Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  “Did you see how the people looked when they saw us?” Grace asked her mother with a shudder. “As if they thought we would leap forth and attack them? Even as they stood respectfully by, they cringed.”

  “You read too many of those dreadful novels,” Mama said, covertly studying the castle courtyard, which lay behind the grand fortress. On this, the north side, it was revealed as L-shaped and buttressed on all corners by towers. “Dwelling on silly romantical stories will inevitably cause aberrations of the imagination. Better to spend more time improving indispensable skills. How to adequately defer to a gentleman. How to compensate in delightful conversation for the girlish charm you lack. Oh, really, what can be keeping that wretched coachman? Tell him to hand us down.”

  “He’s gone ahead to announce us,” Grace said in a voice that wobbled annoyingly.

  “And he’s taking entirely too long about it. You must complain to the marquess.”

  Graced lacked the composure to respond. Once inside the great wall that surrounded the base of the castle’s mound, the carriage had bowled upward amid acres of ancient beechwoods and lush fields where sleek, fat cattle grazed. Immediately about the castle were gardens edged by low hedges and endless smooth lawns.

  “There he is,” Mama said, shifting to the edge of her seat in readiness.

  “Perhaps this is the wrong Kirkcaldy,” Grace remarked weakly and not without some hope.

  “No,” Mama announced, smiling. “There is Mr. Innes. My, I do admit I’m relieved to see him.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Collect yourself, Grace. For once in your life will you do something useful for your poor mother, you ungrateful girl? Haven’t I suffered enough for not producing a son?”

  Grace sighed and gathered her reticule onto her lap in time for the door to swing open. “Mrs. Wren, Miss Wren,” Mr. Innes said heartily. “Welcome to Kirkcaldy.” He helped her mother down but looked directly at Grace.

  She studied his dark eyes and found nothing of a reassuring welcome there—nor on his unsmiling mouth. “Thank you.” She took the hand he offered. “This is a magnificent place. I was almost certain you referred to it as a house.”

  Innes’s laugh added no cheer to the moment. “It is a house. What we scots call a great hoose. Do you not like the place?”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful, I’m sure, but—”

  “But a little overwhelming.” He watched Mama, whose chin pointed skyward as she surveyed the clock tower that crowned a castellated balcony around the roof of a massive, oak-doored vestibule. “Your mother appears quite pleased with her prospective home.”

  Grace took a calming breath. “Mama is interested in everything. How is the marquess?”

  “Well.”

  Tiny cold ripples spread over Grace’s skin. “I’m glad.”

  “Let me show you inside Kirkcaldy.”

  “Thank you. Exactly how well is the marquess?”

  “Very well.”

  “I see.”

  Angus passed them, hefting one of Grace’s smaller trunks.

  She marshaled the courage to say, “I’m glad the marquess is so much improved.”

  “Improved?”

  “Yes. Over his former indisposed condition.”

  “Ah.”

  The coachman had reached the top of the entrance steps. He set Grace’s trunk down and pushed the door wide open.

  “Surely there is someone to help with the luggage,” Grace said.

  “Damn muck wallop,” Mr. Innes said sharply. “I never thought to ...” He closed his mouth firmly and inclined his head, indicating for Grace to precede him up the steps.

  She forbore to ask the nature of a muck wallop.

  “Do hurry, Grace.” Mama hovered, half inside and half outside the vestibule. “Does the marquess not have sufficient servants, Mr. Innes? We shall have to rectify that situation immediately.”

  “Mama.”

  “There are more than enough people wandering about with nothing to do. I have no doubt many of them will be glad of the employment.”

  “Mama!”

  “We have an adequate staff, Mrs. Wren,” Mr. Innes said in a voice that was too pleasant.

  He waved them ahead of him ... inside Castle Kirkcaldy.

  On the threshold Grace drew in a breath and held it.

  “Muck wallop!” Mr. Innes’s roar shook her to the bone. He drew himself up, and she saw muscles jerk in his lean cheeks. “Please come in. We’ll get you settled shortly.”

  She could never, ever, be settled amid all this. Grace shook her head slowly. Dark red Persian rugs did not soften the stark flagstones. No fire brightened a huge marble fireplace at the opposite end of the vestibule. Above the fireplace stretched a grim plaster relief of some battle scene. Dully glowing suits of armor stood guard around the walls, each one grasping a vicious-looking weapon in its iron hands.

  “Grand, isn’t it?” Mama said, catching Grace’s eye.

  She thought it quite terrifying. “Yes. Grand.”

  “Och, Master Calum, d’ye not see any o’ the lad-dies about?” Angus staggered in with another trunk. “I’m afraid Shanks may have forgotten to tell them we’re expectin’—”

  “What’s all this then?” A stocky man burst from an archway to a dark corridor and marched into the center of the vestibule.

  “Nice of you to come, muck wallop,” Mr. Innes said, silkily menacing. “Do you suppose we could rouse the rest of the appropriate staff?”

  “I should think so,” Mama murmured.

  Crowned by a thatch of curly red hair, the man had the ruddy face and brawny body of a vigorous laborer. He jutted his square chin ferociously. “Appropriate staff, sir? Nothin’s been said to me about needing any particular staff. Therefore I’ll away back to my duties and assume ye’ve made a mistake.”

  “Kindly stay where you are.” Mr. Innes’s smile was not reassuring. “Miss Wren, allow me to introduce you to his lordship’s steward, Mr. McWallop.”

  For a dreadful instant Grace thought she would laugh hysterically. “How do you do?” she said, and giggled—and coughed. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. McWallop.”

  “Aye.” He straightened his claret-colored jacket and smoothed the dashing yellow silk waistcoat he wore beneath. “Aye, well, that’s as may be. Here’s Shanks. If he weren’t deaf, he’d o’ been here when ye made all that racket comin’ in.”

  “I’ll thank you not to cast aspersions on my hearing, McWallop.” The newcomer strutted into sight on spindly legs encased in black breeches. He wore the reassuringly familiar uniform of a butler. When he saw the little assembly, he raised a beaked nose, causing the vestibule’s dim light to shimmer on his bald head.

  Mr. Innes flexed a hand at his side. “This is Miss Wren, Shanks. And her mother, Mrs. Wren.”

  Barely taller than Grace, Shanks eyed her with the interest a dog might show a dinner he didn’t want. “We are not expecting visitors,” he said.

  Mama huffed loudly.

  “Ring for Mrs. Moggach,” Mr. Innes ordered. “Now. And send one of the footmen I haven’t seen since I got back to help Angus with the luggage.”

  “Oh!” Grace realized she’d unknowingly rested her hand on the head of half a polar bear, stuffed and with a gray-green fish clasped in its paws. She crossed her arms.

  Mr. Innes advanced upon her, deep concern in his eyes. “Are you unwell, Miss Wren? I expect you are exhausted from your travels. And your dear mother. Please accept my apologies for the delay in showing you to your rooms.”

  “It’s quite all right. Evidently the servants are surprised by ... our ... appearance,” she finished slowly, warily watching the latest arrival in the vestibule.

  Tall, large-boned, and heavily flashed, the woman dwarfed Shanks, who smiled happily at the sight of her.

  “There you are, Mrs. Moggach,” Shanks said. “Really, it’s a shame to disturb you at such an hour, but—”

  ‘Such an hour?” Mr. Innes said through his teeth. “For
God’s sake. Who is this household run for?”

  “Ladies present,” Shanks said, disapproving, undaunted, and stately all the way to the tips of his shiny black slippers. “These are visitors, Mrs. Moggach. Seems Mr. Innes expects rooms prepared for them.”

  Grace’s courage deserted her completely. “This is too much trouble,” she said, turning up the corners of her mouth and retreating. “Perhaps Angus could take us to the village. I’m sure we’d find a place at the inn for the night.”

  “Verra sensible, don’t ye think, Mr. Shanks?” Mrs. Moggach said.

  “Indeed,” Shanks agreed.

  “My God!” Mr. Innes said.

  Very suddenly Mr. McWallop swept up a handheld gong and sent a resounding bong echoing from stone walls.

  Grace’s hand went to her heart and she heard her mother gasp.

  “I’ll attend to this, Mr. Innes,” the steward said. His face became even redder. “I’ll thank ye to keep your opinions to yoursel’, Shanks. Mrs. Moggach, Mrs. Wren will do well enough in the Serpent Bedroom.”

  “Serpent?” Mama echoed faintly.

  “The girl can be put in Delilah.”

  “But that was—”

  “It’s the only other room suitable at short notice,” Mr. McWallop interrupted Mrs. Moggach. “Make certain everything is made as comfortable as possible for the ladies’ stay—including a good breakfast before they leave in the mornin’.”

  Four untidily liveried men appeared, each one showing signs of having hastily donned his white wig. A few short commands from Mr. McWallop sent them rushing in different directions.

  “The ladies will not be leaving in the morning,” Mr. Innes said. “Be prepared for a discussion, McWallop; you, too, Shanks. Mrs. Moggach, your presence will also be required. I’ll speak to the marquess and let you all know when you’ll be called.”

  “The marquess is not interested in—”

  Mr. Innes waved McWallop to silence. “He will be now.”

  “I dinna see why he—”

  “I’ll take Mrs. and Miss Wren to the old marquess’s drawing room.”

  “Ye’ll do no such thing!” Mrs. Moggach’s voice rose. “It’s not been used since—”

  “It will be used now. And it will be used a great deal in the near future. I’ve no doubt your new mistress will wish to reopen many rooms.”

  Grace attempted a smile but failed miserably.

  The three servants stood quite still. “New mistress?” Shanks said clearly.

  Mama bustled forward. “Yes. New mistress. And not a moment too soon from the look of this place.” She wrinkled her nose. “Cobwebs. Dust!” One white-clad finger made a trail over the breastplate of the nearest suit of armor.

  “Well!” Mrs. Moggach said, rolling in her lips. “And who are you?”

  “I’m the mother—”

  “Please, Mama. This is all quite outrageous.”

  “Mrs. Wren is the mother of your new mistress,” Mr. Innes said calmly.

  The woman looked from Mama to Grace, and her eyes made a disbelieving journey from the top of Grace’s “too-thoughtful blue” bonnet to the matching slippers that peeped from the hem of her velvet pelisse. “I don’t understand a word o’ this.”

  Grace recognized a petty adversary and rallied. Rudeness was one thing she could not abide. She raised a hand, signaling for silence. “That will do, Mrs. Moggach.” Her own sharp voice startled her, but only for an instant. “If you wish to keep your position, you will follow the instructions you’ve been given. At once! Do I make myself clear?”

  “And who is it that gives me orders?”

  “I do,” Grace said firmly, taking pleasure from the look of surprised glee that transformed Mr. Innes’s serious face. “If I hear even the smallest complaint, I shall inform the marquess that you are to be discharged at once.”

  “He’ll not listen, ye wee upstart.”

  “He most certainly will. As his fiancée and soon to be wife, he will listen to whatever I have to say.”

  McWallop dropped the gong.

  Why purple? Grace wondered. Purple draperies, purple counterpane and canopy, small purple armchairs; even the silk carpet that completely covered the bedroom floor was purple.

  No matter. At last she was alone. Mama was taken with the opulence of the extraordinary Serpent Room and had already retired, exhausted, for the night.

  Grace decided she would probably never sleep again. She went to hold her cold hands over the fire that had been lighted in the bulbous, black metal fireplace—surrounded by purple and white plaster depicting grape vines.

  Mr. Innes had assured her the marquess would not be able to see her tonight. Grace hoped her relief had not been too apparent. Perhaps the marquess was not so well after all. Guilt made her grimace.

  A light tap came at the door.

  She frowned and called, “Come in.”

  The door opened a few inches, then a few inches more, and a girl cautiously popped her round face into the room.

  Grace smiled. “Hello.”

  Shoulders appeared. Fine brown hair escaped from a knot to trail around the face. Bright blue eyes regarded Grace with alarm.

  “What is it?”

  “Mairi, miss. It’s Mairi.”

  “Come in, Mairi.”

  Alarm visibly approached panic. “Are ye certain ye want me to?”

  The day had been too much. The past weeks had been too much. “If you would like to come in, then I’m certain.”

  “Verra well.” In she came, plump, with a sweet face and jerky movements. A white apron clearly intended for a much taller woman trailed below the hem of her brown woolen dress. She wound her red-knuckled hands together.

  “Come by the fire,” Grace said. “You look chilled.”

  “Och, no. I’m not chilled. Not a bit o’ it.”

  Grace smiled and nodded—and waited.

  Mairi made a faint humming sound.

  “Did someone ask you to come and tell me something?” Preferably that she was to be returned to London forthwith.

  “Dearie me.”

  “Something’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’s wrong, miss. Except that I’m to be your new maid, and I never was anyone’s maid before.”

  “I see.” She didn’t.

  “They came for me in the village since there was none here at the castle as would do the job.”

  Grace made a grim note to have words with Mrs. Moggach about that. “You did not have another job, Mairi?”

  “I’ve a job here—in the kitchens. It’s not enough to keep me livin’ here, so I come in evra mornin’. I come in to cook the servants’ puddin’ for Grumpy.”

  “Isn’t that the housekeeper’s job?”

  “Aye, but she’s not a good hand at it.” Mairi puffed at the hair that flitted near her eyes. “I’m not good either, but Grumpy doesna care to spend her time on anythin’ ... Och, I’m talkin’ too much. I always talk too much. It’s been the bane o’ my poor father’s life, and doesna he tell everybody so.”

  “You can say whatever you please to me,” Grace said. She’d welcome a little friendly chatter inside this silent stone edifice. “Who’s Grumpy?”

  “Och!” Mairi layered her hands over her mouth, and her face turned scarlet. “Will ye listen to me blatherin’? Mrs. Moggach is Grumpy, an’ she’ll have my skin for the haggis for sayin’ so. Please say ye’ll not tell hersel’.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived, real laughter welled in Grace. “I won’t tell her if you don’t tell her I’m going to call her Grumpy, too. It’s a perfect name for her.”

  “Aye, and it’s true enough. Moggach means grumpy in Gaelic, y’see.”

  Grace saw. “So, Mairi, what are we to do tonight?”

  “Ye’re to do nothin’, miss. I’m to be your maid.”

  “It’s late.”

  Mairi hunched her shoulders. “I know, but I was told to see to your needs.”

  They looked at each other.

&nb
sp; “So I’ll start on that, I suppose.”

  Grace didn’t move. Neither did Mairi.

  “Mayhap ye’d tell me what I should do first?”

  “Sit down.”

  Mairi frowned.

  “Sit down,” Grace repeated, sinking into a purple chair herself. When Mairi had hesitantly followed the instruction, Grace leaned back. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen, miss.”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “So old?” Mairi nodded sympathetically. “I s’pose that’s why.”

  “Why?”

  Mairi went to rise, but Grace signaled her to remain seated.

  “Why what, Mairi?”

  The girl fidgeted with her apron. “Well, why ye’d agree to come, I s’pose.”

  Some things were better left unasked for a while. “Perhaps you’d best start being my maid some other time.”

  “Dearie me,” Mairi said, her eyes darkening with worry. “I was afraid o’ this.”

  “Of what?” Already Grace felt herself warming

  to this girl.

  “Ye’ll not want someone who’s not a real maid. I was afraid to come, but I did, an’ now you’re not so fearsome.” She caught a quick breath and sat on the very edge of her seat. “Not so fearsome at all. Ye might find me quick to learn, miss. Honestly, ye might. I’ve always learned quickly, everyone says I do. Why, even Grumpy says I sometimes do some-thin’ right an’—”

  “Of course you do,” Grace interrupted hastily.

  “I so hoped ye’d let me stay, miss. I’ve not much o’ a place o’ my own with father. He’s a new wife these past years, and she’d be glad o’ the space I take up. If I had a place here with ye, it’d be a blessin’ for sure.”

  Grace shook her head—then nodded. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re my maid, Mairi. Don’t concern yourself for another moment.”

  “Och, thank ye!” She bobbed up from the chair, made to embrace Grace, but pulled back. “Thank ye. They’re to give me a room o’ my verra own if I suit ye. So I’ll start now. Would unpackin’ the trunks be the first thing ye’ll be needin’?”

  “No!” Grace gripped the arms of her chair. “No, thank you, Mairi. I’d prefer to do that myself.”

  “Ye would?”

  “Yes, I would.” At the bottom of those trunks, carefully packed in oiled cloths, lay another part of Grace’s plans for the future. No one could be allowed to touch them. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to laugh and not to tell anyone else?”