Chapter 1

One

OLD LODGE, SCOTLAND

The contrast of Scotland to the Sahara was startling, with its jagged slate peaks, the marshy bogs, double rainbows on late misty mornings, and the thick pine forest.

It could also be wild, forbidding, just as primitive in its own way, yet it was a refuge of sorts, a place where I had been raised as a child, along with the more cultured environs of London and other far places that I had traveled.

But it was here where I could pull on trousers and tall boots and lose myself to the calming silence amidst the rolling hills that lay beneath those jagged peaks.

Usually.

"Look what I found!"

My companion for my morning hike through the forest came running quite excited along the path we followed. Old Lodge, that formidable old hunting lodge, was tucked into the base of one of those peaks. With its legends and stories of smugglers, highwaymen, and that spectacular whisky distillery my great-aunt's father had established some years before.

It was also a place of hasty decisions. My own, that is, in what appears to have possibly been a rash moment, and I am not usually given to rash moments.

The north of Scotland could be unpredictable due to the changing season, and the roads which were almost non-existent when rain set in for days at a time.

It had been overcast most of the morning, the clouds pulling back at midday, then returning by late afternoon with that misty rain that was referred to as a fine soft rain.

That fine soft rain had soaked us both.

"What have you there?" I asked Lily, my ward, who had traveled to the Sahara these months past with my great-aunt and me.

She had been born in Scotland, although the year and her true family were mostly unknown. We had met during a previous inquiry case when she had worked as a lady's maid in an Edinburgh brothel known as the Church, and had surprisingly provided assistance. Not to mention that she had undoubtedly saved my life, or in the very least assisted Brodie in the matter that led to the solving of the case.

Afterward, I refused to simply leave her to the one prospect for her future in a brothel, and offered to bring her to London, provide an education, and hopefully a future far different from the one in the Church. She had eventually accepted my offer.

So here we were, trudging along the footpath together back to Old Lodge. I had taken her to all my old favorite places to explore in the woods. It did appear that she had retrieved something from the gap in the base of the juniper tree where I had gone exploring at very much her age. Although sadly, she had no way of knowing what her true age was.

" It was what mistress at the Church told me when I first went to live there ," she had said with a shrug at the time.

It was as close to being a mother as I would ever get, after being told I could never bear children after a particularly nasty illness as a child. And I was quite agreeable with that, as I had never been fond of infants no matter whom they belonged to.

A shortcoming, for certain, for most women. However, the truth was that I enjoyed having Lily as part of our somewhat unconventional family that consisted of my sister, the two of us orphaned quite young, then raised by our great-aunt who had never wed or had other family.

Although not for lack of prospects, as they say. She explained that she had simply never found a man worth attaching herself to, as she put it. I was not certain of that, and suspected that there may have been one particular man along the way. However, it seemed that nothing had come of it.

And to be honest my great-aunt was quite…unique. At eighty-six years of age, she had traveled extensively, lived quite well. She was rumored to be wealthier than the Queen, and didn't give a fig what anyone said or thought about the more colorful aspects of her life.

I adored her, and it had been said on more than one occasion that we had a great deal in common.

She had lived long enough to experience a great many things, had acquired a considerable amount of wisdom along the way, was unusually curious, and could be fearless when adventuring or learning about new things.

Except for the ‘damned telephone,' as she referred to it—noisy, bothersome, and people wanted to talk on it all day long. Didn't they have anything else to do?

Such as building a jungle in her solar, complete with a monkey, so that she could prepare for our safari. Or having a replica of the River Nile in Egypt built in the grand hall at her home at Sussex Square for a celebration.

All these months later, the boat was still there.

"Quite unique and exciting, don't you think ?" she had replied when asked if she intended to have it removed.

After all, who else had a full-size Egyptian sailboat found on the Nile in the middle of their great hall? And on more than one occasion she could be found taking afternoon ‘tea,' which in truth was some of the whisky distilled at Old Lodge.

I often joined her there, particularly after returning from Egypt and the Sahara on our recent safari.

"And how is Mr. Brodie?"

My answers had been quite inventive and invariably the same:

He was undoubtedly quite busy with an inquiry case.

He had taken on some additional responsibilities with Rory, a young boy orphaned in our previous inquiry.

Or, the counterfeit case we had both worked on had taken a great deal of his time.

And then, it seemed that he was in the midst of trying to find another location for the office, since the building on the Strand had apparently been sold . I had learned this from Munro, his long-time friend who was my aunt's estate manager.

When I ran out of excuses, I started over again. Not that it fooled my great-aunt.

The truth was that I had no idea how he was, other than the few very brief comments from Munro that I had been able to pry out of him. He was, after all, a Scot—they could be most reserved and reticent, as I knew only too well.

" I have not seen him in some days ," became a frequent response from Munro to my carefully worded comments about this or that in an attempt to learn more about what Brodie was up to.

The truth was there had been a serious falling-out between us during our last inquiry case. It was afterward that I had joined my great-aunt and Lily on their travels. I decided there was a need for some distance between Brodie and me in order to figure out some things—most particularly, our relationship.

When we returned, over a month earlier, there had been no contact from him, no inquiry regarding our adventure in the Sahara, no note to acknowledge that we had even returned...nothing.

It did seem that the anger and harsh words of that last disagreement had turned to indifference.

Lily was breathless as she caught up with me.

"Maybe there's word from Mr. Brodie today."

Having never known her father or any other family, she had grown quite fond of him during our ‘arrangement,' that now seemed as if it might be in jeopardy.

"I'll show him what I found," she added with a sideways glance.

The girl was far too observant and clever.

She now opened her hand to show me the ‘treasure' she had found rummaging around among the trees, rocks and hidden places, as we trudged back toward the lodge where I hoped a warm fire and a dram of whisky was waiting.

We stopped as we reached the gate the led up the flagstone walk to the Lodge. Her ‘ treasure ' was a medallion in the shape of a heart, but badly tarnished. It appeared to be of silver with the design of a thistle and a stag's head.

"Do ye think it was lost by a smuggler?" she asked excitedly. Smugglers and highwaymen were a favorite topic.

Anything was possible since the Lodge had been standing for more than three hundred years, certainly long enough for a smuggler to have traveled through. And there were all those old stories that my great-aunt had told my sister and me when we were children.

"Oh, my," my great-aunt said as Lily told her of her discovery and handed her the medallion.

My great-aunt softly smiled then stroked the medallion with her fingers. "It's called a ‘ Luckenbooth ,'" she told Lily.

She turned it over in her fingers. "It was given as a token between two lovers upon their betrothal."

"It will be quite lovely when it's polished," she continued, and I could have sworn there was a soft catch in her voice.

She handed it back to Lily. "You have made a marvelous discovery, my dear."

"Ye might give it to Mr. Brodie, when ye see him," Lily suggested to me.

That seemed unlikely, considering our last parting.

"There is mail on the side table," my great-aunt then mentioned, changing the subject quite handily as she continued.

"I opened a letter from your sister. It was over two weeks old. It seems that Mr. Warren has proposed. Lenore has thoughts about a springtime wedding; however, Mr. Warren has suggested Christmas," she continued. "He does seem quite eager."

James Warren was the publisher of my novels. He had been most excited about taking on my author career after I had encountered some...shall we call it opposition, even condescending attitudes from other publishers who, I had always suspected, took meetings with me in deference to my great-aunt's standing.

Mr. Warren had been enthusiastic and most eager for additional books, and I liked him very much. I had ‘arranged' for him and my sister to meet. They did seem perfect for one another.

"The time is quite short," my aunt continued. "It would require some rather quick planning. However, it will make the Holidays most exciting."

I smiled to myself. I did wonder if that might include a sail down the River Nile at Sussex Square. I had poured myself a dram of my great-aunt's whisky, and the feeling had finally returned to my toes.

The planning of a wedding most certainly would give her something to do after the excitement of our recent travels.

"Oh, and there is a telegram that the boy from the village delivered along with the mail," she added. "It's there on top of the letters."

A telegram? Was it possible that it was from Brodie?

I downed the rest of the whisky and casually approached the table. When what I wanted to do was snatch it up, take it to my room, and tear it open.

It was addressed quite formally, and I felt a sudden disquiet. It was the sort of missive that might be sent from an administrator or possibly...an attorney. It was addressed: Lady Mikaela Forsythe, Old Lodge, Inveresk, Scotland.

Brodie had been so very angry when we had argued. Was it possible that he had decided to end our marriage.

My hands shook...