Diantha stood. “Just now I need to go to Cariford.”
The older woman arched an eyebrow. “I understand Kieran told you to stay away.”
Diantha paused before she opened the door. “The best way to keep Barclay from coming between us is to stay close to my husband.”
Lady Rossburn’s eyes twinkled. “Wear warm clothes.”
Diantha sent for Florette first and asked her to pack a valise with her plainest, heaviest garments. Then, remembering the dowager’s comments about servants, she asked the maid if she could quietly locate Archie Green and send him to the library.
The Frenchwoman’s face did not so much as twitch. “But of course, milady.”
Diantha went to the library to wait. Knowing the ghillie had more to attend to than usual, she did not expect him soon. She opened a thin drawerand pulled out the architect’s original plans for Duncarie House. She could pore over the sheets for hours, fascinated by the measurements and notations.
Today she needed something to occupy her mind fully, though. Tucked into the aged vellum were several new sheets of paper. She removed these and carried them to the massive desk facing the door to the gallery. Pulling out a ruler, pencils, and a piece of India rubber, she continued working on plans of improved cottages for the estate.
As a woman, her knowledge of architecture came only from what books she could find on the subject. She had not dared to show her drafts to Kieran or anyone else, hoping only that someday she might at least use them as a basis for suggestions.
When the door opened, she automatically turned over the sheet she was working on. To her relief, Archie Green stood in the doorway, his usual irascible expression subdued by the unfamiliar surroundings.
She beckoned to him. “Come in, and please shut the door behind you.”
He tramped forward as she gathered her papers into a neat pile. “And wha’ can I do for your ladyship?”
Replacing the papers among the plans for Duncarie, she closed the narrow drawer and turned to the burly Scot. “I’d like to go to Cariford, as discretely as possible. Can you help me?”
He nodded in approval. “A fine idea. Dinna fash yourself, my lady. My brother Billy is settin’ out with a cartload of food for the poor souls in just a bit. How long before you’re ready?”
Ignoring his last question, she crossed to him. “His lordship sent word from the village? Is he well? How bad is the damage?”
The ghillie held up a hand. “Wheesht! I canna answer everything at once. Of course, his lordship sent for supplies, and they’re ready no thanks to Master Barclay.”
He made a disgusted sound. “Luckily Mr. Mac-Adam ain’t one to sit and wait when he knows what needs to be done. His lordship is as good as we can expect, and there’s but a bit of damage to the village.” His face stiffened. “At least to the buildings. Near every man in Cariford between twelve and fifty was on those boats.”
“My God. I had no idea it was that bad.” Diantha shook her head.
Archie, his eyes brighter than usual, patted her arm. “No reason you should. You’re still new to Duncarie.” Pulling a handkerchief out, he blew his nose. “If you still want to go, don’t expect a lot of bowin’ and scrapin’.”
Diantha tried to grasp the magnitude of such a loss all during her ride to the seacoast. She sat beside Billy Green on the seat of a wagon as it bumped through small Norpen Glen between the manor house and the cove.
As soon as they passed through the north end of the glen, the tang of the sea scented the air. Cariford lay only a few miles down the road by then.
From a distance, she found it difficult to consider it devastated by tragedy. Puffy white clouds filled the sky and the sun shone. But no boats floated beyond the rocky waterfront, only pieces of debris. Planks, crates, and a few bundles lay on theshingle beach and narrow walkway nearest the water. Only a few figures stirred to pick them up.
A group of men labored on a collapsed wooden building at the end of town, led by a lean darkhaired man with windblown curls. Only when they approached near enough to hear the work crew’s voices did she recognize her husband’s cultured pronunciation. Unadulterated pride filled her as she watched him join another man to pull a heavy pallet of wood to one side.
Billy cleared his throat. “D’ye want to go see him, your ladyship?”
She shook her head. “He’s busy. I should make myself useful.”
He guided the cart onto a muddy path leading to a scattering of houses above the harbor. “I’m taking you to Doctor Andrews.”
They found the medical man inside the church. In his shirtsleeves, he and the rector moved the pews against the walls. Billy murmured in her ear that any bodies washed up on the shore would be brought here.
Dr. Andrews did not look particularly happy to see her. “Your ladyship, I’m not sure but that your presence here is a hindrance rather than a help. You’re very good to show up, but what can you do to assist?” He spoke without rancor, but his bluntness took her aback.
The rector spoke up. “My wife is in the Herring House trying to comfort the bereaved. Perhaps you could be of assistance there.”
Diantha mentally cursed her sheltered upbringing for not giving her more practical skills. “Of course. I just need someone to show me where it is.”
