A Mackenzie Clan Christmas Read online

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said in exasperation. “Let us go downstairs before someone comes to investigate. Daniel said he rigged up an alarm, and someone might have noticed the flash.”

  “Aye, well.” Jamie gazed longingly at the spot where the ghost—or whoever she was—had disappeared. “She walks in beauty, does that poor lass.”

  Jamie only became poetic, and very Scottish, when he was going soft about something. He could wax lyrically over a brilliant sunset or a view over the water or a splendid horse running flat out. And now, it appeared, a beautiful woman.

  “You are absurd, Jamie Mackenzie,” Gavina said.

  Jamie shrugged. “One day you will fall in love, dear cousin. On that day, I will smile.”

  Gavina glared at him as he sauntered down the hall, the Mackenzie blue and green kilt fluttering as he went.

  As if Gavina would ever fall in love. At least, if she did, she vowed she’d not act like such a fool.

  “For heaven’s sake,” she repeated in a mutter, and stomped after him.

  * * *

  Eleanor, Duchess of Kilmorgan, emerged from her darkroom the next morning with her mouth a flat line. She knew the young Mackenzies were mischievous—and no wonder, considering their fathers—but this was going a bit too far.

  As she strode down the hall, the printed photographs in hand, she distractedly noted all that needed to be done before Christmas, and more importantly, Hogmanay. This year, they’d keep things simple—Hart had agreed to set aside the holidays for family and close friends, but that still meant a good many people. She and the housekeeper were hiring more staff to help with the decorating and the food.

  Lloyd Fellows and Louisa with their children were already on their way. The McBride family would soon arrive as well—Ainsley’s four brothers and their collective offspring. So would David Fleming and his wife and young son.

  That made eleven families multiplied by two to three children each, though Ainsley’s oldest brother, Patrick, and his wife had never had children of their own. The couple had raised Ainsley and her wild brothers and now were inundated with nieces and nephews.

  Speaking of nephews—Eleanor pulled her swift thoughts back to the present.

  She entered the dining room to find most of the family breakfasting. The din from myriad conversations assailed her, her husband’s voice the loudest as he boomed something to Daniel.

  Eleanor paused in the doorway. She never failed to delight in the scene of the four brothers, Daniel, their wives, and the younger Mackenzies gathered around in laughter and conversation. Her heart warmed most of all for Hart, seated at the head of the table, trying, and failing, to bring some order to the chaos.

  Eleanor loved the chaos, and the thrum of energy the children brought. She’d spent much of her life alone, she and her father living by themselves in a run-down pile of a house. Her father had recently married a lady he’d hired to help him write his latest book, the two finding that they rubbed along perfectly. They too would be arriving in time for Christmas, taking their time over the cold journey from Aberdeen.

  But to business.

  “Robbie Mackenzie. Stuart Mackenzie.” Eleanor bellowed into the crowd. “Please explain yourselves.”

  She turned around the photograph. Robbie, who’d taken a bite of porridge, began to cough. Stuart only sat still and became very red indeed.

  The photograph showed two bare backsides caught in the brightness of a flash. They would have been anonymous rumps if both Robbie and Stuart hadn’t glanced behind them to make certain the camera went off.

  There was a collective hush as those around the table studied the photograph in amazement. And then a roar of laughter.

  Ainsley and Isabella each tried to scold their respective sons, but they hid their mirth poorly. Ian looked slightly perplexed at the laughter, and Beth whispered into his ear, presumably explaining.

  Hart’s voice cut through them all. “For shame, lads,” he thundered. “You’ve wasted your aunt’s chemicals and no doubt upset her. I can imagine her shock when the photograph resolved.”

  He picked up a cup of steaming coffee and quickly drank it, lips twitching suspiciously.

  “Hardly shocked,” Eleanor said crisply. In a life with Hart, nothing much jolted her. “It was a joke, I suppose, on those adamant to find their ghost. But yes, you are very naughty.”

  Daniel broke in, not bothering to hide his grin. “You were hoping to see something pale and glowing, weren’t you, Uncle Mac?”

  Violet elbowed him, but Daniel only collapsed into laughter. Mac threw a piece of bannock at him.

  Eleanor noted Gavina giving Jamie a long glance, and Jamie shaking his head ever so slightly. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. Now, what were they up to?

  “Lads,” Mac said to the still-red Robbie and Stuart. “Ye are very funny, but I can’t let ye get away with it. Apologize to your auntie.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Eleanor,” they both mumbled in overlapping syllables.

  “They need to do more than that,” Hart said.

  “Never fear.” Eleanor gave both boys a severe look. “I have plenty of ways they can make it up to me. Starting with cleaning up the darkroom and all the flash powder upstairs. Such a large amount of burned powder on the floor—it is not fair to have the maids sweep that up. You must have used too much, Daniel.”

  Again, Jamie and Gavina exchanged a glance. Eleanor would have to find the root of that later.

  Daniel shook his head. “I swore I used just enough and no more. And no one tripped the alarm I rigged. Did the powder show any footprints?”

  “It was such a mess, I could not tell,” Eleanor said. “It will take some labor for it to be cleaned up.”

  She set the photograph facedown on the table as Robbie and Stuart looked even more dejected. Eleanor took her chair at the foot of the table, finished with the business. Two footmen sprang forward to serve her, the lads trying to stifle their own laughter.

  Jamie went still, his gaze riveting to the door Eleanor had left open. Eleanor turned in time to see a housemaid peek in and then retreat.

  “Good Lord.” Jamie sprang from his chair, shoving it back so hard he overturned it, and bolted from the room.

  Mac, looking as stunned, followed him. Eleanor waved off the footmen and hurried out, wondering what on earth Jamie was on about now.

  She found Jamie in the middle of the wide front hall, where footmen and maids on ladders wound garlands through the staircase. “Where did she go?” Jamie demanded of them.

  One of the footmen frowned. “Who? Sir,” he added quickly with a glance at Eleanor.

  “That maid.” Jamie rushed to the gallery that spanned the front of the house and scanned its length. “Didn’t she come this way?”

  “We didn’t see,” the footman answered. “We’re looking up, not down. Um . . . sir.”

  The footmen at Kilmorgan often forgot to address Jamie with the honorific, as he was friendly with all the staff and, Eleanor knew, shared cigars and whisky with them.

  “I saw her too,” Mac said. “That was her.”

  “The ghost?” Isabella asked excitedly, coming up behind him. “Blast—I missed it.”

  Gavina had trailed after them. “Not a ghost,” she said decidedly. “A housemaid.”

  “Indeed, we have been hiring extra help,” Eleanor said. “Mac, if you and Jamie have frightened off a new maid, I’ll be most unhappy. We need every pair of hands right now.”

  “That would explain things,” Gavina said. “There’s a new housemaid, and she was lost or simply exploring the place. Servants sleep in attics in most houses. She was likely looking for her room.”

  “Logical,” Eleanor agreed.

  Gavina looked satisfied, Isabella disappointed, Mac unconvinced. Jamie continued to frown, perplexed.

  Simplest explanations were best,
Eleanor always believed. She’d find the maid, soothe her, show Jamie and Mac that she was a real human being, and this ghost hunt would be over.

  Not that Eleanor didn’t wish they had a true ghost—one would be terribly interesting—but the holidays at Kilmorgan were not the most convenient time for them to appear.

  * * *

  Ian entered his study after breakfast to find Curry and a footman hastily restoring the room to rights. Papers littered the floor, drawers stood open, and a few books tumbled from shelves.

  Ian paused in the doorway, hand on the handle. Curry, noticing him, carefully set down a stack of books and hurried to him.

  “No harm done, guv. Just a prank. I think. Or the ghost. Evil spirits like to throw things about.”

  Ian knew no evil spirits had done this. Someone had broken into this room and rifled his desk.

  Years ago, he would have become upset. Ian liked things to remain in a specific place, not only so he could easily find them, but because they felt right there. Now he was not so much interested in the mess as in the fact that his research for the necklace had been locked in his now-open desk.

  “What was taken?” he asked sharply.

  “Don’t know, guv. Nothing, it looks like.”

  Ian scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on the windows. He moved to one, but it was closed, locked, dust on the lock itself. This window hadn’t been opened since autumn.

  No one had come in that way, which meant the intruder had already been in the house.

  Ian moved back to the desk. Curry had tucked his notebooks into the drawers once more, including, Ian was relieved to see, the one that contained his coded writing about the necklace.

  Ian pulled that one out and flipped through it. The coded pages were intact, including the telegraph messages he’d received from the museum. One of the photographs of the necklace, however, was missing.

  “Ah.” Curry stooped and retrieved something from under the desk. “Where does this go, me lord?”

  He held the photograph. Ian relaxed. He studied the picture of the shining necklace before he took it from Curry, slid it into the notebook, and carefully laid the notebook into its drawer.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

  “If a footman did this, I’ll thrash him,” Curry vowed.

  Ian shook his head. “It wasn’t a footman.”

  One of the footmen who was helping Curry clear up, shook his head fervently. “None would dare, sir. His Grace wouldn’t have it.”

  Ian had meant that the footmen in this house were trustworthy, but true, Hart would never stand for theft.

  Ian had different ideas about the identity of the culprit, though he wasn’t certain, and this bothered him. The sooner he found and purchased the blasted necklace and gave it to Beth, the better.

  He slid the drawer closed and locked it with his key, dropping the key into his pocket. Then he sat down at the desk, moved a clean sheet of paper into its exact center, and began to write out a message to Lloyd Fellows.

  * * *

  “Wise of you to ask me for help, young man.”

  Curry faced Jamie and Gavina in the old nursery in Cameron’s wing later that afternoon. He took a notebook from his pocket and held it out to Jamie. “Next time you need to pick locks and search desks, you come to me first. Save us a lot of bother.”

  Chapter 5

  Gavina reached for the notebook. “My fault,” she said, her face heating with some chagrin. “I wanted to try my skills.”

  “And skilled you were.” Curry gave her an admiring nod. “If you hadn’t had to run and leave everything a mess, your uncle Ian would have never known. He came in when I was tidying.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have known,” Jamie said.

  He looked a bit embarrassed under Curry’s scrutiny, but fortunately said nothing about Gavina muffing it because she was a girl. She’d have had to punch Jamie, in that case.

  When Jamie had consulted with Curry this morning before breakfast, Curry had expressed great alarm and made Jamie give him back the notebook and photographs Gavina had managed to purloin. Curry agreed to help them, but if Ian found anything missing from his desk, he’d take apart the house until he found it. Then explanations would have to be made and the secret would come out.

  Wiser to let Curry replace the notebook and then retrieve it again, quietly, when Ian was busy at the distillery.

  Next Christmas I will simply buy everyone pretty cards, Gavina thought. But no, though the adventure was proving not to be as easy as she’d hoped, Gavina was so far enjoying it.

  “Now, then, how are you going to read all these notes and make sense of them?” Curry asked. “His lordship likes a good cipher.”

  Gavina had already looked through the codes and found them hopeless but intriguing. She would have to ask Uncle Ian to teach her about them.

  “The telegrams weren’t in code,” Gavina said. “I read those. They said the necklace has disappeared, stolen, most like, but included names.”

  “Of people who might have taken it, you mean?” Jamie asked her. “Or know where it is?” He switched his focus to Curry. “Do you think you can locate it?”

  Curry nodded without worry. “I’ll put me ear to the ground. The chief super don’t hear what I can.” He gave Jamie a shrewd look. “Might be very expensive, though. Why not just let your father buy it for your mum?”

  Jamie lifted his chin. “Because I want to surprise him. And Mother.”

  His eyes flickered, betraying his unease. Gavina thought she understood—Jamie wanted to prove he was as clever as his father. Jamie would never say that, but Gavina knew her cousin well.

  Jamie took his position as the oldest of the young Mackenzie males seriously, but he felt a bit in the shadow of his father and uncles. He wanted to be like the men of the family—fearless, smart, and formidable. People in London moved out of the way when Uncle Hart descended from a carriage or strode through the park, and Jamie, Gavina sensed, envied that power.

  Finding a gift for Aunt Beth before Ian could would make Uncle Ian proud, earn his praise, and even make Ian happy, something Jamie tried to go out of his way to do.

  Watching Jamie, Gavina decided a few things.

  Curry and Jamie spoke awhile longer, then Curry departed to begin his hunt. Gavina lingered, memories of the nursery surrounding her—she and her cousins laughing and playing as children, the room full of noise. Nanny Westlock, now retired, had kept them under control with her wisdom and no-nonsense ways.

  Through it all—their play, quarrels, celebrations, rivalries, friendships—they’d been loved. Their parents had fought through strife, grief, and heartbreak to come together, and they loved their children fiercely.

  We love them back just as fiercely, Gavina realized. Though we might act like ungrateful wretches and not show it. Jamie was trying to give to his father what Uncle Ian and Aunt Beth had given him. It was touching.

  Gavina shook herself. She’d grow positively maudlin if she went on at this rate.

  “Jamie,” she said as he pored over the notes they’d copied out of Ian’s book. “You told my brother and Robbie to point their bums at that camera, didn’t you? So the triggered flash and exposed plate would be explained.”

  Jamie nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “You didn’t want Aunt Eleanor to develop a photograph of you looking pop-eyed and guilty, did you? I exposed the plate you triggered to full light so it would wash out the image, then put another one in the camera and rigged up the flash again. I asked Robbie and Stuart to set it off, to play a trick on the ghost hunters, and smeared the flash powder around to hide everyone’s footprints.” He let out an aggrieved sigh. “I never told them how to pose.”

  “Aunt Eleanor will have them working like dogs the whole holiday because of it.”

  Jamie flashed her a grin. “They’re being punished for act
ing like hellions. If they’d just made faces or something, they’d have gotten away with it. Their own fault.”

  “I suppose.” The explanation made Gavina feel a tad less guilty. Her brother, Stuart, had a mischievous streak a mile wide. “What do we do now?”

  “Wait for Curry to report. Thank you, Gav. You were right that I needed your help.”

  Gavina tried not to feel pleased. Jamie was a smooth-tongued devil, well she knew, Mackenzie to the core. But it was nice to be appreciated.

  She left him, wrapped up well, and went out to the paddock. Her father, the giant Cameron Mackenzie, swung down from a horse, his man and closest friend, Angelo, taking the reins. Gavina greeted them both but waited until Angelo led the horse away before she launched herself at Cameron.

  “I love you, Papa,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

  Cameron started then enfolded Gavina in his embrace as she dug her face into the folds of his coat. He smelled of horse and peat smoke, the scents she’d always associated with her father—scents that assured her he was well, and she was protected.

  Cameron’s voice vibrated through her. “I love you too, lass.”

  Gavina squeezed again, then rubbed the tears from her eyes as she kissed him on the cheek. She released him and ran for the house, leaving her father looking grateful if slightly perplexed.

  * * *

  Beth went tiredly to her bedchamber that night, having spent the entire day helping Eleanor with preparations for the coming celebrations. While she loved being with her sisters-in-law, she was happy to escape the frenzy, see her children to bed, and retreat to her own sanctuary.

  She found Ian waiting for her, a kilt draped around his nightshirted body. In the summer, he’d be wrapped in only the kilt, but in the deep Scottish winter, even Ian Mackenzie grew cold.