A handsome boy came to stand beside the little girl. She took his hand and smiled up at Cibalto. “Sir, my mama had my dress made by Mrs. Clabber, Cowpen Dale’s best seamstress. Actually, Mrs. Clabber is the only seamstress. Sir, this is Bradford Cox. He will be the ninth Baron Worsley in the distant future, as well as my husband. You may call him Brady. We will assist you. There is a grand mystery at the castle, what with the red-haired lady singing to Pip and whisking him to the royal chambers and then putting him to sleep in a dingy little chamber where my mama and I found him because the spirits informed her silently to look just in the right place. You need us, sir. We are very smart.”
Brady said, “Time to shut your yapper, P.C. Mr. Terduck looks like he wants to bolt. Mrs. Miranda, my papa would say he needs a whiskey.”
What an intelligent little boy.
P.C. turned on him, frowned. “You’re taller than you were two weeks ago, and that makes you taller than me. I don’t like it now, but in the distant future I’m sure I’ll be pleased at your manliness. But right now we must feed Mr. Terduck, then, hopefully, he will be too full to bolt.”
“We will give him a whiskey first,” Brady said.
When Grayson came into the entry hall, he thought Cibalto looked ready to sing out a hallelujah. So P.C. had been herself and flustered him. He said, “I see you’ve met part of our company. This is my son, Pip, who went missing at the castle.” Grayson picked Pip up in his arms so he was eye level with Cibalto. Pip nodded, smiled, then yawned in his face. “Sir, you are even taller than my papa, but P.C. is right. You must eat or your trousers will fall off and ladies would faint. That would not be good, sir.”
Cibalto said, “Miss P.C. told me a red-haired lady took you to a royal chamber at the castle. It sounds like an amazing story. I wish to hear all of it.” He turned to Miranda. “I will tell you, Mrs. Wolffe, although my cook, Mrs. Brush, makes outstanding scones, she has little interest in making anything else, so dinner and luncheon are always paltry affairs.”
P.C. said to Grayson, “Sir, I quite like Mr. Terduck’s name. To be named after a fowl is a fine thing. Alas, Brady cannot have a name that quacks or waddles. He must remain a Cox and the son of the eighth Baron Worsley. Doesn’t that sound pleasing to the ear?” She gave Mr. Terduck a big smile and skipped away, calling out, “Brady, I have decided we will sleep with Pip tonight and keep him from running back to the castle and hiding himself with the red-haired lady. Sir, set Pip on the floor. We must all go and eat in the nursery. Mama promised us a special Scottish treat called haggis. She explained haggis is a savory meat pudding with potatoes—she said Young Agnes calls them tatties—and turnips—those are neeps. All of it is then stewed in a whiskey sauce. We can get tipsy and sing. Goodbye, Mr. Terduck. I hope my mother approves of you so you will be allowed back.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grayson tried to keep silent, but a laugh escaped. “Miranda, you lied and you did it well to fool P.C. Savory meat pudding? You know as well as I do haggis is a mess of vegetables cooked in a sheep’s stomach.” He turned and smiled at Mr. Terduck. “Well done, you survived the children. I’m pleased you came, sir. You will have a splendid dinner. Please come into the drawing room and meet Brady’s father, the famous eighth Baron Worsley, and his bride, Lise Marie.”
After introductions and bows and handshakes, everyone took their seats. George said, “All right, Grayson, enough. Mr. Terduck is here, so it is time to tell us what’s written on the piece of paper Pip had clutched in his hand.”
Grayson took the small slip of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to George. George looked at it, frowned. “What is this? I can’t read it, Grayson. The words are cramped together, and the ink is too faded to make them out, in any case. I believe it is old French.”
He handed the paper to Lise Marie. She and Miranda studied it. Miranda frowned at Grayson. “Was that a test, Grayson, to see if we could read it?”
“Let me try,” Cibalto said and studied the scrap. He slowly shook his head. “I cannot read it. It is identical to her diary. Mary had to write this.”
Grayson looked at all their faces. “I know it is hard to accept, but, you see, to me the ink looks fresh, as if it were penned today in English.” He read aloud:
My babes, the demon will kill my babes if it finds them. I birthed them in secret and sent them with their trusted nurse to Bothwell in Denmark. He will keep their existence secret from my enemies. I feel hollow at their loss, and always I wonder: Are they alive? Has James told them about me?
I walked with Shrewsbury today through the Wingfield lemon groves. I should not complain, he gives me whatever I wish, but I am still a prisoner in a foreign land. My cousin Elizabeth ignores my pleas. I think of my small son, James, whom I will never see again. Will he rule one day? Was it all worth it?
How will I stop the demon? I know it is not alone.
Cibalto said slowly, “As I told Grayson, I once read in an obscure manuscript that Mary had miscarried Bothwell’s child. But there is no recorded mention that Mary gave birth to twins and managed to spirit them away with none the wiser.”
Lise Marie said, “Yes, yes, but she says the demon will kill her babes.A demon?And the demon is not alone? Who is with it? What does she mean?”
Grayson gave his hand to Miranda, and both of them rose. “We have many questions and, as yet, few answers. Now, let’s feed Cibalto so he isn’t blown away by a strong wind.”
No one spoke about what had happened to Pip at the castle or the strange note written by a queen dead for nearly three hundred years. Young Agnes served them a hearty dinner, including delicious baked halibut, braised stuffed pork, and a stew of tatties and neeps from Young Agnes’s own garden. There was a dish of haggis, tasted by the English contingent, then politely ignored. As for Cibalto, he shoveled it down. They spoke of the weather, always a favored topic with the English, and George and Lise Marie’s new house, Rose Hill Manor, which would, Lise Marie announced, be the future home of two shower baths and two water closets.
Grayson, however, kept thinking about the square of paper Mary had pressed into Pip’s hand and had kept him ignorant of holding it.
In the drawing room, discussions resumed. Young Agnes served everyone tea and her special Dundee cake, filled with brown sugar and butter and with a sprinkling of almonds on top. As Grayson ate an almond, he wondered why Mary had writtendemon. Did she mean an enemy or an actual otherworldly creature? And another with the demon.
After watching Cibalto down his last bite of the amazing cake and give a small burp behind his hand, Miranda said, “Sir, no wind will bowl you over now.”
Cibalto sat back, placed his hands on his nonexistent belly. “I doubt Mrs. Brush would be happy if she knew what I consumed for dinner. At least I am certain my feet will now remain firmly on the ground, even in the strongest wind.” He studied their faces. “Tell me what you thought of the royal chambers at the castle.”
Grayson said, “Opulentis the word that comes to mind. Pip recognized the tapestries, the rich wood paneling. When we entered the royal bedchamber, he walked immediately to the bed and pointed. We all saw a slight indentation on the bed, exactly Pip’s size, as if he’d been lying there on his back. Also, as you know, he remembers clearly a red-haired lady singing to him, lightly stroking his hair and face.”
Cibalto said, “Imagine, you’re five years old and you awaken to a long-ago queen singing to you. I doubt Pip will ever forget. But was it really Queen Mary? She was red-haired, but there are many women who have red hair. Mary had eyes an odd amber color. Did Pip say any more about her eyes? Her age?”
Grayson said, “Pip told me she looked about Lise Marie’s age, which fits. She was pretty, and he said her eyes were a yellow or gold. Amber, I would guess.”
Lise Marie said, “Does Pip remember if she was singing to him in Scots English or in French?”
