“Well?” said Sir Percy.
“That was Cal Maconinch, the harbormaster,” Damian announced. “It’s bad news for Peter and Cassie, I’m afraid. A journalist from the Morning Mirror—a chap called Jack Nunen—has dropped anchor in Stoneywell Harbor, in a powerboat he hired on the mainland. The good news is that his ID checks out—Jack Nunen is who he claims to be—and he came alone. Cal searched the boat from stem to stern and found nothing to indicate that our stalker hitched a ride to Erinskil.”
The good news should have cheered me, but I was too sorry for Peter and Cassie to think of myself.
“Bloody Morning Mirror,” Sir Percy fumed. “If they’ve sniffed out the trail, the rest of the pack won’t be far behind. Mark my words, the wolves will be circling en masse by tomorrow night.”
“Didn’t Mr. Nunen object when Mr. Maconinch searched his boat?” Kate inquired. “I would have expected him to kick up a fuss.”
“He probably would have, had he been aware of the search,” Damian acknowledged. “Cal elected not to trouble him. He boarded the boat after Mr. Nunen had gone to the pub to book a room.”
“Excellent!” Sir Percy roared. “The Mirror’s maggots have no respect for anyone else’s privacy. Why should we respect theirs?”
“You’re Erinskil’s laird, Percy,” I said. “Can’t you ban reporters?”
“I can, but I won’t. It would only add fuel to the fire.” Sir Percy spelled an imaginary headline in the air as he spoke: “‘Feudal Laird Shields Lurking Lovers.’” He dropped his hand. “I assure you, Lori, interference from me would only make matters worse for our young celebrities. They should have come to Dundrillin when I asked them to. Mrs. Gammidge is an expert in pest control.”
“We can warn them, at least,” I said desperately. “You’ve got Peter’s phone number, Damian. Call him. Tell him the jig is up.”
“I expect he knows it already,” Sir Percy murmured.
“Even so . . .” I looked beseechingly at Damian.
He took out his cell phone and dialed, but there was no answer.
“Peter must have turned off his mobile,” he said, returning the phone to his pocket. “We could send someone down to the pub with a message, Sir Percy.”
“Don’t be daft, Damian. They’ll be here in less than an hour. We’ll break the news to them when they arrive.” Sir Percy heaved himself to his feet, returned to the liquor cabinet, and busied himself with topping up our drinks. “If they change their minds about moving into the castle, Kate and Elliot can fetch their things from the pub.”
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked ponderously as we sat brooding over our drinks. Sir Percy expressed his feelings by stabbing the fire viciously with the poker, but Elliot was the first to speak.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, Sir Percy,” he said. “Have you had a word with the postmistress about the missing mail?”
“A misunderstanding,” said Sir Percy, “just as I predicted. Mrs. Gammidge asked Elspeth MacAllen to dispose of junk mail addressed to me through the Stoneywell post office. Elspeth decided that letters from something called the Seal Conservation Trust had to be junk mail and disposed of them.” He tossed more turf onto the fire. “It won’t happen again. Elspeth will deliver all of my mail to Dundrillin from now on. You and Kate will decide what to discard.”
“A safer system for all concerned, sir,” said Elliot. “I was also wondering—”
We never found out what Elliot was wondering, because at that moment Mrs. Gammidge appeared in the doorway, with a bedraggled and breathless Cassie on her heels.
“Miss Thorpe-Lynton to see you, sir,” she said to Sir Percy. “She seems quite agitated.”
I hastily set my glass aside and ran to Cassie. She wore no hat or gloves, and her anorak was wide-open. Her hair was disheveled, her jeans and crewneck sweater were wet, and she was shivering.
“Your jacket, Damian,” I said. “She’s freezing.”
“Blankets, Mrs. Gammidge, if you please!” roared Sir Percy as he headed for the liquor cabinet.
I stripped off Cassie’s anorak, and Damian wrapped his blazer around her. Kate and Elliot shoved a chair closer to the fire, Cassie sank into it, and Sir Percy thrust a glass into her shaking hands.
“Brandy,” he said. “Get it down you.”
Cassie gulped a mouthful, sputtered, and tried to speak, but before she could get a word out, Mrs. Gammidge returned to cocoon her in an armful of woolen blankets.
“Shall I ring Dr. Tighe, sir?” the housekeeper asked.
“No!” cried Cassie, finding her voice. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“Not at present, thank you, Mrs. Gammidge,” said Sir Percy. “I’ll ring if I need you.”
“Very good, sir,” said Mrs. Gammidge, and withdrew.