Billy told her about the Herring House, a two-story stone building not far from the church, as he drove his wagon load of food, blankets, and clothing to its single door.
Built to shelter the young women who migrated from town to town along the Scottish coast following the herring runs, it was a dormitory built by a previous Lady Rossburn. At the moment it stood waiting for this summer’s crew of girls who gutted and filleted the catches.
Diantha regarded it with interest. “That was kind of her.”
Billy snorted. “No’ likely. She didna want immoral creatures from outside the estate to corrupt Duncarie folks.”
She ordered Billy to start unloading the cart and stepped through the low door. Finding herself in a low-ceilinged, shuttered room, she located the rector’s wife, who sat reading from the Book of Job to a few silent women and children.
A few looked in her direction, but most of the occupants stared straight ahead. Some cried, most did not.
Diantha took a deep breath and introduced herself. A stir of interest awoke on some faces, almost immediately extinguished by grief.
She wasted no time. As Billy brought in the first load, she conferred with the rector’s wife. The good woman explained that times like this provided excellent opportunities to remind sinners of their own mortality and hopefully save souls.
Diantha looked at her for a long minute. “Indeed?”
Turning her back on the woman, she saw a boyof about ten huddled next to his mother on a hard wooden bench. He stared at her with vacant brown eyes, but she approached him anyway. She stooped to his level and spoke softly. “Good afternoon. I am Lady Rossburn.”
He blinked, but gave no other response. Very gently she asked, “Was your papa on one of the boats?” The boy’s lips moved and tears filled his eyes, but did not overflow. Her own vision blurred at the sight, but her tears would not help any of these people.
Reaching out, she took hold of a grubby hand already tough with calluses. “I am so terribly sorry for your loss. When did you last eat?” One thin shoulder shrugged. “Do you think your Mama would like something to eat?”
Finally focusing on her, he nodded. A few minutes later, she had coaxed him into helping Billy. His mother leaned against the wall, wrapped in her own silent world, but when Diantha touched her hand in sympathy, she felt a twitch from the cold fingers.
The boy acted as the first crack in an ice dam. An old man got up to help unload as well, and when Diantha apologetically asked if someone could start cooking fires on the hearths at each end of the room, a few women stirred.
An hour later, porridge cooked over one fireplace while mutton stew bubbled at the other. Bread from the Duncarie ovens sat on clean towels next to piles of plates and bowls provided by the villagers. MacAdam had sent along more than enough supplies; fewer than sixty souls called Cariford home.
The room had warmed from the fires, and Diantha ordered the shutters opened to let in as much light as possible, both upstairs and down. The sound of forks and spoons scraping tin filled the room, interspersed with occasional soft conversation or sobs.
She and a few other women made up pallets for those men who had come in from other parts of the estate to remove the debris and help repair those buildings that needed it.
She returned to the ground floor as the first of the visiting men entered. The younger women and children had returned to their homes after eating. Only a few older ones remained to help serve and wash up.
One old woman sat by the porridge pot, and Diantha picked up the ladle for the mutton stew. Most of the visitors knew her by sight and murmured amazed thanks at being handed their supper by a peeress. After working all day without hot food, they wolfed down seconds and thirds. She filled bowl after bowl, scarcely noticing the faces above them.
One bowl stayed in front of her after she put in not one, but two ladlefuls of stew. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Startled at the furious whisper, she looked up to see Kieran’s scowl. After witnessing the devastating grief of the people around her, she welcomed even his anger. “I’m serving mutton stew. And you’re slowing everyone down.” She smiled for the first time since arriving at Cariford as he looked guiltily over his shoulder, then back at her.
“We’ll talk later.”
Still smiling, she gave thanks that her husband stood glaring down at her, breath flowing in and out of his lungs. “Very well, Kier.”
He stalked away and she dipped her ladle into the mutton stew to serve the next man.
Chapter 15
Kieran paused to thank each man as he made his way across the room. He took a place by Dr. Andrews on the hard bench against the wall. He all but groaned in relief as he leaned back against the unyielding wood. Holding his bowl, he slowly ate the mutton stew, relishing the warm food as it slid down his throat into his stomach.
The two men ate silently for several minutes before the doctor spoke. “Lady Rossburn did very well this afternoon. I thought she’d do no more than try to dispense tea and crumpets.”
His hand tightened on his bowl. “I told her to stay at Duncarie.”
The older man raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should have been more specific. After all, this is part of Duncarie as well.”
He gave the doctor a look. “It’s not a part she’s used to.” His gaze moved to Diantha, standing at the far end of the room, quietly collecting plates to put into the washing-up tub. “And where am I supposed to put her tonight? I planned to sleep withthe lads upstairs, but she’ll have to impose on some poor woman already suffering the loss of family.”
