Pip nodded. “She was so pretty, Papa, and soft. She touched my face and ran her fingers through my hair. She kissed my cheek and I smelled lemons. I think she said something, but I’m not sure. That’s all I remember. Miranda woke me up.”
Grayson said carefully, “Was the red-haired lady young, Pip?”
Pip looked at Lisa Marie, standing beside Brady and George, her face pale, all their attention on him. “She was barely grown, like Lise Marie.”
Captain Gregory MacFarlane decided it was time to intervene. He introduced himself to Grayson and assured him in great detail how all his men had searched for his son. It was obvious to Grayson Captain MacFarlane had been educated in England. He had only a vague lilt to his voice, his vowels sharp and clear. MacFarlane looked toward Miranda and frowned. “I don’t understand how Mrs. Wolffe found him in that storeroom when our men had already searched there. It is impossible, yet she said that’s where he was.” He shook his head as he stared at Pip. “I heard what he told you, Mr. Sherbrooke, but there’s no understanding it. The tapestries he talked about—they’re only in the royal chambers, to keep the rooms warm and the damp out. The wood paneling is in the royal bedchamber. No one is allowed to stay there except, of course, the queen herself, so how could the little boy know? How could he possibly find his way there?”
Captain MacFarlane continued without pause, nodding to Lise Marie. “Her ladyship told us who you are, sir, and my sergeant has read your novels about spirits and demons and such. He told me if you’re like your hero Thomas Straithmore, you know things others don’t and you understand things others can’t. Perhaps you will discover what happened to your son. Let me add, Mr. Sherbrooke, the only ladies in the castle today are standing right here and they don’t have red hair. Moreover, there is no young red-haired lady here I’ve ever seen.”
Grayson said, “I’m very sorry for all the trouble my son has caused. Please extend my gratitude to your men. As for what happened to my son, I hope to figure it out. Would you mind, Captain, if we visited the royal apartments?”
The captain said slowly, “You wish to see if your son was somehow there, which is impossible. Those chambers are locked. The key is in my desk, nearby, but how would the boy know about the key or where it was?” He studied Grayson’s face, slowly nodded. “Very well. Follow me.”
“I’m hungry, Papa.”
“We’ll have a nice dinner when we get back to your aunt Sinjun’s house, Pip.” Grayson set him down. He saw his son’s small hand was fisted. “Pip, what are you holding?”
Pip opened his hand, and in his palm was a small square of paper folded over and over. Grayson knew with no doubt the paper had been placed there by someone or something, his small fist closed around it, holding it hidden. “What is it, Papa? I didn’t know I was holding anything.”
Everyone was crowding in, even some of the soldiers, watching closely, their expressions ranging from uncertainty to puzzlement to outright fear. Grayson slowly opened the square bit by bit and smoothed out the small, jagged piece of paper. Of course he’d known the piece of paper was from Queen Mary’s diary.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kinross House
Abbotsford Crescent
Edinburgh, Scotland
Wednesday evening
Cibalto was met at the front door by a strapping young man called Young Angus, grandson of Old Angus, he was told by the giant. Then Young Agnes gave him a merry smile and took his hat and cane. A beautiful little girl skipped right up to him. She was wearing a pale-pink frock and pink slippers on her small feet, and her honey-colored hair was in fat ringlets around her face. She offered him her hand, and nonplussed, Cibalto shook it.
He said, “I’m Cibalto Terduck. Mr. Sherbrooke invited me to dinner.”
P.C. was frowning up at him. “You should kiss my hand, sir, not shake it like a boy. I’m not a boy, I’m a girl. I’m P.C. Wolffe, and my mama is Miranda Wolffe, and she’s the prettiest lady in all of England. I heard my grandmama say my mama was a vision in yellow, a daisy in spring. I also heard my grandmama say Mama has a lovely bosom and a slender waist and glorious honey hair. Mama gave me honey hair too. Someday I hope I will have her lovely bosom as well. Hello, Mama. Mr. Terduck, isn’t she amazing? Now you may try again, sir. Kiss my hand properly.”
And so Mr. Terduck punctiliously kissed the little girl’s hand. “Like that?”
“That was very well done.” P.C. beamed at him and turned to her mother, who was trying hard not to laugh and scold at the same time. “Mr. Terduck is a nice height, Mama, but he’s as skinny as the rods holding up your rosebushes. We must feed him, else a big wind might carry him off to Iceland. Perhaps if Brady and I were to blow hard together, we could knock him over with no wind at all.”
Miranda gave Mr. Terduck a beautiful smile. “We will feed you so much, sir, you will rise from the table plump as a pigeon. I am Miranda Wolffe. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Terduck.”
Cibalto gave her a jerky bow. “I am at your service, ma’am. My dear departed wife Amelia wore yellow all the time, but she did not, I fear, look at all like a daisy.”
P.C. said, “Sir, introductions and nattering are all well and good, but I know who you are, and I must say you have mistaken the matter. If you are beset by evil spirits or rowdy ghosts you want Mr. Straithmore, not Mr. Sherbrooke.”
Cibalto stared down at the precocious little girl and wished he had a very tall glass of whiskey.
Miranda said quickly, seeing Mr. Terduck looked vastly uncomfortable with her daughter, “P.C., either Mr. Sherbrooke or Thomas Straithmore will help Mr. Terduck.”
P.C. looked undecided.
Cibalto said, “But Mr. Thomas Straithmore isn’t real—he’s the hero in Mr. Sherbrooke’s novels.”
“It is not what I think, sir.”
He felt a tic in his right eye and thought again of a lovely glass of whiskey. “Ah, Miss P.C., you’re wearing a pretty dress. My departed Amelia also wore pink, but alas, it was not a fortunate color for her.”
