Penmort Castle (39 page)

It was
strange.

But it was
also, definitely, wonderful.

Abby didn’t get
a chance to process it. He shifted her so she was back in position,
cheek on his ribcage and he went back to scrolling through
spreadsheets, opening and closing charts and reading through
documents at alarming speed.

Zee had moved
away when Cash pulled her up but he came back, walked up Abby’s leg
and jumped down into the space made by the crook of her hips. He
curled in a tiny, kitty circle and started purring.

Cash didn’t say
a word at the addition of Zee he just kept clicking through
documents.

Abby watched
them fly by as she stroked her cat and Cash twirled a lock of her
hair between his fingers.

Then, before
she knew it, she was asleep.

Two Important
Things Happen to Abby

Abby opened the
front door to Cash’s house to see Mrs. Truman standing on his
stoop, Jenny, Nicola, Fenella, Honor and Cassandra all behind
her.

“Parking is
atrocious!” Mrs. Truman snapped by way of greeting then pushed in,
grumbling, “We must have walked three miles to get here.”

“We didn’t walk
three miles,” Cassandra muttered with a grin in Abby’s
direction.

“Felt like it,”
Mrs. Truman groused, shrugging off her coat.

Abby ignored
Mrs. Truman and welcomed the other ladies with a cheek-to-cheek
touch, took their coats, hung them in the cupboard under the stairs
and led them all to the garden level.

When they
arrived downstairs, they were all looking around in wonder.

“We’ve never
been to Cash’s house. It’s
gorgeous,
” Fenella squealed and
Abby looked around.

She’d lit some
candles. She’d also gone shopping in Bath that day. She bought a
tall, large, cylindrical, glass vase out of which sprouted
fragrant, white, hyacinths that sat dead centre on the dining room
table. Another identical, but smaller, vase held the same flowers
and sat on the edge of the bar that separated the kitchen from the
seating area. A third sat on the table between couch and armchairs,
also stuffed full with hyacinths.

During her
shopping efforts, Abby had purchased a handsome, scarlet-red table
runner which ran the length of the dining table. Cash’s sleek,
classy, black crockery lay amongst his silver and glassware, the
plates hiding the circular, quilted grey pads that Abby also
bought. Scarlet napkins Abby picked up with the table runner were
folded in rectangles and sat at a slant on each plate.

The aroma of
roasting rosemary chicken filled the air and Nina Simone sang
softly in the background.

Abby was
pleased with Fenella’s comment and further pleased that she was
right. Cash’s place
was
gorgeous but now it didn’t look just
show-home gorgeous, it looked
home
-home gorgeous.

“What’s that
smell?” Mrs. Truman, sniffing the air disdainfully, demanded to
know.

“Chicken,” Abby
answered.

“Chicken?” Mrs.
Truman clipped. “I thought we were going to have beef.”

“
You
talked about beef,” Abby told her. “I never talked about beef.”

Mrs. Truman
shot her a glare and then mumbled, “I was expecting beef. All day,
I’ve had a taste for beef. Now I get chicken.”

Abby fought a
smile and caught Nicola staring at Mrs. Truman in barely-hidden
horror.

“Ignore her.
She’s crotchety,” Abby told Nicola. “You’ll get used to it.”

Nicola’s eyes
came to Abby and she nodded, looking relieved at Abby’s amused
acceptance of the older woman but Mrs. Truman spoke.

“I’m not
crotchety. I’m particular,” Mrs. Truman informed Nicola. “I like
things a certain way. Manners. Behaviour,” her eyes came to Abby,
“for instance, people keeping their promises.”

“I didn’t
promise you beef,” Abby asserted.

“You did,” Mrs.
Truman told her.

“Didn’t,” Abby
shot back.

“I’m going to
look at the rest of the house,” Jenny cut in. “Abby, you want to
show us around?”

Abby’s eyes
went to the clock.

Cash had said
he’d be home by six thirty but it was five past seven. It wasn’t
unusual that he was late, what was unusual was that he hadn’t
called.

She shook her
head at Jenny but invited, “You all have a look. I’ll get everyone
a drink.”

“White wine,”
Mrs. Truman ordered sharply as she headed for the stairs, not even
attempting to conceal her curiosity at viewing the rest of Cash’s
house. Then she finished, “Chilled.”

“That sounds
good to me,” Nicola put in, following Mrs. Truman.

“Me too,”
Fenella added. She was right on her mother’s heels.

“You know what
I drink,” Jenny told Abby and turned to the stairs.

“G&T,”
Cassandra requested, moving after the others.

“I’ll just help
Abby,” Honor, to Abby’s surprise, stated and the women climbed the
stairs.

“That’s nice of
you,” Abby muttered, even though she was unsure. She hadn’t yet
made her mind up about Honor.

Honor’s eyes
were on the stairs and after Cassandra’s booted foot disappeared,
she turned to Abby and said in a whisper, “Not really, I needed a
chance to talk to you when Mummy wasn’t around.”

Abby went on
guard and looked at Honor.

Her face seemed
intent, though not unfriendly, but something about it made Abby
mentally brace.

Still, Abby
replied in a soft voice, “Okay. Can we talk while we make the
drinks?”

Honor nodded
and Abby asked her to see to Cassandra’s gin and tonic, telling her
where to find the liquor and glasses while Abby went to the fridge
for the wine.

When she had
the wine and was uncorking it, she turned to Honor. “What is
it?”

Honor glanced
to the side, her eyes catching Abby’s. “Fenella told me what’s
going on.”

Abby bit her
lip, not sure this was a good thing.

Honor
continued, “It’s okay. I don’t think you’re crazy. I know Vivianna
exists, I know what she does. So does Suzanne. And, he’s never
mentioned it, but I know Alistair does too. The only person who
hasn’t seen her is Mummy.”

Abby pulled the
cork out of the bottle and asked, “Really? Why not?”

Honor shrugged.
“Don’t know. Always thought that was strange, but she never shows
or makes a peep when Mummy’s around. Anyway, she, Vivianna I mean,
doesn’t do harm to us girls. I think she even likes Suzanne.”

Abby could
understand that. Evil, Abby guessed, would know (and like) evil.
She didn’t mention this philosophy to Honor for obvious reasons and
Honor kept talking.

“I get the
feeling she hates Alistair. A lot. She’s always doing things to
annoy him when Mummy’s not around. Moving his stuff. Tripping him
up as he’s walking through the house. Screaming when he’s on the
phone.” Honor stopped and shivered, mumbling, “God, I hate it when
she screams.”

Abby’s hand
arrested while taking down a wineglass. “She screams?”

Honor nodded.
“That’s the worst. It isn’t like a regular scream. It’s low, eerie,
sinister. Just hideous.”

“That’s awful,”
Abby whispered, thinking it bloody well
was
.

Who could live
like that?

“Yes,” Honor
replied and her eyes went to the stairs before she moved to the
refrigerator for ice. “We don’t have much time and that isn’t what
I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It isn’t?”
Abby enquired and Honor shook her head.

“I wanted to
talk about Alistair,” she told Abby and dumped some ice into
Cassandra’s drink.

Abby’s body
went solid and she had to force herself to pour the wine while
querying, “What about him?”

“He’s
dangerous.”

Abby stopped
pouring the wine, stared with stunned, frightened fascination at
Honor and breathed, “What?”

Honor came
close, took the bottle from Abby and began to fill the glasses, all
the while talking swiftly. “He’s not a good man. I don’t like him.
Neither does Fenella. We never did. When Daddy died Mummy…” She
stopped and Abby watched her force a swallow, betraying an intense
emotion that made Abby’s heart go out to her before she forged
ahead. “Things weren’t good for Mummy. She was…” Honor halted again
and finished with the wine, putting the bottle on the counter.
“Let’s just say, she had to marry Alistair. She didn’t marry him
because she loved him, she married him because she needed to find a
way to take care of us and she had no choice.”

“Oh Honor,”
Abby whispered, feeling for Honor and definitely for Nicola, but
Honor shook her head again.

“It’s okay,
we’ve all gotten used to it. Even Mummy. The thing you have to know
is, a long time ago, I found the diaries,” Honor told her.

Abby’s brows
drew together in confusion “The diaries?”

“Yes, Lorna’s
diaries,” Honor answered. “I found them in the library, years ago,
and kept them hidden. I don’t think anyone even knows they
exist.”

“Who’s Lorna?”
Abby asked.

“Anthony and
Alistair’s mother.”

Abby just
looked at her, not knowing what this meant and Honor got closer,
her eyes going to the stairs then back to Abby and she started
speaking quickly again.

“See, Alistair
isn’t a Beaumaris. Lorna was raped.” At this news, Abby sucked in
breath and put her hand to the counter to hold on but Honor
continued. “Some gardener did the deed and then took off. Very
unpleasant. She never told her husband, I don’t know why. She
should have. Maybe, back then, they didn’t talk about that kind of
thing or he wouldn’t have believed her. Doesn’t matter, she didn’t.
Before the rape, she was happy, except for Vivianna. She was in
line for the axe from Vivianna, I just know it. From what Lorna
wrote Vivianna was playing with her, getting ready to go in for the
kill. He loved her, Richard Beaumaris did, you could tell from what
she wrote. Except, after Alistair was born, Richard turned on her.
He knew Alistair was not a Beaumaris, thought she’d cheated on him.
His love died and Vivianna backed off when it did but Lorna never
said a word.”

“Oh my God.
That’s horrible,” Abby whispered, her heart hurting, thinking about
Cash’s grandmother living that sad life.

Honor nodded
and gave Abby a look that said she definitely agreed but she kept
talking hurriedly. “According to the diaries, regardless of how he
was conceived, Lorna loved Alistair. She loved both her boys.
Anthony and Alistair never got on, though. Lorna thought it was as
if Anthony could sense what made Alistair. Furthermore, Alistair
was not a nice kid, she loved him but he did things that scared
Lorna. Scared and confused her. Things, I think, she only told her
diary.”

“That’s not
good,” Abby muttered.

“No, it isn’t,”
Honor agreed. “And he hasn’t changed.
Really
hasn’t changed.
So much so, I think he could, and probably did, meddle with the
brakes on Anthony’s car.”

Abby felt her
eyes grow wide and her fingers clenched the counter anew while she
breathed, “No.”

“Yes,” Honor
returned, “Alistair hated Anthony as much as Anthony hated
Alistair. Fenella told me what Angus McPherson said and it all
makes sense. He had motive. Hatred, of course. But Anthony was
spending all his time in Scotland with Myra and then Cash came
along. If Anthony was going to move to the castle with his family,
it’s likely he was going to kick Alistair out.” Abby nodded that
this made sense and Honor went on. “But, the thing you have to know
is, this means Alistair doesn’t own the castle. Cash does. True and
legal. All Cash has to do is ask for a DNA test.”

The importance
of this news hit Abby like a physical force and she rocked back.
Honor either didn’t notice it or more likely was on a mission to
get all of her story out before the others returned.

“I had a
solicitor friend of mine look at it and the castle’s covenant is
precise. First, the castle never, but never, goes out of the hands
of a blood Beaumaris, which Cash is and Alistair isn’t. Second,
it’s passed down from father to son. Always father to son. If there
is no son then to a daughter.
Only
to a brother if the
castle’s master dies without any heir. My friend looked up some
records and Anthony was having the covenant scrutinised when he
died in order to alter it so Cash could inherit. But, in the end,
he didn’t have to. Regardless of Cash’s legitimacy, he was the next
in line to inherit. Anthony knew that. Alistair knew it too. Cash
was too young and Cash’s mother too crazy and too poor to fight it
but my friend says it was all his, all the lands, all the money,
all the investments, all the businesses, and especially Penmort.
It’s always been Cash’s. Always. All this time,” Honor
finished.

Abby found she
was breathing heavily and they heard the others approaching so
Honor leaned in, took hold of Abby’s upper arm and her voice was
soft but urgent.

“I’ve put the
diaries in a safe deposit box but I’ve copied the pages about the
rape and I have them with me. Before I leave, I’ll put them
somewhere and tell you where to find them. And I’ve written down
the information on the box and will leave you the keys so you can
take Cash there,” Honor told her.

“Why?” Abby
asked and her voice sounded strangled so she repeated it, “Why? Why
are you telling me this? Why are you doing this? For Cash?
To
Alistair?”

Honor’s face
changed, pain, anger and heartache, likely for herself and even for
her mother and sisters, all chased through it but as feminine feet
came down the stairs all she said was, “You love him and, because
of that, I can trust you. And I know Cash is a good man. I also
know Alistair is
not
.”

And her tone
said eloquently that her words about her stepfather were
true
.