“Is there an east drawing room as well?” I muse to myself as we walk through a couple of other large and very ornate rooms. I only realise I’ve spoken aloud when Mr Nagle stops at a door.
“No, the equivalent room on the other side of the house is called the Chinese room.”
He opens the door, leaving me on the threshold open-mouthed and unable to think straight. I get the feeling he’s enjoying my confusion a little too much. Oh well, he promised I could dry out, so hopefully I’ll be able to get a coffee and then go home. Then this strange incident will just fade into my memory especially when they work out they have the wrong Buckley.
There’s a fire blazing in the large stone fireplace and I’m immediately drawn to it. I hold out my hands to the flames, trying to thaw them out a little.
“May I take your coat, sir?” I turn and realise that Jones, as Mr Nagle called him, is talking to me.
“Yes, thank you.” I shrug ungracefully out of it and he takes it from my hands.
“And can I offer sir a drink? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate? Something stronger?”
“Coffee please,” I reply and he nods. He can drop the sir act, that just feels weird.
The solicitor settles himself into a leather wingback chair on one side of the fire and gestures toward the one on the opposite side. I sit, keeping forward, trying to stay as close to the heat as possible.
Jones places a small tray containing a cup of coffee, a jug of milk, and a small dish of sugar on a low table next to me. I wonderif he’s ever heard of a latte, or cappuccino. Probably not, as he looks like he’d be more at home about a century ago.
“Thank you, Jones,” Mr Nagle says as he also receives a tray. “Will you give us a few minutes please?”
Jones bows very slightly and retreats, shutting the door behind him. I pour a small amount of milk into my cup, but I don’t add sugar. I prefer the bitter taste of the coffee. Mr Nagle doctors his own coffee, with a large amount of sugar I notice, and then takes a sip before speaking.
“I wanted to talk to you first before I read the will officially. In fact your uncle Edwin specifically asked that I do so.”
The way he says his name, almost with a sigh, makes me look up, and I see a sad look cross his face. Did he know my uncle well? Certainly well enough to be on first name terms.
“Why did he ask you to do that?” Again saying the first thing that comes into my head. He never contacted me whilst he lived, though it’s becoming clear he knew about me.
“He thought you might need some time for the news to sink in.”
“What news?” He’s really alive and about to jump out at any minute? Mr Nagle puts down his coffee and leans forward a little.
“Mr Buckley, your uncle never married and didn’t have any children. You are his heir. Apart from a few bequeaths to the staff, you are the sole beneficiary of the estate. You are also now the eighth Earl of Cavendish.”
CHAPTER 2
JASON
Iknow the sound of someone choking when I hear it. My first-aid instincts kick in and I push past Bob in a tackle coach would be proud of to get through the door.
The paroxysms are emanating from the guy Mr Nagle brought to the funeral. Edwin’s nephew, we were told, but not much more. Except we all know he’s now the owner of Cavendish Hall and our new boss. A pretty one too. Even as he hunched into his coat in an attempt to mitigate the effects of the rain I noticed his pale ethereal beauty across the graveside.
“Get some water,” I call to my brother Jordan as I cross the room quickly. The attack seems to be lessening but he’s still coughing violently, and I don’t hesitate to place my hand on his back and rub gently until he stops convulsing. Jordan hands me a glass and I offer it to the guy. He takes it from me and manages a couple of sips.
“Are you okay now?” I ask softly and he tilts his head up to look at me. His cheeks are flushed a rosy pink from the coughing,making him look even more beautiful. But it’s his eyes that almost take my breath away. I’d expect blue or grey eyes with his blond hair and pale complexion, but they’re light brown, almost amber, and remind me of a cat. Not a domestic moggy, but more of a big cat, maybe a leopard. Sleek, beguiling, and utterly captivating.
“I think so.” He gives me a faint smile.
“Keep sipping the water, it’ll help,” I say, unable to look away from his face.
Bob clears his throat behind me, bringing me back to the present. I recognise my cue. He might have allowed me to handle the immediate situation as I’m the only trained first-aider in the house, but now the emergency is over it’s time to restore order. I realise my hand is still on the guy’s back, and I pull it away as if it’s too hot to touch then step backwards away from him. I know where my place is, and it’s definitely not staring, moonstruck, at the new Earl of Cavendish. He’s not my type anyway.
I glance at Bob and he nods at me, a silent approval of my dealing with the situation but also an instruction to get in line. We always form the line when we’re expected to appear before the earl.
I walk my way along them. Bob Jones as the butler, valet, and head of the staff is first. Martha—or Ma as we call her—Bob’s wife and the cook, comes next. Then Simone and Courtney, they’re mother and daughter but most people take them to be sisters, which pleases Simone but not Courtney. They’re cleaners and general house assistants. Then come myself and my brother, we’re responsible for the outside, the gardens and maintaining the estate grounds. I don’t think we’re any different in the hierarchy than Simone and Courtney, except we’re outside staffso we come at the end of the line. Short that it is. We have to double up on a lot of jobs, but we’re an efficient crew and work well together.
As I reach the end and take my place next to Jordan, he gives my shoulder a small nudge with his. I know he’s feeling apprehensive, more so than me. We have no idea what the future holds, what the new earl will want to do. He might replace us or sell the place. I don’t want to lose my job, but at least I don’t have a young family to feed like my brother does, and I know he and Kim would struggle on just her wages from the supermarket.
