Christmas at Whitefriars: A Novella Page 4

  Colin performed the introductions. “You’ve already met Mary, and have you met my wife, Lucy?”

  He nodded, for he remembered Lucy Beckwith well. A pretty lady with brown hair and sparkling brown eyes, she came from a working-class background and carried no airs. “We met at my mother’s Independence Day bash in Central Park,” he said. That had been four years ago, back when Everett still felt obligated to attend such events.

  “I remember,” Lucy said. “And this is my brother, Nick, and his wife, Rosalind. And their children. Sadie is seven and baby Jake is eighteen months this week.”

  Nick was the commissioner of water for the state of New York and up to his neck in politics, labor unions, and rabble-rousers. His wife was a petite woman with silvery-blond hair and seemed dainty, shy, and, mercifully, did not expect him to talk.

  “How was your trip from town?” Colin asked congenially.

  “Bumpy. Cold.” It was cold in here, too. The great hall had a huge, vaulted ceiling where most of the heat was surely hiding. Their voices echoed off the stone and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live in such a place.

  “Let’s head into the parlor for some refreshments,” Mary suggested. “Perhaps afterward I can provide a tour of the castle?”

  “That would be nice.”

  What a brilliant rejoinder, but he couldn’t think of anything more interesting to say. Everyone laughed and talked as they headed down an arched stone corridor, but the parlor was a relief. The room had a low ceiling, newly plastered walls, and a bank of windows overlooking a pond. A thick rug, upholstered furnishings, and a cheery fireplace warmed the room. It was clearly one of the newer parts of the castle and had benefitted from a complete restoration.

  “Please have a seat,” Mary said, gesturing to the tall-backed chair before the fireplace. “And look! Refreshments have arrived.”

  A maid wheeled in a cart weighed down with a tea service and several platters of delicacies. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for his reaction. He glanced at the tea cart. Blueberry tarts, wedges of blue cheese, petit fours with blue icing, a dish of little blue candies. He swallowed hard.

  Were they making fun of him? This wasn’t a coincidence, and everyone was waiting for his reaction and he didn’t know what to do.

  “Perhaps just some tea,” he said.

  “Excellent,” Mary replied in a bright voice. “Let’s see. We have borage tea, elderberry tea, or plain black tea.”

  “I’ll have the plain black tea.”

  It seemed no one wanted either of the two blue tea options. Just as well, for they weren’t very good, but Mary seemed befuddled that he hadn’t pounced on the blue tea. He listened politely as Colin and Mary carried the conversation. At first he tried to think of something to say, but aside from business, he simply had nothing in common with these people. It was only ten minutes into his visit and he already regretted coming. Perhaps if he could conclude his inspection of the castle and the grounds quickly, he could cut the visit short. He certainly didn’t want any of the blue food they rolled out with such fanfare.

  There was a lull in the conversation and he set his teacup down. “Perhaps now would be a good time to tour the castle?”

  “Of course,” Mary said brightly. “The entire central area and the east wing have been completely renovated. I can show you the kitchens, the music room, the two parlors, and—”

  “I’d like to see the tower rooms, please.” He trusted that the renovated part of the castle was fine, but it was the tower being offered for lease, and the only part he truly needed to see. Mary seemed a little hurt, but he wanted to move quickly. With luck he could wrap up his business in a few hours and be back in York by this evening.

  It seemed everyone wanted to show him the tower room, for they all trailed after him as Mary escorted him down another of the stone-lined corridors. The floors had been worn smooth from centuries of feet, and the air carried only the tiniest hint of dank. One couldn’t expect better of an old castle.

  A chain on Mary’s waist had a set of keys. The tower room had its own lock, quite appropriate for guests who required privacy, but hopefully it would never come to that. He walked a few paces behind, deliberately slowing his steps for a better view of Mary’s slim form, admiring the way she almost glided down the hallway, her skirts swaying in a gentle motion. Inane thoughts of a medieval chatelaine walking the halls struck him. No wonder Mary found it easy to lapse into reveries about the people who’d lived here long ago.

  “Here we are,” Mary said, stepping inside and holding the door for him. It was nice inside, the scent of fresh plaster still in the air. Despite the tapestry on the wall and a large rug covering the floor, it was still chilly.

  The others followed him inside, and the uncomfortable sensation of being watched was back. Everyone was waiting for his opinion, as though he was a judge about to hand down a ruling.

  “Nice,” he said noncommittally. The first rule of business was to never let the opposition know what you were thinking. It had always been easy to play his cards close to the chest, and he held to that standard now.

  “This can be a gathering room for guests,” Mary said, stepping to a window to pull the draperies wide. “You see the view? I should think guests from London or New York would pay a lot to enjoy a view like that.”

  People didn’t cross an ocean for a view. “It’s very cold in here. Is there no heat?”

  “We can lay a fire,” Colin said cheerfully. “All part of the Cromwellian charm.”

  He’d prefer some Sears Roebuck charm. The department store sold gas heaters for thirty dollars and this place could use one.

  “Let’s see upstairs.”

  Both of the upper-levels were fully renovated with new floors, plastered walls, and furniture that was new and charming. Mary was saying something about needing to scuff up the furniture to reflect the age of the castle. It sounded like sheer nonsense if she’d asked him, but she hadn’t.

  It was obvious she’d spent a lot of time and money renovating this tower, but she hadn’t asked him a single thing about this scheme to prostitute the castle. After all the advice he’d provided over the years, she hadn’t thought to give him the simple courtesy of advance notice regarding her plans.

  He mustn’t let offended feelings interfere with his assessment of the property. Rule number two of business: Don’t get emotionally involved. As he turned to face the others, five people watched him, tense and anxious. Every one of them was emotionally invested in this property, which made their judgment questionable. He wasn’t in the business of saving the Beckwith family heritage, he was here to safeguard the reputation of his company.

  “Let’s see the top floor, please.”

  A momentary hint of disappointment flashed across Mary’s face, but she smiled and turned to lead the way upstairs.

  The top floor had a breathtaking view from both bedrooms and the sitting area. The master bedroom was especially impressive, with a large bed, a dressing table, and two walnut wardrobes, but his eye was drawn to a small door.

  “What’s behind the door?” he asked, curious because it had a lock on it. Closets were such an American feature and he doubted she would add one, especially since the room had plenty of wardrobe space.

  “That’s a staircase leading to the attic. The ceiling was too low to make it usable, so it hasn’t been renovated.”

  “I’d like to see it, please.”

  Mary twisted her hands. “It won’t show the castle in the best light. There’s nothing to see up there, and only tiny slits for light. It’s a bit of a junk collection, I’m afraid.”

  All the more reason for him to see it. If the attic was a moldering ruin, the smell of rot would eventually taint the rest of the rooms. Mary looked resigned as she stepped forward with her set of keys, summoning those disconcerting analogies of the medieval chatelaine again.

  One look at the staircase was all he needed to understand why she hadn’t wanted him to see it. Crumbling masonry, a dangerously low ceiling, and no railing on the bare stone walls made it look decrepit and dangerous. Nevertheless, he wanted to see the attic.

  Mary advised the attic was too small to hold them all and suggested the others go finish their tea in the parlor. The blue tea. None of them had touched any of the blue delicacies earlier, and they’d probably chuck them out now that he’d decided not to play their game.

  He ducked low to follow Mary up to the attic, where the air was so stale he could almost taste it. Narrow slits for windows had probably once been used for archers defending the castle. Now they let in light but added no charm. He cautiously straightened. The ceiling was a scant two inches above his head, but he could stand without hunching over. A glance around the space revealed battered trunks, rusted iron equipment, and a one-eyed doll propped against the wall. He pulled the doll aside, relieved to see no mouse droppings or mold blooms behind it.

  “Satisfied?” Mary asked.

  “No. Not at all.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “What exactly were you expecting to see up here?”

  It was a fair question, and he didn’t want to examine his motives too closely, for he had no legitimate cause to feel hurt. They had been exchanging letters for nine years. On the surface, their letters were only about business, but he’d always viewed them as a delightfully productive correspondence that let him help in the challenging work of restoring an estate.

  “I’m still trying to figure out why you embarked on this reckless scheme to begin with,” he said. “You should have come to me. When have I ever failed to help when you turned to me?”

  “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

  “I helped you with the drainage problem. When you feared being che
ated on the roof, I sent out specialists to resolve the problem. When you ran out of money for new windows, I paid for the glaziers.”

  “I’ve said I will pay you back for that.”

  “Forget about the money,” he snapped. He started to pace, like he always did when frustrated, but there wasn’t enough room up here. “This entire castle is a financial sinkhole, but my father negotiated the deal, and it’s my job to ensure it pays off in the long run. It was a stupid, foolhardy investment that bought us nothing but an overpriced emblem to slap on our jars and precious little else. No one in America even knows Whitefriars, but now, thanks to you, they think of it as the place the Bannister Vaudeville company goes to vacation. If you needed funds, you should have come to me. When have I ever let you down?”

  He shouldn’t have insulted Whitefriars. Her eyes looked like blue pools of wounded feelings, and guilt ate at him, but he needed an answer. “When, Mary?”

  She blinked rapidly. “You haven’t. I made a mistake.”

  He turned away to avoid the naked pain in her face but bumped his shin on a ratty old bed frame. “Let’s go downstairs to discuss this in the Cromwellian charm of the main floor. Your family makes me nervous, but I think we can talk this out between the two of us.”

  She nodded and led the way out of the attic. They’d have to move quickly if he was going to wrap this up in time to get back to the city tonight. He wouldn’t have minded the chance to get to know her better, but he didn’t like her family. Too many people, all staring at him, testing him.

  Unless he’d misinterpreted the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time, and prudence dictated that he clarify what was going on.

  “Why the blue food?” he asked once they were in the tower’s first-floor parlor.

  Mary turned to him, a helpless look of resignation on her face. “We heard a rumor. I guess it’s true?”

  “That I eat only one color per day?”

  “That’s the one.” Her face was flooded with embarrassment and she rushed to apologize, babbling so quickly he feared she might descend into another of those attacks of panic.

  “Stop,” he said. “Sit. This isn’t worth getting upset over.”

  She complied, lowering herself onto the padded sofa, and he tugged a footstool over so he could be close enough to hear if her breathing got caught in the vicious loop.

  “It started out as a bet I had with my father,” he said, anything to distract her from the looming panic. “We’re in the food business, and curious about what people find appealing. We charge an outrageous price for Whitefriars products.”

  “Because they’re the best,” Mary said, and this time his smile was genuine. There were so many ways he could respond to that. True, their quality was top-notch. Same with the packaging. But he charged five times the price of production and that’s what made the Whitefriars line of products a true business marvel. Very few companies could afford to set that kind of premium price, and he had to protect their reputation. Mary still seemed on edge and there was no need for that.

  “It was just a silly bet between me and Dad to see if we could think of enough green food to make a well-rounded meal. Then it grew. A day of red food, blue food, and so on.”

  Frank Wooten was more than just his father. He was the only real friend he had, but they were both competitive men and both in the food business. It was a challenge to come up with new and different foods to keep the bet alive, and it was run entirely on the honor system. They indulged in the bet only about one week each month, but it had been going on for years. Everett would obviously lose this round due to the trip to Whitefriars, and he tried to reassure Mary there was no need to cater to his odd food-color wager.

  “You shouldn’t have to lose just because of this trip,” Mary said. “We’ll help! Whatever you need.”

  “Truly, I’d prefer if you didn’t.” He was here on business, not to make new friends or win a bet. It was hard enough being plunged into a group of strangers without being the focus of attention. “This estate and its reputation are very important to my business. The exterior of the house looks sound, but the gardens are shoddy and several outbuildings are in poor condition. Especially that one right there.” He pointed out the window, for the tumbled-down structure was less than an acre from the castle and a pitiful eyesore. Three stone walls were standing, but one was entirely gone and the roof looked ready to collapse any moment.

  “That ruin looks like somewhere for vagrants to set up camp. It should be torn down.” Given Mary’s reaction, he’d just blundered again. “I’m sorry that I spoke so bluntly. I keep forgetting this is your home.”

  He’d never seen a woman so sensitive, for it looked like he’d just suggested a family member be thrown onto a pyre. She never seemed this sentimental in her letters, which were to the point, articulate, and eager for his help.

  “I love the bakehouse,” she said. “I used to play in it as a child.”

  It was a blot on the landscape. Whitefriars wasn’t a child’s playground, it was a business investment, and the bakehouse would have to go. There’d be time to discuss it later, but for now he simply wanted to listen to Mary talk. Her voice was soothing. He could listen to her ramble for hours.

  “Tell me more about the outbuildings,” he said, and she immediately brightened. By heavens, she could talk. He chose a more comfortable seat as she relayed the history of the bakehouse, the gatehouse, and a dovecote, which was a tiny little building kept only for doves. He tried not to laugh, for it might discourage her breathlessly frank conversation, but rich people in England were very different than rich Americans. His sister had an entire room for her shoes, but even his sister would be astonished at a tiny stone castle spire created to house doves.

  Mary spoke of a watermill and how they used to mill their own grain for themselves and neighborhood farms. That came to an end when their land became so waterlogged their crops dwindled to nothing. The miller moved away, the mill fell into disuse, and bats made themselves at home in the eaves.

  “Now that our fields are productive, I would love to see that mill back in operation,” she said.

  “How much will it cost to restore?” He couldn’t help himself. His mind latched on to the possible return on the investment and downstream revenue opportunities. Mary had already gathered preliminary costs for getting the watermill back in operation, and he saw an entirely new facet to her as she began strategizing for future improvements.

  It seemed Mary wasn’t merely passionate about Whitefriars’ history, but its business potential as well, and that made her even more attractive. He’d never met a woman so comfortable discussing business. Not that he’d met all that many women. He put great effort into avoiding social engagements, and ever since his engagement to Stella Rowland collapsed, he didn’t even try to mingle with the fairer sex.

  Two hours passed while he chatted with Mary about the history of the estate. It wasn’t wasted time, for now he could better converse with business associates about the estate that served as the emblem of the Whitefriars brand.

  A glance out the window showed the afternoon shadows growing long. The sun set early this far north, and it had crept up on him unawares.

  “I’ve forgotten how short the days are here,” he admitted. “It looks as if I will have to stay overnight after all.”

  “Wasn’t that always the plan?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to admit the shameful desire to flee the estate as soon as possible. It was so much easier to make use of a hotel rather than be a guest among strangers. Except Mary didn’t feel like a stranger. From the moment he saw her in the lobby of the Knightsbridge Inn he simply felt at ease with her. The attraction didn’t warrant too much attention, for it could come to nothing. His father depended on him, as did three hundred employees working for the company. He had ambitious plans for expansion, and they needed his daily attention.

  And since Mary was inextricably linked to Whitefriars, there was no point in entertaining daydreams of what could be. Mary was a business associate who was the caretaker of Whitefriars, nothing more.

  “Yes,” he said, “that was always the plan. I’ll carry my bags up to the top floor.”

  ***

  Mary raced to join the others, who were enjoying tea in the parlor. Everett was still unpacking his bags in the tower room, so they didn’t have long. The blue food was untouched, all expect the blueberry pie, which was entirely consumed.