Page 2 of One More Christmas at the Castle
The fire was now glowing and she began to feel better, a little less of the shakiness caused by anger – mostly with her own rebellious body, which was striking off on a path she had not set for it. After that earlier barrage of tests, she’d guessed what the verdict would be … but the progression into pain and debility mapped out for her today, the talk of painkillers andpalliative care – no, that shehadn’tbeen prepared for. And she wasn’t having it.
She liked to be in control of every situation, and now, with new determination, she decided that shewoulddamned well stay in control and play her own endgame, not have the consultant’s version forced on her.
Going to the door, she shouted impatiently for Lucy, who scuttled in a few minutes later, looking flustered, dishevelled and with a smear of chocolate on one side of her mouth.
She always reminded Sabine of a mouse, with her small face pinched in around a pointed nose, dull brown hair cut into a childish bob and bright, inquisitive dark eyes.
Sabine had never been fond of rodents, with the possible exception of those that formed the fabric of her fur coat.
Lucy’s brother, Nigel, who was taller, plumper and more unctuous, was, Sabine thought, more of a glossy water vole – a Mr Ratty.
She really should have smelled a rat when Nigel wrote to her, saying how alone she must feel now and in need of companionship, then hinting that his sister, also alone and out of work, would be glad of a comfortable home. But after all, Sabine thought now, if it was such a good idea, why didn’t he have Lucy to live with him in the cottage attached to his antiquarian bookshop in Alnwick?
She must have been mad to have offered Lucy a home in exchange for a little housework and secretarial duties, even if it was almost impossible to get live-in staff any more.
As to companionship, Sabine considered Lucy’s intellectual capacity to be on a par with a not-very-bright toddler, and in any case, she was happier dwelling in thoughts of the past now, walking hand in hand with Asa among her happy, sun-filled memories.
‘Oh, Cousin Sabine, I’m so sorry that I didn’t hear you come in, or I’d—’ Lucy began in a twittery, high-pitched voice even before she was through the door, but Sabine cut her short.
‘Never mind that, Lucy. Fetch me some hot tea – make sure the kettle is boiling this time – and then you’d better do something about dinner. Here, read Maria’s note.’
She thrust the folded paper into Lucy’s hand. ‘She’s bunked off to the hospital to see Andy, but I suppose warming soup and putting a casserole in the oven isn’t beyond your capabilities?’
‘No, of course not,’ Lucy assured her, after scanning the note quickly and then, looking more like a terrified mouse than ever, scurried off towards the kitchen, which was in the Castle’s old wing.
Sabine knew it was more than likely she would allow the soup to boil over, and burn the casserole, but she had more important things to think about now, plans to make …
She sat down at a small papier mâché desk and slowly the ideas that had been forming at the back of her mind since that first hospital appointment began to come together in her head: she’d hold one final Christmas house party at the Castle, a gathering of the last distant dregs of her family – and of Asa’s, too, for she’d include his distant cousins, the Mellings, although they hadn’t spoken to her since Asa had died without leaving them anything. In fact, neither he nor Sabine had made a will, feeling somehow that it tempted fate …
But now fate had crept up on her and she couldn’t afford to put it off any longer – not when it was the fate of her beloved Mitras Castle at stake.
The house party would help her make up her mind onthatone … with the fall-back option of leaving it, suitably endowed, to the National Trust.
Sabine was very wealthy, having inherited both the houseand a fortune from her mother, the last of the Archbold family who had added the battlemented wing early in the nineteenth century. Her father, Perry Mordue, had left what money he had to her younger half-sister, Faye, thinking that made things fair, though Sabine considered it yet another betrayal, like the way he’d married her mother’s nurse so soon after her death.
IfFayehadn’t died so young, she’d have been next in line to inherit – and, by now, Sabine would definitely have taken steps to ensure that didn’t happen.
She pushed the idea of Faye away from her; she was out of the reckoning and would be no more than the ghost at the feast.
Some of the guests she’d invite for Christmas would be more welcome than others. Her godson, dear Xan, must be there; she could see another letter from him among her unopened mail. He wanted to write Asa’s biography and she had been putting him off, but now she’d give him the answer he wanted … on her own terms.
Lucy crept in with a tea tray, laid it at Sabine’s elbow and tiptoed out again, as if hoping to go unnoticed, despite the nervous rattling of the crockery. Sabine poured a cup of Earl Grey, added a dash of milk and then unlocked a little drawer at the back of the desk. Taking out the last report she’d received from a private detective she’d hired, she read it through, frowning.
Her half-sister had run away at seventeen – to America, it transpired – but when she was twenty-one, had returned with an illegitimate child in tow, to claim the money their father had left her.
The family solicitor had informed Sabine, of course, and of the child’s subsequent adoption by a relative of Faye’s mother.
At the time, Sabine had been curious enough to hire aprivate investigator to provide her with photos of the boy, but he’d proved to be a small, brown-haired and insignificant child. And since in all the following years he’d never contacted her, she’d assumed he either didn’t know about the connection, or didn’t care.
But after her diagnosis, Sabine had found herself feeling suddenly curious about what he’d made of his life.
The private detective’s report had been a bit of a surprise, not only because that nondescript child had become the curator of a large private art collection in California, but because he, in turn, had fathered an illegitimate child of his own … another cuckoo in the nest, it seemed, for his adoptive mother to take on.
There had followed some brief details about the life and career of this second child – now a woman in her thirties – and suddenly, Sabine could see how she might weave this particular thread into her pattern, to provide some extra and entirely secret amusement for herself.
Not only that, but it would solve all the difficulties over Maria and of catering for her Christmas house party in one go.
She’d perhaps left it a little late to arrange, but then, she’d always found that there was no problem that couldn’t be fixed if you threw enough money at it.
