face, so close to his own as they looked through the window. “I was planning to take my meals at Miss Grant’s Tearoom, if I can work out a paying arrangement with the proprietor.”
She smiled at that, and he admired her crooked incisor. Amazing how a woman with so many interesting and varied elements to one face could look so charming. Douglas wondered again what was wrong with the men in Scotland. Didn’t they understand that absolute perfection becomes tedious?
“We can do that,” she said, stepping back because he probably was standing too close.
“Who owns this house?” he asked.
She pointed across the river to the mansion just below the castle ruins. “Lady Telford.” She glanced back at her tearoom. “Matters are well enough in hand there. I like to give Maeve more responsibility. Let us pay a visit on Lady Telford.”
“We will walk slowly, because I want to you explain to me what is wrong with Edgar,” he said, flattered by her concern and knowing her well enough in their brief acquaintance to know that idle moments with Olive Grant were few indeed.
She nodded, and he saw the trouble return to her eyes. She pointed to a stone bench on the other side of the bridge. “We can’t walk that slow, sir. I have such a story for you.”
Chapter 12
W hat do you know of Scotland ?” she asked, after he had wiped wet leaves off the bench and she seated herself.
“A broad question,” he began, smiling a little, until he saw how serious she was. “Not much. I am from East Anglia—Norfolk—and my father was a cooper. I went to sea at twelve years, and my life has been taken up with war ever since.”
She gave him a look of great compassion, which made him wonder if Olive Grant’s role in life was to do battle with all the evil in the world. He knew that was impossible, but something in her expression assured him that she was going to spend her life trying.
“Olive, I am fine,” he assured her.
“No, you are not,” she said just as promptly. “Are you even aware that I have been in your room every night since you arrived and put my hand on your shoulder until you are quiet again?”
He felt his face go hot. “I remember the first night. I do apologize.”
“No need,” she said. “What control can you possibly have over your mind when you sleep? Don’t tell me tales, Douglas Bowden. Don’t ever do that.”
He nodded, sufficiently chastened. All the more reason for him to find his own dwelling quickly, no matter how temporary. To his relief, she plunged immediately into the story he wanted.
“Have you at least heard of the Clearance?” she asked, turning slightly on the bench to give him her entire attention.
“Vaguely,” he began, not a little embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. “Something about landowners far to the north of your country changing from cattle to raising to sheep? It sounds simple enough.”
“Who tended those cattle?” she questioned.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, chagrined at his ignorance. “I obviously know more about splinting legs than I do about Scotland.”
“For centuries, the Highland clan chiefs parceled out land, small holdings their people rented, to raise cattle and paltry crops. Somehow, through the years, the chiefs came to control the land and kept their own people in near bondage.”
“I didn’t know,” Douglas said.
“No one pays much attention to the poor,” she said. He saw a militant look in her eyes, which told him worlds about her father and his ministry in the Church of Scotland. “Yes, the Highlands were overpopulated, and yes the people were more ignorant than we are here in the Lowlands, but nothing can excuse what happened next. It is still going on, even as we sit here.”
A seagull swooped close to the bridge and screamed. Douglas jumped.
“I’ve watched you around sudden noises,” Olive said.
He knew better than to comment. She had him. Between sudden noises and nightmares, she had him.
“It all
She smiled at that, and he admired her crooked incisor. Amazing how a woman with so many interesting and varied elements to one face could look so charming. Douglas wondered again what was wrong with the men in Scotland. Didn’t they understand that absolute perfection becomes tedious?
“We can do that,” she said, stepping back because he probably was standing too close.
“Who owns this house?” he asked.
She pointed across the river to the mansion just below the castle ruins. “Lady Telford.” She glanced back at her tearoom. “Matters are well enough in hand there. I like to give Maeve more responsibility. Let us pay a visit on Lady Telford.”
“We will walk slowly, because I want to you explain to me what is wrong with Edgar,” he said, flattered by her concern and knowing her well enough in their brief acquaintance to know that idle moments with Olive Grant were few indeed.
She nodded, and he saw the trouble return to her eyes. She pointed to a stone bench on the other side of the bridge. “We can’t walk that slow, sir. I have such a story for you.”
Chapter 12
W hat do you know of Scotland ?” she asked, after he had wiped wet leaves off the bench and she seated herself.
“A broad question,” he began, smiling a little, until he saw how serious she was. “Not much. I am from East Anglia—Norfolk—and my father was a cooper. I went to sea at twelve years, and my life has been taken up with war ever since.”
She gave him a look of great compassion, which made him wonder if Olive Grant’s role in life was to do battle with all the evil in the world. He knew that was impossible, but something in her expression assured him that she was going to spend her life trying.
“Olive, I am fine,” he assured her.
“No, you are not,” she said just as promptly. “Are you even aware that I have been in your room every night since you arrived and put my hand on your shoulder until you are quiet again?”
He felt his face go hot. “I remember the first night. I do apologize.”
“No need,” she said. “What control can you possibly have over your mind when you sleep? Don’t tell me tales, Douglas Bowden. Don’t ever do that.”
He nodded, sufficiently chastened. All the more reason for him to find his own dwelling quickly, no matter how temporary. To his relief, she plunged immediately into the story he wanted.
“Have you at least heard of the Clearance?” she asked, turning slightly on the bench to give him her entire attention.
“Vaguely,” he began, not a little embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. “Something about landowners far to the north of your country changing from cattle to raising to sheep? It sounds simple enough.”
“Who tended those cattle?” she questioned.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, chagrined at his ignorance. “I obviously know more about splinting legs than I do about Scotland.”
“For centuries, the Highland clan chiefs parceled out land, small holdings their people rented, to raise cattle and paltry crops. Somehow, through the years, the chiefs came to control the land and kept their own people in near bondage.”
“I didn’t know,” Douglas said.
“No one pays much attention to the poor,” she said. He saw a militant look in her eyes, which told him worlds about her father and his ministry in the Church of Scotland. “Yes, the Highlands were overpopulated, and yes the people were more ignorant than we are here in the Lowlands, but nothing can excuse what happened next. It is still going on, even as we sit here.”
A seagull swooped close to the bridge and screamed. Douglas jumped.
“I’ve watched you around sudden noises,” Olive said.
He knew better than to comment. She had him. Between sudden noises and nightmares, she had him.
“It all
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