The house wore all its attraction on the outside. Despite a gallant effort at furnishing by Lady Verney, the result was a curious atmosphere of trembling uncertainty as if the house itself might find some difficulty in coming to terms of living in a state of harmony with antiques and bric-a-brac that might vanish in a puff of smoke.
I have a curious awareness not, alas, shared by everyone, that houses absorb the personalities of their occupiers and I wondered if someone had died here recently. Perhaps the last tenant had expired before Lord Verney’s modern refurbishments and the melancholy atmosphere of a funeral wake still lurked about the walls.
I was relieved to find that Annette was quite oblivious of anything in the least disturbing. She was beside herself with excitement, rushing from room to room, thrilled beyond measure for what was to be her ‘honeymoon home’ as she shyly referred to it and turning to me from time to time for agreement, so that I conjured up the polite and enthusiastic responses that were expected of me.
Alexander remained outside throwing sticks for Thane who was obliging him in taking part in this somewhat degrading pastime for a deerhound.
My eyes widened as I glimpsed them from out the window. Here was a Thane new to me, the existence of a Thane I had never dreamed of. I would never have considered throwing sticks for him to retrieve. However, he seemed to be enjoying the new experience and perhaps thereby proving how wrong I had been and that my mysterious deerhound who came from Dear-knows-where and was able to survive on the heights of Arthur’s Seat was just an ordinary animal after all.
Watching the boy with the hound many sizes too large for him, I realised sadly that time was running out for Alexander and all the joy of these last few days would depart with Thane.
At that moment I wished with all my heart that Thane was mine, that I owned him and could give him as a gift to Alexander, or at least on extended loan till Jack and I came back from our honeymoon.
As we said goodbye to Annette, she told me again how excited she was that I should meet her new husband at my wedding. I smiled. Had she ever mentioned his name and I had missed it, I wondered, or did she, after so many tribulations, obtain intense satisfaction in defying her guardian – and everyone else – by referring to him in the proud title of ‘my husband’.
My thoughts drifted compassionately towards the unfortunate Dr Blayney and his earache – and his heartache too, the latter of which could not be cured by a phial of Dr Dalrymple’s drops but might lessen when Annette’s daily presence was removed.
As I reached the drive by a short cut through the wood, there was something else nagging at the back of my mind, something vital I should be remembering in connection with the unhappy secretary but it was banished by the appearance of Father Boyle.
I emerged from the rhododendrons just a few steps away from him. We were obviously heading in the same direction towards Eildon. I guessed he had been returning Alexander’s birthday party guests to their respective homes on the estate and he was walking head down, clearly either praying or preoccupied with his own thoughts.
He did not look overjoyed at this interruption of his contemplation and looked askance at Thane who, taken by surprise, moved swiftly in his direction.
‘Shouldn’t your dog be on a rope of some kind?’ He sounded alarmed.
Thane came back to my side immediately and I said, ‘He is quite safe, I assure you. Remember how well-behaved he was at the party.’
Boyle made a grumpy sound of disapproval. I felt sure that he did not want to walk with us, but a measure of politeness demanded that unless he had some ready excuse for speeding ahead, he must accompany us to the village.
Feeling guilty that I was a relative stranger, not of his religious persuasion, when he would rather have been alone, embarrassment is always the surest thing to make me tongue-tied.
My mind went blank about some topic to engage his attention.
I began with ‘All your charges are safely back home again?’
He merely nodded but I persevered with remarks about how well behaved they were, such nice children, etc. etc. He merely smiled, a trifle grimly I thought, keeping his opinion to himself, his silence indicating that it had been no mean task.
I tried again and asked how he was enjoying Eildon and his new calling.
‘Tolerable,’ he said, ‘tolerable.’
‘Have you succeeded in finding a housekeeper yet?’
‘Early days.’ His mouth clamped shut on that topic and as further enquiries obviously were not encouraged, the alternative was to end all conversation and walk silently back. So I decided as a last resort to mention his predecessor.
‘Father McQuinn was a fine man,’ I said.
That interested him. ‘He was indeed. A difficult man to follow. I did not have the pleasure, but I have heard a great deal about his sterling qualities.’ A pause. ‘You knew him then?’
‘I met him briefly on my arrival at Eildon.’ I did not care to throw cold water over this promising topic of conversation by adding that I had found him dead in the church and that I believed his death was no accident but murder.
‘As a matter of fact, we were related.’
‘Indeed?’
‘He was a relative of mine – by marriage.’
That got his attention. ‘Related to your family here?’
‘No. He was cousin to my late husband.’
He frowned. ‘Your – husband?’ He managed an unsteady laugh. ‘Forgive me, but I have heard about your wedding – at the end of the week, is it not?’
‘Yes, but in actual fact I am a widow. My husband was Danny McQuinn. His cousin, Father Sean, brought him over from Ireland as a young lad. He used to visit him here from time to time.’
Father Boyle stopped in his tracks and looked at me, as if he was seeing me for the first time. ‘This is very unusual. Why does everyone refer to you as Miss Faro and not by your married name as Mrs McQuinn?’
I decided that I had better explain. ‘I assure you it is not my wish that I should be presented under my maiden name. It is a whim of my future mother-in-law who, for reasons of her own, preferred that I should be known as Miss Faro. Let us say she did not care for the idea of her only son marrying a widow woman.’
Father Boyle looked taken aback. ‘There is nothing in the Bible against widows marrying again. Had you been divorced or something of that nature, or have some discreditable association in your past, there might have been an excuse for your mother-in-law’s reactions. But this is quite extraordinary.’
‘And very uncomfortable too for me, I assure you.’ I did not add that I suspected my future husband was extremely jealous of my late husband and rather approved of his mother’s behaviour in this delicate matter.
The priest managed a smile but had he been the clergyman in charge of our nuptials I realised that he could not have been more surprised by this disclosure.
‘So you are Mrs McQuinn and your husband Danny was Father McQuinn’s cousin,’ he repeated. ‘Well, well,’ he added with a dry laugh.
‘I presume you are used to confidences, Father.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then I will be greatly obliged if you keep this information to yourself. It would greatly upset and severely embarrass my future in-laws. Besides, in a few days I will have yet another name – Mrs Macmerry – and everyone will have forgotten there ever was a Mrs McQuinn.’
The village was in sight, the main street with its decoration of flags strung across the road in preparation for the Jubilee celebrations.
‘How pretty,’ I said. ‘Eildon is quite transformed.’
The priest merely nodded and we parted, with mutual relief I suspected, but leaving me with some qualms. It had been unwise to confide in anyone, but to confess to a priest or a doctor could not do any harm surely, I told myself, remembering his last words of consolation:
‘Feel free to confide in me at any time, Miss – er Mrs McQuinn. Your secret is quite safe with me.’
As I walked up the farm road towards the house, I wondered how the ladies of Father Boyle’s congregation felt about their new priest, so different from Father McQuinn, who had been loved by everyone.
I remembered Father Boyle’s reactions to their gallant efforts to take care of him when he took a fever after conducting the funeral of his predecessor, his first official duty, in the heavy rain. No doubt he also had sterling qualities behind that unprepossessing exterior. Perhaps being brought up by Jesuits had something to do with his long silences and his disinclination for social conversation with the opposite sex, but I certainly did not envy his future housekeeper.
Leaving Thane in the barn where it was no longer considered a necessity to keep him tethered by a rope, I hurried across the yard, still troubled with guilty feelings about my revelations to the priest although I could not see him in the role of a gossip who would spread the news all round Eildon like wildfire.
But as soon as I opened the kitchen door, all thoughts of Father Boyle were swept from my mind.
Jack had arrived home.