Christmas At Pemberley

‘A walk?’ he echoed. ‘Natalie, in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s two foot of snow out there.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘but Colm’s cleared the drive.’

Rhys leant next to her and peered out. Sure enough, the groundskeeper had cleared the snow from the length of the drive, as far as he could see – a not inconsiderable amount of work, even with the help of a snow plough.

‘He must’ve been up since the early hours,’ Rhys observed, impressed. ‘All right, then – let’s go. I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air and a leg stretch.’

‘Where are you off to?’ Caitlin enquired as she wandered in, coffee mug in hand and Jeremy trailing in her wake.

‘We’re going outside for a walk,’ Natalie answered. ‘Would you two like to come along?’

‘I’ve a better idea. Let’s go sledding!’ Caitlin exclaimed as she set her cup aside. ‘There’s a huge hill on one side of the castle; Tark and I slid down it all winter long when we were kids. I’m sure our old sleds are still around here somewhere. I’ll have Cook pack us up a lovely picnic feast.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Wren enthused as she and Tarquin joined them in the drawing room. ‘Don’t you think so, Gemma?’

Gemma, her face set in concentration as her fingers flew over her mobile phone, was far too busy with social media status updates to do more than give them a cursory shake of her head. ‘I’m planning my wedding,’ she said grimly, ‘and you wouldn’t believe what a nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes it is!’

‘“A nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes”?’ Dominic echoed as he entered the drawing room. ‘Sounds like my first marriage.’

‘This is serious, Dom!’ Gemma snapped. ‘I can’t get our wedding favour bags made up in tartan, only in primary colours! Have you ever heard of anything so bloody ridiculous? I can’t bear it if the favour bags clash with the bridesmaids’ gowns. Yellow netting and red plaid just do not go together! It’s doing my head in.’

‘Not as much as it’s doing mine in,’ Dominic muttered.

‘And the cake,’ she went on, outraged. ‘That’s the third baker who’s told me a wedding cake shaped like a giant Louboutin shoe can’t be done.’

‘I should think it entirely possible,’ Wren observed, and clucked in sympathy. ‘Why can’t they do it?’

‘Because they’re unreasonable bastards! And because it needs to feed 250 people,’ Gemma added with a scowl, ‘and it needs to be gluten free. And vegan.’

‘Oh, my,’ Wren murmured. ‘There’s your problem, dear. Perhaps your expectations are just a wee bit unreasonable—’

‘Unreasonable?’ Gemma shrilled. ‘Not giving a bride-to-be what she asks for, that’s unreasonable!’

‘Where’re you lot headed off to?’ Dominic asked Natalie in a low voice, a look of panic blooming on his face. ‘Mind if I come along?’

‘We’re going sledding, Dominic,’ Natalie answered as she moved past him to follow Rhys, Caitlin, and Jeremy out the door. ‘Since you’re not the outdoorsy type, you probably wouldn’t like it.’

He grabbed her arm and hissed, ‘I’ll like anything that gets me away from that wedding-obsessed harpy! Please, Nat ‒ I can’t listen to another word about Prada gowns or monogrammed silver bottle-openers or custom-dyed shoes!’

She nodded in sympathy, having been through the very same thing with her sister, Caro, not so long ago. ‘All right, Dom. You’re welcome to come along.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you’re going sledding, mind, you’re not standing round texting Max on your mobile the entire time.’

‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled, having planned to do just that. ‘But you’d better hope I don’t break my bloody arm. I need it to play guitar, you know.’

‘In that case,’ Rhys said dourly, ‘I hope you break both your arms.’

Chapter 12

Helen returned to her room after breakfast. She was far too preoccupied with thoughts of Colm – and how much he actually knew – to accompany the others on the sledding expedition.

She glanced out of her bedroom window, smiling momentarily at the sight of Natalie and Rhys, Caitlin and Wren, even Dominic, careening down the snow-covered slope, laughing and shouting like schoolchildren.

‘I know who you are.’

As she heard Colm’s words echoing in her head, Helen’s smile faded.

He’d overheard her call to Tom. What exactly had she said on the phone, just before Colm accosted her? Tarquin’s sister had arrived, thankfully saving Helen from further questions.

But she knew that the canny groundskeeper would bring the matter up again at the first opportunity.

Frowning, she tried to recall what she’d told Tom.

‘Oh, I imagine they’ll tie the knot within the next few weeks. Just as soon as this bloody snow stops falling. And you can bet your arse that when Dominic and Gemma leave this pile of mouldering Scottish stone, I’ll be right behind them.’

Oh well, Helen sighed as she turned away from the window, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d do her best to stay out of the Scotsman’s way.

And if I make any more calls to Tom, she resolved grimly as she went downstairs in search of the library, I’ll make certain to do it in the privacy of my own bloody room.

Late that afternoon, the sledding party returned to the castle, red-cheeked and half-frozen.

‘How was the sledding expedition?’ Tark enquired as they shed their coats and hats and scarves and collapsed on the nearest sofas and chairs in the drawing room.

‘Brilliant,’ Caitlin declared, and grinned over at Dominic, ‘except for Mr Rock Star over there, who twisted his ankle and had to be pulled the whole way back on a sled, complaining like a wee girl all the while.’

‘It bloody hurts,’ Dom said through gritted teeth as he flung himself into a wing chair by the fire.

‘What’ve you done, Dominic?’ Gemma demanded as she strode into the room and came to a stop, a clipboard and a stack of bridal magazines in her arms. ‘Why is your face all screwed up like that?’

Rhys snorted. ‘His face is always screwed up, if you ask me.’

‘No one did,’ Dominic snapped. ‘So kindly shut it. I turned my ankle, Gem, that’s all.’

‘Wren’s gone to fetch some Epsom salts so you can soak your foot,’ Natalie told him.

‘And his head, while he’s at it,’ Rhys added.

‘I’m warning you, Gordon,’ Dominic snarled, ‘if you don’t shut your gob, I’ll—’

Caitlin’s dog Coco trotted into the drawing room just then and leapt up into her lap. The wolfhounds, incensed by this invasion of their territory by the tiny interloper, set up a chorus of barking.

With a sigh, Tarquin stood and led the dogs, still growling their displeasure, outside.

‘Really, Caitlin,’ Wren said mildly, ‘you know we have dogs here at Draemar. You might have thought to board Coco in a kennel for a couple of weeks.’

‘Why should I do that?’ Caitlin shot back. ‘I’m perfectly aware that there are dogs here, Wren. I grew up at Draemar, after all. It was my home long before it was yours. So why should I be required to board Coco in a kennel, when she belongs here, just as much as I do?’

The two women regarded each other in silent – and mutual – dislike. ‘I’m only saying,’ Wren said in measured tones, ‘that it might have been easier on all concerned if you hadn’t brought the dog along when you came home, that’s all.’

‘Easier on you, you mean.’ Scorn coloured her voice. ‘I’m sure you’d like it best if I never came home at all, wouldn’t you, Wren?’

‘That’s not true!’ Wren snapped. ‘There you go again, Caitlin, putting words in my mouth—’

‘No, I’m only putting the thoughts in your head into words, so that everyone might know how bloody jealous you are of me!’

‘What’s going on here? I heard the two of you shouting all the way across the hall.’

Tarquin, his face a study in anger, stood in the doorway. ‘Can’t I leave you alone with Wren for five minutes without starting trouble, Caitlin?’

His sister gathered Coco up and thrust herself to her feet. ‘Right, blame me, Tark, as you always do. But it was your wife who demanded I keep Coco in a bloody kennel!’

‘That little beast has done nothing but upset the entire household,’ Wren flung back. ‘Just like you!’

‘That’s enough.’ Although Tarquin’s words were calm, even quiet, his fury was unmistakable. ‘This isn’t the time or place for such behaviour,’ he said, eyeing both women with a flinty grey gaze. ‘We have guests to consider. Caitlin, kindly take yourself upstairs, please.’

‘What?’ she exclaimed. Hectic spots of colour rose on her cheeks. ‘Are you sending me to my room, like a...like a wayward child being packed off to bed without her supper?’

‘I’m simply asking you to remove yourself from the present company until you can behave appropriately.’

‘There’s no need for Caitlin to leave,’ Wren cut in, her voice unsteady. ‘I’ll go.’ Her gaze, bright with angry, unshed tears, swept over the assembled houseguests. ‘My apologies, everyone,’ she choked out, and left.

There was an awkward silence. No one moved or knew quite what to do or say.

Natalie got to her feet. ‘I’ll just go and check she’s all right,’ she said, and patted Tarquin’s shoulder as she hurried after her friend.

She caught up to her halfway down the long gallery. ‘Wren – wait, please.’

Wren stopped and turned around. Her face was damp and blotchy with tears. ‘Natalie.’ She groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘You should be downstairs with the others.’

‘I wanted to make sure you’re all right,’ she said, and slipped a comforting arm around Wren’s shoulders. ‘That awful girl!’

With something between a sob and a laugh, Wren nodded. ‘She really is dreadful, isn’t she? Come in here, we can talk privately.’ So saying, she led Natalie into a small but charming morning room done up in shades of palest celadon and shut the door.

‘Have things always been so...strained, between you and Caitlin?’ Natalie asked hesitantly.

Wren dropped into a chair and nodded. ‘Yes. She resents my being here; she has done from the start. She’s terribly possessive of Tarquin. Things invariably go topsy-turvy whenever she’s here.’

‘Have you talked to Tark about it?’

‘Yes. But what can he do, Nat? Caitlin’s his sister. As long as he and I live here at Draemar, I have no choice but to put up with her.’ She reached out on the desk for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘At least she’s only here in the summer and during the school holidays.’

‘Have you tried talking to Caitlin?’

Wren sighed. ‘I’ve tried everything. I’ve talked to her, I’ve invited her shopping; I even helped Tarquin’s mother and father put a surprise birthday party together for her. Nothing works. She despises me. She’ll be the bane of my existence,’ she finished bitterly, ‘for all eternity.’

‘Oh, I hardly think so,’ Nat reassured her. ‘Caitlin’s young, and she’s in, what – her second year at university?’ When Wren nodded, she went on, ‘She’ll meet someone and fall madly in love eventually, mark my words. Then you won’t have to worry. It’ll be her turn to try and fit in with a whole new family – who’ll probably dislike her as much as you do.’

With a laugh, Wren stood and threw her arms around Natalie and hugged her fiercely. ‘It’s no wonder Tark counts you among his very best friends, Nat,’ she said as she drew back. ‘What would either of us do without you?’

Chapter 13

The sound of raised voices caught Helen’s attention. She uncurled herself from the window seat in the library and got to her feet. What in the world was going on? Putting her book aside – A History of Yellow Journalism – she left the library to investigate.

Halfway across the entrance hall, she ran straight into a solid, immovable wall...

‘Colm!’ she exclaimed, disconcerted.

He put his hands on her upper arms to steady her, then dropped them away like he’d been scalded. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’

‘I heard shouting from the drawing room. I’ve been in the library, reading. What are you doing here?’

If he noticed the challenge in her words, he gave no sign. ‘One of the dogs got loose outside. I came to let laird Campbell know.’

They fell silent as the sound of Tarquin’s raised voice, uncharacteristically tight with anger, rang across the hall.

‘Perhaps it’s best if you go,’ Helen suggested in a low voice. ‘I’ll let Tark know what happened.’

He nodded. ‘The dog’s run off before; he’s a wanderer, but I reckon he’ll be back when he gets hungry enough.’

‘Like most strays.’ Helen smiled briefly and turned to go.

Colm caught her arm. ‘Wait. We didn’t finish our conversation last time, as I recall.’

Her heart quickened from a canter to a gallop. ‘No, we didn’t,’ she said tightly, and pulled away, ‘because there was nothing more to say.’

‘Aye, there’s plenty left to say. And plenty more explaining for you to do.’

‘Is that right? And if I remember correctly,’ Helen retorted, ‘the last time we spoke, you threatened me.’

‘Threatened you?’ His laugh was incredulous. ‘And how d’ye figure that?’

‘You said you knew who I was. That’s a threat, of a kind, isn’t it?’

‘Only if you’ve something to hide.’

‘I’ve nothing to hide. And how do you even know who I am? You went through my wallet, didn’t you?’ she said suddenly, answering her own question. ‘You went through it when you fetched my handbag and laptop from the car, that first night I spent at the gatehouse.’

He eyed her, his gaze unrepentant. ‘Your wallet was on the floor. It must’ve come out of your purse when you went down the embankment. I picked it up, and your photo ID fell out. I had a quick look afore I put it back.’

‘How dare you,’ Helen breathed, furious. ‘You’d no right to go through my bloody things!’

‘You’re a reporter, Ms Thomas, for that London rag, the Probe. Yet you’ve not told anyone. Why is that, I wonder?’

Helen opened her mouth to deny it. But what was the point? He already knew who she was; he’d seen her press ID. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘I work for the Probe. I’m after an exclusive story on Dominic and Gemma’s wedding.’

‘You’re writing a story on that twit of a rock star?’ he repeated, unconvinced. ‘And is that all you’re after?’

‘What else would I be looking for?’ she retorted.

He didn’t answer. But the guarded expression on his face, and the fact that he’d asked the question in the first place, piqued her curiosity.

Was there another story at Draemar Castle – a bigger story, perhaps? – one that she should be investigating?

Oh, well, it didn’t really matter, Helen reminded herself. Her hire car would be towed back to the village tomorrow, and she’d have to leave the castle. Unless, she mused, she could think of a good reason to stay...

‘What about money, for starters?’ he accused her. ‘You reporters are always chasing after a big payoff.’

‘There’s always the money, of course,’ Helen agreed, and shrugged. ‘There’s no denying that an exclusive look at Dominic and Gemma’s wedding – with photos ‒ would fetch a tidy sum. But it’s more than that. With a big enough story, I can quit this bloody job and do what I really want to do – write.’

He frowned. ‘But that’s what reporters do, isn’t it? Write news stories?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘We ask questions, we string facts together, we check names and conduct research. That isn’t writing, it’s reporting. I want to write. Worthwhile things like novels and short stories. Human interest pieces.’

For a moment, he said nothing, only regarded her with that inscrutable expression on his face. ‘Oh, aye. And I’m sure you will, given time. You strike me as a woman who always gets what she wants.’

Helen met his gaze. ‘Not always, Mr Mackenzie,’ she retorted. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’

And as she strode away across the entrance hall towards the drawing room, Colm called out, ‘Goodbye, Ms Thomas. And good luck to you on that story. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

Caitlin and Jeremy did not come down for dinner that evening. If he noticed their absence, Tarquin gave no sign.

‘Any word on your hire car, Ms Thomas?’ he asked Helen midway through the main course.

She glanced up from her saffron-sauced finnan haddie with a polite smile. ‘Yes, actually. Someone’s coming out tomorrow morning to tow it away to the village. Then I’ll be out of your hair at last, and on my way.’

He paused, wine glass halfway to his lips. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you’re not welcome to stay on at Draemar for as long as you wish,’ he hastened to assure her, and reddened. ‘I simply wondered.’

‘I quite agree with Tarquin,’ Wren said. ‘We’ve loved having you here as part of our little house party, Ms Thomas. And you do realize, don’t you,’ she pointed out, ‘that even if they tow your car away, it may not run properly...and you’ll need to stay on until it’s repaired. In which case,’ she added briskly, ‘you must stay here, at Draemar. We shall be deeply insulted if you don’t.’

Tarquin raised his wine glass. ‘Hear, hear.’

Helen laughed. ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ She laid her fork aside and added, ‘Thank you both, so much. You’ve been very patient. And very kind.’ And you’ve very neatly solved the problem of how I’ll manage to stay on here a bit longer...

‘How is your ankle, Dominic?’ Wren enquired as she turned to the rock star. ‘Any better?’

He shrugged. ‘It still hurts like a bast— er, quite a bit. But that groundskeeper chap found me a pair of crutches and brought ’em round.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Mackenzie.’ Wren paused as a footman poured more wine in her glass. ‘He’s a treasure. He’s proven himself invaluable in the short time he’s been here. Hasn’t he, darling?’ she asked Tarquin.

‘Oh, yes, quite,’ he agreed, distracted.

‘What did he do, before he came here?’ Helen wondered. ‘Has he always been a groundskeeper?’

‘No,’ Tarquin answered. ‘No, I don’t believe so. When I interviewed him for the position, he said he’d worked in construction, and tended bar, and that he’d done a stint in the British Army...’

‘Interesting,’ she remarked. ‘He’s worn a great many hats, then.’

When everyone finished dinner and got up to go into the drawing room for after-dinner drinks, Natalie stayed behind. ‘Rhys,’ she murmured as he turned to follow the others, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll go upstairs and, and lie down for a bit.’

‘Again?’ A frown creased his brown. ‘But you’ve complained of not feeling well before. And you’re alarmingly pale. Perhaps being out in the cold all afternoon was too much.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll just go to bed early and I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.’

‘No.’ Rhys shook his head firmly and took her arm. ‘This time, I insist on fetching a doctor to have a look at you.’

She didn’t argue, but allowed him to lead her upstairs and settle her on the bed while he went back down to inform their hosts that she was ill.

Doctor MacTavish, the family physician and local GP, arrived forty minutes later with his medical bag in hand, and Rhys led him upstairs to their bedroom.

‘Well,’ MacTavish pronounced a short time later, after conducting a thorough examination of Natalie, ‘you’ve not got a fever, young lady, so it isn’t flu; and the fact that you’re keeping your food down tells me it’s not food poisoning, either.’

She exchanged a quick glance with Rhys, who hovered near the bed, and eyed Dr MacTavish in puzzlement. ‘If I haven’t flu or food poisoning, then what on earth is wrong with me, doctor?’

‘Well, nothing’s wrong with you, as such,’ he ventured as he returned his stethoscope to the bag. ‘I’ll need to run a urine test in my office to be sure, of course, but...’ he smiled ‘I think it’s safe to say, Mrs Gordon, that you might very well be pregnant.’

Chapter 14

‘Pregnant!’ Natalie echoed, stunned.

‘Pregnant?’ Rhys exclaimed.

‘Pregnant,’ Dr MacTavish said again, and nodded. ‘Mind you, it’s not certain until we do a test.’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course,’ Natalie said faintly.

‘You’ll need to schedule an appointment in the morning. Here’s my card.’ He handed it over. ‘I can see you late tomorrow afternoon for a urine test. That’ll give us the answer.’

‘The answer,’ Natalie repeated.

‘Yes. As to whether you’re pregnant or not.’ He smiled again and patted her briefly on the hand, then stood to leave. ‘In the meantime, stick to clear liquids and unsalted crackers if you begin to feel the least bit queasy. Good night.’

‘Good night. And thank you.’

Rhys stood up and opened the door. ‘Good night, Dr MacTavish. I’ll see you out.’

‘What do you think of this one?’ Gemma asked Dominic later that evening, after everyone had dispersed to their rooms for the night.

He lowered the television remote and looked up from his half-hearted perusal of the local channels – all three of them – to stare at the glossy bridal magazine his fiancée held aloft before him.

‘Well,’ he said cautiously, having learnt to tread carefully where all things bridal were concerned, ‘it looks like a plaid dress to me.’

‘It’s not just a plaid dress,’ she corrected him, ‘it’s a Lotte Ellis.’

‘A Lotte Ellis,’ he repeated, having no idea who (or what) a ‘Lotte Ellis’ was. He gave the full-length plaid dress with the red sash a cursory glance and nodded. ‘Nice.’

‘I thought it’d be perfect for the bridesmaid’s dresses,’ Gemma went on, ‘since they’re ready to wear and we can buy them off the rack in Aberdeen. I’ll need to round up the girls for a fitting, though.’

‘Have you chosen anyone yet?’

She nodded and tossed the magazine aside. ‘Natalie, of course,’ she said as she ticked the names off on her fingers, ‘and Wren, my half-sister Petra – not that I think she’ll do it ‒ my bezzie mate Sam, and Cara.’

‘Wren? You only just met her. And that’s only five,’ Dominic pointed out, and frowned. ‘I thought you wanted at least six.’

‘I do.’ She pouted. ‘But Lucy can’t make it as she’s already committed to be a bridesmaid for Sarah’s destination wedding in St Barts, so I’ll just have to ask someone else.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Dom mumbled, and suppressed a yawn. He wondered if he couldn’t sneak off to the screening room for a bit and see what was on offer on Sky...

‘...so I think I’ll ask Caitlin instead.’

Dominic blinked. ‘Caitlin Campbell? Tark’s sister?’

She raised her brow. ‘Why not?’

‘You hardly know her, for starters. And from what I’ve seen of her so far,’ he added darkly, ‘I don’t think I much want to know her.’

‘Oh, she’s actually quite nice,’ Gemma said airily, and picked up her mobile phone. ‘We had a lovely chat yesterday evening. She really is nursing a broken heart, you know.’

Dominic couldn’t imagine the red-haired ball-breaker having anything approximating a heart in the first place, but he wisely kept his opinions to himself. ‘Really? And what poor bloke did she tangle with?’

‘An older man, apparently. Very dashing, she said, and wealthy. But he turned out to be a complete shit. Caitlin says he used her and tossed her aside like a crumpled tissue.’

‘Imagine that.’ Privately Dom thought it must’ve been the other way round, but he said nothing.

It didn’t matter, at any rate, he noticed with a flicker of irritation, as Gemma wasn’t listening, anyway.

She was far too busy posting updates about her upcoming wedding and her silk, hand-beaded Prada gown to notice much of anything where he was concerned.

‘Pregnant,’ Rhys muttered after he’d shown the doctor out, and went into the library to pour himself a stiff drink.

‘What’s that, old boy?’ Tarquin asked affably as he entered the library in search of a good book.