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 Bailloux 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.
∨ Our Lady of Pain ∧