Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (38 page)

“As you wish, m’lord.”

Lyon turned to Mrs. MacAlister. “I
also want you to make a point of asking the countess’s opinions on everything.
From now on, she is to be consulted on all decisions that pertain to the
household here at Baronsford—the menus, the seating arrangements for dinners,
the purchase of linens, the choice of wine, everything.”

“Aye, m’lord. Not unhappy with me,
I pray.”

“Hardly, Mrs. MacAlister. There is
no better housekeeper in the entire British empire.”

“Thank ye, m’lord.”

“Conferring with her should be no
hardship. You will find dealing with Lady Aytoun quite different than…than with
your previous mistress. I am leaving everything to your good judgment to make
her feel welcome here.”

He turned to Campbell next. “You
will make sure that there is no idle talk by the servants in front of her. No
comparisons with Emma will be made regarding her ladyship’s actions or dress or
conduct. Millicent is her own woman, and everyone shall treat her as such. I
know she is English, but there is no finer woman anywhere, and I want the
household to recognize that.” 

Not a word was voiced by either,
and Lyon looked from one face to the next.

“Emma Douglas Aytoun is dead,” he
said flatly. “It is time we laid her ghost to rest. There is a new mistress of Baronsford.” 

****

Millicent stayed up in their
apartments as long as she could. Lyon had told her that he was planning to
spend most of the morning at the village. She asked for a breakfast tray to be
sent up, thinking to stay put for the time he was gone. But after writing a
letter to Mrs. Page and Mr. Gibbs, she found her attention was continually
wandering to the window and the gardens and the lake and the blue sky slowly
breaking through the clouds.

Finally losing her battle against
temptation, Millicent had Bess help her into some riding clothes and stepped
out of their rooms. A young servant hurrying down the hall careened right into
her.

“Och, m’lady, there ye be.” The
girl curtsied. “Mrs. MacAlister sent me to fetch ye. She was wondering if she could
have few minutes of yer time this afternoon to go over some menus for dinners
and such for the next few days.”

“Tell Mrs. MacAlister I shall put
aside as much time as she likes.” She started off down the hall with the
servant beside her. “I was planning to go for a ride this morning, but I could
go later if you think she prefers to speak to me now.”   

“Nay, m’lady. At your convenience,
I’m sure. With the house all helter-skelter as ‘tis this morning, I’m certain
Mrs. MacAlister—”

“Is there a problem?”

“I should say there is, mum, though
I wouldn’t know what for. But they’re tearing through the east wing and the
drawing rooms and the rooms in the old tower and rearranging the portraits and
the closets as if the king himself lost his crown and couldn’t find it.” The
young woman shook her head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m thinking Mrs. MacAlister
shan’t be having time to even scratch her head while the place is turned upside
down.”

“And you have no idea what the
reason might be for all the activity?”

The servant hesitated, then looked
about her and lowered her voice. “We hear his lordship laid down the law this
morning.”

“The law?”

“Aye, m’lady. We hear he was not
pleased that the last Lady Aytoun’s things were still about. He said to have
everything of hers plucked out and thrown away. He says he has no wish to see
anything around Baronsford that reminds him of his old wife.”

They were at the top of the stairs,
and Millicent’s gaze was drawn to the place where Emma’s portrait had been
hanging the day before. It was gone now, and other paintings had been shuffled
about to fill the space.

Uncertainty mixed with a touch of
guilt washed through her. She needed to talk to him—to ask why he had given
such directions. Last night Millicent had felt that they had successfully
passed through an important threshold in their marriage. It had been so
wonderful to speak one’s mind, to say what the heart was feeling.    

Millicent started down the steps.
“Please tell Mrs. MacAlister I’d be delighted to speak to her this afternoon.”

At the bottom, the servant
disappeared into another section of the house, and Millicent asked one of the
doormen if either Mr. Truscott or Howitt were around. She was told that the
earl’s secretary had gone with his lordship into the village this morning, but
that Mr. Truscott was in the courtyard at this very instant, ready to ride out
himself.

Millicent hurried out and found him
there, giving instructions to one of the grooms.

“Good morning, Walter. May I ride
to the village with you?”

The tall Scotsman brought the head
of his horse around.

“Of course, Millicent. And good day to you. I shall have a carriage made ready at once.”

“No, I should like to ride along,
if it is all the same to you.”

“As you wish, mum.” He nodded to
the groom, who ran off to have a horse brought up.

“I was wondering,” Millicent
started again, determined to speak her mind. “Would it be too much out of our
way if we were to ride by the cliffs overlooking the river? I should very much
like to see where the accident happened.”

*****

Platt was beginning to feel like a
criminal being led to the dock. He was led by two footmen from the carriage in
the courtyard to the door where three liveried servants who took his coat and
hat and gloves and escorted him to a giant Highlander who glowered down at him
with open hostility. This Mr. Gibbs, as he was addressed, said nothing, but
gestured with a jerk of the head for the lawyer to follow. With the three
servants flanking him, Platt hurried to keep up with the man.

This was not Platt’s first visit to
Melbury Hall. Some four years ago, while Squire Wentworth had still been alive,
the lawyer had come here on business on behalf of Jasper Hyde. The cordial
reception he’d received that day was far different from the one he was getting
now.

“Ye’ll keep to the point,” the
Highlander growled over his shoulder as he marched Platt through the house. “Ye
will speak only when ye are asked to speak, and ye will hold your tongue and
listen otherwise. D’ye understand?”

“My word,” Platt huffed. “I cannot
say but I take grave exception to such rude—”

Gibbs whirled on the lawyer,
bending and glaring into his face. “I care naught for your exception or your
grave, but ye
will
hold your tongue. D’ye understand?”

“Indeed! Indeed, sir,” Platt
spluttered, feeling his face redden with fear.

The lawyer fought to calm his
nerves. Perspiration was forming on his brow, and when the Highlander finally
turned away, Platt quickly mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He knew he
should stop right there and thoroughly upbraid the insolent servant for his
rude and barbaric manner, but the man was a Scot, after all, and what could one
expect?

“See here, sir. I do need to know
one thing.”

Gibbs said nothing.

“I know Lady Aytoun is in Scotland. With whom am I speaking today?”     

“The Dowager Countess Aytoun. And she will receive ye in the drawing room.” He opened the door and Platt hurried by him. “Mr.
Platt, mum.”

The lawyer’s confidence immediately
returned as he looked upon the frail old woman who was sitting with a blanket
on her lap on one of the cushioned chairs. Two young serving maids fluttered
about the room.
This
he could handle.

Lady Aytoun looked over the
spectacles perched on the end of her nose and studied him. “Mr. Platt?”

“Your servant, m’lady,” he said
with a deep bow.

“How kind of you to accept my
request that you delay this meeting.”

Platt had not thought he had much
choice.

“With my daughter-in-law already en
route to Scotland,” the old woman said in a meek voice, “and I somewhat under
the weather, if you will excuse the expression, I was certainly not ready to
receive any company before.”

“I perfectly understand, m’lady.”

“Now, please do not stand by the
door, sir.” She pointed to a chair facing her. “Come and sit here, where I can
see you without getting a pain in my neck.”

Platt crossed the floor and took
the proffered seat.

“The rest of you may leave.” She
waved at her maids. “You too, Mr. Gibbs.”

“I should prefer to stay, mum.”

“Why, there is no reason, Mr.
Gibbs. This gentleman appears to be quite trustworthy to me. You may leave us.”

“If ye insist, m’lady.”

Platt cast a haughty look at the
ape as he turned to leave. While everyone departed, he made a quick survey of
the room. Sunny and quite comfortable. A lovely room. Not very long ago, he had
found himself taken with Melbury Hall. In fact, if not for the old woman’s
meddling, he might have made Millicent an offer for the place. He could have
picked it up for a trifle in return for paying off everything she owed to
Jasper Hyde.

Indeed
, he thought, eyeing
the beautiful woodwork and furnishings. This manor house, with its renowned
neighbors and its excellent location in the country, would be the perfect
country place for someone like him, who was ready to make his mark among the
ton
.
In fact, now that he thought about it, perhaps he wasn’t too late, after all.
Perhaps the younger Lady Aytoun, so busy with her responsibilities as the new
mistress of Baronsford, might be willing to part with this country estate. Of
course, there was the little matter of his client, Jasper Hyde, but Platt
believed once the plantation owner had the slave, he would not care much about
anything else.

“What might I do for you, Mr.
Platt?”

The lawyer’s attention snapped back
to his hostess. “My apologies, m’lady. Every time I come here, I find myself
more and more smitten with Melbury Hall.”

“So this is not your first time
here?”

“No, indeed, m’lady. I was a guest
of Squire Wentworth’s.”

“Of course.” The dowager nodded
pleasantly. “From what I hear, Mr. Hyde and Squire Wentworth were acquainted.”

“They were indeed, m’lady. In fact,
they were fast friends. Indeed, fast friends.”

“Friendship is a valuable thing,
Mr. Platt.”
“Indeed it is. If I may say, it is a foundation of our English civilization.
The bond of friendship constitutes the very core of our gentility. It forms the
foundation of our nation’s moral superiority in the world today.”

“And it is so much like an
Englishman to rip away at the fortune of his friend after his demise, is it
not, Mr. Platt? So morally superior to tear into the belly of the corpse like some
jackal, leaving nothing for his widow?”

Platt cleared his throat. Hyde and
Wentworth were cut from the same cloth, he thought. It would not have been any
different if Hyde had been the first to pass away. Wentworth would have gone
after anything he could get from the holdings of his friend.

“But we digress, do we not?” she
said sweetly, putting a smile back on her face. “You were telling me the reason
for your visit.” 

“Indeed, m’lady.” He eyed the old woman,
knowing he’d best not mince any more words with her. “My client, Mr. Hyde, has
made repeated attempts to settle a small business matter with your
daughter-in-law. With no success, I might add.” 

“What is the nature of this
business matter?”

“There was a mention of it in the
letter I sent.”

“I am an old woman, Mr. Platt, with
a failing memory. Please humor me. Do tell me all about it again.” 

“The matter regards a black slave
woman called by the heathen name Ohenewaa. My client wishes to buy this woman
from Lady Aytoun.”

“Surely there must be some mistake,
sir. My daughter-in-law does not believe in owning human beings.”

“Please allow me to restate my
client’s request,” Platt said patiently. “Mr. Hyde wishes to pay Lady Aytoun
all of the expenses that this Ohenewaa has accrued. He would very much like to
make an offer of…employment to the woman.”      

The dowager nodded thoughtfully
before answering. “Now, why should an important plantation owner such as Mr.
Hyde—someone who has made his fortune trading on the very flesh of innocent
human beings, a gentleman who must own hundreds of slaves—why should he be so
desperate to get his hands on one old woman?”

“The reasons for my client’s
philanthropy with regard to this woman are private, m’lady,” Platt said
uncomfortably.  

“Ah, philanthropy. And my daughter-in-law declined Mr. Hyde’s request when it was made before, I take it.”

“There are new circumstances now
that might change her ladyship’s answer.”

“What new circumstances?”

“They were mentioned in the
letter.”

“Please, sir. My failing memory.”

Platt felt the perspiration forming
beneath his periwig and trickling down his neck. Actually, it was too warm here
in this sunny room. He edged forward on his chair.

“M’lady, I see I must be completely
honest with you. I did not wish to involve you personally, out of respect for
your position, but you leave me no choice. My client acts in the name of
justice. It grieves me to tell you this, but your daughter-in-law may be
harboring a murderess. Since your daughter’s purchase of this slave woman,
certain evidence has surfaced that points to this Ohenewaa as the person
responsible for Dr. Dombey’s murder.”

“I see. And who has been ferreting
out this evidence?”

“Why, the proper authorities.”

“Pray, give me names of those
authorities, and I shall see to it that—”

“I misspoke, m’lady. The names of
the witnesses and the evidence against the woman have been collected by clerks
in the employ of Mr. Hyde himself.”   

“And what does he plan to do with
this material?”