I smiled. “I am accustomed to living rough when required. I hardly think a castle would challenge that.”
There was a silken murmur of soft, padded feet upon the stone as a black cat slipped into the room. “Hecate, come back,” chastened the lady following the cat. She was holding her skirts in both hands, moving swiftly to retrieve her pet. Somewhere on the dark side of thirty-five, she was dressed expensively in a gown of austere black satin. The fabric shimmered in the light, heightening the pastel rose of her cheeks, and I noticed her eyes were an unusual pale blue-grey. She was an attractive woman, but her greatest asset was her voice. It was low and melodious as she scolded her cat, sweeping the animal into her arms. It settled down comfortably, preening a little as she cradled it.
“Malcolm, I simply cannot find Mertensia. She knows that you were expecting guests and she is not here to welcome them,” she protested.
Mr. Romilly gave her a wan smile. “You fuss too much, Helen. Mertensia will be in the gardens, I have no doubt.” He turned to us. “You must forgive my sister. Mertensia is a tireless plantswoman, and her gardens here are renowned. If she is not elbow-deep in the soil, she is brewing up concoctions in her stillroom or coaxing bulbs to flower out of season.”
He turned and gestured for the lady to come forward. “Lord Templeton-Vane, Miss Speedwell, Mr. Templeton-Vane, my sister-in-law, Mrs. Lucian Romilly. Helen, this is the Viscount Templeton-Vane and his fiancée, Miss Speedwell, and the viscount’s brother.”
She smiled. “Of course, Lord Templeton-Vane, I remember you well. We met once before here, although you had not yet succeeded to your title.”
Tiberius bowed low over her hand. “I recall,” he said softly. There was an undercurrent I could not place, but before I could puzzle over it, Helen Romilly turned to greet me, her smile of welcome firmly in place. “Miss Speedwell, welcome to the island. And Mr. Templeton-Vane. I must say, I do not think I would have known you for his lordship’s brother if Malcolm had not said it is so. You are very different upon first look, although I think I detect a faint resemblance about the eyes,” she observed.
“You are too kind,” Stoker said archly, bowing over her hand. I rolled my eyes heavenwards, but Helen Romilly seemed pleased with the gesture.
“And who is this beautiful creature?” Stoker asked, stroking the head of the cat with practiced gentleness. It half closed its eyes, a low purr beginning to rumble in its throat.
“Hecate,” Helen Romilly replied. “How curious! She hates strangers, but she seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“Stoker has a great appeal to animals and other creatures incapable of rational thought,” Tiberius put in with a bland smile.
Just then, a figure in grey materialized in the doorway. “Mr. Malcolm, the rooms are prepared.”
The woman who appeared was dressed in bombazine, the unmistakable jingle of a chatelaine at her waist proclaiming her the housekeeper. Her hair was winged back on either side of her face in an old-fashioned style, the pins covered by a neat cap of black lace.
“Thank you, Trenny. My dear guests, Mrs. Trengrouse will show you up. Dinner has been put back half an hour to accommodate your arrival. When you hear the gong, it will be time to join us in the drawing room.”
He stepped back, giving a little bow of welcome, and we moved to where Mrs. Trengrouse stood, lamp in hand, as he made the necessary introductions. “Welcome, my lord, Miss Speedwell, sir,” she said, greeting each of us in turn as she led us through a narrow stone passage which gave way to a still narrower set of stairs cut into the stone. “I am afraid the castle has not yet been fitted with gas, so you will need a lamp or a candle if you mean to move about in the evening. Please watch your step upon the stairs. They are very old and quite uneven.”
They spiraled up into the darkness and I turned to flick Tiberius a glance. His face was immobile, set in an expression that looked very much like one of grim determination. I followed Mrs. Trengrouse and Tiberius followed me and Stoker followed him like a crocodile of schoolchildren.
“You are up here, my lord, on the first floor,” she said, indicating a door on the landing. It stood open and I could see a round bedchamber furnished in deep blue. “It is the largest of the suites in the tower because the structure narrows as it rises. Hot water has just been brought up and your bags are on their way. Your things will be unpacked before you have finished bathing,” she promised.
He made a noncommittal noise and went inside, closing the door behind him.
“Miss Speedwell,” she said, gesturing for me to follow. “I have put you just above his lordship. It means an extra flight of stairs, but the views make it quite worth the climb. Mr. Templeton-Vane, I have put you on the top floor in the smallest chamber, the Bachelor Room.”
“That’s me put in my place,” Stoker murmured as we climbed to the next floor.
My bedchamber was very similar to Tiberius’ except that it was of slightly more modest proportions and my furnishings were of violet velvet. It was a surprisingly comfortable room, with a welcoming fire kindled upon the hearth and a tub of water giving off fragrant steam. There was a tall, narrow window embrasure facing west, and I imagined the views over the water would be spectacular as the sun rose behind the castle, glittering across the sea. A pair of cozy armchairs flanked the fireplace, and the bed was an old-fashioned four-poster, hung with more violet velvet and spread with heavy linen sheets of near-blinding whiteness. A soft fragrance
