Return to Rhonan (8 page)

He looked at the diamond pin in the Duke’s cravat. ‘Your pin alone is worth thousands.  How can you even think of casting out whole families onto the roads with nothing?  Don’t forget we have another death threat – the second in as many days.  This time given to the
Butler.'

‘Then I shall call on the police and military.  Shoot the bastards.’

‘Ah so now you’re not only starving them, but shooting them as well. Where’s your soul?’

Perkins fingered his delicate ceramic pen resting in the solid silver inkstand, and sniffed.  ‘Come – come. We must think of ways of improving our own standard of living – the wool economy will bring in ample profits from the estate – we have to go with change.’ 

‘How can you even utter those words?  They are starving, and you talk about profits. I think, up until now; we fared very well, Castles, Manor Houses, fine balls, carriages, and our blasted silver plate and gold plate on the table.  Even starving they would share their last crumb with you, you miserable swine.’ 

Father O’Sullivan interrupted, ‘God is showing us the way; it is his Divine Will that we go with change.  Our farmers
’
souls will prosper as they prayerfully give up the land to their  Lord and Master the Earl. And of course, they can emigrate.’

‘Divine Will?  God does not interfere in the affairs of man.’ Duncan thundered, ‘He gave us free will and look what we’ve done with it?  Murdering our own tenants – leaving them to die whilst you fill your bellies and drink your fine wines? Mothers and bairns starve.’

The priest pursed his lips plucking at his notes, ‘There’s no need to get personal. The tenants must submit to God’s Divine Plan –
otherwise; they
will bring His Wrath down on their heads.‘

‘Don’t rant about the wrath of God.’ Duncan slammed his fist on the table. ‘Don’t spout the Old Testament.  Tis man’s selfishness, man’s greed that we discuss this night. Stop squawking and speak up for humanity’.

The Duke raised his hand, his tones smooth and clear, ‘We can do
both; we
can share the land. It is just a matter of lower profits. However, in the end, all will prosper.  Not only can we have a wool industry, but we can also benefit the tenants by turning them into sheep farmers. We can all live very comfortably indeed.’ Turning to the Viscount he said, ‘What say you Mendane?’

The Viscount slumped back in his chair slurped on some wine. ‘Load of bollocks your Grace, bollocks – the Earl has my ear and my vote.  Blasted tenants – nothing but misery – misery I say.’ Stretching for the decanter, he poured more wine.

Duncan bit his lip; he wanted to punch the drunkard ‘Misery?  These poor wretches are the people that put food in your belly, wine down your gullet and bloody silk on your back. Why only the other month I hear you took a shilling off each of your tenants to pay for a Grecian sculpture for your balustrade. Those that couldn’t pay wait in fear of eviction.’ 

In answer, the Viscount raised a languid hand, the lace crisp on his wrist. ‘Whatever Rhonan –  whatever.’

Turning to the Marquis, Duncan’s lips thinned, the drunken sop lay, sprawled over his chair,   his mouth open, snoring.

Smirking, the Earl leant forward. ‘It seems you are outnumbered. Turning to the Duke he said, ‘Your Grace, I am sure you will appreciate that I must follow the needs of the day.  It is not within my power to shelter those who cannot contribute to the wool industry, but I can at least ensure they have work in the kelping industry – to this end as I discussed with my son here, I will provide kilns and all tools and utensils necessary to turn the seaweed into kelp. It is indeed in our own interests to develop kelping especially as we have the advantage of lower taxes. To that end, my tenants will repair to the coast to build their huts and to enjoy industrious work.’

Outnumbered, the Duke nodded, ‘So be it Rhonan, but I will, of course, reserve judgement on how I will proceed with my estate.  I must needs question my own conscience before acting.’

Duncan strode the room, hands clasped behind his back fuming. There had to be something he could do to save the tenants.

CHAPTER 1
1

The hotel brochure did not give credence to the vast expanse of the Manor, or the beauty of the classical architecture of the Palladio.  Jessie gazed with delight at the soaring colonnades, the semi-circular arches overhanging immense Venetian style windows.  The building would be more in keeping with the palazzos of Venice than the wild highland landscape.

‘God, Dinah, it’s beautiful.  Glad we made the choice.’

Dinah’s heart leapt a little as she grinned. ‘It’ll be good to see George again.’

‘Look that must be the lake George was talking about and the island. Plenty of people out boating.’

‘Yeah, the boats seem pretty easy to handle. We'll  have to take one out. Look, there’s the Mausoleum. I can just see it through the silver birch trees – creepy.’

Jessie’s eyes widened as she looked at the gothic tomb. The small arched windows with darkened leaded lights typified the funereal look.  She glimpsed the bushes moving to reveal the slender figure of a woman in a scarlet skirt hugging a tightly wrapped bundle to her breast. As the girl turned to her Jess gave a startled gasp.  She might as well have been looking at a mirror image of herself. However, there would be many women with the same bone structure and red hair in Scotland.   

As the cab arrived at the white marble steps of the Manor, two bellhops dressed in green liveried uniforms rushed to take their cases.  The hotel gardens were certainly popular with couples strolling arm in air, mothers rushing after toddlers, fathers playing cricket with miniature bats and wickets.  An elderly woman greeted them as she sat on a wrought-iron   bench enjoying the sun. Following the bellhops, Jessie and Dinah walked past roses rambling over the balustrades of stone patios leading to the colonnaded portico, heavy with the scents of honeysuckle and jasmine.  Entering a vast hall quiet except for a few quests exiting the lifts or crossing to the entrance doors, Jess and Dinah stared at exquisite marble statues reminiscent of the Roman age, at marble columns supporting the vaulted ceiling. The cupola of leaded light glass shimmered in a rainbow of colours reflected on the white marble interior. The walls decorated with trompe l’oeil gave the illusion of niches replete with sculpted busts of long dead ancestors and a sweeping panorama of Elysian Fields.  Suits of armour stood in alcoves, whilst stag and lion heads gazed through sightless brown orbs.

Behind a vast mahogany reception desk, Aileen Byrne in a sea green uniform sat flicking through papers, her generous figure overflowing the regency tapestry chair.   She looked up at her fellow receptionist, a slim girl with ash blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. ‘So, Margaret, the
Amer
icans
are here.  One of them will be having the Mermaid Suite and a studio.  Seems she’s a keen painter.’

‘A month – quite a lengthy stay.’

‘Maybe she’s been ill or perhaps needs time to do the painting.’

‘Hmm … they’re coming through the door now.’

‘Then I’ll be ringing for his Lordship.  He wanted to know the second Dr. Jessica M
cGregor
, and her friend arrived. Special greeting for long-stay guests.’ Pushing the bell button on the desk, Aileen jumped up lightly to her feet, her red-lipped mouth opening in shock. ‘Look at the one with red hair now? Tis the woman in the portrait.  Could be herself coming in now.’

‘ She’s
a ghost – to be sure she’s─’

‘Och now, hush
,
she’ll be hearing ye.’

Jessie and Dinah followed the bellhops to the desk. After tipping them generously, they watched them scatter away, laughing
.

Turning to the desk, Jessie met the crystal blue eyes of the
black haired Aileen.

‘We have bookings,
Dr
Jessica
McGregor
and
Dr
Dinah Shibley.’

The elder woman leant forward, twisting her mouth into a smile whilst her eyes remained wide with alarm, ‘Ah Doctor M
cGregor
, tis a braw Scottish name ye have there. ‘She took a deep breath into the ample bosom and said, ‘Ye must be tired after your flight, all the way from
America.
’

Jessie laughed, ‘Ah
no; we've
just come from London.  We met some
friends,
whilst we were there.  They recommended this hotel.’

‘Ah I see, now who would that be?’

Jessie smiled inwardly realizing she had the same curiosity as her Scottish relations in
America.’
 

‘Err … Lucy and George Ames.’

‘Really?  The teachers?'

Dinah nudged Jessie. ‘So he’s here.  Great.’

Margaret looked over to Dinah, ‘If you’d like to come over here I can help ye.’

Maeve continued talking to Jess. ‘Well they’ll be teaching this afternoon, and they take evening courses too. Tis braw friends you have, and teaching fine hobbies. I love to read as well.  Nothing like a good book to curl up with.  But then, it’s a Kindle I’ll be using now.  So much better than a paperback, easier to handle. And, they’re much cheaper than paperbacks.’ Jessie nodded as she tweaked an eyebrow at Dinah. .  It seemed Aileen and Margaret were settling down for a long chat.  

Jess brought out her passport. ‘Umm … would you like this?’

‘Ah yes, we’ll look after this for you.  Now we  have the Mermaid Suite and the Fairy Dale for ye both.   The Master himself wanted you to have them.  They’re the most luxurious and comfortable seeing as you’ll be staying with us for so long.’

‘Now Margaret and I will be looking after both of you during your stay.’

As she spoke she took the red leather bound
register
from the blond haired girl, and placing it before Jessie, offered her a gilt ballpoint pen.

Douglas
entered the reception area as Jessie bent to sign the register.  His stomach tightened when he caught sight of long copper hair, a sunburst of colour in the light, the image of the portrait in the gallery.  So, this was the woman who’d inherited an empire.  Why should she choose this backwater?  It wasn’t as if it was a
five-star hotel.
He’d managed four stars, without the Michelin Star Chef.

As Jessie bent to write her name and address she felt a light touch on her shoulder and found herself looking up at a man with the face of a Da Vinci angel, a masterpiece of high cheekbones and angled jaw complimenting a full bottom lip.  But, it was his eyes that held her, eyes the colour of a summer sea.   He smiled, sweeping back a stray lock from a mane of black hair reaching to his shoulders, reminding her of a Regency rake. She was not sure of the cool calculating gleam in his eyes, as they rested on her cleavage.  Her eyes
narrowed; he
reminded her of someone, but whom?  

CHAPTER 1
2

His heart leapt, as he looked down into eyes the colour of emeralds in sunlight. After two years in Scotland, his voice now held the whisper of a Scottish burr, rising and falling over his English accent.  His eyes turned to Dinah, ‘Ladies, welcome. I trust you had a pleasant journey. Let me introduce myself – Douglas
Mavebury
.  He clicked his fingers at another two bellhops bidding them take the cases up to the rooms.  ‘And now, let me escort you to your suites.’

As he left to usher Jess and Dinah into the lift, Aileen turned to Margaret. ‘Did ye see his face when he saw the one with the red hair?  White it was ... white.’

‘Hmm … tis the portrait.’

***

Using polite guile, Douglas made sure he deposited Dinah
at
her suite before escorting Jess to hers. On entering the room, she felt a sense of déjà vu followed by a wave of unnatural tiredness washing through her. The four-poster bed looked inviting with the heavy brocade drapes of blue silk.  The room was certainly elegant boasting a Georgian mahogany dressing table complete with swing mirror and the blue and white striped satin dressing chair.  Catching sight of an antique escritoire and chair she said, ‘My aunt used to have a writing desk just like this.  I can use it for my laptop.' 

Yet, as Jessie stroked the smooth mahogany top an image flashed through her mind of another century, an image of a young woman dipping a quill
pen
into
a
crystal inkwell, her face contorted with grief. 

The vision fragmented as Douglas said, ‘That’s strange, I told the workmen to put that escritoire into storage in the barn.’ He lifted the lid staring at a leatherette writing pad now free of maggots and slime. This was a mystery as only half an hour ago, he’d checked the room over to make sure everything was in order. The writing desk certainly wasn’t there then.

Shaking off that feeling of dread, Jessie peered across the bedroom to the archway leading to a small sitting room furnished with the same Regency upholstered furniture in blue and white satin, the grey marble coffee table holding the 32-inch wall television on a low-lying marble table.  ‘I’m impressed – love it.’ Smiling at Douglas, she opened the balcony windows stepping onto the gilt wrought iron balcony overlooking the lake.  ‘It’s so beautiful here. I’ll just have to take a boat over to the island.  The mausoleum is quite gothic. I’d love to explore it.’ She noticed the red-haired woman, and babe had disappeared.