The Highland Dragon's Lady by Isabel Cooper

didn’t usually help a situation.
    “Bring it over into the light,” said Pater. When Edmund had obliged him, he squinted down at the nameplate. “There’s certainly a J here, and an M for the last name—though that’s no surprise. She’d be a Morgan, at least by marriage.”
    “That might be a place to start,” said Mr. Heselton, speaking up for the first time since they’d gathered in the drawing room. “The church records don’t go back more than a hundred years or so—there was a fire—but we could look in the village cemetery. She was one of the family, and the gravestones were good quality. Hers would probably have lasted.”
    “I’ll have one of the girls polish the nameplate,” said Mrs. Talbot-Jones, “and we’ll see what’s to be seen. Reggie, do you think you should lie down?”
    “No,” said Reggie decisively. “Did you and Miss Heselton find anything?”
    “A book,” said Mater, her mouth tightening at the memory. “Or part of one. Evidently it’d been in a fire, like your records,” she added, glancing at Mr. Heselton. “However, it looks to be a journal, and a rather old one at that, and the remaining pages might well be useful. It’s mostly in French, though, and I think some Latin as well.”
    “I don’t think any of the family came from France,” said Mr. Heselton, frowning as he tried to remember.
    “Wouldn’t have to be French themselves,” said Reggie. “You write foreign when you want to make it harder for people to snoop.” The others turned to her, curious, and she shrugged. “Girls’ school. Six years.”
    “Can you read it, then?” Pater asked.
    Reggie shook her head. “I never bothered keeping a journal. Or reading other people’s.”
    “That speaks very well of you,” said Miss Heselton. “So many girls these days are furtive and dishonest.”
    Making rude noises probably wouldn’t pass, even if Mater was inclined to be sympathetic right now, and Reggie couldn’t explain that she’d merely had her fill of other people’s heads by the time she’d started school. She sought refuge in her tea.
    It was only a brief respite. “But you took French,” said Mater.
    “I can order off a menu and buy a hat,” said Reggie. “I’m lost at reading.”
    “George can read both,” said Miss Heselton, gesturing to her brother, “but it’s quite a daunting job for one person, and we might not have very much time. I thought that, perhaps…” She trailed off, looking at Edmund. “Your father says you went to Eton and Oxford.”
    “Went, yes. But it’s been years, and I only passed Latin by the skin of my teeth.”
    “And the cuffs of your sleeves,” said Reggie.
    “I’m glad to hear your time—and school fees—were so well-spent,” said Pater, but he was grinning just a shade less obviously than Edmund. “And I’m afraid too much time might have passed for me as well, though I’d certainly be glad to make the attempt.”
    “Halves, then,” said Colin, “as I’m a fair hand with both. At least until we’re more certain about the book. Unless the ladies upstairs can assist us.”
    “Mrs. Osbourne won’t be well enough to help,” said Mr. Heselton, “and I wouldn’t want to tax Miss Browne further. Thirds it is—assigned as you like, Mr. MacAlasdair, once we see the book. At least we’ve profited by the afternoon’s…adventures.”
    “We might have,” said Mrs. Talbot-Jones. “It could be that neither of the things we found has anything to do with the ghost. Let’s not get our hopes up too quickly.”
    Growing up, Reggie had heard that warning more times than she could count. Mater had cautioned her against expecting too much from the weather, from new horses, from balls and friends and men. More often than Reggie would have preferred, she’d been right.
    “It’s our only place to start right now,” she said. “Going forward is better than doing nothing.”

Thirteen
    His actions are a disgrace to our blood and our name. As