Avalon (41 page)

Dessert swiftly disappeared, the dishes were cleared — along with cases of empty bottles — and the after-dinner drinks were produced: decanters of port, sherry, and single malt, more claret, and Drambuie — along with a fresh array of crystal tumblers and goblets.

James gazed upon the celebration, feeling more and more like a monarch of old, whose hearth and hall provided shelter and sustenance, protection and pleasure for his people.
Yes
, he thought,
this is how it is supposed to be
. He looked across to Jennifer, and she glanced up just then and smiled at him, mouthing the words “I love you.”

He rose to his feet at the head of the table and, with the help of Cal and several others, called the hall to silence.

“My friends,” he said, “I can think of only one thing in this world which would give me greater pleasure than welcoming you here tonight, and that would be to welcome you as half of a married couple. Happily, that oversight will soon be corrected, and this time next year, when we all gather again to celebrate another New Year’s Eve, I will be joined by my beautiful wife.”

Turning to Jennifer, he held out his hand towards her. She rose, taking his hand, and joined him. “I am pleased and proud to announce that Jennifer Evans-Jones has accepted my proposal of marriage,” he said, to a chorus of ooohs and ahhhs all around. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the diamond engagement ring his mother had worn and, with a kiss, he slipped it onto her finger.

She put her arms around him, kissed him rapturously, whereupon James declared, “A toast! Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, raise your glasses to the most beautiful girl in the world — not to mention the smartest, kindest, and… also, the bravest…” This brought shouts and laughter from the guests. “My darling, Jenny!”

Everyone drank and acclaimed the couple, and suddenly the whole room was on its feet; there was a rush as the women hurried to Jenny’s side to see the ring. The men congratulated James and shook his hand, and proposed more toasts to the betrothed couple.

“When’s the wedding?” shouted someone.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” James replied, “but soon.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” shouted the Reverend Orr, “I’ll be happy to tie the knot — at half my usual fee!”

Jenny’s father was next to proclaim a toast. “Ladies and gentlemen, charge your glasses!” he bellowed. There was a scurry back to the tables to refill and take up goblets and tumblers. “To our sovereign King and his future Queen — who also happen to be my own dear, wonderful daughter and future son-in-law!”

Raising his glass, Owen smiled benevolently and called, “Here’s to our Royal Highness, and his lovely bride, and to wishing them both a truly splendid and joyous new year! Long may they reign!”

The hall rang with shouts of “Hear! Hear!” and “Long live James and Jenny!”

There were more toasts then. One from Embries — a rousing chant delivered in soaring Gaelic — and one from Donald, who in his best parliamentary tones raised his glass and said,

“
Here’s to the heath, the hill, and the heather
,

The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt, and the feather!

Blythe may we a’ be
,

Ill may we ne’er see
,

Here’s to the King

And his glad companie
!”

When everyone stopped laughing, the Reverend Orr made an ecclesiastical toast — a blessing, really — and, not to be outdone, Caroline offered one in song. Shona rose and recited the poem “
Will Ye No Tak a Wee Dram, Willy
?” which, on the last line of every stanza, requires everyone to take a drink.

She finished to uproarious applause and, as if on cue, the Deeside Drifters, the local
ceilidh
band engaged for the occasion, began to play. They struck up the “
Bowl of Punch Reel
” and instantly people were flocking to the dance floor. James crossed to Jenny and swung her out onto the floor, joining the dancers in full whirl. They danced three more reels, before bowing out to catch their breath, returning to the table for renewed congratulations by one and all.

The rest of the night passed in a giddy blur of music and motion. James danced with Jenny’s cousin Roslyn, Shona, Mrs. Orr, Caroline, Isobel, and several more; and the next thing he knew he was standing with Jenny in his arms and the band was playing “
Auld Lang Syne
.” The Drifters had imported a ringer for the night, a tall, slender, sandy-haired Irishman named Brian, who played flute and pennywhistle with the wild grace of a banshee. Standing straight and tall, eyes closed, he played the old, old melody to a hall suddenly silent. The wonderful, liquid notes fell from his silver flute like snowflakes, swirling in the air and descending over the listeners like a benediction.

When he finished the hall itself seemed to hold its breath. And then someone shouted, “Happy New Year!” Jenny and James shared a New Year’s kiss or three, and the dancing began again. The assembly was first-footed by none other than the Reverend and Mrs. Orr, who snuck out and very nearly didn’t get let back into the castle because no one heard the bell. First-footing is the peculiarly Scottish custom whereby the first person to set foot over the threshold is welcomed as a harbinger of good luck to follow throughout the rest of the year. Accordingly, a priest bearing a blessing is especially lucky — as are blacksmiths, bakers, and, of course, brewers.

It was past three o’clock when the band finally packed it in, and close to five when the guests began departing. Not all left; sofas, chairs, and spare rooms were offered to any for whom the drive home presented a particular challenge or those who could not stand to see the festivity end. Jenny and James joined Cal and Isobel, and Gavin and Emma for a nightcap. They sat in the candlelit kitchen, clutching mugs of coffee and nibbling on leftovers. Caroline and Donald stopped by on their way to bed, and were persuaded to pull up chairs. When Embries appeared, Isobel declared she was going to make everyone her famous twice-scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

“As this seems to be a night for announcements,” Donald said, “perhaps it’s a good time to let you all in on my little secret.”

Grinning like a boy with a birthday prize, eyes slightly bleary from his celebrations, he leaned forward and motioned everyone closer. “I am going to save the monarchy,” he announced grandly. “Two days ago I secured the necessary backing to form a new political party to be called…” he paused, drawing out the suspense, “the Royal Reform Party.”

He gazed brightly at the ring of faces gathered around him. “We are going to fight Waring’s referendum, and we are going to win.”

Two days after New Year’s, James awoke to the first rumblings of the storm about to break.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” Gavin said, speaking quickly.

Awakened out of a deep sleep by a knock on the door, James had risen and shuffled to answer it without pausing to put on his robe. He stood shivering in his boxer shorts as cold air from the corridor poured through the open door.

“It’s all right. What’s up?” he said, glancing at the bedside clock radio. It was 6:42, and still very dark outside.

“I thought you would want to see this as soon as possible.” Gavin put a folded newspaper into his hands.

Opening the paper, his eye fell upon the headline: ROYAL SCANDAL — INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED.

Drawing the paper closer in the dim light he saw the two-column story below. More curious than concerned, James sat down on the edge of the bed and snapped on the light. “Come in and close the door,” he said, already skimming the article.

The
Guardian
reporters believed themselves onto a big, important story and were proceeding gingerly. Long on suggestion and short on specifics, the story insinuated that James’ career in the service had been somewhat less than exemplary. Although the article did not go into specifics, the last paragraph implied that this was just the tip of a very large iceberg and that more, much more, would be forthcoming as soon as facts could be substantiated.

“Well,” allowed James, “it doesn’t seem too bad. My record is clean. They can look all they want — they won’t find anything. Are any of the other papers involved in this mudslinging?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I can find out. Shona gets quite a few delivered to her.”

“Get onto it,” James told him. “See what the rest of them are up to. Hurry back.”

Gavin left. James put on his robe and read the article through. He was starting in on a second reading, when his bedside phone rang. It was Rhys, calling from London; he and Embries had returned to the city for a few days.

“There’s a story about you in
The Daily Independent
—” Rhys began, then hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s not good, sir.”

“Let’s have it.”

“It says that — wait, I can read it to you if you’d prefer. Let me get it here —”

“No, just hit the highlights. I’ll read it myself later.”

“It says that they’ve uncovered evidence of gross misconduct while you were in the army, and that you were brought up on charges but managed to bribe your way out of a court-martial.”

“That’s absurd,” James told him. The idea was so ludicrous, he found it difficult to imagine anyone taking it seriously. “Not only that, it’s plain impossible. Couldn’t happen. You know that as well as I do, Rhys.”

“There’s more, sir,” he said, and James caught the wary inflection in his voice.

“Go on.”

“The story says witnesses have come forward who saw you do certain things in Kazakhstan — things which resulted in the charges being brought against you.”

“What
things
? Do they say?”

“Not specifically, no. It does say the paper is continuing its own investigations into the affair.”

“There wasn’t any affair. That’s
The Daily Independent
, you say — who else has got hold of this?”

“This is the only paper that comes to the house. I was just heading out to get the rest.”

“Good. Call me back as soon as you’ve had a look. We’ll do the same on this end.”

James made his way downstairs and through the big house. He pottered around the kitchen by himself for a few minutes before Priddy came in and put a stop to it. In deference to his rank, however, she allowed the King to take a seat at the table while she began preparing breakfast for the household. By the time the bacon was frying, Gavin returned with Shona, her hair still wet from the shower, bearing an armload of papers. “I don’t have everything,” she explained, spreading them out on the table. “We can get more later.”

“You do have
The Daily Independent
, I see,” said James, removing one of the papers from the heap. TARNISHED WAR RECORD HAUNTS KING, read the headline. While he scanned the story, Gavin and Shona quickly sorted through the rest.

None of the other papers had anything, for which James was grateful. It occurred to him that the real story behind the story was that some enterprising con artist had discovered a way to bamboozle a load of ready cash from a couple of publishers eager for a new scandal. The fraudster was probably laughing all the way to the bank.

“Well,” James said, as the three of them sat poring over the papers and sipping coffee, “it doesn’t look so bad. It’s all lies, of course, but at least it seems to be confined to two newspapers.”

“Three,” said Cal, entering the room just then. “I just read
The Scottish Herald
. Who the hell is feeding them this crap?”

Over breakfast, James, Cal, and the Rotheses — who were enjoying the last few days of their holiday at Blair Morven — discussed what to do about the story. “I don’t like the smell of this,” Donald declared.

Cal, angry on James’ behalf, wanted to “sue the bastards’ butts off.”

“A robust sentiment, to be sure, Calum,” Donald conceded, “but not tremendously helpful. If you like, James, I could make some calls and see what I can ferret out.”

“I’d be much obliged,” James told him. “Under the circumstances, you’ll probably want to think twice about endorsing me.”

“Not a bit of it,” Donald assured him. “Tempest in a teacup. We’ll weather the storm and come out stronger on the other end. You mark my words.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted. “You might want to wait until this blows over, at least.”

“By then, I’m afraid it might be too late,” Donald countered. “The referendum is less than four weeks away now. Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead, I say.”

Two nights ago, Donald had revealed his scheme to launch a new political party with the sole purpose of aiding the campaign to save the monarchy. He and James had spent many hours over the following days talking Royal Reform Party strategy, and how the organization might best use its influence and resources to help James in the run-up to the devolution referendum.

Donald excused himself to make some phone calls to his co-conspirators, and Caroline to pack for their return to London later that morning; Cal and Isobel went out for a last romantic stroll up into the hills; and James called Jenny.

She greeted him with a cheery hello, and said, “I’m up to my elbows in slurry at the moment, my love. The mixer broke down.”

“I take it you haven’t seen the paper this morning.”

“No, why? Something slimy in the press?”

“Slimy is right. They’re impugning my service record.”

“That doesn’t sound too serious,” she suggested. “It must be some kind of mistake.”

Later that night, as he waited in vain for any mention of the scandal on the broadcast news, James found himself agreeing with Jenny’s assessment. The television newscasts made no mention of the story. James decided that Donald was right; it was nothing more than a tempest in a teacup. Most likely, it would all blow over by morning.

The next morning, all hell broke loose.

Almost every newspaper in the country picked up on what was now termed the King’s “shameful war record.” Several of the broadsheets featured the story as the day’s lead item, and
The Guardian
put out a banner headline which announced SERVICE SCANDAL OF A ROYAL ROGUE.
The Sun
, as always, was much more succinct and to the point; their headline read simply KING RAT.