Island of the Swans (35 page)

“Don’t be startled,” Jane said softly, “but please tell me, who is this child?” The young girl bolted out of her chair and the baby began to howl with fright. “I’m sorry,” Jane said hastily, rushing over to take the child in her arms and comfort it.

“Och! You shouldna do that, ma’am,” the nursemaid protested as Jane rocked the baby gently, crooning to soothe its fears. “’Tis me neck if Ma sees you in here!”

“And who might your mother be?” Jane asked, cradling the curly headed babe in her arms.

“Mrs. Christie…”

“Ah… Mrs. Christie…” Jane replied, noting the girl’s angular features, which mirrored the bony countenance of the housekeeper. She glanced down at the round-faced bundle in her arms. “Is this the duke’s son?”

“Aye, he is.” The young girl nodded, Wide-eyed that such a question should be asked so casually by the duke’s new bride, the young girl nodded. “Aye, he is. My ma warned me to make m’self scarce, so the sight o’ him might not offend you,” she said, looking as if she should retrieve the baby from Jane’s arms.

“What a pretty wee thing you are,” Jane crooned, smiling at the little boy who had stopped crying but was looking at her quizzically. “He’s called George, I believe?”

“Aye, but we call him Geordie.”

“Hello, Geordie,” Jane said, tickling him lightly under his plump little ribs. “You’re a fine, fair lad, aren’t you now? Handsome as your da, just as he said.”

Jane smiled at the neatly kempt nursemaid who stood open-mouthedly, watching the duke’s new bride cuddle his bastard.

“And what might your name be?” Jane asked kindly.

“N-Nancy, Your Grace. Nancy Christie.”

“Well, Nancy, you’re just a few years younger than my sister Eglantine, and you seem a very responsible young miss, if I can make that comparison with that madcap lass.”

“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” Nancy replied, pleased by the compliment. “My ma has two bairns more and seems unlikely to stop havin’ ’em, so I’ve had lots of practice lookin’ after the wee ones. I feel a bit sorry for this little lad, don’t you?” she asked seriously, her young brow knit in a pensive frown. “No mama to coddle ’im, and the duke, such a grand man. I been tellin’ Geordie I prayed you’d be kind to ’im, and here you are, holdin’ ’im in your arms!”

“How sweet you are, Nancy,” Jane said, touched by the young girl’s concern for the little lad. “I shall come and visit him every day, would you like that? And I shall tell your mother there’s no need to keep him hidden away. The duke has determined the lad shall have the protection of the House of Gordon, and I am happy to comply. I shall see you both tomorrow… yes?”

“T’would be lovely, Your Grace. I’ll have him scrubbed and in his best tucker for you!”

“Fine… tea in the nursery then, tomorrow.” Jane smiled, her spirits lifting a notch.

She quietly let herself out of the nursery, venturing down another mysterious corridor. Soon, she found herself at the top of a dark, narrow stairway. She walked down several flights till she reckoned she must be in a section of the castle that was below the ground. A stone passageway led to a room packed with furniture in various stages of construction. In an adjoining room, scores of clocks hung on the walls or spilled their innards across a worktable. Jane examined what appeared to be a chronometer of some sort. A paper with minute mathematical calculations stood next to an inkwell and quill pen.

“Does science interest you, Your Grace?”

Jane let out a startled cry and whirled around to face William Marshall, who stood in the doorway, clothed in his butler’s livery. Jane hadn’t laid eyes on him since the day she’d arrived at the castle, and she was shaken by his sudden appearance in such strange surroundings. His manner was cool, as if he had some secret knowledge that led him to disapprove of her presence within his domain.

“I know nothing of science, Mr. Marshall, but I was interested to see more of my new
home
,” she replied with deliberate emphasis.

“These are the duke’s workshops,” Marshall said, easing his compact frame into the room. He absently fingered a dismantled telescope that was apparently in the process of being cleaned. “His Grace and I have shared a mutual interest in things mechanical ever since we were lads.”

“Is that so?” Jane responded politely.

“When I entered the service of the dowager duchess at around the age of twelve as a novice house steward, his Grace and I were near in age. I was honored to be allowed to spend many idle hours as his youthful companion. The duke and I studied astronomy together as well as mechanics. As no doubt you’ve seen, he is also a skilled woodworker—a hobby I also enjoy, thanks to the duke’s indulgence.”

“Do you write poetry as well?” Jane asked in a slightly mocking tone, referring to the duke’s pastime with which she was most familiar. She already disliked the man’s haughty attitude toward her when she’d hardly said a sentence to the creature before today. “Or perhaps you’re a champion archer, like His Grace?” she added not concealing the ghost of a smile.

“No, m’lady,” Marshall answered, looking at her steadily. Jane felt as if he were measuring her as he would an adversary. “But as for music, His Grace writes the words and I write the tunes. The duke does me the honor of asking me to play my violin for festivities here at Gordon Castle.”

“’Twould appear, Mr. Marshall, that you and my lord Gordon have much in common,” Jane commented dryly, wondering at such intimacy between a butler and a duke. Her conversation with the smug servant had given her a chilling glimpse of the isolated childhood Alex must have experienced, growing up in this mausoleum. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a bit tired from my little excursion.” Jane turned to leave the strange basement chamber. At the threshold, she turned back to face William Marshall. “I should like to hear you play your fiddle of an evening, Mr. Marshall. ’Tis been ages since I’ve heard a sprightly air.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Marshall replied without enthusiasm.

“Around eight, shall we say?” she persisted, pleased to make him do her bidding. “Is there a music room at Gordon Castle?”

“Aye, on the ground floor. Ellie, the upstairs housemaid, can tell you where to find it.”

“Thank you. Marshall.” Jane smiled brightly, despite a sudden rush of fatigue. “Till eight, then.”

Another fortnight passed and still Jane had received no word or written message from Alexander. Two or three times she requested Mr. Marshall play for her after a solitary dinner in the ornate dining hall. A brace of stags with massive antlers stared down at the unlikely pair in the music room, while the talented fiddler rather morosely played his own compositions. Some days she wondered if she shouldn’t pack her trunk and retire permanently to her sister’s Ayton House.

Though slowly recovering from the shock of receiving Thomas’s letter, Jane continued to suffer from the fatigue that would come over her suddenly, forcing her to take to her bed for long hours of heavy slumber.

It was probably just as well that she kept to her chambers most of the time, for she sensed the growing disquiet within the household, due to the duke’s extended absence and her presence in the castle. “What bridegroom ignored his new bride to this extent?” whispered the servants among themselves.

At night she dreamed repeatedly of trying to reach St. Giles Cathedral, only to see Thomas departing through the side door without noticing her, and Alexander shaking his fist at her from John Knox’s pulpit. Only with Alex’s bastard son, little Geordie, could she relax, relishing their times together in the nursery and the games they played.

Another week passed before her spirits took a turn for the better, when an unusually warm first week of April ushered in the daffodils. Patches of green turf were now peeking through the slush surrounding the gloomy castle walls.

“Several letters for you in today’s post, m’lady,” Mrs. Christie greeted her as Jane returned with muddy boots from her short walk. “Will you be takin’ your morning tea in your room, as usual, Your Grace?”

“Is there a fire in the small drawing room?” Jane asked impulsively.

“Always, ma’am,” Mrs. Christie said with a shade of hauteur.

“Then bring the tea in there,” Jane replied shortly. She was growing weary of the increasing disrespect her uncertain position had thrust upon her.

Drawing a large leather chair near the cheerful fire, Jane eagerly flipped through the small stack of correspondence handed her by the housekeeper. Perhaps there would finally be some word from Alex. There were several letters from strangers wishing her well on the occasion of her arrival in their native Highlands. She noted her mother’s familiar hand on a thick packet she correctly predicted were pages of recriminations over what had transpired at Ayton House. By the time Jane had read a half page, Lady Maxwell’s words had drained her of the fragile feeling of cheer she had been nurturing during her sun-filled morning walk. She set the remaining sheets aside and noted there was yet another letter, this one from her sister Catherine.

Eagerly she turned over Catherine’s correspondence, and was about to open it when she noticed that beneath it lay a smaller, thin missive.

Thomas!
she gasped under her breath.

Heart lurching, hands trembling, she studied the bold letters on the parchment.

Jane was stunned to discover he was writing from Beauly, near his home village of Struy, less than a day’s ride from Gordon Castle. Aunt Elizabeth had written that Uncle James would be in Ireland with the Black Watch until further notice and that she and all her children would be joining him soon in Dublin. Why, then, was Thomas in the Highlands? The letter was addressed to her using her new title, positive evidence that he had discovered she was married. Slowly, fighting the dizziness that filled her head, she broke the seal.

2 April 1768 Balblair House, Beauly

My congratulations to Her Grace, the Duchess of Gordon.

Before my departure for permanent assignment in Ireland next month, may I present my compliments to you and Alexander
,
Fourth Duke of Gordon.

Tho. Fraser
Lt. 42nd Reg. Foot

Jane stared at the message, shocked by its brevity and lack of emotion. Slowly, she crumpled it into her hand and angrily threw it into the fire. She yanked several times on the bellpull next to her chair and began to pace up and down before the ornately carved stone fireplace emblazoned with the crest of the House of Gordon, the ancient family shield flanked by two rearing stags. Within minutes, Mrs. Christie scurried into the room with Ellie following along behind, bearing a tea tray.

“Tea was detained, ma’am, because a messenger just arrived from His Grace in Aberdeen,” Mrs. Christie said hastily, unsettled by the flashing brown eyes of her mistress. “He asked me to inform ye he will return to Gordon Castle in a week’s time.”

Jane suspended her pacing and stared into the fire where she had tossed Thomas’s cryptic letter.

“How convenient,” Jane replied, at length. “I shall have just returned from Kinrara by then. Since the weather has turned so fine, I wish to see the swans at Loch-an-Eilean and Loch Alvie before they depart their nesting sites for the year. The duke has told me so much about them and the loveliness of his lands in Badenoch this time of year, I’ve decided a little change of scene will do me good. Please order my carriage for tomorrow at dawn and send word to the factor at Badenoch to prepare that little shieling on the River Spey at Kinrara, where I lodged on my journey north. I shall require a small bateau at my disposal at Loch-an-Eilean, as well. See to the arrangements, will you please, Mrs. Christie?”

“But Mr. Marshall has joined the duke in Aberdeen, Your Grace. ’Tis he who always makes such arrangements…” she said, faltering.

“In that case, Mrs. Christie, the burden shall fall on your own capable shoulders. I should like to borrow your Nancy and little Geordie for company. See to their packing as well, if you please.”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Mrs. Christie protested, “I couldn’t do
that!
Mr. Marshall is the one who carries out the duke’s orders, and with both of ’em away in Aberdeen, I—”

“
Mrs. Christie!
” Jane interrupted with as much imperiousness in her voice as she could muster. “May I remind you that I am the
Duchess
of Gordon, and in the duke’s absence, you will do
exactly
as I direct.” Jane quickly took a sip of scalding tea and looked Mrs. Christie directly in the eye. “Oh… and I will have several letters to well-wishers I wish to post immediately. Send the duke’s runner to me in half an hour. Now good day to ye, and leave me to enjoy my tea!”