Early morning, 14th December
Ursula woke shivering.
She was alone in the truckle bed and the fire had almost gone out, the embers in the stove glowing only dimly.
Where was he?
As she sat up, there was a horrible stabbing through her brain.
Good God!
She raised her hand to her forehead. It wasn’t hot, or bleeding—just dizzy and sore. And her mouth seemed to be full of sand.
Oh for a cup of Earl Grey!
Gingerly, she lowered her toes to the floor. Someone—Rye of course—had draped her stockings of the day before at the end of the bed, and put her shoes nearby. Lowering her head to reach her feet brought on the jagged spike of pain so she leaned back, contorting herself to avoid further infliction.
Slowly, she stood up, taking small steps to the table, upon which her coat lay. It was dry, thank goodness.
He’d left a cup of water for her and, eagerly, Ursula drank it down, though its coldness made her shudder.
The addition of the liquid to her insides brought about a sudden awareness of her bladder and, heavens to goodness, there was no chamber pot! If she wanted to relieve herself, there was only the pan they’d used for boiling the snow—or she might manage with the cup.
She tried to gauge its capacity. No—it would have to be the pan; and best to do it quickly, before Rye came back.
Of course, he would be outside—perhaps answering the same call of nature, or seeing to the horse. It must be ravenous, poor thing. Although her stomach was jumping about, Ursula rather thought she was too. The chocolate hadn’t gone far in filling her up and she’d had nothing else since breakfast on the train.
That thought brought an anxious tightening to her belly. Could she really go through with this? They’d have found Miss Abernathy before the train reached Fort William, surely. There might be a story in the newspapers. How long before something reached Dunrannoch and they discovered she was an imposter?
Ursula felt sick.
But it was all nonsense. Of course it wouldn’t be in the papers. She hadn’t been murdered. She was simply an elderly lady who’d passed away, quietly.
Ursula had only to keep her head. She’d been altogether silly to leave the train as she had. What had she been thinking? She might have been with Daphne by now.
But it was done, and here she was, and why shouldn’t Dunrannoch be as good a place to hide-out as any. If she only kept a cool demeanour, she could pull off what was required.
It was certainly preferable to having stayed in London with her vile uncle.
Having utilized the pan, Ursula slipped on her coat. She’d nip outside and empty her offering, then give it a rinse in the snow.
Opening the door, she was struck first by how dazzling the sky had become. The clouds had gone entirely, leaving an expanse of brilliant blue and, though still low on the horizon, the sun was shining brightly.
It was hard to believe the mist had ever existed.
The snow, however, was another matter. It must have long-since stopped falling but it lay deep outside—almost to her knees, and drifting deeper either side of the door. She could see where Rye had pushed his way through the powder, making a channel which led off to where he’d stabled the stallion.
Damn!
She could hardly throw the pan’s contents from where she stood. He’d be bound to see the result. Unless she did so and then scooped some snow to cover over the tell-tale yellow.
As she was pondering the best approach, there was a deep, rumbling groan from just beyond the threshold—a lowing, throaty, bovine bray that concluded with the appearance of a huge, shaggy head in the doorway.
The pan seemed to leap from her hand at the same moment as she let forth an almighty scream. The monster, undeterred, pushed its nose forward.
Ursula screamed again, although more with surprise than horror. The beast was an alarming shade of orange and its horns were certainly fearsome, but it was only a cow.
“Out!” She shoved back against its wet snoot. “Off! Go! Skidaddle!”
“Ursula! You alright in there?” Rye’s voice drifted over from somewhere behind the cow.
“Yes. Absolutely fine.” She gritted her teeth.
“A grand dame of a critter, ain’t she?” He gave the cow a slap across the behind, followed by another, making the creature turn its head and shamble round. Another prod and it shuffled off through the snow, lowing disconsolately.
When Rye came into view, he was holding the pan. “Were you throwing this?”
“Of course not! I was just…” She scowled. “It doesn’t matter. Just give it to me!”
“Keep your petticoats straight.” He gave her a grin. “We should move out while we can. Snow’s too deep for them to send the carriage. Train’ll be coming in about now anyways. We can say you came in on it and I found you waitin’. No-one’ll be any the wiser that we spent a glorious night together.”
“We did no such thing!” A flush of heat rose to Ursula’s cheek.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”
Ursula frowned. She was certain nothing had happened but she’d been very sleepy. He’d promised to be gentlemanly, after all, and everything she’d seen of him so far seemed honourable.
“My apologies, Miss Abernathy.” He must have realized her anxiety for he stepped forward and touched her shoulder. “I’m just teasin’. Your virtue’s intact. I kept you warm; that’s all.”
“Of course.” Ursula smoothed down her skirts and shrugged off his hand. “I knew that all along.” Her tone was more clipped than necessary.
They’d overstepped boundaries in the forced intimacy of the night and, for that, Ursula blamed herself.
It might have been the pounding in her head, or the embarrassment she was feeling, or anxiety over what awaited her that day, but Ursula felt a hollow nausea as he helped her back onto the horse.
A flock of crows rose, cawing above Castle Dunrannoch.
It loomed sheer from the white expanse of the moor—a forbidding edifice of granite, its crenellated towers and sentry walks surrounding a central gate. Far off, to the north and west, mountains soared upward, snow-topped and formidable.
The castle didn’t look as if it would have a great deal of comforts, and Daphne’s warnings came to mind, of draughty corridors and fireplaces that refused to draw. Ursula could put up with many things, but she hated being cold. The idea of visiting Daphne at her own castle residence had seemed rather a lark. Gazing up at the fortress before her, Ursula felt altogether differently.
This was where she’d be spending the festive season—not in London, with the gaiety of shops and colourful street illuminations and every sort of fancy to tempt one. And not with her father.
No one here meant anything to her; nor she to them. It was a sorrowful thought.
Meanwhile, an awkwardness had fallen between her and Rye. He’d said barely a word as they’d drawn closer to the castle, passing through the snowy moorland landscape.
“I s’pose it’d be frowned upon for you to arrive at your new place of employ with my arms around you.”
She couldn’t see his face but he squeezed his elbows inward, making her aware of how closely she was tucked into his chest.
She nodded. It was good of him to think of it.
“I’ll let you ride in while I walk beside.” In a single, fluid motion Rye dismounted, taking the reins to lead Charon from ahead.
They entered under the iron portcullis, its spikes set high above the arching gate. Ursula almost expected it to come rattling down, some force having divined the false pretences under which she was invading these ancient walls, but none barred their way.
Someone had shovelled the snow into great piles, to leave the main courtyard accessible; Charon’s hooves clattered loud upon the cobbles.
Rye guided the stallion towards the stables. “He’s about ready for some hay. I’ll see to him before…”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine from here.”
The fresh air had lifted Ursula’s headache somewhat. She unhooked her feet from the stirrups and accepted his hands upon her waist, helping lift her down. He held onto her slightly longer than was necessary, looking at her mouth all the while. The bizarre thought came that he might kiss her and that, if he did, despite everything, she wouldn’t stop him. But the moment passed and he stepped back.
Embarrassed, Ursula cleared her throat. “It was very nice to meet you.” Without raising her eyes to his, she held out her hand for him to shake.
He gave a nervous laugh, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Likewise, Miss Abernathy—and I hope you’ll forgive me…” His voice trailed off. His teasing demeanour had passed and he looked regretful.
A stable lad was already coming out to them.
It was time to part.
Ursula looked around the courtyard. While the exterior of the castle had arrow slits rather than true windows, the interior walls boasted tall panes of leaded glass. Anyone might be watching. She couldn’t tell.
Already, they might have formed an unfavourable opinion of her, watching her and Rye together.
On the far side, a door opened and someone in staff uniform stood waiting for her.
“Goodbye then.” She took the bags and turned her back.
It was time to become Miss Urania Abernathy.