“It’s probably haunted,” the big man chuckled. “The ghost only appears after the stroke of twelve midday. Babe swears she saw a white figure floating down the corridor upstairs.”

“That would be the White Lady of Rannoch,” I said. “Did you hear her moaning? She often moans.”

“Moans?” Babe looked apprehensive.

“Frightfully,” I said. “She was thrown in the loch with a great stone tied to her for being a witch. The locals also say that they see bubbles coming up from the loch and that could be the White Lady returning. Of course, it could be just the monster.”

“Monster?” The countess sounded alarmed now.

“Oh yes. Didn’t you hear we have a famous monster in the loch? It’s been there for hundreds of years.”

“Mercy me,” the countess said. “I think I might skip the cards tonight and go straight to bed. Fritzi, would you pop up ahead of me and make sure there’s a hot water bottle in the bed and that my nightdress is wrapped around it?”

“Of course, Mama.” He nodded dutifully and went.

“Well, I need my nightly gamble,” the big man said. “You guys go take a look at that morning room place and I’ll go fetch the roulette wheel.”

They disappeared. Fig looked at me. “Now you can see for yourself,” she said. “Torment, utter torment. Did you ever hear of anyone wanting to use the morning room after luncheon?”

“Never,” I agreed.

“You’d think the one who became a countess would know better, wouldn’t you? She does have a castle in Austria.”

“And the other man is an earl, isn’t he?” I commented, watching his large retreating rear.

Fig broke into tense laughter. “No, that’s just his Christian name. I made the same mistake and called his wife ‘countess’ and she thought it was a hoot.” She went to walk ahead then turned back to me. “But tell me, what was all that about the White Lady of Rannoch? I’ve never heard of her.”

“I made her up,” I said. “It occurred to me that if you want the Americans to leave, you should make them want to leave. The occasional nighttime haunting by the family ghost might help to do the trick.”

“Georgiana, you are wicked,” Fig said, but she was beaming at me with admiration.

“And we can institute some other measures to make them uncomfortable,” I said. “Turn down the boiler, for one thing. We did that at Rannoch House when we wanted the German baroness to move. They won’t stay if they can’t get their hot showers.”

“Brilliant!” Fig was still beaming.

“And does Fergus still play the pipes?” I asked, referring to one of our grooms who led the local pipe band.

“He does.”

“Have him play them on the battlements at dawn, like they used to do in the old days. Oh, and serve them haggis for breakfast. . . .”