Page 19 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
The woman Macrath introduced as his housekeeper, however, almost jolted her out of her restraint.
Her face was broad and square, her nose narrow and long. Her hair, brown threaded with gray, was arranged at the back of her head in a severe bun. Perhaps she normally wore a genial expression, but at the moment, twin vertical lines appeared between her deep set brown eyes, and her square lips were thin.
She was nearly Macrath’s height and sturdily built, dressed in a plaid skirt, a white bodice, and a length of the same plaid tossed over her shoulder and fastened with an oversized pin festooned with feathers. Virginia wondered if the woman was one of those affected to Highland dress. She’d been told that ever since the Queen first expressed her love of Scotland, all things Scottish were in vogue.
“This is Brianag,” he said. “She’ll show you to your rooms.” Turning to the housekeeper, he said, “The Rose Room, Brianag,”
Once more he glanced at Virginia. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ensure I’m acceptable to present company. Otherwise, I’m going to smell of ammonia.”
“Is that what it is?” she asked, smiling.
“We were experimenting with combining chemicals,” he said.
“It wasn’t dangerous, was it?”
After a quick glance at his housekeeper and Hannah, he only shook his head. A moment later he was gone, leaving the three of them standing there.
Without a word, Brianag turned and left the room. Virginia glanced at Hannah.
“Are we to follow her?”
“I don’t know, your ladyship.”
What a strange woman. Rather than wonder, she trailed after Brianag. A wise impulse, because the housekeeper was waiting at the base of the sweeping steps. She nodded at Virginia’s appearance, grabbed her plaid skirt with one fist and stomped up the steps.
With one more quick glance at Hannah, Virginia followed, the two of them climbing to the second floor. In the middle of the hallway, the housekeeper opened a door and entered. Evidently, she expected them to follow her inside, if the impatient look she gave them was any indication.
Virginia stood at the doorway of a sitting room papered in pale pink silk. A settee, upholstered in a rose pattern, was arranged in front of the carved black fireplace, and next to it a table and chair with a needlepoint footstool. On the far wall was a secretary, and several thriving plants in black urns. The room was so spacious there was ample room to walk, to swing one’s skirt, even perform a solitary waltz. She didn’t doubt the bedroom was as comfortable.
“The room is lovely,” she said. “But I haven’t put anyone out, have I? It looks like it’s been readied for an occupant.”
“At Drumvagen there’s a suite for the master and one for the mistress. This is the one set aside for the mistress. Himself had it decorated for his bride.”
Virginia stood silent for a moment, deciphering that news, Hannah at her side.
“He didn’t marry after all,” the woman added, frowning darkly at her.
Turning to survey the room again, she wondered if Macrath had created this suite for her. Was she the bride he hadn’t married?
How strange to feel so sad about it now.
Had he thought about her when he had the room furnished with rose patterned upholstery? Had he remembered her love of roses, her fondness for the shade of dark pink? Had he remembered she liked music boxes? Was that why the display case to her left was filled with seven of them? Had he, too, remembered her frustration about not being able to grow anything? Was that why the plants had been so lovingly tended they seemed to welcome her?
“You’ll be comfortable enough here,” the housekeeper said in a tone daring her to argue.
“Thank you, Mrs. ...” Her words trailed away.
“My name is Brianag,” the woman said.
“Yes, well ...” Virginia felt flustered and not a little confused. Was she supposed to address her as Brianag? “Is it a Scottish name?” she asked.
“Would you be thinking it anything else? Welsh?”
Brianag did not approve of her.
“Will you be staying long?”
She hadn’t expected the question, especially from Brianag.
