one sandwich and one piece of fruit apiece.They took their booty with them to the deep window ledge behind the refectory table, removed their binoculars from the red plastic boxes, and curled up on the ledge to keep a lookout for pirates while they ate.
I dropped my carry-on bag on a nearby chair and asked if it was safe for Rob and Will to sit so near the massive pane of glass.
“Perfectly,” Sir Percy replied. “We’ve used tempered glass throughout the castle. An absolute necessity. Seagulls turn into cannonballs during a gale.”
“Speaking of cannonballs . . .” I began, recalling the weaponry on the northeast tower.
Sir Percy seemed to read my mind. “The cannons are purely ornamental,” he assured me. “I’ve sealed the barrels.”
“Good.” I looked around the room and shook my head. “You certainly know how to take a girl’s breath away, Percy. I’m flabbergasted.”
“Dundrillin’s a useful retreat,” he acknowledged, helping himself to a cucumber sandwich. “My sons and I use it during the summer months for business conferences, corporate powwows, and the like. Well-behaved clients are rewarded with holidays here. Everyone likes to say they’ve slept in a castle, Americans especially. We’ve made a number of quite lucrative deals while my guests have been under Dundrillin’s spell.”
Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea Page 4
