“Wonderful!” Amy clapped with delight, then glided toward the grand staircase. “Come up this way. I want to show you something upstairs.”
They climbed to the landing, which split in two directions, leading to a drawing room on one side and a dining room and breakfast room on the other. By now, Christina knew that the central tower section of the great sprawling house held several bedrooms above stairs. Amy led them up one side of the split staircase to an upper level that Christina had not yet seen. They walked down a long hallway lined with wooden wainscoting and upper walls in vibrant salmon pink. Paintings glowed in lamplight, and further along, various weapons gleamed in the low light.
“That sword was used by Robert the Bruce.” Amy pointed to a claymore with a worn leather hilt. “That small dagger, over there, is said to have belonged to Macbeth himself, or perhaps Malcolm Canmore. Those swords, behind you, were dropped by English knights at the Battle of Stirling. And that long axe there supposedly belonged to Rob Roy MacGregor.”
“Dundrennan is like a museum,” Christina said. “I know that Sir Hugh catalogued much of the collection and discussed the value of several pieces with Sir Edgar at the National Museum.”
“Yes, I believe the museum was interested in buying some or even all of collection after Hugh’s death. I am sure you know about that, Christina.”
“Very little. Such dealings are quite private. I am only a Lady Associate of the Society of Antiquaries, and so I do research for Sir Edgar. I am not involved in acquisitions.”
“I see. Still, Aedan refuses to consider selling, though releasing even a few pieces would ease the cost of repairs and refurbishments. We do not need all these old weapons. Some are quite vile.” She wrinkled her nose. “One even has old medieval blood on it.”
“How curious!” Christina glanced around, intrigued rather than repelled.
Reaching the uppermost hallway, Amy opened a door. “Here is the long gallery. It was used as a schoolroom once, but is not used now. But Sir Aedan mentioned that John Blackburn might like to use it for an artist’s studio. The light is excellent.”
“Oh, indeed!” John said as they entered a huge room with whitewashed walls, dark wood floors, and large windows that glowed silver in the rainy light. Sparsely furnished with cupboards, benches, a long table, and hard chairs, it looked like a dusty schoolroom.
“The light is good and the large table is ideal too,” John said, walking around.
“It is yours for the duration,” Amy said, handing him a key. “Aedan said you would likely go back to Edinburgh to fetch supplies?”
“I thought to hire a coach in town tomorrow and return with paints and so on, and perhaps costumes and props.” He glanced at Christina as he spoke. “Will you come?”
“I can if you need help transporting things, but I would rather use the time to study the stones on the hill.” The mention of costumes unnerved her a bit. She did not want to modelfor the mural, vastly preferring her status as a scholar and a wallflower.
“Of course,” he said.
“Costumes! It sounds like great fun. Perhaps I shall ask to model for your mural,” Amy said as they left the room together.
“That is a lovely idea,” Christina said.
“It is. Does that door lead out to the roof?” John asked, pointing as they passed a narrow door beside a window that overlooked an expanse lined in clay roof tiles.
“Yes, and the view is marvelous! Come look.” Amy opened the stout door and led them out to a narrow stone balustrade that ran just above a long section of the slanted roof. “Centuries ago, sentinels would post up here. Careful, Christina—stay under the overhang so your skirt will not get wet in the rain.” Amy took her arm and drew her back.
Christina lifted her face to the clean kiss of the damp wind, while rain pattered a soothing rhythm on the stone balustrade that rimmed this part of the roof. From up here she could see Dundrennan’s vast policies extending outward—deep meadows, heathery hills, and thick forestland all softened by mist. Just beyond the garden wall, the arch of the Remembrance thrust upward.
“It’s beautiful.” Speaking softly, she felt a powerful urge to go out there.
“It is a gloomy old thing, especially on a rainy day,” Amy said. “Eerie and morbid. It should be torn down. They say the curse of Dundrennan lingers there.”
“Truly? I think it’s romantic and picturesque,” Christina said.
“Cousin Aedan dislikes it.” Amy glanced up at the drizzling skies. “More rain coming. Let’s go inside. It’s nearly teatime, and Aunt Lillias will expect us. She wants to celebrate Miss Thistle, who will be leaving us. Aedan fears the paint fumes might disturb the beastie’s health, and suggested to Aunt Lilliasthat she take Thistle home to Balmossie, where she stays in the conservatory. I confess I will be glad to lose her company,” she added.
“The wee beastie might tramp through my paints, so I will not miss her either,” John said. As Amy giggled, he opened the door for the ladies to go downstairs.
At teatime, Miss Thistle’s antics convinced Christina that Aedan was wise to send Lady Balmossie’s dear pet home. By the time tea was done, two saucers and a teacup lay broken on the carpet, a cake was smashed on a footstool, and Lady Balmossie wore a shortbread biscuit on top of her lace cap until Christina plucked it away.
Yet she melted a little when Miss Thistle clung to her with sweet affection, now and then pausing to fire crockery at the door each time it was opened. John laughed with Lady Balmossie, and Amy laughed, too, though she greatly disliked the creature.
“Thistle has always sensed good people,” Lady Balmossie said. “We must tell Aedan that she approves of Mrs. Blackburn. Where is he today, by the way?”
“Working on his muddy road, I suppose,” Amy said.
Christina watched the door, hoping to see him, but he never came to tea. Afterward, she went to her room to read, then fell asleep, lulled by the rain at the window. She dozed so deeply that she only woke at a persistent knocking on the door.
