Emma’s boys were staring at her. “Hold up,” said Guinness. “Is Aunt Sylvie going tolivein this castle?”
“No,” said Emma. “No, I don’t think so….”
“Come, lads!” said Louisa, who had walked into an adjoining bedroom. “Now this roomishaunted. It’s the ghost of a dead little girl.”
“Pardon me, Louisa,” queried Rich. “Are you saying this castle belongs to Sylvie’s fiancé?”
“Soon it will belong to them both,” said Louisa. “Isn’t it wonderful? Another Lady Rampling, at last!”
2
Sylvie
Simon had told Sylvie about Mumberton Castle, had even shown her pictures, but nothing could have prepared her for the moment the citadel came into view. It was breathtaking, an imposing structure made of pink granite. The castle held a rare portrait of King HenryIV, an Elizabethan banqueting table, and a library shaped like an octagon with eight thousand books where, in three days, their wedding would take place.
Like many privately owned castles in England, Mumberton had leaking ceilings and awkwardly sinking floors. Simon called it “the old pile,” commenting drily that the medieval men who had scavenged stones from Roman fortresses to build the castle’s unassailable walls could hardly have imagined that their descendants, strapped for cash, would host “Haunted Halloweens” and children’s birthday parties (one hundred pounds for three hours) during which local kids could joust with foam swords, pose with owls, and eat cupcakes on the hills where once warriors had battled to the death with gruesome weaponry.
Simon’s father, Mac, had been tireless in his efforts to keep Mumberton in the family: medieval cookery classes, royal boudoirphoto shoots, castle-themed weddings, “Tough Mudder” races, and rock concerts. Sloe gin tastings. Clay pigeon shooting lessons. Glamping tents just past the rhododendrons. “Meet the Ghosts” tours. Croquet, the Vulture Experience, archery lessons—even “Dinner with the Family,” during which, for a price, Mac would join tourists and drink too much and “spill the family tea.”
“Did King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn really honeymoon at Mumberton?”
“So goes the legend,” said Simon.
“And now you can rent their room on Airbnb?”
“The Royal Love Suite,” said Simon, explaining that the room required a two-night minimum stay, but a bottle of mid-level champagne and a fruit tray were included. You could also add on the “Dress Like a Tudor” package, which included velvet gowns, silk robes, and fur-lined crowns. “I think my mom would like to dress like a Tudor,” said Sylvie. “If she even shows up.”
“If she shows up, I’ll arrange it,” said Simon.
Various parts of the castle, Simon went on, had been restored to different time periods, trying to appeal to a wide range of tourists, from Tudor obsessives to medieval armory experts, to those who just wanted a commemorative tea towel or a quick coffee for the long drive back to London after a Lake District sojourn.
The house where Beatrix Potter wrotePeter Rabbitwas nearby; a popular day tour began at Hill Top, stopped in Grasmere for gingerbread, then parked at Mumberton for the afternoon Hawk and Owl show. Mac even rented out the castle for filming, although Mumberton (said Simon) wasn’t nearly as regal as Belvoir or Buckingham. “They filmed a Waitrose butter commercial in Penelope’s room,” he noted.
“Did you ask Penelope’s mom about her coming to Miami for the summer?”
“Thisbe said no,” said Simon.
“But…”
“I’ll work on her,” said Simon, “or go through the lawyers.”
“OK,” said Sylvie.
In a few short weeks, Sylvie and Penelope had forged a relationship that was both profound and easy. Penelope was bookish and curious, smart and soopen. She was willing to give her heart. It made Sylvie feel a bit ashamed of her own reticence, but Penelope asked for nothing in return, and this selflessness made Sylvie want to be around the girl. Penelope had asked Sylvie, during a game of Uno, if she could stay on Hibiscus Street for the summer, and Sylvie had told her she’d love it. But Thisbe—though she left her daughter with a nanny when she traveled much of the time—had said no.
They drove up a rocky outcrop, drawing closer to the castle, and Simon pointed out the River Esk and the Irish Sea below. “The Romans chose this area because they could use the sheltered estuary as a harbor,” he said. After a low bridge, they reached a street of charming stone cottages along the vast estuary of tidal flats. A few boats had tipped sideways in the mud, waiting for the ocean to return. “And here is the town of Mumberton,” said Simon. “It was once part of the castle grounds. There’s a huge wall around everything, but now it’s a bit collapsed.”
There was a pleasing, briny smell to the air, a swampy fragrance from the mud. Sylvie inhaled, staring at Mumberton Castle. “It’s beautiful,” she said, though she felt a shiver of apprehension. Looking at Simon, Sylvie could imagine him at age ten, his mother gone, stuck in the castle with only hawks, owls, and a vulture named Penny for company.
“Before we go in,” said Simon, “I have something for you.” He reached into the glove box of his Land Rover and removed a parcel with a return address of Christie’s auction house in London, handing it to Sylvie. He placed his warm palm on her knee.
“If you kiss me here, will people see?” said Sylvie. They were parked in a private lot on the east side of the castle. From up close, the building was even more imposing.
“Kiss you where?” Simon leaned toward her, smiling, inching his hand to reach her thigh. Sylvie set her present on the dashboard and leaned in. His lips were soft but lingered. She opened her mouth and tasted the coffee on his tongue.
“Kiss me here,” said Sylvie, exposing her wrist.
Simon kissed up the length of her arm, pulling off her cardigan to move his mouth to her breast. Sylvie’s breath caught; she took his shoulders in her hands, pushed him to a seated position, and straddled him, unzipping and positioning and following his directions to get a condom from his wallet. Her large fuzzy sweater from Target covered them like a blanket as they moved together, breathing heavily. Sylvie had never orgasmed in the traditional positions and she didn’t now, but as he moved her hips up and down, thrusting, she used her fingers to bring herself to climax and then they hurriedly put themselves back together.
