Penmort Castle

Epilogue Edith’s Mental Snapshots

“It’s too early,” Abby, pacing the waiting room in severe agitation, announced for the seventeenth time.

Cash’s eyes went from the papers in his hands to his wife.

He knew it was the seventeenth time because after she’d said it five times in the car on the way to hospital, he’d started counting.

“Abigail, calm down,” Mrs. Truman, sitting and knitting in a chair next to Cash, demanded imperiously.

Abby whirled on Mrs. Truman, narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips.

“Calm?” she asked in a deceptively light tone.

“Yes, dear, calm,” Mrs. Truman answered, her voice gentling, “let nature take its course.”

“Nature,” Abby declared, her voice beginning to tremble, exposing her not-very-controlled fear, “demands a gestation period of nine months. Jenny’s baby has only had seven.”

This wasn’t, Cash knew, exactly true.

Jenny’s baby had seven and three-quarter months of gestation.

Cash’s eyes swept Abby’s body in her form-fitting, very elegant, demurely sexy, plum-coloured dress complimented by rich suede, charcoal grey, spike-heeled boots.

She was also wearing the diamond bracelet he’d given her which she wore daily, a modest (but not too modest) diamond pendant hung from a delicate platinum chain and lay in the indentation of her throat and double-diamond drop earrings hung from her ears.

The necklace he’d bought her in France during their first holiday together on the Riviera. The earrings he’d given her during a dinner they’d shared when she’d been on a business trip with him in Rome six months previously.

Cash should probably diversify into giving her different precious jewels but he found he liked her wearing his diamonds.

His eyes stopped at her boots and distractedly he wished, as usual (however at that present time most especially, considering his wife’s condition), that she wouldn’t wear those fucking high heels.

He let go of this wish, knowing it was in vain and finally his gaze moved up and settled on the small, but becoming more noticeable by the day, baby bump at her belly.

Cash, after copious amounts of research once Abby told him she was pregnant, knew the extra three weeks Abby wasn’t declaring of Jenny’s pregnancy meant a great deal to the outcome of that afternoon’s events.

Cash also knew that for the first time in decades Abby and Jenny’s relationship had turned on its head.

Jenny’s pregnancy had been difficult from the start. She’d been tremendously ill in the beginning, incapacitated with morning sickness, crippling migraines and terrified by intermittent cramping and spotting.

These symptoms lasted well into the second trimester and there were two very legitimate scares when she’d stopped spotting and started bleeding.

Both times it was Abby who rushed her to the hospital.

Absolute bed rest was prescribed during the last trimester. This was, under Abby’s edict and Nicola’s urging both firm and forceful which brought about Kieran’s acceptance, happened at Penmort and was accompanied by Abby’s and Nicola’s near constant companionship. It was also a strategy that obviously didn’t work.

Jenny had gone into labour four hours ago.

Even though labour had begun at Penmort, Kieran had called Cash to ask for him to return from his Saturday morning in his new office in Exeter instead of telling Abby this news.

This was a kindness for which Cash was grateful. Cash didn’t want Abby anywhere near the steering wheel of a car in her present state.

As Cash watched his wife, his mind wandered over the last several months.

Jenny had been used to taking care of Abby through her many dramas. Abby had been used to being taken care of. This change in the state of affairs had altered their relationship in a way Cash didn’t quite understand.

Women, he decided some time ago, were baffling to the point where it was futile for a man even to attempt to comprehend.

So he didn’t.

What he did understand was that Jenny was a strong and capable woman who didn’t like having to be taken care of. Cash had grown to admire this greatly.

Abby, on the other hand, was beside herself with glee that she had an opportunity to pay Jenny back for all her care and attention. And this she did with an enthusiasm akin to religion.

They clashed frequently more than likely because Jenny was frightened and trying to hide it and Abby even more so.

Cash and Kieran steered well clear. They often found themselves together, in the beginning in Kieran’s office in his home, in the end in the billiards room at Penmort drinking whisky and letting their wives (more often than not loudly, in another room) sort through their relationship turmoil.

Abby was not beside herself with glee at the circumstances. For seven and three-quarter months she had been functioning on adrenalin and very slim hope and not succeeding by any stretch of the imagination at keeping her fear at bay.

His wife unfortunately had been conditioned to the fact that if something bad could happen, it would.

“Darling,” Cash called, putting aside his papers and making an effort at controlling her fear, an effort he knew was doomed to fail but he made it all the same, “sit down.”

“No,” was her swift, sharp retort.

Mrs. Truman chuckled.

Cash tried not to smile.

At that moment Nicola walked in bearing a cardboard tray of gourmet coffees.

“Any news?” she asked.

“No,” Abby repeated just as swiftly and sharply and Nicola’s eyes flew to Cash.

Cash gave a short shake of his head and Nicola pressed her lips together.

She handed out the coffees she’d gone to a local shop to purchase after Mrs. Truman declared that hospital coffee would simply not do and approached Abby, putting her hand on Abby’s arm.

“My dear, you really must try to relax. You’re not doing your own baby any favours by getting upset,” Nicola advised.

“How do you propose I do that, Nicci? She’s my best friend!” Abby ended on a cry.

Cash watched Nicola’s hand squeeze Abby’s arm comfortingly.

It still amused him that Abby called Nicola “Nicci”. Nicola was not a Nicci. However, Nicola didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Over the last several months Nicola’s daughters had moved out of the castle one-by-one. They’d all had jobs since Cash had been reunited with the family, Fenella’s part-time. However Fenella found a new, higher paid, full-time job in Plymouth and was the first to go. Suzanne had received a promotion and a transfer to Bristol. She was the second to leave and was renting Abby’s long since fully restored grandmother’s home in Clevedon, an idea Cash had suggested to Abby, which she’d adored, thrilled to have a “family member” residing in her beloved home. Honor moved out only the month before. She was now sharing a flat in Exeter with her boyfriend.

Cash decided they did this because they were free, finally, to leave their mother and live their lives because Nicola was now safe.

Coming to this understanding caused Cash no small amount of guilt that for a year he had entirely misread the Fitzhugh women. He had been so wrapped up in his retribution against Alistair that he had not caught on to what was happening and moved far more swiftly to end their mistreatment.

Although he shared this with Abby, who urged him to let go of his blame (which he did not), he did not share it with the others nor, at his request, did Abby.

He would, as was his nature, demonstrate his remorse by making certain Nicola Fitzhugh was safe, protected and happy for the rest of her days.

Nicola had taken a part-time job in a local shop but she had, Cash knew, no intention of leaving the castle. It had finally become her home, something which Cash made clear and Abby made clearer. But also she seemed intent on raining love and affection on Cash and Abby, the kind Cash never had and Abby had lost.

He decided this was likely her way of paying for what Alistair had stolen from Cash, a responsibility she did not bear but assumed all the same.

Cash also decided she just simply loved Abby.

As this fit in with his plan, he let Nicola continue her endeavours unhindered.

Abby and Nicola had offered Penmort to the National Trust, opening it to the public for six months of the year on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and alternating weekends.

Cash had not liked this decision and had only been cursorily involved in it.

He found, somewhat to his annoyance, but mostly to his amusement, that his wife and aunt regularly teamed up to steamroll him with some rather bizarre capers. These capers, Cash knew, were likely always instigated by Abby and she simply took Nicola along for the ride.

However Cash also knew Nicola was having the time of her life.

Therefore he didn’t resist.

Much.

He found to his surprise that he not only didn’t mind his home being open to the public, he liked it. The castle was so popular due to its beauty, history and the “myth” of Vivianna made stronger by the many reports of her appearance at the anniversary dinner, some of which were printed in newspapers and magazines, that the National Trust had to do viewings by appointment only. That meant his family was not overwhelmed with visitors. Anyone who came had a genuine desire to see the property and were thus utterly respectful. He enjoyed their interest, his legacy was rather extraordinary and he found he liked sharing it.

When he confided this to Abby she didn’t say she told him so but she gave him a look that said it.

Cash looked to the door as Suzanne sauntered in looking stylish in a tailored, black, wool overcoat.

James followed her looking peeved.

Mrs. Truman glanced at them, her eyes turned to Cash and they shared a smile.

Suzanne and James had met during the planning of Abby and Cash’s small, but elaborate (the latter, at Cash’s command), family-and-close-friends-only wedding.

Suzanne had found a way to leave the bitch behind.

She had, however, retained a certain coolness and cynicism which was not in the least unattractive.

His friend James immediately found this intriguing and had begun his pursuit just as immediately.

James was used to success, rapid success.

Therefore James was surprised then frustrated then annoyed, albeit not deterred, when his aims had not been achieved after months of concentrated effort.

Cash knew, because Suzanne had confided in Abby who had confided in him, that Suzanne was in love with his best friend.

He did not share this with James, however.

He didn’t because he didn’t want to break Suzanne’s confidence with Abby.

He also didn’t because Suzanne’s reasons for keeping her love from James were a test James would have to pass unaided.

Suzanne had been cruelly abused and mishandled for twenty-five years by Alistair, something else she confided in Abby who then told Cash, sharing that Alistair had been verbally abusive to all the Fitzhugh women but for some reason he saved his worst for Suzanne and dished it out with heartbreaking regularity.

Therefore James would have to win her trust on his own.

Cash had no doubt this would happen.

Suzanne who, to Cash’s surprise, had formed the closest of the three sisters’ very close bonds with his wife, took one look at Abby and her face grew pale. Then her eyes moved to Cash.

They were soft and filled with concern and Cash thought, not for the first time since that night at Penmort, that he was quite happy Alistair was in prison for being behind the now proven murder of his father (the investigation was again opened) and his attempt on Cash’s life. Suzanne had confessed her love to him but had been unable to share her true self when he’d entered her life. If she had he might have been tempted.

Then again, that would have meant he wouldn’t have met Abby.

As lovely and interesting as Suzanne was now, Cash knew without a doubt he’d still have a hole in his life if Abby wasn’t in it even if he’d never met her.

They were simply meant to be.

He understood this was a ludicrously romantic notion.

And he didn’t give a fuck.

“Please don’t ask how things are going,” Abby, standing with her arm around Nicola as well as in the curve of Nicola’s arm, begged Suzanne.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,” Suzanne murmured, took off her coat and threw it on a chair. She sat beside Mrs. Truman and mumbled under her breath, “Abby’s obviously in a state. I sincerely hope you’re behaving yourself.”

Mrs. Truman’s eyebrows shot up, her hand came to her chest and she mouthed the word, “Me?” as if she was at all times the soul of kindness, affection and love.

It took a great effort of will for Cash not to burst out laughing.

“Yes, you,” Suzanne returned.

Mrs. Truman made a “pah” noise but said no more and Suzanne rolled her eyes at Cash.

With great energy and dedication, Mrs. Truman had insinuated herself in the lives of all of Cash and Abby’s family.

With alarming frequency, she was domineering, cantankerous and interfering.

With complete consistency, she was also unwaveringly loyal.

James threw his overcoat on a chair and sat beside Cash.

Cash turned his head to his friend and took off his reading glasses.

“How are things?” he asked.

James knew to what, or more precisely, to whom he was referring.

“Last night, I made progress,” James answered.

“Good,” Cash murmured.

“This morning, I lost it,” James went on.

Cash chuckled.

James’s voice dropped low. “Last night she told me some of what Alistair did to her. I’m guessing not all. Do you know what he did? The things he said?”

Cash regarded his friend and remained silent. James accurately read and deferred to Cash’s unspoken demonstration of loyalty to Suzanne.

“I’d like to know how, exactly, you stopped yourself from hunting that bastard down and committing murder,” James enquired, his voice still low and quiet but now it was vibrating with a barely controlled but understandable fury.

“His punishment is longer this way,” Cash replied.

James nodded though, Cash guessed, he didn’t entirely agree.

Cash had to admit he often wondered what the use was of Alistair’s continued existence on the planet. However he usually had these thoughts late at night while listening to Abby breathing in sleep at his side and Zee’s purring as Cash stroked him at his other and found he didn’t often dwell on them long enough to come to any conclusion.

Suddenly Cash’s gaze sliced to Abby, his senses so attuned to her that he didn’t need to see her to know her change in mood.

She was smiling tentatively at something as she called, “Well?”

Cash’s eyes moved to the door and he saw Cassandra, dressed somewhat normally for once, strolling in.

Although no longer having to work her questionable talents on their behalf, Cassandra had also become a fixture in their lives. Mostly at the many dinner parties Abby and Nicola, Jenny or Mrs. Truman held but often simply coming ‘round to the castle to drink herbal tea or, before Abby’s pregnancy, margaritas with Abby where they would cackle loudly about whatever-it-was women found to cackle about.

Cash did not have a good feeling about Cassandra’s arrival.

“Abby,” he muttered warningly but his wife either didn’t hear him or she ignored him.

He was guessing the latter.

Cassandra shook her head and approached Abby.

Cash stood, dropped his glasses on the chair he’d vacated and walked to his wife.

“Someone came up to me, mate. Asked me what I was doing. I had to abort the mission,” Cassandra said.

“What mission?” Cash asked a question to which he, to his intense frustration, already knew the answer.

Abby looked up at Cash. “I called Cassandra and asked her to come, make her way to the delivery room and send some pixie dust Jenny’s way.”

Yes, he was correct, he knew the answer.

“You asked Cassandra to send some pixie dust Jenny’s way,” Cash repeated with no small amount of consternation at his wife’s antics.

Abby looked up at him and jerked her head, shaking back her hair in a now-familiar act that announced her defiance.

“Yes,” she declared.

“Fucking hell,” Cash muttered.

“I hope you stop saying the f-word after our baby comes along,” Abby snapped.

“I hope you stop doing wild and ridiculous things so I won’t feel the need to curse after our baby comes along,” Cash returned.

Nicola emitted a stifled giggle. Cassandra grinned.

“I am who I am,” Abby shot back and at her words, Cash relaxed.

Then he smiled.

“Yes, you are,” he murmured and he watched his wife’s face take on a look of surprise at his easy capitulation.

Then she smiled back.

He pulled her in his arms, she melted into his body and he felt the usual sense of peace having her in his arms gave him.

After all this time, nearly two years together, he’d never gotten used to the ease she brought to his life. He also hoped he never did. If he did, he’d lose the understanding of just what a precious gift it was.

There was a commotion at the door and Angus stormed in, his kilt awhirl.

“What’d I miss?” he shouted.

“Nothing, McPherson. We don’t have any news. Sit down and don’t be so loud!” Mrs. Truman demanded tartly (as well as loudly).

“How many times do I have to tell you, woman, stop ordering me about!” Angus retorted.

“You keep behaving like a man with a dozen screws loose, I’ll stop telling you what to do when they’re shovelling dirt on my coffin,” Mrs. Truman replied.

They entered a glaring contest. Unsurprisingly Mrs. Truman won.

Angus stomped to Cash and Abby’s circle and Cash dropped one arm, holding Abby to him with the other.

Angus’s face had gentled when he looked at Abby. “How’re things, lass?”

“Not good,” Abby replied softly and Angus’s worried eyes moved to Cash.

Angus was not exactly a fixture in their lives. He’d come and he’d go. He was, he explained to them, quite busy with expunging the vast number of malevolent spirits that infected the British Isles. Nevertheless his visits, although not common, were regular.

Fortunately for Abby and Jenny who, at that present time, needed their friends close, Angus was working “a job” in the vicinity and using Penmort as what he referred to as his “headquarters”.

He’d told them over dinner the night before, the job was proving difficult.

“Well, I’ll give you something else to think about.” Angus moved close to Abby and his voice had grown quietly conspiratorial. “See, my new wee ghosty has a thing against blondes. She doesn’t like anyone particularly but she really doesn’t like blondes. I thought you could –”

Cash, his voice firm and inflexible, cut in with one word.

“No.”

Angus’s gaze came to him. “She’ll no’ be in any danger.”

“No,” Cash repeated.

“You know I know what I’m doing,” Angus kept trying.

Cash clenched his jaw then repeated yet again but even more firm and far more inflexible, “No.”

“Fraser –” Angus started but Cash interrupted.

“First, Abby’s pregnant. Second, even if she wasn’t, there is no fucking way in hell I’d allow her to get caught up in another of your hunts.”

“Cash,” Abby murmured soothingly but it was Cash’s turn to ignore her.

Angus took a step back, muttering, “No harm asking.”

“Except for the fact you sent my blood pressure through the roof. I’d rather not suffer a stroke five months before my child is born,” Cash clipped.

Abby went rigid at his side and Cash realised his mistake instantly.

His head tilted down to her. “Darling –”

She curled into him and her hand came to his stomach. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s the circumstances. I’m just being stupid.”

“Don’t apologise,” Cash bit out with irritation at himself. “What I said was thoughtless.”

“What you said was in anger,” she told him, leaned in, tipped her head back and gave him a small smile. “Cash, you can’t guard against everything you say just because I’m an overly-sensitive idiot.”

“I can try,” Cash returned and she gave it to him, the look he saw often, the look he had mistaken as awe the first time he saw it.

Then, it was her burgeoning understanding that she loved him and what they had growing between them was what she deemed “magical”.

Now, it was the shining knowledge of the same thing.

He dipped his head and touched his mouth to hers as her arms stole around him. When he was done, he brushed his nose alongside hers and he watched close up the brightness of love turn to the warmth of contentedness.

She could wear his diamonds and the seven hundred pound boots his money bought her.

But Cash knew the best thing he’d ever given her was the same peace she’d given him.

“Conner!” he heard Mrs. Truman call (once she’d learned his real name, she never used anything but and also, when she was annoyed which meant quite frequently, she addressed him by all three of his names).

Cash’s head came up and he looked at the door.

Angus moved out of the way and in his arms he felt Abby’s body grow solid.

Kieran stood there looking alarmingly haggard.

Then he grinned.

“It’s a boy. Ten fingers, ten toes and thankfully breathing on his own,” his relieved eyes moved to Abby, “Jenny’s fine.”

Cash took the entirety of Abby’s weight as she sagged against him.

Then she buried her face in his chest and he felt her body tremble with silent tears.

Angus let out what could only be described as a very loud “whoop”.

Cassandra shouted, “Hurrah!”

“I need to call Fenella and Honor,” Nicola mumbled, moving to the chair that held her purse.

Suzanne, Mrs. Truman and James were all standing. Mrs. Truman, to Cash’s surprise, allowed Suzanne to hug her. Then Suzanne walked into James’s arms which closed around her tight and she pressed her face in his neck. James turned his head and kissed Suzanne’s temple.

Cash’s own arms tightened around his wife.

She leaned back and looked at him, tears wet on her cheeks. She came to her toes and touched her mouth to his, her arms giving him a squeeze. Then she gently pulled away, swiping at her face and moved to Kieran who was disengaging from his own surprising hug from Mrs. Truman.

Then Abby stood by Kieran’s side as he accepted congratulations.

Then she walked with him hand-in-hand, gracefully moving away in her elegant high-heeled boots to go see her friend.

Cash watched his wife’s departure, his eyes riveted openly and without even a hint of shame, on her exquisite ass.

Edith Truman sat in the corner of Jennifer’s hospital room, her arms curved protectively about a tiny, blanketed bundle. Her head was tilted low, her eyes on the scrunched up, sleeping face, her mind marvelling at the miracle.

Conner was sitting by Jennifer’s bedside. Abigail had somewhat forcefully declared that she was taking Kieran to get him some dinner. Kieran had not wanted to leave and only did so when Conner assured him he’d look after his wife.

And that was precisely what Conner did, not leaving her side for an instant.

“Cash,” Edith’s sharp ears heard Jennifer whisper softly.

Edith didn’t move anything but her eyes. They’d never know she was watching them. She saw that Conner’s head was turned to Jennifer. His hand was resting on the bed beside hers.

From the beginning Edith had liked Conner’s hands. They had long, tapered fingers and were nicely veined. You could tell a lot by a man’s hands and his were strong, capable and handsome. Three words, Edith thought, that quite aptly defined Conner Ewan Fraser.

“Yes?” Conner murmured in reply to Jennifer’s call.

“I want to tell you before I tell Abby because –” Jennifer started then stopped and Edith watched her bite her lips.

Edith was always telling her to stop doing that but did Jennifer listen?

No.

“What is it, Jenny?” Conner urged softly, his words held a kindly invitation which stated without him having to explain that she was safe to say whatever she pleased to him.

Their relationship had not started well. This was something, to Edith’s annoyance, which had never been fully explained to her. However Edith wasn’t born yesterday and she reckoned (astutely) it had to do with Jennifer not wanting to let go of her grief for her best friend’s first husband and Conner’s determination to be his replacement.

Over the years that had changed. Mainly because Jennifer adored Abigail and Conner made Abigail blissfully happy.

Not to mention, although Edith would never tell anyone this, Conner was a highly likable fellow.

“We’ve named him Benjamin,” Jennifer announced carefully and Edith guarded her astounded reaction to this news.

Benjamin, Edith thought, was a good enough name.

She preferred Mortimer but that was just her.

However it was also clear why Jennifer and Kieran had named their child thus. Both had been close with Abigail’s first husband.

This was meant to be a posthumous honour.

It would also be a constant reminder to Conner of Abigail’s past, blind devotion to her dead husband which, Edith thought irritably, wasn’t very considerate of Jennifer and Kieran.

Edith watched Conner who, gallantly Edith thought, didn’t show even the slightest reaction.

However he said with honesty and genuine warmth, as well as demonstrated it when his hand closed around Jennifer’s, “Abby will be pleased.”

“Um,” Jennifer went on cautiously then quickly, “actually, we’ve named him Benjamin Conner.”

Edith felt the air in the room go still.

She lifted her head and didn’t even pretend not to watch openly as Conner held his body rigid for a moment. Then he came partially out of his chair, bent to Jennifer’s forehead and kissed her there, never taking his hand from hers.

He sat back down and said in a rough, low voice that explicitly betrayed intense emotion, “Now I’m pleased.”

Jennifer, face still wan and tired, smiled at him.

Edith dropped her head to look at the baby again blinking rapidly to quell the tears that were pricking at the backs of her eyes.

With iron determination she succeeded in this effort.

The door opened and Abigail and Kieran walked in.

Kieran went directly to his wife.

Abigail smiled at her friend then her husband then she walked to Edith.

She lifted her hands and wriggled her fingers. “Come on, Mrs. Truman, give him up.”

Reluctantly, with an irate glare at Abigail to show irritation was exactly how she felt, Edith did as she was told.

Abigail walked slightly away, cuddled the baby close and cooed to him in a soft voice.

Conner approached his wife and slid his arms loosely about her body.

Kieran sat on Jennifer’s bed and held her hand with one of his as the other stroked her cheek.

Edith took a mental snapshot of Kieran and Jennifer, something she’d learned to do a long time ago in order to pull them out and savour them in her far-less-frequent-now lonely times.

Then she looked back at Conner and Abigail and saw his tall head bent to look at the baby, only one arm now around his wife, the other hand was curled tenderly and protectively at her neck.

Abigail’s eyes went from the baby to his and she grinned.

Conner grinned back.

Edith Truman took another mental snapshot and filed it happily away.

She gave them all a long moment.

Then she snapped loudly, “Conner Ewan Fraser! I need tea!”