‘Are you going to show them all the masterpieces?’ said Ewen with a giggle.
‘No,’ said Fergus, irritated by his quip. ‘I’m showing all we have time for.’
Does Ewen think his brother is boring on? As far as I’m concerned Fergus could continue as long as he wants, it’s such a treat to be taken around a collection. These days one can probably look most pictures up online but digital versions always fall short of originals.
I’ll never forget seeing Rogier van der Weyden’s The Deposition in the Prado. The emotion in the faces of the ten figures made me tremble inside. No digital reproduction could ever move me like this. Modern photography just doesn’t do a work of art justice, the vibrancy is lost, the size is misleading and the paint strokes are indistinguishable. Its only good use is in capturing intricate details.
What a joy it is to absorb the Muchtons’ collection from life. I think everyone else thinks so too as not one of them has brought out a mobile to take a picture.
Fergus turned to Jane and Felicity. ‘Would you mind if we looked at the portrait in your room?’
‘Oh goodie,’ said Felicity. ‘I’d so like to hear the history behind her.’
Jane opened the bedroom door and rushed in first, planting herself in front of the dressing table.
‘This is a portrait of Countess Antonia, the 3rd Earl’s wife,’ said Fergus. ‘Gather round in a semi-circle and you’ll get the full effect. It’s a marvellously accomplished painting.’
The buxom woman was dressed to the nines and when Fergus turned on the torch, the sheer beauty of the diamond necklace, hanging like an armoured collar round her neck, glistened and shone as if it were real.
‘I bet that’s worth a bomb,’ said Shane.
‘It’s painted by a follower of Raeburn so it’s not worth a vast amount but isn’t it beautiful.’
‘I meant the necklace.’
‘The necklace?’ said Lianne as if he were stupid.
‘The real thing,’ said Shane.
‘If only we still had it,’ mourned Fergus.
‘Family sold it I suppose,’ said Rupert.
‘It was stolen,’ corrected Ewen and Jane grasped the dressing table with fright. Maybe she’d had jewellery nicked in the past.
‘From the safe?’ Felicity gasped.
‘No,’ said Fergus, ‘our parents had returned home late from the Thane of Cawdor’s daughter’s wedding and got into bed without putting it in the safe.’
‘Fools,’ said Ewen. ‘It was stolen in the night.’
‘Burgled?’ said Rupert.
‘Yes, and the thief must have known exactly what he was after as nothing else in the house was touched.’
‘Terrible, just terrible.’
‘How frightful,’ added Jane.
‘Was it in their room?’ Minty wasn’t buying it. ‘You’re saying they didn’t wake up?’
‘Yes, that is odd,’ said Rupert.
Fergus looked hurt and Ewen explained. ‘Pa drank a lot and Ma often took sleeping pills.’
‘Three cheers for insurance,’ said Rupert, completely insensitive to the sentimental loss.
Fergus looked at his watch. ‘There’s time for one more picture. Come, out of here, we’re heading for the far end of the children’s corridor.’
‘Who’s sleeping all the way down here?’ asked Jane.
We were outside my bedroom looking at a painting of the Annunciation.
‘I am,’ I said and blocked the door – I didn’t want everyone peering in.
Fergus rushed into an explanation. ‘This picture of the Angel Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary is of little value but it has an interesting history in the context of the Muchtons. It was bought by our great-great-grandfather, the 6th Earl.’ Fergus sighed. ‘Our family have been as good at making money as they have been at losing it. The 5th Earl worked his socks off and thanks to him by 1873, when our great-great-grandfather inherited the title, the Muchton finances were in good order…’
‘A role model for you,’ interrupted Ewen.
Fergus continued unprovoked. ‘You’d think my great-great-grandparents…’
‘Our great-great-grandparents.’ Ewen was at it again.
‘Our great-great-grandparents had it all, but no amount of money in the world could buy them a son. They had three daughters, but were desperate for a male heir. So, despite the fact we’re a staunchly Presbyterian family, they put their prejudices aside and bought this picture of the Annunciation.’
‘Ooooo,’ said Felicity.
‘Jees, let me have a look,’ said Shane, pulling Giles out of the way.
‘The story goes,’ began Fergus, ‘that my, our, great-great-grandmother said a prayer in front of it every morning and every evening.’
‘Did it work?’ chuckled Rupert.
‘Of course not,’ said Ewen. ‘She had twin girls and gave up.’
Louis found this particularly amusing.
‘That’s why you’re twins,’ giggled Felicity. ‘Skips a generation, you know.’
‘What happened to the title?’ said Minty.
‘On her father’s death the eldest daughter became Countess Iona suo jure, in her own right.’
‘But she’s a woman,’ said Giles.
‘Muchton,’ said Fergus, ‘is one of a handful of Scottish hereditary titles that can pass through the female line in the absence of a son.’
‘Did she have a son?’
‘Yes, and so on her death it passed to him, on his death to our father and on Pa’s death to me.’
Giles turned to Ewen and said, a little cheekily I thought, ‘Bad luck you weren’t born first.’
Ewen wasn’t amused and neither was I. Giles’s comment had made me feel profoundly sad, bringing the conversation I’d had with Mum at Christmas to the forefront of my mind. So, when Fergus announced, ‘That’s the tour over,’ and began to march everyone back downstairs I nipped into my room to pull myself together.
I sat down on the bed and started to weep. I’m still finding it impossible not to, when I think about what I now know. It’s not that I regret having faced up to my parents and asked them, ‘Why am I an only child?’ It’s just their answer remains hard to digest.
It had been tough getting it out of them. First, Mum had avoided the question, jumping in with the usual, ‘Susie, there’s so much to do I think we should write a list, sort out the menus for the next few days, there isn’t time for any chatting right now.’ But I wouldn’t let it drop, I wanted to know, and Dad, who was looking out of the
