An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (42 page)

She stared at him, and then sensing that he was awaiting a reply the colour rose in her cheeks. She swept to the ground in a graceful curtsey, and was aware as she raised her head again that the Duke was looking at her closely, examining her face, it seemed to her, feature by feature.

She waited in silence for him to speak, conscious that her heart was beating a little quicker under his scrutiny, but remembering to bear herself proudly despite an almost overwhelming shyness.

“My attorney is in the library,” the Duke said at length, “He called to see me on business and I took the opportunity of relating your story and showing him the proofs of your identity, which you brought with you from France. But there are several matters on which he would wish to question you.”

“I will do my best to reply,” Iona said quietly.

She moved towards the Duke and he waited for her to reach his side. She looked up at him and realised how exceptionally tall he was. There was, too, something strong and reliable about him. Iona thought that like the castle he gave her a sense of protection and security.

“Shall I lead the way?” he asked. “You will find the castle a trifle puzzling until you have been here some time. That is because my forebears all had a passion for building and each generation has added to the original structure.”

His Grace’s tone was cold and aloof – a manner that Iona had begun to believe was characteristic of him.

She glanced at him sideways underneath her dark lashes and wondered if he disliked her. He had not expressed any personal doubts as to the veracity of her story, seeming inclined to accept it at face value. Yet Iona was sure that underneath his icy, indifferent manner he must have decided opinions on a matter which affected his family and his household.

It was impossible, she thought, for anyone to be so inhuman as the Duke appeared on first acquaintance, and yet she doubted if her experience had been varied enough for her to be a competent judge of the Duke or any other man for that matter.

In silence His Grace led her down several passages until they came to the library. It was a huge room lined from floor to ceiling with books. The windows looked out over the loch, but at a different angle from those in the salon. From here one could see moorland and mountains stretching away to the west, while in the foreground the hillside fell sheer to the edge of the loch to form a perpendicular cliff above which stood a massive black rock jutting out over the water below. Iona had no time to notice anything else for the Duke’s attorney, a wizened, white haired old man of nearly seventy, rose from a chair by the writing-table. The Duke introduced him and he peered at Iona with short sighted eyes for some seconds before he said grudgingly,

“The young woman certainly looks a MacCraggan, Your Grace.”

“There you can certainly speak with authority, Tulloch,” the Duke said.

“Indeed I can, Your Grace, having served your family for over half a century.”

“Miss Iona is not unlike the miniature,” the Duke said.

“Aye, but that doesn’t prove that she’s the Lady Elspeth,” the attorney replied, peering again at Iona and then down at the miniature, which lay on the writing desk.

“I have some questions to ask you, ma’am,” he said at length, drawing a notebook from his pocket.

The Duke drew up a chair for Iona and she sat down. The attorney began his questions. He was irritatingly slow, writing both his questions and Iona’s answers out laboriously.

Iona, while on her guard against making a mistake, found his questions easy as he gave her so much time for consideration before she need reply. But as she spoke or sat waiting patiently for her words to be inscribed, she was acutely conscious of the Duke. He had withdrawn to a seat near the fireplace, but she knew he was listening and watching her.

It was with the greatest effort that she did not turn her head and look at him. She wanted to see his face and the expression in his eyes. She had never known that anyone could have so strong a personality that she could feel it physically. It was almost painful to force herself to attend to the attorney.

Finally the last question was put to her.

“You are anxious to prove yourself to be Lady Elspeth MacCraggan?”

“I am anxious to prove that I have a name,” Iona answered in all sincerity. “I have never had one.”

As she spoke she wondered if by any strange unpredictable coincidence she was in truth a MacCraggan, but then she remembered that her guardian had never spoken of them.

Could that have been intentional? She thought not. He had been a blunt, unsubtle person. He had talked continually of his own family, the Drummonds, of their deeds of valour, of their successes and failures. Had he been in any way closely connected with the MacCraggan’s, she felt he must have talked to her of them, for he was interested only in Scotland and its people and could wander on by the hour, the past events of history being more real to him than the present with its limitations to his freedom.

With a little sigh Iona remembered that to be a Scot and redheaded was commonplace enough. In France she had been outstanding because of the colour of her hair, but here every other person had hair the same colour.

The attorney shut his notebook with a snap.

“That will be all, ma’am, for today.”

He rose to his feet and turned towards the Duke.

“With your permission, Your Grace, I will send someone from my office immediately to France. We must, of course, interview the priest, make inquiries among the neighbours, and find, if we can, the fishermen who rescued the shipwrecked valet, nurse and Lady Elspeth seventeen years ago.”

“It will not be easy,” the Duke said.

“It will not be easy, it will take time and be extremely expensive,” the attorney agreed.

“I would wish, of course,” the Duke said, “that no expense should be spared.”

“I can understand that, Your Grace. May I take the letter with me? I will have a copy made of it in my office.”

“Yes, take it,” the Duke replied, “but leave the miniature and the bracelet.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The attorney bowed to the Duke and to Iona, then hesitated,

“The lady – will be staying here?”

“Certainly! At least until the inquiries in France are complete.”

The attorney bowed again and left the room. Iona looked towards the Duke a little shyly.

“It is kind of you to offer me your hospitality until my case is proven.”

“It appears you have nowhere else to go,” the Duke replied.

“That is true,” Iona answered, “but – I was thinking of the Duchess. I feel she would not be entirely agreeable to my remaining here.”

“I think you will find that the Duchess will not oppose my wishes,” the Duke replied.

His tone was final and there seemed nothing more to say. Because she was nervous, Iona impetuously asked the question which was uppermost in her mind.

“Have you been married long, Your Grace?” The Duke’s eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“I am not married,” he said.

Iona felt the colour rush into her cheeks.

“Oh,” she said in confusion, “I am sorry. I thought last night that – that – ”

“ – the Duchess was my wife?” the Duke supplied. “No, you are wrong. She is my stepmother. Perhaps it would be wise for me to outline briefly our family relationship. It is somewhat complicated for a stranger.”

Still confused by her mistake Iona murmured something incoherent and the Duke went on,

“My father, the late Duke, married three times. My mother, his first wife, was married to him for twenty years before they had a child. She was over forty when I was born, and my coming into the world killed her. My father married again the following year.

“His second wife was a distant cousin. She was a MacCraggan and she bore him two children – my half-brother, Niall – who is years younger than I am – was born in 1722, and my half-sister, Elspeth, eight years later. My father’s second wife was drowned when the yacht was wrecked in the Channel, and we believed that Elspeth was drowned at the same time.”

“How terrible!” Iona exclaimed. “But you and your half-brother were saved.”

“My father saved us,” the Duke replied. “Although he was not a young man he was a powerful swimmer. He guided both my brother and I to a raft. We drifted for two days and two nights, then we were picked up by a man of war.

When we reached port we learned that two sailors had been drowned, but the rest had been saved in one way or another. Altogether it was calculated that six lives were lost, counting the crew, the other being the Duchess, Elspeth, her nurse, and Ewart – my father’s valet.”

Iona felt her eyes drop beneath his.

Quite suddenly she wished with all her heart and soul that she was the Lady Elspeth and that there was no deception in the part she had to play.

“A year later,” the Duke continued, “my father married again. He was over seventy and I think he hated to be alone. His life with my mother had been, I am always told, a very happy one. He craved companionship and my brother and I were not old enough to give it to him. His third wife, the present Duchess, is an Englishwoman.”

“English!”

Iona was startled into repeating, the word.

“Yes, English,” the Duke repeated. “My present stepmother was a Miss Howard. She was only twenty-five when my father saw her and fell in love with her. She came of a well-known and distinguished family who lived in Kent. She had never been to Scotland before and she found it uncongenial. In fact she has never been happy here.”

“Then why, now that she is a widow, has she not returned to England?” Iona asked.

Her question was obviously one that the Duke was not prepared to answer. He rose to his feet and Iona realised that their conversation was at an end. She felt that in not answering her question and merely ignoring it he had been, if not deliberately rude, almost unbearably autocratic.

“Shall I escort you to the salon?” the Duke asked. “My stepmother should be there by now.”

“I thank Your Grace.”

Iona’s tone was almost as frigid as his. As they reached the door, he paused and looked down at her.

“You will oblige me,” he said quietly, “if you will not mention to my stepmother that you saw me in Paris.”

Iona glanced up at him quickly. She was surprised by his request, yet the expression on his face was as reserved and autocratic as always. If he was forced to ask a favour, he was not prepared to unbend or be friendly about it.

“I will not mention the incident,” Iona replied briefly.

“Thank you.”

The Duke opened the door. In the passage outside a footman was on duty. The Duke beckoned him.

“Show Miss Iona the way to the grand salon,” he commanded.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Iona dropped the Duke a curtsey and as she moved away feeling that he was relieved to be rid of her, she heard the library door close decisively and firmly behind him. She felt that the sound was an answer to all her hopes and plans. How could she learn anything from a man like that?

Iona reached the drawing room and found the Duchess sitting before the fire, a glass of wine in her hand. She acknowledged Iona’s curtsey with a curt nod and asked the footman,

“Has Lord Niall returned yet?”

“Not yet, Your Grace.”

“You are certain?”

“I will inquire again, Your Grace.”

“Then do so. If his Lordship has not arrived yet, bring me tidings immediately the carriage is seen descending the hill.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The footman closed the doors behind him. The Duchess looked at Iona and in almost a friendly tone asked,

“How long did it take you to come from Inverness yesterday?”

“I left at seven o’clock in the morning, ma’am. The stagecoach is slow and stopped continually. We did not reach Fort Augustus until three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“The stagecoach!” the Duchess said with contempt. “It is hopeless to compare that creeping hearse with the pace of well-bred horses drawing a light chaise.”

She put down her glass of wine and shivered.

“It is cold this morning,” she said peevishly. “Is there a window open?”

Iona glanced round the room.

“No, ma’am, but the sunshine is warm.”

“It is
never
warm here,” the Duchess grumbled.

She put out her hands to the blaze. The veins showed startlingly blue.

Iona looked at the Duchess’s face. She was rouged, yet it could not disguise the unhealthy pallor of her skin. She must be anaemic or ill, Iona thought, for the heat of the fire was almost overpowering.

The Duchess thrust her hands into a little ermine muff that lay on her lap.

“Have you regaled His Grace’s attorney with your sensational resurrection from a watery grave?” she asked disagreeably. “What did he think of your fairy tale?”

“He expressed no opinion, ma’am,” Iona answered. “But with His Grace’s permission he is sending someone to France to make inquiries.”

“And if they prove you to be an imposter, what then?” the Duchess asked.

“In that case I shall return to France,” Iona answered calmly. “I can always find work in Paris.”

“Work? What sort of work?”

“I have been a milliner these past two years.”

“A milliner in Paris?” the Duchess mused. “It makes a good story, but you can hardly expect me to believe that with your looks and hair you live a life of honest toil.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, ma’am, but it happens to be the truth.”

Iona felt her temper rising. The Duchess’s sneers were hard to bear.

“Then if that is the truth, you must indeed be a Scot,” the Duchess said. “There is a streak of the Puritan in all of them, though it’s my belief it is not because they wish to be good but because they are sore afraid of the fires of Hell.”

Iona managed to smile.

“I am not afraid of Hell, ma’am.”

The Duchess looked at her speculatively.

“Doubtless in time we shall learn of what you are afraid,” she said.

“I hope not!” Iona parried.

The Duchess took up her glass again and sipped the ruby wine.

“Do you know many people in Paris?” she asked.