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She gave a slight nod. “Mr. Payton was called out on an emergency or he would’ve been here himself to greet you. But he’s asked that you make yourself at home.” She waved for them to follow her in. “I’ll see you to your rooms. You’ll be in the North Wing on the first floor. Would you like me to carry your bags?”
“We can manage,” Sam said.
She led them up the stairs, then down the hall, where Remi found it hard to ignore the obvious squares and rectangles on the white walls where paintings used to hang.
Mrs. Beckett stopped to open a door, stepping back to let them enter. “His Lordship prefers to stay in the Dowager Cottage, where he takes supper. At six. We find the routine—and less stairs—is easier for him. If you’d rather rest after your long trip, I’d be glad to send a tray up.”
Remi glanced at Sam, who gave the slightest shake of his head. Tired as they were, this might be the only opportunity to talk to Albert Payton without his nephew around.
An opportunity they weren’t about to pass up.
“That’s very kind of you,” Remi said. “But we’d be honored to join His Lordship.”
“Very good. I’ll come around for you just before six. A bit of a maze, this house. Especially to get to the South Wing.” Mrs. Beckett gave a stiff smile, then backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
As promised, she returned before six to take them to dinner, leading them through a maze of hallways allowing them a glimpse into numerous rooms, walls bare, furniture gone. She stopped at a closed door, looked back at them, her dour expression softening. “Try not to think ill of us, keeping His Lordship out of this part of the house, under lock and key. A bit of a wanderer, of late. And seeing the empty rooms confuses him. He likes to pop over from the cottage in the morning to take breakfast in the Conservatory before he starts his day. He likes to tend the roses. Rather than disrupt his routine, we simply lock the rest of the house, which helps keep him on task. The Conservatory and the Dowager Cottage still have their original furnishings, which helps to keep him grounded.”
She paused in the doorway, looking back at them. “A few weeks ago, someone left the garden gate ajar, and off he went. Found the keys to his nephew’s car, no one the wiser, until a constable brought him ’round after he wrecked it. We’re grateful he wasn’t killed, that we are.” Surprisingly, after they stepped through, she locked the door behind her and handed the key to Sam. “It’s a master. You’ll need this to get back to your room.”
Sam took the key, slipping it into his pocket. “We’ll be careful.”
“The Breakfast Room and Conservatory,” she said, opening yet another door.
Remi saw at once why he preferred eating there. Two of the room’s walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, the third had French doors that opened to a square of lawn surrounded by a high brick wall covered with jasmine. To the left was the garden gate, the one Mrs. Beckett said had been left open. To the right was the rose garden. They stepped out onto a flagstone patio, Mrs. Beckett leading them down a graveled path that crossed the vast lawn to a quaint cottage that looked like a dollhouse version of Payton Manor.
They passed through the arched doorway into a small parlor, where a gray Persian cat jumped up onto the pianoforte for a better view of the people who’d invaded his space. Mrs. Beckett shooed him off as she passed, then led them through another archway to where Albert was seated at a round table set for three.
He stood as they entered. “Well done, Mrs. Beckett. I quite forgot we were having guests or I would have met them myself.”
“Sam and Remi Fargo,” she announced.
Albert nodded in greeting. “I daresay, your names sound familiar. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I don’t recall how we met.”
“At the car show in Pebble Beach,” Sam said.
“Yes, of course,” he said, as he shook hands with Sam. “The oddest thing . . . You remind me of someone. Sit. Sit. I’ll think of it in a minute. About to have dinner. You will stay?”
“We’d be glad to,” Sam said, as he and Remi each took a seat.
Albert nodded, looked at the housekeeper. “Two more for dinner, Mrs. Beckett.”
“Very good, sir.” She removed the lids of the serving dishes, steam rising from the pork medallions in one and the mixed vegetables in the other.
“Wish my nephew was here. Off doing something or other.” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied Sam. “I know exactly who you remind me of: Cousin Eunice.”
Remi looked at Sam, whose expression remained neutral on hearing his mother’s given name. He still wasn’t convinced that the Paytons hadn’t played up this relationship to get closer to them. Curious, Remi smiled at Albert. “You have a cousin named Eunice?”
“Haven’t seen her in years.” He pushed his chair back. “Have a picture of her somewhere . . .”
Mrs. Beckett set her hand on his arm, preventing him from standing. “Perhaps, M’lord, you’ll allow me to fetch your album. You have guests, after all.”
“What’s this ‘M’lord’ rubbish? Family doesn’t ‘M’lord.’”
She smiled patiently, as she handed him a serving spoon, then turned to leave. “No, sir.”
“Or ‘sir,’ either,” he called out as she left the room. “Woman’s lived in this house almost as long as
I have. I daresay, she’s earned the right to call me by my first name.”