If Deirdra resented her sister-in-law’s assumption of household governance, there was not a shred of it in her face.
“Oh, thank you so much. I hate figures, they’re always much the same, and so tedious. Yes, by all means, I’ll speak to Cook.” And with that she smiled charmingly at Hester and excused herself.
“Yes, I should very much like to read,” Hester accepted.
It had not been precisely an invitation, but she had nothing better to do, so she permitted herself to be directed to the very gracious library, lined with books on three sides, many of them leather bound and tooled in gold. She was curious to see that several of the handsomest, as well as many bound in ordinary cloth, had been printed by Farraline & Company. They covered a very wide variety of subjects both factual and fictional. Several well- known authors were represented, both living and from the past.
She selected a book of verse and settled herself in one of the half dozen or so large armchairs and opened it to read. The room was almost silent. Through its heavy door she could not hear the sounds of the household beyond; there was only the faint crackle of a fire in the grate and the occasional tapping of a leaf as the wind caught it and sent it against the window.
She lost track of time, and was startled when she looked up to see a young woman standing in front of her. She had not heard the door opening.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” the woman apologized. She was very slender, and quite tall, but her form was forgotten the moment one saw her face. She was one of the loveliest creatures Hester had ever seen; her features were subtle and delicate, yet full of passion. Her skin was fair with that radiance peculiar to auburn coloring, her hair thick in a wild halo around her head, the rich shades of bronzed leaves. “Miss Latterly?”
“Yes,” Hester said, gathering her wits. She laid the book aside.
“I am Eilish Fyffe,” the young woman introduced herself. “I came to tell you that luncheon is served. I hope you will join us?”
“Yes please.” Hester rose to her feet, then turned, remembering to replace the book.
Eilish waved her hand impatiently. “Oh leave it. Jeannie will put it away. She can’t read, yet, but she’ll find the place it came from.”
“Jeannie?”
“The maid.”
“Oh! I thought she was…” Hester stopped.
Eilish laughed. “A child? No-at least, yes. I suppose so. She’s only one of the housemaids. She’s about fifteen, she thinks. But she is learning to read.” She shrugged as she said it, as if to dismiss the subject. Then she smiled dazzlingly. “The children are Margaret and Catriona, and Robert.”
“Mrs. Mclvor’s?”
“No, no. They’re Alastair’s. He is my eldest brother, the Fiscal.” She pulled a slight face as she said it, as if she had been in awe of him until very lately. Hester knew just how she felt, thinking of her own elder brother, Charles, who had always been a trifle forbidding and had far too little sense of the absurd. “Alec and Fergus are away at school. They are Oonagh’s sons. I daresay Robert will be going soon.” She opened the library door into the hall. She made no mention of her own family, so Hester presumed that as yet she had none. Perhaps she had not been long married.
Luncheon was not a heavy meal, and the family present were all assembled as Eilish led Hester into the dining room and indicated the chair she was to occupy. Mary Farraline sat at the head of the table, Oonagh at the foot. On the far side were Deirdra and an elderly man who so resembled the portrait in the hall that Hester was taken aback so much she found herself staring. But it was only coloring and feature, the same fair hair, now thinning drastically, fair skin, and the refined nose and sensitive mouth. The inner man was utterly different. He too had wounds of the spirit, but he gave Hester no sense of uncertainty as the portrait had done, no ambiguity; there was a sharp knowledge of pain which had overwhelmed him, and he had lost to it, while knowing exactly what it was. His blue eyes were sunken and he gazed ahead of him at no one in particular. He was introduced as Hector Farraline, and spoken of as Uncle Hector.
Hester took her seat and the first course was served. Conversation was polite, and generally meaningless; it served the purpose for which it was intended, to convey goodwill without costing any thought or distracting from the meal. Discreetly Hester looked around at their faces, which had so much in common and which circumstance and character had stamped so differently. The only ones not born Farraline were Deirdra and Mary. Where they were slender and fair and well above average height, she was small and dark and inclined to stockiness. Yet there was a fierce inner concentration in her face, a sense of controlled excitement, which gave her a warmth the others lacked. She answered when civility required it, but she did not generate any remarks. Her own thoughts apparently consumed her.
Eilish spoke sporadically, as if prompted by good manners, and in between her thoughts also filled her mind. Hester found herself looking at Eilish repeatedly, possibly because she was so beautiful it was natural to stare, but also because of a sadness she thought she could see through the thin mask of courtesy and interest.
It was left to Oonagh and Mary to raise one agreeable, uncontentious subject after another.
“How long does your journey take, Mother-in-law?” Deirdra asked, turning to Mary as soon as the main course was served.
“About twelve hours,” Mary replied. “Although most of it I shall spend asleep, so it will feel much shorter. I think it is an excellent way to travel, don’t you, Miss Latterly?”
“Indeed,” Hester agreed. “Although the little I saw of Scotland on my way here, I should imagine it is very beau- tiful to look at, especially at this time of the year.”
“You will have to go back during the day on your return next time,” Mary suggested. ‘Then you can look out of the window all the way. If it doesn’t rain, it should be really very nice.”
“I don’t know why you’re going,” Hector Farraline said, speaking for the first time. He had an excellent voice, rich in timbre, and even though a few of his words were slurred, one could tell that when he was completely sober his diction would have been beautiful-and with the faint lilt of the northern Scots, not the flatter Edinburgh accent of Mary’s speech.
“Griselda needs her, Uncle Hector,” Oonagh said patiently. “It’s a very emotional time for a woman when she is expecting her first child. It is not unusual to feel unwell and a trifle apprehensive.”
Hector seemed confused. “Apprehensive? Of what? Won’t they have the best possible care for her? I thought they were well-to-do… socially prominent family. That’s what young Connal said to me.”
“Socially prominent! The Murdochs?” Mary said with sharp amusement, her silver eyebrows rising high, giving her face a startled look. “Don’t be absurd, my dear. They come from Glasgow. Nobody who matters has ever heard of them.”
“They’ve heard of them in Glasgow,” Deirdra put in quickly. “Alastair says they are prominent, and certainly have a great deal of money.”
Eilish flashed a smile at Hector, then lowered her eyes. “Mother said nobody who matters,” she said quietly. “I rather think that excludes all of Glasgow, doesn’t it, Mother?”
Mary blushed very slightly, but she did not retreat. “Most of it, perhaps not quite all. I believe there are some quite agreeable areas a little to the north.”
“Just so.” Eilish smiled down at the plate.
Hector frowned. “Then why doesn’t she come home to have her child, where we can look after her? If there’s nobody who matters in Glasgow, what is she doing in London?” After that piece of eccentric logic he turned and looked at Mary, his eyes soft, his face confused and on the verge of anger. “You should stay here, and Griselda should come home and let her child be born in Scotland. Why doesn’t what’s-his-name-” His face creased up. “What is his name?” He looked at Oonagh.
“Connal Murdoch,” she supplied.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That’s right! Why doesn’t Colin Murdoch-”
“Connal, Uncle Hector.”
“What?” Now he was totally confounded. “What are you talking about? Why do you keep interrupting me and then repeating what I say?”
“Have a glass of water.” Oonagh suited the action to the word and poured a tumbler for him, passing it across.
He ignored it and sipped at his wine again. He did not continue. Hester had the strong impression he had
