Bride of the Solway by JOANNA MAITLAND Page B

but part of his brain continued to puzzle over Miss Elliott, her brother, and all the extraordinary things Ross had learned about that family. Fraser, of course, had been as good as his word. Ross now knew that Cassandra Elliott was the daughter of a tyrant father and a lunatic mother.
    No. That was not fair. Her mother had been confined to an asylum by her husband and had died there. But Fraser had not been able to state with certainty that the woman was actually mad. Ross knew of too many families who confined relatives in asylums for reasons other than madness. Given the powers that men had over wives and children, the Bedlam provided all too easy a prison for the difficult, the imperfect, or the simply unwanted.
    Ross had set Fraser on to discover what the true reasons were. With luck, he would soon have something worthwhile to report. What he had discovered about the brother had merely confirmed Ross's own conclusions. The man was bad, through and through. He was a drinker and a gambler. He was a regular customer in all the local whorehouses. And he was said to be involved in smuggling. Considering the extent of his debts—which Fraser had also reported—Elliott seemed to be a singularly unsuccessful smuggler.
    Miss Elliott, in contrast, was apparently none of these things, possibly because she had spent so many years in a fashionable Edinburgh seminary, well away from the influences of her father and brother. She was believed to be well educated and well read; and she had been in charge of running the household at Langrigg for several years, since just before the death of her father. According to Fraser, the gentry in Dumfries viewed Miss Elliott as something of a recluse. She was rarely seen in the town and did not make calls. Moreover, the ladies of Dumfries were not made welcome if they visited Langrigg House. Miss Elliott herself was a perfect hostess, but her brother was always in attendance and he made callers feel uneasy. Fraser had been able to learn of no one who had visited twice.
    It was a truly strange household. Ross's curiosity was piqued. If he could persuade Miss Elliott to walk with him, tete-a-tete , he might be able to discover the answers to some of his many questions.
    Ross's conscience smote him then. Aye, he knew well enough that it was more than idle curiosity. He must admit that he was sorry for the girl. And that he would help her if he could. Her life must be intolerable. It was only right that a gentleman should feel compassion.
    That was all it was. Nothing more. Just compassion.
     
    Cassie sat alone by the fire, stitching methodically. In, out. In, out. The colonel, the captain; the colonel, the captain. In, out; in out. She could not decide. Which of them would she dare to confide in?
    The colonel was older, fatherly. He might deal with a father's care. Then again, he might react with a father's horror at what she was doing.
    The captain was younger. Cassie recognised at that moment that she knew practically nothing about Captain Graham. The colonel had spoken for him—that was in his favour —but he might be a gambler and a drunkard, just like James. How would she ever know?
    Who to trust? In, out; in, out. She might as well leave it to chance.
    If the opportunity offered in conversation with either of them, she must seize it. For, by tomorrow evening, she would be back in her prison at Langrigg House.

    Colonel Anstruther brought his teacup back himself. 'It is still a beautiful evening, Miss Elliott. Would you care for a stroll in the garden? I can send a servant for your shawl, if you wish.'
    Cassie rose, smiling up at him. 'I came prepared, sir.' She indicated a fine Norwich shawl lying across the back of a chair by the fireplace. 'I was admiring the garden from my bedroom window and imagining just how it would be in the twilight. I am glad that the weather has remained so mild.'
    The colonel beamed. Then he fetched Cassie's shawl and draped it carefully round her shoulders. 'If