‘Shall I go and fetch some vegetables from somewhere? Is there a kitchen garden?’
‘No, no. It’s too late now. I brought some tomatoes back with me – we can have a salad instead this evening. We don’talwaysinsist on formalities, you know. Now, you go up to your bath and dress for dinner. I will look after the child. Tonight he can eat with us, but I will have tea prepared for him earlier tomorrow and put him to bed at the proper time, and dinner will be back to the usual three courses. We mustn’t let standards slip altogether.’
Mrs M brushed past Sage in order to gather ingredients for the salad dressing and as she did so, she whispered conspiratorially, ‘Try to distract His Grace and magic the bottle away out of his reach, will you, dear? He is a little too fond of the strong stuff, it’s such a worry.’ The normally restrained Mrs M sensed an immediate ally in Sage.
She probably shouldn’t have turned up with a bottle of whisky then, she chided herself. ‘Of course. I’ll do my best.’
It had been a long day, and Sage suddenly felt weary. She wondered what had happened at Penrose, and whether Santiago had actually turned up. She looked at her mobile again but it stubbornly still had no signal. She wanted to call North Place and Casper. She wanted to talk to Rafe, check that he and her father were all right. She walked down the steps that led out into the garden, the cold flagstones making her stockinged feet numb as they touched the damp first breath of dew on the floor. She slipped on her boots that she had left by the door and made her way purposefully out to where the boys were gazing into the flames, the blue-black smoke drifting into shapes as it floated up and away into the dusk under a steaming whisper of more rain to come. Kestrel smiled and raised a hand in welcome, the other lovingly cradling a crystal glass.
‘Want one?’ he asked genially, inclining his head at the half-empty bottle on the log beside him.
‘I’d love to when this one is in bed. Thank you.’ Sage saw that there was no way of parting him from the bottle without being overbearing, so she gave it up for the time being, sending a telepathic apology to Mrs M. ‘Kestrel, please may I use your phone?’
‘Ah – I forgot to tell you that we don’t have a telephone here. I loathe any sort of technology. However, if you climb the hill behind the house, I believe you will find signal to make and receive calls and what-have-you. You shan’t be able to anywhere else around here. Probably best to wait until the morning now – it’squite a hike and it could prove rather troublesome in the dark. It’s not a clear night, alas – but tomorrow, perhaps you will see the stars.’
Kestrel refilled his glass with a slightly unsteady hand.
‘How did Rafe get hold of you this morning to ask if we could come?’ Sage asked as she sat down beside Hal, who was staring hypnotically into the fire, his eyelids drooping with tiredness. He leant against his mother contentedly and his eyes closed.
‘Oh, he telephoned the post office and they sent a man down on his bicycle to ask me to make contact. Much better that way. People only bother me now if it’s a matter of urgency or importance. Just how I like it. Too much talking lets the devil in,’ Kestrel finished cryptically. He rose to his feet on long, slender and slightly bowed legs, and stretched gracefully. He plucked the bottle up between a thumb and forefinger and ruffled Hal’s hair with the other hand.
‘I’m going up for my bath,’ he muttered. ‘We will have dinner at eight o’clock. If you need anything to wear, just help yourself to my mother’s frocks in the wardrobes in Hal’s dressing room. You ought to find something in there. If the little man is for his bed, do get Mrs M to take a tray up for him.’
Sage lifted her son up into her arms and he slumped peacefully against her, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. She carried him up the steps into the brightly lit kitchen. Mrs M was slicing tomatoes with a sharp knife that flashed under the copper hanging lights. She looked up as they entered the room, put the knife down and walked over to them with a smile.
‘Sweet lamb … Shall I make a sandwich and some hot cocoa to bring up?’ she asked kindly. Sage nodded gratefully.
‘Yes, please, Mrs M,’ she said, trying the name out, not knowing how else to address her.
Mrs M smiled, happy to have someone small to care for again.
Hal was tucked up in his bed, fast asleep, by the time she came up with his tray. She left it beside the bed, and quietly followed Sage out of the room.
‘Isn’t it a wonderful thing to be a child? All adult troubles are irrelevant to his pure, innocent heart, just as they should be. You’re doing a wonderful job.’ She put a warm, comforting hand on Sage’s shoulder.
‘Thank you. I really appreciate that.’ Sage smiled, embarrassed at the depth of her gratitude. Hal’s well-being was what mattered most to her, especially in these times of upheaval.
‘Now, my dear, let’s go down to dinner – it’s a quarter to eight already. Kestrel likes things to happen at the right times. Are you not dressing?’ she asked, looking at Sage’s jeans and jersey in consternation.
‘Did he really mean it – for me to wear one of his mother’s dresses? Are yousureI can’t just go down in these?’ Sage gestured at her clothes with a grimace.
‘He really means it, I’m afraid. He likes his routines – it’s all he’s ever known. Since leaving his home, Castle Dunbarton, I think the routine has been all that has kept him going. The Dunbarton family had lived there forgenerations… He is the ninth Duke of Stirling and losing all his history and ties in one fell swoop has near-destroyed the poor boy.’ As Mrs M talked, she opened one of the wardrobes and began to pull out a selection of formal dresses, then walked through to the other bedroom and carefully laid them out on the imposing bed. There was far too much taffeta, velvet and silk for Sage’s liking.
‘Mrs M, please don’t make me wear any of those. I will look ridiculous,’ she implored.
Mrs M paused, assessing Sage with her wise, dark eyes.
‘Hmm, you may have a point. I have an idea.’ She scurried back into the dressing room and began to quietly open and close drawers beside a now deeply sleeping Hal, who did not stir. Shereturned with a tartan kilt, a green brocade shirt, a pair of black velvet court shoes and a pair of black silk tights, still in their packet.
‘This is the Dunbarton tartan,’ she said, looking at the kilt appraisingly, then added with a sniff of disapproval, ‘I don’t think the Duchess ever wore any of this.’ She glanced at the dresses she had put on the bed. ‘She’d buy so many clothes and then only ever wore half of them. She left everything when she remarried, shedding her old life like a snake’s skin.’ She handed Sage the clothes in her hand. ‘Anyway, these will suit you better, I think. Less formal.’ She turned to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to dress – come down as soon as you’re ready.’
Sage looked at the clothes in relief; she might look a bit odd, but at least she was saved from having dinner in a ballgown. When she had dressed, she took in her reflection in the mirror. It felt as though she had put on a costume; she appeared demure and respectable, if a little pale and tired, but she was not entirely sure what part she was supposed to be playing in this undeniably bizarre production. Her thoughts again strayed to Rafe, and to what might have happened back at Penrose earlier. She dreaded to think about how Santiago would behave if he did turn up. She truly believed that he was capable of anything.
After planting a tender kiss on Hal’s forehead, she ventured out onto the landing and slowly descended the carpeted stairs, treading carefully in the borrowed high-heeled shoes and bracing herself for the next scene of the gentle parody in which she now found herself.
Kestrel stood at the head of the table, resplendent in tartan trousers, a green smoking jacket, white shirt and bow tie. He held an almost empty glass of whisky like a crutch in his right hand. When Sage entered, he pulled back one of the tapestried chairs directly next to him and ushered her to sit down. He nodded approvingly at her tartan.
‘It suits you. It is Rafe’s tartan too, you know. I know he would be as proud as any man could be to see you wearing it so well. I never thought any woman could be good enough for him, but I may yet be proved wrong.’ Kestrel beamed, and the flickering light from the three huge silver candlesticks on the table danced across his aquiline features. Sage’s heart pulsed with longing for Rafe, but she was shaken from her senses by another sudden draught.