Chapter 9

  July 20

  Eynsleigh

  The birth is suddenly becoming rather real. The weather is hot and sticky and I can’t get comfortable wherever I sit or lie. I shall be glad when it’s over.

  Zou Zou has gone back to London. I’m relieved in a way. Of course she and my godfather do make a lovely couple, but I have always hoped secretly that he and Mummy will get back together one day. I’m sure he’s still in love with her and I suspect she still has feelings for him. It’s just she loves Max’s money. But how can one like living in Germany right now?

  Everything was in place for the arrival of little O’Mara. At least I hoped it was. Having no wise female relative to advise me, I’d had to rely on Zou Zou and Mrs. Holbrook, neither of whom had had children. When Maisie was asked, she said that her mum always shoved the newest baby in one of the drawers of the dresser until it was big enough to climb out. At least we had a proper cot and bassinet and, thanks to Zou Zou, enough clothes to change its outfit three times a day. Not being the most practical of women, she hadn’t provided any nappies, but I had bought those. I’d also bought white wool and knitting needles, but I hadn’t even managed to finish the one shawl I’d started. I reasoned it was the middle of summer and the child wouldn’t need too many clothes for a while.

  Darcy stood with me, admiring the nursery. Fresh curtains were hung at the windows. There was a bright braided rug on the floor and the large teddy bear that Zou Zou had bought sat on the shelves. In one window was the lovely rocking horse that Sir Hubert had ridden as a boy, and I remembered riding it too when I had lived here as a small child. I eyed it fondly.

  Darcy slipped an arm around my shoulders. “It’s hard to imagine that in a couple of weeks there will be a squalling baby lying there, isn’t it?”

  “I hope it won’t squall too much. I’m going to have the bassinet in our bedroom to begin with so that I can feed the baby when it wakes.”

  Darcy frowned. “We should really think about hiring a nursemaid. I’m sure it’s expected of us. You grew up with a nanny and so did I.”

  “But I would rather have had my mother,” I said. “Although Nanny was very nice.”

  “And I suppose my mother was quite involved with us,” Darcy said. A wistful look came over his face as it often did when speaking of his mother, who had died when he was a child. “She was a very warm woman. I remember her reading me bedtime stories. All the same, you don’t want to be changing nappies and things, do you?”

  “Maisie indicated she’d quite like to help look after the baby,” I said. “She won’t have that much to do as my lady’s maid if I’m tied to the house for a few months, and her mother has had nine of them, of whom she’s the oldest, so she has a good idea what to do.”

  “Let’s see how that works for now, then,” Darcy said. He steered me out of the room and we made our way downstairs.

  “Let’s hope the baby doesn’t decide to come early,” I said. “I’m dying to see Sir Mordred’s house and garden, aren’t you? And the dinner sounds as if it will be fabulous.”

  “It should be at that price,” Darcy said. “Lucky we are invited guests. The others will all be nosy parkers who want to take a peek at his estate.”

  “Rich nosy parkers.”

  He chuckled.

  “He’ll make quite a bit of money from this, won’t he? The open house all day and then this banquet at night. And I shouldn’t think he’s short of cash, the way his books sell.”

  “He’s donating the money to charity, I think,” I replied. “At least he mentioned something to that effect.”

  “Oh well, he’s a better fellow than I thought, then.”

  “I’m supposed to be taking Pierre over to Sir Mordred’s house to see the kitchens and meet his chef,” I said. “I should probably do that sooner rather than later so Pierre has a chance to buy all the exotic items for the menu.”

  “It’s going to be exotic, is it?”

  “He didn’t specifically say exotic, but he told Pierre no expense would be spared.”

  “Oh.” Darcy looked disappointed. “I thought you meant things like monkey brains and grilled pangolins.”

  I made a face. “How disgusting. I hope it’s not going to be anything too outlandish. My stomach rebels these days and I’d hate to have to make a dash from the dinner table in front of all those people.”

  “Just politely refuse anything you don’t think you can eat,” Darcy said. He gave me a peck on the cheek. “I must be off, then. I’ve a meeting with the Foreign Office at two.”

  “Don’t you dare let them send you anywhere at this moment.”

  He smiled. “I’ve made that quite clear, my darling. I’ll be here to hold your hand, I promise.”

  And off he went. I just hoped he meant what he said. If His Majesty’s government called upon him, would Darcy be able to say no? I thought about this as I went down to retrieve Pierre and take him to Sir Mordred’s. His Majesty’s government—always working, always trying to do the right thing when His Majesty himself, my cousin David, still behaved as if he hadn’t a care in the world. What would the British public say when they finally learned about his affair with a married woman? Surely he couldn’t keep her a secret much longer, not when she had every intention of marrying him next.

  * * *

  I must have driven past Sir Mordred’s estate, the aptly named Blackheart Manor, many times before, but from the road one would not know it existed. Thick woodland grew up to a high redbrick wall. There was no nameplate or anything to indicate that a house lay beyond that wall. We almost drove past the tall wrought-iron gate. Phipps was acting as chauffeur. He got out and tried the gate, but it wouldn’t open. Then we noticed there was a discreet box beside it. He pressed a button, words were exchanged with someone in the house, and the gate opened, slowly and mysteriously. We drove in, past those tall gateposts, and then through a stand of tall trees that crowded close to the drive, their branches reaching across the road to create a tunnel of deep shade. Then the drive curved around, and we came out of shadow to see beautifully manicured lawns in front of us and, beyond, a large stone house. It had the appearance of being really old, lacking the elegance of later buildings—no pillars or statues. In fact in many ways it looked more castle than house, built on the remains of a fortified keep. The windows were tall and narrow. There was even a round turret at one end and battlements along part of the roof. It did not give an immediately friendly appearance, in contrast to those gorgeous gardens around it. Roses were in full bloom in beds and over arbors, herbaceous borders packed with every kind of summer flower. Such a strange mixture, I thought—the menacing and the inviting. I wondered if this was a metaphor for their owner.

  As we pulled up in front of the house a young man in an open-necked shirt and white shorts came out and stood waiting for us, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight. He was pale and skinny with longish hair and a slightly unkempt look to him. I thought Sir Mordred must be very lax about his servants if he let them dress like this on a hot day. The man came over and opened the car door for me before Phipps could come around.

  “Hello,” he said, still blinking in the light. “I suppose you must be Lady Georgiana. I’ve been charged to wait for you and make you welcome. The old man is on the telephone with his publisher at the moment.”

  I got out of the car. “Do you work for Sir Mordred?” I asked.

  He laughed at this. “Not unless I have to,” he said. “He’s my father. I’m Edwin Mortimer.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. I felt myself blushing. “I did not realize your father was married. He never mentioned a family.”

  “He only does when it suits him,” Edwin replied. “Most of the time we’re invisible and unimportant.” He paused, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, making him look absurdly young. “Not the greatest family man. It goes against his image. Actually it no longer matters as we’re not at home much. I’m down from Oxford for the summer and Sylvia’s now married and living in a flat somewhere with that ghastly husband of hers. Serves her right.”

  “And your mother?”

  A spasm of pain crossed his face. “My mother died when we were very young. So far my father hasn’t chosen to fill the vacant position. Between ourselves I don’t think he likes women very much, but she was an American heiress. Lots of lovely cash. How could he resist?”

  I shifted uneasily, glancing up at the steps and wishing we could go inside. Pierre had come around to join me.

  “This is my chef, Pierre,” I said, happy to change the subject. “I’ve brought him to inspect the kitchen and meet your chef.”

  “Oh yes. We’ve heard all about him,” Edwin said. He nodded to Pierre. “You want to watch it or he’ll try to lure you away. A very persistent man, my father. He likes to get his own way at all costs.” He started toward the steps. “Well, come on in, then. I’ll show you around.”

  “Your father doesn’t have a butler?”

  “He does, but he’s older than the hills and can’t manage steps anymore. He came with the house when my father bought it ten years ago. Ogden. That’s his name.”

  We entered through an arched doorway into a large gloomy foyer. The walls were paneled in dark oak and an oak stairway ran up one side to a gallery above, from which banners hung. Before my eyes could adjust to the darkness I took a step back to look up at the banners and uttered a little scream as a figure rose behind me, an axe held in menacing fashion over my head.

  “Sorry, I should have warned you about Humphrey,” Edwin said.

  I put my hand to my heart, which was now thumping, as I saw that it was actually a full suit of armor, one arm raised and holding an axe.

  “Ghoulish, isn’t it?” Edwin said. “The décor came with the house too, including Humphrey here.” He gestured to the suit of armor. “When we were younger we used to swear he moved about at night. You’d find the axe in different positions in the morning. And to say nothing of the ghosts…”

  I smiled, having regained my composure. “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re talking to the wrong person,” I said. “I grew up in a Scottish castle much gloomier than this one, and with its fair share of ghosts too.”

  “Golly, did you?” He sounded like me. “Of course, I’d forgotten. You’re related to the royal family, aren’t you? The new king’s cousin?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “So you actually know him?”

  “I do. Very well,” I said.

  “So what’s he like?”

  “As a person lots of fun. Kind. Generous. As a king, I’m not sure. I don’t think he takes the job seriously. He never wanted it, of course. That’s the problem if you’re royal. You get stuck with duty.”

  “Do you suppose he’ll now have to marry some dreadful foreign princess to produce the heir?”

  I realized that he had heard nothing of Mrs. Simpson. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  “Well, I’d better take your chef down to the kitchens, then,” Edwin said. “No use summoning Ogden, as he takes half an hour to go down the stairs. It’s this way.” He motioned to Pierre.

  “I should probably come too,” I said. “Pierre needs help understanding English.”

  “Righto. Come on, then.” He led me through the entrance hall and down a dark and narrow passage where more weapons hung from the walls. Through a heavy oak door and down a flight of stone steps to a kitchen that was half underground. High windows let in natural light but didn’t quite manage to dispel the gloom. A huge range was on one wall, with a row of copper pans hanging above it. A young girl was standing at the center table, chopping some kind of vegetable. She took one look at us, her mouth open in terror, and ran into a back room. “Mr. Henman,” she called. “The visitors is here.”

  “Coming. Coming.” An elderly man shuffled out. He was wearing a chef’s jacket, rather splattered with food stains.

  “This is Lady Georgiana,” Edwin said. “And this is Pierre, her chef.”

  “My lady,” he said, giving me a curt little bow. Then he looked at Pierre. “So you’re the one who’s coming to take over my kitchen, then. Shove me aside like an old boot, eh?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Henman,” I said, because Pierre was still trying to translate “old boot.” “He’s coming to help you because clearly a banquet for thirty people is too much for one chef.”

  “If it’s only for one banquet, all well and good, my lady. But I’ve been chef here for thirty years and I don’t want the master getting any fancy ideas.”

  “I’m sure your master values you enough to realize that you’d find a banquet overwhelming.”

  I saw Henman weighing this speech, not wanting to admit that the banquet would be too much for him, but not wanting to find he had to cook it either. Finally he nodded to Pierre. “Well, I suppose I’d better show you what we’ve got and where everything is. I hope you won’t be wanting too much of that fancy foreign stuff.”

  “It depends what your employer chooses for the menu,” I replied.

  “Can’t he speak for himself?” Mr. Henman asked aggressively. “Cat got your tongue, boy?”

  Pierre frowned. “Which cat is this? You do not want me to cook a cat, I hope.”

  “He doesn’t understand too much English yet,” I said. “You have to explain simply what you want.”

  “A bloody foreigner who doesn’t speak English. That’s all I need, begging your pardon, my lady,” he muttered. “Come on, then. The larder’s this way.”

  Edwin tapped me on the arm. “We’d better leave them to it. Come and have a sherry or something.”

  I followed him up the stairs. “So how does the food get up to the dining room? Do you have servants to carry it up the stairs?”

  “Oh no. We’ve a dumbwaiter. Sylvia and I used to ride up and down in it when we first moved here. It’s a fun house for kids in some ways. Great for hide-and-seek. Secret passages and all.”

  We emerged back into the main part of the house and Edwin led me through the foyer and into a long gallery. These walls were also paneled in oak, as was the ceiling, and in the center was an enormous fireplace, big enough to roast an ox—which obviously it had once done, as the stone above it was blackened. The tall, narrow windows were paned in leaded glass that distorted the view from the outside.

  “Sit down,” he said. “Sherry or whiskey?”

  “Golly, it’s a bit early, isn’t it?” I glanced at my watch. It was only just past eleven.

  “Never too early for a drink.” Edwin poured me a glass of sherry then a large whiskey for himself.

  “So you’re at Oxford,” I said. “What are you studying?”

  “Philosophy,” he said. “No bloody use to anyone.”

  “So what do you plan to do when you graduate?”

  “As little as possible.” He sat opposite me and stretched out his legs. “I don’t actually have any calling to a profession. I’m sure I’d have no head for business. The law’s too bloody boring. And I certainly wouldn’t go into the army like my father. I can’t see myself killing people—especially not the way wars are these days. All those poor blokes who died in the mud last time.” He shuddered.

  “Your father was an army man?” I must have sounded surprised because Sir Mordred had seemed like the least likely to serve in the armed forces.

  “He was, strange to think,” Edwin replied. “Son of a penniless junior branch of the family and his father already in the Bengal Lancers. He was born in India, you know. Came over to school when he was seven, poor little bugger. Actually it probably saved his life, as his parents both died in the cholera epidemic.”

  “So he also went into the Indian Army?” I took a sip of sherry.

  “No. I think he’d been put off India for life. He joined a Guards regiment, hoping to guard Buckingham Palace and march around. But then the Boer War broke out and he found himself fighting Zulus in South Africa. Rather horrid and bloody, so one gathers.”

  “And then he inherited the title and all was well.” I smiled.

  “Not for a while. He stayed on in South Africa for a spot of diamond prospecting with a local chap.”

  “Oh. That was ambitious. Did he make a killing?”

  “On the contrary. Nearly lost his life. The mine they were working caved in and they were both buried. Luckily he was still alive when he was dug out. The other chap wasn’t. And they never found any diamonds worth anything either.”

  “Are you boring Lady Georgiana with my life history?” said a voice from the shadows, and Sir Mordred came to join us.

  Chapter 10

  July 20

  Blackheart Manor

  I’m not sure what to make of Sir Mordred. Actually I think he’s a perfectly ordinary chap who enjoys playing a part. I’m jolly glad I’m not living at Blackheart Manor, though. One of the more depressing houses I’ve ever visited. Dark and damp and scary. With all his money I can’t see why he’d actually want to live there. But I am dying to see the poison garden!

  “Oh hello, Sir Mordred,” I said as he crossed the room toward me. “Edwin has been looking after me well and keeping me entertained. One certainly couldn’t be bored with your life history. Most colorful. Fighting Zulus. Digging for diamonds. I’m surprised you don’t write about South Africa since you were there for quite a while.”

  “Too many painful memories, my dear.” He poured himself a sherry and came over to join us. Today he was dressed in white flannels and a cricket sweater and looked less alarming, apart from the long silver hair that curled over his shoulders. And those piercing eyes. “So your chappie is downstairs with old Henman, is he? Jolly good. Does he have ideas for a menu? I want this meal to be one that the guests will remember for the rest of their lives.”