Above Rubies (3 page)

Again Benjamin’s eyes glinted with amusement as he watched Nigel ceremoniously help Merry into the car.

“Come in, then, do,” he said, opening the door wide. “Two charming visitors in one day. Truly more than one could hope for.”

“Sorry about that, Miss Saunders,” said Nigel, as the car swung out again into the main road.

“How did you know about me?” asked Merry, curiously.

“Local grapevine, of course,” said Nigel. “Our cleaning woman is related to the worthy Mrs. Cameron.”

“Of course,” said Merry, chuckling a little. “Jeanie Lumsden. Hi, Mr. Kilpatrick, you’ve passed Beau Ness.”

“I know. I thought we’d just go for a quick spin up round the loch to give Stephanie time to talk to Benjamin. And please call me Nigel, and I shall call you Merry.”

He turned to grin at her, and Merry found her heart beating more quickly than usual, and bit her lip to control her quick breathing. She was behaving like a schoolgirl, even failing to protest when this young man, a complete stranger, was high-handedly taking her for a spin in his car, beautiful though it was, entirely without her permission.

“You go too fast for me, Mr. .Kilpatrick,” she said coolly. “Please take me back home. Mrs. Cameron will wonder where I am.”

Immediately he was contrite.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I was carried away, I
’
m afraid. It’s very seldom that we have new
...
and beautiful ... young ladies coming to stay at Kilbraggan. I suppose I just wanted to get acquainted as quickly as possible. Sorry I can
’
t turn the car just
yet ...
the road’s too narrow.
”

She was silent for a moment.

“We shan’t be long, I promise you,” he told her briskly, without the teasing note of laughter in his voice. “And please don’t let’s get off on the wrong foot. I shall call you Miss Saunders if you’d prefer
it ...
but Merry is so much nicer.
”

“All right,” she laughed, “and I’d love a spin round the loch, if you’re sure it won’t take
too long.”

“Not long enough for me,” said Nigel gaily, then turned to her more seriously as he saw her eyes cool again. “You must be a witch, Merry. I don’t know what’s happening to me today. I don’t behave like this every time I meet an attractive girl, believe me. In fact, I’m quite a sobersides of a business man.”

“Oh, look! Isn’t it all beautiful?” breathed
Merry, as the car rounded a corner and Loch Braggan shimmered in pale sunshine through trees which were breathtaking in their variety of autumn shades. “I could swear some of those leaves were bright scarlet, and others are still emerald. Just look at them reflected in the loch! I’ve never stayed in Kilbraggan this late in autumn ... I think it’s even more beautiful than in summer.”

“I know,” said Nigel. “I’ve tried to paint it, but it only looked garish and artificial. I suppose Benjamin Brendan could make more of it, if he wanted to, that is. He’s an odd sort of chap, preferring to draw kids’ comics to ... this
...
”

M
erry didn
’
t feel qualified to comment as the car snaked along the narrow loch-side road.

“You’re a jeweller, I believe,” she, said, changing the subject, and Nigel nodded.

“Jewellery, watches, gold, silver and a few antiques. Are you
i
nterested in jewellery?”

“What woman isn’t?” asked Merry. “I’ve never owned any, but I often look in shop windows, and admire.”

“I shall still be at home tomorrow afternoon,” said Nigel, as the car suddenly emerged into a broader road. “Come over for tea, and you can look at some nice pieces. We’re having a private cocktail party soon for some of our special customers, in the showrooms above our largest shop in Hillington. It gives our customers a chance to see very special pieces of jewellery, worn by mannequins. It takes care and thought to decide which pieces we want to display, so I’ve brought them home for consideration.”

“I’d love that,” said Merry. “Thank you ... Nigel. Goodness, are we home already?”

“It was a circular route. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of your Mrs. Cameron. Not at this stage,” he added meaningly, and she felt her cheeks flush rosily, as she watched him wave carelessly before driving towards the Cot House.

It was only two hours since she had left home, but in those two hours the
world seemed to have become a different place. She had met Benjamin Brendan, and had found it slightly irritating that he obviously considered her little more than a child, and one who was an amusement to him.

But Nigel had been different. An hour in his company and she felt that she was someone special, someone of importance. He had made her feel that she was not just someone to be regarded casually. Stephanie, though, hadn’t given her much attention. She would have liked a friend in Kilbraggan, but obviously it wasn’t going to be Stephanie Kilpatrick.

As she opened the front door, a thought struck her. Why should a girl like Stephanie so obviously wish to cultivate Benjamin Brendan? He was fairly well-known, but not the sort of famous artist one would think could appeal to a girl like that.

“She’s in love with him,” thought Merry, as she quietly hung up her coat and went to find Mrs. Cameron.

After dinner, she found a book and sat down in front of the living-room fire, feeling suddenly exhausted. An hour or two later, Mrs. Cameron found her nodding, heavy-eyed, and ordered her up to bed.

“You must have a good rest, Miss Merry,” she said briskly. “We’ll leave everything else till tomorrow.”

CHAPTER
2

NEXT morning Merry woke up feeling more rested than she had for months. Downstairs she found Mrs. Cameron busy in the big kitchen with its wonderful view of deep purple hills behind the colourful autumn trees.

“Och, you should have stayed in bed, Miss Merry,” Mrs. Cameron told her. “I was just going to bring you a wee bit of breakfast on a tray.”

“Never, unless I’m ill,” Merry told her. “I hate breakfast in bed. I’d much rather have it here by the kitchen fire.”

“Well
...
” Mrs. Cameron eyed her doubtfully, then drew up a chair to the table, deftly setting out breakfast crockery.

“I suppose you’ll want to see over the house, Miss Merry,” she said. “After all, it’s yours now, and you’ll want to see that everything is in
order.”

“It feels strange that it should be mine,” Merry told her candidly. “I feel as though Aunt Ellen has just slipped out for a moment. I don’t feel that it all belongs to me yet.”

“Och, that will come in time,” the older woman told her. “I’m real glad to see you here, as a matter of fact. I couldna thole the place empty. I know you’re not kith and kin to Miss Ellen, but there’s a likeness between the pair of you. I like fine to see you here. I was feart it would all get into other hands when Miss Ellen died.”

Mrs. Cameron paused to give her nose a quick wipe, then briskly cleared away Merry’s porridge plate and put a large dish of eggs and bacon before her.

“Oh, goodness
!”
gasped Merry.

“Eat it up, do,” she was told. “You look like a wee orphan, all skin and bones. It’s time somebody looked after you properly
!”

Merry found the task surprisingly easy, and after breakfast she accompanied Mrs. Cameron round the old cottage. The sitting-room was lovely, with fine, well-polished furniture and charmingly faded carpets and curtains. At the far end was an archway which led into a tiny room furnished with a large desk, two comfortable chairs and multiple bookshelves. A long low window gave a lovely view of the garden at the side of the cottage.

Merry had rarely sat in Aunt Ellen’s study, except to write now and again, as the older woman had considered it a private domain, and now she wandered round, looking at it all with pleasure
.
The pale leaf green carpet blended beautifully with gold brocade curtains and pretty cretonne covers for the chairs. She loved the atmosphere of the tiny room, and felt she could work well here.

“I won’t disturb you in here, Miss Merry,” Mrs. Cameron was telling her. “Miss Ellen liked it that way, too, and if you don’t want to be disturbed by callers, then you can always be out.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cameron,” laughed Merry.

“Can we go upstairs now? I put you in Miss Ellen’s bedroom, but moved your things.”

“Yes, I saw. Thank you, Mrs. Cameron. It ... it was very thoughtful of you.”

“It will seem like your own room in no time,” the older woman comforted her. “T
his
is a friendly house, and has always given succour to its owner. There’s been no sadness or evil here in living memory, and nothing but good tales are told of the place.”

“I know. I’m sensitive to atmosphere,” said Merry, climbing the old polished stairs. “It was always a happy house to me, and I loved staying with Aunt Ellen.”

Together they inspected the three bedrooms and tiny boxroom.

“Will you want to see my rooms?” asked Mrs. Cameron diffiden
tl
y, and Merry assured her that she didn’t, so long as she was quite satisfied.

The bathroom was new and luxurious in pale aquamarine tiles with deeper green fittings. Ellen Blayne had loved green, saying it was nature’s own colour, and she certainly hadn’t skimped when it came to her new bathroom. However, Merry felt happy with her choice, and delighted Mrs. Cameron by admiring its immaculate appearance. The day before she had still been too tired to take it all in.

Back downstairs, Mrs. Cameron indicated a small table covered with notebooks and papers.

“Will you look through these, Miss Merry?” she asked. “They were in a small chest of drawers Miss Ellen decided to give to an old lady in the village. She went to see her when she was ill, and found the puir sowl had nowhere to keep her claes.”

Merry picked up the notebooks and leafed through them.

“Miss Ellen took ill after that,” Mrs. Cameron told her, “and couldna attend to them hersel’, so I kept them. I didn’t want to bu
rn
them till you saw them.”

Already Merry was reading the small, neat writing, turning the pages with interest. They had been written when Aunt Ellen was young, in the nineteen-twenties, and something at the back of Merry’s mind was responding to the small gay snippets of nonsense they contained. Already the whole personality of Ellen Blayne, whom she’d loved so dearly, was catching her I imagination.

“I’d like all this put in the study, Mrs. Cameron,” she said, “I’d like to go through them all at my leisure. Oh, that reminds me, I shall be going out this afternoon.”

“Oh, aye?” asked Mrs. Cameron inquiringly, and Merry hesitated for a moment.

“Mr. Kilpatrick has invited me over to Rossie House,” she explained, “for tea, and to show me some of his jewellery.”

“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron again, this time with a small non-committal nod.

“Oh, and Mr. Brendan, the artist, is coming to tea next Wednesday.”

“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron for the third time, and a gleam lit her eyes. “Seems like we’re getting to know the neighbours, Miss Merry. Not that Mr. Brendan is a stranger, you might say. He is and he isn’t. We all ken wha he is, if you get my meaning.”

“I don’t,” said Merry, bewildered.

“Why, he’s a Ross-Findlater, and is really the last of them, now Mr. Ian and old Mr.
Alexander have both gone. Miss Alison married Mark Brendan of Ladykirk, you see, and when Mr. Ian died, there was only the old man left at Rossie House, and Mr. Benjamin still at school. Davie Laird was at the Cot House in them days, to see to things. Then old Mr. Ross-Findlater died, and last year Davie Laird followed him, puir sowl, and Mr. Benjamin decided to come home. He’s the real owner of Rossie House, Miss Merry, only he’s rented it to the Kilpatricks.”

“Oh, I see,” said Merry.

There was no need to wonder any longer why Stephanie Kilpatrick so obviously wanted Benjamin Brendan. His must be one of the oldest families in the neighbourhood.

“He’ll be right welcome here, Miss Merry,” said Mrs. Cameron. “He called a few times to see Miss Ellen, but latterly she wasn’t so well and couldn’t entertain much. She aye liked him, though.”

“I thought you said he was a funny one.”

“So he is,” defended Mrs. Cameron. “He makes me laugh, the way he goes on.”

Mrs. Cameron again told her all about Benjamin’s behaviour in public, punctuated with hearty giggles.

“Mr. Kilpatrick seems nice,” put in Merry softly, remembering Nigel’s dancing blue eyes and charming smile.

“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron non-committally. “Yon Miss Stephanie is chasing Mr. Benjamin at the moment, and she’ll have him, too, if he doesn’t watch out. She’s fair spoiled, that girl. She once condescended to help with a garden party for church funds, and Mrs. Cairns, the minister’s wife, asked her to help me sell home provisions, and I was never so near slapping any young girl, she was that uppity and bossy. If you ask me, it’s what she’s short of, and another one I could name, too, and that’s Miss Sylvia. I was always glad when she didn’t stay here long, and that’s a fact. Folk don’t know how to bring up girls these days.”