Allegra Fairweather_ Paranormal Investigator - Janni Nell [30]
Once we were on the other side we returned to the tree-lined road. At this time of day the shadows were deep. Above us leaves trembled in the light breeze. One drifted down, brushing my cheek on its way to the ground.
The road culminated in a circular drive in front of Maitland House. The stately home was enormous. There were ten windows along each of the two stories at the front of the house—make that mansion—and who knew how many windows behind. A curtain in an upstairs window twitched as we walked across the circular drive.
Ten steps led up to the massive wooden front door, which boasted a gleaming brass bull’s head with a ring through its ugly nose. I was preparing to knock when Casper elbowed me in the ribs and pointed to a button beside the door. I guess in a house this size you couldn’t always hear a knock. I pressed the button and chimes echoed inside.
It took a while but eventually the door was opened by a man I presumed to be the butler. He appeared to be in his forties, and from his black bow tie to his highly polished black shoes, he was dressed exactly the way you’d expect a butler to be dressed.
Could this be Phillips, the man McEwen had so disliked? The butler looked at us as though we were pond scum.
Yep, this was Phillips.
“Good afternoon.” His English accent was as chilly as the loch in winter. “How may I help you?”
“Is Sir Alastair in?” I asked.
“Who shall I say is calling?”
I gave him my card. There was no point pretending I wasn’t a paranormal investigator. Everyone else in the village seemed to know who I was. There was no reason Sir Alastair would be unaware of the new kid on the block.
The butler showed us into what he called the drawing room and told us to make ourselves comfortable. Casper did exactly that, sinking into an armchair and stretching out his long legs. I did a quick search of the room but neither the original oil paintings nor the exquisite antique furnishings screamed paranormal activity. I was examining a vase that looked as though it came from some important Chinese period when Sir Alastair entered.
He glanced at the vase and smiled. “It’s a fake.”
Well that was a relief. I’d almost dropped it when I’d seen Sir Alastair. He was considerably older than the middle-aged man I’d been expecting.
Taking the vase out of my hand and replacing it on the mantelpiece, he said, “Please sit down. I’ve asked Phillips to serve tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”
Casper and I both said that tea would be fine.
Sir Alastair turned to Casper. “What part of Germany are you from?”
I was astonished that Sir Alastair had placed Casper’s accent so accurately. There was barely a trace of it left. Although some people realized he was from Europe, few could guess the country of his birth.
Casper said, “I was born in Munich.” That was a lie, but we had long ago decided that the anonymity of a big city was better than the real village of his birth, which had ceased to exist several hundred years ago.
Before Sir Alastair could ask for more specific information, such as the schools Casper had gone to, I asked, “Where were you born, Sir Alastair?”
“Right here at Maitland House. I was born in the last days of the war. The Second World War. My mother didn’t see the need to take up a hospital bed that could be used for a soldier.”
I was less interested in his mother’s self-sacrifice than in the confirmation of his age. It begged the question: What did Lady Justina see in him? Were a stately home and a few antiques sufficient compensation for marrying a man who was old enough to be your grandfather?
Sir Alastair settled himself on the lounge beside me. Close up I could see his thinning