I dropped the letter on the table. “It’s from my solicitor, but it’s not what I hoped for.”
Her face brightened, and she picked up the letter. “Oh?” She scanned it quickly, her brow furrowing.
“Nothing new. Isobel McLean left no direct heirs, no children, which I already knew. Never married, and just the one brother. A few scattered properties in the Highlands and England. But no clear reason why I was named her heir.”
Elizabeth frowned, tapping her fingers against the table. “Odd. No family at all?”
“None. It’s as if she lived in isolation.” I stared at the fire. “I can’t figure it out.”
She tilted her head. “It is strange. You don’t leave a fortune to someone without a reason.”
“Well, it was not much of a ‘fortune,’ as fortunes go. But indeed, you are correct. The solicitor found very little. She’s a mystery. My grandmother may have known her, but even that must be a weak connection.”
Elizabeth leaned back, thoughtful. “Could it be that the key to all this is not who Isobel was, but what she wanted?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t about family or obligation. Maybe her choice had more to do with... something else.”
I nodded slowly. “Maybe.” It was more than I had considered. “It will be some days yet before I have the journals from Pemberley, but hopefully they will yield some answers.”
“Well, that’s a start,” she said with a small smile. “Meanwhile, I believe I’ve found something.”
I dropped into the seat across from her. “Found what?”
She glanced up, her eyes shining with the faintest hint of excitement. “A connection. Possibly.”
I raised an eyebrow, moving toward the table. “Go on.”
“This book—Highland Traditions and Mysteries—talks about spirits bound by unfinished business. Particularly, it mentions Christmas as a time when spirits are more... active.”
“Christmas?” I couldn’t help the doubt that crept into my voice. “What could that possibly have to do with Ewan?”
“Well,” she said, flipping through the pages, “according to this, it’s a time when... if a spirit is tied to the mortal world by something unresolved, they can find peace during the Yuletide. Some kind of... restoration, or balancing of wrongs.”
I leaned over the book, scanning the lines she pointed to. It was full of old superstition, no doubt—but still, something about it seemed to click in place with everything I’d been experiencing.
“So, you think,” I said slowly, “that this is about... justice?”
Elizabeth shrugged lightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the book. “It would explain why he’s still here. Maybe he needs you to help him... put something right.”
I sighed, stepping back and rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I already asked him about that, and he was entirely impossible. If only it were that simple.”
Suddenly, a familiar voice chimed in from the far corner. “Aye, too simple fer me, lad. Whit’d I be needin’ yer help for? I’ve been rightin’ wrongs just fine on me own, I have.”
I froze, clenching my jaw. Ewan was slouched against the wall, arms folded lazily as he smiled and tipped his hat at Elizabeth. Not that she could see him.
“I suppose you’ll claim this has nothing to do with you?” I asked.
Elizabeth, sitting across from me, blinked in confusion. “Are you… talking to him?”
Ewan chuckled, his voice low and tired. “She’s catchin’ on, Darcy. Maybe ye should let her in on the joke.”
I scowled at him. “I have already distressed the lady enough.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Darcy, if you’re having another conversation with... him... would you kindly include me in this?”
I shot her an apologetic glance, then turned back to Ewan. “She can’t hear you, can she?”
