Page 61 of The Last Debutante
“What?” Daria said, startled. “Why?”
Mrs. Moss shrugged as she placed three biscuits on a chipped plate and set it in the middle of the table. “I have things to do.”
“But...” Daria leaned across the table in an effort to meet her grandmother’s gaze. “But I was taken away from here a fortnight ago against my will, Mamie. I should think you would want to spend as much time in my company as possible.”
“Well, I do, dearest, I do! But I assume he’ll want to take you back. Where is the fish?” she asked suddenly.
“Outside,” Daria said.
“I should clean it before I go,” Mrs. Moss said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Daria stared at her grandmother. So did Jamie. The old woman was strangely distracted, even more anxious than before. And something kept her from looking her granddaughter in the eye.
“I’ll get the fish,” Daria said, and stood from the table, her head down, her step heavy.
In an effort to avoid conversation, Jamie looked away from Mrs. Moss, to the seating area adjoining the kitchen, and suddenly realized what was missing: the clock. That big, overdone, incessant tick-tock of a fancy cuckoo clock she had kept.
Daria stepped back inside with the basket of fish. “The Brodie boys won’t bring the supplies you need?” she asked.
“No. They are... engaged in other things. Busy, busy.” Mrs. Moss suddenly looked at Jamie. “I hope you have taken the precaution of having a proper chaperone while in my granddaughter’s company.”
Jamie’s brows rose. “Do you think the presence of a chaperone will somehow mitigate the fact that she was carted out of here as ransom against the thousand pounds you stole, then?”
“Mind you keep to yourself, Daria,” Mrs. Moss said, wagging a finger at her and ignoring Jamie’s valid point. “Do not befriend the Campbells. They would as soon hang you as feed you. Don’t forget it.”
“That’s not true,” Daria said evenly.
“They’ve convinced you, have they?” Mrs. Moss scoffed. “This is the Highlands, Daria. It’s naught but a lot of hills and rocks for savages to hide in.”
Jamie felt his temper rising. He was trying to remain respectful of the woman, but she made it bloody difficult.
“If that is what you believe, then why were you talking to the man on horseback, Mamie?” Daria blurted.
The question startled the old woman badly; she turned abruptly and collided with the table, knocking a cup over and spilling tea across the surface. “Look what you have made me do!” she said angrily, and used the tip of her apron to clean the spill.
But Daria reached across and caught her hand, forcing Mrs. Moss to look at her. “I am worried unto death about you, Mamie. You don’t seem yourself. You say things that make no sense. Your conversation with the man on horseback did not seem pleasant, and you are clearly distressed. How can I not be concerned for you?”
“You have no idea what you are saying,” the woman said, jerking free of Daria’s grasp. “There is nothing wrong with me. And that man... he was—he was asking for directions—”
“No more falsehoods, Mamie. He wasn’t asking for directions. You were arguing with him.”
Mamie pressed her lips together for a long moment, then admitted, “All right. Yes, we were arguing.” She resumed mopping up the spill. “He is a stubborn old man. I’ve run across him before and he does not listen to reason.”
“Why must you reason with him? Who is he? What is his name?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what his name is. He’s but another savage that lives in these hills,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
The kitchen shelf, Jamie noticed, was also bare. There were no china plates, no crystal wineglasses. And on the mantel above the fireplace, no silver candlesticks. It looked as if she had packed away anything of value.
“What happened to your clock?” he asked.
Her back to him, Mrs. Moss stilled. “It broke.”
“I’ve a man who might fix it. Ned Campbell is as good with his hands as anyone I’ve known—”
“It is beyond repair,” she said shortly.
“Allow me a wee peek—”
