LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Three

      ‘I have already ordered warm water to be sent up, my lady.’ Mrs Dalgliesh spoke over her shoulder as she preceded Flora up the stairs. ‘A maid is waiting to unpack your clothes and to assist you. If she pleases you, you may keep her as your personal maid, or you may wish to appoint your own woman, of course.’

      The first flight of the staircase angled oddly to accommodate what was clearly the outer wall of a tower. Flora’s step faltered as she trailed her fingertips around the curved wall, memories rushing in on her of that long-ago day when she had found her brooch.

      Mrs Dalgliesh paused. ‘That is Morag’s Tower, a part of the old keep,’ she said.

      ‘Why is it called Morag’s Tower?’

      ‘The Duke of Lochmore’s great-aunt Morag lived there, staying on even after the Duke and Duchess moved out. Now, downstairs, the keep consists of the dining room, the morning parlour, the kitchens and it gives access to the new chapel. Not that it’s new, actually. It was built in the sixteenth century, but there is an older chapel in the grounds, too. So, the keep has four storeys, with two of the original four corner towers still standing, whereas the modern wing only has two floors. The ground floor of the modern wing has the drawing room, library, billiards room and the master’s study, and the passageway leads around to give access to the ballroom, which is closed off most of the time.’

      The first-floor landing was bright and spacious with a polished wood balustrade that overlooked the stairwell and that magnificent crystal chandelier. On the far side of the landing was a large window through which Flora could see the portico roof and the castle grounds beyond.

      Mrs Dalgliesh pointed left, through a similar archway to the one downstairs, beyond which there stretched a wide corridor. There were doors to both right and left, between which several paintings were displayed.

      ‘The keep end of the gallery leads to guest bedchambers and the back stairs. The second floor has more guest rooms plus a nursery suite and the top floor houses the staff. This way—’ she pointed right ‘—are the master suites.’

      ‘Mr McNeill told me the Duke’s wife had this wing built,’ said Flora.

      ‘His first wife, yes. It is much newer than the rest of the Castle, but it was all fully refurbished before Mr McNeill moved in.’

      The need to know more of the man she had wed warred in Flora’s breast against her mother’s mantra that one should not encourage servants’ gossip. The need to know won.

      ‘It must have taken a great deal of work.’

      ‘It did. The master was fully involved—nothing was too much trouble and he didna stint on expense. If there’s one thing I can say about the master, he’s no’ a stingy man even though he’s a man of few words. He works hard and he works long hours, but there are many folks who depend on him. We all appreciate his efforts.’

      ‘Where does the Duke of Lochmore live now, Mrs Dalgliesh?’

      ‘He and the present Duchess live a few miles from here, in a country house not far from Lochmore village. The castle was leased out after Morag died, but the Duke never wanted to move back and decided to sell. I was living in Glasgow when I heard Mr McNeill was hiring.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘My husband was already sick when we were turned off our farm by the landlord. He wasna strong enough to face an ocean crossing so we went to the city to find work.’

      ‘Your husband...is he here at Lochmore with you?’

      ‘Aye, that he is. In the kirkyard down in the village.’

      ‘Oh! I—I am very sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be. It was the consumption that did for him, but he died happy, knowing I was here and my future was secure. Glasgow was—’ She shut her lips firmly, then uttered a mirthless laugh. ‘Hark at me, mithering on. You don’t want to hear about our woes when you must be exhausted.’

      She led the way from the head of the stairs, pausing outside the second door on the left.

      ‘This is the master’s bedchamber—his dressing room was the first door we passed,’ she said. ‘The Duchess’s suite is here.’

      Mrs Dalgliesh opened the door opposite and flung it wide. Flora stepped over the threshold and gasped. The bedchamber was enormous, the floral wallpaper in shades of green, pale rose and cream, and it was dominated by a large tester bed with rich red hangings that matched the floor-length curtains, but Flora was transfixed by the view of the sea through the trio of tall windows on the wall opposite the door.

      ‘It is glorious.’

      ‘It is, but it is not the best of it. Let me show you the rest.’ The housekeeper crossed the bedchamber to a door and ushered Flora through. ‘This was the Duchess’s boudoir—it was designed to take advantage of the sea views.’

      Flora crossed to the window as if in a dream. Any detail of the decor or furnishings was lost on her as she drank in the enchanting view. The boudoir was a corner room and, at the outer corner, there was a west-facing bay window, large enough to incorporate a gold and cream upholstered chaise longue and a small side table with a vase of flowers. The sun was just starting to set, painting the sky above the horizon with streaks of fiery red, burnt orange, soft yellows and pinks and the reflected colours of that glorious sunset danced and shimmered among white-topped waves as they broke the surface of the indigo sea.

      ‘It feels...’ Flora could not put her emotions into words for a moment, she was so overwhelmed. She steadied herself, and gathered her thoughts. ‘It feels almost as though I am on a ship,’ she said breathily, for there was no land to break the view between the castle and the sea.

      She leaned forward to peer at the waves as they crashed against jagged rocks below. In the distance, Flora could see land, presumably one of the many islands—both inhabited and uninhabited—that dotted the west coast.

      ‘It is magnificent.’ She would never tire of this majestic view and it awoke in her the urge for music, to start playing the pianoforte again, a joy that had somehow become lost to her over the past year.

      ‘I knew you would like it.’ Satisfaction warmed Mrs Dalgliesh’s voice. ‘Come. I will show you your dressing room and introduce you to Muriel, the girl I have assigned to help you, before we tour the rest of the castle. I have instructed the staff to assemble in the hall in one hour in order that you may meet them.’

      * * *

      By the time the dinner hour came around, Flora’s head was swimming. The sheer size of Lochmore Castle and the luxurious decor near overwhelmed her. Even the servants’ quarters in the attic had been refurbished. They were not richly furnished or decorated, but were clean and comfortable—Lachlan was clearly a man who cared about those who worked for him, unlike her father, who took for granted that servants would serve him and be happy to do so regardless of how much he could pay or how spartan their accommodation.

       And I am no better. For when have I ever given the servants’ comforts more than a fleeting thought?

      That realisation shamed her.

      She wanted to look her best for her wedding night, so she dressed in her sole evening gown, of sea-green satin with lace flounces, the bodice low off the shoulders with a bertha of lace and with a deep point below the waist and a full skirt. She instructed Muriel, a cheery, round-faced girl, how to dress her hair, with a centre parting and simply braided over her ears. Bandit was still subdued and, rather than leave him on his own, Muriel agreed to take him

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