no credenza, no tables, telephones, keyboards or computers — the universal clutter of offices the world over.
The man himself was sitting at a great antique wooden desk, looking officious and efficient in a severe black suit and waistcoat. His white hair was carefully combed, and his long hands folded as, head down, he scanned a document atop the tidy stack before him. His manner, appearance, and surroundings were so at odds with the way James had last seen him, he doubted for a moment whether it was the same person.
Then, as James and Cal moved into the room, Embries slowly raised his head and regarded them each with his pale, knowing eyes, and all doubt vanished. This, James knew, was the same man he had met on the hilltop two nights ago.
Embries smiled and stood, holding out a slender hand in greeting. “Welcome, and thank you for coming on such short notice.” Turning to Cal, he said, “And you must be…”
“Calum McKay — Cal, please — at your service.” Cal’s massive paw reached out in a handshake that seemed to rock Embries in his shoes.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Embries with an air of satisfaction that intrigued James instantly. “Indeed,” he repeated, and James decided Embries more than approved of his friend.
“This is some ritzy office block you have here,” James remarked.
“One of the benefits of royal devolution,” Embries answered, freeing his hand from Cal’s grip. “Even old warhorses like me get a decent office now. It’s small, I know, but it’s private, and I much prefer it that way.” He paused, regarding his visitor keenly. “I trust you got on with Lord and Lady Rothes reasonably well?”
“Very well. Charming people, and most hospitable.”
“Good eats,” Cal added. “And a fantastic cook.”
“Ah, yes” — Embries smiled — “the splendid Isobel. Well, I do apologize for my absence last night. It was unavoidable. But, as it has some slight bearing on the work before us today, I think you’ll forgive me.”
Eager to get down to business, James said, “And what
is
that work, exactly?”
“You are forthright. I like that. It will allow me to be forthright, too.” He drew a straight chair away from the wall for Cal’s use, and motioned James to join him on the other side of the desk. “Sit,” he directed, indicating his vacated chair. “I have prepared some documents for your perusal.”
James moved around the desk, and took the offered seat. Arranged in a neat stack before him were copies of government files — all filled-in blanks, badly typed, and impenetrable jargon. The first one his eye lit upon had a title at the top which read
Registration of Land Use: GA-5C
. Although the title meant nothing to him, he recognized the name Robert Moray, Lord Morven, in one of the typed-in spaces, and realized it must have something to do with the estate.
“We could spend all morning going through this collection piece by piece,” Embries said, patting the stack with the flat of his hand. “Or I could simply tell you what I have discovered and work backwards from there.”
This more than suited James’ mood. “All right, let’s cut to the chase. Two nights ago you implied Blair Morven belonged to me. Well? Here I am. Tell me: does it?”
“It does indeed.”
“The whole estate?” said Cal, jumping up. “All of it belongs to Jimmy here?”
“All of it,” confirmed Embries. “From the heather on the top of Uaimh Hill to the gravel at the end of the driveway — it all belongs to James.”
“Man,” Cal said, his grin wide with relief and delight, “you don’t know how I have hoped someone would say that and mean it.” He grew suddenly wary. “You do mean it, Mr. Embries? There’s no catch?”
“None whatsoever.” Embries moved to the side of the chair and leaned over the table.
“How is that possible?” asked James.
“By reason of the ordinary and ancient right of legal inheritance.”
“And what makes you think that?” James
The man himself was sitting at a great antique wooden desk, looking officious and efficient in a severe black suit and waistcoat. His white hair was carefully combed, and his long hands folded as, head down, he scanned a document atop the tidy stack before him. His manner, appearance, and surroundings were so at odds with the way James had last seen him, he doubted for a moment whether it was the same person.
Then, as James and Cal moved into the room, Embries slowly raised his head and regarded them each with his pale, knowing eyes, and all doubt vanished. This, James knew, was the same man he had met on the hilltop two nights ago.
Embries smiled and stood, holding out a slender hand in greeting. “Welcome, and thank you for coming on such short notice.” Turning to Cal, he said, “And you must be…”
“Calum McKay — Cal, please — at your service.” Cal’s massive paw reached out in a handshake that seemed to rock Embries in his shoes.
“Indeed!” exclaimed Embries with an air of satisfaction that intrigued James instantly. “Indeed,” he repeated, and James decided Embries more than approved of his friend.
“This is some ritzy office block you have here,” James remarked.
“One of the benefits of royal devolution,” Embries answered, freeing his hand from Cal’s grip. “Even old warhorses like me get a decent office now. It’s small, I know, but it’s private, and I much prefer it that way.” He paused, regarding his visitor keenly. “I trust you got on with Lord and Lady Rothes reasonably well?”
“Very well. Charming people, and most hospitable.”
“Good eats,” Cal added. “And a fantastic cook.”
“Ah, yes” — Embries smiled — “the splendid Isobel. Well, I do apologize for my absence last night. It was unavoidable. But, as it has some slight bearing on the work before us today, I think you’ll forgive me.”
Eager to get down to business, James said, “And what
is
that work, exactly?”
“You are forthright. I like that. It will allow me to be forthright, too.” He drew a straight chair away from the wall for Cal’s use, and motioned James to join him on the other side of the desk. “Sit,” he directed, indicating his vacated chair. “I have prepared some documents for your perusal.”
James moved around the desk, and took the offered seat. Arranged in a neat stack before him were copies of government files — all filled-in blanks, badly typed, and impenetrable jargon. The first one his eye lit upon had a title at the top which read
Registration of Land Use: GA-5C
. Although the title meant nothing to him, he recognized the name Robert Moray, Lord Morven, in one of the typed-in spaces, and realized it must have something to do with the estate.
“We could spend all morning going through this collection piece by piece,” Embries said, patting the stack with the flat of his hand. “Or I could simply tell you what I have discovered and work backwards from there.”
This more than suited James’ mood. “All right, let’s cut to the chase. Two nights ago you implied Blair Morven belonged to me. Well? Here I am. Tell me: does it?”
“It does indeed.”
“The whole estate?” said Cal, jumping up. “All of it belongs to Jimmy here?”
“All of it,” confirmed Embries. “From the heather on the top of Uaimh Hill to the gravel at the end of the driveway — it all belongs to James.”
“Man,” Cal said, his grin wide with relief and delight, “you don’t know how I have hoped someone would say that and mean it.” He grew suddenly wary. “You do mean it, Mr. Embries? There’s no catch?”
“None whatsoever.” Embries moved to the side of the chair and leaned over the table.
“How is that possible?” asked James.
“By reason of the ordinary and ancient right of legal inheritance.”
“And what makes you think that?” James
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