Island of the Swans (34 page)

Katherine resettled her shawl on her plump shoulders and sighed.

“Stir up that bloody fire, will you, Moira?” she said crossly. “You’ve let it dwindle down to a pathetic wee thing!”

“Yes, Yer Grace,” the maid replied, chastised. She reached for a brass poker and gave the logs a good thwack.

“I must really see to having new hangings made for this room,” the dowager duchess said, more to herself than to the maid. “The wind positively whistles through this chamber. I had no idea this property was so ill-kempt when I accepted the duke’s offer of it as a dower house!” She glanced once again through the window and started in her chair. In the distance she noted several shaggy ponies emerging from a stand of trees on the right and three figures plodding beside them through the light snowfall. “God’s wounds! He’s shot another two stag!” the dowager duchess groaned.

Moira walked to the window and looked out.

“I do believe he’s got a royal, mum!”

“That makes sense,” her employer replied grimly. “Now he’s got a matched pair. The factor’s men skinned his twin yesterday. Now, please add some scalding water to this,” she said, indicating the tepid teapot. “’Tis undrinkable.”

Katherine waited impatiently for Alexander and her husband to divest themselves of their outer garments and come in to tea. She noted the firm set of her son’s mouth and the slope of his shoulders. The perpetual air of melancholy surrounding the man was really too boring to endure. To her the choice was simple: either cast the chit aside, or make the best of it.
After all
, she thought,
’twould certainly not enhance the Gordons’ standing at Court if rumors of this unholy mess filtered down to St. James’s.

“Alex, darling… here’s a nice cup of tea,” she said to her son solicitously.

Alexander walked directly toward the hearth, ignoring his mother’s offer, and held his hands up to the fire. Staats sank into a chair and waited for his wife to pour him some hot refreshment.

“I see you’re aware how chilly this room remains,” his mother noted pointedly. “Our teeth’ve been chattering since the day Staats and I vacated Gordon Castle for your comfort and took possession of Huntly Lodge. We
must
order new draperies, immediately! ’Twill make the place far more livable. And perhaps, while we’re about it, we should do this for all the main rooms.” Alex turned around and looked at her steadily, but did not reply. “Well…” she said uneasily, sensing the tension permeating the room. “I see you’ve stalked more deer today,” she added lamely. “Cook says she’s quite besieged with meat, not to mention antlers.”

“Aye,” Alex said shortly.

Katherine glanced quickly at her husband, who stirred restlessly in his chair. She absently poured two cups of tea and handed them to the men.

“Really, Alex, how much longer do you intend to carry on like this?” she asked petulantly. “We have venison coming out of our ears, and Staats and I have been nearly frozen to death in this threadbare place for weeks! I distinctly remember telling you last year that Huntly Lodge simply will not do as a dower house unless some major repairs and refinements are made. You will simply have to authorize me to—”

“You are not authorized to do
anything
, Mother!” Alex snarled, suddenly breaking his silence. “You are not authorized to spend any more of my money, or give me advice, or tell me to make the best of it, or any other damn thing!”

Katherine stared at her son, stunned by his insulting tone. Staats merely looked down at his shoes.

“You and Staats will not have to concern yourself with my moods any longer, mother dear,” Alex added icily, “for I depart for Gordon Castle at dawn. Alone.”

“To do exactly
what
, if I may be so bold to ask?” Katherine responded acidly. “Live like a hermit? Sulk like a child? I warned you that little nobody would cause you grief, and now look at you. You went ahead, ignoring the advice of your father and me.”

“Staats Morris is not my father!” Alex growled. “So leave him out of it!”

“Perhaps I should withdraw, Your Grace,” Staats interjected hastily, rising as if to leave.

“Stay right where you are!” Katherine commanded.

Her husband sank back into his chair like a wilting flower.

“You thought the lass was taken with
you
and
not
your title, didn’t you?” Katherine said sarcastically. She rose from her chair and stalked over to her son’s side. “And now that she’s gone all weepy and mad over this lost lover of hers who’s risen from the grave, you have to face facts. Your precious bride, whom you thought so besotted with you, was far cleverer than you gave her credit for. When that baronet’s brat thought her lieutenant dead, she played the harlot in order to ensnare you and to make sure she would be Duchess of Gordon one way or the other!”

Katherine glared at her son triumphantly. Alex’s features had become completely expressionless, but the color brought to his cheeks by the frigid wind blowing through the deer forest had drained from his face.

“Don’t think I don’t know what goes on under every Gordon roof, dear boy,” she continued venomously. “I heard of your little rendezvous with that strumpet in Edinburgh before your wedding day. Well, Mistress Jane played you for a fool, and now you’re stuck with her. The sooner you stop behaving like a pitiful victim, the better—or you’ll disgrace us all. ’Tis Bathia Largue, all over again, isn’t it, Staats?” she said to her husband, not waiting for him to reply, “Only, unfortunately, yet again you haven’t listened to
us
, Alex. And now you’ll have to pay the piper, laddie.”

“I will leave you now,” Alexander said, his face still a perfect mask, except for an almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw. “You’ll find there are no funds for you to do anything but remain here quietly at Huntly Lodge for the rest of the winter.” Both Katherine and Staats Morris appeared horrified at the prospect, but Alex took no notice. “Your allowance will continue, as before, but I will instruct all the shops in the village to extend you no more credit, and the same policy will be in effect with my agents in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, so don’t even consider going there. Within these chilly walls, mother dear, you can continue to be as nasty as you please. Like so many of your sex, you come to it naturally.”

True to his promise, by dawn’s light the Fourth Duke of Gordon had departed on horseback for Gordon Castle. He arrived at his family seat, just in time for the feast of St. Valentine on February 14, which he observed alone, except for the silent companionship of his butler.

Fifteen

M
ARCH
1768

E
VEN AT MIDDAY,
F
OCHABERS, A LITTLE VILLAGE NEAR THE MOUTH
of the River Spey, beholden to generations of Gordons for its very existence, was deserted. The sodden mists of early March clung to the lime and larch trees dotting the muddy square, and everything looked bleak and cold.

As the coach pitched and rolled over the last miles of rutted road that led to her destination, Jane strained to catch her first glimpse of Gordon Castle. The massive stone entrance gates filled the carriage window for an instant, giving way to a view of a natural park area, devoid of formal planting, but dotted with leafless trees and an occasional hare scurrying across the icy fields. After several minutes of traversing this desolate landscape, the coach reached a curve in the drive. Jane’s heart sank. Ahead of her stood a gaunt gray manse with a six-storied tower and a cluster of inelegant outbuildings. It looked more like a prison than a castle built for a duke’s pleasure, and, as far as her future was concerned, Jane supposed that was exactly what it was.

Staring moodily out the window as the vehicle drew nearer the forbidding structure, she saw the heavy front door open and a woman step out just beyond its threshold. Jane felt restless and uncomfortable, having been cooped up in the coach for more than a fortnight. During her long journey she had felt either too ill or too weak to do anything more than put on the same soiled traveling costume and push pins back into her unruly coiffure. The closer she drew to Fochabers, the more heartsick and depressed she became. As the tower of Gordon Castle loomed menacingly ahead, she wished she had followed everyone’s advice and waited for some word from Alexander before traveling north.

The carriage pulled up before the open front door. Its oak expanse framed a thin woman dressed in dark blue with an apron and a cluster of keys hanging from her waist. The authority in the rawboned housekeeper’s grim demeanor bespoke her position on the estate.

A thin, spare man who introduced himself as William Marshall, the duke’s butler, appeared at the carriage door. He was followed by the steward, who ran forward to hold the horses steady as a footman opened the door of the coach.

The housekeeper with the chiseled face wore a cambric cap that ballooned out over her sharp features like a swollen sheep’s stomach. As Jane set her foot for the first time on the castle grounds, the servant stepped forward and sank into a perfunctory curtsy.

“I be Mrs. Christie, Your Grace,” she said in an accent so strange, Jane could hardly comprehend her. “Seein’ you’re fashed and sickly lookin’, I’ll have Ellie draw a bath for you in your chambers upstairs.”

Too tired to rebuke the woman for her rude observations, Jane wordlessly followed her into the dim stone entrance that funneled into an even gloomier foyer. She was too exhausted to inquire why Alexander hadn’t met her, despite her having sent a messenger from the little farmhouse she had stayed at on the duke’s other estate at Kinrara, a half-day’s journey from Gordon Castle. Mrs. Christie paused on the first landing of the broad staircase and made an announcement, faintly tinged with scorn.

“His Grace received the post yesterday tellin’ you’d be comin’. He asked me to beg your leave, but he has business in Aberdeen concerning renovations he’s planned for the castle. Mayhap, he’ll not return for a fortnight or more, he told me.”

Numbly, Jane accepted the information that Alex had fled upon receiving word of her imminent arrival. All she longed for was the oblivion of sleep.

For the next several days, the bone-deep fatigue that had invaded Jane’s body during the preceding two months took complete possession of her. She could rouse herself only for brief periods to sip a little broth brought to her chamber by the forbidding Mrs. Christie or one of the dour woman’s minions. Then Jane would fall immediately into a restless slumber that occasionally lasted eight to ten hours at a stretch.

At length, one morning, nine days following her arrival at Gordon Castle, Jane awoke, feeling rested for the first time in more than two months and determined to explore her surroundings. As she peered down the long, dim hallway that stretched from her bedchamber door, she had no idea in which wing of the castle she had been housed. She surmised that the damp chill pervading her chamber was likely the temperature throughout the place. She gathered a woolen plaid around her shoulders and ventured down the passageway.

As she slowly walked the length of the corridor, flanked by somber family portraits of long-dead members of Clan Gordon, she noted that some doors were ajar along the hall. She peeked in one or two to discover bedchambers and dressing rooms, mostly unused, their furniture draped to protect it from dust. In a hallway veering to the left off the main landing, Jane discovered what must have been the nursery where Alex spent his childhood. Jane remembered his telling her that his mother, the Dowager Duchess Katherine, had produced six children in ten years of marriage to the Third Duke. Hence, the six miniature brass beds lining one wall. From an adjoining room, which Jane assumed had once accommodated a nanny, she could hear the soft strains of Scottish lullaby being sung by a disembodied voice.

Sleep you wee bairn… Your Da’s comin’ home. You’ve no leave to cry, for your Da’s comin’ home…

Jane advanced stealthily into the room. A young girl in an indigo blue skirt and striped apron sat in a chair near a small fireplace. A child who looked to be about eighteen months old perched in her lap. The nursemaid herself didn’t appear to be more than eleven or twelve.