by Fiona Monroe
"She tells him everything," she continued, leaning ever closer and speaking lower. "If you have secrets, never speak of them before her. Have you brought a maid of your own?"
"No," said Catriona, astonished. She thought of little Effie, and wondered what Sir Duncan or Miss Buccleuch would have made of her. Clearly, Miss Buccleuch had no idea of how she had been living.
"If my mother or my brother gives one to you, be very careful."
"Miss Buccleuch... Caroline... I shall be quite safe, for I have nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you. I have no secrets."
"Oh, we all have secrets."
She said it in such a low, significant tone, that Catriona was sure she intended for her to ask her what she meant by it. She was trying to think of how to encourage her to elaborate, without appearing indelicately curious, when the door clicked open and the maid, Mackenzie, slipped back into the room.
Caroline Buccleuch withdrew her hands and stood. "It is nearly seven o'clock," she said. "We should dress without delay, the dinner gong will sound at half past the hour."
Her face was closed off once more, inscrutable as a mask.
The dining room at Lochlannan was in the old part of the castle, what had once—as Miss Buccleuch explained as they went down to dinner with her arm firmly tucked into Catriona's—been the Great Hall, where lairds of ages past would have held court and gathered their retainers and lackeys for feasts. It was on the first floor of the keep, at the top of the castle's only wide staircase, a high-ceilinged, dark, rectangular room with a flagstone floor and gloomy wood panelling. Despite a generous fire in the great hearth, the room was chilly.
She had been introduced to Lady Buccleuch at the foot of the stairs just before climbing to enter the dining hall, an awkward moment as all her encounters with the family had been so far. She had an initial impression of a stately old lady, grandly dressed, who greeted her with no warmth at all. Catriona had to wonder what Sir Wallace's widow could possibly think of a young lady, unknown to her and no real relation, joining her household at the behest of her long-dead husband. It was an uncomfortable circumstance, and she been hoping that the dowager would put her at her ease in some small way. But she was met with bare courtesy, and could not therefore help concluding that Lady Buccleuch was not best pleased with the situation.
Catriona had never in her life sat down at a gentleman's table, far less one in a great house. She knew in principle where she ought to be seated, how she ought to eat and how she ought to converse, because she had been brought up as a gentlewoman; her mother had never sunk below her station in manners, however desperate their poverty and wretched their actual surroundings. The tiny table in Souter's Close had been laid each night with a clean worn cloth and battered crockery and cutlery, and Effie and the girl before her who had died had been taught to stand and wait for the duration of their meagre meal. Catriona therefore refused to be intimidated by the array of cutlery before her, nor disconcerted by the small army of gliding liveried servants who brought in soup and fish and game. It was, however, more food than she had ever seen at one meal before and she had to eat in sparing bites, overwhelmed by the quantity and richness of the fare.
In company with her mother and brother, all of Miss Buccleuch's animation had gone. She ate almost in silence, her eyes downcast and her complexion pale in the candlelight.
Sir Duncan presided at the head of the table, of course, and seemed for a while to have nothing to say for himself either. Catriona watched as he shovelled in forkfuls of venison and drank at least three glasses of wine from a heavy silver goblet bearing the family crest. Suddenly he said, "Ross is coming in a couple of weeks, so this place won't be a den of women any longer."
"Indeed?" said his mother, in a frosty tone. "I have had no letter from Lady Ross."
"Good God, not the old folks. Ross is coming on his own. Or at least, he might bring a few friends. We plan to take out a few grouse up the glen."
"Mr. Ross is of course very welcome to visit here at any time, but I would take it as a courtesy to be informed in advance of the number of the party."
"Hang it all, Mrs. Brodie can cope with making up a few extra beds."
"There is more to be considered when welcoming guests than making up beds, Duncan. I shall write to Lady Ross and enquire—"
"You'll do no such thing, Mother."
Catriona was shocked by Sir Duncan's disrespect towards his mother, who fell into an immediate frosty silence. She knew that as head of the family and Laird of Lochlannan, Sir Duncan's word was law within the castle and its extensive estate; still, it would have been gentlemanlike to appear to defer to his mother, at least, and certainly to address her courteously. She had no opinion now of Sir Duncan's character. He seemed to her coarse and ill-mannered in the extreme.
"The old lady won't know anything about it," he continued, less bluntly. "Ross is coming direct from town."
"Oh dear. I hope that Mr. Ross has not been led astray. He is such a respectable young man."
Sir Duncan gave a hoot of laughter that made Catriona jump. "Led astray? Aye, a few weeks of assemblies and private parties are enough to turn a dry stick into a dissolute rake. Don't worry, mother, Ross is as dull a fellow as ever, and just as keen to secure the future mistress of Dubh Sgeir."
"Blackrock Castle," said Lady Buccleuch. "Please, Duncan. Sir John and Lady Ross have made so many improvements to the estate, they do not want that old name to be used."
"No matter what they call it or how many crofts they burn, it will still be a damned miserable pile of wet rocks," said Sir Duncan carelessly. "Still, Ross seems to like it, and he'll like it more once you're married, Caroline."
Catriona looked in surprise at Caroline, across the table. Her expression had darkened further, her skin looked whiter than ever. She mumbled something that even Catriona, who was close to her, could not distinguish.
"What was that?" asked Sir Duncan, and though his tone was casual, there was a hint of provocation—of danger. "What did you say, Caroline?"
"I said, I am not engaged to Mr. Ross." Caroline's voice was low but determined. She did not raise her eyes.
"You'll marry him and like it," said Sir Duncan, coldly, not even looking in her direction.
To Catriona's consternation, Caroline rose to her feet so abruptly that her chair toppled backwards, heavy though it was. It hit the flagstone floor with a tremendous crash, causing the attendant footmen to break their attitude of inscrutable blankness and look round in surprise. One of them scurried forward to right the chair.
"I will not!" she cried. "And nor would he have me now. I refused him. Mr. Ross is an honourable man, he would not persist in a suit—"
"That is enough!" Sir Duncan rapped. "Be seated and hold your tongue. I can tell you, Caroline, that Ross isn't coming here only to kill some grouse. You may as well know that I've persuaded him to renew his suit and this time, I've promised he won't be disappointed."
"I will never marry Mr. Ross!"
"Don't think you will be marrying Daventry. Last I heard he was living in Vienna with a runaway French countess."
With a gasp of fury that was like a sob, Caroline violently pushed aside the servant who was lifting the chair, causing him to stagger and drop it once more. She fled the room without apology, or a backward glance.
It looked like the falling chair had landed on the servant's foot, and his expression was far from neutral as he repositioned it by Caroline's vacated place and limped back to his post against the wall.
Catriona was appalled. Apart from the embarrassment of the drama, she was now alone with these two strangers, and felt pointless guilt at having witnessed a private family scene.
Neither had made any attempt to pursue Miss Buccleuch or call her back. Lady Buccleuch was frowning and shaking her head silently at her plate, and Sir Duncan was sprawled sideways in his chair, gazing at the slammed door with a look that was more thoughtful than angry.
"By God, she needs licking into shape," he s
aid at last. "I'll do the job myself if you can't bring her into line, mother."
"I will see to her after dinner," said Lady Buccleuch replied, frostily. "She will have cause to repent that outburst, I assure you."
"She wants a man's hand. Well, she'll be Ross's to deal with soon enough, Lord help him. Once Ross has spoken next week, I'll set a date for next month. We can have the ceremony in the chapel here, give her no chance to do anything foolish."
Catriona almost spoke out. It took an effort of will, and an actual bite of the lip, to restrain her words.
But Sir Duncan noticed. Catriona found his dark and unexpectedly penetrating eyes directly upon her. "Well, Miss Dunbar," he said. "So now you see the truth, of what I told you about my sister. But don't get it into your head that I allow such behaviour here."
Catriona allowed herself one long look of reproof, though she knew she ought not to speak. To her disgust, he replied with a sudden grin that was in no way friendly, though it showed a flash of fine white teeth and an attractive crinkling around his eyes. He was not an ugly man, in fact.
She looked back down at her plate, at the almost untouched breast of grouse punctured with tiny black bullet holes. Her mind was made up. Her heart started racing as she compared Caroline Buccleuch's situation to her mother's, so long ago. It seemed as though Sir Duncan was intent on forcing his sister to marry a man whom she did not love, just as his father had tried to separate her own mother from a man whom she did.
Now that she was actually within the walls of Lochlannan Castle her mind had been wavering, and she had been wondering whether she owed more respect to her new guardian than to search about for evidence to disgrace his family. But now, her resolve was renewed. All she owed him was to expose his father's villainy, if only she could find proof.
CHAPTER FIVE
The hour after dinner ended was a most uncomfortable one for Catriona. She was obliged to withdraw with Lady Buccleuch, leaving Sir Duncan at the table to smoke a cigar and drink brandy alone, and follow her along dark and draughty passages to the drawing room. There they sat in near silence, while Lady Buccleuch worked and threw out a very occasional, desultory question. Was the weather in Edinburgh fair on the day she left town? Did she attend the theatre often? Was she acquainted with the Sinclairs of Queen Street?
"My mother taught music to the youngest Miss Sinclair," said Catriona. "I do not know whether your ladyship would consider that an acquaintance, or not."
"Indeed!" Lady Buccleuch's brow furrowed and her lips tightened.
This information had the effect of silencing her entirely, and Catriona tried to amuse herself with the only reading matter she could find to hand—a year-old copy of The Edinburgh Review—while she wondered whether Sir Duncan would join them. An hour ticked by with dreary slowness on the mantelpiece carriage clock, however, and he did not appear. Nor was there any sign of Miss Buccleuch, whom Catriona had to assume had already gone to bed.
Catriona stifled a yawn as the clock gave a musical chime. She was very weary after five days spent on the road and four nights tossing fitfully on lumpy beds in wayside inns. It was difficult to believe that she was actually here, perched on a stuffed embroidered sofa in a fine gown, pooled in the light of fine wax candles and surrounded by gilt-edged mirrors, gleaming mahogany and dark, lowering paintings. A generous fire blazed in the great hearth. Before her mother had fallen ill, she had almost always spent the dark winter evenings by the light of a single tallow candle, embroidering for pennies by a very meagre fire while her mother talked endlessly of the lost luxuries of Lochlannan. Catriona had never expected to see that mythical place, and now she was here.
Lady Buccleuch lifted her head at Catriona's yawn. "You will wish, Miss Dunbar, to retire early tonight." She framed it as a statement, not a question.
Grateful for the excuse, however coldly imparted, Catriona immediately put down the paper and said, "Thank you, madam. Indeed, I am tired out. If you are sure that your ladyship will not mind..." She trailed off, half standing, not wishing to appear unseemly in her eagerness to get away. For future evenings, she would be better prepared with reading material and work if the company was to be silent and dull.
"I do not mind in the least," said Lady Buccleuch crisply, beginning to tidy away her work-basket. "We do not keep late hours at Lochlannan in general, and tonight I have something in particular to attend to before I retire. Goodnight, Miss Dunbar."
Catriona dropped a curtsy and retreated, let out by the footman who had been stationed near the door the whole evening. By the time she had thought of requesting a guide to her room, it would have been too awkward to return. She had not even thought to ask for a candle to light her way, so she stumbled through the castle's corridors and staircases in semi-darkness, hoping to come across a servant or to find a place she recognised. Eventually, she found herself back in the entrance hall of the old keep, which was below the Great Hall where they had dined. She recalled that the butler, Cruikshank, had led her up a spiral staircase directly off this hall, and to her relief—after groping her way round and round up the almost-dark stairwell—she reached the solid wooden door of her own small chamber.
She was comforted to see that a good fire had been set for her, and someone—perhaps Mackenzie the dangerous lady's maid—had folded a nightgown on her pillow. She lifted it and pressed her face into the fabric. It was fine, soft cotton and it smelled of lavender.
Quite unexpectedly, she found tears start to her eyes and she sank onto the bed with the nightgown clutched in her hands. She was overwhelmed for a moment by the consciousness of loneliness, and she had to wrestle with herself to regain her composure. Despite her weariness, she did not yet feel like undressing and getting into bed, for she feared she would lie awake prey to gloomy thoughts of her mother and the distance that was now between herself and Mr. Carmichael. She longed for a little friendly company before that.
She put aside the pretty lace shawl that Caroline had lent her to wear to dinner, and decided to venture forth again and knock on Caroline's door. She thought she could remember the way now. The hour was not yet late, and it would not seem an odd thing, she thought, to enquire after her cousin-in-law on her way to bed, since she had not seen her after dinner. The drama at the table need not be mentioned.
There was a candle by her bed, and she lit it and headed out before she could change her mind.
It was easy enough to find her way from the tower staircase into the hall of the modern wing, and from there to the upper floor where Caroline's rooms were. The new building was simply laid out, with a wide handsome staircase and symmetrical passages leading from a galleried landing. Caroline's rooms were along the rightmost corridor, near the end.
Catriona slowed her step as she approached, cupping the candle flame with one hand. She could not overcome a sense of nervousness, of trespassing; yet this was her home now, however rough-mannered the master of the house was, and however chilly its mistress. There was no reason why she should not walk along its corridors at barely nine in the evening. She decided she would knock softly once, and if Caroline did not want company after the upset earlier, or had already gone to bed, she need not respond.
As she neared the door, however, she heard voices from within the room. It sounded like Lady Buccleuch's high, strident tones, and although Catriona could not make out the words, she had no doubt that she was angrily berating her daughter. Catriona hesitated. She knew she ought to go away immediately, and certainly ought not to eavesdrop; but an unworthy curiosity made her linger for a moment, trying to hear what Lady Buccleuch was saying. She distinguished the words 'stubborn, wilful impudence' and 'disobedient hussy', but Caroline's reply was a low indecipherable whine.
Then, just as Catriona was about to retreat back to the safety of her own room, she froze in place. A noise came from behind the door, a hard ringing slap that was unmistakably like the sound of something striking bare flesh, followed by a sobbing gasp. Catriona held her breath in horror. Moments later,
there was another sharp slapping sound, and then another. On the third stroke, Caroline cried out loud. Catriona heard Lady Buccleuch say something else angrily, and follow with a further three rapid strikes.
Caroline's words were loud and clear now. "No! Please no, ma'am! Please no more!"
"Eavesdropping, Miss Dunbar?"
Catriona jumped into the air and almost dropped her candle to the floor. She had been so intent upon listening to the beating taking place behind the door that she had not heard the approach of Sir Duncan, until he was at her side and talking quite into her ear.
He flashed his sudden grin at her once more and said, "Don't look so frightened. It's perhaps as well you should see how we deal with headstrong young ladies at Lochlannan." He slapped something lightly against the thigh of his breeches, and Catriona looked down to see that a wicked-looking razor strop was dangling from one hand. It was a well-worn strip of flexible dark brown leather, long and wide and thick, with a metal grip at the handle end and a stitched triangle at its tail.
Without waiting for a reply from her, he opened the door.
Miss Buccleuch had an outer sitting room, where she and Catriona had looked at gowns and talked together before dinner, and a bed chamber beyond an inner door. That afternoon, this room had remained closed and Catriona had not seen what was beyond it. Now it stood open, revealing a handsome canopy bed draped with a pretty embroidered coverlet.
But Catriona noticed the furnishings only fleetingly. Instead, she stared appalled at the sight of Caroline Buccleuch leaning forward over that bed, her toes touching the floor—for the bed was a high one—and her backside presented upwards as she bent over the side. She was in her nightgown, and the skirt was bunched up around her waist to expose bare legs and a bare behind. Her thighs were slender and white as ivory, but her nether cheeks were, by contrast, covered all over with deep red, oval blotches. Even from where she stood, astonished, in the outer sitting room, Catriona could see how some of the marks overlapped each other, making darker edges where the ovals crossed.
