“Good question, Your Grace. But she could have got it in change at one of the booths. Young David says that she was wearin’ gloves on account of bein’ out around the cattle and such.”
“You could be right. She is very sensitive to animal hairs, as well as the sun, dust and anything else outside.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open, Your Grace, to see if anymore odd coins turn up.”
“Thank you, Constable. And let me know if there are any other odd happenings. We seem to be having a very odd spring.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I certainly will. Actually, there is one thing.”
“Oh?”
“Your Grace, there ha’not been any wolves in these parts for more’n a hunnert years. Yet they wuz howlin’ in the storm the other night. I thinks to myself, ‘just why have we got wolves all of a suttent?’ Then I thinks, maybe somebody brought home some wolf dogs?”
“Some dogs do howl like wolves. The castle dogs were howling last night. Perhaps they were what you heard.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think so, Your Grace. I’d know Fionn and Gertrude’s voices anywhere, an’ I heard them, too. I’m pretty sure this was different.”
Jonathan frowned slightly. “Keep listening. If they do it again, I might organize a hunt.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. If it’s all right, I’ll just let myself out. I might go down through the kitchen an’ have a word with Young David, if you don’t mind.”
“That will be quite all right, Constable. Thank you for letting me know. Oh, one thing more. What did you do with the coins?”
“I gave them to Mr. McAhmladhson for safe keeping, Your Grace. It seemed best.”
“Quite right. I’ll send them down for my banker to look at the next time someone is headed to Edinburgh.”
What can possibly be the meaning of all this? Wolves where there are no wolves, coins that are made from base metal, and my Duchess has apparently taken a lover. What will the world come to next?
Chapter 18
Sally Ann stood over the steaming tub of dish water and let the tears flow. No one would notice her back here in the dark corner of the kitchen. If they did, she could just say it was the lye in the soap making her eyes water. But who would care anyway?
She could go to Martha, but as the housekeeper she would be duty bound to go to the Duke and report her. She could go talk to Mr. Hammonds, who was Jill’s grandfather and who looked after all of them. But he would also be obliged to report her. She sure couldn’t go to that stuck-up French maid that was teaching Betty to “talk proper,” and definitely not to Betty, herself, who had been making eyes athim. Besides, who was she to be reporting senior staff, when she was just new? Who would believe her?
Hehad said they mustn’t ever use names, not even when thinking about each other because under the Scottish and English feudal systems, they were property. And property didn’t have names. It didn’t make much sense to her, because she got a nice wage from washing the Duke’s dishes, and she wasn’t just quite sure what a feudal system was. Anyway, he had made her feel so nice she hadn’t been paying much attention to his words. But then she told him that she was late with her Time, thinking he’d be a gentleman and do the Right Thing.
Well, she sure didn’t feel nice now. Her back hurt and her bruised stomach churned. She was sore in places she didn’t even know you could feel sore. She had bruises and scratches on her breasts and back. But who could she tell? He had laughed at her and shamed her. That horrible woman had offered to have a go at her with a knitting needle, and he had held her when she refused. She’d had to kick and even bite to get away. It was just luck that the cook had called for her right then, so they had to let her go. The bruises and scratches would heal, and she could get over the blow to her pride, but there were some things there just weren’t no getting over.
Sally Ann scoured out the last big pot, an iron cauldron that was three times as big as her own head. She grunted as she held it over the edge of the tub so she could scrub its insides. Then she sat it beside the fire to dry as it should, because no matter how you dried iron with a cloth, it rusted. Hefting that big old pot didn’t make her feel any better, but maybe it would take care of one of her biggest problems. She’d heard of girls going horse-back riding or jumping off haymows to take care of such. But she wasn’t at all sure any of that had worked. One thing was for sure, she wanted no part of the ugly knitting needle and she wasn’t going to drink the nasty potion her gave her.
Finally, she wiped the pot down with a bit of mutton fat to keep it from the damp. That was all she could do, and she was due for a break, she was.
“I’m going to walk down by the lake,” she announced to the room in general. When no one responded, she turned and walked out the door.
Outside, it was starting to blow up a storm. It looked to be one of those spring squalls that came up mostly out of nowhere. Sally Ann walked around to the front of the residence part of the castle and paused under the iron trellis that arched over the foot path leading down to the lake.
The water riffled under the attention of the wind. The rays of late afternoon sun cast the shadows of the mountains over the lake; their reflections seemed to dance. She could go dance with them. It was one way out of her unsolvable situation.
The minister at the Kirk taught that it was a mortal sin to commit suicide, even worse than committing murder. That was because you were, in effect, murdering yourself. Since you would then be dead, you would have no way to ask forgiveness. She would be doubly damned because she would not only be killing herself, she would be murdering her unborn child. But if she kept it, how would they live?
She understood what he wanted, but she just could not bring herself to do it. The babe was innocent, and even if the man had turned out to be a faithless Sassenach, she would love the little one as part of the best times they’d had.
But how would they live? The thought circled through her mind again. She would be turned off as soon as it was known that she was with child. Without a job and without a father to support them, how . . .
“Go ahead,” the wind whispered in her ear. “You are worthless scum anyway. You are only fit for a man to practice on, not to bear a child. Go on, walk into the lake. You know you want to.”
Sally Ann looked around, but she couldn’t see anyone. That was when the growling began. Awful growling that seemed to have words. Words like slut and slattern. Words like filth and worthless. It seemed to come from right behind her, then from either side of her. Sally Ann screamed, hiked up her skirts, and began to run.