A Mackenzie Clan Christmas Read online

  Growing up so fast, she thought fondly as Jamie released her. Aunt Ainsley embraced her next, and Uncle Cameron, whom she hadn’t seen in a few months. Then Cousin Stuart, who was her exact same age, though he seemed to have grown a head taller than Megan in the intervening time.

  Cousin Gavina sent Megan a smile and kissed her cheek, her beauty like a poem.

  The adults headed for the carriage, but Megan hung back as Jamie and Gavina began to walk to Kilmorgan. Stuart, wanting to show he was as robust as his cousins, joined them. Megan knew she’d have to jog to keep up with the others, but she didn’t want to go tamely home in the carriage without them.

  Gavina kindly took her hand and slowed her pace, keeping Megan with her as the boys ran ahead and behind again, behaving like the unruly male creatures they were.

  Megan had always been in awe of Gavina. Though only two years older than Megan, Gavina was radiant, poised, and not afraid to flirt with boys. Belle had confided to Megan that when Gavina made her come-out, she’d be what was called a diamond of the first water and likely showered with proposals.

  Gavina, on the other hand, in spite of the flirting, had declared she had no intention of marrying at all. Megan would be interested to see what happened in a few years.

  It didn’t take long for Megan to realize that Gavina and Jamie were up to something. When she lagged behind a little, Stuart having run far ahead, Jamie fell into step with Gavina and began speaking quietly.

  Megan had learned from her father that if she was silent and didn’t draw attention to herself, she could find out very many things. She pretended her attention was elsewhere, but listened carefully.

  “I’ll hunt up Curry,” Jamie was saying. “Do you think you can get in? The door will be locked.”

  “Oh, you just watch me.” Gavina grinned at Jamie with confidence.

  Gavina was smart, like Belle, but in a different way. Belle knew all kinds of facts from books, but Gavina could do things, like pick locks, discover secret passages, and figure out how to beat all the boys at hide-and-seek, tag, or any other game they’d played when they were children. Cunning and stealth, Gavina had always said, beat running and punching anytime.

  Megan hoped they didn’t plan to steal anything. Then Megan would have to tell, and she did not like tattling. However, if she knew nothing, she couldn’t report it, could she?

  “We have a ghost,” she said in a loud voice as she caught up to them. “Uncle Mac saw it. Belle and Daniel and Violet tried to prove it was a person, but their traps caught nothing. So it must be a real ghost.”

  Both turned to her, their attention caught. Jamie expressed derision and ran off to find Stuart, who had decided to climb a tree for some reason.

  Gavina remained with Megan, gazing at her with avid interest. “A ghost? That’s wonderful. Do tell.”

  * * *

  Ian, in his study, went over the telegraph messages he’d retrieved from the train station when he’d collected Jamie, frowning as he read them.

  Lloyd Fellows, now a chief superintendent at Scotland Yard, had looked into the theft of the necklace—if it had been a theft—and had discovered nothing. Since Fellows was as dogged as Ian, Ian believed him when he said he’d turned over every stone.

  The museum had reported no burglary. They claimed they’d wrapped up the necklace and sent it via courier to the man in Paris who’d bought it.

  Interestingly, while the courier had agreed that his service had sent him to retrieve three packages from the museum and deliver them to various residences in Paris, he had not taken one to the gentleman who’d purchased the necklace.

  The clerk in the museum, however, swore he’d wrapped it and left it for the courier.

  Somewhere between the shelf in the museum storeroom and the courier’s hands, the necklace had disappeared.

  Fellows had thoroughly questioned the courier and concluded the man had not stolen the necklace himself. He’d worked for his firm for years and was one of their most trusted employees. No package he’d ever touched had gone astray.

  Fellows then questioned the packers and clerks at the museum, but again, all were trusted men and one woman who had worked at the museum for some time.

  Ian tossed down the telegraphs feeling old frustration work into his bones. It had been a long, long time since he’d had one of his “muddles.” During one, he would become fixed, focused on one mundane task while his brain spun and tried to make sense of the world. Muddles distressed his family, he knew, and there had been no need for one for a very long time. Beth and his children steadied him now.

  But occasionally Ian faced a problem he did not know how to confront. His wife, sisters-in-law, and brothers could sit and think through a conundrum or discuss it with others and come up with a solution.

  Ian had difficulty voicing his thoughts and so tried to work through them on his own. But sometimes his focus would shift, and the equations would not balance.

  A package could not simply disappear. Ian opened a notebook and took up a pen to try to reason it out.

  The pages of the notebook were scribbled over with number sequences and codes Ian had invented. Beth enjoyed the codes, and they sent each other notes that only they could read. Ian liked that he could tell her exactly what he loved about her, including vivid, physical details that no one would understand but her.

  Watching Beth decipher the notes, her color rising, her eyes sparkling, made him warm. Ian lingered now over one of the codes, his blood heating.

  He forced his attention away. Even better if he could drape the lovely Roman gold over Beth’s bare skin, but he had to find the necklace first.

  If it had disappeared between being packed and the courier’s arrival, there were several possible explanations. A: Whoever was supposed to pack the necklace had simply pocketed it and taken it home. B: The courier was lying and had taken the package, having worked all his life to engender trust. C: The museum still had it but had hidden it, hoping to keep the payment from the buyer and the necklace itself. In a few years, they could quietly sell it to someone else.

  Ian jotted these notes in code, a new one he hadn’t taught Beth. He never hid his notebooks from her, but he wanted the necklace to be a secret for a time.

  Another possibility—the necklace might have been stolen from its display at any time, and the museum had covered up the fact. Why they would, Ian couldn’t fathom. If they did not report the theft, they’d collect no insurance.

  Unless . . . Ian began to write, his pen flying. The museum might have sold the necklace covertly, for a greater price, some time ago, replacing it with a copy. Perhaps they’d sold the copy to the collector, then, realizing the man would know it was a fake, had contrived to have the necklace go missing.

  Ian crossed a line through his notes. None of this was satisfying.

  A thief could have simply broken into the museum, seen the package, realized it must contain something valuable, and absconded with it. Ian would ask Inspector Fellows where the package had been stored and how long it had lain there between being packed and the courier arriving.

  He threw down his pen and ran his hands through his hair. Outside, people were shouting, drawing him from his concentration.

  Ian went to the window. Below, in the snowy gardens, Mackenzie children, from Hart’s youngest boy, eleven-year-old Malcolm, to the stately Aimee, were yelling, running, and pelting each other with snowballs. Even Aimee, a young lady now, alternately chased or ran from the others, screaming when a well-placed snowball slammed into her back.

  Laughing, she scooped up snow and lobbed it at Jamie and Robbie with great skill.

  Megan ran among them, managing to land a large glob of snow on her brother’s back. Even Belle, who preferred to read rather than run wild, jumped up and down, cheering for Megan’s hit. She then shrieked and ran when Jamie came after her.

  They were al
l there, the children of Hart, Cameron, Mac, and Ian. In a few days, Fellows’s three would arrive, completing the set.

  Ian thought back to the days when he and his brothers struggled out from under the shadow of their father, battling loneliness and their own destruction. But now, with the help of their wives, Mac had conquered inebriation, Cameron had recovered from the crazed brutality of his first wife, and Hart had relaxed his need for absolute control and power—mostly.

  Ian believed he’d come furthest of all. He could sleep without waking in terror, darkness no longer pressing him. He could meet the gazes of those he loved without fear he’d be trapped in them. He could stand at the window and gaze fondly at the younger Mackenzies, tangible evidence of the brothers’ happiness, and become almost poetic. Beth would laugh.

  The thought of his gentle wife, her blue eyes and sweet smile, made Ian turn from the window. The fact that all the children were outside in a snowball battle meant that the house was relatively empty, and he might find Beth alone . . .

  Ian shoved his notebooks into his desk, locked it with the small key, and strode off to seek his wife.

  * * *

  Gavina Mackenzie slipped through the darkened upper corridors of Kilmorgan late in the night. The sun set early this close to the winter solstice, rendering the land deep black well before the family supper.

  Inside Kilmorgan, however, lamps shone, chandeliers twinkled, fires burned high. The collected Mackenzies conversed, made music together, and told each other stories well into the wee hours. Tonight, Mac had been regaling the younger ones with the tale of his ghost.

  Jamie, slipping off with Gavina to discuss strategy, had looked superior. “And people say my father is mad. He’s not daft enough to believe in ghosts. Has a good head on his shoulders, does my dad.”

  He spoke proudly, admiring Uncle Ian’s ability to see a situation clearly, without clouds of assumption, supposition, and emotion getting in his way. If Uncle Ian didn’t understand a thing, he’d research it from every angle and probably come up with mathematical formulas to explain it.

  Gavina had seen as they’d grown up that Jamie had a similar ability. He was shrewd and clear-eyed, pondering every angle of a problem.

  Gavina, on the other hand, dove right into a situation without worrying about the consequences. She came to grief from time to time, but she’d also done things none of her girlfriends would dream of—like going to the top of the Eiffel Tower by herself, getting herself locked into a library in London all night and reading the books young ladies weren’t supposed to, and once riding in a point-to-point horse race. Well, no one had specifically said the race was “boys only.”

  Her parents were exasperated by and proud of her exploits. Gavina knew her mother had been quite the tear in her day—who did Jamie think had taught her to pick locks?

  Gavina had the best father in the world, she thought as she silently entered Uncle Ian’s study. She halted after she closed the door, waiting until her eyes adjusted to the faint light before proceeding. The sky was clear tonight, moon and stars providing beautiful illumination.

  Cameron Mackenzie never scolded Gavina for riding in races or reading naughty books, and he never admonished her to act like a young lady. In his opinion, hiding the world from a young woman only made her vulnerable to blackguards and libertines. She should know what awaited her after her debut and how to stand her own ground.

  Gavina wasn’t certain her father would approve of her burgling Uncle Ian’s study, but in time he’d understand it was for a good cause.

  Once she could see well enough, Gavina made her careful way to the desk. She daren’t light a candle, for fear a diligent servant would see it. Curry, for instance. Uncle Ian’s valet would recognize criminal activity when he saw it.

  Ian’s desk was a large, flat-topped affair with drawers on either side and a shallow one in the middle. No delicate secretary or davenport desks for Uncle Ian. He spent much time reading and researching his Ming pottery and other ancient artifacts, and he liked large surfaces on which to spread out his books. He was also writing a history of the Mackenzie family, drawing on papers and diaries he’d found in the attic.

  Ian routinely locked all the drawers in his desk. Though no one came in here but family and trusted servants, Uncle Ian liked everything in an exact order, which he did not want disturbed.

  Gavina took the thin wires out of her pocket and started on the desk drawers. Her mother had said that while a hairpin did well in a pinch, long, stiff wires were much better—one to hold the tumbler, the other to turn the lock.

  Gavina had practiced diligently. At first she’d been amused by her mother’s hobby, but she’d learned that it could be quite useful.

  As it was now. In a few short moments, Gavina had all of Ian’s desk drawers open, searching for the notebook Jamie had told her to look for.

  She found it in the second drawer down, a leather-bound book filled with jottings and numbers plus folded pieces of paper. Within one of those papers was the picture Jamie wanted.

  Gavina rose from her knees, hugging the notebook. Victory.

  Her glee abruptly vanished when she heard footsteps outside the door.

  Damn and blast. If Gavina were caught in the dark in Ian’s study, desk drawers open, cradling Ian’s notebook, she’d not easily talk her way out of it.

  While her father stood by her with most of her escapades, even he wouldn’t be happy with Gavina stealing from Uncle Ian. Drat Jamie and his fantastic ideas, and drat herself for leaping into the scheme with her usual enthusiasm.

  Gavina darted across the room, using the lamplight from the corridor to find her swift way to the corner. Thank heavens for her Mackenzie cousins, who liked to explore every inch of this huge house and its secret passages. Because of them, Gavina knew there should be a small panel at the end of the bookcase—yes.

  Gavina jabbed at the smooth panel until she found the depression that let it spring open, revealing a dark passageway. Gavina slipped inside, closing the panel as quietly as she could before she hurried through the tiny corridor.

  The blackness here was complete. Gavina thanked heaven she wasn’t an imaginative young woman or the darkness might terrify her. She only worried she’d trip and fall, because if she hurt herself, she’d have to call for help.

  Gavina had wondered why this house had secret passages, as it had been carefully designed well after the need for priest holes and hiding places for Highlanders running from the Black Watch and the excisemen. Uncle Ian explained that Old Malcolm Mackenzie, who had designed the house, had put them in because he thought secret passages would be exciting.

  Gavina blessed her ancestor for his whimsy as she moved through the passageway. She reached its end and pushed at the panel there until she stumbled out into another corridor—this one empty, thank goodness.

  Voices sounded around the corner to the main hall. Gavina hastened in the opposite direction, taking the back stairs and servants’ halls to the top of the house.

  Jamie waited in their appointed spot on the top floor of Ian Mackenzie’s wing, in the nursery. His eyes widened when Gavina entered and stepped into the moonlight flooding the room.

  “Good Lord,” he gasped. “The ghost.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Gavina said impatiently. “It’s me.”

  “No, I mean behind you.”

  Gavina swung around and saw a flutter of white that vanished into the blackness of the corridor. Thrusting the book at Jamie, she dashed out of the room in time to see the white apparition skim around the corner.

  Gavina’s skin prickled, superstitious fear wafting through her for the first time in her life.

  Absolute nonsense, she told herself, and gave chase.

  Chapter 4

  Gavina followed the ghost around the corner, through Mac’s wing, and on to Cameron’s. It moved swiftly, and as Uncle Mac had claimed, gli
ded seemingly without the use of feet.

  Gavina sped onward, thrusting aside her tingle of foreboding. The only way to conquer fear was to face it. Her father had taught her that too.

  At the end of the hall, where the large nursery she’d shared with her brother had been, the ghost disappeared.

  Gavina halted with another shiver, but she squared her shoulders. This house was riddled with passageways, and the woman must have slipped inside one.

  She heard Jamie pounding behind her, but she would not let her cousin laugh at her for being afraid of a ghost. Gavina sped her steps, making for where she’d seen the thing evaporate.

  Something tripped her. Gavina fought for balance and took another step before a brilliant flash of light erupted in her face. She fell against the wall, half-blinded, cursing with more words than her father realized she knew.

  Strong hands caught her, and Jamie pulled her to her feet. “You tripped the camera, ye daft lass.”

  Gavina pushed away from him, struggling for breath. “I realize that. Help me take out the plate, or Aunt Eleanor will know we were up here.”

  She groped for the camera, but Jamie reached it first. He pulled out the small photographic plate and put it into his pocket.

  “I’ll take care of this, never you mind. Why did you chase it?”

  “Why?” Gavina turned to him in surprise. “To prove it’s not a ghost. The question is, why did I trip the camera and she didn’t?”

  “Because she’s a ghost,” Jamie said, as though this were reasonable.

  Gavina gave him a deprecating look. “Now who’s the daftie? I thought you didn’t believe in spirits.”

  “I didn’t. Until I saw her.” Jamie’s face softened, his eyes golden in the moonlight. “She’s a bonnie lass, isn’t she?”

  Gavina stared at him, lips parting. Jamie had never hidden the fact that comely females pleased him, but she’d never seen him wearing this besotted expression. He looked like a dreamy-eyed cow.