Jamie breathed in a sharp breath at the sight before her. Her eyes had never beheld such a place! It seemed like a castle from one of the fairy tales she had often read to the Gilchrist children.
Constructed in the late 16th century, its Tudor design reflected the grace and elegance that had by that time begun to replace the grim, stone defensive towers of earlier centuries. Built in the shape of an upper case E as was so common in those Elizabethan times, it boasted large windows, a many-gabled roof, and expansive green lawns. At that moment, of course, Jamie was unable to see the three wings of the E as they spread out behind the impressive face of the mansion, but between each wing were some of the finest flowered courtyards in all of Scotland—rivaling the gardens of Pitmedden and the grounds of Castle Crathes.
Dora, who had accompanied Jamie from Aberdeen, led the way boldly to the door, recessed in an arched entryway, intricately carved with Dutch scrolls and what Jamie took for the Graystone coat of arms: a rising falcon bearing in its deadly talon a single olive branch with the words engraved above it—Aut pax aut bellum.
It was an imposing first impression, and Jamie swallowed hard. There was certainly very little about the place that seemed cheery. How appropriate the name Graystone seemed for the family above whose granite lintel loomed the words, “Either peace or war.” Thoughts of her new employer, which she had tried to push from her mind, now crowded in with full force. She could only hope he was not as uncompromising as his ancestors. Yet nothing she had heard thus far tended to give her much expectation to the contrary.
Dora beckoned her to follow, and she stepped resolutely forward behind the housekeeper. Now is no time to weaken, she told herself. The decision had been made, and it would remain the right decision no matter what she encountered behind that massive oak door!
While Dora led the way, Jamie made her own quick appraisal of her new surroundings. Molded ceilings and carved woodwork enriched every room, most of which, especially those facing the side of the courtyard, tended to be light and colorful. The furnishings were a mixture of Queen Anne and later Tudor—a few originals, many replicas—and it was obvious that an experienced hand had set it all in place. Jamie wondered if this had been the work of the late Lady Olivia Graystone, of whom Miss Campbell had told her a little. Surely all this was here before her time! Yet a woman whose death had so shaken her husband must have left an indelible mark in many ways, whether the furnishings and decor were original to her or not.
All at once Jamie’s thoughts turned to the baby, Master Andrew Graystone, and she knew what she must do before anything else.
“Miss Campbell,” she said, her voice ringing unnaturally in the great hall through which they were passing, “when will I be able to see the baby?”
“Let’s get you settled in your room first,” the housekeeper replied. “I hope you won’t mind the old nurse’s. It’s near the nursery and is quite comfortable, really, and has something of a view.”
“Whatever you think is best, mem.”
“And then I suppose Lord Graystone will want an interview with you.”
Jamie did not reply, but Dora noted the draining of color from her face.
“Now, now, Jamie, dear,” she said, “you’ve nothing to worry about. He’s—”
She paused to clear her throat. “Well,” she went on, “he generally puts faith in my expertise where household matters are concerned.”
Jamie smiled wanly.
“When will I see him?” she asked.
“Generally the laird consults with the staff just before dinner, so I expect it will be then, unless he sends for you earlier.”
“That’s some time away, isn’t it?”
Dora smiled. “You’re anxious to see the child, aren’t you? I can tell.”
Jamie nodded.
“Then come along. I see no harm in it. And by the time we finish in the nursery, your things will have been deposited in your room and then you can rest before dinner.”
Jamie’s anticipation mounted as they climbed the wide stairway. When they reached the nursery, Dora opened the door without hesitation. A housemaid stood and greeted them when they entered.
“Welcome back, Miss Campbell!” she said, grasping the housekeeper’s hand warmly.
“I’m happy to be back,” replied Dora. “But it looks as if we weren’t expected. No one met us at the village. I hope the laird received my letter.”
“He did. And I’m sure Sid was planning to meet you, but he’s been doubling up on his work since the new groom quit.”
“No matter!” Dora replied in her perpetually breathless tone. “Let me introduce our new nurse.”
Jamie was hardly concentrating on the conversation, for her eyes had been focused on the yellow-haired child sitting on a silken coverlet playing with some brightly colored blocks in the center of the room. His blue eyes turned toward her as she drew nearer. With no change in his expression, he held out a block to her. She stooped down and took it from his hand.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Tank you,” he replied in a babyish mimicking of her words.
Jamie laughed, and he handed her another and the same ritual was repeated. The desire was nearly overpowering to take him, then and there, into her arms, but she held back, not wanting to frighten him.
“That’s our new nurse,” said Dora with a laugh. “Already absorbed in her duties.”
Jamie turned toward the older women. “He’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.
“That he is,” agreed the maid proudly.
“This is Jamie MacLeod, Bea.”
Jamie stood and shook the maid’s hand.
“Bea is our upstairs maid,” Dora explained. “She’s been helping with the boy since the last nurse left.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Jamie,” said Bea. “My old bones aren’t much up to chasing around such a little ball of fire.”
She paused a moment, then added thoughtfully, “MacLeod? The name sounds familiar.”
“She grew up on Donachie,” Dora answered for her.
“Ah . . .” was the maid’s only further response. The way her voice trailed away inquisitively, she seemed hardly satisfied, but willing for the moment to leave it at that.
“It’s about time for Andrew’s nap, isn’t it?” asked Dora.
“Aye.”
“May I put him to bed?” asked Jamie.
“He’s your charge now, Jamie!” replied Bea. “He’ll want the blue knitted blanket, not the silky one, and the stuffed toy. I’ll bring him up a bottle of warm milk.”
“I’ll be back to take you to your room in a few minutes,” said Dora as she and the maid made their departures.
At last Jamie was alone with Andrew. She stood bewildered for a moment wondering what to do first. The youngster seemed perfectly at ease among so many different sets of hands trying to care for him. What would he think now that she was in charge of feeding him, bathing him, walking with him, playing with him, loving him? Would he even understand the change?
Just as Jamie stooped down again, little Andrew decided to stand. Once on his feet he scurried over to the side of the room where a rocking chair held his special toy animal. He pulled it from its perch and into his arms.
“Baba!” he said with an impish smile.
“Is that your baby?” Jamie asked. “He’s a fine looking fellow. What’s his name?”
“Baba.”
“I see. My name’s Jamie.”
“Mamie,” repeated the toddler.
Jamie laughed. “You talk very well, Andrew. Much better than I did a year ago!”
She reached out to touch the soft toy, but Andrew pulled back sharply, and his angelic face immediately turned sour.
“Baba mine!” he informed her with all the uncompromising force of his ancestors who, as their coat of arms informed all guests, would stand for nothing but peace or war.
Almost the same minute Bea returned with the warmed bottle of milk.
“Time for night-night,” she said cheerfully.
“Ni-ni,” Andrew copied.
“Well, go ahead, lass,” said Bea, turning to Jamie.
Jamie bent over to take hold of him, but she barely had her hands around his chubby waist when he wriggled free and ran to Bea. He held his arms up over his head saying, “Ni-ni, Beebee.”
She gave a half smile in Jamie’s direction. “I’m sorry, miss. I suppose these things take a day or two. He’ll be used to you in no time, I’m sure.”
“I understand,” replied Jamie, concealing whatever disappointment she felt at the rebuff.
———
By evening the relationship with the child had made what Jamie considered fine progress. Bea had not been back, and Jamie had occupied Andrew after his nap and had fed him his dinner. When bedtime came, she rocked him to sleep with his Baba clutched tightly in his arms. As she laid the sleeping boy in his bed, she watched him for several long moments. In one arm he still held his Baba, and in the other his fuzzy blue blanket pulled high up against his sleeping face. He looked contented enough, she thought, hardly like the sad and lonely child she was led to believe she would find. Had the trouble here been exaggerated? Perhaps she would know more about the child after meeting his father.
Which reminded her—the interview with Lord Graystone could come at any moment!
She left the nursery immediately for her own room, there to await her summons from the laird of Aviemere.
Once there she roamed aimlessly about, rearranging some of the things she had earlier unpacked. Her few belongings filled only two drawers in the spacious dresser. Another chest stood on the opposite side of the room alongside a wardrobe which held her three dresses—all gifts from Emily. It was a nice room, she supposed, every bit as nice as hers at the Gilchrists—though a little colder. Perhaps that was simply because she was not yet at home here. Had she seen any of the guest rooms in the mansion, she would have realized just how simple her living accommodations really were. But Jamie was used to humble surroundings. This was luxury indeed alongside Sadie Malone’s second-floor room where she had spent her first days in Aberdeen.
She sighed. In time she would no doubt feel the same about this room in Aviemere as she had come to feel about her home in Aberdeen at the Gilchrists.
But first she must meet the master of this estate. And she could not quite help trembling a bit at the thought.
She walked slowly over to the large multi-paned window overlooking one of the lovely gardens in the courtyard below. The sky was still as light as midafternoon, though the day’s activities had begun to draw to a close. A great lawn stretched out beyond the courtyard, and beyond it she thought she could just make out a low dark line that must be a wood, or perhaps an orchard. She strained to see the dim outline of Donachie, but the wings of the mansion blocked a clear view. She did not know in which direction George Ellice’s home lay; she had heard no mention of him. He was the one person who could tell her what had befallen her former home and her grandfather’s animals. She must see him one day soon.
She walked idly about, sat down and tried to concentrate on a book, but with no success.
Still no summons came.
At length, exhausted from traveling and the attempt to adjust to the newness of her surroundings, Jamie fell asleep, and remained so until Miss Campbell had to rouse her for supper in the servants’ quarters. After a rather hurried meal, she returned to her room and again fell asleep, and slept until morning.
The master’s summons did not come until she had been at Aviemere for three days.