Lady Morag laughed.
“Of course, uneducated peasants in every country would know no better than to believe that the tongue of a toad or the hair of a cat would heal them when they have no proper sort of medicine. But then faith will move mountains!”
The Duke laughed.
“I am sure you are right there, Morag.”
The door opened and Mr. McKeith came in.
He had changed into evening dress and Fiona wondered if he ate alone, having obviously not been invited to dine with the Duke.
“You wanted me, Your Grace?”
“Yes, McKeith. I wish to know how the boy Rollo bit yesterday is faring.”
“I regret to tell you, Your Grace, that his hand is swollen and he is running a slight fever.”
There was a silence as Mr. McKeith finished speaking and Fiona glanced at the Duke expectantly.
“Miss Windham imagines that she can help the boy with some herbs. I suppose they can do no harm until the physician can get here.”
Mr. McKeith smiled.
“Mary-Rose informed me, Your Grace, that because of the efficacy of Miss Windham’s herbs she was sometimes spoken of locally as a White Witch!”
Lady Morag gave a scream.
“A witch!” she exclaimed. “That is certainly something we don’t like to speak about here!”
“I am certain that any witchcraft Miss Windham practises,” the Earl said, “will be very harmless, unless it concerns the heart.”
It was obviously a compliment and Fiona smiled as she asserted,
“I promise, Your Grace, if you will let me treat the boy, my herbs will certainly not harm him, but will take away his fever and prevent his hand from getting worse.”
“Very well,” the Duke agreed in an uncompromising voice. “Mr. McKeith will carry out your instructions.”
“Thank you.”
Fiona rose and walked quickly towards Mr. McKeith.
“Fortunately,” she said as they turned to leave the room, “I have brought quite a considerable amount of herbs with me.”
“If you will fetch them,” Mr. McKeith said, “I will take them to the boy and get someone to apply them.”
“I will do that myself.”
Mr. McKeith looked surprised.
“I am sure that is unnecessary.”
“If I see him, I shall be able to judge better what is best for him.”
“He is sleeping above the stables,” Mr. McKeith said, looking at Fiona’s elegant gown.
“I will put a shawl over my shoulders, if you think he will be shocked at my not being completely covered.”
She was smiling as she spoke because on their journey North they had discussed the puritanical attitude of the Scots about so many things and Mr. McKeith had told her how many of the older people were horrified at the thought of men and women going about ‘half-naked’.
“I will wait for you in the hall,” Mr. McKeith said, as if he capitulated in regard to her determination to attend the boy herself.
Fiona ran to her room.
She had treated dog bites before and Rosemary had taught her that Hercules Wound-Wort, which the people in the village near The Manor called All Heal, was excellent for the bites of mad dogs and verminous beasts.
Rollo was not mad, but, if his teeth had drawn blood, the wounds might easily turn septic and it sounded, since the boy had a fever, as if that had already happened.
She had packed in her luggage a case that contained many packets of herbs and some lotions and elixirs that Rosemary had taught her to distil all through the year as the required herbs became available.
Opening a case, Fiona found a packet of All Heal, which she wanted the boy to take and also one of borage, which would remove the fever.
She decided that Alkenet, which was a common herb in Kent, would be best to apply to the wounds. She always kept a pot of it made into a cream so that she could use it on Mary-Rose if ever she fell and bruised herself.
With the three herbs in her hand, she ran back along the corridor and down the stairs to where she found Mr. McKeith waiting for her.
Beside him was Donald, the resplendent Major Domo who had greeted them on their arrival.
“The boy who is injured, Miss Windham, is Donald’s grandson!” Mr. McKeith explained.
“It’s verra kind of you, miss, to trouble yoursel for the lad,” Donald said. “He’s a good boy and first rate with the horses and His Grace’s sportin’ dogs, but Rollo can be nasty at times and it’s my opinion he should have been put down a long time since.”
“I agree with you, Donald,” Mr. McKeith said, “but His Grace is fond of the animal.”
Fiona found it difficult to speak when she thought of what might have happened to Mary-Rose this evening had the dog savaged her.
When she saw the damage done to the boy’s hand, she was inclined to agree with Donald and Mr. McKeith that the dog should be put away.
Malcolm, the boy who had been bitten, was large for his age, but not yet a grown man and he was, Fiona knew, being brave, despite the fact that his hand had been badly mauled and the inflammation was rising up his arm.
His father, who was a groom, his mother and her other four children were all with him and they were packed into what seemed to Fiona to be a very small space above the stables.
However, the place was spotlessly clean and Malcolm’s mother appeared to understand exactly what Fiona told her about soaking and mixing the herbs and how often her son was to take them.
The potion smelt rather nasty and it had not a particularly pleasant taste, but Malcolm, somewhat overcome at the presence of Fiona and Mr. McKeith, drank it manfully and promised to take it every four hours.
Fiona then applied the cream to his wounds and bound them skilfully in a manner that made Mr. McKeith say,
“I can see, Miss Windham, that you have had a great deal of practice.”
“My sister was famous in the countryside for the help she would give to everybody. There would sometimes be a dozen patients waiting to see her in the morning.”
She smiled as she added,
“There would be men who had cut their hands on a scythe or a saw, small boys who had fallen out of trees and women with babies who had strange complaints for which the doctor could give nothing more efficacious than bread pills and the advice not to worry.”
As Mr. McKeith laughed, Fiona added,
“That always meant, we knew, that he had not the slightest idea what was the matter with them.”
Fiona finished bandaging Malcolm and told him,
“You will soon be better and I think you will find that by tomorrow morning the fever will have left you.”
“It be awful kind of you, miss.”
She and Mr. McKeith walked back to The Castle and now it was dark. The stars shone overhead and looking up Fiona could see the statues on the towers silhouetted against the sky.
“It is beautiful, but awe-inspiring!” she said aloud.
“After a time you will have a feeling of protection, of being immunised from the troubles of the ordinary world outside.”
“If that happens, it sounds very pleasing,” Fiona replied.
She thought as she spoke that she might not stay long enough to reach this enviable phase and she wondered when the Duke would talk to her as he had said he intended to do.
She did not have to wait long to find out.
It had taken some time to prepare the herbs and to apply them and, when she and Mr. McKeith walked up the stone staircase towards the drawing room, they met the Earl and Lady Morag halfway down the stairs.
“We wondered what had happened to you,” the Earl said to Fiona.
“My patient needed quite a good deal of attention,” she replied.
“I hope he is grateful.”
“He will be!” Fiona replied confidently.
“If he recovers I shall be quite frightened!” Lady Morag said. “Quite frankly, witchcraft terrifies me! What do you think, Torquil?”<
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He did not reply and Fiona thought that it would be undignified to tell her that she was talking nonsense and, as she and Mr. McKeith stood aside, Lady Morag and the Earl continued to descend the stairs.
“I am taking Lady Morag home,” the Earl said to Fiona, as if he wished to explain his actions. “I shall see you tomorrow and may I say I am already looking forward to making the acquaintance of Mary-Rose.”
Fiona smiled at him.
Then, as if it was difficult to tear himself away, he hurried after Lady Morag.
She could not understand why, but, as they went up the stairs Fiona felt that Mr. McKeith found Lady Morag a tiresome woman.
It would, however, have been wrong to comment on a relative of the Duke’s and they reached the drawing room in silence.
“Perhaps His Grace has also retired to bed,” she said, hoping that he had done so.
“That is unlikely,” Mr. McKeith replied, “and we must, of course, report progress.”
“I suppose so,” Fiona agreed with a sigh.
She felt a little tired.
It had been a long day and, despite the comfort of her bed in the train, she had not slept particularly well.
This, she knew, was because she was nervous of what lay ahead and worried about her own future as well as that of Mary-Rose.
It was one thing to decide to fight, but it was quite a different one to approach the battle cold-bloodedly.
Now, as they entered the drawing room, she saw that Mr. McKeith had been right in assuming that the Duke would not have retired to bed.
He was standing up in his favourite position in front of the chimney piece, holding an open newspaper in his hands.
He put it down as they advanced towards him and, when they had nearly reached him, he asked sharply,
“Well?”
“The boy was rather worse than when I saw him earlier in the day, Your Grace,” Mr. McKeith said. “His wrist and the lower part of his arm are badly swollen.”
The Duke looked at Fiona.
“Is there anything you can do?”
As he asked the question, she was certain that he would expect her to admit her incompetence.
“I have given him herbs, Your Grace, to take away both the fever and any poison that has infected the bite. I have also bandaged his arm, using a cream that I have never known to fail in such circumstances.”
“You sound as if you are experienced in this sort of work.”
“I have helped my sister for the last three years and we have seldom had a failure.”
“You surprise me,” the Duke commented drily,
He looked at Mr. McKeith.
“I think that will be all for this evening, McKeith.”
“I thank Your Grace. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight!” the Duke said.
Fiona knew, as Mr. McKeith walked towards the drawing room door, that the interview she had dreaded was upon her.
She was aware that she must have all her wits about her and try not to antagonise the Duke to the point of turning her out of The Castle.
‘I must think of Mary-Rose and that her interests are all that matters,’ Fiona thought.
Then, as the door closed behind Mr. McKeith, she lifted her chin and waited.
“Perhaps you should sit down, Miss Windham,” the Duke suggested.
“If I do, I hope Your Grace will do the same.”
He looked surprised.
“You are so tall,” Fiona explained, “that I shall feel even before you speak that you are overpowering me.”
“Is that what you are expecting me to do?”
“I am afraid so, but let me add that I am far from being ready to capitulate, before or after a shot has been fired!”
There was a faint twist of his lips as the Duke enquired,
“Are you telling me, Miss Windham, that you intend to do battle?”
“But of course!” Fiona replied.
“There really does not seem to be any reason for us to be at loggerheads,” the Duke said.
“I should have thought that Mary-Rose was a very good reason. She is, as far as I am concerned.”
“I am sure Mr. McKeith explained to you that as my heir-presumptive it is right and proper that Mary-Rose should live here amongst her father’s people.”
“Even though her father was exiled from them?” Fiona enquired.
“That is past history.”
“My brother-in-law was alive until a year ago. He made the home where he lived with my sister and Mary-Rose a very happy one. I intend to look after my niece and make her life as happy and complete as possible, even though she no longer has a father and mother.”
“I am sure that is very commendable on your part, Miss Windham, but you are a young woman and you will doubtless wish to marry.”
“That is unlikely, but even if I did find a man who could make me as happy as your brother made my sister, there would always be a place, wherever I lived, for my niece.”
“Her place is here! She is a Rannock and must be brought up to understand her future responsibilities.”
“I think if Mary-Rose understood what those responsibilities did to her father, she would not be as thrilled by The Castle or at meeting you as she is now.”
There was silence for a moment and then the Duke said,
“Am I to believe that Mary-Rose has no idea that her father was not welcome here?”
“Of course she has no idea of that!” Fiona replied sharply. “Ian was loyal, completely loyal, to you and to his father. He never said anything derogatory about you nor did he ever complain of the treatment he received because he married someone he loved.”
She drew in her breath and then could not prevent herself from going on,
“When I see the style in which you live and when I remember how Ian had to count every penny he spent, I find it very difficult to believe that Mary-Rose would be happy here, amongst people who are not only insensitive but cruel!”
“I imagine you are referring particularly to me,” the Duke remarked.
“That is for you to judge,” Fiona replied.
Her words had inevitably aroused her temper and now she stared at the Duke, her large eyes aflame with anger.
There was a silence before the Duke said,
“As your own feelings towards me are very obvious, Miss Windham, can I really believe that you are the right person to teach Mary-Rose the tolerance and understanding she will need to deal with our Clan?”
Fiona did not speak and after a moment he went on,
“I expect your brother-in-law told you that the Rannocks are different from any other Scots in this part of the world. We are Highlanders and because of it we keep ourselves very much to ourselves, almost as if we were living in a foreign country.”
He paused before he continued,
“Our feelings, our beliefs and our traditions are those which we acquired in the North and because we are a close-knit community our people look to their Chieftain for guidance as other Scots have forgotten to do.”
“Ian explained that to me,” Fiona said, “and I think, because Mary-Rose is a very exceptional child and has a sympathy and understanding of people far beyond her years, she will grow up into an exceptional woman.”
“That is what I hope, but you will understand, Miss Windham, that I consider it necessary for her at her age to be taught by those who know our peculiarities and, perhaps, our limitations.”
“I know exactly what you are trying to say to me, Your Grace. You wish me to leave Mary-Rose here.”
“Not immediately,” the Duke interposed, “but as soon as she is acclimatised to The Castle and has met a number of her relations who live in the vicinity or who would come down from the North to meet her.”
“Let me make one thing quite clear from the very beginning,” Fiona said. “I do not intend to leave Mary-Rose alone with you.”
The Duke stiffened and she knew that the resolute way in which she had spoken had surprised him.
He rose from his chair to stand once again with his back to the chimney piece, as if it gave him support.
“I have no wish to cross swords with you at this moment, Miss Windham,” he said, “but what you are suggesting is most impractical.”
“Why?”
“I can give you the answer to that in one word – you are English!”
“Why not say a Sassenach? A description which, amongst others, your father used to insult my sister!”
The Duke raised his eyebrows.
“In case you did not see the letter that he wrote to his son when he had told him he had fallen in love and wished to marry,” Fiona said in an icy voice, “His Grace wrote that he forbade Ian to marry – a woman who was a Sassenach, an actress and doubtless a prostitute!”
The Duke started.
“I had no idea that my father had been so forceful, but my brother’s desertion, which was how he saw it, affected him very deeply.”
“Ian was a very wonderful person,” Fiona said. “He knew what his father’s reaction would be to his marriage, but he believed that any sacrifice was worthwhile where my sister was concerned,”
She drew in her breath before she continued,
“But he hoped and believed that you were not so bigoted and that the companionship and the love you had for each other when you were boys would free you from such prejudiced intolerance.”
Fiona spoke passionately and she realised as she clenched her fingers together that she was trembling with the intensity of her feelings.
Then, before the Duke could speak, she said,
“I don’t wish to antagonise you, since I intend to stay here with Mary-Rose, but it is difficult to speak calmly when I remember how much you hurt your brother.”
Again there was silence, as the Duke stared ahead of him with unseeing eyes.
‘I have said too much,’ Fiona thought to herself. ‘Now I shall have to go. He will insist upon it.’
She could hear the clock on the mantelpiece ticking and thought that it was like the beat of her heart, which seemed to have moved into her throat.
Still the Duke did not speak, until finally, in words that seemed slow, almost as if he considered each one before it came to his lips, he said,
“I think, Miss Windham, we should leave this discussion for the moment. It would be easy for both of us to say things which we might afterwards regret and what must be uppermost in both our minds is, of course, what is best for Mary-Rose.”
60 The Duchess Disappeared Page 6