Chapter 14

But Rhisiart was standing in the massive front hall, scanning the newspaper. I stopped short when I saw him. My sudden movement announced my presence and Rhisiart turned. “Good morning, Eilidh. I trust you enjoyed yourself at the pub last night.”

“I did.”

“Maybe you’d like to go with me some evening.”

“I don’t think so, Rhisiart. I’m not sure you and I are well-suited.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, maybe you’ll come around in time. Where are you headed right now?”

“Out. I’ll be eating breakfast with my cousin because apparently someone has told her she’s not welcome in the castle.” I hadn’t intended to say anything, but his high-handedness was getting out of control.

He winced dramatically. “I believe I’m the guilty party. My brother and sister-in-law and I have discussed the matter and it has nothing to do with your cousin, trust me. It’s just that we may be repurposing the coach house soon and we need to have an architect come to look at it. And, of course, there can’t be any guests in the coach house when the work starts. It may move very quickly once the architect has seen the property.”

I gave him a skeptical look and hoisted my bag over my shoulder, not wishing to continue the conversation. He put his paper down and opened the door for me with a flourish. I stepped outside without another glance at him and walked down the broad front steps. Sylvie was just coming around the western turret of the castle.

“Are you ready?” she asked, a forced cheery note in her voice. She was taking her own advice and clearly had no intention of letting Rhisiart ruin her day. We walked in silence back to the parking enclosure.

“I think he likes you,” Sylvie said.

“You might be right. The one time I went to the pub with him it wasn’t terrible, but that was before Annabel died and he’s been different since then. I don’t like the way he treats people.”

“I don’t either,” Sylvie agreed. “But we’re not going to talk about him, remember?”

“You’re right. Let’s talk about something much more pleasant,” I said.

“Like Griff,” Sylvie said with a wicked smile.

“He is more pleasant, that’s for sure, but let’s stay away from the topic of men for a wee bit. Pick something else.” So Sylvie told me about some of the photographs she had been taking.

After breakfast talk turned to the things we were going to do in Cardiff. Sylvie had made a list of the places she thought we’d enjoy. And she was right. We visited the National Museum Cardiff and St. Fagan’s Walk, and the Cardiff Indoor Market. Rhisiart’s name didn’t come up once, nor did the name of anyone in Annabel’s family. We steered away from any topic involving Maisie and Brenda, too.

But Griff was another matter. Sylvie seemed keen to know more about him, to analyze everything he said to me, to speculate about the future. A future that included him.

“Sylvie,” I said, laughing, “I don’t really know him very well. I know he has a cottage in the village, but that’s really about it.”

“You don’t have to know much about him to know he’s a great guy. But you know more than you realize. You know he loves animals, or at least horses. You know he cared about Annabel. You know he cares about what’s done with the stables. He wants them to remain low-key and doesn’t want them converted to housing for race horses. You know he doesn’t like Rhisiart because of the way Rhisiart treats everyone. So see? There’s a lot you know about Griff. Plus we both know he’s cute,” she added with a grin.

She was right. I knew I liked Griff, but I hadn’t given much thought to why I liked him. And Sylvie had put it all out there for me to see clearly. Suddenly I was anxious to get back to the castle to see him.

It was dark when we left Cardiff and headed back to the village. We stopped at a chippy for supper on the way back so I wouldn’t have to eat in the dining room under the scrutinizing eyes of Annabel’s family. I hated to think of Maisie and Brenda stuck back in the castle without the freedom to come and go that I enjoyed, but the time would come when I would probably be looking for another job and I wanted to spend time with Sylvie while she was nearby. I could commiserate with Maisie and Brenda after Sylvie left.

When I got back I found the household in a flurry of preparations for Annabel’s service the next day. Or rather, Maisie and Brenda were in a flurry of activity while the three new owners of Thistlecross Castle made lists and barked orders to the two harried women. I jumped in to help them as soon as I walked in the door and realized what was happening.

Hugh and Sian had decided that a home cooked meal would be more “comforting,” as they put it, for the guests who would be arriving to pay their respects after the service. This included Annabel’s matronly—and quite wealthy—friends from the village as well as people from her church, people involved with the charities Annabel had supported and sponsored, and friends with whom her sons had grown up.

I went downstairs to help Maisie in the kitchen first. “Wouldn’t it be smarter and easier to use a caterer for this?” I asked.

“It certainly would,” Maisie grumbled. “Annabel used her caterer friend for the meal after Andreas’s service and things went very smoothly. Brenda and I worked hard, but we weren’t treated like mules. And we were able to pay our respects to Andreas, too, even though I didn’t know him well and what I knew of him I didn’t like. But it was important to show our support for the family because of the way we felt about Annabel. And now this—Brenda and I aren’t going to have one minute to formally grieve for Annabel. We won’t even be able to go to the service because we’ve got so much work to do here to prepare for all those people.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?” I asked. I didn’t relish the thought of approaching Hugh and Sian and Rhisiart about this, but someone had to stand up for Maisie and Brenda.

“What good would it do?” she asked grumpily. “The service is tomorrow morning and it’s too late to hire anyone else to do the cooking or to help with the cleaning. No, we’re stuck. We’ll just get through the day and maybe we can do something to remember Annabel in private.”

I felt sick at the prospect of Maisie and Brenda missing Annabel’s funeral service. After several minutes of helping her in the kitchen, I concocted a story about something else I had remembered and I went in search of Rhisiart.

In hindsight, it probably would have been smarter to look for Sian or Hugh, but I was worried one of them might give me the brush-off. I knew Rhisiart would at least listen to my request.

I found him in the drawing room, working in a notebook. I knocked on the door even though it was ajar and he grunted, “Who is it?” without looking up from his work. Perhaps I should have waited, I thought, but I’m already here and I’ve already disturbed him. Might as well go through with it.

“It’s Eilidh.”

He pushed his notebook away and leaned back in the chair. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’ve come to ask a favor of you.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward the sofa. I sat down on the edge of it, leaning forward stiffly. He just looked at me. I plunged into my request.

“It’s just that Maisie and Brenda are working so hard to get the house and the food ready for tomorrow that they’re not even going to be able to attend the funeral. They both loved Annabel and it seems a shame they’re not able to say goodbye to her properly.”

“Hmm,” he said, nodding his head slightly.

“Do you think you could let them take just a short break to go to the funeral? All they want to do is pay their final respects.”

“But they’re needed here,” he said finally.

“I know, but maybe they could just take an hour or so to go into the village. They do such a wonderful job in the castle and they have for years. They deserve this.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and I got the uneasy feeling he was going to say something I didn’t like.

And I was right, but what he said still came as a shock.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to let Maisie and Brenda come to the funeral tomorrow. For an hour,” he added, pointing in my direction, “if you go to the pub with me for a drink this evening.”

Was he suggesting I go on a date with him in exchange for a favor? The very idea was revolting. I didn’t say anything. There were plenty of things I would do for Maisie and Brenda, but I had to draw the line somewhere and Rhisiart’s request was cheeky to an unbelievable degree.

He was waiting for an answer. I sat and stared at him and he met my gaze steadily. Neither of us said anything while my mind raced, trying to decide if I should make a counter-offer or say yes or say no.

I was distracted for a moment by a soft sound. I glanced toward the door and saw Brenda peek into the room, her haggard face revealing how tired she was. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said in a quiet voice. “I was just wondering when I might be able to dust in there.”

“Just give us another minute, Brenda,” came Rhisiart’s reply. She turned away, her shoulders stooped. I thought for a moment of her mother, working herself to exhaustion down in the kitchen, making everything perfect for the guests who would be in the castle tomorrow. All those people would be talking in low voices about Annabel and her good works, not giving much thought to the people who worked so hard to feed them so sumptuously.

“All right, I’ll go for a drink with you,” I said. “When shall we go?”

“How about thirty minutes?” he asked.

“That’s fine.” My voice sounded flat in my own ears. I hoped Brenda wasn’t listening because I didn’t want her to report to her mother that I was going on a date with Rhisiart just so the two of them could have an hour off to attend the funeral the following day. Maisie wouldn’t forgive herself if she knew what I was doing.

He gathered his notebook and pencils, then excused himself and walked out of the room, glancing back and winking at me. I winced inwardly. It was going to be a long evening.

Brenda came into the drawing room, her dust cloths bunched up in her hand. “Can I dust now, Eilidh?” she asked, her voice a little louder than when she had spoken to Rhisiart.

“Sure, Brenda, come on in. I was just leaving,” I said. Something in my voice must have warned her that all was not right. She tilted her head and gave me a hard look. “Is something wrong, Eilidh? You don’t look like yourself.”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” I hastened to assure her. “I guess I’m just wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye to Annabel tomorrow, that’s all.”

“I know how you feel. She was just the nicest lady. I wish me and Mum could go to the funeral, but I think we’ll be too busy here.”

I didn’t say anything. I figured Rhisiart would tell them they could have the time off to go to the funeral, so I didn’t want to give any hint that I knew his plans.

“Take a break now and then, Brenda,” I advised her. “You’ll be more productive if you’re not so tired.”

“I will,” she said, reaching up to dust a sconce on the wall. “See you later.”

I turned and left her to her work. I went to my room to brood for twenty minutes, then grabbed a coat and went to the front hall to wait for Rhisiart.

He was already there, waiting for me. He looked dapper in his khaki trousers, white Oxford shirt, and navy toggle coat, but I knew his looks were deceiving. “Ready?” he asked. He held out his arm for me to take and I pretended not to notice. He opened the door for me and we went out to his car, which was already parked in the circle out front. He hurried around to the passenger side of the car and again opened the door for me, this time with a comical flourish. He seemed a different man, softer and more playful.

But I still didn’t trust him. I sat in the front seat of the car, pressing my body as much as I could to the left so I wouldn’t touch his arm accidentally. He didn’t seem to notice, though I got the feeling that not much escaped his keen writer’s eyes. He didn’t say much except to comment on the chilly weather as we drove into the village and parked at the pub, apparently having decided to respect my wishes not to talk just yet.

When he had parked the car he ran around the front and opened my door, again offering me his arm to help me out. It was indeed a very low-sitting car, so I took his arm. He gave me a sideways smile as I released his arm.

Once in the pub, he pulled out my chair for me and helped me off with my coat. We sat down and a server brought us menus. Rhisiart offered to look at the wine list, but I didn’t feel like drinking wine. I wanted something hearty to drink, and that called for a pint.

We both ordered pints and then Rhisiart sat forward and I sat back in my chair while we waited for our drinks.

“So what do you think of all that’s going on in the castle?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the change in ownership, the possible changes in staffing. Everything.”

I hadn’t noticed any changes yet except that Hugh and Sian and Rhisiart seemed to be relishing their new positions as lords and lady of the manor. I chose my words carefully when I answered him several moments later.

“Change is hard, especially when it comes as a result of the death of someone so beloved, as Annabel was. It’s also hard when people aren’t kept apprised of what’s going on.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Are you saying you and the other staff don’t realize what’s happening?”

“Is there anything to realize?” I shot back. “Annabel died. Someone has to own the castle, so it’s you and your brother and your sister-in-law. There really haven’t been any changes other than that, have there?”

He sat back and regarded me with barely-concealed amusement. I fumed under his gaze. Whereas his behavior before we drove away from the castle and since coming into the village had suggested he might try to be a gentleman tonight, this was quickly turning into a tête-à-tête for which I had no stomach.

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he acknowledged, toying with his fork. “But mark my words, things are going to change soon.”

“Things like what?”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Once the funeral is over and the barrister has completed the necessary paperwork to transfer ownership of the castle to me and Hugh and Sian’s baby, and to set up the baby’s trust so Sian can make the necessary decisions, we’re going to turn the old place into a brand-new venue for breeding race horses. And not only that, but we’re going to open it up to the public.”

I stared at him in horror. “You’re kidding.”

He smiled, self-satisfied and smug. “You see, Annabel never made full use of the property after her second husband died. We’ve been trying to get her to make some changes for years. The old castle could become a world-class destination for horse breeders, horse aficionados, and people who are interested in learning more about the breeding process and horse racing in general.”

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “I think that’s horrible,” I said flatly. “Annabel would hate it—you know that.”

“Annabel isn’t here any longer,” he said flatly.

“But how could you dishonor her memory like this?” I asked.

“You’re forgetting, I think, that when Brian was alive the castle grounds were used for polo games. Brian kept his polo ponies in the stables.”

“But that was because Brian had a passion for polo,” I said, making a pleading gesture with my hands. “He used part of the estate for a polo ground because that’s what he loved to do. He and his friends spent their free time playing polo.”

“And I have a passion for breeding and racing horses. How is that any different from what Brian did?”

“It just is,” I insisted. “Brian didn’t convert part of the estate to a polo ground to make money. In fact, he lost money. He did it for fun and the love of the sport.”

“Who said we’re doing this for money?”

“Ha!” I scoffed. “Of course this is all about money. I’m not stupid. You’re not a horse breeder or a horse racer—you’re a writer. And you’re good at what you do. Why would you put your energies into something that is so disrespectful of your mother?”

“And what did she ever do that was respectful of me?” he hissed, leaning close to me so that other people in the pub wouldn’t hear him. “Why does she deserve so much honor from me or Hugh or Andreas’s wife or child?”

I was taken aback. “Because she loved you,” I said quietly.

“She had a funny way of showing it,” he said, his nostrils flaring and the vein in his neck bulging. “She let our father beat us senseless and never did a thing about it. We got where we are today not because of her, but in spite of her. And if we want to change the course of the castle’s future and make it into something we want, that’s our prerogative and we don’t have to worry about your so-called ‘honor’ getting in the way.” He heaved a long breath, as if he had been waiting to say those words for a long time.

I didn’t know what to say. There was an anger in this man I hadn’t known existed. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was unfair to argue with him, to try to convince him of his mistaken thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re trying to reconcile the Annabel you knew with the Annabel I knew, the Annabel my brothers knew.”

He was right. I nodded slowly.

“You have no idea what it was like growing up in our family. Our father was a monster. We were kids. There was nothing we could do to stop it short of running away, and where were we going to go that our father wouldn’t find us?

“Don’t you see? We were dependent on Annabel to protect us from him. But she didn’t. She was a miserable failure. And now you expect us to hold her in some great regard for the wonderful, charitable, community-minded woman she turned into in her later years. But we don’t know that woman. We knew the woman she was when we were kids, the weak, insipid woman who couldn’t save us from our own father.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought about it that way.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. No one but me and Hugh and Andreas can know what it was really like. All we ask is that you and everyone else who wants to voice their opinions remember that Annabel wasn’t always the beloved saint she was when she died.”

“I knew about the abuse, of course, but maybe you need to give it some thought, too. Your mother was scared. She didn’t know how best to protect you and your brothers and she was afraid that if she did anything against your father’s wishes she and your brothers and you might have ended up in much more dire circumstances, ostracized by the community and having nowhere to go.”

He shook his head vigorously, as if to rid himself of such thoughts. “No. You don’t get it. She had a choice—she always had a choice. We wouldn’t have cared if we were poor, if we had to depend on the kindness of strangers when we were small. She would have gotten back on her feet, though it may have taken her a little while.”

“You can see that now, through the lens of adulthood and a lifetime of experience, but when you were small you wouldn’t have understood. You would have resented her for taking you away from your comfortable home and putting you in uncertain circumstances.”

“All she would have had to tell us is that we were safe, we wouldn’t have to worry about our father hitting us anymore, and we would have understood. A very young child can understand things like that.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “I’m sorry for everything you and your brothers had to go through as children. But do you realize how much her heart ached for the three of you? Do you realize that your visit to the castle this time was supposed to be an apology for her failures during your childhood?”

He nodded, his face somber. “I do realize that. But there are some things that a mere apology can’t solve. This goes too deep and it goes back too far for it to end so simply and comfortably. Even though she said she was sorry before she died, there was still too much left unsaid, too many hurt feelings not addressed, for any of us to feel the urge or the need to forgive her.”

“You told her you had forgiven her,” I pointed out. “And I wish that had been the truth. Forgiving her would make you feel better. It wouldn’t be for her, don’t you see? It would be for you. So you might not feel so much anger anymore.”

“I’ll think about it. But don’t hold your breath.”

The pints had come and we drank slowly, each of us mulling over the things the other had said. I hated to admit that he had a point. Had my respect and admiration for Annabel clouded my beliefs about her? I hadn’t given much thought to the way her children must have felt growing up, in a household where they had no protector, no one to soothe their fears about their father. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sadness for both Annabel and her three children.

“I don’t know what to say about any of this,” I told Rhisiart.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s not your fault. All I ask, all any of us ask, is that you keep an open mind where Annabel is concerned. Everyone has things about them they aren’t proud of, even her.”

When I agreed to go to the pub with Rhisiart, I had envisioned the evening unfolding in a very different way. I thought I would spend the entire time listening to Rhisiart’s bombastic, self-absorbed rhetoric. I didn’t expect to have my feelings about Annabel challenged in such a thoughtful, and thought-provoking, manner.

We both ordered another pint and talked about the childhood memories he cherished—visiting his mother’s friend Margot, Sylvie and Greer’s mum. He always enjoyed visiting their house, he said, because his father never accompanied them and because the atmosphere in their home was happy and relaxed. I knew Sylvie would be happy to know her childhood home held such happy memories for Rhisiart, regardless of her feelings for him as an adult.

He was in the middle of telling me about one of his visits to Margot’s house when something made me look up and glance toward the door of the pub.

Griff stood in the doorway, holding the door for one of his friends. They walked toward the bar and stood at the burnished oak rail and Griff held up two fingers when the bartender looked at him. Both men shouldered their coats off and Griff took them to the coat rack in the corner near the fireplace. He turned around to go back to the bar and that’s when he spotted me. And Rhisiart. Together.

I smiled at him, an embarrassed I’ll-tell-you-about-it-later smile, but he gave no indication that he had seen me except for the briefest look of confusion and disappointment that crossed his face. He didn’t look at me again.