Page 24 of The Secret Christmas Library

The dining room was dramatic; painted in a dark brick-red.

There were old glass cabinets lining the walls, some shelves empty, some with odds and ends of what had clearly once been beautiful sets of china, but now only contained remnants; chipped willow-pattern saucers, cups without handles, whatever could not be sold.

But the shelves were dust-free, the glass display cases unsmeared.

Someone was looking after this room. No need to ask who.

Loveliest of all, in the corner was a vast Christmas tree, and the whole room was deeply scented with fir.

It must have been quite a job to get it in, but now it was here it was beautiful; covered in ancient, cracked ornaments of thick glass or carefully hand-painted wood.

There was no mass-produced tat here, no cheap tinsel.

There were, amazingly, and, Mirren thought, incredibly dangerously, real candles lit, the candleholders carefully strapped to the boughs, and she stared at them in fascination.

The long table was set at one end with polished silver and old glasses.

A decanter of red wine stood open, and there were vases of winter ferns placed at intervals along the table.

A huge fire crackled in the open fireplace, giving the gloomy room a cheery aspect; candelabra were lit and there was a delicious smell coming from somewhere.

Esme marched over to the carafe and poured wine for everyone, then handed out the glasses.

‘Jamie is being a dick about this,’ said Esme, taking a long swig. ‘But I’m going to put it to you guys: you’re trying to find something my grandfather left.’

Nobody said anything.

‘And all my grandfather left is a pile of bloody books. So, is it something to do with books? Am I guessing right so far?’

They all nodded.

‘And you weren’t going to tell me?’ she said accusingly to Jamie, who went rather pink.

‘Because you’d accuse me of stealing from you,’ he said, ‘and I really am not. And then you’d say it was a stupid idea.’

‘It is SUCH a stupid idea,’ said Esme. ‘Remember those treasure hunts he used to set for us?’

Jamie nodded.

‘They were impossible,’ said Esme. ‘I don’t think we ever solved one.’

‘One year Bonnie found the present by accident,’ said Jamie.

‘What’s that?’ said Bonnie, pushing into the room from a different door, an inconspicuous swing door set in the side that must lead down to the kitchen. She was carrying a huge tray, which she set down on the embroidered tablecloth.

‘The year you solved the treasure hunt.’

Bonnie screwed up her face. ‘Oh, they were impossible those things. Ridiculous.’

‘What was it?’ asked Mirren, interested.

‘Well, I was in the stables, and I found a parcel and I brought it in,’ said Bonnie.

‘And Grandfather was FURIOUS,’ said Esme. ‘Absolutely furious. What were the clues, even?’

‘There was a set of numbers,’ remembered Jamie, ‘that didn’t seem to make any sense at all.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ said Esme. ‘What were they?’

‘It was celestial latitude and longitude,’ said Jamie, suddenly.

‘We were EIGHT!’ said Esme.

‘Apparently Grandfather knew about celestial navigation when he was eight. Or ten, at least,’ said Jamie. ‘I was ten.’

‘I was trying to cuddle a horse,’ said Bonnie.

‘Then, if you figured that out and went to the telescope room . . . ’

‘You have a—’ started Mirren, but Theo gave her a warning look, so she shut up again.

‘ . . . and managed to figure out the really fiddly telescope which we weren’t supposed to touch anyway – it was completely ancient, so we didn’t know how to use it.

But if we had figured it out, it would have shown us a constellation that we would have had to identify and that would have been . . . ’

‘Pegasus!’ said Mirren excitedly.

‘Pegasus and Andromeda; there were two,’ said Jamie. ‘You would have to figure out from there that Pegasus was a horse that had carried Andromeda. Then you had to find the horse that carried Andy – sorry, Andromeda. We had, like, thirty horses then.’

‘It was SO STUPID,’ said Esme.

‘He got so annoyed,’ agreed Jamie.

‘What was the treasure?’

‘It was rather lovely,’ mused Esme. ‘Do you remember? A little gold horse. Absolutely ancient – Egyptian or something.’

‘I’d rather have had chocolate,’ said Jamie.

‘I thought I might get to keep it,’ said Bonnie. ‘But then, after your grandfather got so annoyed, my grandma snuck me away to the kitchen and gave me a mince pie and three Quality Streets for bringing it back and handing it in. So it worked out alright.’

‘It did for you!’ said Jamie. ‘We just got a bollocking.’

‘What happened to the golden horse?’ asked Mirren.

‘God knows. You’re probably wearing it,’ said Esme. She heaved a sigh. ‘So that’s what this is? Another treasure hunt?’ She looked around the table, but nobody replied.

They sat down to the loveliest thing: fresh brown bread and butter, and home-smoked salmon; great thick slices that Bonnie reluctantly admitted she’d smoked herself, remarking that not many people had an outbuilding just for smoking fish, so she might as well make use of it.

Her uncle had taken a couple of salmon from their loch, so they were eating produce off their own land, something Mirren had never conceived of, if you didn’t count her abortive attempts at tomato plants under her skylight. It was delicious.

Mirren would have asked Bonnie to stay and eat with them, but she had disappeared back into the kitchen already.

‘I don’t . . . does she work for you full time?’ she asked, and Jamie and Esme both nodded.

‘She nursed my grandfather, I suppose,’ said Jamie. ‘She’s the only one left. Her family worked in this house for generations.’

‘Her grandmother practically raised you,’ said Esme. ‘You were round there often enough, begging for scraps.’

‘She was a good cook,’ said Jamie crossly.

‘But if you don’t have any money, how do you pay Bonnie?’

‘There’s a trust,’ said Jamie. ‘Set up for her family. Her family were always in service here; her great-grandmother started at ten.’

‘Oh, goodness,’ said Mirren, stricken.

‘If you were from a poor family up here,’ said Jamie, ‘there were a lot worse places to be in those days.’

Mirren nodded. ‘I know. My great-gran was in service in London. My cousin did one of the genealogy things in the pandemic.’

‘Well, then, various Airdries worked for us down the generations – gardeners and ghillies; they always had a home here. All of that gradually died out and they were the last to go, but there was a trust to keep servants in their old age, and, well . . . ’ Here his smile grew rueful. ‘They managed it well.’

Mirren could barely suppress a smile. ‘You mean she has more money than you.’

‘Everyone has more money than us,’ said Esme.

‘But she still works here?’

‘It’s her home as much as it is ours,’ said Jamie, forcefully.

‘And she has her own smoker,’ said Esme.

‘Can’t you ask her to buy the place?’ said Theo.

‘Unfortunately,’ said Jamie, ‘she would have very much done her due diligence as to whether or not it would be a worthwhile investment. What we really need is to find a billionaire who doesn’t care that it’s falling apart, just thinks it’s cool.

And to be able to keep going just a little while longer so that we have time to do that, by paying our taxes in January. ’

‘And that’s why you should count me in,’ said Esme. ‘More heads are better.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, why don’t we just send Bonnie off to the stables again?’ chipped in Theo.

Mirren concentrated on the salmon. It was delicious; delicate and wild. Bonnie was very talented. The wine, too, tasted like nothing she’d ever had before: deep and velvety, with a peppery flavour. Esme took a sip and nodded appreciatively.

‘I see we’ve made it to the better end of the cellars.’

‘Is there nothing down there you can sell?’ asked Theo.

‘Come on, my good man,’ said Jamie, with a rare smile. ‘One does have one’s limits.’

‘Remember when Grampa sold all the whisky at auction?’ said Esme. ‘Nightmare. Load of crazies turning up like it was Drunk Disneyland.’

‘That actually sounds fun,’ said Theo.

‘Esme had to help Bonnie mop up all the vomit,’ said Jamie. ‘Another brilliant Forres Castle idea bites the dust.’

Esme shook her head. ‘Well, quite. So no more of that. If we have to go down, we might as well do it accompanied by a decent Burgundy.’

Bonnie took the plates away, thanking Mirren when she complimented the fish effusively. She then brought in a huge china tureen, decorated with ancient hand-painted images of sides of the castle they were sitting in right then, and opened the lid.

‘Venison again?’ said Esme, with a slight sigh, and Bonnie smiled.

‘I’m afraid it’s all off the land, Miss Esme. Our cheeseburger budget is unusually low this month.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Esme, as Bonnie started ladling out large portions, with more of the wonderful bread, and dishes of fine green beans and spinach with a sharp lemon dressing. The smell was heavenly, deep and rich and chocolatey, and Mirren inhaled deeply.

‘This is fantastic,’ she said, and Bonnie laughed.

‘I don’t normally get so much appreciation.’

‘That’s because Esme lives off the canapés she gets at fashion parties,’ said her brother.

‘PLEASE,’ said Esme, waving her hands. ‘Who eats at fashion parties? Christ, Jamie.’

With everyone served, Mirren made sure she was using the right fork and dug in, carefully.

It was just as delicious as it smelled; there were berries in there that added a sweetness to the dish, as well as more of the deep red wine to add body, and the meat itself was so soft, you could cut it with a spoon.

She tried not to make more noise about it than was absolutely necessary, but she could tell by how quiet everyone was that there was a lot of general enjoyment going on; there was even a truce in the air, of sorts, between the warring siblings, and for the time being Mirren relaxed.