Page 41 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
All things were more manageable once you’d eaten. She’d find the dining car and order something comforting.
Her life was in a mess but if she was to sort it out, porridge—hot and sweet—and a steaming pot of tea would be a good place to start.
Consuminga generous helping of sausages and grilled tomatoes lifted Ursula’s spirits. As did the toasted muffins. And the porridge, served with cream and honey.
Meanwhile, the sun rose, flashing into view between the eastern mountains.
Still, a knot continued to pull tight within her chest.
Ursula sighed, wondering if the waiter might be prevailed upon to supply more tea, but he seemed to have disappeared altogether.
The carriage was surprisingly empty but for herself, an elderly lady and a party of three clergymen at the far end.
Ursula was staring dolefully into her empty cup when a kindly voice carried to her ear.
“I’ve plenty in my pot if you’re still in need of whetting the whistle.”
With her chin dipped to peer over her reading spectacles, the owner of the voice was eyeing Ursula.
“And the company would be welcome.” She inclined her head towards the seat opposite and, with a grateful smile, Ursula gathered her belongings.
“Urania Abernathy,” said the lady, proffering a hand much wrinkled, though steady enough in pouring the tea. She delved into the large handbag at her elbow and plucked out a hip flask, adding a tipple of something dark and potent to the darjeeling.
“One needs extra warming at my age.” Miss Abernathy took an appreciative sip, then burrowed again into the bag’s depths. Withdrawing a bar of Fry’s chocolate cream, she broke off two segments.
She and Ursula sat in companionable silence for a few moments, watching through the windows as the Highland scenery whisked by.
“You’re visiting family?” asked Ursula, having sucked away the last of the soft-centred fondant.
“Someone’s family, yes—but not my own.” Holding up a piece of notepaper, Miss Abernathy squinted at the close-written script. “I’d intended some time with my sister on the Dorset coast, but this arrived a fortnight ago. A recommendation through Lady Forres. Most unusual, and generous remuneration. My little holiday shall wait until the new year.”
Ursula smiled politely and drank her tea.
Of course, Miss Abernathy must be a governess. Not just her costume—of plain, worsted wool—but her manner proclaimed it.
There, but for my inheritance, go I.Ursula inwardly shuddered. Children were not her forte. The idea of dedicating her life to making them sit up straight and learn their manners was too horrendous to contemplate.
“The grandson of Earl Dunrannoch.” Miss Abernathy folded the letter away and rested her hands in her lap. “I’ve made a special request for the train to stop at Gorton, on the edge of the moor. I only hope that the carriage is waiting. One can get so cold standing about.”
Miss Abernathy’s pale blue eyes regarded Ursula. “And you? Family in the Highlands? I know most of the older seats.”
“A friend.” Ursula was seized by sudden panic. “And her family live very quietly.” She gave a tight smile. “Like hermits. Almost.”
Urania Abernathy’s eyebrows rose into the quiff of her silver hair.
“How unusual!”
She said nothing more, merely settling back to close her eyes.
The contents of the hip flask must have been rather potent for, the next minute, she was gently snoring.
Ursula returned her gaze to the great outdoors. She’d always wanted to visit the Highlands, and here it was—looking just as windswept as she’d imagined. Mile after mile of emptiness. Nothing but the moorlands and the mountains and the huge, open sky. Where habitation did come into view, it was modest indeed. The cottages, scarlet-roofed and white-washed, looked large enough to contain only a single room.
What was Daphne’s place called? Kintochlochie? She’d described it many times, bewailing fireplaces that refused to draw—or belched smoke, draughty corridors and windows that rattled with the wind. It had sounded terribly romantic, apart from having to eat haggis, which didn’t appeal at all.
Daphne’s last letter had mentioned a new beau—the heir to a turkey farming empire, in Norfolk no less. Not a mountain in sight. She’d seemed nothing but excited at the prospect, with no words of remorse at having to leave behind all this wild gloriousness.
Ursula’s stomach churned, threatening to bring a reappearance of her breakfast.
