Penmort Castle (63 page)

Jenny
giggled

Abby turned
wide eyes to Cash.

But Cash wasn’t
listening. He was looking at James.

His eyes moved
to the policemen who looked like they were both talking to, and
positioning themselves to detain, Alistair.

“And why are
you here?” Cash asked the second set of policemen.

One of the
policemen’s eyes flicked to Cash but then went back to Alistair as
he answered, “I’m sorry to tell you this, sir, but we have a man
being questioned at the station. He’s alleging that he was paid by
your uncle to tamper with your car. We need to take Mr. Beaumaris
in for an interview.”

“He did it,”
Mrs. Truman announced baldly and both the police positioned around
Alistair looked at her.

“How do you
know that?” one of them asked.

“I’m seventy
years old,” Mrs. Truman explained on a humph as if his question was
beyond ridiculous and beneath her notice but she was forced to
reply, if only to demonstrate good manners. “At my age, you learn
to read people. Just look at him,” she gestured to Alistair as if
that was all it took to try and fry him.

“I didn’t
attempt to kill my nephew,” Alistair lied.

“You did and
there’s proof,” James cut in, everyone looked at him and he carried
on, “Mick Johnstone recorded your conversation.” Alistair’s face
blanched and James’s eyes moved to the policemen. “He records all
of his conversations for insurance and future extortion. Ask him
about the tapes.”

“And you came
across this information how?” one of the policemen queried.

James shrugged.
“He told his girlfriend then cheated on her. She kicked him out but
he owed her money and never paid. She was willing to talk and she
did.”

“Did you offer
her money to talk?” a policeman enquired and James shook his
head.

“No, she was
happy to talk.” His eyes moved to an Alistair who no longer looked
pompous but was having difficulty hiding his fear. “She’s pretty
annoyed.”

“You men,”
Suzanne remarked, “I hope you’ve learned from tonight’s events that
it’s best never to cross a woman.”

“Amen to that,”
Honor muttered.

One of the
policemen approached Alistair saying, “You need to come with
us.”

“I will not
leave my home!” Alistair declared, pulling his arrogance around him
like a shield and stepping back.

The other
policeman moved forward. “You come willing, or we’ll be forced to
arrest you and you’ll come in cuffs, your choice.”

Alistair
stared, the police braced and everyone watched.

Tense moments
slid by.

Finally
Alistair’s shoulders straightened and his chin tilted back.

“I’ll want to
call my attorneys immediately,” he demanded.

The policemen
moved forward, one of them took Alistair’s arm.

“Of course,” he
muttered.

Abby waited and
watched Cash’s uncle, hoping he’d turn, say something to Cash,
maybe apologise for being such a jerk or say something to Nicola,
again something like apologising for being a jerk.

But he didn’t
look back as the police led him away.

James glanced
at Cash then followed the police.

Everyone stood
silent as the police car drove Alistair Beaumaris from Penmort
Castle hopefully, Abby thought, for the final time.

“Well, it
appears all’s well at Penmort,” one of the other set of policemen
commented.

To which
Suzanne muttered, eyes still at the gate where they last saw
Alistair, “You can say that again.”

Again everyone
stood quiet and watchful as the second set of police took their
leave.

Abby’s mind was
so blank, all thoughts forced out likely in an effort at
self-preservation so she could keep her sanity, that when Nicola
spoke, she jumped.

“Honor, my
dearest, I think
now
we could all use some champagne.”

Cash Claims
Penmort, His New Family and Abby

Cash woke
early, Abby’s warm, soft body a dead weight heavy against side. Her
arm was draped across his midsection, her thigh thrown over
his.

Last night
after they made their way through an alarming amount of champagne
or more accurately, the women and Angus had, Kieran and Cash stayed
sober because someone had to just in case party guests, the police
or any supernatural beings returned, Cash had led a drunken,
giggling Abby to bed.

He’d taken off
her extraordinary dress, slid her black nightgown on her body and
guided her to bed.

She’d curled
into him and fell asleep as if she hadn’t a care in the world
however this was likely because it was less falling asleep and more
passing out.

As he did every
morning, Cash gave himself a moment to experience the intensely
pleasant, peaceful feeling of Abby in bed at his side before he
carefully moved away, trying not to disturb her.

The minute she
lost purchase on his body, her arms snagged his pillow and she
curled around it. There was something moving about her doing that
every morning when Cash left her side but he didn’t give himself
time to dwell.

Cash nabbed his
dressing gown, shrugged it on, tightened the belt and walked from
the room, soundlessly closing the door behind him.

He went
directly to the kitchens where a woman named Jane, who he knew did
the cooking for the castle, was sitting on a stool reading the
paper and sipping coffee.

The minute she
saw Cash, she jerked straight and jumped from the stool.

“Mr. Fraser,”
she murmured, “you’re an early bird. No one is ever up this early.
It’s always just me.” Then she blathered on nervously, “I come in
early to get myself sorted and because I like the castle when it’s
quiet. It never feels peaceful, except in the mornings.”

Jane would,
Cash hoped, find things different from this day forward.

“I’m always up
this early,” Cash informed her of a fact that she would need to
know as she was now in his employ. He didn’t, however, share that
with her but instead requested, “Can you prepare breakfast for
myself and Ms. Butler, please?”

“Of course,
what would you like?” she replied.

Cash considered
the question and smiled to himself when he could say with authority
what Abby’s preferences were for breakfast. “Coffee, strong, and
something light. Croissants and fruit.” She nodded and Cash
continued. “Give it some time, half an hour or more and, if you
would, please deliver it to our room.”

She nodded
again and busied herself with her task. Cash watched her a moment
then looked about the vast kitchens, rooms used to prepare food for
his line for centuries.

Now
his
kitchens.

Cash smiled
again and walked out of the room.

Slowly he
allowed himself time to move through his home.

He strolled
through the armoury, the billiard room, library, conservatory,
drawing room, inner and outer halls, dining room but stopped in the
study. The tips of his fingers glided across the desk, another
smile forming on his lips before he turned and looked out the still
dark windows of pre-dawn at the back of the desk, his brain knowing
there were acres of wood and pastureland surrounding the castle
beyond the tor. Land, luckily, that Alistair had not yet sold.
Land, now, that Cash owned, as his father before him and his father
before him and so on.

He left the
study, climbed the steps and walked to the gallery. His mind did
not wander to the events of the night before. Instead he walked to
the light switch, flipped it on and strode directly to Alistair’s
portrait.

His hands went
to the frame and he lifted it, pulling it off its mount, he turned
its face away and set it on the floor against the wall.

Once done with
this task, Cash turned to the alcove where his father’s portrait
hung. He took hold of it and moved it to the gallery proper. He
hooked it on the mount which had held Alistair’s portrait and
straightened it, stepping back to make certain it was positioned
properly.

Even though it
was half the size of Alistair’s pretentious painting, it looked far
more like it belonged where it was.

Studying his
father’s image, Cash again did not let his mind wander to the night
before. As with most everything else that happened last night, he’d
process it with Abby when the time was right.

Instead he felt
something settle in him, as if the small task of switching
paintings was a far more grand and important feat than wresting his
legacy out of the hands of a man who’d abuse his family and commit
fratricide.

Cash considered
this feeling and realised what he felt was justice.

He walked
through the room, turned out the lights and headed to his and
Abby’s room.

As he moved
through the house, Cash saw a glow coming from the sewing room. The
door was open and he stopped in it to see Nicola, her face free of
makeup, the heels of her feet up on edge of a plush armchair, hair
loose around her shoulders, arms wrapped around her calves, body
enveloped in a soft throw, eyes staring unseeing out the dark
window.

She looked,
Cash thought, twenty years younger.

Her expression
in profile was not sad nor was it troubled.

It was
hopeful.

“Nicola,” Cash
murmured.

He watched her
jump and her eyes flew to him.

“Cash,” she
whispered but she didn’t move.

Cash walked in.
“You’re up early.”

She smiled up
at him as he came within a few feet of her chair. Still she didn’t
move.

“I haven’t
slept,” she told him.

“I’m sorry,”
Cash said.

“I’m not,” she
replied.

Seeing she was
going to remain in her casual pose instead of assuming the role of
courteous hostess per usual, Cash moved away from her. Her
demonstration of casualness and familiarity, Cash noted
incidentally, was something he enjoyed.

He sat on the
arm of the chair opposite her.

“A great deal
happened last night,” he remarked watching her closely for signs of
post-traumatic stress.

Her hand came
out from under the throw and she waved it in front of her.

“That,” she
stated, “Fenella, Suzanne and Honor filled me in last night.” She
grinned at him in a way she’d never done before. Her grin was
filled with her usual friendliness but now also had an easy
openness that was something else Cash decided he liked.

It was then the
sharp realisation hit him as to just how guarded she’d been, likely
due to necessity, when Alistair had been around.

“Last night,”
Cash said, his voice had grown deeper, “what I said about you and
the girls staying here, I meant it.”

Her hand
disappeared under the throw and he saw her pulling it tighter.

“I know, dear,”
she mumbled, her eyes moving back to the window, “but we
couldn’t.”

“You can,” Cash
asserted and her gaze came back to him.

“You’re very
kind, but we couldn’t.” When Cash opened his mouth to speak she
shook her head. “I don’t know where we’re going but we can’t stay
here with you.”

“Why not?” Cash
asked and he watched her expression turn confused.

“I… well,” she
hesitated then continued, “you and Abby will want some time to
–”

Cash cut her
off. “Yes we will.”

The confusion
left her face, she nodded and her lips tipped up at the ends. “So,
we’ll go.”

“No,” Cash
returned, “you’ll all stay at my home in Bath for a few months.
Then you and the girls, if they haven’t moved on, will come
home.”

“Cash,” she
started.

“Nicola, I’m
not arguing about this.”

“We can’t,” she
said more forcefully, her heels coming off the edge of the chair
and she leaned toward him.

“Of course you
can,” Cash retorted firmly. “You’re family.”

At his words
Nicola pulled in a sharp breath and her eyes widened in what looked
a good deal like wonder.

Cash decided to
take that as the end of the discussion and stood, declaring, “It’s
decided.”

Nicola stood
with him, clutching the throw to her shoulders.

When he made a
move to the door, her hand came out from under the throw and Cash
stopped.

“Since Robbie,”
she started, her voice cracked and she stopped.

Cash waited,
knowing Robert Fitzhugh was her first husband, a man who died young
after a valiant but ugly and ultimately unsuccessful battle with
cancer.

Cash watched
Nicola swallow, take in a deep breath and then she said in a
stronger voice, “After Robbie, I messed up. I kidded myself for
years but since he died, well, since he died, we haven’t had a real
family.”

“You do know,”
Cash returned and he saw tears fill her eyes. He also saw the hope
come back and some joy but there was also sadness.

It was the
sadness that cut through him like a razor.

“You miss him
still,” Cash noted gently and he saw pain cross her face.

“Every day,”
she whispered.

That was
precisely, after watching Abby with Ben last night, what Cash
didn’t want to hear.

Clearly, with
her next words, Nicola read Cash’s face as well.

“She will too,”
Nicola said softly, her eyes tender on Cash even as her words
scored his soul. Nicola carried on. “But since she now has you,
it’ll be like she misses her parents. People she loves but who’re
now lost. She’ll never stop loving him but she’s a sweet girl with
a lot of love to give and a lot of life in front of her.” Nicola
moved forward, her hand caught Cash’s and squeezed. “Cash, my
dearest, she’ll always love him but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t
have plenty of love to give to you.”

For some reason
unknown to him, Cash confided, “I don’t like to share.”