Myrtle shook her head in affectionate exasperation as she stared up at Rose. “What preciselydidyou pay attention to at university?”
“Our brother school’s football team,” Rose ground out in frustration.
Finally, Myrtle took pity on Rose. She sat straight up, and her voice sharpened as she descended into professorial mode. Never before had Rose been so happy to hear her friend’s crisp intonation. She felt like she needed to be back in the classroom, focusing on details that she’d foolishly dismissed as too boring.
“There is a sense of noblesse oblige,” Myrtle explained. “This idea that the gentry should use their position and wealth in the society to improve the conditions of those who depend on the estate, including the surrounding community.”
“Like Andrew Carnegie’s ‘Gospel of Wealth’? He and Daddy were always talking about it when he came for visits.”
“I think the notions are akin to each other, but I feel like the former involves a more personal relationship and is not limited to grand charitable works. There is a connection to the land, too, to the particular cultural fabric of the area. Noblesse oblige is more agrarian than industrial at its root, perhaps? Folks from Pittsburgh to Puducherry can apply for Carnegie’s funds. The industrial philanthropist tries to changethe whole world. The laird, though, is responsible to those on his or her lands. If their duty does extend in any direction, it is through time. It is their job not only to protect and manage their estates today but for their children and the children of their tenants in the future.”
Rose let out a frustrated sound that almost,almostcould have competed with one of Mr.Flett’s. “It all sounds so desperately esoteric. I am not sure what to make of it—any of this, really.”
“You’ve basically got a deeper responsibility to and a relationship with the crofters than you would if you were a landowner in America.” Myrtle gave a little shrug, as if her words resolved the matter.
They did not.
“Two other things that I’ve worked studiously to avoid in the past,” Rose said softly as she climbed down the ladder. Before she’d joined the war, she’d wanted an unfettered life where she could flit from hotels to ocean liners to motor trials to hot-air balloon rides to rented villas to speedboat races. Now she didn’t knowwhatshe desired, and her search for Barbury’s report on the spy ring seemed even more futile than before.
Myrtle regarded her curiously. “Why are you so concerned with the duties of a British landlord? It is not as if you plan on staying on Hamarray and Frest after you’ve found Barbury’s journal—or whatever he secreted away. Aren’t you just going to sell your interest after I’m done excavating the broch?”
“That’s what I was initially planning—and probably still am.” Rose strutted toward a window and tapped her finger against it before turning again. “But I seem to possess this odd ... I don’t know ... compulsion to become involved. I’ve even toyed with the idea of turning Muckle Skaill into a hotel and Hamarray into a seaside retreat.” Perhaps because Rose could actuallydosomething about the difficulties the islanders faced.
In the war, she’d been powerless to save so many of the wounded. Yes, she’d carted them to the hospitals, but she could not reallysavethem. Not from the pain. Not from their wounds. Not from the gas. It was only Providence who had dictated who died and who survived. She’d merely been the driver, not even a nurse or a doctor. Yes, she had assisted, but in a way, she’d been helpless too. Who was not helpless in the face of war?
“A hotel?” Myrtle asked, arching her blonde eyebrow again. “Like one of your father’s?”
Rose thought about the efficiently run lobbies with their gorgeous, gleaming interiors. They were stunning but not precisely welcoming. “Not exactly. More of a place one immediately feels at home in, comfortable in.”
Myrtle’s eyebrow climbed even higher. “That seems a change of pace for you.”
Rose reached for a Lucky Strike. “You don’t think I can make a success of it?”
Myrtle set aside her book, signaling that she was now fully engaged in the conversation. “Rose, you are the type of person who always accomplishes what she wants. In fact, if you are planning to convert this mansion into accommodations, I’d recommend also building a small rustic lodge. The less wealthy bird-watchers could stay in the cheaper rooms, along with the archaeologists who come to excavate the broch. Is being a hotelier whatyouwant, though?”
“Hell, I don’t know what I want, M. I feel like I’ve been standing at the crossroads for ages, and just when I finally started down one path, something has come along and is yanking me onto another.” Rose sucked on the roll of tobacco and strongly considered lighting it.
Myrtle must have sensed Rose’s frustration and almost rising panic, because she tried lightening the mood with a wink. “Could thatsomethingbe a certain somebody—a sinfully handsome Viking, perhaps?”
To Rose’s surprise, she found it difficult to assume her normal flirty, cavalier nonchalance. “Mr.Sinclair is very passionate about Frest and its people.”
Myrtle dropped her attempt at forced joviality instantly. “I wasnotexpecting that response.”
Rose sped up her pacing. “Neither was I. It is not normally the type of intensity that I pay attention to in a man.”
“He isn’t your typical Casanova-style swashbuckling adventurer.”
“Not at all.” Rose rolled her shoulders.
“I still cannot believe you had dinner with his family. Have you ever dined with children before?”
“Not since I was one, but they are delightful. I can’t seem to stop thinking about them and the other crofters. Did I tell you about Young Thomas? The poor lad fought in the trenches, and all he wants to do is stay home and work his parents’ and aunt’s land. Yet he’s about to go to sea on a herring boat because there’s no other employment to be had. It’s just like how shy Ann Inkster works here at Muckle Skaill as a maid to help support her family even though this mansion practically scares her to death. Then there’s Astrid, who leads moronic men to bird nests to make a bit of coin, and her grandmother, who slips whiskey into tea, which is exactly what I am now planning to do when I am her age. And David Craigie might look like an absolute bruiser and may be hiding a secret in his windmill, but he is the sweetest fellow who is just brimming with pride over grindstones and gears, of all things. I find myself hoping to high heaven that none of the islanders are involved in spying because I just like them all so damn much.”
“Are you falling in love with Orkney?” Myrtle sounded flabbergasted.
Rose didn’t blame her.Shewas more than a little discombobulated herself. Not particularly wanting to know the answer to the question her friend had just posed, Rose resumed pacing. Walking the cigarette through her fingers, she decided to focus instead on her plans. Strategy was so much easier to deal with than emotion.
“I will contact my attorneys in Edinburgh to make sure that the sale of the property is concluded soon,” Rose said. “Being the true ownerwill only give me a greater excuse to poke around, and if I do decide to build a hotel here, it is a good first step.”
