“Then I suggest that you both have a nip of brandy,” Alaine suggested, going to the decanter that had been brought in with the coffee cups. “It will ensure that neither of you suffers any after-effects as a result of our unfortunate visit to the roof.”
Judy accepted the brandy, and drank it as if she needed it, but Amanda declined and accepted a cup of rather cool coffee instead. A little later, when the unfamiliar tremors in all her limbs that had been occasioned by her near fall—and possibly, also Alaine’s intense concern for her, which had struck her as a trifle excessive even while she was still regaining her breath at the head of the stairs—she slipped away to her own room, and once there she went to the window and looked out at the starry beauty of the night with a new interest in the skies above Urquhart Tower.
Only half an hour ago she had had a detached—almost academic—interest in everything connected with the tall Tower of Ure, and it had never even occurred to her that she might feel personal interest in it. Aesthetically it appealed to her, and she was sufficiently interested in the history of ancient monuments to be intrigued by it. She had, it was true, occasionally wondered why Urquhart remained there when he might have sold the place to an interested American—or someone like Judy Macrae, who could pay him a fair price for it—and go and live in a more civilised corner of the globe, since from his appearance he struck her as a very civilised man. But she had been unable to work up any real sympathy for his determination, apparently, to live out the rest of his life there.
From a woman’s point of view there were so many things the Tower lacked, which he had neither the means nor, possibly, the inclination to provide for it; and having toiled in the kitchen with Jean she understood perfectly what it meant to run such an uncomfortable establishment as if it was an ordinary and reasonably comfortable home.
If it had been hers she would have parted with it to someone like Judy ... Or that was her attitude until less than an hour ago. But after a visit to the roof and a near-accident involving herself—which might understandably have put her off it for good and all—and a flash of unguarded hostility that had leapt out at her from Judy, she felt as if she was seeing things from an entirely new angle.
The view from the roof had held her entranced, but now it was important to her. Those cool stars in the night sky above the loch were important to her... She went closer to the window, flung it wide, and leaned out, inhaling the sweetness and freshness of the night. Despite the fact that they were very far north the air had a softness and almost a silken quality about it still. It fanned her cheek and lifted the hair off her brow, and from the sheltered little rose-garden where Alaine’s mother had grown roses enticing scents reached her.
She wanted to slip on a cardigan, return by the way she had come, and go out into the night. She even wanted to make her way down to the loch and hear the night birds calling in the woods that fringed the shore. She wanted....
She gave herself a little shake. What else did she want...?
To encounter Alaine, walking in the gloom with Judy, perhaps, clinging to his arm, or Miss Greystoke temporarily separated from Michael Manners beguiling him with her husky contralto voice?
She felt a new, acute feeling of dislike for both these women ... even Judy, who had been her friend at school, and had been not ungenerous to her since. She knew very well that Judy had definite plans for a future that included Alaine ... but whether or not Miss Greystoke had any serious intentions where he was concerned she could only guess. She had a life full of interests and she had Michael Manners. But when Alaine was anywhere near her her eyes seldom left him even for a moment, and since they were dark, rather Italianate eyes with a brooding expression in them at the best of times it was impossible to guess what was in her mind.
Amanda suddenly decided there was no reason why she shouldn’t indulge a somewhat urgent whim and go out into the garden of the Tower at this late hour if she felt like it. She was not a servant here, she was a visitor ... She had a right to do what she chose, even as the others all assumed they had a right.
On her way across the drawing-room which she imagined to be empty she discovered Aunt Grace slumbering peacefully in her chair with candlelight flickering on her hair and her knitting lying quietly in her lap, and she tiptoed elaborately past her on her way to the open french window in order not to disturb her.
But Miss Urquhart opened one eye cautiously, saw who it was and smiled a little. She mumbled far from sleepily:
“That’s right; my dear, go and join them ... Go and rescue Alaine! Those two women between them will devour him if we don’t do something to prevent them! Such brazen determination on the part of a couple of members of my own sex I’ve never come upon before, and one of them appears to have one string to her bow already ... and I’m referring to Mr. Manners, of course! By the way, my dear, I can’t stand him, can you?”
Amanda was about to reply carefully that she knew little or nothing about Mr. Manners when Aunt Grace’s one eyelid drooped again, and she appeared to drift back into tranquil sleep. Amanda stole past her and went on her way to the window, wondering whether Miss Urquhart was really asleep, and—if she was not—what did she think of her?
Surely she didn’t imagine that she—she had any particular interest in Alaine Urquhart—?
And it was unreasonable of Miss Urquhart to despise Judy and Camilla when she had admitted that she wanted her nephew to marry a rich woman.
Outside in the darkness of the overgrown garden Amanda was startled by a shadow that moved. It came quite close to her elbow, and it addressed her in a voice that held frustration and contempt:
“Hullo!” he said. “I thought you’d gone to bed... But I’m glad you haven’t, because as the only other male member of this house-party I’m a little at a loss to know how to while away my time. Camilla’s persuaded our host to get a boat out and take her for a trip on the loch, and I think Miss Macrae’s the odd man out ... or odd woman out! I’m not fond of boating trips at night myself. Are you?”
Too late Amanda realised that she had provided Michael Manners with an opportunity that she never would have provided him with if she had given the matter thought ... the opportunity to be alone with a pretty girl who intrigued him mildly in the darkness of an overgrown garden.
He slipped a careless hand inside her arm and led her forward along one of the paths. His fingers caressed the smoothness of her bare skin appreciatively.
“You’re a nice little thing,” he said. “A pretty little thing. I’m glad that you don’t appear to be sold on Urquhart. Tell me something about yourself, and let’s get better acquainted.”
But for the second time that night Amanda was rescued unexpectedly.
Alaine—quite alone, and looking disturbingly handsome and vitally attractive in his kilt and midnight blue velvet doublet and softly falling ruffles in the light that streamed from the french window of the drawing-room—appeared directly ahead of them in the path, and his dark eyes gleamed contemptuously at Michael Manners as he dismissed him curtly.
“Unless I’m very much mistaken Miss Wells is not vitally concerned with getting acquainted with you, Manners,” he said in a voice that had a positive razor-edge. “In any case, it’s late, and I think she ought to be in bed.”
“Well, really!” Manners exclaimed, his tone a mixture of insolence and resentment. “I had no idea that Miss Wells was under your guardianship. For one thing, I thought you were better occupied!”
“At the moment I’m only concerned with preventing Miss Wells catching a chill in that thin dress,” Alaine returned, looking towards Amanda frowningly and indicating the lighted window behind her. “If I were you, Amanda,” he said, with extraordinary gentleness, “I’d call it a day. Don’t forget you did a lot of work in the kitchen before dinner, and it really is quite late. Besides, you should have stopped to put a coat on before coming out here.”
And to her utter astonishment he whipped off his blue velvet doublet and placed it about her shoul
ders.
“There!” he said. “Keep that on until you get upstairs. You can return it to me in the morning!”
CHAPTER XI
AMANDA, however, returned his jacket to him before she got upstairs. She slipped out of it in the drawing-room, and she handed it back to him as he stood in his fine white silk shirt smiling at her with the same curious gentleness in his eyes that had been in his voice when he surprised her in the garden.
“Thank you,” she said, the words falling over themselves in some confusion, “but it wasn’t really necessary. You might have caught a chill yourself !”
“I don’t catch chills.”
“Anyway, it’s a very fine night.”
“There’s a chill in the warmest summer night air in this latitude. Besides,” with a sudden touch of amusement in his smile, “you’re such a slip of a thing one can’t get away from the conviction that you need protecting. Just as you needed protecting on the stairs earlier this evening.”
Miss Urquhart opened both eyes without surprise and contributed her own views on the subject.
“And don’t forget Duncan thought she was a ghost when he first caught sight of her. Ghosts are notoriously insubstantial, and if you want to ensure that they don’t vanish too quickly you have to put salt on their tails, or something of the sort...” grinning at the play on words. “I don’t suppose Jean wants Miss Wells to vanish, so if you have any consideration for her feelings you’ll take the utmost care of Miss Wells.”
“Just what I propose to do,” her nephew assured her, with that warm light in his eyes confusing Amanda to such an extent that she fell back on the protest that it was unnecessary for anyone to call her Miss Wells when they had known her several days for something to say to counteract her shyness.
“A charming name, Amanda,” Miss Urquhart commented. “A charming name for a charming ghost.”
“But I’m not a ghost!”
“No, thank goodness. You make a mouth-watering apple pie, and Jean tells me that’s not the only thing you can do in the kitchen, either. Apparently you know several ways of disguising the appearance of ‘left-overs’... very important when at the moment the Tower is full of extra mouths to feed.”
They all three laughed at that, and Amanda said something about understanding Miss Greystoke was fond of Continental dishes.
“Too true,” Aunt Grace agreed. “I’m growing rather tired of hearing about the way they do things in Milan, and the way the Romans live. I should have realised that Miss Greystoke is a singer first and foremost before I somewhat rashly invited her to accompany me here.”
“Why did you bring her here?” Alaine enquired of his aunt, his shapely mouth twitching with amusement as he did so.
Miss Urquhart shook her head at him.
“As if you didn’t know!” she said. Then, recollecting that Amanda was present, she added: “She said something about buying a house where she could settle down one of these days when she gave up singing, and naturally I immediately thought of Ure. There was one chance in a thousand that she might take it off you and leave you free to roam the world, or do whatever you’d like to do.”
“I’d like to stay on Ure,” he told her, still smiling.
She threw her hands up in despair.
“But what for? What is there on Ure to compensate for all the other things you’re missing?”
“It’s my home, for one thing,” he told her, the smile vanishing so rapidly that after it had disappeared his face looked stem. “And although you seem to be deluding yourself I’m not at all convinced that I’m missing anything. I’m perfectly happy, so what more do I want?”
“A wife and a family,” she said shortly.
He glanced at Amanda, and his lips smiled again, slightly.
“You hear that?” he said. “My aunt has plans for me.”
“Certainly I have,” Miss Urquhart stated emphatically. “And if I can’t detach you from Ure I’ll provide you with a wife who will enable you to live on Ure in comfort. Miss Macrae, for instance, despite that trying accent of hers, might suit.”
Judy came breathlessly into the drawing-room, entering by way of the open window behind them, and she looked reproachfully at Alaine.
“I’ve been hunting for you everywhere,” she told him. “You said I was to make for the boat-house and you’d join me there, but I’ve been waiting and waiting ... and you didn’t come!” She pouted her lovely lower lip at him. “Why didn’t you come?”
“I’m sorry.” He apologised gracefully. “There was something I had to attend to. Have you really been waiting at the boat-house all this time?”
“I have.” Her gaze swung accusingly to Amanda. “Then, if you don’t think it’s too late, we’ll go back to there, shall we?” His look invited Amanda to accompany them, but she moved swiftly to the door before he could actually put the invitation into words. As she crossed the stone-flagged hall on her way to the stairs she heard Judy exclaim in some surprise:
“But you’re not wearing your coat! Why are you holding it in your hands?”
“I took it off,” he explained smoothly, suavely, “to put it about someone’s shoulders. You must forgive me if I appear in a state of undress.”
And as Amanda went hurriedly up the stairs she tried to shut out the shrill tones of the Australian girl as she made the inevitable enquiry:
“Someone’s shoulders? Whose shoulders? Not Amanda’s?”
“Miss Wells was a little cold,” he said quietly, as if that clinched the matter.
In the morning, when Amanda carried in Judy’s breakfast-tray, she found her friend already sitting up in bed and scowling at the rain as it descended in a solid sheet outside the window. The whole world was grey, and Ure in particular seemed a desolate place. Even the loch was blotted out by the rain, and as for the distant hills they had disappeared altogether.
“What did Alaine mean last night when he said —or rather, implied—that you borrowed his coat?” she asked, and there was open hostility in her beautiful brown eyes as she stared hard at Amanda.
Amanda set the breakfast-tray—which she had taken the trouble to arrange herself—down on the table beside the bed, and before attempting to answer she went and fetched Judy’s dressing-gown and gave it to her to drape across her shoulders because the room was cold. If this kind of weather continued Jean would have to go round lighting fires in their bedrooms for the guests, and as the fires would mostly smoke there would be further trouble for her.
“Simply that he found me in the garden without a coat and he thought I might catch a chill,” she explained.
“So in order to prevent you catching a chill he lent you his coat?”
“Yes.”
“I was in the garden, and I was also without a coat, but he didn’t apparently think it necessary to lend his coat to me,” Judy remarked with icy emphasis.
Amanda shrugged.
“Perhaps he doesn’t think you’re susceptible to chills.”
“And you are? You’re the frail one, the delicate one, the one who has to be protected? I was permitted to descend that dangerous staircase last night by myself because you had to have assistance! Well, I give you my word I won’t put up with it. I didn’t come here to Ure to have you, an outsider, muscle in where you haven’t the smallest right!” Her voice rose, growing shrill with indignation. “I’m a Macrae, do you understand? I have a right here! I intend to buy this place, and if I can get him I intend to marry Alaine! It was bad enough having that Greystoke creature brought here just when it seemed that everything was going quite well ... but to have you mess up my chances and get ideas into your head into the bargain is something I won’t stomach. You’ve got to realise that, but for me, you wouldn’t be here at all. It’s my generosity that got you as far as this. Do you appreciate that?”
Amanda looked at her with clear, faintly contemptuous eyes.
“Yes, I appreciate it as much as, I’m sure, you could wish ... but that doesn’t mean I have to stay here an
d wait on you in order to earn my bed and board. The fact that Mr. Urquhart lent me his coat last night is no concern of yours, but it did concern me because it was very kind of him.” She thumped a pillow up behind Judy’s back, and then started putting out her clothes for the day. “While I’m here I’ll act the part of a lady’s maid since you insist on it, but as I don’t intend remaining more than another day or so you’d better learn to start looking after yourself and that poor injured ankle of yours.” She gazed at the spot covered by bedclothes where it was reclining, and there was sharp distaste in her face. “By the way, you don’t imagine you deceived anyone, do you?” she asked. “I mean, you don’t imagine anyone really believed you had an injured ankle?”
Judy lay looking at her with an inscrutable expression for a moment, and then she spoke sullenly.
“All right, all right,” she said. “I get you! You’re offended, and if I persist in being nasty you’ll leave me here to fend for myself, and take yourself off to London, or somewhere like that. It’s true that a day or so ago I could have been willing to dispense with you, but with that Greystoke woman here I can’t afford to be handicapped. You keep my clothes pressed, and things like that, and you’re useful in countless ways. If I have to look after myself I’ll probably look a mess, and in any case I won’t have so much time to spend with Alaine. So, if it’s money you want, name it ... and I won’t refer to last night again unless you force me to.”
“I don’t want money.” Amanda’s voice was cold as the drip of ice. “And I don’t want Mr. Urquhart, either,” with a fierceness that surprised herself, not merely because it was an unnecessary statement—or should have been—but because her whole being reacted strangely to this discussion of Alaine with a rich young woman who was out to buy him if she could.
Amanda actually felt as if her flesh crept, with distaste ... and for the first time since she had known the Australian girl she felt that she disliked her acutely, and would have been prepared to tell her so with little encouragement
Bride of Alaine Page 10
