“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
¦
At dinner that evening, Harry told the company that Madame Bailloux would be leaving them.
“Oh, don’t go, Celine,” exclaimed Rose.
Daisy flashed a jealous look at Madame Bailloux.
“I must go,” said Madame Bailloux. “I am, how you say, homesick. But I will write to you. Now, Captain Harry, is there any further news?”
“There might be something,” said Harry. “The French police traced an early photograph of Dolores when she was still working at the farm. It was taken by a Saint Malo photographer who was struck by her beauty. Kerridge is getting copies sent to all the newspapers for publication.”
“Have you a copy with you?” asked Rose eagerly.
He fished a small photograph out of the inside pocket of his evening coat and handed it to her. Dolores in peasant dress was photographed sitting on a stone wall on the ramparts. She was hatless and her hair was blowing back in the wind.
“Kerridge hopes that there might be some English connection,” said Harry. “You see, that young man who followed you to the hotel and put the letters in your luggage was English, not French. The photograph will be published in the newspapers tomorrow and he will let me know if there are any results. Is there a telephone in the castle, Lady Carrick?”
“I am afraid not. The nearest telephone is at Inveraray.”
“I’ll motor there tomorrow. Who is that old man by the fireplace?”
“That is my old butler, Angus. He did not want to retire.”
“I think he’s dead,” said Harry uneasily.
“Nonsense. He always looks like that.”
Harry rose from his seat and went over to Angus. He felt for a pulse and then turned a grave face to Aunt Elizabeth. “I am afraid he really is dead.”
¦
Enormous preparations for Angus’s funeral were set in motion the next day. Madame Bailloux was urged to stay for it as a mark of respect. She longed to say that as she had not known the man, it was surely not necessary, but at the same time was certain her hostess would be shocked if she said such a thing.
Harry returned late from Inveraray to say no one so far had come forward to say they recognized Dolores.
Daisy and Rose were sucked into the preparations for Angus’s funeral. The little church on the estate had to be decorated with greenery, and that task fell to Rose and Daisy.
“Perhaps Becket and I would have fared better in Scotland,” said Daisy. “The servants seem to have respect.”
“I am sure if you should die, Captain Harry will give you a splendid funeral. Are we supposed to tie large black silk bows at the end of each pew?”
“I think so. I heard some of the servants complaining to Lady Carrick about this business of decorating the church, saying it should only be done for weddings, to which she replied that Angus was now married to God. Rose, could you please ask the captain if he really means to set me and Becket up in a little business?”
“I will ask him today, if the opportunity arises.”
¦
The wake following Angus’s funeral seemed destined to go on for at least a week, with everyone from far and wide who had attended drinking copious amounts of whisky.
Madame Bailloux fretted. Her luggage was packed and yet no one was free to take her to the nearest station. She took her problem to Harry.
Harry, feeling that Rose was surely safe, surrounded as she was by so many people, volunteered to run Madame Bailloux over to the Holy Loch, where she could catch a steamer to Gourock and the train to Glasgow. One of the footmen who did not drink was delegated to accompany her all the way to London.
Rose hugged Madame Bailloux and promised to visit her in Paris. She waved them goodbye. “Have you asked him yet?” urged Daisy.
“Not yet,” said Rose. “Despite the funeral, Aunt Elizabeth feels it her duty to chaperone me.”
As Harry with Becket drove Madame Bailloux off over the heathery hills, Madame Bailloux glanced at one point through her goggles and thought she saw someone crouched, half hidden in the heather, watching them through binoculars. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. Probably a gamekeeper. If she said anything, the captain might turn back and she felt she could not bear another delay.
? Our Lady of Pain ?
Eight
–
At last the long wake was over and the castle fell silent again, apart from the screeching of the wind, for the fine weather had broken and ragged clouds streamed in from the sea. The air was noisy, not only with the shriek of the wind but with the sound of the waves pounding against the cliffs.
To Daisy’s distress, Harry had sent a telegram to say that he had decided to go on to London with Madame Bailloux but would return shortly.
“Is it so bad working for him?” asked Rose.
“No, it is just that having been your companion, I feel I have now sunk in the ranks. I am a housekeeper, admittedly with light duties. The captain expects Becket to work long hours. He should not have taken him all the way to London. I see you are still wearing your engagement ring on a chain round your neck. Do you keep it there in the hope that the captain will put it back on your finger?”
Rose flushed. “It is an expensive ring and I do not want to risk losing it.” She lifted the chain from around her neck, took off the ring and put it on her finger, admiring the way the diamonds flashed in the light of the oil lamp on a table behind her.
Rose sighed and then tugged at the ring. “It won’t come off, Daisy. It was always rather tight.”
They worked on it with soap and then with oil, but the ring stubbornly refused to move. “You could put a bit of mercury on it and then break it,” suggested Daisy.
“I cannot do that! I’ll just need to wear it. Yes, Hunter, what is it?”
“The dressing gong has sounded,” said the lady’s maid.
“Oh dear,” sighed Rose. “I am so tired of having to change my clothes six times a day, but Aunt Elizabeth, despite her eccentricity, is a stickler for the conventions. Choose one of the velvets, Hunter, and a shawl. The castle has become so cold.”
Dinner was a silent affair. Aunt Elizabeth had periods when she did not feel like talking at all and did not welcome conversation from anyone else.
At least the wind was blowing in the right direction and the great fire kept the room warm.
As the first course was served, Rose felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She looked around. Aunt Elizabeth had not hired another butler, and three footmen were on duty to serve the dinner. Rose saw one she had not seen before. He was a youngish man, tall and thin, with a white face, dusty fair hair and blue eyes.
She waited impatiently until they had retired to the drawing room and asked her hostess, “Who is the new footman?”
“Just some English lad who came looking for work. He has excellent references. He worked for the Countess of Sutherland before this, but his mother in Dunoon fell ill and died, and when he returned to work it was to find he had been replaced.”
“I do not know why,” said Rose, “but he makes me feel uneasy.”
“Now, listen to me,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “Young gels are apt to exaggerate. I am sure you lost your footing
