AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m Sir Alan Spencer, Duke of Dottington,” Alan says, unable to stop a chuckle as he shakes my hand. “Welcome to Dottington Castle. Let me introduce you to the other guests tonight.”
He introduces his daughters and their husbands with their fake names, and asks us what we’d like to drink.
“May I recommend the forty-five-year-old Port Askaig,” Alan suggests, and I nod, eager to try another rare Islay malt. When the butler brings it over, I have a sip and sigh. The taste is exquisite—sweet and fruity with a touch of menthol which I adore, although it makes Heidi wrinkle her nose when she tries it.
She sticks with a G&T. Alan says, “Would you like to try a Morus LXIV Gin? It’s made from the leaves of an ancient mulberry tree. I was very lucky to find a bottle, and I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
“Ooh, yes please.”
Alan turns away to talk to the butler, and Heidi whispers, “That must be expensive.”
“I’ve read about it,” I murmur. “It’s sold in Harvey Nichols in Knightsbridge, and it’s a limited edition of only twenty-five bottles. It’s the most expensive gin in the world.”
“Holy fuck.”
I chuckle. “Try to look as if you drink this kind of thing every day.”
“It comes in a hand-made porcelain jar,” Alan explains as the butler pours the drink, “and a stirrup cup.”
The butler hands it to her—a conical-shaped cup wrapped in embossed hide leather.
“You’re supposed to sip it neat,” Alan explains, “then add a little mineral water several times as you drink it. The gin becomes more flavorful as you keep diluting it.”
“Ooh.” She sniffs the gin, then takes a delicate sip. “Aw, that’s nice. Woody and smokey, and a touch of citrus.”
Alan also accepts a glass from the butler and takes a sip. “Mm, yes, I see what you mean. Very nice. It’s also supposed to be great as a highball. Maybe we’ll try that later.”
“Definitely.”
I smile at her, surprised and yet also not surprised. She told me she was going to teach me about gins, but I hadn’t thought she was serious. I forget that she’s Huxley’s sister sometimes. I have no doubt he educated her in most of the major spirits before she left New Zealand. He’d have seen it as his brotherly duty to make sure she knew her stuff.
“So,” Alan says, “let’s go through to the dining room and we can introduce our characters while we have the starters.”
We filter through and take our seats at the oak table. Alan and Vicky sit at either end, and Heidi and I are seated opposite each other in the middle. Waiters serve us smoked salmon and prawns in a horseradish cream and lime vinaigrette topped with a small green leaf salad that’s absolutely sublime. While we eat, Alan gives an introductory speech welcoming us all to Dottington Castle, and hands an envelope to each of us containing facts about our characters that we need to reveal over the course of the dinner, including who is going to be the murderer. It’s not me, so I can relax for the rest of the evening. When I look up, I meet Heidi’s gaze, and she grins and winks, suggesting she’s enjoying herself.
We finish our starters, and then the waiter is just collecting our plates when there’s a high-pitched scream from the kitchens.
“Oh no,” Vicky says, putting down her serviette, “I wonder what’s happened?”
“We’d better go and see,” Alan suggests. “Come on, everyone.”
Laughing, we all get up and follow them into the kitchen, where we discover the butler who served our drinks now sprawled on the tiles, apparently ‘murdered’, with fake blood splashed across his white shirt.
Several members of the kitchen staff are standing around, dressed like servants from an old-fashioned country house, the women in aprons and white hats, the guys in black suits, like characters out of Downton Abbey.
“We’d better interview them,” Alan states, “and see if any of them witnessed the murder.”
The evening progresses in a similar manner, with facts gradually revealed between the courses. The meal is fantastic—they serve two mains: an incredible beef wellington, and porchetta or salty pork belly stuffed with bacon and brioche that’s just to die for. Of course I have to have a piece of both to compare. It’s served with mixed roast vegetables including the best roast potatoes I’ve ever tasted, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and Yorkshire puddings.
The conversation is light and lively, and I find myself entranced by Heidi, who throws herself into her character with gusto. She constantly makes everyone laugh with her quips and outrageous statements, all delivered in a posh British accent. I’m so glad I asked her to come here with me.
It wouldn’t have been the same at all on my own. When I do my usual act of tipping over my wine glass and spilling red wine all over the nice white tablecloth, or backing into the umbrella stand and knocking it over as we make our way into the conservatory, she makes a joke of it and then changes the subject to draw attention away from me, which I appreciate. I know I’m clumsy, but I don’t particularly enjoy drawing attention to myself, especially with strangers.
In the conservatory, we discover the murder weapon—a bread knife, hidden in a trunk—and it’s at that point that I begin to suspect that Heidi might be the murderer, as one of the maids had mentioned at the beginning that she’d seen the Countess in the conservatory, reading.
As everyone makes their way back to the dining room for dessert, I take Heidi’s hand and pull her to one side, behind a large rubber plant in the reception hall.
“I want a word with you,” I tell her, pushing her up against the wall. She’s taken off her jacket, and while the dress she’s wearing isn’t revealing at all, it does show off her breasts in a way that’s been heating me up from the inside out all evening.
