Leaning her ear against the door, Jennifer strained to listen to the muffled voices. After a second, frustrated, she looked downat the latch. It wasn’t engaged, so she gently pushed open the door, just enough to make the conversation a little clearer.
‘Ah ken ye wantin’ tae gae runnin’ tae the MacFarlane, but we dinnae ken enough. The Laird put us here tae keep an eye on the Sinclairs. We cannae be gaun blabbin’ back afore we ken if they be uptae anythin’.’
‘But they hae the bairn. The one what escaped.’
‘Aye an ye gae back wi’oot the wee scunner and the MacFarlane’ll likely skelp ye wi’in an inch o’ yer life.
‘An once ye leave Caerlaverock, ye’ll nae be comin’ back. This be a braw place tae work. Ye cannae jus’ gie that up wi’oot haein summat more tae gae the MacFarlane. Did ye hear what they gaunnae dae wi’ the lad?’
‘Nae. Ah cannae imagine they be takin’ him back though.’
‘Well, ye better find oot fer sure afore we take it back tae the MacFarlane. Ah’m nae giein up a full belly wi’oot guid reason.’
As she listened, Jennifer thought her heart was about to burst through her chest. There were spies in Caerlaverock. She felt her anger rise. How dare they? Furiously, she pushed open the door, only to stop on the threshold, biting her lip with frustration. The room was empty. The two nameless servants had gone.
Picking up her shawl which was still on the chair, Jennifer hurried towards the only other door in the room – opposite the one she’d just come through. Perhaps if she was quick, she’d catch up with them. Cautiously pulling on the latch, she stuck her head through into a dim corridor beyond. It was empty, but clearly this was a route regularly used by waiting staff coming to and from the kitchen. To her left the passageway continued on to the dining room. Gritting her teeth, she stepped through the doorway and tiptoed towards the dining room door. Once there, she took a deep breath and carefully pushed it open, just enoughto peek through the crack. The room was empty.
Huffing in frustration, she closed the door and went towards what she presumed would be the kitchen. A couple of minutes later she was proved right. Hesitating on the threshold for only a second, she squared her shoulders and firmly pushed the door open, stepping into the kitchen as though she had every right to be there. Which as the lady of the house, she did.
Every eye in the cavernous kitchen turned towards her and Jennifer’s bravado faltered a little. There must have been ten people in the room. There was no way of telling which two were the traitors, if any.
‘Ma lady, can ah help ye wi anythin’?’ A small woman as round as she was tall, stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron. Jennifer fought the urge to turn tail and run. What would her mother have done now?
‘I was wondering how Finn was doing,’ she blurted in sudden inspiration, looking round to see if she could spot the boy.
‘Och, bless him, he’s oot wi Gifford. He be a guid lad, verra happy.’
Jennifer smiled with effort. ‘Would you be so good as to introduce yourselves,’ she asked after a second, another inspiration attributable to her mother – the Duchess of Blackmore always prided herself on knowing each member of the household staff by name.
The small woman drew herself up, clearly delighted to be called up to do the honours. ‘As ye wish, ma lady.
‘Ah be Mrs. Allen, the cook,’ she went on, smoothing down her apron and giving a small curtsy. Jennifer smiled and nodded, then proceeded to watch each face carefully as Mrs. Allen went through them in turn. Unfortunately there was nothing to indicate that any of those present had been the owners of the two voices she’d overheard in the breakfast room. Indeed, theyall seemed delighted to have the opportunity to meet with her.
By the time Jennifer managed to excuse herself, she was actually beginning to question her own interpretation of the conversation she’d overheard, but just as she was turning away, she intercepted a glance between the kitchen maid and the footman. Without pausing, she continued back towards the door she’d come through, fighting the urge to skip in elation. She had them. Those two were the ones she’d overheard in the breakfast room – she’d stake her life on it.
∞∞∞
Augustus Shackleford decided against resting in his bedchamber – there would plenty of opportunity for that once he’d kicked the bucket. Instead, he and Flossy did their now familiar turn around the garden, this time accompanied by Brendon Galbraith’s huge wolfhound who the Reverend had discovered was as soft as a babe. In many ways, despite being much bigger, Fergus reminded him of Freddy. He was certain Flossy thought so too. Indeed, to watch the two play together, was like stepping back in time, and the clergyman found himself swallowing sudden tears, which was ridiculous since Freddy had been gone for nigh on six years. And besides, they’d likely be together again in the not-too-distant future. The Reverend chuckled. Freddy would be waiting; of that he was certain.
Sitting down in his usual seat, the clergyman closed his eyes. The events of the last few days coming so soon after such a long journey were taking their toll. He was getting far too old for this kind of tomfoolery. He found himself drifting, the noise of the gambolling dogs fading into the background.
‘Be ye deid, Maister?’ The Reverend’s eyes flew open, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Finn was staring into his face mere inches away.
‘Tare an’ hounds, lad, you nearly gave me a deuced apoplexy.’
‘Ah thought ye was deid,’ Finn repeated, seating himself on the bench next to the Reverend. ‘Be she yer dog?’ He pointed to Flossy.
The Reverend gave an ill-tempered nod. ‘Shouldn’t you be doing something?’
Finn shrugged. ‘Mrs. Allen teld me tae get some sun in ma veins.’ He held out a thin white hand and pointed to the blue lines under his wrist. The Reverend frowned. They were covered over with bruises ‘These be ma veins. Ah dinnae ken hoo tae get the sun in ‘em.’
‘You just have to sit in the sunshine, I suppose,’ the Reverend answered awkwardly. ‘Though if you sit in it for too long you’ll end up looking like a lobster in a pot. And it’ll no doubt be every bit as painful.’
‘Ah niver haid lobster. What be her name?’ He nodded towards Flossy.
Augustus Shackleford sighed, recognising his peace was well and truly cut up. He might not have spent much time with children, but he knew that when the questions started, they were unlikely to stop short of the Second Coming.
‘Flossy.’ The little dog, hearing her name, came running over and rolled onto her back, as ever playing to the crowd, even if it was only of two. Laughing, Finn got down on his knees and rubbed her belly.
