The Journey Home

The forbidding look on Mr. Ramsey’s face told her there was bad news to come. Maybe the necklace and the brooch would have to be sold, however much it would hurt her to part with them. She knew Mummy would understand. Dunbar and its retainers were more important than anything now.

Kathleen was talking rapidly, her face somewhat strained. “Serena’s livid at the way things have been left,” she commented in a loud whisper. “Silly girl, to think she deserves Dunbar all for herself. Now she’s joint owner with you and doesn’t have the money to buy you out. Serves her jolly well right. Are you in a position to buy her portion?” she inquired casually.

India shook her head. “No. We’ll have to make do as best we can.”

“You can count on me for any help you may need, my dear. As you well know, I was very fond of your dear mama. I feel dreadful that I wasn’t here when she died. Of all the silly times to have been visiting Great-Aunt Moira.” She shook her head sadly. India noticed that she seemed even paler than before. What a shock her mother’s death must have been for Kathleen.

“Thanks.” India turned and smiled, genuinely grateful for the kind offer. “Of course, you will stay on here, won’t you, Kathleen?”

“That’s so sweet and generous of you, India.” Kathleen squeezed her hand fondly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I hope I’m not being too proud when I say I know the place better than anyone. I believe I may be of some help to you. Of course, it’s no easy task to run an estate. God only knows what I would have done if my father had lived and I’d inherited,” she said with a sigh.

Mr. Ramsey finished speaking and Serena began grumbling again. “She had no right to leave things this way. I mean, let’s face it, we all know India isn’t one of us. She can’t possibly want Dunbar. She wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to manage it. She shouldn’t even be here in the first place!”

“Stop making a bloody fool of yourself, Serena,” Ian exclaimed, his face white with anger. “Aunt El had every right to leave things however she pleased, as Ramsey here will tell you. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant.”

“That’s correct, Sir Ian. By Scottish law Lady Elspeth could leave her property to whomever she pleased, for there is no entail on the property any longer. That ended when the late Sir Thomas died, and there were no more male heirs alive to inherit. Now, if Lady Kathleen’s father had outlived Sir Thomas, then things would have been different and the entail would have ended with her.” Mr. Ramsey shook his head. “To think he died only three days before his poor brother. A terrible thing it was.” He hesitated an instant, then continued. “This will was rewritten only a few days before Lady Elspeth’s death. I came here myself to make the changes.”

“I knew you were responsible for this,” Serena said, turning on him again angrily. This time Ian grabbed her by the arm and marched her from the room.

A general sigh of relief followed Serena’s departure.

“Well! That gets her out of the way. So much for the theatrics. Pay no attention to her, India. The will is perfectly legal, as Mr. Ramsey has said. She’s just jealous,” Kathleen said decisively. “All the Hamiltons are mad as hatters. Serena’s no exception, believe me.” She pressed India’s hand again in a kindly fashion and smiled bravely.

Kathleen’s forthright remarks helped alleviate the tension in the room, and India was thankful for her cousin’s support. It was true that Kathleen knew as much as anybody about Dunbar, and her assistance would be invaluable in the months to follow.

Ian came back, and the screeching of wheels on gravel confirmed his next words. “She’s gone to Edinburgh to consult a solicitor. Shocking behavior, I’m afraid. The poor girl’s lost it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Ramsey, I don’t know what’s come over her. The way she spoke to you was scandalous. I shall see to it she apologizes.”

“Och, don’t worry, Sir Ian, I’ve seen this kind of thing before. It’s very sad really. People create expectations they never should have had in the first place, and are upset when faced with the truth.”

“Very true, Ramsey. I think Serena already considered herself Lady of Dunbar. A dashed nerve, really, when you think of it,” Kathleen commented dryly.

“I agree. And don’t you let yourself be jostled around by her, young lady,” Ian continued, pointing at India. “You have every right to be here and she knows it.”

India smiled at him, appreciating the kindness and solidarity that her cousins were showing. She realized, with a touch of regret, that perhaps her father’s prejudice had kept her from developing some wonderful family relationships.

But she was an outsider in their world, and realistic enough to know that finding the true roots and home she’d always longed for was an illusion. It was a society that would not easily accept her. She might not like Serena’s words, but there was a disturbing ring of truth to them that made her doubly appreciative for Kathleen’s and Ian’s offers of support.

“Thanks, Ian, and you, too, Kathleen, you’ve both been wonderful. But, in a way, Serena’s right. Maybe Mummy should have left Dunbar to her. She probably is far more able to deal with matters than I am.”

“Hogwash! All she wants is to be able to say she owns the place or to sell it. She doesn’t give a damn about the estate or the people on it. Serena is only interested in one person and that,” Ian said flatly, “is Serena.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Kathleen agreed. “For as long as I’ve known her she’s been a selfish, egocentric you know what. I think the whole thing goes deeper. The Hamiltons are an ancient family, but they’re poor as church mice. Serena lived off her father’s trust and Lady El’s generosity, and hasn’t done a day’s work since she stopped modeling. I think she planned to sell Dunbar. Now that India’s involved, that won’t be the case, will it?”

“You may be right,” Ian agreed thoughtfully. “If that fellow she runs about with had any say, she’d be up and selling like a shot. The von Lowendorf family never got back on their feet financially after the war, and Maxi seems to have a taste for wealthy, single women. Kath, you remember that rich widow from Manchester he was chasing before he hooked up with Serena?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, if you do decide to sell, India, she’ll have to content herself with half the proceeds.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary. I feel we should do our utmost to keep Dunbar,” India murmured.

“I don’t understand how she ever got this insane notion that Dunbar belonged to her in the first place,” Kathleen exclaimed.

“Wishful thinking,” Ian replied grimly.

The party got up and headed to the drawing room, where a cold luncheon was being served. The meeting with Mr. Ramsey concerning practical matters would have to wait till after the funeral, which was to be conducted later in the hall. Afterward, they would drive Lady Elspeth to her final resting place in the little graveyard on the hill, and India would be left to deal with the future as best she could.

“I won’t have it,” Serena exploded, steering her old Volvo along George Street at a spanking pace.

“Calm down, Serena. This isn’t a time for nerves. It is a time for thinking,” Maxi replied soberly. Things were not going as planned.

“What do you mean, calm down? Something has to be done about this, dammit.”

“We’ll find a solution, my dear,” he said in an even tone. “There is always a solution. Remember, revenge is a meal best eaten cold. And so it shall be.” He gave a crack of cheerless laughter.

Serena took her eyes off the road and glanced at him crossly. “Well, I hope you’ve got some bright ideas, because except for contesting the will outright—and from all I’ve gathered it’s legal—there’s not much I can do.”

“You’d be surprised. Let things take their course. It’s still early. Things need to fall into place. In the meantime, we’ll be thinking, watching, observing. The secret to success lies in the details, not in the obvious.”

His quiet voice calmed her, and she began to think that perhaps he was right. “Stupid creature. It’s not fair—”

“Hush. Be very careful what you say. Even moving cars can have ears.” Maxi took a surreptitious glance around, as though some device might be hidden in the ancient upholstery of the Volvo.

“Oh, come on, Maxi, do stop being ridiculous. This is Scotland, not a spy movie.” She veered down Frederick Street, annoyed with the traffic. “I suppose I’ll have to get back for the funeral. And you’re jolly well coming,” she added. “I’m damned if I’ll have her dictating who comes and goes from Dunbar. Who the hell does she think she is anyway?”

Maxi stayed silent for a few moments as they drove along Prince’s Street and past the Scots monument, where Serena was obliged to come to an abrupt halt for a group of tourists in bright anoraks, waiting to cross the road.

“I think it would be wiser to placate her for the moment,” Maxi said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” Serena almost rear-ended the car in front as they passed Marks & Spencer. “I’ll have whomever I choose in my own house. I—”

“I know, I understand,” Maxi soothed, “but you can’t antagonize her. Let her think you’re playing her game. Make up the quarrel with her. Remember, you need her agreement if you’re going to sell. Don’t overdo it, though, or she’ll suspect something,” he added. “Just enough to let her relax. She will, you’ll see. She’s that type, stupid and unsuspecting. It’s often so among the bourgeois class. If you’re intelligent about this, meine liebe, you can wrap her up nicely.”

“What about Buchanan? What if he makes an offer? We’ll need her to agree.” Serena ground her teeth audibly, furious at the situation. “I can’t believe Mummy did this behind my back.”

“A mere contretemps,” he said with a disdainful flick of his long smooth fingers. “Nothing that can’t be dealt with, my dear. I think you should go to the funeral and play the game. Be indifferent but not unpleasant. After that, we’ll see.”

“Are you sure?” Serena queried doubtfully, casting him a resentful glance. “You said everything was going to work out fine and look what a pickle that’s left me in,” she finished bitterly.

“You’ve lost a small battle. What matters is who wins the war. As long as she believes she has the upper hand you’re fine. As for the American, you’ve already set things in motion by suggesting he come and visit the house. Just make sure you have all the information he requested on hand. Americans like to work fast and efficiently, which could be to our advantage if you play your cards right. He won’t suspect anything since you made it clear you’d inherited the property. By the time any concrete offer is made—if he makes one—the solution will have presented itself, believe me.” He squeezed her hand with a reassuring smile.

“It goes against the grain but so be it.” Serena shrugged and shifted gears without pressing her foot down properly on the clutch. Maxi grimaced. “I’ll drop you off at the hotel, and go back to Dunbar.” She glanced at her watch. “I haven’t much time if I’m going to make the funeral.”

“Excellent. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be waiting—and thinking.”

“Yes, well, you’d better do a lot of that. The whole thing’s most unsatisfactory, and damn inconvenient.”

“Serena, again, I have to warn you. You can never be too careful,” Maxi urged her anxiously. “The less said, the better.”

“Oh, all right,” Serena mumbled irritably. Everything was getting on her nerves today, including Maxi. She waited impatiently as he got out of the car, not bothering to wave goodbye as she weaved her way back into the midday traffic, her mind set on her plans. He was probably right. It would be unwise to make decisions in the heat of the moment.

The image of India, all natural grace and determination, made her swear under her breath. The girl’s very existence was an insult, and she hated her mother for it.

India sat at the dressing table, pulling the hairbrush through her hair, a wan face staring back at her from the oval mirror.

Dunbar. She’d never actually thought of owning it, yet now the remote piece of her mother’s world had become an integral part of her existence, one whose future would have to be decided.

Only when she’d met with Mr. Ramsey after the funeral would she know the truth of how things stood.

“Indy?” Chloë peeked round the door, and then rushed across the room. The two girls embraced, holding each other tight.

“Thanks for coming, Chlo.” India smiled at her through eyes filled with unshed tears.

“You didn’t think I’d stay away, did you? I’m so sorry, Indy. We’ll all miss Lady El,” Chloë said, a quiver in her voice. “Here, take this.” She handed India one of the glasses that she was balancing precariously.

“Oh, thanks. I can use this.”

“I don’t think Lady El would mind, do you?” Chloë asked wistfully.

“Not in the least. She’d be the first to recommend it,” India said with a sad smile, taking a long sip of the gin and tonic before sitting down again on the stool. “God, Chlo, what a mess this whole thing is.”

Chloë sat down on the bed and threw off her shoes. “Tell me what’s been happening. Have they read the will yet?”

“Yes. Serena and I have inherited everything fifty-fifty. She’s livid, of course. Thinks she should get the lot. She seems to believe that her noble origins give her special rights.”

“I thought she—” Chloë stopped abruptly and frowned.

“You thought what?” India swiveled on the padded chintz stool and looked questioningly at her friend.

“No, nothing. I just thought perhaps Lady El might leave Dunbar to Serena and you all the Swiss stuff. You’ve never been very connected here.”

“You’re right, but it’s the oddest thing, Chlo. Ever since I’ve been back, I’ve had this feeling. I can’t quite explain it, but I feel as though I’m a part of the place.” She shook her head and glanced at her dear friend. “It’s uncanny.”

“What about Switzerland?” Chloë asked, her expression serious.

“Pretty well gone as far as I can gather. Mummy’s house is mortgaged to the hilt—apparently to pay for debts here. I think all that’s left is her jewelry.” India shrugged sadly. “And that’ll probably have to go, too, if we’re going to keep this place up.”

“Are you seriously thinking of keeping Dunbar?” Chloë asked, looking at India curiously.

“I don’t know yet.” India frowned thoughtfully. “I haven’t a clue how things stand. After the funeral we’ll have a talk with the solicitor to find out the true state of affairs, but I don’t think they’re good. By the way, keep that to yourself. We don’t want a panic.”

Chloë nodded soberly. “Indy, you’d better think this one over very carefully. It’s a huge responsibility to take on, you know. I see Peter and Di. God knows what things would be like if Peter weren’t so successful. Any money that comes out of the estate seems to go straight back in, and more.” She sighed, meeting her friend’s eyes, her own filled with sympathy. “It’s rotten for you, darling. I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You being here today is enough, Chlo. You’ve no idea how alone I’ve felt the last few days, though Ian and Kathleen have been absolutely super.”

“That’s something at least,” Chloë answered gloomily. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of keeping Dunbar though. I don’t think it’s very realistic.”

“Probably not, but I’m sick of always being realistic, Chlo. My life seems to consist of being practical, always doing what has to be done. Anyway, this is more a gut thing. When Ramsey read the will and told me I had inherited half the place, I felt all warm inside.” She smiled sheepishly at her friend. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I have the feeling that I’m meant to be here.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always had a mystical side to you, Indy. And I wish you good luck if it’s what you think you should do. By the way, I saw Jack last night. He told me he’d met you.”

India met her gaze and smiled. “We had a bit of a run-in, did he tell you?”

“Sounded quite exciting to me. He’s rather good-looking, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so. A bit full of himself though. Acts as though he’s the bee’s knees.”

“Oh, come on, Indy, it’s me you’re talking to, remember?” Chloë looked at India and made a face.

“Okay. On a scale of one to ten, I suppose you could say he’s an eight. Satisfied?”

“Eight? You must be balmy. The man’s an Adonis, as rich as Croesus, plus dreadfully sexy.”

“If he’s so great, why don’t you have a go at him yourself then?” India inquired.

“I love him dearly, but like a brother. We’ve become very fond of him over at Dalkirk. A bit like that stray Diana picked up in the village…”

“Really, Chlo, how can you compare the man to a stray dog?” India laughed weakly and shook her head.

“Well, he is, in a way. Alone, if you know what I mean. He lost his wife twelve years ago. It must have been awfully sad, though he never talks about it.”

“Actually, he told me about his wife.”

“He did?” Chloë raised a quizzical eyebrow and climbed off the bed. “He’s usually pretty closed about that.” She glanced at her watch. “I suppose I’d better go back downstairs. Don’t be long, Indy, will you? After all, you’re the hostess now.” She put her shoes back on and went over to give India a kiss. “You’re not alone, you know. We’re all worried about you.”

The two girls hugged again. “Thanks for being here. You’ve no idea how much it means to me. Better take this glass with you, Chlo. I don’t know if Mrs. Walker would approve of us imbibing under the circumstances. And tell Kathleen to hold the fort, I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Right.” Chloë gave her a peck on the cheek, picked up the glasses and left the room.

For a while she stared dreamily into the long mirror, seeing much farther than her own reflection, thinking of Dunbar, her life and her future. Then all at once a picture formed of the lawn on a fresh summer’s day, children running across it and—She turned abruptly away, for the image of Jack, hoisting a child on his hip, had suddenly appeared in the vision. She must be delusional to be thinking of a man she’d met only yesterday and whom, in all likelihood, she would never see again. But the daydream lingered.

She grabbed the long mink coat she would wear to the burial, then left the room and made her way slowly down the main staircase, wondering if the ancestors who gazed down at her so severely from the heavily framed portraits were reading her mind. Perhaps they were already expressing their disapproval at the possibility of the property being sold. Yet keeping Dunbar was not something she could easily work into her life. It was not a house you merely moved into. With it came a world of responsibility and deep personal commitment to all those who were inextricably part of the house and the land.

As she glanced up at the wall, a pair of twinkling blue eyes seemed to peer down at her from one of the paintings on the stair. They belonged to a little boy of about seven or eight, with thick dark hair and a mischievous curve to his mouth. He stood in a satin outfit—resembling the Blue Boy—next to a fair, rather pudgy child, who appeared older. There was something oddly familiar about him.

For a moment India stood perfectly still, experiencing the same electrifying sensation she had felt yesterday by the oak tree. She tried to identify it, to capture it in some shape or form. She glanced at the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. The date read 1730. Once again she could have sworn that she wasn’t alone, and that she knew that face.

For an instant she listened intently, but the only sounds were the muted voices of the guests mingling in the oak room. Deciding it must just be her imagination, she continued down the stairs, bracing herself for the hours ahead. But the feeling lingered, warm and reassuring, and she reached the hall strangely comforted.

The funeral service began at two o’clock sharp. The guests stood silently round Lady Elspeth’s coffin, which was lying, covered in wreaths, in the center of the vast stucco hall.

India listened to the ceremony in a daze, soothed by the beauty of the flowers Lady Elspeth had loved so dearly. She felt her mother’s presence, as though Lady Elspeth had come to say her final goodbyes, her spirit hovering above, giving India a feeling of peace.

Serena had returned and made an effort to be polite during lunch, although she seemed uninterested in the proceedings.

“It’s an awf’y sad day, Miss India, but the flowers do her proud. That one in the middle came from Edinburgh this morning,” Mrs. Walker said, pointing to a particularly lovely wreath standing before the coffin.

Chloë, who was standing next to her, stepped forward. White lilies intertwined with baby’s breath were set delicately within the foliage, but the gold lettering on the white satin ribbon was hard to distinguish.

“India, look,” she said in a hushed whisper. India stepped forward and read the inscription.

Thinking of you. Jack Buchanan.

She felt her heart quicken. He’d remembered. She looked around, as though expecting to see him, but of course he wasn’t there. It was a private service. Perhaps the wreath wasn’t even meant for her, but for Serena’s benefit. She took a surreptitious glance at her sister, wondering if she’d seen it.

“He didn’t say anything to me last night or this morning,” Chloë whispered.

India’s eyes wandered back to the wreath, and she was reminded suddenly of her father’s funeral, and of how lonely she’d felt. But today was different. Here people lived and died watched over by their ancestors, each generation assuming the responsibility of preserving and bettering that which was bequeathed them, and which they, in turn, would pass down to their heirs.

Yet if Dunbar fell into the hands of strangers, almost eight hundred years of history would end. She remembered Jack’s words—It would make a fabulous hotel—and shuddered inwardly. The mere thought of Dunbar becoming some sort of hotel or institution was unbearable.

She took a last glance at the wreath. There was definitely something appealing about Jack. Perhaps it was his air of self-assurance, or his devil-may-care look, as though he was accustomed to wielding power without abusing it. Whether or not it was meant for her, the wreath had been a thoughtful gesture and his kindness touched her.

The mourners stepped back to allow the pallbearers through. They raised the coffin to their shoulders and carried it reverently down the wide stone steps, following the piper who had begun his lonely Highland lament.

Chloë took India’s arm and together they followed in silence to where the family and other friends were getting into their cars. The funeral cortege made its way sedately down the drive. They would accompany Lady El on her last journey, through the Midlothian countryside, past the hills and meadows she had loved so well, to the small graveyard on the hill where she would finally be put to rest.

The day was sunny but cold. A wintry nip could already be felt in the air, and the trees were fast losing the last of their wilting foliage. Small gusts of wind scattered the dead leaves across the patched remains of last night’s snowfall.

Then they were walking, the piper leading them down the narrow cemetery path, his tartan plaid blowing in the blustery wind, the mournful lament bringing hot tears to the mourners’ eyes. Then, with Kathleen, Ian and Serena, India lowered the coffin into the ground in a medieval act of ritualistic finality.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From this earth they had come and to it they would return. And sudden loneliness gripped her as the rope went limp in her hand.

After a while they made their way back among the ancient moss-covered tombstones, India grateful for Chloë’s support, knowing it would have been so much worse without her.

It was then she saw him. A tall dark figure in a black cashmere coat standing at the cemetery gates.