Page 32 of The Falconer

Catherine and Dona appear satisfied with that. I steer us past Castle Rock. Even in sunlight the castle is dark and imposing, a startling contrast to the greenery below. The park is mostly empty, a surprise on such a lovely day. I’m stricken by the realisation that everyone must be gathered on Princes Street to gawk at the disaster.

I find a clear patch of grass towards the east end of the Nor’ Loch, just below the cliff. The wings give a single, quick flap as the ornithopter lands.

‘Thank heavens,’ Dona mutters.

After a last sip of tea, I grab my parasol and open the door. The three of us stroll from the ornithopter, through thick trees that surround the base of Castle Rock. Damp grass squishes with each step we take.

The breeze here is brisk, but not terribly cold. This is one of the few winter days we will have when it’s bearable enough to take an afternoon walk. The sun sets too early at this time of year for many outdoor activities. Already it’s dipped below the treeline. Shadows behind the trees are growing longer and noticeably colder than the bright patches between them. The park is quiet, not even birds or other animals about. The three of us are completely alone.

‘I wanted to speak with you about something,’ Catherine says suddenly.

I open my parasol and rest the pole lightly against my shoulder. Distant rain clouds have begun to blow our way. We don’t have much daylight left. ‘Hmm?’

Catherine hesitates and glances at Dona. Dona lowers her head and immediately slows her pace to give us more privacy.

‘If Dona hears anything,’ I say to Catherine, ‘she will be perfectly discreet.’

Catherine blushes but nods. ‘I know you don’t like to discuss it, but have you at least thought about marriage?’

What you want isn’t important.

I look down at my feet. The tops of my slippers are stained with mud. ‘Aye,’ I say. I smile ruefully. ‘I’ve concluded it isn’t for me.’

Dona gasps from behind us. At my surprised look, she drops her head. ‘Quite sorry, my lady.’

‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, my father feels differently. He says I am to be engaged before the end of the season. When I brought up potential difficulties, he claimed I was being dramatic.’

‘Well,’ Catherine says drily, ‘he has all the sensitivity of a tea table, doesn’t he?’

‘Duty first, remember?’ Father’s oft-stated precept.

Catherine lets out a breath of disgust. ‘So he’s decided to be interested in your life now? And to think, it only took him a year to acknowledge you.’

I dislike her mother, she dislikes my father. Unlike my own, Catherine’s father loved her – and he showed more affection towards me than I’ve ever received from mine. He died four years ago, when I was fourteen and Catherine was thirteen.

‘My darling friend, your sarcasm is beginning to show.’

She smiles grimly. ‘He deserves it.’

‘No arguments from me.’

We continue walking, passing the ivy-covered ruins just below Castle Rock. The cliff face blazes orange from the setting sun peeking through the trees. The clouds are surging ever closer. As I breathe in, I smell the first hint of damp air that indicates it’s going to rain soon. So much for our pleasant, sunny walk.

‘I must know,’ Catherine asks. ‘Would you think less of me if I said Iwantedto marry?’

‘Not at all,’ I say softly. ‘I wanted it, too, before—’Before I became what I am. ‘Do you have a particular gentleman in mind?’

Catherine flushes. ‘Well, Lord Gordon and I have danced a few times, and he recently visited for fourhours.’ She sighs. ‘I find him most agreeable.’

If I were still the girl I used to be, this would have been my life. Courtships, deciding my best match, wondering about when I’d marry.

For a small, petty moment, I envy Catherine. She can share her life wholly with someone, completely fulfilled. She won’t need to lie to her husband, or slip out of the house at night to quiet a need for violence. Unlike me, she can love someone without pretence.

I try to sound more cheerful than I feel. ‘That’s wonderful. And your mother?’

‘Mother considers him unsuitable.’

I snort. ‘That’s preposterous. He is an earl, after all.’

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