“Thank you,” she says, turning away from Maximilian and towards the little girl. “Rebecca, are you sure you're okay? That was a terrible thing to experience out there.”
“I'm fine, but can I go and get my wooden train set and bring it in here to play with? I promise I'll go to the playroom and come straight back.”
“Okay, but be quick. I don't want you catching a cold around here.”
Rebecca beams with glee and leaves the room, her tiny footsteps disappearing up the main stairwell nearby and to her playroom.
Maximilian looks across at Melody. His handsome smile filled with deep admiration. His grin widens.
“How about we dabble a little while the child is out?”
“Dabble? Mr Deacon, I thought I told you that...”
Maximilian laughs. “No, I meant with this!” He stands up and moves across the room to an old wooden cabinet. Opening it, he pulls out a glass decanter of whiskey. He grabs it and two fine glasses, bringing them over to Melody and pouring the rich deep brown spirit into each glass.
“I'm not sure...” Melody says.
“Come on,” Maximilian stares. “You've had an awful fright, and this will warm you up. It was cold out there.”
Melody reluctantly takes the glass. She smells the peat from it, a smoky aroma that comforts her.
“This is made at our local distillery,” Maximilian says, taking a large gulp and seemingly relishing it.
Taking a sip, it does indeed warm Melody's insides, and the rich texture is deep and welcoming. For a moment, any thought of ferocious winds or torrential rains evaporate. She whispers under her breath, “Thank You, God.”
The warmth of the fire and the embrace of Deacon House nourish Melody and help heal her anxieties, at least temporarily. You're here to find your dad, she thinks. Not to get comfy.
With that on her mind, Melody sees an opportunity. She has rarely been alone with Maximilian, more so because his efforts at flirtation grow tiresome at times, and Will's own warnings that he often gets involved with the staff at Deacon House, has made Melody keep her distance, until now.
“How are you finding it here?” Maximilian asks, smiling with his glass hovering at his mouth.
“I love it here.” Those words appear from nowhere. You do love it here, Melody. Don't you? In her discomfort at her answer, she does not take another sip at the whiskey, she just holds it in her hand.
“I'm very glad, Melody. You don't mind me using your first name, do you? Miss Winter always seems so formal.”
For a moment, Melody is going to correct him, but then she sees a path. A way to find out more about her father. Only by allowing herself to get close to those at Deacon House can she uncover anything further.
“I've been surprised that the people in the village are a little hesitant about me coming to Deacon House,” she says, planning her next move.
“Ha!” Maximilian says loudly. His laugh echoes out beyond the room. “'Hesitant' is putting it lightly. They downright hate us.”
“Oh, why is that?”
Maximilian sips his drink and looks out the window, its glass obscured by a thousand tiny raindrops. “My father bought a lot of the land around here in recent years. He'd always had a decent enough relationship with the townsfolk at Talon's Point, but when he did that and started charging local farmers higher rents to graze their sheep on his hills, things got a little out of hand.”
“Villagers with pitchforks at your door?” Melody laughs.
“Something like that, yes. Since then, they've been reticent in their dealings with us. But like it or not, we own 60% of the island, and they have to do business with us.”
“So, when did your father pass away?” Melody asks.
“What makes you think he's dead?” Maximilian's voice now carries with it a sharper quality than before, as if he's annoyed by Melody's assertion.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry...” Don't push too hard, Melody thinks to herself in the same moment.
Maximilian sighs. “Oh, please don't apologize. It's a difficult subject for me and Will. The truth is, Dad disappeared a while ago. We don't know where he is exactly, but there are two possibilities as far as I see it.”
“And they are?”
“Someone in the town either did away with him or he's off gallivanting with a woman half his age.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Melody says. “That must have been very hard on you and Will.”
“The three of us, my brother Harris, Rebecca's father, was still alive then.”
“There's been so much tragedy here... One of the townsfolk...”
“Let me guess,” Maximilian interrupts. “One of the townsfolk told you about Deacon House being a bad place, filled with grief and tragedy?”
“Something like that.”
The rain increases in strength, the howling wind throwing it against the outside of the building. For a moment, they both break off their conversation and turn their attention to the sound. It is haunting, yet powerful.
“Does it always rain like this?” Melody asks, genuinely curious.
“In Scotland, the weather changes so quickly. That's why I don't blame you for what happened earlier with Rebecca. You weren't to know. We should have warned you. But, contrary to popular belief, we do get sunshine, too. That's how we grow the malt for this stuff.” Maximilian holds up his glass and looks at the golden brown liquid in his glass, illuminated like the depths of the sea by the warm fire nearby.
While Maximilian is seemingly bewitched by the swirling drink in his glass, Melody senses a good lull, a place to find out more.
“So... It's funny, do you know Rob Maclean?”
“Aye, of course. Bit of a hotshot, but not a bad one.”
“I was asking him about Mr Sanders, the man who taught Rebecca before me, and he
