An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (60 page)

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.

“You put no trust in me,” she said. “I can understand that. Well, keep your secrets to yourself, but one day you may need my friendship for who knows what tomorrow will bring forth, or today for that matter?”

“Who indeed?” Iona replied.

She rose to her feet.

“If you will excuse me I would like to go for a walk.”

“I have no wish to keep you,” Lady Wrexham said, and her voice was sharp.

Iona curtsied and went towards the door. As she reached it, she looked back. Beatrice Wrexham was looking out of the window, her profile exquisite against the blue sky. With a sudden impetus of hurry Iona slipped through the door, closed it behind her and ran downstairs.

She felt as if she had gone through a terrific ordeal. What it was she did not know, she was only conscious that her heart was beating too quickly and she felt suffocated. On the steps outside the front door she stood still for a moment drawing in deep breaths of fresh air. She welcomed the wind that came sweeping round the corner, blowing her hair into confusion and whipping her skirts round her body. Its very roughness was somehow comforting, for there was something unhealthy and noxious in the Chinese Room, which reminded her of a twisting serpent.

She ran down the steps and started to walk towards the bridge. Beyond it were the moors, wild and empty, the feather bright purple in the sunshine. Iona had a sudden longing to be alone, in a world empty of human beings and with only the loveliness of nature as a companion.

From the window of the Chinese Room Beatrice Wrexham watched her go, saw the sunshine turn her hair to burning gold, the wind outlining the sweet curves of her young figure. As she watched, Beatrice was suddenly aware that her fingers had torn her lace handkerchief into ribbons. With an angry gesture she threw the pieces from her into the corner of the room. She had risen to her feet when the door opened and her maid came in.

“Have you found anything?” Beatrice asked eagerly.

Pollard closed the door behind her and came close to her Ladyship without speaking.

“Have you found anything, woman?” Beatrice demanded again.

In answer Pollard brought out from the back of her apron a small black notebook.

“Only this, and I had a rare search for that, my Lady. I looked in all the usual places such as the top of the wardrobe, inside the shoes, under the mattress, in the lining of every bonnet and in every drawer and cupboard, then just as I was thinking your Ladyship must be mistaken and there was nothing to find, I thought to look in the cover of the young lady’s Bible. It was there by her bedside and as soon as I touched it, I could feel there was something between the black embroidered cover and the Good Book itself.”

Beatrice was not listening to Pollard’s explanation. At the first sight of the black notebook she had snatched it from her and was quickly turning over the pages. The entries evidently puzzled her until she turned again to the beginning and her fingers stopped at July the 5th. Then she gave a little cry of pleasure.

“Now I understand,” she said. “Fetch his Lordship, Pollard.”

“I have found what your Ladyship required?” Abigail asked stiffly, obviously hurt at not being thanked. Beatrice glanced at her and gave a short laugh of understanding.

“Yes indeed, Pollard,” she said. “As you well know, you have found me exactly what I wanted. Have I ever known you to fail? Remind me to give you ten guineas tonight when I come up to my bedchamber.”

Pollard was all smiles.

“I thank your Ladyship. That is indeed generous. I will fetch his Lordship immediately.”

Beatrice shut the little notebook and patted it lovingly.

“Exactly what I wanted,” she said aloud, “and that disposes of Miss Iona Ward.”

Iona walked for nearly an hour. High up on the moors she looked back at the castle, grey against the silver of the lake, the castellated battlements in contrast to the sharp pinnacles of the turrets with the Duke’s flag fluttering above them in the breeze. People moving in the courtyard were as tiny as children’s dolls.

Here, when she was free of the enclosing walls, nothing seemed so overpowering or frightening. It was only when she was in close proximity to Lord Niall and Lady Wrexham and the Duchess that she felt so ineffectual, so small and helpless that she doubted her own capacity to carry through the task she had been set.

Now, feeling calm and unhurried, she knew that she had advanced a long way since her arrival. If she left tonight, she would have much to tell the Prince which would be of service to him. But she must know more, she must be absolutely certain of the Duke’s allegiance before she returned to France. And yet, she asked herself, was she not in truth certain already?

He had shown all too clearly that his sympathies were with Hector, and even if he were not as convinced as Lord Niall had been that Hector was a Jacobite, he must have had his suspicions.

There were, too, the “Tears of Torrish” to be discovered.

Iona had questioned Cathy again about them, but the girl really knew nothing. She had only heard talk of their being lost at Culloden, and Dughall knew as little as she did. Iona longed to talk with him again, but she knew that for his sake she must not make any attempt to see him in case Lord Niall or his men were watching the little croft. She must do nothing more to draw suspicion on Dughall. It was bad enough that Hector had been discovered near his house. Lord Niall was not likely to overlook that fact.

For a long time Iona sat in the heather looking down at the castle and trying to sort out her ideas and impressions of the people who lived in it. As she thought of the Duke, it seemed as if a warm glow spread over her whole being. She began to guess now a little of what he had endured and suffered in these past years.

He must have been aware that his stepmother was intriguing against him, just as he must have known that she loved his half-brother and longed for him to inherit the Dukedom. It must have been hard to live a life of utter loneliness surrounded by enemies who were his own kith and kin.

Always his expression was masked, always there was a proud indifference in him to everybody and everything, and yet he had remained true to his own ideals, uninfluenced by anything save his own conscience and sense of integrity. Iona thought of him with deep respect and also with a sense of wonder. He must indeed be very strong and of great character to endure so much.

The wind suddenly blew chilly as if it came from the snow on the summit of Ben Nevis. She rose and started to wend her way back towards the castle.

As she came down over the hillside, she glanced at the road that led to Fort Augustus. She half hoped to see the Duke riding along it, but it was empty. She wondered then where he was, why he had been gone so long and for what reason.

Her sense of danger returned to her. Lady Wrexham and Lord Niall were plotting together. Had they been already successful in driving the Duke away?

It was with this question in her mind that Iona finally reached the bottom of the hill and crossed the bridge. As she did so, she heard horses’ hoofs behind her and looked round to see a man come riding swiftly down the road. As she drew nearer, she recognised him. It was Sime. Iona walked on quickly. When she reached the steps to the front door, Sime, having dismounted and left his horse in charge of a groom, was waiting at the top of them for the door to be opened.

“Good afternoon,” Iona said, feeling it would be ill bred to ignore a servant in the castle, even if he served Lord Niall.

“Guid day!”

Sime’s response was grudging. Iona saw that his face was dusty, his legs spattered with mud.

“It has been a nice day for riding,” she said.

Sime looked at her in a strange manner.

“I hae been tae Fort Augustus,” he said, and Iona imagined there was something threatening in his tone.

A footman opened the front door and she entered. As she crossed the Great Hall, she head Sime say,

“I wad see his Lordship this verra instant.”

Quickly Iona ran up the stairs. She had no desire to meet Lord Niall. With a sudden sense of panic she ran the whole way to her bedchamber. When she reached it and had closed the door behind her, she laughed at her own sense of urgency. How stupid she was to be frightened by Sime’s rudeness! He doubtless disliked her because he thought that she had something to do with Hector’s disappearance. It was fortunate that he did not know the truth.

There was a knock on the door and Cathy entered.

“I hae been worrittin’ aboot ye, mistress,” she said. “Are ye no hungry?”

“I am indeed,” Iona answered.

“I thought sae, an’ I brought ye something tae eat an’ a pot o’ tea,” Cathy said in triumph and fetched the tray from outside the door.

“Has the Duke returned?” Iona asked as she poured out the tea.

“Nay, not that I ken, mistress. Should I ask below?”

“No indeed,” Iona replied. “I but wondered where His Grace had gone.”

“His Grace will no run awa’,” Cathy smiled.

Iona left her food untouched and rising from the chair, walked across to the window. Below her lay the loch and beyond the silver water rose the mountains. She found her eyes scanning their barren sides as if she thought to see someone moving there. Cathy watched her with an anxious expression on her face.

“The tea will get awfu’ cold, mistress,” she said at length, but timidly as if she felt it presumptuous of her to interrupt Iona’s thoughts.

“It matters little,” Iona replied. “I was but wondering.

She stopped suddenly, the sentence left unfinished. Quite suddenly she knew why she was wondering, why she was thinking so intently and so anxiously of the Duke. It came to her with the suddenness of a blinding flash as if the heavens had opened and revealed all too clearly the truth.

She loved him! She knew it now by the sudden startled beating of her heart, by the warm blood which crept into her cheeks, by the joy and ecstasy which seemed to flood over her whole body, bringing to her for the moment such rapture, such a sense of wonder that she thought she must swoon before the glory of it. She loved him!

Why had she not known of her love before? And yet perhaps her heart had been aware of it. It was for this reason that she had been restless the whole day through. This was why she had been afraid, and had sought the solitude of the moors. Yes, all these things – because her heart was crying out for the recognition of her love and her brain would not acknowledge it. She loved him!

She thought now she must have loved him from that first moment in the streets of Paris when he had stood there commanding her wordlessly to leave him and she had perforce to do his bidding.

Now it was understandable why she had thought of that stranger so often, why the incident, insignificant in itself, had returned to her mind night after night, day after day.

She remembered how she had puzzled over the stranger’s identity, wondering if he were a Scot or an Englishman and feeling sad, although at the time she had thought it but a ridiculous fancy, that she would not see him again.

Then, when she had found him again, when he had entered the Crimson Salon magnificently garbed and bejewelled and she had recognised him, she might have known by the quickened beating of her heart that it was love she felt for the man on whom she had come to spy. But blinded by the gigantic task she had been set by the Prince, she had thought not of her personal feelings but only of the problems she must solve.

Now Iona understood why the thought of returning to France had been repugnant to her, why, when Hector had told her to hurry back, she had almost resented his solicitude, why she had been glad of the excuse that her search for the “Tears of Torrish” must keep her in Scotland and at Skaig.

Iona bent forward to press her hand on the windowsill. She felt that she must, touch the castle, must know it tangible and real and love it not for itself but because it belonged to the Duke. Until this instant it had seemed a great and beautiful edifice with almost a personality of its own, but now she knew it was but a background for a great man, a man of character for whom she had so much respect that she wanted to kneel at his feet.

‘I love him!’

Iona’s lips formed the words, but she did not speak them aloud, she turned towards Cathy and her face was as bright as the sunshine outside.

“I will finish my tea,” she said, sensing the anxiety in the girl’s face, “and then I would like to lie down until dinner time.”

“I’ll gang an’ get a warming pan, mistress, an’ I hae no doubt that the rest will dae ye guid.”

Cathy bustled from the room.

Alone, Iona turned once again towards the window.

“Tonight I shall see him,” her heart told her. She felt her pulses quicken at the very thought.

Iona was sure, as she descended the stairs a few minutes before the hour of dinner that she would find the Duke waiting in the Crimson Salon. But when she entered the room dressed in her gown of ivory satin, it was to find Lady Wrexham and Lord Niall the only occupants. Iona thought that they both looked at her curiously and it was with an effort that she managed to curtsey politely and move across to the fireside, making no effort to speak until she was addressed.

“It appears we shall be a very small party tonight,” Beatrice said to Lord Niall.

“The Duchess is dining in her own room,” he replied, “and Ewan has not yet returned. As you say, we shall be a small but very select company.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

“And what has happened to His Grace?”

“I have not the least idea,” Lord Niall replied. “His horse may have lamed itself, in which case he must walk home. If so, it is his own fault, for I personally prefer to ride with grooms and attendants. I have often told Ewan that it is unbecoming to his position to ride alone.”

“Why not, when you tell me he has so few enemies?” Lady Wrexham asked.

Lord Niall muttered something under his breath, but Iona did not hear what it was. She was aware then that they were fencing with each other and that there was a hidden meaning beneath the formality of their words. The door at the far end of the room opened.