Bride of the Solway (13 page)

So he did have an estate of his own. James would crow with delight at that news. Yet, there was something in the way he had described what he had been doing in London. That uncharacteristic hesitation. Cassie could almost have sworn that he had something to hide. What on earth could it be?'

'Wiltshire. I know where it is on a map, of course. We had interminable lessons on such things in Edinburgh. But I have no idea what it is like. Is it a flat county, sir? Is it beautiful?'

'By comparison with the landscape here, it is somewhat tame, I would say. But it is beautiful in its own way. The rolling downs are very pleasant. And there are many fine old estates.'

'Yours is also an old family holding, I presume?'

'Er.. .no. My agent found it for me when I came of age. It was conveniently enough located. And, to tell the truth, I have spent very little time there. You must understand that I have been serving in the army for many years.'

'Of course. I had forgot. After our discussions on the availability of tea in the Peninsula, I should have remembered.' She started to walk back towards the main path, knowing that he would follow. After a few steps, she turned and smiled innocently up at him. 'I think you mentioned, when we last met, that your family came from this part of Scotland?'

'Did I? That would surprise me, for—to be frank, as you have been, ma'am—I do not know quite where my family comes from.'

This time, it was he who had been touched on the raw. His tone was surprisingly sharp. For a moment, Cassie thought she was treading on Solway quicksand, but the captain's brow cleared in seconds. He spoke again in quite a normal voice. 'Forgive me, ma'am. I did not intend to be rude. Yours was a perfectly normal question and should have received a normal answer. The truth is that I believe my family comes from the area around Dumfries, but as yet I cannot say for sure. Both my parents are dead and I have no living relatives to consult.'

'Oh!' Cassie's mind was suddenly full of questions that pushed aside her own troubles. Poor Captain Graham. It must be sad to have no roots. She determined to be helpful. 'Well, sir, Graham is not a particularly common name around Dumfries. Apart from the Graham Arms at
Longtown
. I should have thought it would not be too difficult to discover your ancestors.'

'I thought the same, ma'am. And the truth is that I have been trying since I arrived in Scotland. But there is no trace of any relation of mine in these parts. Perhaps I was mistaken. I was relying on something I remembered from my boyhood. Childish memories can be notoriously fickle.'

Cassie nodded, stricken. Her own childhood memories, especially memories of her mother, had faded so much that there was precious little left. And she was no longer sure that what she did remember was true. It might only be wishful thinking that her mother had been beautiful. And had loved her.

She felt a lump rise in her throat. Now was not the time to think of such distressing things. Now she needed to ensure that Captain Graham had reason to reconsider her plea for help. Perhaps there was some way she could discuss it further with him?

'I do not recall the Graham Arms,' he said thoughtfully. 'But then I avoided
Longtown
on my way north. It is near Carlisle, is it not?'

'Yes, sir. At least, I believe so. I have never been there myself. Apart from my journeys to Edinburgh, when I was at the seminary, I have travelled very little. And
Longtown
is not on the road to Edinburgh.'

He grinned at her. 'Quite so, ma'am. But I was wondering whether there might be something to discover in
Longtown
. After all, such inn names usually relate to a local family of note. Perhaps there is information to be had there.'

She nodded. Perhaps there was. Her heart seemed to miss a beat. It was as if she had been startled in the midst of a reverie. She had not thought until now that he might leave Dumfries. Yet it was bound to happen. Of course it was. He had no ties here and a home in the south of England. Of course he would leave. But somehow she had come to feel that he was here to help her—to save her—and that he would always be beside her, providing a strong arm to lean on.

Cassie berated herself. Oh, foolish woman! Have you not learned, by now, that no man can be depended upon? If you are to be saved from the fate James has in store for you, you will have to save yourself.

Ross took the brandy glass from the colonel's outstretched hand and sank into one of the chairs by the fire. The colonel's library was a most pleasant room. Unlike the rest of the house, which was furnished in the latest style and with no expense spared, this room was designed for comfort and relaxation. The furniture was old fashioned and, in places, a little threadbare, but a man could easily doze against the well-filled cushions and, if snuff or cigar ash fell upon the chairs, it would be of no concern. Indeed, the colonel's
favourite
chair, on the other side of the fire, showed distinct signs of having been singed.

The colonel had clearly noticed Ross's inspection of the room. 'Not exactly all the crack, is it, Graham?' he said with a low chuckle. 'My wife chose the furnishings for the rest of the house, but not here. She says she would not dream of wasting my money on changing a room where I am so happy to burn the furniture and the carpets.' He indicated the Turkey rug in front of the fire.

Ross
realised
that the marks he had assumed to be part of the pattern were actually black burns. He smiled, conspiratorially.

Colonel Anstruther reached into his inside pocket and produced his cigar case. 'Would you care to smoke, Captain? I assume that, like me, you got into the habit in Spain.'

'Perhaps outside on the terrace, sir?'

'Certainly, if you wish, but there is no need. In this room, I do allow myself to indulge in that particular vice.'

Ross accepted one of the long thin cigars and allowed the colonel to light it for him. He slowly drew the smoke deep into his lungs and leaned back in his chair. The colonel did the same, enjoying the moment. There was no need for words. Brandy and cigars, a seasonal fire, and a comfortable room, were sufficient by themselves. Ross blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling and took another sip from his glass.

What a very strange day it had been, to be sure. Until today, he would not have thought of calling Miss Elliott hysterical. Even on the links of the Solway, she had seemed admirably sure of what she was about. Yet she must be wrong about her brother. No doubt James Elliott was a rake-hell of the worst stamp—a drunkard, a
womaniser
, a gambler—but murder? Murder was something completely different. Ross could not bring himself to believe that a gentleman born would stoop to that. What's more, Cassandra Elliott seemed to be in fear for her own safety. Yet she was of the man's own blood. Surely even the lowest dregs of humanity would not injure a woman of his own blood? Did she really believe her brother might kill her?

And then there had been that hint that Elliott was not of sound mind. When the devil was in him... Now that, perhaps... Maybe there was something in that? Drink had unpredictable effects on a man. As did
womanising
. A thought struck Ross like a thunderbolt. What if Elliott were
poxed
? The pox was known to lead to madness. And death. Ross shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was possible. He should have thought of it before. If James Elliott had the pox, it was most definitely possible that he was going insane. And an insane man, on the verge of penury, might do anything to save his own skin.

Ross's tangled thoughts were interrupted by the colonel, who rose from his chair and said, 'I think I shall take a stroll around the garden before I turn in. I missed the best of it when I had to come in to deal with that.. .unfortunate episode with Elliott. Damned blackguard, interfering with innocent maids. If it weren't for his sister, I'd have shown him the door, I tell you frankly.' He started to leave, but paused when Ross rose to accompany him. 'No need to bother, Graham. You've already seen most of the garden. Stay and relax over your cigar. I shall enjoy a solitary stroll.' Polite though he was, the colonel was making it perfectly clear that he wanted to be alone.

Ross nodded and sank back into his chair, still wondering about James Elliott. Did he deserve the name of a gentleman? He had been born to inherit as laird, but even the grandest families had the occasional changeling. After all, this was a man who had spent his first night in the colonel's house getting drunk and then trying to rape one of the maids. If he was capable of that, was he also capable of murder? And of laying violent hands upon his own sister? Correction—half-sister. That might make a difference.

He drained his glass, took a last draw on his cigar and threw the stub into the fire. It was a very strange business, he thought, shaking his head. The question was, what was he to do about it? Miss Elliott had asked for his help—had steeled herself to ask him for money—and he had spurned her. He had more or less told her she was letting her imagination get the better of her. Good God, he had as good as told her she was mad! She had been angry at him, and no wonder. To a lady whose mother had died in the asylum, there could be few worse insults.

And what if her fears were justified?

No. No, it must be impossible. He would try to draw her out a little more, discover exactly why she believed she needed to flee across the Solway, perhaps even lend her the money she needed. But he could not bring himself to believe that the laird of
Langrigg
was a murderer.

'Ah, there ye are, Graham. I've been wanting a word
wi
' ye.' Elliott stood in the open doorway, swaying a little. He was clearly still much the worse for drink.

Ross rose from his chair and put his brandy glass down on the small piecrust table. He stood with his legs slightly apart, the weight on the balls of his feet, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. There was no knowing what Elliott might do, so it was best to be ready for anything, including a physical attack. At least, if it happened this time, it would be one against one. With those odds, Ross would not expect to lose again.

'You seemed to be enjoying your little tryst with
m'sister
.'

It was useless to chop logic with a drunk. 'Miss Elliott and I had a very pleasant stroll around the garden. Together with the colonel.'

'Aye. For a wee bit. Until he came back here to hassle me.'

Ross said nothing. If the man had a point to make, he would get to it eventually. Ross casually picked up his glass and drank the final few drops of his brandy, before setting it down again. He needed his hands free.

Elliott walked rather unsteadily into the room. 'Any more of that brandy? I could do with a wee reviver. I'm fair parched.' He picked up the colonel's used glass and filled it from the decanter. He drained the liquor in a single swallow and then filled the glass again.

James Elliott was certainly no gentleman.

Ross tried to keep his expression from betraying his distaste. 'You wanted a word?' he said neutrally.

Elliott slumped into the colonel's chair, his brandy balloon in one hand and the decanter in the other. 'Aye. 'Bout
m'sister
. Ye've caught her up twice now, so I thought ye might like to make an honest woman of her.'

'Sir, you go too far! Miss Elliott's reputation is—'

'
Dinnafash
yersel
', man! I'm no' accusing ye of
anything.'The
man's cultured accent seemed to have disappeared along with the colonel's brandy. He had begun to sound like one of his own servants.

'Glad to hear it. A lady's reputation is a precious thing, and—'

'Let's cut t' the chase, Graham. Thing is,
m'sister
needs a husband and I'm thinking that ye might be the very man. Ye're a gentleman,
wi
' a
guid
income and yer own estate. What
mair
could she want?'

'Your sister and I are barely acquainted.'

'I can tell ye all ye need to know. She's a
guid
manager, ye ken. Been running
Langrigg
fer
years. And ye'll admit she's bonnie.'

He was waiting for an answer, so Ross nodded. It was true enough.

'And she's still untouched. I can vouch
fer
that.'

Ross's flesh was beginning to crawl. The man was describing a lady as if she were a horse at auction.