“We must see to it that they don’t. I wonder if it would not be better to send you out of London before they return.” He rang the bell and asked a footman to fetch Matthew. When the secretary arrived, Harry asked, “Can you think of anywhere to send Lady Rose which is far from London?”
Matthew stood for what seemed a long time, his brow furrowed. Then his face cleared. “There is your Aunt Elizabeth.”
“She is not really my aunt,” said Rose. “She is a distant cousin of my father’s.”
“Where does she live?” asked Harry.
“In Drumdorn Castle, somewhere in Argyll on the coast.”
“Sounds ideal. When did you last see her?”
“Several years ago,” said Rose. “Aunt Elizabeth came on a visit to Stacey Court. I remember her as being amiable but eccentric.”
“Would you send her a telegram?” asked Harry. “And suggest that Lady Rose goes on a long visit.”
“What will Lord Hadshire say?”
“I will deal with him.”
¦
Aunt Elizabeth sent a telegram the following day to say she would be delighted to entertain Rose. The day passed in packing and hurried preparations. Rose was to travel north with Madame Bailloux and Hunter, the maid, for company. Harry said he would also send Becket and Daisy up to join her as soon as they had returned from their honeymoon. Rose could only be amazed at how placidly Madame Bailloux accepted all the rush.
It was a long and exhausting journey. First the train to Glasgow and then the hire of a car and chauffeur to take them into the wilds of Argyll over a twisting nightmare road called The Rest and Be Thankful.
Drumdorn Castle was perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. It was an old castle with smoky stone-flagged rooms downstairs and small cold bedrooms upstairs. Aunt Elizabeth, Lady Carrick, was a widow who greeted them effusively. She was a tall, thin, spare woman, dressed in the clothes of the last century and wearing a white lace cap over grey hair. Her face was wrinkled and she had very heavy, shaggy eyebrows.
“So delighted to see you, my dear,” she said. “I do not often have company apart from the servants.”
“It is very kind of you to invite us. I feel I should tell you why we have come here.”
Aunt Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “You mean it wasn’t for the delights of my company?”
“I am delighted to have a chance to get to know you better,” said Rose, “but the fact is, my life is considered to be in danger.”
“We do get the newspapers even in as remote a part as this,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “I have been following your adventures. You will be safe here. There is a sort of bush telegraph operating in this area. Any stranger within miles of the castle will be spotted. I received a telegram from Captain Cathcart and I gather he is to join us shortly. I find it all very exciting. Do change for dinner and we will talk further.”
The dining room was more like a smoke-filled baronial hall. “The wind’s in the wrong direction,” said Aunt Elizabeth as another cloud of smoke belched out of the enormous fireplace.
Tattered banners hung from the ceiling and dingy suits of armour lined the walls. There was a large landscape painting over the fireplace but it was so black with smoke that it was hard to make out what landscape it was supposed to be portraying.
There was an elderly gentleman in knee breeches sitting on a stool by the fireplace, his white head resting uncomfortably on a caryatid.
“Who is that gentleman?” asked Rose.
“That’s Angus,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “He was my butler for many years. He doesn’t want to be pensioned off and feel useless, so he prefers to remain on duty.”
“Are you finished with your soup yet?” demanded a highland footman looming over Rose.
“Yes,” said Rose, startled, not yet being used to the democratic freedom of speech of highland servants.
“When you get the warm weather,” said Madame Bailloux hopefully, “perhaps the fire will not be necessary.” She was sure her gowns would reek of smoke for months to come.
“We sometimes get a few warm days,” said Aunt Elizabeth, “but not often.”
Madame Bailloux suddenly thought longingly of Paris. The sun would be shining and people would be sitting on the terraces, chatting and drinking coffee. Living in London had been relatively pleasant, but she did not know how long she could take being a guest in this smoky castle.
She sighed with relief when they moved to a drawing room where the fire was modest and did not smoke. The furniture was heavy and Victorian. There were many stuffed birds in glass cases, a grand piano draped in what looked like a Persian carpet, and little tables laden down with framed photographs.
Aunt Elizabeth demanded to be entertained, so Rose sat down at the piano and did her best, although a few of the yellowing keys seemed to be stuck down with damp.
Then the cards were brought out and they played whist for pennies, Aunt Elizabeth gleefully winning every hand.
At last it was time for bed. They collected their bed candles from a table in the hall and walked up the stone stairs to their rooms.
Rose was undressed by Hunter and then climbed into an enormous four-poster bed. It was covered with two large quilts, but the sheets were damp. Rose’s last waking thought was that she must get the maids to air them in the morning.
¦
In the following two weeks, while they awaited the arrival of Harry with Becket and Daisy – he had telegrammed to say that he had decided to wait for them – the weather turned fine. Rose, accompanied by Madame Bailloux, went for long walks along the cliffs, fascinated by the many seabirds and the rise and swell of the waves as they crashed at the foot of the cliffs.
She found herself thinking more and more about Harry, wondering if he loved her and wondering if she really loved him. Fear of her assailant had almost disappeared as one sunny day followed another.
Madame Bailloux had recovered her spirits. The fire in the dining room was no longer lit in the evenings, and all her gowns had been sponged and hung out in the fresh air. She chatted away about her beloved Paris and about her late husband, a colonel in the French army, and Rose walked beside her barely listening, thinking of Harry.
At last, the day of Harry’s arrival dawned. Rose climbed up to one of the turrets of the castle and looked across the moors, waiting for the fist sign of Harry’s car. And there it came at last, mounting a rise in the distance and then heading towards the great iron gates which guarded the estate. The lodge keeper ran out to open the gates.
Rose ran down the stairs and out to the front of the castle. Daisy was the first out of the car, running towards Rose, throwing herself into her arms and crying, “I have missed you.”
Rose looked across Daisy’s head to Harry. He smiled at her, that rare smile of his which lit up his face, and she felt a surge of gladness.
She extricated herself from Daisy and went up to him. “How are my parents?” she asked.
“At first furious and then resigned.”
“Are they coming to join us?”
“Your father says he may come here if you are still here in August. He says one only goes to Scotland to shoot.”
Rose’s happiness at seeing him was suddenly dimmed. Her parents were moving farther and farther away from her. She knew they now prayed for the day when she would marry someone – anyone – and be out of their care.
Footmen came out to collect the luggage and the housekeeper to take the new guests to their rooms. Rose had had to explain to Aunt Elizabeth that as Daisy had been her former companion, neither she nor her husband could quite be classed as servants and should be accommodated in the guest rooms.
Later, Madame Bailloux went to join Rose in her room but retreated when she heard Rose laughing and chatting with Daisy. She went instead in search of Harry. “I feel now would be a good time for me to return to France,” she said. “Lady Rose has plenty of company.”
“Must you? Things have changed now that Daisy is married to my servant. Lady Rose still needs a chaperone.”
“But she has her aunt and I would really like to return.”
