by Sara Donati
“Look,” said Jennet, pointing.
A few horses had appeared around the southeast corner of the castle, moving at a leisurely pace toward the open gates. Dogs trotted alongside them.
“The earl’s hounds,” Hannah said. “I saw them in Dumfries.”
“Aye,” said Jennet, getting ready to swing herself down. “And the wagons will be close behind.”
“Wagons?”
She paused and looked up so that the light coming through the leaves dappled her face. “Wi’ mair treasure,” she said. “Frae the Isis.”
• • •
“Your mother is a most irrational creature,” Elizabeth said to Lily. “Thousands of miles from home against our will, with no idea of how we will get away from this place or find your grandfather, no sign of the earl nor any word of explanation from him, and I can think of nothing but clean clothes and food.”
The baby was studying an ivory elephant, thumping the carpet with it to see what noise it would make, and then frowning in dissatisfaction. Her brother was more pleased with the bannock in his fist, which he was using to scrub his face. Neither of them seemed very concerned with her confession, or with their own grubbiness.
Curiosity had found a comfortable chair near the hearth. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Here they come now, a whole army of them, from the sound of it.”
Elizabeth bounded up from the floor before they could knock and wake Nathaniel. She composed her face and opened the door.
“Mrs. Bonner. Guid day.”
The woman before her was tiny, with the carriage and figure of a girl, though the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth put her at far more than thirty. She was not so much beautiful as striking, with small, sharply defined features, eyes so light as to be almost colorless, and blond hair wound around her head in a thick braid. And at the waist of her simple gown—black for mourning?—she wore the ring of keys that were the mark of her role as housekeeper of Carryckcastle.
“Mrs. Hope.” Elizabeth smiled, even while her thoughts raced away, recounting all the housekeepers of her acquaintance at large houses and small throughout England. Every one of those who came to mind were women of more than fifty, having spent a lifetime growing into a position of responsibility and authority; few of them had any beauty left, if they had ever had it at all.
“I am sorry tae disturb you, Mrs. Bonner, but your things are come from Dumfries. If you would care tae take dinner in the dining room, the maids will see tae the unpacking.”
She had the composed manner of a woman who did not need to use her voice to make her wishes known, or have them followed. Utterly polite and deferential, but Elizabeth could not read the expression in her eyes. Because she does not wish me to. Dislike? Disdain? In another lifetime she would have wondered why this woman should bear her so little goodwill, but it did not matter: they would not be here long enough for her to make Mrs. Hope a concern.
Elizabeth said, “Does the earl wait for us at table?”
“The laird sends his apologies.”
Carryck had more important things to do than to speak to those people he had dragged across an ocean for his own pleasure. Irritation flooded through her, but Elizabeth smiled politely.
She said, “My husband is resting and must not be disturbed. We will take our dinner here.”
“Very well, madam. I’ll put the maids tae work in the dressing room.”
“Mrs. Hope.”
The housekeeper paused. “Madam?”
“Where exactly is the earl engaged?”
A discourteous question, but it did its work: some unchecked surprise flickered across her face.
“He is in the conservatory, madam.”
Elizabeth folded her hands before herself. “Is he? And I was planning to walk in that direction this afternoon, as the weather is so very fine.”
Mrs. Hope inclined her head. “As you wish, madam. Entirely as you wish.”
• • •
Fine damask and heavy silver, porcelain and crystal and solid, hearty food served by footmen who moved about the room in perfect symmetry. There was marrow broth thick with barley and peas, roast partridge, red cabbage, runner beans dressed with cream. Curiosity ladled broth into the babies, and Elizabeth filled Nathaniel’s bowl twice before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.
When the footmen had been dismissed, Elizabeth and Curiosity ate together while the twins rolled across the carpet, determined to perfect this new trick.
“Go on then,” said Curiosity when they had eaten as much as they could hold. “Go find the earl. You won’t rest until you talk to the man, anyway. The little ones are due for a nap, and I’ll just take my rest with them. I can keep an ear out for Nathaniel, ’case he needs anything.”
As tired as she was, Elizabeth knew that Curiosity was right; she was too much on edge to sleep. “Very well, but I must change first.”
“I’d say so,” Curiosity said with something close to her old grin. “A bath wouldn’t be the worst idea, neither.”
But in the dressing room Elizabeth found that the maids had been too thorough in their duties: both of her other gowns had been spirited away for cleaning. This news she had from Mally, who had stayed behind to begin the mending.
Elizabeth looked down at herself. It should not matter to her if the earl found her dowdy and poorly groomed, as long as he listened to what she had to say to him. And still it was very hard to go out among strangers in such a sorry state.
Mally was watching her with a puzzled expression. “The other gowns have been hung, mem.” She pointed with her sewing needle.
“Other gowns?” Even as Elizabeth turned she knew what she would find.
In the confusion of transporting their belongings here from the King’s Arms, someone had included Giselle Somerville’s trunks. The maids had unpacked them all, and now Giselle’s many morning gowns and evening dresses, shawls and capes and redingotes, had been carefully hung to shimmer white and silver, gold and green.
Her perfume, musk and lilac and something else, something sharper, clung to a brocade shawl that had been draped across a velvet settee. Silver-backed brushes had been carefully arranged on the dressing table, and a heavy-bottomed crystal flask caught the light to spin it into rainbows. Elizabeth picked up a small hand mirror with an elaborately engraved motto in the ivory and pearl handle: Sans Peur.
A woman without fear. For a moment Elizabeth found herself thinking of Giselle with envy.
The shelves were filled, too, with her hats and bonnets and gloves, scarves and petticoats, corsets and pelisses—exactly the kind of elegant dress that Elizabeth had always shunned. She had favored the simple Quaker gray that her mother had worn, and told herself that she did so out of admiration and rationality. But the truth was that she had left the finery to her younger and prettier cousins out of pride and—she could admit it now—pure willfulness. Her uncle Merriweather had called her a drab behind her back but within her hearing, and she had taken a perverse pleasure in his disapprobation.
Elizabeth sat down on an elegant little chair upholstered in blue and yellow brocade and considered. She should have all of it sent away, given to someone who knew nothing of Giselle and would be glad of such pretty things. It was what she wanted to do. But to indulge one kind of pride would mean sacrificing another, and at the moment she was more concerned about the earl than she was about Giselle Somerville, wherever she might be.
Mally took her hesitation for indecision, and clearing her throat gently she ventured to make a suggestion. “Shall I send for hot water, mem? Wad ye care tae bathe first?”
Elizabeth let out a soft sigh. “Yes,” she said, reaching out to run Mantua silk between her fingers. “Please do.”
The simplest of Giselle’s gowns was a clear lawn with a sash, bodice scarf, and shawl embroidered in silver and green. The matching kid slippers were slightly too small, but Elizabeth was glad of the distraction as she made her way down the grand stair. She felt like an imposter, awk
ward and out of place, and furious with herself for her timidity.
A scullery maid hurried by, pausing to curtsy without meeting Elizabeth’s gaze and then continuing on her way, a bucket of ashes thumping against her leg. Elizabeth followed at a safe distance, knowing that there would be some access to the gardens from the hall that led to the kitchen. It took a full five minutes to find it, but then she stepped into the warm summer afternoon.
The gardens were situated on the west side of the castle, protected from the winds that came up the mountain valley. Scotland was not known for its excessively fine weather, but the situation was one that would make the most of the sun. A large kitchen garden, flower beds in full bloom, apple trees and raspberry canes, and roses interplanted with lavender. An unusual and completely lovely effect, so different from the gardens of her childhood at Oakmere, where nature was subservient to geometry.
Someone had put a great deal of planning into the grounds; someone both sensible and with a keen eye for natural beauty. Appalina perhaps, or Marietta, she of the mysterious portraits.
For the first time in months Elizabeth was physically comfortable, freshly bathed and well dressed, her stomach full and the sunlight gentle on her back and shoulders. But she felt a little dizzy suddenly, and fought with the urge to turn back into the deep shadows of the hall and retreat, back to Nathaniel and Curiosity and the children. And how silly that was: once she had traveled alone through the endless forests, and here she stood trembling in the rose gardens at Carryckcastle.
She could not let herself be drawn into such a simple trap as a pleasing garden; she would not forget how she had come to be here. With new concentration, she started toward the conservatory that stood on the far side of a little stand of pear trees, its glass walls and roof reflecting bright in the sun. The gardens were not empty—men were at work weeding the beds and spreading manure, and far off she saw the Hakim, pushing a man in a wheeled chair. She paused to watch him, curious about this patient of his, an old man hunched forward. A maid came up and curtsied before him; he raised his hand to trace something in the air over her head.
“Might I be o’ any help, mem?” A gardener popped up before her so suddenly that she stepped back in alarm and pressed a hand to her heart.
“I didna mean tae startle ye, mem, please pardon me. I’m the head gardener, and I thoucht perhaps ye had questions—” The rims of his eyelids and the tips of his ears and nose were tinged pink and this gardener reminded her of a plump little rabbit.
“Not at all.” Hannah had once brought them information about the head gardener at Carryck, and Elizabeth searched her memory for the name. Whatever connections she could make to the staff might help later on, when the time came to leave.
“The earl is in the conservatory, Mr. Brown?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Aye, mem. So he is. I expect he’ll be there aa day.” And apologetically: “He doesna like tae be disturbed when he’s workin’, mem.”
Elizabeth studied the rose before her. “I believe your brother serves on the Isis, does he not? Have you had a happy reunion with him?”
The little man’s look of surprise deepened. “I’ve no’ yet seen him, mem, but I hope he’ll be doon the village when I get hame. Do ye ken oor Michael, then?”
“A bit. My stepdaughter spent some time with him, and the bird he raised—”
“Sally,” supplied the gardener, grinning now.
“Yes, Sally.”
With a little flourish he held out a single rose between a thumb and forefinger stained green. “Gin it isna tae forward, mem …”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, accepting the blossom. “How pretty.”
“She’s aye bonnie tae look at, mem, but her smell is still sweeter.”
“Very sweet, indeed. Your roses thrive very well given the climate here, do they not?”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye, mem, so they do. But that’s the laird’s doin’, ye ken.”
“Is it?” Elizabeth could not help smiling. “Does His Lordship command the weather to his roses’ liking, then?”
The smooth brow crinkled under the straw brim. “There nivver was sic a mannie for growin’ things,” he said very seriously, looking toward the greenhouse. “Perhaps His Lordship will show ye his orchids, some day.”
“What a splendid idea, Mr. Brown. I’ll go now and ask him. Oh, and can you tell me—who was that elderly man in the wheeled chair? He’s gone now, but he was there just a minute ago, with Hakim Ibrahim.”
A pained expression flitted across Mr. Brown’s face, gone as soon as it came. “That must ha’ been Mr. Duppy, mem. A guest o’ the earl’s. He’s verra tender, ye see. In puir health.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Elizabeth said. And then, still vaguely uneasy, she took her leave of Mr. Brown.
The conservatory was an enormous building made almost entirely of glass. It was cleverly designed, so that the panels that served as walls could be adjusted individually, pivoted and propped up to regulate temperature and air flow. Each was covered on the inside by a fine mesh, surely a convenience when the midges were biting.
And such a profusion of greenery: full-grown trees, flowering shrubbery, a long table of orchids—Elizabeth knew them only from books in her uncle’s library—under bell jars. A small red butterfly such as she had never seen before flitted by, and then another. There was no sign of the earl, but when she opened the door she heard voices.
“It looks like a wee monkey,” said a young girl’s voice. “For aa it’s got a purple neb.”
“Aye, and it’s near as much trouble as a monkey wad be,” said the earl. His tone was very different from the one Elizabeth had heard from him late in the night; he sounded perfectly at ease conversing with little girls.
Along the wall was a row of the potted ti-nain trees that the Hakim had tended so carefully on the deck of the Isis, come now to the end of their long journey. Elizabeth walked along, following the sound of the voices until she arrived at the work area in the very middle of the conservatory.
The earl sat at a high table, with Hannah and Jennet standing to either side. Their heads were bent for ward in concentration, and none of them took any note of her.
“Good afternoon.”
“Elizabeth!” Hannah turned to her, and held out a muddy hand. “Come see the earl’s new orchid. The Duke of Dorchester sent it to him, imagine.”
Carryck stood, and Elizabeth saw that she need not have worried about her gown—he was wearing a pair of old breeks and a loose linen shirt with a leather apron over all. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and he looked like any other man in the middle of a day’s labor.
He nodded to her. “Guid day, madam.”
Elizabeth inclined her head and shoulders. “My lord Earl. And this must be Jennet?”
The child seemed to glow, all sun colored among the greenery. “Aye, mem,” she said. “But ye canna be the stepmother?” And she peered more closely, as if she hoped to see horns peeking out of Elizabeth’s hair.
“I am that,” Elizabeth admitted. “We are not all wicked.”
“How is my father?” Hannah asked, with a guilty expression that said she had not thought of him for a little while.
Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder. “You needn’t worry. He has eaten, and he is sleeping. The Hakim will look in on him this afternoon.”
“Guid tidings,” said the earl.
Hannah was not an awkward child, but now she seemed truly at a loss, caught in this strange situation. I am ill at ease, too, Elizabeth wanted to say to her, but it would not do, not in front of Carryck.
Jennet seemed unaware of all of this. She looked between Hannah and Elizabeth with undisguised curiosity. “Have ye come tae see the tulips?”
“Oh, the tulips,” said Hannah, relieved at this change in subject. “See, Elizabeth, how they look like the Hakim’s turban.”
Rare tulips were exquisitely expensive, but here were at least a dozen, each in a pot of its own and in d
iffering stages of bloom—and that out of season. It seemed that Carryck did have a gift for growing things.
“It is your diversion to cultivate tulips, my lord?”
He wiped his hands on a piece of sacking as he studied her. “My mither brought the roots wi’ her as a gift tae my faither when they married. They’ve been grown at Carryckcastle ever since.”
“They have names,” said Hannah. “Don Quevedo and Admiral Liefken and Henry Everdene and this one is Mistress Margret. Is that not odd? That a flower has a name but that a man might not.” She paused, throwing a wary look at the earl.
He peered at her with his brows drawn into a tight vee. “Aa God’s creatures have names, lass. My name is Carryck.”
Hannah met his gaze evenly. “But, sir, most people have first names. My grandfather is called Hawkeye or Dan’l Bonner and my father Wolf-Running-Fast or Nathaniel Bonner, but you—”
She glanced at Elizabeth, and then went on resolutely. “You are called ‘my lord’ or ‘sir,’ or ‘Carryck.’ And Carryck is the name of this place. It is as if my grandfather were called Hidden Wolf for the mountain where he lives.”
Jennet was very still, all her attention on the earl and what he might say. And since the earl seemed to have taken no offense at Hannah’s bold questioning, Elizabeth was quite interested, too, and content to stay out of the conversation for the time being.
“The difference is this,” said the earl. “Your grandfaither chose his place and made it his own while I was born tae Carryck. I belong tae the place as much as it belongs tae me.” He held up a finger to keep Jennet from interrupting, but the look he gave her was kindly.
“Now a man wha has a twisted leg may be called Cruikshank in our tongue, or one wha works the smithy may be called Gow, which is guid Scots as weel, and means ‘smith.’ Or a man called Donald may have a son, and that son might be called Donaldson or MacDonald or FitzDonald, all meanin’ ‘the son o’ Donald.’ My surname is Scott. The earliest o’ my ancestors that I ken was Uchtred FitzScott—Uchtred the son o’ Scott—and his son Richard took the surname Scott, as did most o’ the men wha descended from him.”