Three Graces (27 page)

Georgiana looked pensive for a moment. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

Carys sighed.

‘For the time being,’ Georgiana added. ‘I have a feeling a situation will present itself before too long when we can reassess the matter.’

Carys frowned, wondering what she meant but it didn’t look like Georgiana was going to explain. And then she remembered something.

‘Mr Morris from The Bretton Gallery was here the other day, looking over the Montella portraits of you.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Georgiana said, brushing some invisible dust from her blue gown.

‘Yes,’ Carys continued, ‘and he was very taken with that portrait of you - in your blue dress.’

‘Well,’ Georgiana smiled, ‘most men are.’

Carys narrowed her eyes. ‘No, not like that. It was something quite different.’ She paused, as if trying to make Georgiana sweat a bit but it didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps if Carys watched
The Bill
rather than
Last of the Summer Wine
, her interrogation skills would be slightly more honed than they were. ‘He seemed to think you’re hiding something - like the Mona Lisa.’

Georgiana batted her eyelashes and continued to examine her dress for imperfections which weren’t there. ‘Really? How strange.’

‘And I agree with him,’ Carys said, getting up from her chair and walking round her desk to perch on the front so she could be a little bit closer to her suspect. ‘I must say, I wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t pointed it out to me but-’

‘Carys, you really should not listen to these - these - quacks! First that awful Lavinia Claridge-’

‘Lara.’

‘And now this tiresome Mr Morris. Some people do not have lives of their own and so they constantly meddle in those of other people.’

‘But Mr Morris isn’t meddling.’

‘Then what, precisely, would you call it?’

‘Taking a vested interest.’

‘Oh! What nonsense.’

Carys stared at her. She was smiling. She was doing her best to hide it but Carys could definitely see that the corners of her mouth were turning up into a naughty little smile which was daring to tickle her cheeks.

‘Come on,’ she said, lightening her tone. ‘You can tell me.’

‘Tell you what, exactly?’ Georgiana asked but her voice was perceptibly lighter now, as if she knew she’d been found out and there was nowhere to hide.

‘Tell me what that painting’s all about.’

There was a pause. Georgiana was now pleating the silky blue material of her dress between her busy fingers. ‘It is nothing but a portrait - commissioned by my husband. That is all.’

‘It is not. And you know it!’ Carys said boldly.

Georgiana looked momentarily shocked: her eyes wide and her mouth a little circle of surprise.

‘Come on, Georgie,’ Carys said, a little laugh in her voice. ‘You know all there is to know about me. I don’t hide anything from you.’

Georgiana clasped her hands together and, for a moment, her eyes looked quite serious and she looked as if she might be about to confess.

‘I won’t tell a soul,’ Carys whispered. ‘Your secret will be safe with me.’

‘It better had.’

‘Then you’ll tell me?’

Again, there was a pause. And then, Georgiana nodded. ‘I promise I will tell you. After our first ghost tour.’

The day of the first ghost tour arrived far too quickly and, even though Carys had poured hours of work into the project, she still didn’t feel ready.

‘What made me think I could do this?’ she asked, panic creasing her forehead.

‘You will be fine,’ Georgiana assured her.

‘I won’t. I’ve forgotten everything we went through - dates, names, furniture makers -
every
thing!’

‘It’s only stage fright,’ Georgiana said. ‘I believe it’s the rush of adrenalin you need in order to perform well.’

‘I’ll be sick! I know I will. I’ll be sick in one of those great urns by the fireplace and everyone will be horrified and leave in disgust and nobody will ever visit Amberley again.’

Georgiana laughed. ‘Calm down. Come on, now. Deep breaths. Relax.’

Carys tried to do as she was told. ‘Deep breaths. Oxygen is good.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got to relax.’

‘Yes.’

‘Calm. I need to be calm.’

‘That’s right.’

There was a moment’s pause when Georgiana seemed to be winning.

‘I can’t do it!’ Carys suddenly said, her eyes wide with fear and her face as pale as a cloud.

‘Come and sit down,’ Georgiana said. They were in the Yellow Drawing Room and the sun was streaming through the windows as if in encouragement. ‘Is it not a beautiful day?’ Georgiana said.

Carys took another deep breath and looked out of the window. Everything was the bright emerald of summer. If only she could spend the day walking around the grounds, she thought. A good long walk through the woods and round the lake with the dogs and then back for a lazy lunch and a read in the private gardens - far away from the prying eyes of tourists.

‘This is the sort of day people visit in droves,’ Carys said, panic rising again.

‘Let’s hope so! Isn’t that what we have been working towards?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Would you not be terribly disappointed if nobody showed up?’

Carys sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

‘I mean, it was such a good idea and, after all your hard work, it would be a shame not to make the most of it. And Richard will be so proud of you if it is a success - which I am sure it will be.’

‘All right! Enough with the bolstering,’ Carys laughed and Georgiana breathed a sigh of relief.

‘I meant to tell you earlier, you look fabulous.’

‘Georgiana!’

‘No! I mean it.’

‘You don’t think I’m too duchessy?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Because I did wonder - what with the pearl earrings and the suit.’

‘It’s a very pretty suit. Not too duchessy at all.’

‘Because I’ll never be one of those tweed and pearl duchesses,’ Carys went on.

‘I believe you,’ Georgiana said, looking up and down at Carys’s pretty ensemble. She was wearing a pale pink suit in a material as far removed from tweed as it could be, and the jacket had pretty piping round the sleeves. Her hair was newly-washed and loose and her make-up had been applied with the lightest of touches.

‘I don’t look middle-aged, do I?’

‘Dear girl, I’ve never seen anyone look less middle-aged.’

‘And I don’t want people to think I’ve just walked out of a copy of
Cuthland Life
.’

‘
Carys!
’

‘What?’

‘Will you stop! You’re talking rubbish,’ Georgiana said. ‘I know what you need,’ she continued, walking over to a cabinet by the fireplace.

‘What?’

‘A small glass of fortification.’

Carys’s eyes widened in astonishment as she watched Georgiana pour her a whisky. She didn’t know ghosts could do that.

‘But, I don’t drink spirits.’

‘This spirit thinks you should.’

Carys couldn’t help but smile.

‘Go on. It will do you the world of good.’

Carys took the glass and drank a small mouthful. As she swallowed, she felt the warmth of the fiery water and blinked hard. ‘Well!’

‘Good?’

She swallowed some more. ‘I haven’t quite made up my mind.’

‘And you’ve run out of time,’ Georgiana said. ‘Look.’

Carys looked out of the window and saw a crowd of people.

‘Oh my goodness. They’re here already.’

‘It is time.’

Carys checked the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time. Roberta Ellis, one of Amberley’s long-serving room stewards, and the only person to volunteer for the ghost tours, was busy handing out tickets. She would take the second tour, it had been decided. Carys was jumping straight in at the deep end with the first tour.

‘Then I should greet them, shouldn’t I?’

‘Unless you want me to,’ Georgiana said, her naughty eyes sparkling.

‘And you know what to do?’

‘We have been over this hundreds of times. Trust me. I’m a professional.’

‘Okay,’ Carys said, flapping her hands as she tried to calm down. ‘Just as we planned.’

‘Just as we planned,’ Georgiana repeated.

Carys watched as Georgiana floated out of the Yellow Drawing Room humming a little tune that Carys didn’t recognise. She was glad that she, at least, was enjoying this.

Taking a deep breath, Carys walked through the hallway and out of the private door, crossing the gravel driveway to meet the first party of the day.

‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice sounding much brighter and more optimistic than she had hoped. ‘I’m The Duchess of Cuthland and I’d like to welcome you to Amberley Court and to the very first ghost tour.’ Her eyes scanned the crowd of fifteen people and she was pleased to see a good mix of men and women, young and old. They’d decided that fifteen would be the maximum you could keep an eye on at any one time, and would allow time for questions as they went round.

‘The house you see today was built on the site of a priory and we still have part of the old cloister which we shall walk around later. The original building dates from the early sixteenth century but the east front was remodelled in the early eighteenth. The windows vary in date from 1500 to the nineteenth century so it really is a bit of an architectural jigsaw.’

There were a few titters which made Carys relax a little. She felt she just might be able to do this after all. She smiled, taking in the crowd of people and really wanting to make them all feel welcome. Until she saw…
No!
It couldn’t be!
Could
it? Carys peered closer at an elderly lady who was standing behind a young couple. She had thick glasses on and her curly hair sprang out from under a purple beret but, from under her curly hair, there was a glimpse of red. And she was anything but an old lady.

‘Er - excuse me a moment,’ Carys suddenly said. ‘I’ve just got to check we’re -’ she paused, ‘okay for beginning the tour.’ And, with that, she dived back into the house.

‘Georgiana?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’ Carys ran into the Yellow Drawing Room. ‘Georgiana!’

‘Whatever is the matter? Are you not meant to be with the tour group?’ Georgiana said, suddenly appearing in her blue cloud.

‘My goodness! You’re never going to believe it.’

‘What? What’s happened?’

‘It’s her.’

‘Her who?’

‘Natasha! She’s here - undercover - dressed as a little old lady.’

‘Really?’

‘I mean, I just don’t believe it. The cheek of the woman. And to think I wouldn’t recognise her.’

‘And you are
quite
sure it’s her?’

‘Sure? Of course I’m sure,’ Carys hissed. ‘I’d recognise those beady, searching eyes anywhere, and the shifty way she was lurking at the back of the group. And she was carrying the most enormous bag. I bet she’d got notepads and tapes and cameras and things in there.’

‘Then I would confiscate it.’

Carys’s eyebrows rose. ‘You would?’

Georgiana nodded. ‘
Large bags are not permitted on the tour for fear of breakages.
’

‘That’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Because you’ve got quite enough to think about.’

‘That’s very true. Oh, Georgiana! What are we going to do? Even if we take her bag away, she’ll still make up some horrendous story and Richard was so cross with the last one, I feel as if I’m on my final warning.’

‘Don’t panic,’ Georgiana said looking thoroughly panic-stricken herself. ‘Let me think for a moment.’

‘As long as it’s only a moment,’ Carys warned, chewing her lip as Georgiana looked pensive.

A few tense-ridden minutes passed and then Georgiana spoke.

‘I have it,’ she said.

‘What?’

A mischievous smile danced across her face and, for a moment, she looked just as she had in the famous Montella portrait. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course I do. Now tell me what we’re going to do,’ Carys said.

‘You, my dear, aren’t going to do anything any different from what we have already planned.’

‘Well, what are
you
going to do, then?’

Georgiana gave a little laugh. ‘I’m going to give that reporter the most surreal experience of her life.’

‘So, if you’d like to follow me into the entrance hall,’ Carys said a few minutes later, after having briefed Roberta on their intruder. ‘We have to insist that large bags be left at the front desk here and, if you can switch all mobile phones off, then we can be assured that they won’t interfere with any supernatural vibes.’

There were a few excited murmurs from the group.

‘But I have valuable things in here,’ Natasha protested in a really bad imitation of an old lady’s voice.

‘It will be quite safe here,’ Roberta assured her, taking the bag from her. ‘You can collect it after the tour.’

‘I should also remind you that no photographs can be taken inside the house but you’re very welcome to take them in the garden later,’ Carys said politely with a bright smile that was aimed at all fifteen members of her tour group - bar one. ‘Now, if you follow me, we’ll begin in the hallway.’

Fifteen pairs of feet shuffled behind her and she began the tour, recounting dates, pointing out paintings and answering the staggering number of questions which she hadn’t expected.

‘Are there really ghosts here?’

‘How many are there?’

‘Have
you
seen any?’

Nobody seemed at all interested in the fine portrait of the fifth duke or the pair of walnut side chairs.

Moving on to the Red Drawing Room, Carys tried to distract them with the history of the dinner service but they weren’t having any of it.

‘Where are the ghosts?’

Carys smiled, realising that she’d have to veer away from the safety of Amberley’s history and move onto the more exciting topic of the spirit world.

‘As many of you know,’ Carys began, ‘I have only recently moved into Amberley. I’m still getting used to it - still managing to get lost - and still experiencing all it has to offer. But I have been lucky enough - if that’s the right expression - to witness some interesting things.’