Carrying a lantern to light the way, Andrew led us to the family chapel, a narrow Gothic structure attached to the west wing of the hall. Generations of MacLarens were entombed there, and I’d never seen a darker, damper place in all my life. The weeping granite walls seemed to close in upon us, and the chill air made me wish I’d worn something warmer than my short-sleeved tea-party dress. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could rest in peace there. I could almost hear their bones rattling from the cold.
Footsteps echoing on the uneven stone floor, we wound our way past recumbent lords and ladies to the far side of the chapel, where a large bronze plaque had been set into the wall. Many names had been inscribed on it, and many dates, and down in one dim corner Bobby’s name and birth date appeared above the words: LOST IN DEFENCE OF THE REALM, 9 SEPTEMBER 1940.
“My brother had just turned twenty,” Andrew said. His voice rang hollowly in the chamber. On impulse, I bent down to touch the inscription, and when the locket slipped from the neck of my dress to hang glinting in the lantern light, I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt Andrew’s eyes on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, straightening quickly, “I didn’t mean to—”
He passed a hand across his face and seemed to shrink in on himself. “If you will excuse me… I have had a very tiring day.” Slowly, painfully, all agility gone, he made his way back to the entrance. His valet and the housekeeper were waiting there, as though Andrew’s visit to the chapel were a nightly ritual. Andrew leaned heavily on the strong arm of his valet, a stocky young man with broad shoulders.
“I will show you to your rooms now,” said the housekeeper. She was a sharp-eyed older woman in a starched black dress, and her words seemed to be a statement of fact, not a suggestion.
“Yes,” said Andrew. “You go ahead with Mrs. Hume. We’ll speak again in the morning.” He started off, then hesitated, and turned to Bill. “There’s good fishing nearby, if you’re up early enough.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“It’s no imposition,” said Andrew. “Colin and I are usually up at first light. We’ll find a rod for you, young man, and a pair of waders.”
“In that case, Bill would be happy to accept your invitation,” I said, treading lightly on Bill’s foot.
“Uh, yes,” he said. “Yes, thank you, I’d be delighted.”
“Good,” said Andrew, with a wan smile. “Colin will rouse you bright and early, and perhaps we’ll have fresh salmon for breakfast.” With one hand on Colin’s shoulder and the other on his cane, Andrew made his way slowly down the hall.
The housekeeper led us up the dark-paneled main staircase to adjacent second-floor bedrooms overlooking the loch. She indicated the location of the nearest lavatory and bathroom, then added, in a cold, unfriendly voice, “Mr. MacLaren sometimes has difficulty sleeping. It would be appreciated, therefore, if you did not disturb his rest while you are here. Should you require assistance during your visit, you may use the bellpulls in your rooms to summon one of us.” She paused, and her brown eyes narrowed to slits. “There is always someone awake in MacLaren Hall. Good night.”
We nodded obediently; then Bill went into his room and I entered mine. I half expected to hear a key turn in the lock, shutting me in for the night. Mrs. Hume’s words had sounded more like a warning than an offer of hospitality: you are being watched; don’t stray from your rooms. Creepy, but also tantalizing. Someone was afraid to let us roam MacLaren Hall unattended.
My room had a funereal charm to it, with shoulder-high wainscoting, a single dim brass lamp, and grim Victorian furniture. Dark green velvet drapes blocked the view, and a green brocade quilt covered the rock-hard bed. Everything was spotless, though, and well maintained. Museum pieces, I thought, fingering the black tassel on the bellpull. When enough time had elapsed for Mrs. Hume to go back downstairs, I tiptoed over to knock at Bill’s door. He opened it, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside. He seemed somewhat peeved.
“Waders? At dawn? What have you gotten me into?”
“Keep your voice down.” I steered him over to sit on a low, burgundy plush couch at the opposite end of the room. “I have a feeling that Mrs. Hume’s hearing is excellent.”
He glared belligerently at the door, but lowered his voice. “Lori, I’ll make a fool of myself out there. I don’t know the first thing about fishing.”
“I have complete confidence in your ability to fake it,” I said cheerfully. “Playing fisherman can’t be all that much harder than playing chauffeur.”
“Are you still mad about that? Lori—”
“I’m not mad about anything. You’ll do fine. Just take your cues from Andrew and let Colin bait your hook. And while you’re out there, suggest a walk around the grounds, maybe a hike up to the falcons’ nest.”
“More hiking?” Bill groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I still have blisters from Pouter’s Hill.”
“Then put on an extra pair of socks,” I said sternly. “Listen, Bill, do whatever you can to keep Andrew and Colin away from the house tomorrow.”