Page 14 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“Dinner is ready,” Fiona says. “Please follow me to the dining room, and make yourselves comfortable. The first course will be served promptly.”
If the walk through the gardens was surprisingly pleasant, dinner is unsurprisingly awful. Oh, the food is excellent. And I give Fiona full props for playing the perfect hostess, deftly but politely cutting off her groom when he gets out of hand. Except, even with help from his best man—Sinclair—they can only mitigate the worst of it.
I’ll admit to being baffled by Sinclair, increasingly so as the meal continues. He seems like a genuinely nice guy. He clearly recognizes that Cranston is an ass, which makes me wonder how the hell the two men are such good friends.
Cranston has chosen Gray as his primary target. He finds Gray’s detective work hilarious, as if it’s an amateur hobby. I suspect he also uses it to insult McCreadie. McCreadie is the professional detective, and yet Gray is the one Cranston zeroes in on, with endless suggestions of silly mysteries he can solve.
Even Cranston soon tires of the “fun” and turns to more normal conversation. If I’m interpreting correctly, the other guest—James Frye—was another classmate of the groom’s, along with Gray, McCreadie, and Sinclair. Frye is here with his wife, who is apparently too exhausted from the trip to join us for dinner. As Gray said, McCreadie’s parents will be staying elsewhere, and they have not yet arrived. Nor have Cranston’s parents.
For now, it’s just the younger generation, their pasts intertwined in ways that have me suspecting this is why Frye’s wife bowed out of dinner. When Cranston isn’t mocking Gray, he’s making inside jokes that I need to smile at awkwardly. Isla joins me in that. She knows everyone here, but she doesn’t know them well. Fortunately, the two of us are seated beside each other and when the conversation trips too far down memory lane, we talk together, with Fiona sometimes joining in.
When dinner ends, Isla invites me to a “turn about the gardens.” I have a feeling we’ll be making very good use of those gardens.
“It is past dark,” Cranston says when he overhears us talking.
“We will take a lantern,” Isla says, her tone gentle but firm.
“Might I join?” Fiona says. “I have a lantern we can—”
“Absolutely not,” Cranston says. “The grounds are far too dangerous for you ladies to be traipsing about in the dark.”
I want to make some sharp comment about the bear traps, but I keep my mouth shut. Let Gray handle that. I only say, smoothly, “We will take care, sir, and—”
“And no,” he says. “I am the host, and I have spoken. There will be no leaving the house past dark. Now, who is up for charades?”
I skip charades. So do Isla and Gray. McCreadie obviously felt obligated to join in, but the rest of us beg off after our long trip. Unfortunately, that means we really do need to retire, and Gray can’t join us in Isla’s room to chat. Isla and I stay up for a while, but soon she’s yawning, so I head up to my attic quarters to find Alice sound asleep.
While it has been a long day—starting at dawn and ending past midnight—I dozed on the coach ride and now I can’t sleep. At first, I’m chilly, so I pull out an extra blanket. Then I’m overheated, so I crack open the window next to me. Is that my stomach growling? I should have snuckfood up for later. My throat feels parched. Why didn’t I bring up a glass of water? Do I need to use the chamber pot?
I’m not really hot or cold or hungry or thirsty or in need of the bathroom. I’m fussing, attributing my sleeplessness to everything except the two actual causes. One, I’m not tired. Two, I’m worrying about everyone else.
How torturous is this trip for McCreadie? Is Cranston really just poking at Gray, or is it outright bullying? Isla seems tense—is that just empathy for McCreadie or is she uncomfortable being among people she doesn’t know well? Is she uncomfortable being around Violet and the reminder of how McCreadie hurt her? Is Alice okay? I should have made sure she wasn’t having any problems with the other staff. What about Simon? I should have checked in on him at least once this evening.
I’m in that kind of mood where, once I start worrying about people I care for, that worry seeps out to those I just met. How awkward is this for Violet? She seems fragile, and being here with McCreadie must be hell, especially with her asshole brother around. And speaking of Cranston, is Fiona ready to be married to him? She’s so young, and I can tell myself she understands the way of things, butdoesshe?
Yep, I’m fretting. It’s dark and quiet and I have nothing to do but churn through other people’s problems, as if they’re mysteries that I need to solve.
I know things have gone too far when I start peeking at that closed door with its warning signs. I’ve already investigated it. I know what’s in there. But in the cold dark of night, my mind starts playing tricks, whispering there could be something behind those stacks of linens.
Finally, I give up on sleeping. I know that’s the best thing. Get up and do something instead of lying there, letting my brain spin. But where do I go? I’m not at home. Alice is sleeping right beside me. I can’t light the lamp and read. I can’t wander the house either. While Gray considers me his guest, my attic bed says that, to everyone else, I’m a servant. I can’t curl up with a book in the library. I can’t even go out for a walk with those damned traps everywhere.
I catch a voice that sounds like McCreadie’s, and that has me rolling out of bed. He’s speaking to someone, and it sounds like Fiona, which would be perfect. No one would think it improper if I was up at night talking with McCreadie and his sister.
I pull on my wrapper over my nightgown. It’s a full wrapper, with a night corset underneath. Wearing that, I’m not exactly “dressed” but it’s considered appropriate enough to be seen in, covering everything that needs to be covered. Soled house slippers complete the outfit.
When I reach the stairs, though, the male voice comes clearer, and I realize it’s Sinclair, whispering with Fiona on the next level down. That gives me pause—and ignites a spark of concern. The two of them being up togetherwouldbe improper, especially when he’ll be best man at her wedding in two days.
Then I hear what they’re saying.
“You are concerned about her,” Fiona whispers. “You may always speak to me about such things, Ezra. I am happy to help. I have heard her pacing, and I was concerned myself.”
“It is nerves,” Sinclair says. “Having her here with—” He clears his throat. “She will be fine.”
“Having her here with Hugh.” Fiona sighs. “I have made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
“Of course not. You want your brother at your wedding. That is natural.”
“I truly did not think it would be a problem,” Fiona says. “It has been nearly ten years and…” She sighs again. “I have made a dreadful mess and upset two people I care about very dearly.”
