“Antiquarian,” Christina said. “This is a wonderful house.”
“Aye.” Pausing at a door, the housekeeper opened it, then stood back for Christina to enter first. “Andrew brought up yer baggage—there ’tis on the bench. I will send one of the Jeanies to help ye unpack.”
“No need. It is just a few things for an overnight stay. I so appreciate the hospitality. What a lovely room!” Christina turned. Snug and inviting, the bedchamber glowed with firelight. Floral draperies, bed hangings, and wallpaper complemented the faded patterned carpets, and an ivory counterpane swathed a four-poster bed. The stone fireplace crackled with the sweetish, musty odor of peat. The window overlooked Dundrennan’s policies, and through it, Christina saw a far ridge of hills fading into the deepening twilight. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gunn smiled. “We call this the Irish room for the wallpaper, which was hand-stamped in Ireland, afore so many souls went starving there and could care less aboot stamping wallpaper, puir souls. And now Miss Amy—Sir Aedan’s cousin—wants to take doon all the paper and oot wi’ the rugs too. She wants everything covered in tartan. Walls, floors, windows, beds, the lot! I canna—but it is not my place, is it. Sir Aedan saysthere’s more than enough Scotchness in this bonny house, and so the Irish kit stays up, says he.”
“I like it very much just as it is,” Christina said. “A bonny house indeed.”
“Sir Hugh MacBride, that’s Sir Aedan’s da, y’see, what died a few years back—had a grand plan for the house. But he passed on afore he could see it all done. And now Sir Aedan does the best he can,” she finished breathlessly.
“The house must be a great deal of work, changes or none.”
“Och, aye, but no matter. The fire is lit in yer sitting room, just there.” Mrs. Gunn pointed toward an adjoining chamber that held two stuffed armchairs upholstered in worn red damask set upon a threadbare Oriental rug. The little fireplace was cheerful, and a small window revealed the purple sky.
“This here was a treasure room, long ago, they say. Here the lairds o’ Dundrennan counted their gold,” Mrs. Gunn explained. “There’s a wee door behind the chair, see? It goes to the auld stairway, which is dusty and dark, but ye can use it to get doon to the library below. Anytime ye please, madam, for antiquators need libraries, I think.”
“Antiquarian. And I’d like that, thank you.” Christina smiled.
“Do be careful in the dark. The laird and his brother shared this room when they were bairns, and they would take that auld stair doon to the kitchens to steal a snap o’ food at night from the stave-off cupboard. D’ye stay up late at night, that stave-off cupboard is a fine thing for a hungry hour.”
Christina nearly laughed. Mrs. Gunn was simply a delight, open and generous and full of tidbits in her chatter. “Thank you. Sir Aedan has a brother? What a wonderful house for a family this would be.”
Mrs. Gunn sighed. “He did, but it is only Sir Aedan now. Years ago, Sir Neil was the bonny heir o’ Dundrennan, and Aedan the youngest, with a sister between them. But Sir Neilwent wi’ a Highland regiment to that war overseas.” Mrs. Gunn frowned.
“The Crimean?”
“Aye, the very one. Sir Aedan went too, and returned safe. But his brother ne’er came home.” She shook her head. “The grief put Sir Hugh on the road to his death and took something fine from Sir Aedan’s spirit, I vow. He’s nae the same man as then.”
Christina felt a surge of compassion. “So much tragedy came out of that war. My brother John was wounded there.”
“The cane? I wondered. He manages well. Aye so, I must be off. One the Jeanies will be here soon with yer supper and will fetch whatsoever ye’d like. Oh, there’s a water closet and a bath, too, across the hall. Sir Hugh had lavatories added years back. We even have a shower bath in that room, with hot and cold spigots,” she said proudly. “The Jeanies can help if you want to use it.”
“Oh my. Who are the Jeanies?”
“There’s Bonnie Jean, the upper maid, and Sonsie Jean, wha’ does a bit o’ everything, and Wee Jeanie in the kitchens. We’ve long called the housemaids Jeanie, and we call all the grooms and gillies Andrew. It’s our way at Dundrennan.”
“What a curious custom!”
“Some do in the Highlands, and we do too. Sir Aedan tries to use their names, but old habits die hard. We had a great grand staff when Sir Hugh was writing all his poems. Now ’tis just Sir Aedan alone, though the ladies o’ Balmossie visit often.”
“Ladies of Balmossie?”
“Kinswomen o’ the laird. Ye’ll meet them tomorrow. Sonsie Jean will come up to help ye dress, since ye brought no lass to tend ye.” Mrs. Gunn drew a long breath.
“I have no lady’s maid,” Christina admitted. “I live with my uncle and aunt in a small house, with only two servants, so I dofor myself in most things. If I need something, I’ll ring the bell for…Sonsie Jean, is it?”
“Och, dinna ring the bell! I’d startle so! We dinna ring the bell here! Sir Aedan and Sir Neil did when they were lads, and then they would hide in cupboards, the wee rascals. But we found ’em and chased ’em, and Sir Hugh said that were the end o’ the bell ringing!”
Christina laughed. “I promise never to pull the bell.”
“Just come oot the room and call,” Mrs. Gunn said. “We’ll hear ye. Lady Balmossie shouts like a fishwife.”
Christina pinched back a smile. “I will do my best.”
“Tonight ye’ll sup here, but other nights ye’ll have a fine dinner doon the stair, especially if the ladies o’ Balmossie are here. Though ye may have supper in yer room whenever ye like.”
“Thank you. I expect that my brother and I will be here only a couple of days, but this wonderful hospitality is much appreciated.”
