from Bertram and then a giant snore. Clearly he was to be of no help. I turned and faced my accoster, schooling my features to copy Mama’s. [6] The little man shrunk back.
‘Oh good heavens,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Mr …’
‘Smith,’ I said trying to make the one word sound as cutting as possible.
The man gave a wry smile. ‘Indeed,’ he said. He was slightly below my height with narrow shoulders and weak blue eyes behind round moon glasses. His hair though cut short was a burnished gold and extremely thick. Many a debutante would have given if not her eyes then her servant’s eyes for such a mane.
‘I was wondering if you would do me the service of posting my letter.’ He thrust a small, thick envelope at me that I took instinctively. ‘It is most important that it is posted today and that no one else knows of its existence. Affairs of the heart,’ he said and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m sure a pretty young woman like yourself knows all about such things.’
The letter did indeed smell of cologne.
‘Here’s a few pennies,’ said the blond man, tipping a few coins into my other hand. ‘Just between us? I know I can trust you.’ He gave his wry smile again and turned and walked off, displaying a very slight limp.
I stood looking down at the letter in my hand, a variety of conflicting thoughts running through my head. Rory appeared at the end of the corridor while I was still considering my options. I felt a flood of relief. I wouldn’t need to take the decision alone. But as he came nearer I saw his expression was as foreboding as ever and without thinking I stuffed the letter into my apron pocket.
‘Where is Mr Stapleford?’ he demanded.
I indicated the library behind me. Rory made a superb
humph
ing sort of noise that I thought only butlers of considerable maturity were able to deliver. ‘Have you nothing better to do than stand around here?’ He scolded. ‘If not, I noticed the rugs in the hall could do with a good beating.’
[6] My mother, a lady of 4’11”, could make 6’ footmen cry with a single harsh word when she was young.
Chapter Nine:
A Highland walk proves most unsatisfactory
It would shortly be dusk. Unlike Merry, I have no fear of too many trees, but I was unfamiliar enough with the local countryside to wish not to be out after dusk. I also assumed, though Rory had not seen fit to tell me so, that he and I would be serving all the meals from now on. Susan might be housekeeper, but she had never served at table, and indeed in anything other than a Highland Lodge her training would be considered barely that of a ’tweenie maid. Of course, I had no intention of telling her this.
When I set out, with general directions from Susan for the main village where I would find a shop with a postal service, it was chilly but bright. However, I knew the Scotch weather all too well from my first visit and took a shawl with me to cover my head in case of rain. When you have as much hair as I do, being damp is not an option. After a walk through wet country lanes I am all too liable to smell akin to a wet dog.
Still I was away from all the stresses known and unknown at the Lodge and under a bright sky. I found myself whistling, a little tunelessly for music is not my talent, and walking with a skip in my step. The path Susan had set me on was barely a footpath at all. It wound between tall trees and skirted fields, some tamed, some still wild. I certainly did not need to be wary of passing carts. By my estimation I was about halfway to the village when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
It is difficult to explain, but those of you who have had the feeling of being watched will know it only too well. It is like some primal animal instinct that warns you may now be prey. I became most aware of where I was putting my feet. I took the opportunity of bends in the path
‘Oh good heavens,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Mr …’
‘Smith,’ I said trying to make the one word sound as cutting as possible.
The man gave a wry smile. ‘Indeed,’ he said. He was slightly below my height with narrow shoulders and weak blue eyes behind round moon glasses. His hair though cut short was a burnished gold and extremely thick. Many a debutante would have given if not her eyes then her servant’s eyes for such a mane.
‘I was wondering if you would do me the service of posting my letter.’ He thrust a small, thick envelope at me that I took instinctively. ‘It is most important that it is posted today and that no one else knows of its existence. Affairs of the heart,’ he said and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m sure a pretty young woman like yourself knows all about such things.’
The letter did indeed smell of cologne.
‘Here’s a few pennies,’ said the blond man, tipping a few coins into my other hand. ‘Just between us? I know I can trust you.’ He gave his wry smile again and turned and walked off, displaying a very slight limp.
I stood looking down at the letter in my hand, a variety of conflicting thoughts running through my head. Rory appeared at the end of the corridor while I was still considering my options. I felt a flood of relief. I wouldn’t need to take the decision alone. But as he came nearer I saw his expression was as foreboding as ever and without thinking I stuffed the letter into my apron pocket.
‘Where is Mr Stapleford?’ he demanded.
I indicated the library behind me. Rory made a superb
humph
ing sort of noise that I thought only butlers of considerable maturity were able to deliver. ‘Have you nothing better to do than stand around here?’ He scolded. ‘If not, I noticed the rugs in the hall could do with a good beating.’
[6] My mother, a lady of 4’11”, could make 6’ footmen cry with a single harsh word when she was young.
Chapter Nine:
A Highland walk proves most unsatisfactory
It would shortly be dusk. Unlike Merry, I have no fear of too many trees, but I was unfamiliar enough with the local countryside to wish not to be out after dusk. I also assumed, though Rory had not seen fit to tell me so, that he and I would be serving all the meals from now on. Susan might be housekeeper, but she had never served at table, and indeed in anything other than a Highland Lodge her training would be considered barely that of a ’tweenie maid. Of course, I had no intention of telling her this.
When I set out, with general directions from Susan for the main village where I would find a shop with a postal service, it was chilly but bright. However, I knew the Scotch weather all too well from my first visit and took a shawl with me to cover my head in case of rain. When you have as much hair as I do, being damp is not an option. After a walk through wet country lanes I am all too liable to smell akin to a wet dog.
Still I was away from all the stresses known and unknown at the Lodge and under a bright sky. I found myself whistling, a little tunelessly for music is not my talent, and walking with a skip in my step. The path Susan had set me on was barely a footpath at all. It wound between tall trees and skirted fields, some tamed, some still wild. I certainly did not need to be wary of passing carts. By my estimation I was about halfway to the village when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
It is difficult to explain, but those of you who have had the feeling of being watched will know it only too well. It is like some primal animal instinct that warns you may now be prey. I became most aware of where I was putting my feet. I took the opportunity of bends in the path
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