“Precisely,” Philip concurred. “William and Michael’s grandfather had largely ignored the family’s estate, leaving his wife and heir at the castle while he took up residence in Edinburgh and London. And by the time their father, the old Lord Dalmay, came into his inheritance, it was too late to undo the damage the years of neglect had wrought.”
I gazed out across the steel-blue water of the firth, close enough now to smell its brine. “I always remembered Lord Dalmay as a rather stern man. Constantly lecturing us on our duty.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “He wasn’t keen on the idea of his children wasting their time trampling about the countryside or racing boats down the Tweed. Alana, Trevor, and I knew to avoid Swinton Lodge whenever he was in residence. Which was, fortunately, not so often.” My grin widened. “When she was still alive, Lady Dalmay would hang a pennant out one of the south-facing windows when her husband had gone, signaling my mother the ‘all clear.’”
Philip chuckled.
But my face fell as I remembered. “Even in the few months between my mother’s death and hers, she continued to fly her pennant for us when Lord Dalmay was away. Though, instead of bright red, it was black.” I conjured the image of Lady Dalmay, having trouble seeing any of her with clarity except her kind, gray eyes, so like her sons’. “Lady Dalmay was a caring lady. I suppose you could have called her a sort of surrogate parent to us.”
“Yes,” Philip murmured. “Alana admitted as much to me once.”
I glanced at him, knowing I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear so. But Alana rarely spoke of that time. Our mother’s death had been difficult for her, more difficult than it had been for Trevor and me, perhaps because of her age—twelve, the very cusp of womanhood—or because she was so like our beautiful, spirited mother. She did not get along well with our more serious-minded father, which couldn’t have helped matters. Without our mother there to buffer for her, Alana and Father had butted heads like two rams in a pasture. Alana had exasperated and troubled our father. Trevor had tried his patience, while still managing to make him proud. And I had merely baffled him.
That Alana had talked about this with Philip should have been expected. They had been married for eight years, and her husband was her closest confidant and friend. Closer even than me. I ignored the twinge of jealousy I felt at that thought. I certainly didn’t begrudge my sister that intimacy with her husband, but it made me all the more aware of what I lacked.
Philip patted my hand where it lay on his arm and guided me forward down the path. It skirted the hulk of Banbogle Castle and then joined a wide, trampled dirt lane that stretched north and south down the shoreline. I commented on the well-worn trail.
“It’s an old road,” he explained. “From a time long before the foundations of Banbogle Castle were laid. The Dalmays have always allowed the people in the neighboring villages and estates to make use of it. It’s sort of a tradition. The vantage is simply too pretty to keep to themselves.”
And indeed it was. The view out over the water of the Firth of Forth was magnificent. The morning sun reflected off the waves, sparkling like gems in the clear light. The northern coast across the estuary was rockier, but the same brilliant autumn colors swathed its forests. High above, soft wisps of clouds had streamed out across the pale blue sky, while crying kittiwakes and razorbills wheeled about below them. In the distance, I could see a small island resting in the middle of the water, not far from the southern shoreline. It was too close to be Inchkeith. The isolated island where Dr. Sloane’s asylum was located stood too far out in the firth to be seen easily from this shore. And thank goodness for that. I wasn’t sure I could have stomached the sight.
The waves lapped playfully against the shore, inviting us to remove our shoes and run through them, but I knew the waters coming in off the North Sea were never warm, and with the stiff breeze whipping across the inlet, stinging my cheeks, they would be downright icy. I shivered at the thought and Philip glanced at me in query. Not wanting him to cut our walk short, I smiled in reassurance and hugged my arms tighter to my body to conserve warmth.
He nodded and we returned to our contemplation of the bay. I knew I had a limited amount of time in which to discuss William with him before we returned to the house and Gage sought him out, but it was difficult to gather my thoughts. And in the end, it was Philip who broke our companionable silence.
“I’m taking Alana and the children to Edinburgh this afternoon.”
I swung my gaze from the water to his troubled visage.
“I would like you to join us,” he added, turning his head to look down at me.
For a moment, I was speechless. I had not expected him to say anything of the like, and I couldn’t quite form a response.
“I realize that you care for the Dalmays, we all do, but this . . .” He shook his head. “This is too much. Alana’s health is already worrying without the added anxiety of sleeping under the Dalmays’ roof.”