Isla rounded on him. “You have no say,” she snapped. “You sit in your filth and drink. You let candles fall. You let newspapers tell your sister her home is ash. You should be on your knees with pen and paper, not sprawled like a degenerate.”
He flinched as if struck. “I am doing what I can,” he muttered. “You think I haven’t been to Glenmore? To the bank? To every man who owes us favors? They smell the smoke and they shut their doors.”
“Then try again,” she said. “Sober.”
Silence dropped heavy. Isla and Edward faced each other across the scattered papers, across the smudge of charred ink on the carpet. Too close for detachment. Too far to touch.
“You should go,” Isla said at last, stiffly. “You are clearly unhappy to find yourself in our ruin. I will stay. He is my brother.”
“And my brother-in-law,” Edward said. The word still felt new in his mouth. “Whether I like it or not.”
“You have made your feelings plain,” she said. “You suspect everyone. You trust nobody. Go.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
“I will go to Latham,” he said finally. “There is work to be done that cannot be accomplished here while Strathmore can barely stand.”
“Very well,” she said. “Leave, then. That you are good at.”
The words hit harder than he cared to let show. They echoed old accusations spoken in his father’s study years ago.
Running away solves nothing, boy.
And aboard the Argus he had learned to hold fast. To stand his ground while hell opened up around him. He looked hard at Isla.She held his gaze for a moment then looked away, blinking back tears.
“If you are going, I must help Alistair. Make this room safe.”
Alistair had slumped back in his chair, hands on the desk in front of him. Presently his face joined his hands, his body slumping. Isla looked at him and then took off her cloak and cast it about his shoulders. Edward watched her smooth his hair back from his face, righting a bottle so that it did not leak wine any further and begin to pick up the scattered papers.
She took on the work of a scullery maid. And a mother. Neither role belonged to her but she did them anyway. Edward bent to gather papers from around his feet, shuffling them before placing them on a table. Isla glanced at him.
“I did not ask for help.”
“I did not offer. I merely began. Do not be ungracious.”
“Ungracious? Ger yerself away,” Isla said in rolling Scots.
“No me meuva di aqui,” Edward muttered, gathering another handful of pages.
Isla straightened and placed her fists on her hips. There was a fierce light in her eyes.
“What was that?” she demanded. “If you have something to say to me …”
“It means, I am not leaving. Said in a very emphatic way,” Edward cut across her.
Isla stared at him for a moment.
“The word you are looking for isgracias,” Edward told her.
“Ta,” Isla replied.
She hid a smile by bending for more papers. Edward continued to work, suppressing a smile of his own. He didn’t know if he was the world’s biggest fool. Didn’t know if the Drummonds were the arch manipulators the ton had them pegged as. But the thought of abandoning Isla to the care of her drunken brother and the repair of his disordered house was beyond his ability. It was dishonorable.
I will stand my ground, father. I learned that in the Service though you think I learned only cowardice.
Chapter 15
The smell of vinegar and soot clung to the air long after the worst of the mess was gone. Isla wrung out the cloth over a bucket gone grey with dirt and ash. Her shoulders burned.
