Bluebell Castle. Sarah Bennett

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      Iggy dug her own torch from her pocket and aimed it at the gravel ahead of her, giving them a point of reference to follow. They followed the path as it wound around the western wall of the castle and beyond to the faded and overgrown formal gardens where it finally gave way to the gallops still used daily to exercise the horses from the successful Bluebell Castle stud their uncle ran from the stables.

      The whimsical name was drawn from the incredible floral display the woods surrounding the castle put on every spring. The little flower had become so synonymous with the Ludworth family it had even found its way onto their family crest. Thoughts of what might become of his uncle’s business haunted Arthur along with a million other worries. Lancelot’s reputation was good enough the business could survive relocating elsewhere if the worst of their nightmares came true and Arthur was forced to sell up, but it’d be a devasting loss to the members of the local community who relied upon it for employment.

      The circle of torchlight stopped as Iggy paused. ‘Here?’

      ‘Just a bit further, and then I reckon we’ll be fine,’ Tristan replied. ‘What do you think, Arthur?’

      It was hard to gauge distances in the dark, but he knew the land beneath his feet as well as the back of his own hand. They were almost to the edge of where the formal lands surrounding their home gave way to the wild escarpments of the Derbyshire hills. Their father had loved tromping over those hills and it was also a symbolic threshold. Free of all worldly responsibilities, Uther’s spirit—or whatever—could escape back to the untamed wildness of nature. ‘Here is probably as good a spot as any. We’re well away from any trees.’

      ‘I think it’s perfect,’ Iggy’s voice held a slight tremor, but the beam of light cast by her torch onto the ground in front of them was steady as a rock.

      ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing with these things?’ Arthur asked Tristan as they bent to place the box gently on the ground.

      ‘I’m sure. I’ve read the instructions at least half a dozen times, and I had a briefing from the manufacturers when I went and picked them up. Stop fussing.’ The last was said with exasperated affection.

      Taking up a position opposite his sister, Arthur pointed his own torch to increase the illuminated area and give Tristan enough room to work with. Trying to quell the nerves in his stomach, Arthur watched his brother unfasten the metal container and draw out the first of several massive rockets attached to long sticks. ‘Trust Dad to come up with something as daft as this,’ he muttered.

      Tristan’s broad grin flashed up briefly in the torch light. ‘I think it’s a fab idea, who wouldn’t want to be turned into fireworks when they die?’

      Just about everybody he could think of, but Arthur kept that to himself. Tristan had become enamoured with the idea from the moment they’d first read the request included in their father’s will. Arthur had never heard of it before, but once they’d looked it up on the internet, it had proven to be more popular than he’d expected. After reading some of the touching testimonials on the manufacturer’s site, he’d agreed to go along with it.

      With their dad having passed away in early October, they could’ve done this on Bonfire night, but it had been Iggy’s suggestion that they wait until New Year Eve’s and mark the passing of the old year into the new with this final farewell and tribute. The symbolism of it had led Arthur to suggest this as the location, echoing as it did that transition from one thing to another: old to new; settled lands to wilderness; life to death.

      Tristan paced out the placement of each of the eight rockets provided with the kit and set them firmly into the ground. He then removed the central piece of the display—a multi-firework barrage which could be lit by a single fuse. Straightening up, he checked his watch. ‘Five minutes.’

      They waited in silence until the first distant chime from the village church, then Tristan stepped forward to fire the first rocket using the special ignitor kit provided by the manufacturer. A shiver travelled down Arthur’s spine at the distinctive whoosh of the firework streaking high into the air, and then all his worries vanished as a huge boom echoed off the nearby rocky hills and a sparkle of silver and blue bloomed across the dark sky above their heads. Seconds later, the second rocket splashed golden rain, swiftly followed by the third, a bright silver starburst that ended in a series of crackles. Tristan lit two more, bright blue then bright green, five in total to mark each decade of their father’s too-brief life.

      Having lit the barrage, Tristan stepped back to join Arthur and Iggy who’d come to stand beside him and they watched in awed silence as the sky lit up with flash after flash of multi-coloured sparks sending their father on his way. Though the company had promised the barrage would last for two minutes it felt like much longer, and by the end of it Arthur found his face was aching from smiling so much at the sheer joy and exuberance. ‘Well done, Dad.’

      ‘That was fabulous, just perfect,’ Iggy said as she squeezed his hand.

      ‘Just the last three left.’ Tristan offered the ignitor to Arthur. ‘Age before beauty.’ Arthur took it with a shake of his head. Apart from a pale scar bisecting Arthur’s left eyebrow thanks to a fall from one of the mighty oak trees spread throughout their woods, they were alike enough to be mistaken for each other by anyone who didn’t know the family well.

      As he stepped up to one of the remaining rockets, all traces of humour fled and he found it hard to breathe around a sudden ache in his chest. The official memorial service they’d held back in the autumn had been the time for wordy tributes and eulogies. Now, he had only one thing left to say. ‘Blaze bright, Dad, always.’ With shaking fingers, he touched the ignitor to the fuse.

      Bright silver sparks showered high above as Iggy placed a soft hand on his back before accepting the ignitor from him. ‘Love you, Daddy, to the stars and back.’ Her fiery tribute streaked into the sky, a perfect crackling match to Arthur’s rocket.

      ‘We’ll always have Paris,’ Tristan said as he lit the third and final fuse, and the three of them laughed. Stolen from Casablanca, it had been their dad’s response to any awkward or emotional situation, and had become his traditional farewell phrase whenever he’d dropped them off at school.

      As the final firework blazed above, they turned away towards the castle. Mixed amongst the smoke, the ashes of Uther Pendragon Ludworth, fourteenth Baronet Ludworth of Camland Castle drifted to settle over the lands he’d loved so much, and Arthur swore he’d do everything in his power to keep hold of them.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘You’ve got this. You’ve done all the research, double-checked and triple-checked everything. Come on now.’ Pep talk over, Lucie Kennington released her grip on the porcelain sink in the ladies’ bathroom and turned on the cold tap. Running her wrists under the cool water, she practised a deep breathing technique she’d picked up at yoga class and squished down the last of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

      A quick check in the mirror above the sink told her the carefully applied ‘there, but not there’ make-up she’d got up an hour earlier than normal to apply still looked flawless. One of the first things she’d learnt when starting at Witherby’s Fine Art five years previously was the importance of presentation. Whether it was finding the perfect frame for a painting, a table from the right period to display an exquisite porcelain vase, or just ensuring you were immaculately turned out, presentation was an essential СКАЧАТЬ