Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,94

falls abruptly silent.

“Dinner time,” I say, wincing at the ringing in my ears.

Yes, the fly in the ointment is that Lord Ingram is a trifle eccentric. He’s an older man who used to be in the army, and he still walks with the stiff-backed gait of an officer. He also appears to disregard the century we’re living in completely. He wears velvet smoking jackets and cravats for dinner and parades around in a silk dressing gown that’s got more embroidery on it than a royal wedding dress.

He’s also highly suspicious of strangers on the estate and imagines that anyone who sets foot off his property will be caught up in anarchy and Armageddon with rioting and lawlessness.

When I’d realised the work on the wall painting in his chapel would take longer than initially thought, I’d toyed with asking if Niall could come and stay the night, but I’d dismissed that very rapidly as the old man would probably shoot him on sight.

I sigh, taking another look at the pile of brightly wrapped presents, and then straighten the cuffs on my dinner jacket. Dinner is a very formal affair here. When the meal ends, Lord Ingram and guests retire to the study for brandy, a custom that originated back when men desired to escape pesky women. There aren’t any women around at present, but Lord Ingram is a confirmed bachelor and holds rather a jaundiced air towards the opposite sex.

“I’ve just got to get through dinner,” I say firmly to the empty room. “Then another day at the most and then I’ll be home.”

An hour later, I glance at Lord Ingram from across the dinner table and suppress a smile. Attired in formal dress, with his huge moustache waxed and pointed, he still manages to look like a giant baby with his rosy cheeks and big blue eyes.

“Did you enjoy your dinner, Milo?”

“I did, thank you very much. Your cook is very talented.”

“He should be. I poached him from The Savoy.”

“Sounds like an egg,” I say idly without thinking.

To my relief he roars with laughter. “An egg. Ha, ha!” He rubs tears away from his eyes.

I smile before pulling my jacket closer around me. He’s utterly oblivious to it, but the room is freezing despite a roaring fire. That’s because he has all the windows open. He insists on it in case there are intruders. I’m not quite sure how open windows guard against burglars but I don’t want to ask. It would be a lengthy answer because he’s obsessed with intruders.

As if on cue, his head cocks to one side. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” I say patiently and honestly.

“Hmm. Bloody blighters are after the peacocks again. I’ll give them what for.”

“Oh,” I say, my voice gone high as he retrieves the rifle from the side of his chair. “Oh, really. It’s blowing a gale out there, sir. Aren’t the peacocks inside?”

“You have a lot to learn, Milo. The peacocks might be inside, but nefarious buggers are everywhere. The damned weather is no deterrent.”

At this point, the butler, Angus, enters the room. He’s tall and thin with a sour expression, and he and Lord Ingram seem to have a love-hate relationship. They both seem to enjoy the vitriol they show each other. At first, I was taken aback when Angus called Lord Ingram a mad bugger, and he returned that Angus was a spawn of Satan, but now I hardly notice it.

Angus takes one look at his lordship leaning out of the window with his rifle and shakes his head. He nudges me. “It’s not loaded.”

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

“Quite sure. That rifle hasn’t worked since 1858.” He makes a swirling motion next to his head. “The old bugger’s quite batty.”

“What are you muttering about, you ginger fool?” Lord Ingram asks.

“Just saying that you’re as nutty as a squirrel’s fart, my lord,” Angus says, bowing his head slightly.

Lord Ingram huffs. “Imbecile. Surely we have better members of staff than the bottom of the barrel I appear to be scraping with you?”

“No sir, or at least not ones who can accept the pittance you seem to believe is adequate recompense for dealing with you.” He pauses before bowing his head. “My lord.”

“Never known a man who can imbue two words with so much disgust.”

“That surprises me, my lord.”

“Hey, what? Damn it, there they are.” He clicks the rifle a few times. “What the hell is wrong with this bloody thing?”

“It doesn’t work, my lord.” Angus goes to stand by