Page 60 of Highland Fire

In the act of alighting from the coach, he paused for a moment to take in the house and its setting.

Stands of oaks, elms, and beeches cast pools of dappled shade on the lawns and driveway.

The house itself was Georgian, though on a more modest scale than Cranley.

Its walls were covered with ivy, and its red-bricked facade was mellowing with age.

He had an impression of something pastoral and tranquil and unreservedly English.

It put him in mind of another regret which had troubled his mind. He again wished that when he’d had the chance he had taken the time to get to know his cousin better.

By the time the covers were removed and Eric Randal had poured out two glasses of his prize port, Rand was more than ever glad that he had come into Dorset.

His uncle was very much improved since he had last seen him.

Where before, Eric Randal had been careless about his appearance, he was now immaculately turned out.

Looking at that shock of carefully combed silver hair, a leonine mane, Rand had an impression of how he, himself, would look in another thirty or forty years.

Though Rand could hardly recall the lady, he knew that David had taken after his mother.

It was time well spent, decided Rand, for though there was still a sadness in those vivid blue eyes, not only was his uncle able to speak with composure about the death of his only son, but he was able to reminisce about the past with humor.

Rand was coming to have a much clearer picture of his cousin.

“I had no idea that David suffered from asthma when he was a child,” he said, remarking upon something his uncle had said earlier, accepting the proffered glass of port.

“It started up when his mother died. As a child, his health was very delicate. If you did not know it, it was because David tried to hide it from you. He was ashamed. Well, you know how boys are. You and your brothers were robust little fiends. David had a hard time keeping up with you whenever we visited Cranley. You must have wondered why he spent so much time indoors, when the rest of you were outdoors riding hell-for-leather across the downs, or involved in one of your interminable wrestling matches?”

“I don’t remember. David was so much younger than I. If I thought about him at all, I thought of him as Peter’s friend.”

“David and Peter? They might have been friends, I suppose, if David hadn’t felt so self-conscious about his infirmities. As I recall, you were always kind to him.”

“I could afford to be. He wasn’t my brother,” said Rand, and both gentlemen laughed.

“Well, he grew out of the asthma before he went up to Oxford, thank God.” Eric Randal stared at the ruby red liquid in his glass. “He was so proud to be serving with you, Rand. The boy hero-worshiped you, do you know?”

This was so unexpected that Rand did not know what to say, but almost in the same breath, his uncle went off on another set of reminiscences about his grandchildren, and the moment passed.

From there, the conversation moved to Scotland, and before long, Rand’s uncle was asking about mutual acquaintances. Rand seized on the opportunity of introducing the subject of Ewan Grant.

“An old scandal was resurrected,” he said casually. “Do you remember the duel between Ewan Grant and the laird o’ Daroch?”

“A terrible business! At the time, I was so incensed I wanted to call Ewan out myself. He was my friend, you see. It was because of me that your father was persuaded to lease Strathcairn to him. I should have known that his sister would cause murder and mayhem wherever she went. It’s not the first duel Ewan fought to protect her honor, such as it was, but it was the first time he had ever killed a man over it. ”

“His sister?” asked Rand neutrally.

“A regular baggage if ever I saw one. That’s the reason he took her to the wilds of Scotland.

There was some unsavory business in London.

I swear she fell into one scandalous scrape after another.

She threw herself at Daroch then cried rape when he refused to marry her.

Not that that was generally known, of course.

It was a terrible tragedy, a terrible tragedy. ”

It took Rand a moment or two to marshal his thoughts. “You seem very well informed! Surely, you were not there?”

His uncle let out a snort of derision. “I most certainly was not. You would not catch me sharing a roof with Sally Grant. For all her angelic looks, the girl was poison. No. Ewan wrote to me before he sailed for India. Of course, I read between the lines. If it had been anyone else but Daroch, Ewan would have thought twice about his sister’s story. ”

“I suppose Daroch’s reputation told against him?”

“Quite. But it wasn’t only that. Someone corroborated the girl’s story, someone who swore he had seen Sally and Daroch together. I don’t know who. Ewan never told me. Poor Daroch. As it turns out, he was innocent.”

“Oh?”

“It all came out later, quite recently, in fact, after Sally swallowed a great dose of religion. The Methodists got to her, don’t you know?

” He laughed, an ugly, grating sound. “The bitch was a scorned woman, and in her spite she turned on the poor devil who had scorned her. There wasn’t much Ewan could do to make restitution.

By the time she wrote to him, confessing the whole, Daroch was in his grave and Ewan was in India.

One good thing came of it, I suppose. Aboard ship, he met the lady who was to become his wife, a widow woman with a young son. ”

“And he is still in India?”

“Good Lord, no! Didn’t you know? The Grants are my neighbors, Ewan came home a rich man, oh, all of eighteen months ago.”

Rand hardly knew what reply to make to his uncle’s revelations, and he covered his silence by offering to replenish both empty glasses.

When this was done, his uncle took up the conversation. “Look here, Rand, something is going on and I should like to know what it is.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t believe in coincidence. You see, David asked me things, much the same as you, when he was last here.”

“Idle curiosity,” said Rand easily. “That’s all it is.”

His uncle grunted. “I could not get a straight answer from David either.”

Suddenly, Rand had the strangest impression that he was looking over David’s shoulder.

He had always had the feeling that he was following in David’s footsteps.

It was, after all, David who had sent him into Scotland to find Caitlin.

One thing had led to another, culminating in his presence here, quizzing his uncle about the gentleman who was, in all probability, his wife’s father, Ewan Grant.

It seemed to him now that he should have taken all of this a mite more seriously.

It was uncanny, but he sensed an urgency that he had not felt before.

Setting down his glass, he said baldly, “If you can arrange it, I should like to meet this Mr. Grant.”

His uncle blinked, then nodded. “At the moment, he is in London, I believe. But in the morning, I shall send a footman to Mrs. Grant for his direction. Their place is only a mile or two along the road to Dorchester.”

Another delay. Rand tried to contain his impatience.

His uncle’s eyes were avidly curious. “Thank you,” he said; then, with an abruptness that left his uncle staring, Rand changed the direction of the conversation.

“All of London is agog with the news of the betrothal of Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold of Coburg,” he said.

His uncle took the hint. “That will cost the British taxpayer a pretty penny, I’ll wager.”

Rand smiled. “You would win your wager. The Commons voted the young couple a grant of sixty thousand pounds a year, in addition to other allowances.”

“Mmm. I suppose we shouldn’t grumble. After her father, the Prince Regent, she is the heir apparent to the throne.”

“It won’t surprise you to know that public feeling against the prince is running very high at present.”

And by these means, Rand steered the conversation away from speculation about the man who had fathered Caitlin.

The following morning over breakfast, Eric Randal had a particular favor he wished to ask of his nephew.

“It’s David’s things,” he said. “Someone has to go through them and decide what to do with them. I tried, but…well, you know how it is. I don’t want strangers or servants going through his effects. I know it’s a lot to ask of you—”

Rand quickly interrupted, “You could not ask any favor of me that I would not undertake. No, really, I would deem it a great honor to be entrusted with the task.”

His uncle looked away, blinking. “Thank you, dear boy. There’s no hurry. Whenever you are ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

David’s suite of rooms was one floor up, with a splendid view over the park and shrubbery.

Through a gap in the trees Rand could just make out the spires of Dorchester.

His uncle did not linger, and Rand could see why.

The rooms looked as if David would return to them at any moment.

A coat was tossed inelegantly over the foot of the bed.

A pair of muddied top boots were thrown in a corner.

The soap on the washstand was half worn away from frequent use.

A torn neckcloth lay in a discarded heap on the floor.

Rand understood the apparent disorder. In much the same manner, when he had left Cranley to rejoin his regiment, his mother had preserved his chambers.

It was as if time could be made to stand still.