May-Jewel’s face darkened. “That remains to be proven. If he’s who he says he is, then we’ll lose our inheritance. If I understand Scottish law, he’d have the right to throw us out. And I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of returning to my former life.”
Katherine was silent as she too began the ascent up the sweeping stairs. She was sure how she felt, and she wasn’t going to give Wistmere up that easily either. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she missed most of what her sister was saying.
“… and we don’t know how cruel he is. He doesn’t owe us any loyalty or concern. Why, no one knows better than I that the love of position and money is a hungry love, and it has to be constantly fed.” They reached the top step. She looked at Katherine’s placid face. “You can’t tell me that this doesn’t upset you.”
“Yes, it upsets me. But I’m afraid that if he is Garth, he is legally more entitled to his father’s estate than either of us.”
May-Jewel stammered angrily. “What we have to do is write to Mr. Jameson, secure police action against this fraud, and boot him out of the manor. We’ll be the ones to prove he’s a fake.”
“This matter should be left in Mr. Jameson’s hands. It isn’t for us to prove or to disprove that man’s identity.” Pausing before her door, she added, a wry smile crossing her lips, “But on the other hand, maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“I was wondering. It would be interesting to know if there was a family Bible around just to see what it has to say about Garth. And to give us forewarning in case someone else suddenly appears trying to claim the title of an heir to Wistmere. A Bible would have names, dates of marriages, births and deaths, all duly recorded.”
“Of course, there has to be a Bible. For all we know Robbie even had a diary,” seeing the look on Katherine’s face, she corrected herself. “I mean, a journal or papers or whatnot. Ah, but wait, what’s better than a journal or the Bible to learn about family history?” When her sister didn’t answer, she supplied it, saying “Gossip!”
“Gossip won’t prove anything. It usually only reveals a fraction of the truth, if that, and from somebody else’s point of view. No, we need to find a Bible.”
“But the fraction of truth that it divulges might answer a few questions. Like how many times Robbie was married, and how many children he actually had, and the truth about him and his son.”
“We can ask Neal or Charles those questions. They would know.”
An exasperated look fell over May-Jewel’s face. “Not Neal or Charles. I was thinking about the cook. Molly would know. Charles is addlepated, and I don’t trust his memory. And I’ll wager he’s a part of the fraud, if there is one going on. And Neal isn’t likely to come here for weeks. I don’t think that man is Garth Craig. He doesn’t look a bit like Robbie. Robbie had fair skin, and his hair was rusty colored. That man’s complexion is dark like a Spaniard, and his hair is jet black!”
“My word, May-Jewel, that doesn’t prove anything. Your hair is black and my skin is dark, and we don’t look like Robert either! So what does that prove?” They entered Katherine’s bed chamber. “As for Charles, he’s well into his eighties. He’s a harmless old man who wouldn’t be taking part in a scheme like this, if it is a scheme. It’s Alex and his possessiveness toward Wistmere that we have to watch out for. This stranger, if he’s an impostor, can be dealt with rather easily with the help of the bailiwick.” Pacing the length of the room, she spoke again. “But something inside tells me that the man is Garth Craig! I’m going to speak to Charles. But first I need to wash up.”
The state of her own dress made May-Jewel gasp in dismay, and she left for her own room to do the same.
* * *
There was an irreproachable air to the lifetime servant. For over seventy years he had worked for the family, serving two lairds even before Sir Robert was born. Katherine knew Charles would know the Craig secrets, the hidden places, and the stories behind them. Her childhood memories of him haunted her. It was difficult to think of him as a servant when, as a young girl, she considered him sort of a white knight on horseback. Earlier in the drawing room his manner had been cold. It was still cold. As he stood before the women, his expression seemed almost hateful. He stiffened his stance as Katherine started to speak.
“Charles, you were here when Garth was born, were you not?”
“Aye.” His bushy brows met in annoyance.
“What can you tell us about Garth and his mother?”
He seemed startled by her request for he cringed visibly. He grew thoughtful. After all these years, ta be reminded of such a tragedy. Why does this woman want ta dig an’ rummage through the wispy-webs o’ an old man’s failin’ memory? They wanted him to resurrect the misery so long ago put into the hands of God. He knew that none of the past could be undone or erased. But there seemed to be no way for him to avoid answering.
Patiently, to try to put Charles at ease, Katherine repeated her question.
He frowned at her again. His thoughts slowly formed into words. “Lady Edythe were from London. Master Robert were scarcely twenty years when they be wed. She were a piteous thing, a puny English woman. Aye,” he
