When I thanked Andrew for taking such good care of the twins, he thanked me in return for raising them properly.
“They’re fine lads,” he told me. “Bright as buttons and good as gold.”
Andrew Ross, I decided, was a young man of great discernment.
It was half past six when Damian and I returned to the Cornflower Suite. As I crossed the foyer to enter the sitting room, Damian’s cell phone rang. He answered it, murmured a few terse words, then held it out to me.
“It’s your husband,” he said.
I snatched the phone from his hand, ran with it into the sitting room, and closed the door.
“Oh, Bill,” I exclaimed, flopping onto a soft armchair, “if I’d known you were going to call, I would have let the twins stay up.They fell asleep five minutes ago.”
“Don’t wake them,” he said. “I’m sure they’re tuckered out.”
“Where are you calling from?” I asked.
“Chief Superintendent Yarborough would rather I didn’t tell you,” he replied, “but it’s quite comfortable.”
“Good,” I said. “Any progress on the . . . case?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Yarborough and I have examined about twenty client files today, but no outstandingly suspicious characters have revealed themselves so far. Please tell me that you and the boys are having a good time. I need to know that at least one part of my plan is working.”
I spent the next half hour telling him about the helicopter ride, the nursery, the excellent food, and the grand tour. I also told him about Damian and Andrew, but they weren’t news to Bill.
“I asked Percy to hire bodyguards for you,” he informed me. “We’ve worked out a system of daily passwords.Your man won’t put me through unless I give him the right one. Now,” he continued, “on the home front: Annelise is fine if still a bit irritated with us for leaving her behind, Ivan Anton reports that all is well at the cottage, and Emma Harris says that our menagerie is thriving, so you can tell the boys not to worry about Stanley, Thunder, or Storm.”
“I will,” I said. “We miss you a whole bunch, by the way.”
“I miss you even more.” Bill sighed dejectedly. “I just want this to be over.”
“It will be,” I soothed. “One day we’ll look back on this and . . . Okay, we’ll probably shudder and shriek, but at least it’ll be over.”
Bill’s chuckle brought a smile to my face. After we’d said our good-nights, I sat for a moment, curled around the phone, replaying in my mind the sound of his laughter. We’d been apart for less than twelve hours, but it seemed much longer. It wasn’t fair, I told myself. Bill and I were good people, or at least we tried to be good. We’d done nothing to deserve Abaddon.
The puddle of self-pity was ankle-deep and rising by the time I pushed myself out of the chair and knocked on the foyer door. Damian called for me to come in, and I found him sitting in the leather armchair next to the elevator, a laptop computer open on his lap.
“Answering e-mail?” I asked.
He turned the laptop so that I could see the monitor. The screen was divided into four sections. Each showed a different black-and-white image of a specific place in the castle—a door, a corridor, a staircase, the courtyard. As I watched, the images flickered and changed to show other corridors, doors, and staircases.
“There’s a man in the main control room monitoring activity in and around Dundrillin,” he explained, “but I like to keep my hand in.”
I made a mental note to be on my best behavior when wandering the corridors, then leaned against the doorjamb and said gloomily, “Abaddon’s still at large.”
“It’s early days yet.” Damian looked up from the computer screen and regarded me intently. “And if Scotland Yard doesn’t stop him, I will.”
The steely glint in his eyes frightened me a little. I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at his scar. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever killed anyone, but I held back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
I had just enough time left after Bill’s phone call to take a hot shower and change into a fine woolen dress before going down for dinner. Damian didn’t change. I doubted that there was enough room in his duffel bag for evening dress, but it didn’t matter. Sir Percy, unlike Mrs. Gammidge, wasn’t a stickler for formalities. He showed up for dinner wearing a bulky black turtleneck and dark tweed trousers, both of which, he informed us, had been made on Erinskil.
We were deep into our leek-and-potato soup when Sir Percy asked about our plans for the following day. My mouth was too full for polite speech, but Damian answered readily.
“If the weather holds, I thought we might go down to your cove in the morning, sir.” He turned to me. “The water’s too cold for swimming, but I imagine your sons will be able to find other ways to amuse themselves.”
“It’s a great idea,” I said. “Will and Rob love beach-combing.”
“You must take them to the observatory one night while you’re here,” Sir Percy advised as Mrs. Gammidge cleared away the soup bowls. “The sky is as clear as a newborn’s conscience. I’ve seen comets, meteor showers—if you’re lucky, the aurora borealis will show herself.” He heaved a dramatic sigh as Mrs. Gammidge began serving the rack of lamb. “If I needed one reason to return to Erinskil, it would be the night sky. Or the ghost,” he added, after a reflective pause. “I’m rather fond of our ghost.”
I was glad that I’d finished my soup. If I hadn’t, I would have sprayed it across the linen tablecloth. As it was, my voice rose a few octaves as I squeaked, “Is Dundrillin
haunted
?”
“Not as such,” Sir Percy said. “But we’re not far from a place that is.” He swallowed a forkful of sautéed spinach and jutted his chin toward the windows. “There once was a chap, you see, named Brother Cieran—”
“The meditating monk,” I broke in, nodding. “Damian told me about him. He used to row out to the islet I can see from my balcony. It’s called Cieran’s Chapel, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Sir Percy. “Local legend has it that he was out there praying when Vikings came ashore at the harbor. They pillaged the village and killed everyone, then moved inland to attack the monastery. The marauders were gone by the time Brother Cieran returned, but the monastery had been looted and the monks had been slain. After giving his brethren and his flock a decent burial, Brother Cieran rowed back to the little island. Once there, he released his boat—to punish himself, some say, for not perishing with the others. It’s said that his tormented spirit lingers there still, praying through all eternity for the souls of the dead.”
I suppressed a shudder and asked, “Have you seen the ghost?”
“Alas, no,” said Sir Percy. “But a few of my guests have. The apparition either frightened or thrilled them, but I’d like to think it would inspire pity in me. The Earl of Strathcairn’s grandfather—the tenth earl—-was so moved by the tale that he elected to have himself buried on Cieran’s Chapel. He told his grandson that he wanted to keep poor Brother Cieran company.”
“How splendid,” I murmured.
Sir Percy waved his knife in a vaguely southerly direction. “The ruined monastery is just over a mile from here, above the overlook on the coastal path. Legend has it that if you stand inside the ruins on certain nights, when the moon and stars are just so, you can hear the screams of the dying monks.”
His macabre words were still echoing in my mind when the chandelier flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. I gasped, nearly stabbed myself in the face with a forkful of lamb, and knocked over my water glass.
“Calm yourself, Lori.”
A match flared, and the sight of Sir Percy’s face, lit eerily from below, made it absolutely impossible for me to follow his advice. I quivered like a cornered rabbit while he leaned forward to light the candles in the silver candelabra.
“Happens all the time.” He puffed on the match to extinguish it. “Why do you think we have so many candles about the place? Had to rewire the whole castle, you know. Things are bound to go pop now and then. The lights should come on again shortly. Mrs. Gammidge knows the fuse box like the back of her hand.”
My own hands shook as I picked up my water glass, which had, fortunately, been empty. When I’d stopped quaking, I eyed Sir Percy suspiciously.
“Are you sure you didn’t have Mrs. Gammidge pull the plug on purpose?” I asked. “You
were
telling a spooky story, after all.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear,” said Sir Percy. “The legend’s quite ghoulish enough without adding special effects.”
“I agree,” Damian said severely. “And if you want Lori to get any sleep at all tonight, sir, I’d suggest that you change the subject to something
less
ghoulish.”
“Quite right,” said Sir Percy, chastened. He thought for a moment, then began, “Did I ever tell you about the tone-deaf goatherd I came across in China? Well, this fellow
loved
to sing . . . .”
By the time the lights came back on, I was wiping tears of laughter from my cheeks.
Sir Percy invited me to view a film after dinner—“A light comedy, I promise!”—but I gave him a rain check and returned with Damian to the Cornflower Suite. I left him at his post in the foyer and went alone into the suite, where the bed had been turned down, lamps had been lit, and a turf fire had been laid, ready to light. A porcelain box on the mantel shelf held wooden matches.
I touched a match to the tinder, watched the flames rise, and decided to step out onto the balcony. Although midnight was approaching, I needed to collect my thoughts before sharing them with Aunt Dimity. Apart from that, Sir Percy had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to see if the night sky was all it was cracked up to be.
It was everything he’d promised and more. I’d thought the sky above the cottage was crystalline, but it was murky compared to the sky above Erinskil. I’d never seen so many stars. The heavens were strewn with a million pinpoints of light, and each pinpoint was reflected in the restless waves. The waxing moon could do nothing to diminish their brilliance. I stared openmouthed, unaware of the chill night air, lost in awe and delight. It was like being inside a glitter-filled snow globe. Could there be a more perfect spot, I wondered, to teach Rob and Will about the constellations?
The thought gave me pause. I hesitated, then went to knock on the foyer door.
“Come in,” Damian called.
He was still fully dressed and awake, watching the flickering images of Dundrillin’s entrances and passageways on his laptop.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but do you know how to find constellations?”
A moment later we were both on the balcony and Damian was pointing out shapes in the star-crowded sky: Cassiopeia, Orion, Taurus, Gemini—he would have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped him.
“Whoa,” I said, laughing. “I think that’ll do for now.” I leaned on the stone parapet and lowered my gaze until it came to rest on the dark contours of Cieran’s Chapel. “I can usually find my way around the night sky, but I can’t do it here.”
“Too many stars,” he said, still peering upward. “The constellations are hidden in plain sight.”
He seemed in no hurry to leave, and I couldn’t blame him. Who’d sit in a windowless room when there were such riches to behold?
“How long have you been a bodyguard?” I asked.
“Twenty years.” He rested his hands on the parapet and scanned the sea. “I’m an old man compared to many of my colleagues.”
“I’d say that getting older is a definite plus in your line of work,” I said. “It proves that you’re good at your job.”
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “If my
clients
get older, it proves that I’m good at my job.”
I smiled wryly. “How did you meet Percy?”
“He hired me.” Damian shrugged. “The oil business took him to some dodgy parts of the world. I helped him out of a few tight corners.”
“Sounds very cloak-and-dagger,” I said. “Would I be right in describing you as a real-life action hero?”
Damian’s silvery eyes flashed dangerously as he turned to face me. “The last thing on earth I want to be is a hero. I do not want to be forced to do what I do best. I do everything in my power to make sure I’m not.”
“That’s . . . er, good,” I stammered, cowed by his intensity. “I’m fond of dullness myself. If you ask me, excitement is highly overrated.”
“Highly,” said Damian, and turned to go. “Good night, Lori.”
I shook my head, wondering if he’d ever lighten up, took one last look at the moonlit sea, and saw a dim golden glow illuminate the jet-black silhouette of Cieran’s Chapel. I blinked, and it was gone.
“Damian!” I cried.
He spun around in the doorway. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw . . .” I stared hard, but the light had vanished. “A meteor. I thought I saw a meteor. I wanted you to see it, but it’s gone.” I could sense the tension draining from his body.
“It was a kind thought,” he said, “but—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry. Go to bed.”
“You should do the same,” he advised, and left the balcony.
I remained at the parapet, staring at Cieran’s Chapel.
Had I seen what I thought I’d seen? Perhaps a rogue wave had tossed a sliver of moonlight into the air, or perhaps—and the thought never would have occurred to me if not for Dimity—perhaps I’d joined the ranks of the privileged few who’d witnessed Brother Cieran praying through all eternity for the souls of the dead. I couldn’t be sure, and until I was, I wasn’t going to say anything to Damian. I didn’t want him to think that I’d been unduly influenced by Sir Percy’s story.
I retreated from the balcony to the bedroom, took Aunt Dimity’s journal from the bedside drawer, and sank onto the edge of the bed.
“Dimity,” I said, opening the journal, “would you do me a favor?”
To my relief, Dimity replied promptly.
Certainly, if it’s within my power.
“I’m pretty sure it is.” I thought for a moment, then repeated everything Sir Percy and Damian had told me about Brother Cieran. It wasn’t until I finished telling Dimity about the tenth earl’s final resting place that I hesitated.