Her Royal Spyness (12 page)

“Cold and drafty,” I said.

“Most inconvenient, but it can’t be helped. And the estate—it produces a good income?”

“I have no idea what kind of income the estate produces,” I said, “and if I knew, I should not be discussing it with a stranger. Forgive me, but I have things I must attend to.”

With that I closed the door. Horrible man. Just who did he think he was?

Binky arrived around four, also rather flustered as he had traveled without a manservant.

“I couldn’t find a porter and had to carry my own bag across the station,” he said grouchily. “I’m so glad to find you still here. I thought you’d be off helping with some wedding or other.”

“That’s not for a couple of weeks,” I said, glad he had reminded me of the story I had concocted to facilitate my escape. “And I gather the bride’s house is packed full of relatives, so I’ll be staying on here, if that’s all right.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “I’m quite frazzled, Georgie. A good soak in the tub and then tea and crumpets should revive me, I think.”

“You still take cold baths, do you?” I asked.

“Cold baths? I had to have them every day at school, of course, but not lately by choice.”

“Well, that’s the only choice at the moment,” I said, secretly rather enjoying it. “The boiler has not been lit.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because I have been here alone, dear brother, and your wife did not give me permission to turn on the boiler, even if I had any idea how to perform such a feat. I have been heating a pan of water to wash in the mornings, and I’m afraid you’ll just have to do the same.”

“That’s a dashed unpleasant blow to a chap after he’s come all the way from Scotland on a beastly cold train.” He broke off, as my words had finally penetrated. “Here all alone, you say? No servants or anything?”

“Just me,” I said. “Fig wouldn’t lend me any of your staff and I have no money to hire staff of my own, as you very well should know, since you were the one who cut off my allowance on my twenty-first birthday.”

He went red. “Look here, Georgie. You make me sound like an ogre. I really didn’t want to but, dash it all, I just haven’t the income to support you for the rest of your life. You’re supposed to marry, you know, and let some other poor blighter take care of you.”

“Thank you for those kind words,” I said.

“So what you’re saying is, in effect, that there is nobody here to run my bath, nobody to make me tea and crumpets, nothing?”

“I can make you tea and toast, which is almost as good as crumpets, as your wife pointed out.”

“You know how to make things? Georgie—you’re a bloody genius.”

I had to laugh. “I hardly think that tea and toast constitute genius,” I said, “but I have learned a thing or two in the past week. You’ll find a fire going in your bedroom, laid and lit by me.”

I turned to lead the way up the stairs, opening his bedroom door with a flourish.

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“My grandfather showed me how to do it.”

“Your grandfather? He was here?”

“Don’t worry. He wasn’t here. I went to visit him.”

“Out in Essex?” He sounded as if I had made the journey by camel, across the Gobi Desert.

“Binky, contrary to popular belief, people have made it to Essex and back and lived to tell the tale,” I said. I ushered him into his bedroom and waited for him to compliment me on my fire and the sparkling clean state of the place. Being a man, he wasn’t impressed by either, but started to unpack his overnight bag.

“By the way, you had a visitor this morning,” I said. “A most unpleasant fat Frenchman called Gaston something. Extremely arrogant. Where on earth did you meet him?”

Binky’s face had turned pale. “I’ve never actually met him yet. We have only corresponded,” he said, “but he is the reason I have come to London now, in the hopes of sorting things out.”

“Sorting what things out?”

Binky stood there, clutching his pajamas. “I suppose you have a right to know. I haven’t even told Fig yet. I dare not tell Fig. I don’t know how I’ll ever tell Fig, but she’ll have to know eventually.”

“Know what?” I demanded.

He sank to the bed. “That man, Gaston de Mauxville. Apparently he is some kind of professional gambler, and apparently he used to play cards with Father in Monte Carlo. I suppose you’ve guessed that Father wasn’t a very good gambler. Apparently he lost what was left of the family fortune at those tables. And now apparently he lost even more than the family fortune.”

“Would you stop saying ‘apparently,’” I snapped. “If this is all hearsay, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, it’s more than hearsay.” Binky gave a big sigh. “Apparently—no,
actually
, this bounder de Mauxville claims that Father bet Castle Rannoch in a card game, and lost.”

“Father lost our family home? To that horrible rude, flabby foreigner?” I heard myself screeching in most unladylike tones.

“Apparently.”

“I don’t believe it. The man is a confidence trickster.”

“The man claims he has a watertight document in his possession. He is going to present it to me today.”

“It would never hold up in a British court, Binky.”

“I’m due to see the family solicitors tomorrow, but de Mauxville claims that the document has been witnessed and notarized in France and will stand up in any court in the world.”

“How awful, Binky.” We stared at each other in horror. “No wonder he was asking about Castle Rannoch this morning. I’m so glad I told him it was cold and drafty. If only I’d known I’d have said it was haunted too. You don’t think he really wants to live there?”

“I think what he really wants is for me to buy him off.”

“Can you afford to buy him off?”

“Absolutely not. You know we’re flat broke, Georgie. What with Father losing in Monte Carlo and then saddling me with the death duties when he shot himself—” He looked up hopefully. “That’s it. I shall challenge him to a duel. If he’s a man of honor, he’ll accept. We’ll fight for Castle Rannoch, man to man.”

I went over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Binky, my sweet, I hate to remind you, but apart from Father you are without doubt the worst shot in the civilized world. You have never managed to hit a grouse, a deer, a duck, or anything that moves.”

“De Mauxville won’t move. He’ll be standing there. And he’s a big target. I can’t actually miss.”

“He will undoubtedly fire first and he’s probably the best shot in all of France. I don’t want a dead brother as well as no family home.”

Binky sank his head into his hands. “What are we going to do, Georgie?”

I patted his shoulder. “We’ll fight it. We’ll find some way. At very worst we’ll take him up to Scotland to show him his new home and he’ll get pneumonia within the week. And if he doesn’t, I’ll take him up the crag to show him the view over the whole estate and push him off!”

“Georgie!” Binky looked shocked and then laughed.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I said, “and this is war.”

Binky didn’t return home until late that evening. I had waited up for him, impatient to know how he had fared with the horrible Gaston de Mauxville. When I heard the front door slam, I ran downstairs in time to see Binky trudging wearily up toward me.

“Well?” I said.

He sighed. “I met with the fellow. An absolute cad, I’m sure, but I fear the document is genuine. It certainly looked like Father’s handwriting to me, and it’s been witnessed and sealed too. The rotter wouldn’t let the original out of his possession, but he’s given me a copy to show our solicitor in the morning. Frankly I’m not too hopeful.”

“Why don’t you call his bluff, Binky? Tell him he can have Castle Rannoch. Tell him you’re glad to get rid of it. He wouldn’t last a week there.”

“But that wouldn’t work at all,” he said. “He’s not interested in living in the place. He’s going to sell it—turn it into a school or a golfing hotel.”

“A school maybe,” I said. “It would take considerable improvements before anyone would actually pay to stay there.”

“It’s no laughing matter, Georgie,” Binky snapped. “It’s our home, damn it. It’s been in the family for eight hundred years. I’m not just handing it over to some Continental gambler.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

He shrugged. “You’re the bright one. I hoped you might come up with a brilliant idea to save us.”

“I’ve already thought of pushing him off the mountain. Pushing him out of the train on the way north, maybe?” I smiled at him. “I’m sorry, Binky. I wish I could think of something. Let’s hope the solicitors will know a legal way out of this in the morning.”

He nodded. “I’m going straight to bed,” he said. “I’m exhausted. Oh, and just a simple breakfast in the morning, I think. A few kidneys, and maybe some bacon, and the usual toast, marmalade, coffee.”

“Binky!” I stopped him. “I’ve told you we have no servants. I can manage a boiled egg, toast, and tea. That’s it.”

His face fell. “Dash it all, Georgie. You can’t expect a chap to face the world fortified only by a boiled egg.”

“As soon as I get a job I’ll engage a servant who will cook you all the kidneys and bacon you want,” I said, “but in the meantime you should be grateful for a sister who is willing to cook for you.”

Binky stared at me. “What did you just say? Get a job? A job?”

“I’m planning to stay on in London and make my own way in life. How else do you think I’m going to support myself?”

“I say, Georgie. People like us don’t get jobs. It’s just not done.”

“If Castle Rannoch goes to de Mauxville, you may have to face finding a job yourself or starving.”

He looked utterly horrified. “Don’t say that. What on earth could I do? I’d be hopeless. I’m all right pottering about the estate and all that. I’ve got a reasonably good seat on a horse, but apart from that I’m an utter failure.”

“You’d find something if you had to support your family,” I said. “You could always become a butler to rich Americans. They’d be tickled pink to have a duke waiting on them.”

“Don’t even say that in jest,” he groaned. “The whole thing is just too dreadful to contemplate.”

I took his arm. “Go to bed,” I said. “Things may look better in the morning.”

“I hope so,” he said. “You’re my rock, Georgie. An absolute brick. I’m counting on you.”

I came to London to escape from my family, I thought as I made my way to my own bedroom. But it seemed that escape was not as easy as I had thought. For an instant marrying Prince Siegfried didn’t seem such a bad option after all.

Chapter 10

Rannoch House
Tuesday, April 26, 1932

In the morning I insisted on going with Binky to our solicitors’. After all, it was my family home too. I wasn’t about to give it away without a darned good fight. Messrs. Prendergast, Prendergast, Prendergast, and Soapes were in chambers just off Lincoln’s Inn. Binky and I arrived early so that we could speak with them before the dreaded Gaston arrived. We were informed that Young Mr. Prendergast would be delighted to see us and ushered into a wood-paneled room in which a man of at least eighty sat. I found myself wondering, if this was Young Mr. Prendergast, what Old Mr. Prendergast might look like. I was already so tense that I started to giggle. Binky turned and glared at me, but I couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” Binky said to Young Mr. Prendergast, “the shock has been too much for her.”

“I quite understand,” the old man said kindly. “It has been a shock to all of us. We at Prendergast, Prendergast, Prendergast, and Soapes have represented your family for the past two centuries. I would hate to see Castle Rannoch fall into the wrong hands. May I see the offending document?”

“This is just a copy. The bounder wouldn’t let the original out of his hands.” Binky handed it to him.

The old man clucked as he studied it. “Dear me. Dear me,” he said. “Of course, the first step will be to have a handwriting expert study the original to make sure it is not a forgery. We have your father’s handwritten will and signature on file here. Then I shall need to consult an expert on international law, but I rather fear that this will have to be contested in the French courts—an expensive and frustrating proposition.”

“Have we no other avenues open to us?” I asked. “No other options?”

“We could try to prove that your father was not of sound mind when he signed the document. That, I fear, would be our best hope. We would need to bring in character witnesses to prove that he had been acting strangely and irrationally, maybe a doctor to testify that insanity ran in the family—”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I’m not having my father ridiculed in a court of law. And I’m not having any hints of insanity in the family either.”

Mr. Prendergast sighed. “It may come down to that or losing your home,” he said.

Binky and I emerged in deep gloom after an hour or so with the solicitor. De Mauxville had agreed to meet with a handwriting expert. He seemed so confident that I couldn’t help thinking that the document was indeed genuine and that Castle Rannoch was on its way to becoming a golfing hotel for rich Americans.

It was only when Binky was reading the
Times
in the cab on the way back to our house that I remembered my advertisement. I glanced at the front page and there it was. Now all I had to do was to await my first reply. In spite of the awful gravity of our situation, I couldn’t help feeling the teeniest bit excited.