Page 3 of A Strange Christmas Game

Chapter Two

“Haunted?” Charles shookhis head and dislodged more water from his hat. “Forgive me, Mr. Lester. May we sit down?”

He doubted anything about this disclosure would be quick. It had been avoided until that moment. Mr. Lester could have said it earlier, but Charles guessed that something apart from the oddity of a local belief had held him back.

“Oh, yes, of course. How rude of me.” Mr. Lester looked around the front parlor that also served as an office. There was no one but Charles and Nigel inside. Outside, rain pelted to the ground, soaking the detritus and soil.

No other patrons were likely to arrive, thought Charles, as Mr. Lester showed him and Nigel to chairs by the fire and waited for him to sit before taking his own seat.

There was a small seascape on the wall opposite the door, and when Charles passed it, he saw a signature ofAgnesin the lower left corner. It was no professional painting. Had he still been a betting man, he would have placed money on Agnes being Lester’s wife.

“If the place is haunted, is that why Mr. Long was not here to greet us?” Nigel asked. He smirked.

“Mr. Long resides in Inverness. It does not seem terribly strange that he would simply send you a ring of keys.”

“Doesn’t it?” Charles questioned.

“Mr. Mason was no laird. He only had a bit of property. The house,” said Mr. Lester. “No title. I do not suppose that his relationship with Mr. Long would be the same as an illustrious client’s, for example. His matters, I imagine, would be more straightforward.” Mr. Lester stretched his hands toward the fire. “And unlike someone of a higher station—pardon me for saying it—Mr. Mason has not left behind a queue of creditors.”

Charles exchanged a glance with Nigel, who knew more of the milieu. He’d remained in the country his entire life, unlike Charles, who had gone south at the first opportunity. With some schooling to his name, he’d struck out against Mother and Mr. Maclean’s advice, departing for London. He’d worked to lose his accent and did not pay much attention to the issues impacting his birthplace.

Nigel shrugged. “That is a blessing.”

“Quite so,” said Mr. Lester.

A young woman entered the room from a side door and asked Mr. Lester, “Papa, shall I bring you some tea?” She had Mr. Lester’s tall build and brown eyes full of curiosity.

Mr. Lester nodded. “Thank you, Harriet.” Harriet quit the room as quickly as she had appeared, and he said, “Forgive her. She should have come to take both of your hats and cloaks.” Charles tried not to look at Nigel for fear that they would laugh. They were huddled awkwardly in their chairs, arranged so that water would seep to the wood floor. It did not irk him, and Nigel was too affable to care. But itwasa little comical. “She is very reserved. Her mama’s death changed her, for all that it was several years ago.”

“Not at all, Mr. Lester,” said Nigel.

With a smile, Charles said, “I don’t take offense easily.”

He left unsaid the way that his appearance could be unsettling if it were not expected. He had a larger, more muscular build than most men and stood over some of them by a considerable amount.

“I must confess that I am… surprised you and your father did not remain in touch…”

“My mother and my father did not… were not…” It was not something Charles wanted to discuss with a stranger. Most would consider it uncouth, even those who were not used to moving in thetonas he now was. “He did not claim me as a son, which leads me to believe they were always unmarried. I had no idea until I received a letter about the house that he was no longer alive.”

Nigel shifted in his seat but did not interject.

The clock on the chimneypiece ticked, impossibly loud. Mr. Lester sighed. “I do not know if it is for me to say, but your mother and father… so far as I knew, and the village knew… we assumed, perhaps, that you would return.”

Charles did not understand what he meant. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Lester flushed, the pink visible even in the storm’s gloom. “Did not the documents say?”

Thinking of his copy of the will and all the legal papers in with the explanatory letter, Charles stared at Mr. Lester. “What were they supposed to say?”

“Mr. Mason, you have been here before. I mean to say, you resided in Ullinn House with your mother. For a time.”

So, if his parents had not been married, they had at least cohabitated.

Neither was titled. Neither had much incentive to adhere to societal expectations. The suggestion that perhaps they hadn’t did not vex him, but he was struggling to comprehend the idea—so casually suggested—that his picture of his father was not accurate. That he perhaps had not simplyleft.

He did not realize he was still staring until Mr. Lester said, “Mr. Mason?”

“I am sorry. Perhaps we may speak about the so-called haunting?”

He would rather talk about any manner of ghosts than dwell on his father.

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