The Devil Wears Tartan by Karen Ranney Page B

bring?
    Davina was almost afraid to discover.
    She brushed away her tears as she walked briskly back to Ambrose. All of a sudden the house that had been so empty was swarming with servants. She saw two of them through the large windows.
    Instead of returning to her room, a feat necessitating having to travel past a footman and up the stairs wherea maid was industriously dusting, Davina simply sat on one of the slate benches in the courtyard and pretended an interest in the branches above her head.
    “Your Ladyship,” Nora said, “you shouldn’t be sitting out here in the bright morning sun.”
    The young maid was suddenly a welcome companion and a reminder of home in a strange place. “The tree shelters me from the worst of the sun,” she said. “But I won’t remain here long. Do you know if my aunt has awakened yet, Nora?”
    The girl hesitated. “I’m sorry, Your Ladyship. You didn’t know? Mrs. Rowle left Ambrose over an hour ago.”
    Davina turned her head and looked at Nora. “No,” she said, in violation of her aunt’s dictate to not reveal anything to the servants. “I didn’t know. Did she say nothing? Leave me a note?”
    Nora suddenly looked at a loss, almost the way Davina felt. She reached out and patted the girl’s hand in reprieve. “It’s of no consequence, Nora.”
    Nora responded with a curtsy. Never before had she bowed so low or held the pose for quite so long. Was it due to Davina’s new rank? Or simply because the young maid pitied her? Poor Davina McLaren, married one day. She felt alone on a tiny island in the middle of a suddenly dark and menacing ocean.
    “I’ll fetch your parasol, Your Ladyship.”
    “Never mind. I’ll return to my room,” she said, standing.
    The servants had multiplied, dusting close to the windows, intent upon those tables that were alreadyshiny and without a speck of dust. Were they that curious about her? Had they no other duties?
    As they mounted the steps, Nora turned to her. “There’s breakfast in the family dining room, Your Ladyship. I’ve been shown around this morning. I don’t think I’ll get you lost.”
    “Thank you, Nora,” Davina said. “I find that I’m not hungry.”
    She turned her head and met several pairs of interested eyes. One woman in particular, attired in a dark blue, long-sleeved dress with a row of black buttons down the front, stared back at her for one long, unsmiling moment. Her blond hair was almost too brilliant and her lips looked too colorful to be natural. In her arms she held a ledger. Davina suspected her identity before Nora spoke.
    “That’s Mrs. Murray,” Nora said. “The housekeeper. And a very strict one as well.”
    “If she finds me so interesting, she should at least introduce herself. In fact, she should have presented herself to me the moment I was married.”
    Nora glanced at her, but didn’t say anything.
    “Very well,” Davina conceded. “Perhaps not that very moment. But certainly after enough time had passed.”
    “I don’t mean to defend the woman, Your Ladyship, but you’ve been married less than a day.”
    Davina didn’t respond to that criticism, well deserved though it might be.
    “Go and fetch her, Nora,” she said. “We shall end all this staring and speculation right this moment.”
    There was no need for Nora to leave her side. It seemed as if Mrs. Murray had the same idea. She was advancing across the immaculate wooden floor, her glance sweeping from side to side with the intensity of an inspector. If the maid in charge of cleaning this area of Ambrose had not been diligent in her duties, Davina didn’t have a doubt that Mrs. Murray would upbraid her fiercely.
    The woman stopped five feet away, wrapping her arms around the ledger as she executed a perfect curtsy.
    “Your Ladyship,” she said, “welcome to Ambrose.”
    The effrontery of that remark struck Davina immediately, as well as the irritation she promptly felt upon hearing it. Who was Mrs. Murray to welcome