May-Jewel moved closer to Katherine. “Whoever he is,” she whispered, “he’s made Alex awfully angry.”
“He certainly has. But what I want to know is just who Alex is going to get to toss the gentleman out. You and I… or Charles?”
“No,” May-Jewel snickered and suggested, “Molly.”
Their soft laughter was drowned out by Alex’s boisterousness.
“I demand to know who you are and what you are doing here.”
The man slowly removed his riding gloves. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alexander Fleming, manager of this estate.”
The stranger looked greatly surprised and gave Alex an inspecting stare. “Well, Alexander Fleming, I’m Garth Craig, owner of this estate.”
Every trace of color drained from Alex’s face. Words formed on his paled lips but no sound came from them. At the mention of the stranger’s name, May-Jewel clutched Katherine’s arm and started to speak. But Katherine motioned for her to be quiet.
Finally finding his voice, Alex blustered, “Garth Craig is dead!”
“Obviously not!” the man replied. “Pity you’ve not been informed of my resurrection nor of my intentions of returning here. No matter.” A wry smile creased the corners of his mouth as he looked past Alex and spied the women. He then started in their direction.
Grabbing the man’s arm, Alex impugned his claim. “This is impossible! Garth Craig is dead and, even if he weren’t, you’d not pass for him for you don’t look anything like the Garth I remember.”
“I could say the same for you!” The man answered back. “The Alexander Fleming I grew up with would be much taller by now.” He raised his hand above Alex’s head. “About so high. So maybe you aren’t Alexander after all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Alex frowned as he slapped the man’s hand away. He was growing worried for as much as he didn’t want it to, there was something about this man that began to nudge at Alex’s memory. To hedge his bet in case he was wrong, Alex demanded, “No doubt, sir, you have a document or a letter of identification?”
“I do indeed, but you’ll not see it.” Garth Craig replied. His face grew dark and his voice threatening. “And I’ll not be restrained as if I were a ganging body looking for a handout, or a factor of old come to burn down the place! I’m the laird of this manor, and I’m here to take possession of what’s mine!”
“What be all the ruckus aboot?” Charles arrived at the great hall and shuffled toward the two men.
Garth, seeing him pushed past Alex and met the servant halfway. “Charles! Finally a face I remember.” He firmly grasped the frail shoulders. “I’m glad to see that you’ve not joined my father in the great hereafter!”
Charles stood rigid, staring into the man’s face, his memory jolted by the unexpected. “Tis ye?” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper, “Back from the dead!”
“Aye, ‘tis myself, you old rack of bones!” Garth replied, slapping the old man good-naturedly on his back.
The servant’s cracked lips spread into a smile.
“Charles, you fool!” Alex broke in, his voice tight with rage. “You know this isn’t Robert’s son! You’ll recall Mister Jameson’s visit with the news telling us of his death.”
“Aye, I do.”
“Then how can you believe this man? You haven’t seen the master’s son since he was a boy!”
“Nor have ye,” the servant replied. Ignoring Alex, Charles turned to Garth. “Sir, I have somethin’ to tell ye.”
“Whatever you have to say, old man, can wait until I’ve washed the dust off from my travels. I’ve come a long way. How about preparing my old quarters?” He patted Charles on the back again.
But the old man was insistent. “Sir, your father’s…”
Garth frowned. “Time for that later. See to my quarters. I’m tired and thirsty.”
“Stay where you are, Charles!” Alex ordered. “I don’t accept this! Robert sent his son away over nineteen years ago where he died in India. If he were alive, no one, including you, would possibly recognize him! This man could be an impostor!” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration for he knew he was losing control of the situation.
Charles looked at Garth recognizing more his brooding expression than his face. “He has his ma’s gloomy eyes an’ dark hair,” he said nodding his head. “An’ the Master’s square cleft-chin.” That seemed to settle it because without waiting to be dismissed, Charles picked up the man’s baggage and took his leave up the stairs. Jumbled thoughts formed on his lips in broken utterances. “The master will need ta know o’ the new wife an’ the dead bairn.” Pausing at the door of what was to be Garth’s room, the old servant listened to the angry voices still rising from the hall below, shook his white head, and entered the bedroom, saying, “Aye, I’ll be speaking with Master Garth soon.”
Watching the men argue, Katherine tried to make sense of this newest development. Hadn’t Alex said that the two families were like one, united in friendship for many generations? Yet there they stood, Alex and Robert’s son, face to face, and they didn’t know each other! But it had been a long time since they had seen each other. Could both have changed so much? Then a notion exploded in her mind.
Oh, God, what is to become of me and May-Jewel if he really is Garth? What will happen to us now that Robert’s son has appeared?
Even if, at the start, she hadn’t wanted to be a mistress of Wistmere, she now felt sick at the idea of losing it. Could that happen? But Mr. Jameson had signed all the papers! The estate was legally theirs… wasn’t it? Could this man really take it away from them? Katherine leaned against her sister. “He can’t be Sir Robert’s son! Can he?”
“I’ve searched my mind over and
