Our Lady of Pain (14 page)

“Sounds ideal. When did you last see her?”

“Several years ago,” said Rose. “Aunt Elizabeth came on a visit to Stacey Court. I remember her as being amiable but eccentric.”

“Would you send her a telegram?” asked Harry. “And suggest that Lady Rose goes on a long visit.”

“What will Lord Hadshire say?”

“I will deal with him.”

Aunt Elizabeth sent a telegram the following day to say she would be delighted to entertain Rose. The day passed in packing and hurried preparations. Rose was to travel north with Madame Bailloux and Hunter, the maid, for company. Harry said he would also send Becket and Daisy up to join her as soon as they had returned from their honeymoon. Rose could only be amazed at how placidly Madame Bailloux accepted all the rush.

It was a long and exhausting journey. First the train to Glasgow and then the hire of a car and chauffeur to take them into the wilds of Argyll over a twisting nightmare road called The Rest and Be Thankful.

Drumdorn Castle was perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. It was an old castle with smoky stone-flagged rooms downstairs and small cold bedrooms upstairs. Aunt Elizabeth, Lady Carrick, was a widow who greeted them effusively. She was a tall, thin, spare woman, dressed in the clothes of the last century and wearing a white lace cap over grey hair. Her face was wrinkled and she had very heavy, shaggy eyebrows.

“So delighted to see you, my dear,” she said. “I do not often have company apart from the servants.”

“It is very kind of you to invite us. I feel I should tell you why we have come here.”

Aunt Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “You mean it wasn’t for the delights of my company?”

“I am delighted to have a chance to get to know you better,” said Rose, “but the fact is, my life is considered to be in danger.”

“We do get the newspapers even in as remote a part as this,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “I have been following your adventures. You will be safe here. There is a sort of bush telegraph operates in this area. Any stranger within miles of the castle will be spotted. I received a telegram from Captain Cathcart and I gather he is to join us shortly. I find it all very exciting. Do change for dinner and we will talk further.”

The dining room was more like a smoke-filled baronial hall. “The wind’s in the wrong direction,” said Aunt Elizabeth as another cloud of smoke belched out of the enormous fireplace.

Tattered banners hung from the ceiling and dingy suits of armour lined the walls. There was a large landscape painting over the fireplace but it was so black with smoke that it was hard to make out what landscape it was supposed to be portraying.

There was an elderly gentleman in knee breeches sitting on a stool by the fireplace, his white head resting uncomfortably on a caryatid.

“Who is that gentleman?” asked Rose.

“That’s Angus,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “He was my butler for many years. He doesn’t want to be pensioned off and feel useless, so he prefers to remain on duty.”

“Are you finished with your soup yet?” demanded a highland footman looming over Rose.

“Yes,” said Rose, startled, not yet being used to the democratic freedom of speech of highland servants.

“When you get the warm weather,” said Madame Bailloux hopefully, “perhaps the fire will not be necessary.” She was sure her gowns would reek of smoke for months to come.

“We sometimes get a few warm days,” said Aunt Elizabeth, “but not often.”

Madame Bailloux suddenly thought longingly of Paris. The sun would be shining and people would be sitting on the terraces, chatting and drinking coffee. Living in London had been relatively pleasant, but she did not know how long she could take being a guest in this smoky castle.

She sighed with relief when they moved to a drawing room where the fire was modest and did not smoke. The furniture was heavy and Victorian. There were many stuffed birds in glass cases, a grand piano draped in what looked like a Persian carpet, and little tables laden down with framed photographs.

Aunt Elizabeth demanded to be entertained, so Rose sat down at the piano and did her best, although a few of the yellowing keys seemed to be stuck down with damp.

Then the cards were brought out and they played whist for pennies, Aunt Elizabeth gleefully winning every hand.

At last it was time for bed. They collected their bed candles from a table in the hall and walked up the stone stairs to their rooms.

Rose was undressed by Hunter and then climbed into an enormous four-poster bed. It was covered with two large quilts, but the sheets were damp. Rose’s last waking thought was that she must get the maids to air them in the morning.

In the following two weeks, while they awaited the arrival of Harry with Becket and Daisy—he had telegrammed to say that he had decided to wait for them—the weather turned fine. Rose, accompanied by Madame Bailloux, went for long walks along the cliffs, fascinated by the many seabirds and the rise and swell of the waves as they crashed at the foot of the cliffs.

She found herself thinking more and more about Harry, wondering if he loved her and wondering if she really loved him. Fear of her assailant had almost disappeared as one sunny day followed another.

Madame Bailloux had recovered her spirits. The fire in the dining room was no longer lit in the evenings, and all her gowns had been sponged and hung out in the fresh air. She chatted away about her beloved Paris and about her late husband, a colonel in the French army, and Rose walked beside her barely listening, thinking of Harry.

At last, the day of Harry’s arrival dawned. Rose climbed up to one of the turrets of the castle and looked across the moors, waiting for the fist sign of Harry’s car. And there it came at last, mounting a rise in the distance and then heading towards the great iron gates which guarded the estate. The lodge keeper ran out to open the gates.

Rose ran down the stairs and out to the front of the castle. Daisy was the first out of the car, running towards Rose, throwing herself into her arms and crying, “I have missed you.”

Rose looked across Daisy’s head to Harry. He smiled at her, that rare smile of his which lit up his face, and she felt a surge of gladness.

She extricated herself from Daisy and went up to him. “How are my parents?” she asked.

“At first furious and then resigned.”

“Are they coming to join us?”

“Your father says he may come here if you are still here in August. He says one only goes to Scotland to shoot.”

Rose’s happiness at seeing him was suddenly dimmed. Her parents were moving farther and farther away from her. She knew they now prayed for the day when she would marry someone—anyone—and be out of their care.

Footmen came out to collect the luggage and the housekeeper to take the new guests to their rooms. Rose had had to explain to Aunt Elizabeth that as Daisy had been her former companion, neither she nor her husband could quite be classed as servants and should be accommodated in the guest rooms.

Later, Madame Bailloux went to join Rose in her room but retreated when she heard Rose laughing and chatting with Daisy. She went instead in search of Harry.

“I feel now would be a good time for me to return to France,” she said. “Lady Rose has plenty of company.”

“Must you? Things have changed now that Daisy is married to my servant. Lady Rose still needs a chaperone.”

“But she has her aunt and I would really like to return.”

“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 Bailoux 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.

If a gold ring sticks tight on the finger, and cannot easily be removed,
touch it with mercury, and it will become so brittle that a single blow
will break it
.

—
THE HOUSEKEEPER’S RECEIPT BOOK
, 1813

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 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.”