Renie shrugged. “It’s the same thing.”
Moira Gibbs stood in the open front door, which was painted a bright blue. She was wearing a white wool dress with a glittering ruby brooch. “Come in,” she said, with a touch of warmth in her voice. “Pay no attention to Fergus. He’s beyond stodgy, but it’s difficult to find butlers these days. He’s been with the family since before I was born.”
She led the way past the colonnade and into the main hall with its soaring ceiling, marble statuary, and elegant plasterwork. “We’ll go into the library,” Moira said. “I arrived only a few ticks ahead of you.”
The library was large, complete with a balcony, wood paneling, and ladders to access books on the top shelves. Since no one was in the handsome room, Judith figured that Patrick was being discreet and making himself scarce.
Moira invited the cousins to sit in the leather chairs that formed a semicircle in the middle of the room. “A drink, perhaps?”
“We’re fine,” Judith said. “We want to offer our condolences. This must be a terrible shock for you.”
“Oh, it is,” Moira said, sitting down. “I’m muddling through on sheer nerve—and handfuls of tranquilizers.”
Judith wanted to believe that Moira was grieving. Surely a young woman with a baby who had been widowed twice would be devastated.
“I’ve been widowed, too,” Judith said with compassion. “I was left with a teenage son. That’s a difficult stage under any circumstances.”
“I would imagine,” Moira said. “Poor you. Now,” she went on, leaning forward and folding her hands on her knees, “you must tell me about your gas problem. Is it some sort of leak?”
Renie made a face. “I should’ve said petrol. We ran out. I keep forgetting that we’re two countries separated by a common language.”
Moira laughed. “Three,” she pointed out. “We have many Scots words the English don’t understand. I’ll have Fergus provide you with a five-liter can. Will that be enough?”
“Ample,” Renie replied. “Thanks. We’ll reimburse you.”
Moira waved a slender hand. “No, no. That would be inhospitable of me. We keep an extra supply on hand. Did you hire a car?”
“Not exactly,” Renie said. “It’s like a car…but…” She made a helpless gesture.
Moira frowned. “I heard the castle’s Morris saloon is being repaired.”
“It is,” Judith said, then changed the subject before Renie could lead their hostess further astray. “How old is your son?”
Moira smiled tenderly. “Almost five months old. He’s utterly adorable and quite good-natured.” A soft rap sounded on the library door. “Yes, Fergus?”
After the butler informed his mistress that her brother was on the telephone, he made a stately exit. Moira got up and went to a desk that looked as if it had been inspired by Chippendale.
“Pardon,” she apologized to the cousins. “Yes, Jimmy,” Moira said into the phone. “What is it now?”
Judith tried to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. “This is a wonderful room,” she said to Renie. “Look at all the leather-bound books encased behind glass.”
Renie gazed at her surroundings. “Valuable, maybe. Some are probably collectors’ items.”
Judith rose and walked over to the nearest bookcase, which was just opposite Moira.
“Oh, Jimmy, just take care of it!” Moira said testily. “You’re so good at handling this sort of thing. It’s hardly the first time. Don’t pester me with details. I’m sick of the whole thing.” She rang off. “I’m so sorry for the interruption,” she said, sitting back down. “My brother is extremely competent and very clever. I’ve no idea why he has to bother me with problems he can easily solve for himself. Where were we?”
Judith also sat down again. “Talking about your son?”
Moira smiled. “Oh—little Jamie. I named him for my father. He’s trying to crawl. I’d let you see him, but he’s down for a nap.”
“Never wake a kid from a nap,” Renie warned. “Mothers deserve some peace and quiet.” She grimaced. “Sorry. That’s an unfortunate thing to say, given what’s happened.”
“You mean to Harry?” Moira shook her head. “It was bound to. He brought it on himself.”
Judith tried to hide her astonishment. “He had enemies?”
Moira’s smile was ironic. “I suppose we all do, when we’re in business. But I can’t imagine…” She grew serious. “Like his parents, Harry was a risk-taker. Hang gliding, jumping out of airplanes, mountain climbing, rock climbing, hunting wild animals with a bow and arrow—he tried everything. He was fortunate not to have gotten himself killed long ago.” She noticed the curious expression on Judith’s face. “Please, make no mistake. It’s a terrible tragedy, but one has to face facts. Harry lived on the edge. He didn’t use good judgment.”
Judith began to understand. “You think it was an accident?”
Moira shrugged. “What else? We should have an official verdict after the autopsy. Jimmy set the funeral for Wednesday. I doubt that his parents will be—”
Another soft rap at the door interrupted her. “Yes?” she said.
Fergus stood stiffly in the doorway. “Mr. Cameron is here, ma’am.” His lips barely moved. Judith wondered if he could do ventriloquism.
“Tell him to wait in the west drawing room,” Moira said. “Would you please fetch five liters of petrol for these ladies?”
