The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn around. The housekeeper was standing there.
“As I told ye,” she said. “Lord MacAllister isnae here. He’s in Edinburgh. Left first thing this morning.”
All the fight went out of Charlie and her shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Sorry I burst in here like that. It’s just that...just that...”
The housekeeper smiled in sympathy. “Ye look like ye could do with a cup of something hot, my dear. And maybe a dram of whisky to go with it?”
A wry smile curled Charlie’s mouth. “You know what? That sounds perfect.”
“Follow me then, dearie,” said the housekeeper, turning and shuffling off down a long corridor with Charlie trailing behind her. “I’m Mrs MacDuff,” she said over her shoulder. “But ye can call me Angela.”
“Charlotte,” Charlie said.
Angela led Charlie to a large kitchen at the back of the house. It was high-ceilinged and spacious, with an odd iron door on the far side standing slightly open. From an old wooden cupboard, Angela took out two delicate pottery cups and a dusty bottle of whiskey. She filled a kettle from a pitcher of water and set it on the stove to boil. As they waited for it to heat, she busied herself by setting out biscuits and cakes on a tray.
Angela gestured to the well-scrubbed table and Charlie seated herself on the rickety wooden bench. The kettle began to whistle and the housekeeper poured steaming water into a pottery tea pot which she set on the table to steep.
Finally, she poured the tea into the cups, sending up the soothing scent of chamomile.
Charlie gratefully accepted the warm cup Angela offered her. “Thank you.”
“Ye’re welcome,” replied the housekeeper. “To be honest, it’s nice to have some company. With the lord gone there’s just me and the groundskeeper in this big old house.” She curled her hands around her own cup and leaned forward. “Now, tell me what’s got ye all riled up.”
Charlie took a deep breath. What should she say?I came around here to smack your master right between the eyes and give him the tongue-lashing of his life. Do you know what kind of man you work for? One that has young lads beaten up, that’s who!
Her stomach still seethed with fury but none of this was the housekeeper’s fault. Now that MacAllister wasn’t here, she had no outlet for her anger and a deep weariness began to replace it instead.
“Just...something I needed to speak to MacAllister about.”
Angela raised her eyebrow, a shrewd expression in her eyes. “Nothing good, that much is obvious. What’s he done now?” She held up a hand. “Actually, dinna tell me. That way I can live in ignorant bliss. Something ye have to get used to when ye work for a man like Boyd MacAllister.”
Charlie took a sip of her tea to hide her surprise. There was no shred of loyalty in Angela’s tone, far from it. Instead, she sounded world weary, like some of the people she’d worked with in the twenty-first century who were sick of their jobs but didn’t know how to get out. It seemed that disliking your boss was another thing that didn’t change, no matter what time you lived in.
“Let’s just say there are some things that I need to say to him and leave it at that?” Charlie replied.
Angela nodded. “Aye, that will do.” She cocked her head. “Ye are Niall Campbell’s guest aren’t ye? The one from Edinburgh?”
Charlie tensed, expecting to see judgment in Angela’s eyes if she’d read any of the gossip going around about her, but there was only curiosity in her wise brown gaze.
“That’s right,” Charlie replied. “I’m up from Cardiff.”
Angela’s brows rose. “Cardiff. That’s a mighty long way off. Never been south of the border myself although if this union goes ahead, travel might be made a bit easier.”
Charlie nodded noncommittally, unsure of where Angela stood on the issue and reluctant to engage in a political discussion.
The silence that followed was comfortable, both women lost in their own thoughts as they sipped their tea. The savory aroma of baking bread filled the room, mixing with the smell of chamomile and old wood.
Charlie’s gaze wandered around the kitchen, taking in the worn wooden countertops, the copper pots and pans hanging from hooks on the wall, and the large stone hearth where a pot of stew simmered over a low fire. The place had an inviting warmth that belied its grand exterior.
Her gaze settled again on the iron door on the far side of the kitchen. It stood slightly ajar. Through it, she could just make out the corner of a table stacked with bits of paper and some kind of machinery behind. Intrigued, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make it out, but Angela suddenly sighed, diverting Charlie’s attention back to her.
The housekeeper was scowling at the back door from beyond which a sudden commotion sounded: the tramp of heavy footsteps, the creak of wheels, and the excited yipping of dogs.
“Hold there, Samson, my lad,” came a male voice. “Let’s get these grouse inside before the dogs get em, eh?”
“Dinna ye dare bring those into my kitchen, Terrance MacDuff!” Angela bellowed at the door. “Nor those hounds either! I willnae tell ye again!”
“Then what am I supposed to do with them?” came the response.
