The Adept Book 2 The Lodge Of The Lynx (50 page)

“No, but I like it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll put a candle in the window at the hospital.”

“Shall I give you one to use?” he asked, smiling.

She cocked her head at him and grinned. “Would you?”

“Certainly.” Moving over to the bookshelf beside his desk, he took down a votive candle in a blue glass cup and handed it to her.

“Happy Christmas,” he said quietly.

“Happy Christmas,” she replied, and resting her empty hand on his shoulder, leaned up to kiss him lightly on the mouth. He slipped his arm around her waist as he walked her to the door, neither of them saying anything, and she flashed him one of her forthright glances as they drew apart before emerging on the porch.

“So, what time shall I expect you Thursday?” she asked, as they went down to her car.

“Say, about four-thirty? I have to get the Talbots to the airport for a four o’clock flight back to London, so I’ll be there as soon as I’ve seen them off. Where is
there,
by the way?”

“Blackett Place, Number fifteen,” she said, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling up. “You’ll see the car. What should
I
be watching for?”

“Well, not the Bentley, I’m afraid—not for a night run to Melrose in probably horrible weather. I’ve rented a nice, staid Toyota Land Cruiser until my new Range Rover comes in—boring white.”

“Oh, drat!” she said. “You didn’t show me the Bentley.”

“I didn’t show you my etchings, either,” he said with a sly grin. “So I suppose you’ll just have to make yet another house call.”

“Hmmm, I suppose I will, at that,” she said, grinning back as she turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

Chapter Thirty-Five

CHRISTMAS DAY
dawned mild but grey. Peregrine came up to the manor house for Christmas brunch in the drawing room and found Gillian ensconced amid a sea of presents beside the tree, examining a picture book on horses—the gift of Adam and Philippa. Her blue eyes brightened visibly at the sight of the artist—for whom, it was clear, she had conceived an adoring little-sister attachment—and she scrambled to her feet to fling both arms around him in greeting. She had taken to calling him “Hawk” in the three days of their formal acquaintance, and though she remembered nothing of her nearly two months in coma, she seemed to sense in some wordless way that he’d had something to do with her emergence from shadow.

“Hullo, Uncle Hawk!” she cried, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek. “Did Father Christmas bring you lots of presents?”

“Oh, he brought me everything
I
need,” Peregrine said, glancing past her at Adam and grinning as he disengaged enough to set down the bag he had brought with him. “I believe he left a few things at my house by mistake, though.” He reached into the bag to pull out a small, brightly-wrapped parcel with Gillian’s name writ large on the gift tag.

“This is for you,” he told the little girl with a smile. “Happy Christmas!”

It was a charm bracelet: a fine chain of pale gold, from which hung the tiny figure of a Christmas angel. Gillian gasped in delight and promptly presented her hand so that he could fasten it about her wrist.

“Thank you, Uncle Hawk! It’s wonderful!”

“Mr. Lovat, it’s lovely!” Mrs. Talbot agreed. “But surely you shouldn’t have been so extravagant.”

Peregrine met this accusation with a boyish shrug. “Maybe not,” he conceded, “but it seemed appropriate somehow.”

He had presents for the rest of the company as well: for the Talbots, a pencil sketch of Gillian, wide-eyed and full of life.

“It’s a study for a proper portrait,” he told them. “When it’s done, I’ll bring it down to you in London in person.”

For Philippa, he had done a miniature portrait of Adam executed on ivory and set as a brooch, with Adam painted as a Victorian gentleman. She said only, “Thank you, Peregrine,” but her eyes said all the rest as she bade him pin it at the throat of her lace-ruffled blouse.

Adam’s gift came in the largest box—a bronze equestrian statuette, nearly a foot high. Adam whistled appreciatively as he took it from its nest of tissue and Styrofoam pellets, clearly delighted, then looked more closely and broke into a grin.

“Why, it’s Khalid!” he exclaimed in surprise.

“That’s right,” Peregrine said. “Done from some of my sketches by a sculptor friend down in London. I commissioned it not long after Urquhart. I hope you like it.”

“Like it?” Adam said. “It’s magnificent! Thank you very much indeed.”

“And I’m still going to do that equestrian study like the one of your father and
his
grey hunter that we talked about. I meant to have it finished for today, but somehow things kept coming up.”

Adam chuckled and murmured, “Excuses, excuses!” as he handed Peregrine a gift from him and Philippa. It was a complete set of Chinese watercolor brushes in a case of fine lacquer, along with a bronze mortar and pestle for grinding down pigments. The artist’s eyes lit with pleasure as he inspected all the bits and pieces.

“I’m glad you like it, my dear,” Philippa said, smiling to see the expression on his face. “Julian was able to find it for us, through one of her late husband’s antiquarian friends. I’m ordered to tell you that the Chinese characters on the case are all symbols of good fortune—which we hope you will enjoy all the days of your life.”

Brunch was attended with champagne, after which Peregrine excused himself to move on to other celebrations.

“I’m invited down to Julia’s uncle’s for Christmas dinner,” he told Adam, as they exchanged good-bye’s at the door. “I was asked to stay over, and Julia’s a little annoyed that I’m not, but I’m really keen to go on that Boxing Day hunt tomorrow, if the weather isn’t too rotten. I wish you were up to it.”

“Oh, I think I could probably manage,” Adam replied, “but I expect I ought to take advantage of the time with everybody else out of the house to keep hitting the research. You have no idea how distracting it can be to have a twelve-year-old bouncing around the house—not that I begrudge her newly regained health. Anyway, John will ride with you and see that you don’t get into trouble. And I know Gillian and her parents are looking forward to following the hunt by car. That will be something else quite new to them.”

Peregrine grinned. “It’s new to me, too—or at least it’s a
re-
newal. God, I haven’t hunted since I was at university.”

“Not on horseback, at any rate,” Adam said, flashing him a mirthless smile.

Peregrine’s mood yielded to sobriety, and he motioned for Adam to follow him down to the waiting Morris.

“I gather there’s no progress?” he said.

“None worth recounting. I’m working on a theory, based partially on something Scot said the other night, but so far, I haven’t got enough to go forward with any degree of confidence that we’d succeed. Unfortunately, we’re in the position of having to wait until the opposition make their next move—not a strategy I’d ordinarily recommend; I prefer preemptive strikes, when I have a choice. But I won’t risk the Hunting Lodge on what could become a suicide mission, if we move prematurely without adequate preparation.”

Shivering, Peregrine opened his car door and put his gift on the passenger seat.

“Well, I’m standing by, whenever you think we
are
prepared. And I’ll certainly let you know if anything occurs to me.”

They parted on that note, Peregrine to attempt regaining a festal mood and Adam to play the congenial host. The next day, when Adam had seen off the day’s hunters—Peregrine and the stableman mounted up and Philippa and the Talbots following in the Toyota, with Humphrey at the wheel—Adam retired to his books again. Around noon, the shrill of the front doorbell jarred him from his meditations. It was McLeod, bearing a bottle of the MacAllan. They opened it and shared a holiday libation, sitting in the bay of the library window with a vista out across the snow-powdered front lawn.

“I wish I had something in the way of news to go with this,” McLeod said glumly, lifting his glass, “but our quarry seems to have gone to earth, and try as I will, I can’t seem to pick up the scent. A missing persons report was finally filed on your boy Wemyss, but we’ve turned up zilch, so far. Interestingly enough, what little we
have
found out about him seems to point to the same kind of bland career we noted for the sinister Inspector Napier.”

“What’s
he
been doing?” Adam asked. “I’d love to come up with something to justify putting him into custody while we get this sorted out.”

“You and me both,” McLeod growled. “It’s hard to even look him in the eye, when we pass outside my office. But I haven’t got a
thing
on him—not even enough to sic Internal Affairs on him.”

“More’s the pity.”

They briefly reviewed the theory of the Hitler connection then, which only left both of them even more uneasy. Finally McLeod finished the last of his drink and stood, gathering up his scarf and overcoat from the settee.

“I suppose I’d better get back,” he said gloomily. “Jane’s got family coming over for dinner tonight, and I have to put in an appearance. Are you still planning to ride down to Melrose with us tomorrow night?”

“No, I meant to call you about that,” Adam said, as they walked toward the door. “I’m bringing Dr. Lockhart—yes, my charming doctor who makes house calls—so we’ll meet you there. How about a toddy at Burt’s Hotel at about six?”

“That sounds delightful!” McLeod agreed. “You and she can keep Jane company while the Masons walk. Is Peregrine coming?”

“No, he said something about plans with Julia, when I asked him.”

“Well, that’s fine,” McLeod replied. “He didn’t really know Randall, after all. And I’m glad to see that he’s spending some time with that lass of his. Do you think he’s going to marry her?”

Adam shrugged and smiled. “He hasn’t mentioned any long range plans. I expect it’s too soon to tell. He’s certainly a different young man from what he was two months ago, though.”

“Aye, and you’re largely the one responsible,” McLeod agreed. “You’ve brought him along very nicely. And the other night—” He smiled and gave a pleased nod. “Well, that was something special, indeed.”

“Now all we have to do is manage to keep him alive,” Adam said, a touch of the cynic in his voice. “This isn’t precisely the time I would have chosen to bring him in—but then, we aren’t often given options on those kinds of things, are we?”

“No, but we usually manage to come out all right in the end.”

McLeod started to get into his car, then paused.

“You know, Adam, I don’t know whether it’s occurred to you or not, but this thing at Melrose tomorrow could spark the opposition’s next move. I mean, there are going to be—oh, better than a hundred Masons all in one place, at a public event, with security almost impossible.”

“Do you have a hunch?” Adam asked.

“No, it’s just something that occurred to me. If I really thought something was going to happen, I wouldn’t take Jane. But it might not be a bad idea to keep our eyes and ears open.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Adam agreed.

He got no intimations of specific danger the rest of the day, though. He read in the library until the light began to fail, and had gotten up to turn on more lights when the Toyota pulled through the drive, heading for the garage to disgorge cold and hungry hunt followers. Shortly thereafter, Peregrine and John came trotting up the drive through lightly falling snow, Peregrine with a rosy-cheeked Gillian breathlessly astride behind him, holding tightly to his waist.

The next hour was a whirlwind of activity centered around putting up horses, shedding muddy Wellie boots, chivvying Gillian upstairs for a much-needed bath, and getting hot tea into the adults. Mrs. Gilchrist had done up a hearty stew for supper, and they ate it by Christmas tree light, sitting around the drawing room fireplace, while Peregrine and Gillian relived every minute of the day’s hunt in enthusiastic detail, to the hilarity of the Talbots and the indulgent amusement of Philippa and Adam. By the time everyone retired for an early night of it, Adam was almost as weary as if he had gone on the hunt himself, and slid into dreamless sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The Eve of Saint John promised to be even greyer than the day before, with a possible blizzard threatening to blow in by nightfall from the direction of Glasgow. Accordingly, Adam allowed ample time to get the Talbots to the airport. The parting from Strathmourne was both tearful and happy, for a recovered Gillian was going home. Peregrine came to see her off, bringing her a quick watercolor he had done of her sitting on Poppy, and even Philippa was a little misty-eyed as the Toyota pulled away from the front steps.

Adam got them to the airport in good time, saw them checked in, their flight apparently to depart on schedule, then bade them farewell and headed off to Blackett Place to pick up Ximena. Over a bulky Arran sweater and tan corduroy slacks, she was wearing sturdy snow-boots and a caramel-colored leather jacket with a sheepskin collar, an eminently suitable counterpart to his own cords and sheepskin coat. They exchanged a chaste kiss of greeting as she met him at the door, pausing for her to gather up a scarf, hat, and gloves before heading down to the Toyota.

“So, tell me more about the Mason’s Walk,” she said, as they headed south on the A 7 after exchanging the expected pleasantries about progress at the hospital and Ximena’s improved spirits after a proper stretch of sleep. Snow was blowing across the road in gusty swirls, but it was only enough to sift a light powder on top of the two or three inches already on the ground—enough to be atmospheric, but no inconvenience at all for the Toyota’s four-wheel drive.

“Well, I’ve never been before,” Adam replied, “but according to what I’ve been told, Masons from Lodges all over the Borders area attend. And of course, they’ll be from even farther afield tonight. They gather at the Masonic Hall there in Melrose, make a torchlight procession three times round the Merkat Cross, then continue on to the abbey itself, where someone gives a patriotic address. Then a lone piper plays “Flowers of the Forest,” in memory of all Scots who have died defending Scotland, and they process back to the Merkat Cross for a ceremonial dismissal, with the senior Lodge Master present taking the salute. That’s it. It takes about an hour.”

“It sounds lovely,” she replied. “I wish my dad could be here to see it. Freemasonry’s been getting some pretty bad press here lately, hasn’t it—even before your friend was killed?”

“It has, indeed. My partner from the police department is a fairly active Mason, and he’s been having to field a lot of the flak. You’ll meet him and his wife tonight.”

“Why would anyone want to attack the Masons, though?” she asked. “They only do good works. They certainly don’t do any
harm.”