“Why do you sound so disapproving, Mr. Kerr? Surely courage is a virtue?”
“He killed a number of men, I understand.”
“Have Fairfax men never killed, Mr. Kerr? Not in defense of their land or their freedom?”
“The 11thLord Fairfax is a borrowed Scot, Your Ladyship,” he said, the words tinged with something she couldn’t quite name. Bitterness? Envy?
“I must leave you,” she said, pretending a cordiality she didn’t feel. Two years of living with Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Lilly had prepared her well for the sin of prevarication. “With my apologies for having disturbed you.”
“It is no bother, Your Ladyship,” he said, waiting until she reached the doorway before sitting once more. “If you need anything of me, you need only send your maid.”
She studied him for a moment.
“Why are all those wagons arriving?” she asked.
“I imagine they’re the purchases your husband made in London, Lady Fairfax.”
She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more.
Finally, she left him, found the housekeeper, and arranged for a time to meet with the seamstress and her assistants. In addition, she and Mrs. Brody decided on an hour each day to meet to discuss those items that required her decision.
Thank heavens Aunt Lilly made her trail behind her most days to be of assistance. At least she knew what was required to keep a large household functioning. Although the townhouse in London could easily fit into Doncaster Hall a dozen times, the principle was the same. Procure, prepare, and preserve food, ensure that the servants knew how to, and were, performing their chores, and ensure that all who lived at Doncaster Hall had their needs met and were healthy.
Duties she would have to grow into, she suspected. If they were to remain in Scotland.
Inside the distillery, the bricks were blackened from decades of wood fires boiling under copper kettles. The air wasstrangely sweet, as if the aroma of whiskey still wafted through the building. Once, there might have been boards beneath Montgomery’s feet, but only packed earth remained. The roof, supported by several brick pillars, possessed a half dozen holes, allowing shafts of sunlight to illuminate the space.
He strode out of the distillery, in search of Ralston. The older man was directing the uncrating of the bolts of silk he’d purchased in London.
“Are there any carpenters at Doncaster Hall?” he asked.
Ralston nodded. “We’ve got two lads who can build anything, Your Lordship.”
“Then I’ll keep them busy for the next couple of weeks. I need at least six worktables. First, the roof needs repair.”
Ralston looked up. “That it does, Your Lordship. When we stopped making whiskey, there was no other use for the building.”
“Why did you stop making whiskey?”
“Maybe I misspoke, Your Lordship,” Ralston said with a smile. “We haven’t given up making whiskey. We’ve just given up making whiskeyhere.There’s a large Fairfax distillery outside Glasgow now.”
From what Montgomery had learned in London, the Fairfax wealth came from fisheries, mines, shipbuilding enterprises, and various other industries. Unlike the American branch of the Fairfax family, the Scots branch did not work the land.
He walked away from Ralston, ignoring the activity behind him for a moment. Perched on the hill in front of him was Doncaster Hall. The emerald leaves of the trees were dusted with sunlight, some leaves frosted white by the glare. Dark brown trunks arrowed up from an undulating earth carpeted in lush green grass. The river glinted silver in the sun.
A peaceful view, nothing out of place or garish, as if the scene before him had matured for generations.
At home, it was time for planting. The young seedlings would not have been brought out from the sheds yet, but there would be furrows as far as the eye could see. From dusk until dawn, people would be walking the roads, while mules and wagons carried supplies to Gleneagle’s farthest acres. The air would be heavy with animal sounds, conversation, and song.
Standing a half world away, Montgomery could almost imagine the dampness of fecund earth, sweet mimosa, and the musky tang of crabapples.
Birds burst out of the trees surrounding Doncaster Hall like cannon shots, circled in formation, and returned again. A signal he should be about his tasks. Thoughts of the past, and Virginia, would have to wait until later.
Veronica asked one of the men on the path about the arriving wagons. He pointed her to the distillery, located some distance away.
Doncaster Hall was perched on top of a knoll, larger than a hill, smaller than a mountain. In the back of the house, an approach not seen by visitors, were various outbuildings. The land sloped to a valley intersected by the River Tairn and spanned by an arched bridge of weathered gray stone.
Across the bridge were several buildings. The largest, of the same weathered gray brick as the bridge, stood alone, two wagons parked in front of its large open doors. The rest of the vehicles were taking the long way around, down the valley to where a wider wooden bridge allowed wagons, carts, and carriages to cross. She watched them from the top of the walking bridge, hesitant to go any farther only because Montgomery was directing the wagons.
