Garreth Warren was standing on the dock as the boat arrived, wearing a mac against the expectant weather. His hair was blown by the stiff ocean breeze.

He caught the lines and helped tie the boat up.

"Mornin' Tam, good to see ya! Got anything good for us, today?"

"Some packages and a visitor," Tam said gruffly. He wasn't one to make small talk as he handed up a brown paper wrapped bundle to Garreth.

"That would be me," a female voice spoke up from the cabin of the small boat. A trunk was pushed out, followed by a brunette in a wool coat with curly brunette hair. "How do you do? I'm Dr. Marsden. From the British Museum ." She looked up at Garreth, and he could see she was maybe in her mid thirties, with deep brown eyes in a moderately attractive face. She stepped over to the rail, pulling her chest along. "Are you from the Castle by any chance?" she asked as she stood up and pulled her wool coat shut against the icy wind.

Garreth was broad of chest and had brooding dark eyes. He stradled the space between the dock and the boat, tossing the first package to the dock and reaching for Sandra's trunk. "No, ma'am," he answered. He looked her over with a small grin. She would have to guess his age close to hers.

Lifting the trunk to the dock, he continued, "No, I'm from the Institute, but I suppose I could take you to the Laird's, if you like." He jerked his head toward the end of the dock where a lorry that looks like it was left over from the war sat idling in the morning fog.

"Oh no! I meant the Insitute!" Dr. Marsden corrected herself. "The old castle... that's where the Institute is, yes?" she asks as she lifts up the trunk for Garreth to haul onto the dock.

"Well, yes it's a bit of an old Roman ruin that was used by one of the former Laird's before MacKenzie Castle was built," Garreth said, his smile broadening at the idea of this lady at the Institute.

"Is Colin expecting you?" he asked, offering a hand to help her to the dock.

"I hope so!" Dr. Marsden said as she accepted his hand up to the dock. "I wrote him a month ago, informing him of my intention to come, but received no answer in the post."

"And you are?" Dr. Marsden asked as she stood up on the pier, revealing herself to be a rather tall woman.

"Garreth," he answered holding her hand a moment longer than etiquette demanded. "I'm pretty much the Institute handy man, if we have such a thing. On my better days I debate philosophy with Colin."

Releasing her hand he looked back to Tam for the other packages. "If you want to get our of the wind, the lorry's heater is working today."

"Philosophy? I'd like to listen in sometime to such a debate," Sandra said with a smile.

"Oh... heat? Thank god..." she exclaimed at the mention of the Lorry heater. She grabbed her trunk by the end handle and started dragging it to the car. From the wear and tear on the brass edging on other end of the trunk it was apparent this was a standard procedure for her. "I have to admit it's frightfully chill up here. I normally spend my winters in Cairo ," she told the handyman.

"If you let that there, I'll be glad to get it when I'm done here," Garreth answered as he took two packages from Tam and piled them with the first.

The lorry's front seats were worn thin, but not torn. It might smoke a little, but it seemed to be chugging happily, awaiting Garreth's return. It had been modified sometime after the war with balloon tires and a full windscreen. The back had a few boxes and some burlap bags.

"Oh... right," Dr. Marsden said, looking down at her trunk. "Thank you." She lowered the end she was carrying down, then proceeded to walk to the lorry and climb into the passenger side.

"Are there many people at the Institute?" Dr. Marsden asked when Garreth joined her in the lorry.

Garreth rubbed his hands together and held them under the heater for a moment. He ticked off the names on his fingers, "There's Colin, myself, Ian, Sean, and Michael. Nedra, Morgan, Angela, Caroline, Kelly and Lynn, and of course Rose."

"What's that, a nice round dozen?" He dropped the lorry into gear with a lurch, not from his driving but the sheer age of the truck. "How'd you decide to join our... uh, studies?"

"I've... come to visit," Dr. Marsden answered. "Partially to get away from the bustle of London . Mostly to visit your ruins here." She looked out over the weathered hillsides. "Colin was kind enough to put me up. I think the deal is I could stay with your group, and I would give some classes on the types and history of the various ruins on the island."

Garreth nodded, and pointed out to the headland to their right, across Verrisay Bay as the lorry rambles out of the village. "That's Mackenzie Castle," he said as the fog was beginning to burn off.

"The several of the old ruins are off toward Sloc Mharluin," he said jerking his head toward his left.

"How do you know Colin?" he asked, his eyes lingering over her bare ankles for a scant moment.

"A colleague of mine at the Museum gave me the idea of coming here and put me in contact with Colin," Sandra said as she looked out towards the old ruins. "I've not actually met Colin yet. We've only corresponded. Still, he seemed quite open to the idea of my staying with the Institute for a while as I did my research."

As they passed the dunes of the neck of the island, the truck began to sputter a bit. Garreth nodded in answer to Sandra's comments on research, but by the time the truck reached the split to either the Castle or the Institute, smoke was rolling out from under the hood. He pulled off the road at the intersection, cursing beneath his breath.

"Oh dear," Dr. Marsden said, watching the smoke billow from the hood. "Does this happen often?" she queried Garreth.

If Dr. Marsden or Mr. Warren had looked up, they might have seen a tall man walking down the road approaching the lorry from the castle road. He was wearing a jacket and a hat, but did not seem to mind the weather. It was clear that he had spotted the lorry and its troubles, but he seemed in no hurry.

As Garreth opened his door with a little difficulty, as it seemed jammed, he nodded. "Too often I fear."

He reached behind the seat for a tool bag and closed the door, trying to keep Sandra warm.

As he lifted the hood, he noticed Davis already walking his way, and shook his head in amusement. He then buried himself in the engine trying to find what today's trouble was.

Sandra in the mean time dug into her coat pocket, then pulled out and unfolded a hand drawn map of what appeared to be the island. She studied it carefully, apparently oblivious to the approach of the gentleman from the castle.

Davis approached the lorry as if he owned it, or perhaps as if he'd built it from parts himself. It might be that he had. His large, weathered hands gripped the open engine compartment. He turned to Warren and said, without preamble, "D'ye smell't, lad?"

Garreth looked up, a rueful grin on his face. "No, else I'd have stopped before now, don't you think, Davis ?"

"You think we're walking the rest of the way, or can you work another of your miracles?" he asked.

Davis leant down and opened the tool bag, rummaging around until he found a spanner and a screwdriver that looked as if it moonlighted as a crowbar. "Did ye no' check the oil before ye took this machine out today? You know it leaks."

"An' I checked it this morn, Davis ," Garreth insisted. "Of course, I did leave it running a'waitin' Tam at the dock."

"I think I've got a quart in the back," he offered.

Sandra, sitting in the front seat, looked up, puzzled by the realization she was hearing voices. She reached out to the window crank to crack the window so she might hear what was happening.

A moment later Garreth and Dr. Marsden heard a muffled noise from the ground. "Garreth! Do ye' ken any earthly reason why someone might have removed the plug from the oil pan and replaced it wi' an oil-soaked rag? Who've you let at this poor machine?"

"Ian and Sean took it to the Village earlier in the week, but since then..." Garreth shrugged, letting the comment trail off. Davis 's guess was as good as his.

"Unless they could've lost it, somehow. There was a bit of mud on the wheels when they came back, but they claimed they just got a bit mired between the dunes. It doesn't look like they could've hit something does it?" he asked.

"No, I'd say it looks like they could've missed something, but didn't choose to. That's patchable until she can have a proper replacement, but the fan belt snapped, and if you run it, even just back up the road, you'll not see her run again before the spring.

"Unless ye've got a fan belt in the back, or can come up w' a makeshift that'll do, you're walking or pushing, Garreth Warren."

Davis MacKenzie's tone becomes less friendly. "We'll be wanting to have a word with your Ian and Sean."

Garreth looked like he was going to say something, but stopped himself and nodded once, abruptly.

He walked around to the passenger's side of the lorry and opened the door. He leaned in close to her, his arm over the back of her seat.

"I need your stockings," he said simply, a small grin lining his face.

As Garreth approached the cab Sandra quickly folded the map back up and pocketed it.

"What?!" Sandra exclaimed, her jaw dropping in shock. "Whatever for?"

Garreth produced a can of oil from behind her seat. "Seems we've lost the fan belt, and for the nonce your stockings would suit."

"Unless you'd like to carry that behemoth of a trunk the last mile we have to go," he shrugged, his grin a bit more impish.

Sandra glared at Garreth. The thought of actually dragging her trunk that far actually warring in her mind with the indignity of taking off her stockings and giving them to a complete... well... almost complete stranger.

"Right... Turn around, if you please," Sandra said pointedly.

Garreth's smile hadn't faltered one bit. He turned and closed the door to let her have some warmth after making sure, "Sure that you won't need any help?"

"Completely sure," Sandra said with a touch of annoyance in her voice. She leaned forward in the cab of the trunk and slipped off her shoes, then lifted the hem of her skirt to unfasten her stockings. Quite the price to get to the commune she thought to herself as she manipulated the clasps.

After a moment window rolled down and a fairly put out looking Dr. Marsden handed out her knee high silk stockings. "If you end up not needing both of them, I'd like the one back," she primly told Garreth.

A somewhat dirty arm reached up from under the lorry, beside the front tyre. The hand was open as if expecting something to be placed in it. The fingers and the palm had a certain amount of fresh oil on them.

Garreth handed them over to Davis , shaking his head. "I'll buy you a new pair, Doc."

"Oh, forgive my manners. Doc this is Davis MacKenzie, the island mechanic. You'll forgive him for not being able to shake your hand, eh?"

He leaned against the door, peeking at bare ankles unabashedly. " Davis is upset with me, right now. He's cursing under the truck that if this were an aeroplane, that this would've never happened and how I would've spit shined the oil plug before driving anyplace."

"It'll be at least two pints in the Village or a tumbler of the single malt Colin keeps hidden until we're friends again," he added with a wink.

"How do you do, Davis ," Sandra said through the window, even as she slid her crossed ankles as far back under the seat as possible. "I'm Dr. Sandra Marsden, from the British Museum ."

The hand waved briefly. "Good day to you, Doctor. I believe Mr. Warren means that I should've expected that he'd be foolish enough to drive a lorry with a old rag in the place of the oil plug. Garreth, what do ye' think those hooligans took it for? And get me the big spanner from the toolbag. If we're going to improvise, then we should start. I dinnae enjoy lying on the cold ground while you're busy ogling."

Garreth sighed quietly as Sandra's legs disappear and turns to grab Davis 's bag. "You think I'd have gone someplace where they don't wear wool from hear to toe if I wanted to admire beauty."

Opening the bag and removing the spanner, he leant over and handed it to Davis , whispering, "Oh, that's right. I did." His chuckle was loud enough for Sandra's ears.

Sandra still wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused. Or flattered.

"I'm afraid most of the rest of my stockings are of the woolen type, Mr. Warren," she said with the slightest touch of playfulness. "So I will not cruelly remind you of places where they don't wear wool," she said casually out the window.

"I'll have to remember to replace silk with silk then, to remind you," Garreth retorted good naturedly.

"What did they take the plug for, Davis ? I've no idea." He scratches the light stubble on his chin. "Well, they might have their still running again, but I can'na ken what they would need with a oil plug."

"Dr. Marsden, dinnae let the lads up there offer you anything to drink that looks...dark. Mr. Warren here is the the sober, responsible member of his little community. Exceptin' the Laird, of course."

There was a shuffling sound as Davis MacKenzie rolled out from under the lorry. He shut the hood.

"There, if she starts, and that's in the hands of the lord now, then you can give me a ride up to see Sean and Ian."

He looked into the cab of the lorry and removed his hat with a nod.

With a small sigh of resignation Sandra scooted over to the middle of the bench so as to give Davis a place to sit.

"The Laird?" she asked Davis . "I thought he lived up in the MacKenzie castle," she said confusedly.

Davis , however, was going to ride on the running board by the driver's door.

"Nae. He's at the commune most o' the time."

Sandra frowned as Davis perched on the running board, then decided it wasn't any of her business and scooted back towards the passenger seat.

"At the commune?" Sandra said with some puzzlement. "So who's living at the MacKenzie Castle?"

"The man the Laird sold it to," Davis said. "Douglas MacKenzie-Brown." He looked at Garreth. "A bit more gently with the starter, Garreth. We have nae spares."

He looked back at Dr.Marsden across the lorry's cab. "Laird Colin adopted him as heir or some such lawyering. Kind of him tae leave us in the hands o' a family member. He'll be Laird Douglas o' Verrisay in his time."

"Oh..." Dr. Marsden said, looking somewhat less confused. "Well that is a situation. So Colin is the Laird, but he sold the Castle to Mr. MacKenzie-Brown, who's now his heir. How gothic! I suppose that means Mr. Mackenzie-Brown controls the land rights to the island, yes? What do you think of Laird's heir?" she asked both men.

Garreth's finally turned over the engine and she seems to be chugging along, well enough that he drops her into gear gently. He cringed just a bit when Davis mentioned the commune, being sure that was not how Colin had portrayed it to the lovely doctor.

Garreth shrugged, "Reminds me of any number of American chaps I ran into in the RAF. Cocky and full of himself, and easy enough to let the air out of if you know what you're doing."

Sandra nodded in acknowledgement. "Americans can be so tiresome sometimes," she agreed. "Les enfants terrible. Did you serve in the war Mr. Warren? You seem a bit young to have done so," she said, looking over at her driver.

"I was a pilot, Doctor," he replied chuckling. He seemed comfortable with the conversation, but wasn't going to expand upon it. "But you're right in assuming that there aren't too many veterans on this rock," he acknowledged Davis with a nod.

"And I'll make you a deal, don't speculate on my age and I'll do the same for you."

Sandra gave Garreth a somewhat surprised look. "Really, Mr. Warren! I was just curious how an RAF pilot met up with American ones. I didn't think Americans were stationed in England after the war. I suppose I must be mistaken," she sniffed.

"There was not offense meant, Doc," Garrett shrugged. "Most of the Americans I met were in the Royal Flying Corps, having joined in Canada , not the American Air Service. A few had even joined the Foreign Legion and then 'switched' once the American Escadrille was formed."

"Hell, when I flew for Major Bishop in the 85 there were British, Canadians, Americans and even New Zealanders all in the Squadron."

"Really? I'm afraid I don't know anyone in the military," Sandra replied. "So I don't know that much about it. I spend all my time abroad or at the Museum. At least... never mind."

"Tell me... Garreth," she said, remembering to use his Christian name. " Davis mentioned a commune? I suppose he is speaking of the Institute, yes?" the doctor asked politely.

"It's what some of the locals refer to it as," Garreth said noncommittally.

"There it is ahead," he says as he crests a small hill. Before them is a tumbledown old manor, some goats grazing on what would be the east lawn.

Sandra said nothing as they drove up to the worn down house. Her educated eye took in the style and period of the building, the probable age. And the probability the rooms would be cold and drafty.

Oh why hadn't she gone to Cairo instead?

Instead, she put on a brief smile. "Well... I genuinely hope Colin received word I was coming. I do hate to be an unexpected guest," she tried to joke.

"I'm sure Colin's on top of it," Garreth assured her. "He's never been one to ignore a lady's arrival."

"I just hope he made Rose put some clothes on," he added off-handedly.

"Oh..." Dr. Marsden said in a small voice. "I take it... Rose's preferred attire... isn't. Well," Sandra swallowed. "It's not as if I haven't had to adjust to foreign cultures before. Coming to England as a child was an eye opener. I suspect... I won't scold Rose if she happens to walk by wearing less than what's appropriate. For the weather, of course," she added hastily. "We'll all adjust to each other," she said firmly.

The old lorry lurched around a curve and the building housing the Institute hove into sight. It looked, as Dr. Marsden feared, drafty. The lights brought a certain cheer to it, though, and a carriage house had been converted for use as a garage.

"I'm off to find Sean and Ian, Garreth," said Davis . "Then I'll see what I can do about the lorry. We can't keep borrowing stockings to keep it on the road, you know.

"When next you see the lads, Garreth, if they aren't convinced that I am intent on sending them to their final reward and that it will be a warmer place than this, then you should advise me that I have lost my touch."

He turned to Dr. Marsden. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. Welcome to Verrisay."

"Thank you," Sandra said as climbed out of the cab of the truck. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacKenzie. And thank you for your assistance with the truck."

Garreth smiled at Davis , with a parting, "Give 'em Hell, and for what it's worth, consider me suitably chastised, also."

He got Sandra's trunk from the back, with a little exertion. "Rose is a precocious young lady of three years. Preferred and appropriate?" He shrugged as best he could with arms full of trunk.

"Ah... I see," Sandra said, looking quite a bit relieved. Then she came around to help Garreth. "Here... this thing is frightfully heavy," she said about her trunk as she took a handle in hand on one end. "You get the other side and it will be no problem at all to carry, yes?" she suggested in a friendly manner.

Garreth let her take her side of the chest, knowing the argument wouldn't be worth the effort.

He opened the door behind him as he walked into the house. "Honey, I'm home," he called to no one in particular.

"Welcome to the Institute, Doctor Marsden," Garreth says with a sweeping bow after setting the chest to one side.

Rather surprisingly for the month of December, there was no breeze coming off the ocean onto the dock as an older man and a younger woman exited the vehicle that passed for a taxicab in this rather remote part of Scotland . Tipping his fedora back to catch what he could of the afternoon sun amidst overcast skies, the man extracted a few bank notes from his wallet and handed them to the driver. After removing several pieces of luggage - a suitcase and a wheeled foot locker apiece - from the trunk of the car, they strode calmly over to the dock.

Nobody was visible aboard the boat. Stopping short of the ramp across, the gentleman called out in a loud baritone, "Permission to come aboard?"

Within the wheelhouse there was a sudden shuffling, as an elderly fellow lurched from the doorway and steadied himself against the jamb. He looked up, to fix a hard glare on the mainland over his broken specs. "Mester Quinn," the ferryman acknowledged. "This yer kin? She's got yer look."

"Yes, Hamish, the blonde is related to me - she's one of Laura's twins. Emma Sinclair, Hamish MacKenzie, who's been running the ferry to the mainland for longer than I've been alive. Hamish, my niece, Emma."

Looking out onto the quay squatted a low building of solid stone and pitched roof, a local residence outfitted with a tavern at one end, largely disused. From there an exceedingly tall man of dark features emerged at a saunter, a wispy girl in a thick coat and dark gloves trailing swiftly after him. Together, in their disparate ways, they bore down on the new arrivals and ferryman both.

"Halloa, there!" cried the girl. "I say, hallo!" The pair arrived at very nearly the same time, he saying nothing, while she, red-faced with exertion in the icy air, opened her monologue thus:

"Can you believe this little boat? And our operator, here, a most, shall we say, distinguished fellow? Looks a bit disreputable, really, but I'm sure he knows his duty. Engines and things. Navigation, I suppose, though I can't imagine it needs much skill to just toddle back and forth across this little patch of ...

"Are you bound for the castle, too? I've read a little about it, but all I could find were a few historical entries, which of course tell one nothing so very much at all, and then a two-page entry in some architectural treatment of Scottish castles -- the only entry of its kind in existence, if you believe. Not an especially interesting history, but I read they've got all sorts of interesting artefacts -- weapons, archaeology, some books, some tapestries, that sort of thing.

"Oh!" the girl cried, with a flushed smile, delicate blue-gloved fingers covering her mouth. "Do forgive me. I'm forever running away at the mouth. Not at all proper, and we haven't even been introduced." She cleared her throat, then said proudly, "This, my brooding brother, here, is the Earl of Eversham -- I'm Lady Amelia Bellmore." Her smile was entirely genuine, not in the least bit vacuous; something in the eyes bespoke a reserved intelligence, though the words from her mouth seemed to belie it at every turn -- at least, they seemed to belie reservation, if not always intelligence.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lady Amelia added, short of gushing.

Beside her, the Earl of Eversham said nothing, but waited politely for introductions to be returned.

At long last, the torrent of verbiage ceased. The following words were accompanied by a deep nod on the man's part, and a slight curtsy on the girl's. "Adrian Quinn. This is my niece, Emma Sinclair. And yes, we're headed for what some of the older islanders refer to as the "New Castle Mackenzie." It's new because it was built in the middle of the last century, as opposed to the ruin on the northern end of the island.

"Hamish has been running the ferry between Verrisay and the mainland longer than I've been alive, and there's nobody I'd rather trust to get us there in fair weather nor foul. Given the way that the winter storms tend to rearrange the shallows, you'd be surprised as to just what's involved. The only times the ferry has ever run aground have been when Hamish didn't listen to himself and let some rather young boys take over the running for a day." The last remark draws a curious look from Emma, though she doesn't pursue it immediately.

"The 1925 Bradstreet has a two-page entry, but that's all they allowed me to discuss both old and new site. If you want the artefacts, you'll have to talk to Colin at the site of the old castle - the history part has always been his do, and he's rather good at it.

"In the meantime, I'm pleased to make both of your acquaintances. You look as though you're headed for Douglas and Selina's Christmas party; that means we'll probably be seeing a great deal of each other during the next couple weeks."

He looked back over at the boat. "Hamish, permission to come aboard? It looks like we've got rather a lot of luggage between the four of us, and I don't trust the winds to keep holding off - though if you say they will, I'll believe you."

Throughout the conversation, Adrian had not set one foot onto the gangway himself, nor did he allow others to do so yet, though he was subtle in how he did so.

"Make speed, then," Hamish barked, and swung his way back into the wheelhouse, slamming the door behind him.

Lady Amelia turned and waved a complicated signal into the tavern window, and moments later a bundled pair of servants, heavily burdened with luggage boxes of every description, bustled forth for the ferry. Their caps were the only feature between them to tell which was the maid and which the valet, given their thick layers of coats and mufflers which otherwise obscured every feature of their persons.

His lordship offered a pleasant smile, and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair," bowing slightly. He gave her uncle a courteous nod, with a shorter, "Mr. Quinn."

"Oh, you wrote that lovely little piece, yourself, Mr. Quinn?" his sister interjected. "Splendid. Then you'll know all about it ..."

Man and maid, told only by his tweed cap and her woollen one, sailed straight past and aboard the boat, and once aboard could be seen setting down all cases immediately and sorting them.

"Calvin and Hobbes," Lady Amelia said, with a sigh. "What would we do without them? Travelling without one's servants can be such a chore, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Quinn? Of course, Alan's only just got his man, having been abroad all these years, but can you think what might happen if your own man got ill, for example, Mr. Quinn? Or if your wife's maid took ill, whatever should happen to her?"

"If yer comin' aboard, get aboard!" called Hamish irritably from the wheelhouse door.

At Hamish's cue, Mr. Quinn picked up the two suitcases and one of the rolling foot lockers, covering the trip up the gangway in three or four long strides. Stashing the luggage securely, he stepped aside for to make the remaining passengers to board, following the maid and the valet up as he brought the second foot locker.

"I'm please to make your acquaintance, as well, Lord Eversham."

At Lady Amelia's remark about manservants, he paused several beats before responding. Emma, however, beat him to the punch. "Uncle Adrian's never been married, Lady Bellmore."

Given the out, Mr. Quinn continued, "You may also notice that Miss Sinclair and myself were the only people awaiting the ferry before you came out from the Selkie's Net. I've never engaged a valet, and Iain and Laura feel that too much domestic help is simply ostentatious, particularly with the world's economic situation the way it currently stands."

"Yes," said Lady Amelia, deflating, with a touch of melancholy. "I can easily see that point of view." And for once, she said no more on the subject, and took her brother's arm in silence.

"Shall we board?" Lord Eversham asked, and gestured the Quinns to lead.

On board, manservant and maid were clustered at the rear of the boat, clutching their coats tightly, silent woolly sentinels perched side-by-side on a low bench.

As the remaining passengers found their seats, further forward, Lord Eversham said, "Are you relatives of the MacKenzies, Mr. Quinn? I knew Colin from school, myself, and I met Douglas as a business acquaintance a little over a year ago."

"I'm no relation to Colin, but Douglas is a first cousin. Our mothers are sisters. My sister Laura is Emma's mother. Douglas and Colin are first cousins once removed on the Mackenzie side of their respective families, which rounds out the brief introduction to the family tree rather nicely.

"I can take the ties farther if you wish, though I suspect that it would bore anybody but the most avid genealogist.

"Lady Amelia said you've been abroad for rather a stretch. Might I enquire as to where?"

"Oh, simply all over," assured Lady Amelia.

Lord Eversham flashed an indulgent smile, and said, "Here and there. Georgetown , Calcutta , Capetown. Cairo ."

"He used to work, you see," said his sister. "Engineering. Something to do with mining. What was the company, Alan? British something."

"British National Bauxite."

"Oh, yes. Straight out of the Army, he's gone abroad, and then we hear he has a job with this mining company, and then we hardly hear from him at all, until Uncle Richard died.

"Of course he had to come home for the title. Our brother Michael ... well, Michael's a dear soul, but ... "

She waved brother Michael away with a gently deprecating gesture of her gloved hand.

"Capetown was beautiful when I was last there, just over three decades ago. I was only there for a month or two before being posted to the front near Johannesburg .

"I'm surprised that BNB didn't send you to Kingston . I've been given to understand that there are some rather large aluminium deposits in Jamaica ."

"I've been, actually," Lord Eversham said, "but only briefly. Stopped through again, on my way back home. I did what is sometimes called troubleshooting, and we had more trouble in South Africa than anywhere else."

"Have you worked for the BNB, Mr. Quinn?" asked Lady Amelia. "It sounds an awfully dangerous business, and yet you seem so refined. Not that Alan doesn't have refinement, of course. Is an architect required much in mining?"

"Aha. That explains it. It might be interesting to swap travel notes sometime, if you're interested." In answer to Lady Amelia's question, he replied, "No. I served a 5-year hitch as a Lieutenant in the Corps of Engineers during the Boer War. Used the money I made there to put myself through an architecture program at University. Started at Fraser & Dunn about five years after that."

 

End of Chapter 1

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