*
I was surprised to find my lady’s maid waiting for me in my bedchamber. I eyed her suspiciously as she rose from her perch on the edge of the vanity seat, hands folded before her, wondering what had brought on this sudden change in routine. Normally I was forced to ring for the girl, sometimes several times, in order to get her to attend to me. Which suited me just fine. Nothing annoyed me more than to have someone flitting about me, forever fussing with my appearance.
But, then again, Lucy had been acting strangely ever since we’d left Gairloch Castle. I suspected she missed her rather large family and found the uncertainty of each new location more of a trial than she wished to admit. So I decided to overlook the oddity of her prompt presence and crossed the room to allow her to begin unfastening my dress.
However, after enduring several minutes of her sharp movements, jerking and jostling me as she unhooked my garments, it became apparent I was not going to be able to ignore her unusual behavior or the evidence from her overwrought sighs that she had something to say. “Out with it,” I ordered her, reaching out to steady myself on the bed pole. “What’s got you in such a dither?”
“I dinna like it here, m’lady.” Her thick brogue was heavy with condemnation. “Ye said we’d be stayin’ in Edinburgh t’night.”
“We were supposed to.” My voice wavered with each of Lucy’s tugs. “But unforeseen circumstances have impelled us to stop here, and we shall likely remain for a few more days.”
Lucy fell silent, but I could tell from the continued roughness of her movements that she was far from mollified. “Why don’t you like it here?” I persisted.
“It’s no’ for me to say,” she replied crisply.
I stifled a sigh. “I can’t do anything to make it better if you don’t tell me what the problem is,” I reminded her, feeling as if I were talking to my five-year-old niece.
“There’s naught ye can do, m’lady.” She pulled the dress up over my head without warning, smothering me in fabric.
I sputtered and turned to glare at her, but she had turned away to lay the costly gown over a chair. “Lucy, if you don’t tell me what has made you so determined to maim me . . .” I threatened.
She flushed and dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry, m’lady. It’s just . . .” She began to worry her hands, darting a look at me. “I ken I shouldn’ be listenin’ to the gossip. ’Tis likely just the maids flappin’ their tongues. But . . .” She glanced about her as if worried someone might be listening and then leaned toward me to murmur in an exaggerated whisper, “They say a madman lives here.” Her eyes were wide with fright. “And I dinna think my mum would like it if’n he murdered me in my sleep.”
I frowned. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Lucy had heard about Will from the Dalmay servants, but I was. Especially when he was spoken of in such terrifying terms. I wondered if Michael knew what rumors his staff were spreading. If he hoped to keep the truth about Will’s whereabouts during the last ten years a secret, he had best look to getting his servants in line first.
“There are no madmen living here,” I answered in a calm voice, unwilling to classify Will as such no matter what had been said. “And you are not going to be murdered in your sleep.” Of all the nonsense . . .
Lucy’s brow puckered doubtfully.
“William Dalmay is just . . . ill. He’s quite incapable of hurting you.”
She considered my words, as if trying to decide if I was telling her the truth. “So . . . they was just feedin’ me gammon? The other servants?”
I hesitated, not certain precisely what had been said belowstairs. “It’s likely.”
Lucy scowled, evidently not liking the idea of being manipulated for someone else’s amusement. At Gairloch Castle she had been related to half of the staff and had grown up with the rest. A bit of teasing there was all in good fun. Among strangers it was not so kind.
She helped me out of my corset and petticoats and then set about straightening the garments while I sat down to remove my stockings and slippers.
“That Mr. Gage is here, isna he?” she surprised me by asking when she returned to begin removing the pins from my hair. “His valet was at dinner.” From her fierce expression in the reflection of the mirror, I could tell she didn’t like the man.
“Was he the one who told you Mr. Dalmay was mad?”
“Nay. But he dinna correct them.”
“Then what is so distasteful about him?” I pressed.
Her mouth screwed up. “He’s a might too high in the instep.”
I smiled. “I’m afraid that’s how most valets are.”
“Barnes isna,” she said, referring to Philip’s manservant. “And neither are the men who serve the Dalmays.” She uncoiled my rope of hair and began dividing it into three sections to braid it.
“So you’ve met Mac,” I asked, curious to get her opinion on the ill-tempered man.