Where Have All the Boys Gone?(34)

“He looks a bit doddery for whupping us,” said Katie, as the slightly feeble figure got closer. “In fact, if he threatens violence, just kick his stick away. He’ll probably go right over the cliff.”

“You’re quite scary,” Louise said to Katie. “HELLO?” she cried out to the figure.

The old man wobbled up to them. He was craggy, with white whiskers, and was wearing a tweed jacket that looked as though it had already been nibbled on by ten cows.

“You’re on mah land,” he said, sternly.

Katie looked at Louise questioningly.

“We’re on the cliff path!” said Louise. “And we’ve got . . .” she grabbed the concept out of thin air, thinking of what she’d read in Heat about Madonna “. . . rambler’s rights.”

The old man looked around. “Och aye,” he said. “Bugger.”

He stepped closer and looked them both up and down. “Are you those two new lassies in town?”

Katie smiled widely to show willing in case he was more dangerous than he looked. “Yes we are!” she said brightly.

“Here to sort out that poor Buchan boy,” said the man. “Guid.”

He turned around as if to stomp off, then turned back. “Aren’t you comin’ then?”

“Sorry,” said Louise. “Who are you?”

He stared at them as if he’d never been asked this question before, and indeed he probably hadn’t.

“Who am I?” he asked incredulously. Then he straightened up. “Laird Kennedy,” he said. “Now would you like a cup of tea?”

“I THINK THIS is the point where my marrying a laird and living in a castle fantasies are about to hit the wall,” said Louise as they followed the old man, who’d been joined by a mangy Labrador, down a narrow path through a hollow.

“On the other hand . . .” she said, stopping short as the view opened up ahead of them. It was less of a castle, more of a manor house, in grey brick, but silhouetted against the sea ahead, just around the curve of the coastline. It was magnificent. It had dozens of forbidding-looking windows on two floors, and wide steps leading up to the entrance.

As they drew closer, however, the building revealed itself to be in a desperate state of disrepair. Paint was peeling off the window ledges, and water was dripping down the eaves. Tiles were missing from the roof, and the big front door badly need repainting. Up close, in fact, the house looked quite scary, like something out of Scooby Doo.

“Come in,” said the Laird, taking them around the back and through a large kitchen with Formica units and an old-fashioned cooker that had undoubtedly seen better days. “Sorry about the mess,” he added, looking around as if he was as surprised as they were. “My housekeeping staff . . .” he trailed off for a moment. “Well, anyway, they’re all dead. Tea?”

Katie and Louise looked at each other, unsure whether to brave consuming anything in such a place. But then again, they ate at Mrs. McClockerty’s every morning.

“Sure,” said Louise.

“Just water for me,” said Katie, at the same instant.

Kennedy lowered his eyebrows at her. “Nonsense. Have some tea.”

He ushered them through the door and started clattering about looking for mugs. Katie caught a glimpse of a dusty cupboard almost entirely filled with cans of baked beans and spaghetti hoops.

The hall outside was absolutely massive, with a huge, not entirely safe-looking three-sided wooden staircase winding up to the second floor. A large grandfather clock stood solemnly next to the banisters.

“God, look at this place,” said Louise. “Don’t you think it would make just the most fabulous spa?”

“Have some respect,” said Katie. The tumbledown mansion made her oddly melancholy for some reason.

“I respect spas,” said Louise. “Where do you think we’re meant to go?”

There were several large oak doors leading off the hallway.

“Well, which one do you think is least likely to have the corpse behind it?” said Katie, not entirely joking. The only light coming in was from the windows upstairs, which, unsurprisingly, were none too clean.

Louise stepped bravely forward and pushed at the biggest, a large double door with an elaborate coving on top of it. It creaked.

“I’ve been on this ride at Alton Towers,” said Louise.

Katie crept up behind her and held on to her arm. Both of them were pretending not to be frightened.

“Better push it harder,” said Katie.

“You do it,” said Louise. “Once upon a time there were two girls lost in the middle of nowhere who accepted a drink from a strange man . . . and they were never seen again.”

“Stop being daft,” said Katie nervously. She shoved at the door.

The door creaked even louder this time, and slowly opened. Both of them leaned in, wide-eyed.

The room that greeted them was huge, with a dirty wooden floor, filthy old chandeliers and windows, so mucky you could hardly see through them, running the full length of the room. There was no furniture in it at all.

“My God,” said Louise.

“It’s a ballroom,” breathed Katie, completely enchanted.

“Just think what this would be worth in Kensington,” said Louise. “Can you spell a gajillion dollars?”