“What’re ye doing?” The man drew his bushy eyebrows together.
She paused in setting down the teacup. “Setting the table for tea?”
“In the parlour, lass, in the parlour,” he growled. “Like proper people that we are. Assuming the room is inhabitable.”
“Right.” She’d almost forgotten the original purpose of the parlour.
She carried the teacups to the parlour and cleared the table off the books, quills and papers from this morning’s lesson.
The big man followed with a tray of piping hot tea and a plate of biscuits, which he must have dug out from some closet.
Arabella straightened her gown and turned to him. “May I inquire as to who you are, sir?”
She heard footsteps. Philip stood by the door.
“This, Miss Weston, is Fergus McAllister.” Philip’s face broke into a big smile. “My grandfather.”
The man opened both his arms wide. Philip walked into the older man’s embrace.
Arabella plopped into a chair.
Grandfather? Another one? How many grandfathers could a man Philip’s age have? This man didn’t look old enough to be a grandfather. He was big, his deeply tanned face was wizened, and he had a youthful energy about him.
He thumped Philip on the back. “Pip, my boy. How you’ve grown.”
Philip snorted into his shoulder.
“You haven’t seen your grandfather in a while?” Arabella enquired. One had to say something, after all, in this unorthodox situation.
The man counted on his fingers. “It’s been a while. Too long. A good four months.”
“Five. You helped us move the things from London, if you recall.”
“Aye.” Fergus nodded. “Many things happened in the meantime. I see ye got yerself a guverness.” He nodded at Arabella, who was pouring tea. “Smart move.”
“Yes. Katy did, actually.”
His bright, sharp eyes were on her. “If she’s a guverness, then I’m a dairy maid.”
Arabella, who had just taken a sip of her tea, started to cough.
Philip responded with something which she didn’t understand, and Fergus replied in kind, which she understood even less. The words flew back and forth, and she could only watch with open mouth.
“Granda speaks Scots, Gaelic and English,” Philip explained.
“Aye, and everything mixed up together,” Fergus grinned.
The door crashed open, and the children rushed in.
“Graaaaaanda!” They hurled themselves at him. Joy crawled into his lap, Robin climbed onto his back and chattered to him about his flying machine, Katy hung onto his arm and inquired whether he’d brought them presents. They chattered in a mix of Scots and English.
“Presents, aye, and sweeties I brought and the books ye wanted, Philip. Have a look at the packages over there in the corner, children. But now let an old man drink his tea.” The children let go of him, scampered off to the corner and proceeded to unwrap their gifts. Fergus pulled a flask out and added a good dollop to his teacup. “Whisky,” he told Arabella with a twinkling eye. “The only proper way to drink tea.” He turned to Philip, “Pip. I have a bunch of letters for ye to look through. Some of it urgent.” He dug in his waist pocket and pulled out a pack, handing it to Philip.
“The patent office?” Philip snatched the letters and perused them.
Arabella fidgeted in her chair, remembering what Morley had said about Philip’s patents. He’d apparently intercepted them. Didn’t Philip deserve to know that? How could she tell him without giving away she’d had tea with Morley?
Deciding to leave the family to themselves, Arabella got up.
