The Daughters of Eden Trilogy: The Shadow Catcher, Fever Hill & the Serpent's Tooth (131 page)

Her lip curled. ‘You’re not the only one who isn’t what he seems.’

‘Do you – do you still love him?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s very odd. When Adam told me, I was devastated. Or I thought I was. But then it was like turning off a tap. I’m not even angry. The other day, Adam told me that Osbourne’s going to try to make it up with his wife and child. He’s bringing them over to England. I felt nothing. Except sympathy for her.’

Again Drum nodded. ‘Anyway, Adam’s worth ten of him.’

Belle did not reply.

‘You’re an amazing girl,’ said Drum.

‘No I’m not.’

‘Yes you are. I never thought anyone could be so kind. And I actually feel better, now that you know.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Come up to the Hall for dinner.’

He gave her a watery smile. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can. It’ll do you good.’

‘No. No.’

‘Tomorrow, then. I’ll square it with Adam. And the dreaded Miss McAllister.’

He forced a smile. ‘Perhaps.’

But she knew that he wouldn’t.

He walked her to the door. ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like,’ he said suddenly, ‘to be one person to one’s friends and family, and quite another person underneath. To have to live like that, day in and day out. It’s so bloody exhausting.’

‘Yes,’ said Belle. ‘I know.’

‘I hear you overdid things a bit,’ said Adam.

‘And now I’m back in this ghastly invalid chair,’ said Belle, ‘and I’m sure Miss McAllister had a marvellous time telling you all about it.’

‘She’s not like that, you know.’

‘Oh, really,’ said Belle.

‘Yes, really.’ He stooped to put another log on the fire. ‘Honestly, Belle, what were you thinking? Walking all the way to the Point?’

‘But only part of the way back,’ said Belle, rearranging the rug over her legs. ‘I felt a little tired, and had to send Max for the dog cart.’

‘A little tired’ was an understatement. Her knees had given way and she’d had to sit on the pebbles with her head down, while the black spots darted sickeningly before her eyes. When she’d got back to the Hall, it had been all she could do to climb the stairs. Thank heavens that Adam had still been down at the Home Farm.

‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she lied. In fact she felt frighteningly weak. And annoyed with herself for having proved Miss McAllister right. And hopelessly sad about Drum.

It had been horrible, having to leave him in that lonely little cottage. And Max had given her no time to gather her wits. ‘Will the gentleman be all right?’ he’d asked. He’d been hovering in the porch because of the ‘rocks that moved’. Whatever they were.

Yes, she’d told him, the gentleman was fine. He’d simply put on an overall to clean some windows, then fallen and cut his lip. Only don’t tell anyone, or he’ll be embarrassed.

It was the best she could come up with at such short notice.

‘According to Maud,’ said Adam, ‘you’ve set yourself back. She wanted to call in Dr Ruthven, but I thought you’d prefer not.’

‘Definitely,’ said Belle with feeling. Miss McAllister had threatened her with Dr Ruthven before. He’d been an old friend of Adam’s father, and was widely respected as a sponsor of the Stranraer Temperance Institute. His daughter Felicity was ‘a dear, lovely,
innocent
young lady who frequently accompanies her father on his rounds,’ and had known Adam ‘for ever’.

‘Then in lieu of Dr Ruthven,’ said Adam, ‘Maud wants you to go to bed, and stay there for at least three days.’ He hesitated. ‘I know you loathe doing what she says, but in this instance I really think—’

‘I know, I know. I’ll do as I’m told.’ Secretly, she was relieved. It dispensed with any question of her returning to London.

Adam sat down in the easy chair opposite her, and crossed his long legs at the ankle. For a while there was silence as they watched the log beginning to crackle.

Then Belle said, ‘Poor Drum. He’s so unhappy.’

Adam raised his head and gave her a guarded look.

‘I saw him at the tithe cottage,’ she explained. ‘He told me about himself.’

‘Ah.’

‘How long have you known?’

‘Celia told me.’

She frowned. ‘Celia told you? Why?’

‘He and I had been friends since school. Perhaps she thought that by telling me, she could change that.’

This was the first time he’d mentioned Celia, and Belle waited for him to go on, but he simply leaned back in his chair and studied the fire, running his thumb slowly across his bottom lip.

‘When Celia told you,’ Belle said carefully, ‘were you surprised? I mean, about Drum.’

‘To begin with. Although in retrospect, it made a lot of sense.’

‘Had you come across that sort of thing before?’

‘Oh, yes.’

She smoothed the rug over her knees. ‘I dare say you saw it all in the trenches.’

He snorted. ‘I saw it all at Winchester.’

She was silent for a moment. He seemed to accept people so readily for what they were. Did he do that out of tolerance, or because they didn’t matter to him any more?

‘But didn’t you mind?’ she said. ‘When Celia told you about Drum. Surely you minded?’

‘Why should I have minded?’

She swallowed. ‘Well. Because someone you knew – a friend – they’d kept something from you. Something important about themselves.’ She was dismayed to find that her voice was shaking. ‘Surely that mattered to you? I mean, not being told. Being kept in the dark. Surely it altered how you thought about them – how you felt . . .’

He was watching her closely, as if he’d guessed that she wasn’t only talking about Drum. ‘Drum had his reasons,’ he said.

She dropped her gaze. How would he feel, she wondered, if he ever found out about me? About Cornelius Traherne. About what I am.

Even thinking of it made her feel sick.
Found out, found out.

Adam uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You’ve gone very pale. I think you’d better lie down.’

‘No. I’m fine. Just a little tired.’

‘I’m sorry, I’ve worn you out.’ But he made no move to go.

She sat staring at her hands. She had the sense that if he didn’t go soon, she would blurt out the truth. Or burst into tears. At last she said, ‘Nothing fazes you, does it?’

‘What? What do you mean?’

She raised her head and met his eyes. ‘Drum. Osbourne. Me. Nothing seems to disconcert you.’

He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Some things do,’ he said.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The weather closed in again. For three days Belle lay in the big four-poster and listened to the wind soughing in the pines, and the rain battering the windows. To begin with she enjoyed it. Then she became restless, and moved to the invalid chair by the fire. On the fifth day she came downstairs, and had a fight with Miss McAllister.

‘What’s the
matter
with you both?’ said Adam. They’d just finished breakfast, and Miss McAllister had stormed off to her room. ‘I’ve never known her to be like this. And as for you . . .’

‘You’ve never known me to be anything else,’ supplied Belle.

Adam sighed. ‘I have to go out this morning. I shall be gone all day. Please. Please. Try to get along.’

‘I will if she will,’ said Belle.

‘That’s not good enough.’ He stood up. ‘I know you hate being reminded of this, but I’m going to remind you anyway. In East Street I probably saved your life. The least you can do for me—’

Belle laughed. ‘Goodness, you’re ruthless! I thought you were supposed to humour the invalid.’

‘To hell with that,’ said Adam.

The house seemed very quiet when he’d gone. Belle tried to read, but soon gave up and wandered the empty rooms.

According to Adam, the Hall had been built in the late seventeen hundreds by Finlay Palairet, who’d vastly improved the family fortunes by selling his Edinburgh linen-weaving business and moving to Glasgow, where he’d gone into sugar refining and rum distillation. As he’d traded exclusively with the Jamaican Palairets, who were just entering the Golden Age of sugar, he’d prospered mightily. ‘Huguenot
savoir faire
crossed with Scottish pragmatism,’ was how Adam had drily characterized it.

The combination might have worked well in business, but it made for an odd mix when it came to architecture. Cairngowrie Hall had fine, well-proportioned rooms, and fireplaces that worked – but the plasterwork was slightly too ornate, and it sat uneasily with the whole: like a dress suit on a hoary old sea captain. And clearly, the Hall hadn’t been cared for in years. After the death of his wife, Adam’s father had left it and his four young boys in the hands of a housekeeper, and travelled abroad.

A dead mother and an absent father, thought Belle as she wandered the rooms. No wonder he was close to his brothers. And now they’re all gone . . .

She found Miss McAllister in one of the bedrooms. Wardrobes stood open; chests of drawers spilled clothes; the bed was piled with cricket jumpers, shooting jackets and books. Miss McAllister stood in the middle of the rug, looking oddly lost. But when she saw Belle, her mouth tightened. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Belle. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’

Miss McAllister’s gaze drifted to the chaos around her, and she chewed her lower lip, as people do when they’re trying to hold something back. ‘I’m the one who’s intruding,’ she muttered.

Belle didn’t know what she meant.

‘The boys’ things,’ said the older woman. ‘High time that someone sorted them out.’

‘By the boys, I take it you mean his brothers?’

‘Well of course. Angus. Gordon. Erskine.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I was in here yesterday, looking out some of Erskine’s things for his fiancée. That’s where Adam’s gone, to Castle Garth, to see Annis. She’s been asking for some mementos.’

‘Oh,’ said Belle. ‘Can I help?’

‘No.’

So much for getting along.

‘Adam didn’t want to go,’ said Miss McAllister. She sounded angry, as if it was Belle’s fault. ‘He’s been putting it off.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘No you can’t. Nobody can.’ She moved to the bed and touched a pile of cricket jumpers with a rough red hand.

‘Well,’ said Belle. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘If you hurt him,’ Miss McAllister said suddenly, ‘you’ll have me to reckon with. You just remember that.’

Belle turned back to her. ‘I’m not going to hurt him.’

But even to herself, it didn’t sound convincing.

She found Max in the cold, fireless drawing room, kneeling on the window seat and staring out at Loch Ryan. From the hunch of his shoulders she could tell that he was worried.

‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.

He gave a start and nearly fell off the window seat. ‘Um. The rocks.’

‘But there aren’t any, are there?’ The grounds around the Hall were dotted with firs and rhododendrons, and the drive led down to the coast road through Cairngowrie Woods, with the grey waters of the loch beyond. Not a rock in sight.

‘These ones are different,’ whispered Max. ‘They
move
.’

Belle remembered something he’d said at the tithe cottage. ‘What do you mean? Rocks can’t move.’

‘These do. I saw them. They went into the sea.’

Belle bit back a smile. ‘Max, those are seals. Don’t you know about seals?’

He hesitated. ‘Yes. I read about them in a book. But I never . . . They moved really fast.’

‘I expect they were scared of you.’

‘Oh,’ said Max. Then his forehead creased. ‘But I still ran away. I oughtn’t to have run away.’

‘You’re a child. You’re allowed to run away.’

‘Boy Scouts don’t.’

Belle snorted. ‘Oh yes they do. Where I grew up in Jamaica, there was a Boy Scout pack, or whatever it’s called, and sometimes I used to climb a tree and pretend to be a duppy, and throw mangoes at them. They ran away every single time.’

Max looked wistful, as if he wanted to believe her. He said, ‘Captain Palairet says he was scared at the War.’

‘I expect he was,’ said Belle. She felt a flicker of envy that Adam had talked to Max, and not to her.

‘But he didn’t run away,’ said Max.

‘No, because he’s a grown-up and a soldier.’

‘And brave,’ Max said sadly.

Oh dear. This wasn’t going very well. Belle thought for a moment. Then she said, ‘Come along. Let’s go to the kitchen.’

‘
The kitchen
?’

‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like kitchens?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen one.’

Belle laughed.

The kitchen was huge and stone-flagged, with an old-fashioned black iron range, and an enormous pine table scoured white by generations of scullery maids. Max was entranced. ‘Are we allowed?’ he whispered.

‘Probably not,’ said Belle.

As it was mid-morning and there would only be three of them for luncheon, Cook had ‘gone for the messages’ to Stranraer, which Belle eventually gathered meant doing the shopping. After some persuasion, Nelly the maid-of-all-work grudgingly agreed to vacate the kitchen, having shown Belle the whereabouts of flour, butter, sugar and eggs.

‘We’re going to make biscuits,’ Belle told Max when Nelly had taken herself off.

‘
Make
them?’ said Max. Plainly it had never occurred to him that biscuits did anything other than appear on plates at teatime.

‘Special biscuits,’ said Belle. ‘My mother used to make them with us when we were bored. They’re called zoo biscuits.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you make them in animal shapes, and paint them.’

She showed Max how to rub butter into flour, then mixed the ‘paints’ using egg yolk and food colouring – of which, fortunately, Cook had a good supply. Paint brushes proved trickier, until she found some pastry-glazing brushes: a little too thick, but adequate.

The dough was turning grey under Max’s diligent pummelling, so Belle set him to greasing the baking sheets. ‘What are your favourite animals?’ she asked.

‘Birds,’ he said promptly. ‘Then fish.’

‘Birds might be tricky,’ she said, ‘but I can manage fish.’

‘What’s all this?’ said Miss McAllister from the doorway.