Cream Caramel and Murder Read online

  “I’ve heard you playing the piano. You must be dexterous to be able to do that so well.”

  “You’ve heard me?”

  My cheeks flushed with heat. “Well, not intentionally, but I was passing the music room and heard something lovely. When I peeked inside, you were playing. You’re very talented.”

  “It takes many hours of practice and a tyrant of a teacher to become that talented.” His own cheeks glowed. “But thank you for the compliment.”

  “You should try icing. It’s fun. I can show you.”

  After a second of hesitation, he walked over and looked at the brownies. “I don’t want to destroy your beautiful creations.”

  “If it doesn’t work out, you can always hide the evidence easily enough.” I patted my stomach.

  “Aha! Yes, very good. Excellent plan. Very well. Let’s have a go. What do I need to do?”

  I handed him the icing bag. “Keep the top twisted so the icing doesn’t squeeze out. Aim the nozzle at the center of the brownie and push down slowly.”

  Rupert shuffled his feet as he got into position and grasped the icing bag. “Like this?”

  “Move your hand a little lower down the bag.” I gently adjusted his hand. “And now, all you need to do is squeeze.”

  Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then a huge blob of chocolate icing shot out and landed with a splat on the counter.

  “Oh! This is trickier than it looks.” He held the icing bag away from him.

  “Try again. Let me guide you.” I placed my hand over his and aimed the nozzle. “Squeeze very gently. If you press too hard, the icing bag can explode.”

  Rupert chuckled and cleared his throat. “You’re so good at this, Holly. A real professional.”

  I glanced up and noticed how flushed his cheeks still were. I instantly stepped back. Lord Rupert was a good-looking guy and had a voice that could charm angels, but he was nobility. And I was, well, I was awesome in my own way, but definitely not meant for tiaras and ball gowns.

  “Maybe you’re right.” I extracted the icing bag from his hands. “I’ll stick to the icing.”

  “And I’ll stick to ...” His brow wrinkled. “Well, I’m not actually sure what I’m any good at.”

  “You’re good at lots of things. Your music for one. And you love gardening.” Rupert was always out with the team of gardeners.

  His mouth twisted to the side. “I may love gardening, but gardens don’t love me. I’ve been trying to cultivate that herb garden for six months. Everything dies. I think I have black fingers, not green fingers.”

  “You enjoy it. That’s the main thing.”

  He jabbed a finger at me. “You’re right. And you can only get better with practice. I learned that from my terrifying piano teacher.”

  “Absolutely! You should have seen the first few cakes I made. Burned on the bottom and soggy in the middle. They were inedible.”

  He laughed. “I really can’t imagine that. Everything you make tastes like magic.”

  “You’ve yet to sample my attempt at Roman honey bread,” I said. “I can’t get it right.”

  “I’m sure it will be delicious. I’ll have several slices when you’re ready to showcase it.”

  “Let me perfect the recipe first before I let it loose on you. I don’t want Campbell accusing me of poisoning you as well as trying to run you over with my bike.”

  “Oh dear, don’t mind him. He’s terribly protective of us all.”

  “Which is a good thing. That’s his job.”

  He chuckled. “Right again, Holly. Not only an amazing cook and pretty, but clever too. You really are the whole package.”

  I grabbed a cloth and flapped it. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  Rupert cleared his throat as an awkward silence grew between us. “Oh! Before I forget, Granny’s requested your presence.”

  My heart jumped. “She has?”

  “Yes! She wants extra dessert. When I told her about this evening and the food, she insisted on sampling the treats you’ve made.”

  “Perhaps you could take them to her.” I gestured at the cakes. “I’ve still got a lot to do here.”

  “I would, but she insisted on you. I think she rather likes you. Well, I’d better get on. My guests are settling in, and they’ll be wondering what happened to me.” Rupert nodded, smoothed a hand over his messy hair that always looked in need of a good brush, and hurried out of the kitchen.

  The door shut behind him, and I took a deep breath. Oh boy. Lady Philippa Carnegie wanted to see me. I liked the old lady, but she was as eccentric as they came.

  And if that wasn’t unsettling enough, the east turret where she lived was rumored to be haunted.

  Chapter 4

  Half an hour later, I ran my gaze over the desserts. They were ready to go. I’d placed the trays in the cooler cabinet until it was time to take them to Lord Rupert and his guests.

  I selected a small china plate from the cabinet in the kitchen and placed three small cakes on it, choosing one of each so Lady Philippa had a good selection.

  I’d been to visit her a dozen times in her private quarters in the east turret of the castle. Every time I went for a visit, I got the chills.

  There were rumors and legends about the east turret. Not least of which included several ghosts who put in an appearance and scared people.

  I’d yet to see them, and hoped I never would, but I’d experienced a fair few cold spots. Apparently, that meant a ghost was lurking around.

  I wasn’t making this journey on my own, though. Chef Heston refused to let Meatball in the kitchen while I was at work, which was fair enough. No one liked free fur in their food. Instead, he got to spend his days in a luxurious kennel right outside the kitchen door.

  I’d paid to have it installed, after getting permission from Duchess Audley. She was a huge dog lover, and the owner of six feisty, pampered corgis, and had been only too pleased to accommodate Meatball.

  I poked my head out the back door and whistled softly.

  Meatball’s head appeared from the kennel before he hopped up and hurried toward me, his little tail wagging with delight.

  “How would you like to go see Lady Philippa? She loves you.”

  “Woof woof.” The tail wagged harder. She always had a treat ready for Meatball when we visited.

  “And you can see Horatio,” I said.

  The tail stopped wagging. “Woof.”

  “Be nice to Horatio. He’s an old dog. That means he can be grumpy.”

  “Woof woof.”

  “And he’s a royal dog, so we need to be on our best behavior around him.” Horatio was an ancient, gassy, mildly overweight corgi who enjoyed nothing more than snoring loudly on the stunning four poster bed in Lady Philippa’s bedroom. When he was awake, he spent the whole time glaring at Meatball and growling if he got too close. Poor Meatball. He only wanted to make friends, but Horatio was having none of it.

  I checked the coast was clear, and Chef Heston wasn’t around, before hurrying through the kitchen with Meatball. I grabbed the cakes, and we dashed into the corridor. It led to a large open-plan hallway, lined with dark polished wood furniture. Framed portraits of members of the Audley family lined the walls as we hurried to the stairs of the east wing turret.

  The stairs were made of stone and twisted around as they led up to Lady Philippa’s private quarters.

  It was one hundred and fifty-two steps to the top. I’d counted them the first time I’d come up here.

  I slowed as we reached step thirty. Every time I passed this spot, there was an intense cold draft. I swallowed. It wasn’t a ghost. Nothing spectral was about to fly out and scare me.

  Meatball tilted his head and his ears lowered. He barked three times.

  “It’s just a cold draft. There’s probably a gap in the stone.” I raced past the cold spot to be on the safe side. There was no point in tempting fate.

  We’d made it halfway up the stairs when there was a loud thud behind
me. I increased my pace, my heart racing.

  “There is no such thing as ghosts. There is no such thing as ghosts,” I whispered repeatedly. “It’s just an old spooky turret. There’s nothing to see here.”

  Meatball was as jumpy as me and scrambled up the stairs as fast as his stubby legs would let him, his nose bumping into my ankle in his haste to get away from the cold and the strange noises.

  I slowed as I peered out of a narrow window. They’d been designed for use by archers who’d protected the castle from potential invaders hundreds of years ago.

  Meatball pushed past me and bounced on his paws as he waited at the top of the steps, the fur on his back standing up. He knew the perilous journey was worth it. Lady Philippa only had the best food in for Horatio, and she always shared his treats when Meatball came calling.

  I blew out a breath, my thigh muscles aching from the steep climb as I reached the final step. We’d made it in one piece.

  We reached a closed wooden door that led into the corridor of Lady Philippa’s private quarters. Well, I called them private quarters. She called it her own private prison.

  I was about to push the door open, when it creaked on its hinges and slowly opened on its own.

  Meatball took a step back and whimpered.

  I rested a hand over my heart and peered cautiously around the door, half expecting to see a ghost behind it. Of course, there was nothing there.

  “It was just a breeze,” I said quietly. I shuffled around the door, Meatball glued to my heels.

  The corridor was made of stone and had large leaded windows set along one wall. The windows looked over some of the beautiful gardens of Audley Castle, displaying a stunning ornate rose garden, which Lady Philippa loved to look at.

  “Who’s there?” a high-pitched voice called out.

  “It’s Holly Holmes, Lady Philippa.” I hurried to the end of the corridor to another door which stood ajar and pulled it open.

  “Holly! Of course, I asked Rupert to send you. I hope you’ve brought me plenty of treats.”

  I smiled at her as I walked in. Lady Philippa was a well-preserved seventy-eight, with beautiful high cheekbones and porcelain skin that was only faintly lined. She had a neat blunt bob that was currently dyed a startling magenta. She was dressed head to toe in pale pink silk and had three rows of pearls around her neck.

  She gestured me in with a glittering, ring covered hand. “Don’t stand on ceremony, girl. You’re always welcome in here.”

  A loud snort came from Lady Philippa’s bedroom. That must be Horatio, no doubt resting his pampered furry head on a silk pillow.

  “Where would you like your cake?” I asked Lady Philippa.

  “On the table beside me is fine.” She patted the seat next to her. “And you must join me. I haven’t seen anyone all day. No one wants to talk to an old woman these days.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’m catering a party for Lord Rupert this evening.”

  Lady Philippa sighed and her gaze dropped. “I get so lonely stuck in this tower. My daughter is cruel for keeping me locked in here.”

  I bit my bottom lip. Every time I saw Lady Philippa, she mentioned how she’d been banished to the turret. The problem with that was the door was open. She could walk down the stairs any time she liked.

  I could spare her ten minutes. I settled in the seat. “You should arrange a trip out one day.”

  She turned and smiled at me. “Oh, no. It wouldn’t be approved of. Isabella always says I cause problems wherever I go. It’s why she keeps me trapped here. I’m a prisoner in my own home.”

  “Just a walk around the gardens might be nice.”

  Lady Philippa selected a lemon tart as she waved a hand in the air. “Enough glum talk. How’s your love life?”

  I sucked in a breath. Here was a woman who got straight to the important stuff. “Well, I mean, work keeps me busy. And I’m not really looking for anybody.”

  “You should always be looking for someone, my dear. My marriage to William was such a happy one. He swept me off my feet with his grand gestures. Have I told you, he used to send me a bouquet of flowers every day until I agreed to marry him? Two hundred and seventeen bouquets. That’s commitment.”

  I smiled and nodded. Lady Philippa loved to talk about her late husband, William Carnegie.

  “And he would write me poems. I never liked to tell him that they weren’t particularly good, but it was such a sweet gesture. Rupert enjoys poetry too. He must have gotten his love of that from William. He often read to him when he was a child.”

  “I’ve heard Lord Rupert reciting poetry,” I said. “He does enjoy it.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed a fraction. “He’s a good boy. Single too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Um, well, he must be waiting for the right person.” Lady Philippa couldn’t seriously be thinking about matchmaking us.

  “And he comes to see me regularly. I barely see Isabella these days. I can’t remember the last time she came for a visit.”

  “Wasn’t she here two days ago? I remember her ordering afternoon tea from the kitchen for you.”

  “Oh, no. You must be mistaken.” She nibbled the edge off the tart.

  I got the impression that Lady Philippa enjoyed the drama that came with living in a turret. It was like some grand romantic tragedy where the heroine was trapped and kept from enjoying her freedom. The truth was, she’d shared over fifty happy years with William before he’d died in his sleep. That was a lot more happiness than most people got, and her family was always coming to see her.

  “You need to find yourself a nice young man,” she said.

  “I’m still finding my feet in the castle. I’ve only been here a few months. There’s still a lot to learn. I’ve no time for romance.”

  “There’s nothing you need to learn when it comes to baking. Your cakes are divine.” She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad we found you. Although it was a pity your café had to close.”

  “You knew about my café?”

  “Of course. I keep an eye on everything that happens in the village. We are caretakers of this wonderful place. I even had my chauffeur place an order on my behalf once or twice. I wasn’t disappointed. And when I learned you were joining the staff, I was delighted that I’d have access to your cakes at all times.”

  “I do miss my café,” I said. “But I enjoy working here.”

  “I wonder if you might make me those—” Lady Philippa tensed in her seat. The tart she held dropped onto her silks as she grabbed a notepad off the table and began to scribble with a pen.

  “Is something the matter?” I leaned forward in my seat as she continued to scribble rapidly across the page.

  Her cheeks were pale as she sucked in a shuddering breath. “Death is coming to Audley.”

  I jerked back in my seat. “What do you mean?” I’d heard so many things about Lady Philippa. Some people claimed she could see the future. Others said she had the ability to curse people who did her wrong. I didn’t believe any of that, but her current behavior was certainly odd.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my! It involves Rupert.”

  “Lord Rupert’s going to die? What should we do? Should I tell him? We can increase the security presence around him. I can call the police. How about—”

  “No! He’s not the one who will die, but death is following him like a second shadow.” Lady Philippa’s hand shook as she lowered it into her lap. “Holly, you must protect him for me.”

  I tilted my head as my brow lowered. “I ... um, well, he’s got a great security team around him. I’m sure they’ll spot if there’s any danger.”

  “You understand him. He trusts you. If you tell him he’s in danger, he’ll listen. I know what that boy is like. He always has his head in the clouds. He never sees a problem until it’s too late.”

  My thoughts turned to the recent incident with the bike. Rupert really hadn’t spotted me. Maybe he did need somebody else looking out for h
im if danger was coming his way.

  Lady Philippa reached over and grabbed my hand. “You must protect him. Guard him with your life. He’s such a precious boy. I cannot imagine a world where Rupert isn’t in it.”

  I patted her hand. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, though. He’s spending a long weekend with his best friends. No harm will come to him.”

  “I see the truth. Rupert’s in trouble. I cannot be there myself to protect him given my current incarceration.”

  I glanced at the open door. “Lady Philippa, you do realize you can leave any time you like?”

  She lifted a finger to her lips, and her gaze darted around the room. “Don’t be fooled. The door may well be open, but it doesn’t mean I can walk through it.”

  I glanced at the door again, not at all certain what that meant. “If it makes you feel any better, of course I’ll look out for Lord Rupert.”

  A relieved sigh shot out of her mouth. “Thank you so much.”

  “May I?” I gestured to the fallen tart staining her beautiful silks.

  “Oh! I’d forgotten all about the food.” She nodded at me.

  I scooped the tart into a napkin.

  Meatball whined and nudged the tart with his nose.

  “Where are my manners?” Lady Philippa seemed to forget about her startling revelation about murder as she pulled three dog treats from her jacket pocket.

  Meatball stood on his hind legs and waggled his front paws in the air.

  She laughed as she tossed him the treats. “He’s such a delightful dog.”

  “I happen to agree.” Meatball was one of a kind, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

  “I’m so glad to have you here.” Lady Philippa reached up and unclipped the pearls from around her neck. “Have these as payment for taking care of Rupert.”

  I shook my head. Those pearls were worth a fortune. “No! There’s absolutely no need to pay me. I could never take your pearls.”

  She ran the pearls through her fingers. “They belonged to my great-great-grandmother. She was a terrible woman. She always liked to find fault in people. It would be amusing to give them to you. You could wear them in the kitchen while you worked. She’d spin in her grave. Hah! I should insist you take them simply because of that.”