If Jamie therefore felt led by an invisible hand to accept the position, it was at the same time with a mixture of anticipation and fear, and great regret that she must leave her new friendships. But she was at least able to comfort herself that the parting was not permanent, and that she would be able to see Emily and her family again.
There were a good many tears shed when the day finally came.
“Aberdeen’s not so far,” said Jamie of the city which had once seemed to her at the end of the rainbow.
“And we often like a visit to the country—” said Emily, but before she could finish her voice caught on a new rush of tears.
She took Jamie’s hands in her own.
“I shall miss you so! In my position it is not always easy to have friends, for if the vicar’s wife becomes too intimate with one parishioner, another might become jealous. So, Jamie, your friendship has meant more to me than you can know.”
“Oh, Emily! You have done so much for me. Just listen to me talk now!”
Both women laughed.
“But we each know God is calling you. I believe He has prepared you for this moment. I have merely been His tool to help get you ready. As much as I hate to see you go, I am convinced that child needs you far more than we do.”
“Thank you, Emily. For everything!”
“And you will be seeing your mountain again!”
“Yes,” sighed Jamie, “Donachie!”
“It will be like going home for you.”
“Perhaps. But without Gran’daddy there . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she fell to musing.
“Who can tell?” she resumed after a moment. “No, I really think this has been more a home to me this past year than—but I don’t know. I did love my gran’daddy’s cottage. But now that he is gone, I think this is my home now.”
They embraced and stood several moments in each other’s arms.
At last Jamie stepped back, wiped her eyes again, and turned to climb into the coach that would bear her northwest past Kintore and Inverurie, and then south to Aviemere.
In all their discussions about the change of environment for Jamie, both she and Emily had thought only of the Graystone child and his lonely need. But now as she sat silently on her way out of Aberdeen, Jamie’s thoughts turned at last to the enigmatic laird of Aviemere. Perhaps if the specter of his unknown face had come to mind earlier, her thoughts might have been far different.
But it is doubtful she would have, even then, done other than she was doing, for she was set on a course not of her own design. And recognizing the hand of the Designer, she could not have refused.
Part IV
Aviemere
21
A New Home
Jamie breathed in a sharp breath at the sight before her. Her eyes had never beheld such a place! It seemed like a castle from one of the fairy tales she had often read to the Gilchrist children.
Constructed in the late 16th century, its Tudor design reflected the grace and elegance that had by that time begun to replace the grim, stone defensive towers of earlier centuries. Built in the shape of an upper case E as was so common in those Elizabethan times, it boasted large windows, a many-gabled roof, and expansive green lawns. At that moment, of course, Jamie was unable to see the three wings of the E as they spread out behind the impressive face of the mansion, but between each wing were some of the finest flowered courtyards in all of Scotland—rivaling the gardens of Pitmedden and the grounds of Castle Crathes.
Dora, who had accompanied Jamie from Aberdeen, led the way boldly to the door, recessed in an arched entryway, intricately carved with Dutch scrolls and what Jamie took for the Graystone coat of arms: a rising falcon bearing in its deadly talon a single olive branch with the words engraved above it—Aut pax aut bellum.
It was an imposing first impression, and Jamie swallowed hard. There was certainly very little about the place that seemed cheery. How appropriate the name Graystone seemed for the family above whose granite lintel loomed the words, “Either peace or war.” Thoughts of her new employer, which she had tried to push from her mind, now crowded in with full force. She could only hope he was not as uncompromising as his ancestors. Yet nothing she had heard thus far tended to give her much expectation to the contrary.
Dora beckoned her to follow, and she stepped resolutely forward behind the housekeeper. Now is no time to weaken, she told herself. The decision had been made, and it would remain the right decision no matter what she encountered behind that massive oak door!
While Dora led the way, Jamie made her own quick appraisal of her new surroundings. Molded ceilings and carved woodwork enriched every room, most of which, especially those facing the side of the courtyard, tended to be light and colorful. The furnishings were a mixture of Queen Anne and later Tudor—a few originals, many replicas—and it was obvious that an experienced hand had set it all in place. Jamie wondered if this had been the work of the late Lady Olivia Graystone, of whom Miss Campbell had told her a little. Surely all this was here before her time! Yet a woman whose death had so shaken her husband must have left an indelible mark in many ways, whether the furnishings and decor were original to her or not.
All at once Jamie’s thoughts turned to the baby, Master Andrew Graystone, and she knew what she must do before anything else.
“Miss Campbell,” she said, her voice ringing unnaturally in the great hall through which they were passing, “when will I be able to see the baby?”
“Let’s get you settled in your room first,” the housekeeper replied. “I hope you won’t mind the old nurse’s. It’s near the nursery and is quite comfortable, really, and has something of a view.”
“Whatever you think is best, mem.”
“And then I suppose Lord Graystone will want an interview with you.”
Jamie did not reply, but Dora noted the draining of color from her face.
“Now, now, Jamie, dear,” she said, “you’ve nothing to worry about. He’s—”
She paused to clear her throat. “Well,” she went on, “he generally puts faith in my expertise where household matters are concerned.”
Jamie smiled wanly.
“When will I see him?” she asked.
“Generally the laird consults with the staff just before dinner, so I expect it will be then, unless he sends for you earlier.”
“That’s some time away, isn’t it?”
Dora smiled. “You’re anxious to see the child, aren’t you? I can tell.”
Jamie nodded.
“Then come along. I see no harm in it. And by the time we finish in the nursery, your things will have been deposited in your room and then you can rest before dinner.”
Jamie’s anticipation mounted as they climbed the wide stairway. When they reached the nursery, Dora opened the door without hesitation. A housemaid stood and greeted them when they entered.
“Welcome back, Miss Campbell!” she said, grasping the housekeeper’s hand warmly.
“I’m happy to be back,” replied Dora. “But it looks as if we weren’t expected. No one met us at the village. I hope the laird received my letter.”
“He did. And I’m sure Sid was planning to meet you, but he’s been doubling up on his work since the new groom quit.”
“No matter!” Dora replied in her perpetually breathless tone. “Let me introduce our new nurse.”
Jamie was hardly concentrating on the conversation, for her eyes had been focused on the yellow-haired child sitting on a silken coverlet playing with some brightly colored blocks in the center of the room. His blue eyes turned toward her as she drew nearer. With no change in his expression, he held out a block to her. She stooped down and took it from his hand.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Tank you,” he replied in a babyish mimicking of her words.
Jamie laughed, and he handed her another and the same ritual was repeated. The desire was nearly overpowering to take him, then and there, into her arms, but she
held back, not wanting to frighten him.
“That’s our new nurse,” said Dora with a laugh. “Already absorbed in her duties.”
Jamie turned toward the older women. “He’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.
“That he is,” agreed the maid proudly.
“This is Jamie MacLeod, Bea.”
Jamie stood and shook the maid’s hand.
“Bea is our upstairs maid,” Dora explained. “She’s been helping with the boy since the last nurse left.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Jamie,” said Bea. “My old bones aren’t much up to chasing around such a little ball of fire.”
She paused a moment, then added thoughtfully, “MacLeod? The name sounds familiar.”
“She grew up on Donachie,” Dora answered for her.
“Ah . . .” was the maid’s only further response. The way her voice trailed away inquisitively, she seemed hardly satisfied, but willing for the moment to leave it at that.
“It’s about time for Andrew’s nap, isn’t it?” asked Dora.
“Aye.”
“May I put him to bed?” asked Jamie.
“He’s your charge now, Jamie!” replied Bea. “He’ll want the blue knitted blanket, not the silky one, and the stuffed toy. I’ll bring him up a bottle of warm milk.”
“I’ll be back to take you to your room in a few minutes,” said Dora as she and the maid made their departures.
At last Jamie was alone with Andrew. She stood bewildered for a moment wondering what to do first. The youngster seemed perfectly at ease among so many different sets of hands trying to care for him. What would he think now that she was in charge of feeding him, bathing him, walking with him, playing with him, loving him? Would he even understand the change?
Just as Jamie stooped down again, little Andrew decided to stand. Once on his feet he scurried over to the side of the room where a rocking chair held his special toy animal. He pulled it from its perch and into his arms.
“Baba!” he said with an impish smile.
“Is that your baby?” Jamie asked. “He’s a fine looking fellow. What’s his name?”
“Baba.”
“I see. My name’s Jamie.”
“Mamie,” repeated the toddler.
Jamie laughed. “You talk very well, Andrew. Much better than I did a year ago!”
She reached out to touch the soft toy, but Andrew pulled back sharply, and his angelic face immediately turned sour.
“Baba mine!” he informed her with all the uncompromising force of his ancestors who, as their coat of arms informed all guests, would stand for nothing but peace or war.
Almost the same minute Bea returned with the warmed bottle of milk.
“Time for night-night,” she said cheerfully.
“Ni-ni,” Andrew copied.
“Well, go ahead, lass,” said Bea, turning to Jamie.
Jamie bent over to take hold of him, but she barely had her hands around his chubby waist when he wriggled free and ran to Bea. He held his arms up over his head saying, “Ni-ni, Beebee.”
She gave a half smile in Jamie’s direction. “I’m sorry, miss. I suppose these things take a day or two. He’ll be used to you in no time, I’m sure.”
“I understand,” replied Jamie, concealing whatever disappointment she felt at the rebuff.
———
By evening the relationship with the child had made what Jamie considered fine progress. Bea had not been back, and Jamie had occupied Andrew after his nap and had fed him his dinner. When bedtime came, she rocked him to sleep with his Baba clutched tightly in his arms. As she laid the sleeping boy in his bed, she watched him for several long moments. In one arm he still held his Baba, and in the other his fuzzy blue blanket pulled high up against his sleeping face. He looked contented enough, she thought, hardly like the sad and lonely child she was led to believe she would find. Had the trouble here been exaggerated? Perhaps she would know more about the child after meeting his father.
Which reminded her—the interview with Lord Graystone could come at any moment!
She left the nursery immediately for her own room, there to await her summons from the laird of Aviemere.
Once there she roamed aimlessly about, rearranging some of the things she had earlier unpacked. Her few belongings filled only two drawers in the spacious dresser. Another chest stood on the opposite side of the room alongside a wardrobe which held her three dresses—all gifts from Emily. It was a nice room, she supposed, every bit as nice as hers at the Gilchrists—though a little colder. Perhaps that was simply because she was not yet at home here. Had she seen any of the guest rooms in the mansion, she would have realized just how simple her living accommodations really were. But Jamie was used to humble surroundings. This was luxury indeed alongside Sadie Malone’s second-floor room where she had spent her first days in Aberdeen.
She sighed. In time she would no doubt feel the same about this room in Aviemere as she had come to feel about her home in Aberdeen at the Gilchrists.
But first she must meet the master of this estate. And she could not quite help trembling a bit at the thought.
She walked slowly over to the large multi-paned window overlooking one of the lovely gardens in the courtyard below. The sky was still as light as midafternoon, though the day’s activities had begun to draw to a close. A great lawn stretched out beyond the courtyard, and beyond it she thought she could just make out a low dark line that must be a wood, or perhaps an orchard. She strained to see the dim outline of Donachie, but the wings of the mansion blocked a clear view. She did not know in which direction George Ellice’s home lay; she had heard no mention of him. He was the one person who could tell her what had befallen her former home and her grandfather’s animals. She must see him one day soon.
She walked idly about, sat down and tried to concentrate on a book, but with no success.
Still no summons came.
At length, exhausted from traveling and the attempt to adjust to the newness of her surroundings, Jamie fell asleep, and remained so until Miss Campbell had to rouse her for supper in the servants’ quarters. After a rather hurried meal, she returned to her room and again fell asleep, and slept until morning.
The master’s summons did not come until she had been at Aviemere for three days.
22
The Master of Aviemere
Jamie was to meet Edward Graystone in the library at precisely seven o’clock.
As she approached the richly carved double walnut doors, her thudding heart seemed to roar in her ears and she could not stop her hands from trembling slightly. She tried clutching them tightly together, but there was nothing she could do about her racing heart. Her timid knock seemed to fall dead on the thick wood and she doubted the sound had even penetrated into the room. But just as she reached up to try again the door was opened by the tall, lean figure of the head butler, Cameron Reily. As she stepped meekly into the room, she saw immediately that she would apparently not be alone for the interview. Reily stood aside, expressionless, holding the door as she entered but allowing no eye contact to betray the slightest hint of what she should expect.
Standing in a semicircle around a massive wood desk were several other of the household staff. In addition to the dour-faced old butler, there was Sid MacKay, the stableman whom Jamie had had occasion to meet the previous day. Middle-aged and stockily built, his chief feature seemed to be a great supply of reddish facial hair—thick eyebrows, a long heavy moustache, and sideburns that extended down his cheek to meet the edges of the moustache, covering half his face. Next to MacKay stood a man Jamie immediately recognized as the factor, but his glance toward her told Jamie that Ellice did not recognize her. Completing the small assemblage was Dora Campbell. She smiled in Jamie’s direction, helping somewhat to soothe the young girl’s apprehension. Jamie walked slowly forward and took her place beside the housekeeper. The laird made no acknowledgment of her arrival.
“Continue with your report, Sid,” said the ma
n behind the desk in a deep though somewhat forced voice that gave the impression he would rather not be talking at all.
“Weel, ye lai—weel, sir,” answered the stableman, “I suppose the lad were jist too young t’ be oot on’s ain. He jist didna want t’ work, that’s a’, an’ whan I ast him t’ muck oot the stalls he . . .”
Jamie paid little heed to MacKay’s monotone recital of his problems with the stable help. Instead, she was absorbed in the presence of the man of whom she had been living in fear for three days. He stood, rather than sat, with his feet firmly planted on the floor and his hands grasped behind his back. His stance was nearly as rigid as that of the servants before him. Easily the tallest man in the room, his broad shoulders completed the figure which was imposing indeed. Dressed in a tweed riding habit with tall brown leather boots, he looked as if he would be more comfortable upon his sorrel stallion than in this elegant Tudor library addressing his household staff. Yet his clothes and boots were spotless, unlike those of Ellice and MacKay.
This is Andrew’s father, Jamie thought. The impish, round face of the child who had already begun to become her friend came into her mind, with its crop of curly yellow hair, and she tried to detect the similarities between father and son. There were none that she could readily ascertain—at least on the surface. The father’s hair was auburn, rather straight, and showing signs that within a few years it might begin to thin on top. In contrast to the clean boots, his face seemed to indicate much time spent out-of-doors, for it was tanned. The expression bore none of the simplicity of the son’s, but perhaps in time the child’s, too, might harden into the granite-like austerity of the father’s. His brow seemed chiseled into a perpetual scowl, and the dark eyes seemed to defy penetration. His look and bearing were the very personification of his name, and Jamie could not keep from wondering if in some mystical way he had not assumed the character of the very stones of granite out of which his home was made, and for which his ancestors had named their estate. From the inanimate strength of his passive bearing, he looked to be between thirty-five and forty, but his troubles had aged him; he was in reality much younger than he appeared, not yet thirty.
Jamie MacLeod Page 17
