Chapter 41
“Are we to go directly to the farm?” This to Reardon.
“Farm, miss?”
“Where the Gillespies live.”
“Ah, you refer to Beaufort Manor.”
“Yes, Beaufort Manor,” she whispered the words. Didn’t sound Scottish, that was for sure.
“Aye. We will be there in fourteen minutes.” They had just passed Castle Dunnegin. She missed Bertie and smiled, wondering what the woman was up to, then remembered Bertie was not there. She’d taken a holiday. Hopefully, everything was all right on that front.
Edwina shivered. The temperatures were cooler here than when she’d left Chicago. Soon she would be walking the hills, maybe even learn to milk a cow or gather sheep— or whatever they did with them.
The car slowed and turned off onto a single brown dirt lane. Her eyes widened. They must be here. Scrunching down in her seat, she gazed through the large front window.
Ahead on a hill, the outdoor lighting bathing it in soft yellow, was a blue-gray building made of large round rocks sunk into cement. It seemed cottage-like in style, but a bit larger than what she’d imagined. A wide front porch skirted two sides of the dwelling. Suddenly the long driveway ended, and the car swung onto the circle. It was a perfect O with a small cherub waterfall gadget in the middle. She saw four wide concrete steps that rounded at the sides. Banks of colorful flowers contrasted the green carpet rolling away from the cottage. Ivy cascaded down the stair-stepped brick levels on either side of the steps resembling a waterfall. It looked like a miniature version of the Scot’s castle.
Edwina’s eyes drank in the view. She waited for Reardon to open the door, she knew some protocol now, and stepped out. Reardon had not offered his gloved hand, but stood aside dutifully.
So he would not be her ally. Thankfully, he was the Scot’s man, so she would see little of him.
She turned full circle and for some silly reason felt this was home.
“Mrs. Gillespie will greet you,” Reardon said as he perfunctorily carried her baggage, and next she knew she was in the arms of the older woman. “Ye ’ave come. May God bless ye. It is so good to lay these auld eyes upon ye again, lass.”
“Thank you.” This to Reardon, who only nodded grimly and walked to the car. Edwina heard the crunch of his tires as he left.
“Mrs. Gillespie, it’s good to see you.”
“Ye look tired. Ye’re in need of a wee spot o’tea and a bed.” She led the way down a small corridor, narrow in comparison to the castle halls that had been as wide as Bond Street back home. The reddish wood floors beneath her feet reflected their rich wood tones in the low lights. Fireplaces were lit. The house held a tinge of coolness, perhaps because of the rock façade.
“I’m so glad to be here, Mrs. Gillespie.”
“‘Ere is yer room. Laird Dunnegin will be aboot in the morning to see ya. And the lass, Paige, she is outdoors with me auld man. It’s too cold, and late too, I tell them, but they dunna listen.”
Edwina smiled. “The room is lovely.”
“Aye, with a cup warm tea, ye will sleep like a bairn.” A few minutes later Mrs. Gillespie left the tea tray on her side table. She poured a cup and let the fragrance drift into her nostrils, the warmth in her hands made her sleepy.
Alone, she gazed at the quaint room, and walked about. It was small and yet cozy. Sipping tea, she pulled back the heavy drapes and squinted through the wavy-glassed window. The room was at the back of the house, for she could barely see the low rising mountain dotted with white sheep from where she stood. Several outbuildings stood at odd angles. Edwina wondered how old they were. She wanted to walk through and smell the hay or maybe straw. She had no idea, but it was all there for the taking.
Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, so she finished the tea and set the cup down. Turning to the room, she let her eyes take in the space. The bed, a four-poster with gauzy white material pulled back at all four corners, required a step to mount. Edwina stuck her toe behind her heel and off went the shoes with a bang. They landed on the wood floor with two loud clunks, missing the rug that lay beside the bed. She’d have to be more careful. Is this my room or just a guest room? she wondered as her eyelids fluttered shut. She was in Scotland. Was this all a dream too?
It was not a dream. The sound of roosters crowing told her so.
Chickens? Was it morning? Oh my.
Grasping for the covers, she realized she still lay atop the bed in her clothes, except a heavy quilt had been thrown over her. She threw it back and ran to the window, pulled the curtains aside and watched the movement in the grass. A little girl running with a dog snipping at her skirt. Every time she took a few steps, the dog tripped her and down she went. Still the child laughed, the echo barely heard through the thick glass at the windows.
So this was Paige. She wanted to meet her and then remembered she was to be introduced by the child’s father. And he had only a short time, Mrs. Gillespie knocked and came in to remind her. She quickly changed. This time she dressed in her navy skirt and white blouse. This was her offi- cial first day; she meant to start out right.
There wasn’t time for a bath. She found the bathroom behind a little door, complete with claw-foot tub, sink, and toilet, and washed up. The walls of her room were a soft creamy yellow. The furniture, bed, dresser, and closet, all walnut, was a dark contrast. The sun invaded the two windows making perfect squares on the hardwood floors.
“No time to dawdle, Edwina. Get moving.” She reached for the handle and pulled hard, the door was heavy. She let herself out and made her way to the foyer, then the kitchen.
“Ah, I see ye’ve found me,” Mrs. Gillespie said sweetly. “The child and her dog are playing, even before the wee lass has had a bite to eat.” She wagged her head. “Will ye have a spot o’ tea?”
“Oh yes, thank you. Is Laird Dunnegin here yet?” She pulled out a chair and sat at the white wood table.
“Yes, ’e’s in the study, waitin’ for ye. But I daresay, a lass can’t think in a straight line w’out her tea. Sit for a minute. The laird will wait.”
Edwina tried not to show her shock. The laird waiting... not a good way to start the day. She hurried with her tea and thanked the lady. “Which way to the study?”
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“Leave out and go down the hall two doors. On the right.”
Edwina stopped at a small mirror and straightened her shoulder-length hair the best she could, glad Peggy had given her a new cut. She looked... not so shaggy. Very prim.
Hands shaking, she raised her fist to knock. “Enter,” came the command.
“Good morning.” She stepped inside the door. “Would you like me to close the door?”
“Nay. Ye are late, lass. I have been waiting near an hour.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Be seated then.” He gestured, not even bothering to look up from his work.
A full minute later, she was still waiting. If he was in such a hurry . . .
“Did ye’re trip go well?” he asked more kindly, his hands folded, forearms resting on the desk.
“Reardon said your plane was delayed?”
“Yes, we left Chicago late.”
“I have heard from your sister. It seems ye also forgot to call her and let her know ye arrived. And she mentioned Spencer, I believe. He wanted to know you’d made it safely across.”
“Thank you.” Oh boy, two offenses and they hadn’t even talked about her duties yet.
“The hour is late, and I must be aboot my business. The lass is out of doors.
She is nearly five years. She has been under the care and tutelage of Mrs. Rudeski since she was four months of age. Mrs. Rudeski was let go because of her stern ways. I do not wish for Paige to be constrained in any way. She is to know peace and to have control over what she does and when, except when she is in classes. Then she will be expected to sit quietly. I have already informed her.”
He stopped and waited. When she said
nothing, he continued.
“I do not wish for her to leave the premises.” He held her eyes, making sure she got the point. “Never, Miss Blair, is she to leave this farm.”
Edwina nodded, her eyes serious.
“Ye are not to speak of her when ye are out on your business. Not under any circumstances. You may say that you’re my Secretary, which will be truth for I will have you keep records.” He paused again meeting her eyes with his stern ones. “No one is to know there is a child on this farm.”
Edwina nodded, but her hands twisted in her lap.
“The lass may speak of her muther, but she is not to become melancholy. I want her to learn to stand on her own. I will be away often these next months. Mrs. Gillespie will know how to reach me. If ye have any concerns, ye are to speak with her. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have ye any questions?” Questions? Of course she had questions. What did he want her to teach his daughter? Had she any formal teaching already? Did they have a room set aside? What was she to do with free time? Might she wander the grounds? Those were only a few.
“Ask the questions, lass. I must be going.” He checked his watch.
Her frustrations were starting to leak out.
“Sir, where do you want me to teach? Is there a room? What subjects—”
“Don’t call me sir. I am Mr. Dunnegin, which I insist you call me in the presence of my daughter.”
“Yes—,” she almost said “sir.” So the Scot didn’t include his former offer to call him Alexander. Her comfort zone was diminishing quickly.
“Am I to assume I may choose my classroom?”
“As you wish.”
Then he stood and disappeared without another word.
In a few moments he was back with Paige, who stood next to her father in the doorway.
“Paige, this is Miss Blair. She will be your teacher.”
The child curtseyed slightly and with a scorn greeted her, “Miss Blair.”
“Miss Blair, my daughter Paige.”
“Paige. It is nice to meet you.” Edwina almost curtseyed, then stood straighter.
Once the formal introductions were made Paige flew from her presence and Edwina heard the door slam.
“It is unfortunate I do not have more time to be aboot the farm. But as it is, I must leave soon.”
Edwina looked at him.
Just like Reardon. What had happened to the Scot? The one whose booming laugh shook the castle walls? It was obvious he hated this place or something . . .
“Spend time getting to know the lass. Your books should arrive next week. I received notice today. Until then, see that Mrs. Gillespie answers any questions. I trust that you know why you are here?”
Edwina knew her facial features twisted because he leaned across the desk. Was she about to get a dressing- down—already? “Yes,” she answered simply, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to repeat the reasons aloud. She couldn’t do it if her life depended upon it.
“It is late. I shall return two weeks hence and hope to talk more then. And to see improvements in my daughter.”
She wanted to ask what improvements. In what area of her life? But she dared not. The Scot was stomping across the wooden floors toward the front door. He bellowed, “Mrs. Gillespie, I’m aboot my business.” And the door slammed. Edwina wondered if it were possible to shake the rocks loose on the front of the house and make the entire structure come crashing down.
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“Well, I daresay I am glad you are not to be aboot the place for two entire weeks.” She copied his words and turned on her heel.
“Well, Mrs. Gillespie, I’m at my post, but I could do with something to eat if you’re up to it.”
“Lass, I am the keeper of the house. I am up to it, as you say. I’ll have warm scones and soft butter in the shake of a lamb’s tail.”
Edwina smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Oh no, lass, ye must not be seen doing such things. The child’ll tell her father, and ye’ll be set down.”
Edwina could see she was serious. So the child was a tattletale?
Twenty minutes later, just as she set her empty cup in the saucer, Paige appeared. Her almost five-year-old body stood in the doorway, hands on hips, lips pouting. She was dark-haired like her father, but she held Edwina’s eyes with her dark brown ones.
“I don’t take naps,” she said smartly and whipped her long hair like a horse’s mane.
“Neither do I.” Edwina picked up her teacup and pretended to sip.
“And I don’t like to practice piano. I like to be out of doors.”
“Me too,” Edwina agreed but never looked her way. Paige disappeared. Mrs. Gillespie looked after the child and turned, whis-
pering, “That’s the way, lass. The child has become a spoiled bairn these last few months, if I might say so.”
“I can see that. We will have to work on both numbers and attitude.”
“Ah, lass, be ye careful what ye say in front of ‘er father. He has been too indulgent since Mrs. Rudeski left,” she whispered then went back to work.
Edwina knew the woman thought she’d said too much.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gillespie.”
“Lass, it would be nice if ye’d speak me name. Rose, it is.”
“Thank you... Rose.”
“Rose. If you wish.” Now she sounded like Reardon.