cared for and, Nichol suspected, honored by her husband. Doted upon. Smothered with affection. Dunnan seemed quite eager to have a wife.
Nichol sent off his letter, then spent the next two days awaiting a reply in the company of a bonny little wench who left scratches on his back.
Dunnan’s reply was an exuberant Yes. If you recommend her, Mr. Bain, I will consider myself the recipient of very good fortune and shall open my arms, my heart and my home to her.
Precisely the reception Nichol had expected from a man who was overly enthusiastic about things as mundane as perfectly toasted toast points. In this case, he thought Dunnan might have been a little more circumspect, as he’d not even laid eyes on the lass, and matrimony tended to be for life. But that was not the problem he’d been hired to solve. He’d been hired to solve the problem of the ward, and he was very pleased with himself for having done a fine job of it.
It had gone so well, in fact, that Nichol was considering carving out a bit of time to call on the brother he’d not seen in many years. The distance between them, both literally and figuratively, had been weighing on Nichol of late. He had a soft spot in his heart for Ivan. His brother resided at their family home, not far from Stirling—or he had the last time they’d corresponded. Unfortunately, Nichol’s letters in the last few years had gone unanswered, the messengers sent away.
Nichol wasn’t entirely certain why, but he was entirely certain he would never know if he did not go to his brother himself. It would be a shock to Ivan, as it had been more than a dozen years that Nichol had been gone from home. That was another matter entirely, one that had no easy resolution. But where Ivan was concerned, Nichol would have liked to understand what had happened.
Perhaps now was the time to see him. Perhaps things had fallen into place for that very reason.
But first things first. Nichol said goodbye to the wench, hired a lad to act as his groom, then rode out to explain to Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell his plan to mend this rift between families once and for all.
As he suspected, his plan was welcomed by everyone, with the singular exception of Mrs. Garbett, whose thirst for vengeance apparently knew no bounds. She believed that Miss Darby should not be allowed to enjoy the privilege of marrying well, but faced with the prospect of her husband’s ward being returned to them, reluctantly agreed to the scheme.
By week’s end, Nichol and Gavin, his groom, were provisioned for several days of travel and on their way to a manor near Aberuthen to retrieve Miss Darby.
By noon the following day, they’d reached their destination. Fragile flakes of snow were whispering down from the sky, scarcely visible in the light of a weak sun that peaked in from between the clouds. The lad was shivering in his saddle, even though Nichol had tossed him his plaid to drape over his coat. “Still with me, Gavin, are you?” he called over his shoulder.
“Aye, sir.”
“We’ll be there soon enough,” he assured him as they rode out of the small village of Aberuthen, armed with Garbett’s directions to the Rumpkin abode. A half hour later, they arrived.
Nichol had expected the house to be something on par with the Garbett house, but was unpleasantly surprised to find a much smaller house, one that could scarcely be called a manor, and one that looked in serious need of repair. It had a single vine-covered tower at one end, and a house appended to it shaped like a box, as if the builder had struck out to build a castle, and had changed his mind in favor of a smaller house midway through.
A weak trail of smoke rose from only one of four chimneys, and Nichol could see at least four panes of glass had been broken and replaced with wood. He and Gavin came off their mounts and stared up at the house. No one came to greet them. Not even a dog.
Gavin looked at Nichol expectantly.
“Aye,” Nichol said to the lad’s unspoken question. “I’ll see if I can rouse someone, then.” He handed the reins of his mount to Gavin and nodded in the direction of a stable or barn—another dilapidated building. “Feed and water the mounts. There is food in the bag for you, aye? Eat. Warm yourself. We’ll ride out as soon as all is settled here.”
With the leads of the two horses in hand, Gavin trudged off in the direction of the building.
Nichol pulled his greatcoat around him and looked again at the house, taking in the yellowed weeds that grew under the darkened windows. Had it been abandoned? That would be an unwelcome twist to his plan. With a grimace, he started for the door.
On the doorstep, he used the brass knocker three times with no response. He had about decided that the house was indeed empty when he heard the sound of someone fumbling on the other side of the door, which was followed by the door suddenly swinging open. A man, holding a lamp aloft, peered at Nichol. He was wearing a dressing gown over a sleep shirt that was stained with spilled food. The man was obese and stood with his legs braced wide apart, apparently to hold his girth aloft. He had not been shaved, and long scraggly hair floated about his head and shoulders. Even more hair sprouted from his ears.
Nichol had to swallow down his surprise—it was nearly two in the afternoon and the man looked as if he’d been roused in the middle of the night.
“Come for the lass, have you?” he asked gruffly.
Nichol couldn’t say how he’d guessed it. “Aye, I have.”
The man stuck out his hand, palm up. “I’ll have the money first, then.”
Diah, but it would appear that Garbett’s cousin was a boor. “May I come in? It’s rather cold.”
The man grunted. He stepped back and bowed with mock deference as Nichol swept past him into a hall crowded with cloaks and boots and stacks of peat, of all things.
The man closed the door, then shuffled into a room just off the hall.
Nichol followed, but he felt a wee bit as if he was entering at his own peril. The room, a dining room, was disgusting. It reeked of spoiled food and dog feces, which, when Nichol glanced down, were scattered about the floor. Uneaten food had been left to rot in bowls around the table, attracting flies even in the cold. Two dogs lay at the hearth. One of them, a long-legged lanky thing, lazily pushed himself up and wandered over to have a sniff of Nichol before returning to his place at the hearth.
Nichol glanced around him and asked, “Has your housekeeper died, then, Mr. Rumpkin?”
“Amusing,” the man said. “Has my cousin sent you to entertain me, or to compensate me for keeping the bampot?” He held out his hand again.
Nichol withdrew the pouch of coins from his coat and put them in Mr. Rumpkin’s outstretched palm. Mr. Rumpkin, in turn, set aside the lamp, opened the purse and dumped the coins onto the table, quickly counting them, and biting into one to assure himself it was gold. When he was satisfied, he pointed to the stairs across the hall. “She’s up there, she is. Barricaded herself in.”
Nichol could scarcely blame her. “How long?”
“Two days,” he said gruffly. When Nichol didn’t respond due to his surprise, Rumpkin glanced up at him. “Och, donna look at me in that manner! I sent food up to her but she’ll no’ touch it.”
No doubt she’d feared contagion of the plague. Nichol couldn’t believe Mr. Calum Garbett had sent his ward to this hell, of all places. His conscience demanded
