forgotten what he was going to say.
“Quinlan says they are going to reopen the Galbraith case,” Deirdra said in the silence, then almost immediately her face tightened as if she wished she had chosen some other subject of conversation.
“Quinlan is Eilish’s husband,” Oonagh explained to Hester. “But he is not involved in the law, so I don’t know how reliable his information may be. I daresay it is merely gossip.”
Hester expected Eilish to come to his defense and insist that he was correct, or that he did not listen to, much less repeat, gossip. But she remained silent.
Hector shook his head. “Alastair’U not be pleased,” he said dourly.
“No one will.” Mary looked unhappy, a frown puckering her brow. “I thought that was over and done with.”
“I expect it is,” Oonagh said with conviction. “Don’t think of it, Mother. It is just idle talk. It will die away when nothing comes of it.”
Mary looked at her gravely, but did not reply. “I still wish you weren’t going to London,” Hector said to no one in particular. He looked sad and aggrieved, as if it were a personal blow to him.
“It’ll only be a few days,” Mary replied, her face surprisingly gentle as she looked at him. “She needs reassurance, my dear. She really is very troubled, you know.”
“Can’t think why.” Hector shook his head. “Lot of nonsense. Who are these Munros? Won’t they look after her properly? Doesn’t Colin Munro have a physician?”
“Murdoch-” Oonagh’s lips thinned in impatience.
“Connal Murdoch. Of course he has a doctor, and no doubt midwives. But it is how Griselda feels. And Mother will only be gone a week.”
Hector reached for more wine and said nothing.
“Have they new evidence in the Galbraith case?” Mary asked, turning to Deirdra, a pucker between her brows.
“Alastair didn’t mention it to me,” Deirdra replied, looking surprised. “Or if he did, I don’t remember. I thought he said there was not sufficient evidence and threw it out?”
“He did,” Oonagh said firmly. “People are only talking about it because it would have been such a scandal if Galbraith had come to trial, being who he is. There will always be those who are envious of a man in his position, and whose tongues will wag, whether there is anything for them to wag about or not. The poor man has had to leave Edinburgh. That should be the end of it.”
Mary glanced at her, as if to speak, then changed her mind and looked down at her plate. No one else added anything. The rest of the meal passed with only the odd remark, and after it was finished, Oonagh suggested that Hester might like to rest for a few hours before the commencement of the return journey. She might go up the main stairs to the bedroom set aside for her use, if she cared to.
Hester accepted gratefully, and was on her way up the stairs when she encountered Hector Farraline again. He was halfway up and leaning heavily on the banister, his face filled with sorrow, and beneath it a deep anger. He was staring across the checkered expanse of the floor at the portrait on the far wall.
Hester came to a stop on the stair behind him.
“It’s very fine, isn’t it,” she said, intending it as a form of agreement.
“Fine?” he said bitterly and without turning to look at her. “Oh yes, very fine. Very handsome, was Hamish. Thought himself quite a fellow.” His expression did not change, nor did he move, but stood clinging to the banister rail and leaning half over it.
“I meant it was a fine portrait,” Hester corrected. “Of course I didn’t know the gentleman to comment upon him.”
“Hamish? My brother Hamish. Of course you didn’t. Been dead these last eight years, although with that thing hanging there, I don’t feel that he’s dead at all-just mummified and still with us. I should build a pyramid and pile it on top of him-that’s a good idea. A million tons of granite. A mountain of a tomb!” Very slowly he slid down until he was sitting on the tread, his legs sprawled across the stair, blocking her way. He smiled. ‘Two million! What does a million tons of rock look like, Miss-Miss-” He looked at her with wide, unfocused eyes.
“Latterly,” she offered.
He shook his head. “What do you mean, girl, latterly? A million tons is a million tons! It’s always the same. Latterly-formerly-anytime!” He blinked.
“My name is Hester Latterly,” she said slowly.
“How do you do. Hector Farraline.” He made as if to bow, and slid down another step, bumping against her ankles.
She retreated. “How do you do, Mr. Farraline.”
“Ever seen the great pyramids of Egypt?” he asked innocently.
“No. I have never been to Egypt.”
“Should go. Very interesting.” He nodded several times and she was afraid he was going to slide down ever farther.
“I will do, if I should ever have the opportunity,” she assured him.
“Thought Oonagh said you’d been there.” He concentrated fiercely, screwing up his face. “Oonagh’s never wrong, never. Most unnerving woman. Never argue with Oonagh. Read your thoughts as another man might read a book.”
“I’ve been to the Crimea.” Hester retreated another step. She did not want him to knock her over if he should lose his balance again, which he looked to be in imminent danger of doing.
“Crimea? Whatever for?’
“The war.”
“Oh.”
“I wonder…” She was about to ask him if she might pass, when she heard the discreet steps of the butler, McTeer, coming up behind her.
“Why would you go to a war?” Hector refused to let go of the puzzle. “You’re a woman. You can’t fight!” He began to laugh, as if the idea amused him.
“Now Mr. Farraline, sir,” McTeer said firmly. “You go up to your room and lie down a while. You can’t sit here all afternoon. People need the stairs.”
Hector shook him off impatiently. “Go away, man. You’ve got a face like a chief mourner at a funeral. You couldn’t look worse if it were your own.”
“I’m sorry, miss.” McTeer looked apologetically at Hester. “He’s a bit of a nuisance, but he’s no harm. He’ll no bother ye, except for prattlin’ on.” He took hold of Hector under the arms and hauled him to his feet. “Come on now, ye don’t want Miss Mary to see you behaving like a fool, do ye?”
The mention of Mary’s name sobered Hector dramatically. He gave one more venomous glance at the portrait across the hall, then allowed McTeer to assist him properly to his feet and together they made their way slowly up the stairs, leaving room for Hester to follow unhindered.
Hester slept, although she had not intended to, and woke with a start to find that it was time to prepare herself for an early dinner and bring her bag down to the hall, along with her cape, ready for departure to the railway station.
Dinner was served in the dining room, but this time the table was set for ten, and it was Alastair Farraline who sat at the head. He was an imposing-looking man and Hester knew instantly who he was because the family resemblance was startling. He had the same long face with fair hair, thinning considerably towards the front, a long nose, definitely aquiline, and a broad mouth. The shape of his bones favored Mary rather than the man in the portrait, and when he spoke his voice was deep and rich, quite his most remarkable feature.
“How do you do, Miss Latterly. Please be seated.” He indicated the last remaining empty chair. “I am delighted you accepted our offer to accompany Mother to London. It will set all our minds at rest concerning her welfare.”
“Thank you, Mr. Farraline. I shall do my best to see she has an easy journey.” She sat down, smiling at the others around the table. Mary sat at the foot, and to her left a man possibly approaching forty, who looked as utterly different from the Farralines as did Deirdra. His head was deep through from front to back, and his heavy hair, almost black, swept thickly across it with barely a wave. His eyes were set deep under dark brows, his jutting nose was straight and strong and his mouth betrayed both passion and will. It was an interesting face, unlike any other Hester could recall.
