Both of his eyebrows rose. “As am I. What does that have to do with the current situation?”
“Middle kids are almost always peacemakers. In my case, that’s my character to a tee. Well, that and the fact that I love to learn things, but I’m told curiosity is another middle-child trait, so that’s not too surprising. Are you a curious person, too?”
“Yes, but that’s not—”
“Then it’s all settled,” I said brightly, and gave him another elbow nudge. This one he noticed. “You can do your work, and we’ll stay out of your way, and Lady Sybilla will help you put the house to rights, and in return, you won’t boot her out to the gatekeeper’s lodge until you absolutely have to. I like it when things work out. It makes my shui happy.”
“People don’t have shui,” he said with a little frown.
“Really? How do you know?”
“Because like you, I enjoy learning things, and have studied the five arts of Chinese metaphysics; thus, I understand exactly what qi is supposed to be—what you have confused with shui—and it has nothing to do with your personal sense of satisfaction.”
“Huh,” I said, making a mental note to look up the five arts of Chinese metaphysics. “Interesting. I’ll have to Google that later.” I smiled at him. “My Google-fu is very strong, you know.”
He came perilously close to an eye roll, but stopped himself in time. “Regardless, I don’t have need of Lady Sybilla’s presence to successfully complete a restoration of the house—”
“No, but it’s nice to have her on hand, isn’t it? I bet her husband had a library with all sorts of papers and documents on the house that would be useful.” I turned to Lady Sybilla. “You have old house documents, don’t you?”
“Quite a number, yes,” she allowed, and for a second, I saw a glint of amusement in her faded eyes. “I own that should I be ripped from the very bosom of my home—if you will pardon the salty language—then I should feel obligated to take with me those things that are most precious, including all of my husband’s papers, and his entire library.”
“Most of the library was sold off years ago,” Alden said, sliding her a look out of the corners of his eyes. “Or so says your legal representative.”
“Sir James’s books, yes, but not his personal effects.” Lady Sybilla brushed a crumb from the table. “Those are most precious to me.”
“So it’s all settled,” I said happily, feeling I’d done my good deed for the day in making peace in an unpleasant situation despite the sometimes-annoying Alden. “I’m sure you’ll find lots of good historical info in Lady Sybilla’s papers. I’m certainly envious of you having the chance to go through them. There’s nothing I love more than primary historical documents, especially those of the Georgian and Victorian periods.”
“Then you can look through them,” Alden said somewhat snappishly. “I won’t have time. I will be renovating a house despite it being inhabited by an army of people who refuse to leave the premises.”
“Oooh, would you mind if I had a peek?” I asked Lady Sybilla. “I almost have a degree in British history, so I know what I’m doing. Mostly. I do have an abiding love of history, though.”
“You may catalog his papers if you like,” Lady Sybilla said graciously, and, with no little amount of creaking, got to her feet. She clutched an ebony-and-silver-handled cane in one hand, looking down her nose at Alden (not an easy feat when he was at least ten inches taller than she was), and added, “Very well, young man. I will allow you to conduct work on the house, but I must insist that you leave my rooms unmolested. Adams and I have them exactly to my taste.”
Alden started to protest, but checked himself, his shoulders slumping as he said morosely, “You’re not going to leave the house until you’re ready, are you?”
“Most certainly not.”
He sighed. “I could have you thrown out, you know. Legally, I have that right.”
“But you shan’t.” Lady Sybilla creaked past him without even pausing. “Because you are a gentleman, or so says my solicitor. Do not disappoint me, young man.”
She sailed off with stately dignity. Alden watched her for a few seconds, then turned back to us, his face a picture of resignation mingled with frustration.
“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” I said in an attempt to comfort him. “She’s too old to get in your way much. I mean, you have that whole house to fix up.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to leave her rooms until later, but when I get to them, she must move to the gatekeeper’s lodge. And I won’t add her board to my expenses, which are strained enough as is. Nor for you lot,” he added, his brows pulling together when his gaze shifted from me to Fenice.
“We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you in that way,” she said with exaggerated courtesy, and, with a cheeky grin at me, grabbed my arm and hauled me in the opposite direction to that of Lady Sybilla, taking me out into the depths of the garden. “Come along, I’ll show you what’s what.”
“Sounds good. I did want to tell you something about the archery—”
“Ugh, don’t mention that. Patrick is going to be furious when he sees me. Speaking of that wastrel, did he say when he was going to be here? He was supposed to fetch the equipment two days ago and be back by noon, and it’s long past that now.”
“He just said sometime in early evening.”
“That rotter. I’ll rip a few strips off of him if he left me to face the irate owner on my own. . . .”
I looked over my shoulder as I followed Fenice.
Alden stood watching us, an oddly puzzled look on his face, but when my gaze met his, he immediately turned and, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, walked quickly toward the stone verandah.
My spirits dropped at such an obvious rejection. I didn’t even know why I was being so spurned, but I knew I didn’t like it. A little spike of pride had me telling myself that I didn’t care what he thought, that he probably didn’t like women anyway, and that I had more important things to do than be concerned over the opinion of such a misanthropic, annoying man.
“I don’t give a flying fig what he thinks,” I said under my breath as ahead of me, Fenice pointed at the small cluster of outbuildings, and explained what they were being used to store. “Besides, I probably won’t see him again. He’ll be inside, and I’ll be outside, and never the twain shall meet.”
I sighed at that thought, inexplicably depressed.
He really did have nice eyes.
Chapter 4
“Yes, I arrived with the car intact, although just barely. And it cost a fortune to fix the starter, which I can ill afford.” Alden took a deep breath, and opened the door to what he remembered was a formal dining room. He half expected to find ghostly, sheet-covered furniture lurking in the darkness, but the room, like so many others he’d surveyed in the last half hour, was empty.
“So long as you’re safe. Alice wants to know when we can see the place,” Elliott said, the faint clicking of keys reaching Alden’s ears. No doubt Elliott was anxious to get back to work, and had called only to make sure Alden had arrived at last. “Not that we’re pressuring you. I know from hard experience just how long it can take for repairs to be made.”
“Given the amount of work I’m seeing, next year wouldn’t be a bad guess.”
He entered the room, intending on opening the dusty, grime-bedecked olive green velvet curtains, but paused when one end of the mantel over a particularly ugly fireplace suddenly gave up the will to live, and released its hold on the wall, falling to the ground with an appalling wooden screech and a substantial thud. A gentle tinkle of plaster followed.
Alden gave the mantel a warning look, and added, “Maybe 2020 would be a better estimate.”
“What was that noise? It sounded like a banshee screaming.”
“It was the mantel. I believe it just tried to commit suicide.”
/> Alden grasped the curtain, and gave it a sideways tug.
The curtain came loose in his hand, and slithered to the floor with a dejected fwooping noise, a small mushroom cloud of dust rising around him, immediately settling on his shoes, and trouser legs.
Alden pursed his lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Inanimate objects like mantels don’t get depressed and suicidal.”
“You haven’t seen this place,” Alden countered, squinting out of the flyspecked window. He thought it looked out onto the garden at the side of the house, but it was difficult to see through what must be decades of grime and neglect. “It’s like the whole house has gone emo. If it was a person, I’d expect it to be clothed in black, drinking absinthe, and writing depressing poetry about the futility of life and the existential being of nothingness.”
“Now you’re being dramatic. A house is a house is a house. As you should well know, having grown up here. If any house had the right to mope around and write sad poetry, it would be Ainslie Castle.”
The second curtain, with a little whisper of hopelessness, rippled and fell to the floor next to its partner. Alden coughed and waved away the eruption of dust.
His shoes were now almost gray. “I repeat, you haven’t seen this place. And that’s not the worst of it.”
“Oh? What’s happened other than your car having issues?”
Alden told Elliott about Lady Sybilla, and the frustration of having to deal not only with her, but with what was apparently going to be some sort of medieval fair in his back garden. “And don’t tell me to throw Lady Sybilla out, El. I can’t do it, I just can’t. I tried, but she just looked at me with those faded eyes, and shaky hands, and all I could picture was the poor old thing being stuffed into a nursing home.”
“But she has a home in the gatekeeper’s lodge that you agreed to let her use until her demise.”
“You know that, and I know that, but Lady Sybilla seems to feel otherwise.” Alden ran a hand through his hair before remembering it was covered in dust and cobwebs. “I just have to face the fact that I’m stuck with her until I absolutely have to move her out of her rooms. Fortunately, there’s a lot I can do in other parts of the house where she won’t be in the way. It’s the other group I really want rid of. Surely I can’t be expected to honor any agreement made by a former owner? What’s the legality of that?”
“Hmm.” Elliott was quiet for a minute. “It doesn’t sound like you should be responsible for letting those people have your garden, but on the other hand, this is English civil law we’re talking about—I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was considered a debt on the estate, and thus it transfers to the new owner.”
“Great.” Alden nudged aside the pools of fallen curtains to sit down on the window seat below the now-denuded window. Across the room, a lightbulb in the wall sconce fizzled, then went out with a soft pop. “So I’m stuck with them?”
“I don’t know. Talk to the solicitor who handled the sale and see what he has to say.”
“I will, although he seems to be more on Lady Sybilla’s side than mine. Old family retainers, I think.”
Elliott snorted. “If you like, I can ask around.”
“I don’t know.” Alden got to his feet and wandered over to the fireplace to see just how bad the mantel was. He didn’t even flinch when, placing his hand on it, the end still attached released its hold on the wall and fell to his feet. Dust swirled up into the fireplace in an intricate design. “Legal opinion takes time. The group is here now, so what good will it be to find out a month from now that I was in the right?”
“It would help if you wanted to get some money out of them for using your land without your knowledge or consent.”
As Elliott spoke, Alden leaned down and reached up into the fireplace. The way the dust had dissipated had left him believing the damper was open. The last thing he needed was to leave an open passage for birds or rodents.
“Getting a judgment against them would take even longer,” Alden said a bit diffidently, his hand scrabbling for the metal handle. He caught it, and gave it a tug. A dead bat fell to the floor, rolled out, and came to rest against his shoe. “I think I’m stuck with them, just as I am Sybilla.”
“It’s your call, Alden. If you want them gone, make a stand,” Elliott said.
Alden looked at the rusty brown bat, then reached out to pick it up. “I was wrong,” he said aloud.
“About what?”
“The bat isn’t dead.” He hurriedly set it back onto the floor of the fireplace, looking around for something with which to capture it.
“What bat? Are you all right? You didn’t eat or drink anything with a funny taste, did you?”
“No. Well, yes, but that was because I bought a sandwich at a petrol station on the way up here. My chimney has bats.”
“Truer words were never spoken, but I’ve never judged you for the path you’ve taken in life.”
“I wasn’t speaking euphemistically. There’s a bat here. A real bat. But it doesn’t seem too well, so I suppose I should get it to someone who knows about them. I wonder if Mercy could help it.”
“Probably. Merciful dealings with animals has always been my byword.”
“Not that sort of mercy. This one is a woman.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t say it like that. I thought she was Alice’s protégée at first until she—Mercy—informed me she was just hired to work with the dog and pony show taking place in my garden. She mentioned something about zoology. I’ll ask her what she thinks of the bat.”
“You certainly know how to woo the ladies,” Elliott said with gentle humor.
Alden made a face at nothing. “I’m not trying to woo her. I’m not trying to woo anyone. Didn’t you listen? She’s not part of Alice’s matchmaking project. She’s just . . .” Interesting. Somewhat maddening. But with a curiosity that he suspected matched his own. “. . . just a woman. One who I’d rather was elsewhere.”
“That’s what we all think at first, and then one day, you realize they have seemingly infinite powers that they use to keep us utterly besotted.” Elliott sighed. “Tell me more about this group that is blighting your existence.”
Alden relayed everything he knew while he scooped up a rattan basket that had been lying on its side, forgotten in a dismal corner of the room, and placed it gently over the bat, making sure the gaps within the woven pattern of the basket let air in.
He opened the door to leave. The now-empty curtain rod fell to the ground with a muffled clang.
“You know . . . I hate to say it, but it sounds more and more like you’re going to have to let these medieval people stay out the term of their agreement,” Elliott said once he’d finished. “Consider it from their point of view—they paid to have access to the garden, and had no idea Lady Sybilla was going to sell out from under them.”
Alden emerged from the house to the pleasant heat of a summer afternoon, breathing deeply of air that smelled like baked earth, freshly mowed grass, and salt air that had swept in from the coast a scant quarter mile away. “I agree, but that doesn’t help me.”
“Well, as you said, there’s a lot to keep you occupied in the house itself. It shouldn’t be too bad having them doing a little fake medieval combat in the back garden.”
“If they were confined to that location, I might be able to ignore them, but Lady Sybilla told them they could stay in the house. Which means they’ll be occupying part of a wing, and then there will be tourists and whatnot roaming around. In other words, everyone will be in my way, getting underfoot when I’m trying to renovate.”
“I think you’re anticipating problems where there are none,” Elliott counseled, but at that moment, a small group of people emerged from a bank of rhododendrons. The leader was a large man with ginger hair, a red face, and intimidatingly bushy eyebrows. Behind him followed
two women and one man, all of whom wore binoculars strung around their necks and clutched small notebooks.
“Now, to the west, we’ve spotted three Dartford warbler nests. And of course, the cormorants have their main breeding ground beyond the copse, down on the shore.” The man nodded at Alden. “Good afternoon to you, sir.”
“Hello.” Alden watched in surprise as the man and his group passed by, apparently not intending on stopping. Alden stepped forward and blocked their path. “And just who might you be?”
“I might be the Pied Piper,” the ginger man said with a genial smile. “As it happens, I’m Barry Butcher.” He stuck out his hand.
Alden shook it automatically. “What exactly are you doing here?”
The man’s bristly eyebrows rose in surprise. “I might ask you the same, mate. But let’s start with your name, first.”
“Alden Ainslie.” He cast his eye over the other three people. They seemed to fade in comparison with the boisterous man leading them. They clutched their notebooks, identical wary expressions on all three of their faces. “I own Bestwood Hall.”
“The new owner!” Barry clapped him on the shoulder, sending Alden staggering a few steps to the side. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Expect you’re wondering why we’re traipsing through your land, eh? Well, I’ll tell you—it’s our Hairy Tits.”
Alden stared at him, convinced he had misheard.
“We’re with the Hairy Tit Conservancy Trust, you know,” Barry added, just as if that were common knowledge. “Our tits like your land. Specifically, the area between the north copse and the western edge where the cliffs lead down to the beach. We’ve had a record number of tits spotted this year, and we have high hopes that if they’re left undisturbed, they’ll make a full recovery.”
“Their numbers are very low,” one of the women said earnestly, her fingers white on her notebook. “They were put on the endangered list two years ago.”