Eilish spoke sporadically, as if prompted by good manners, and in between her thoughts also filled her mind. Hester found herself looking at Eilish repeatedly, possibly because she was so beautiful it was natural to stare, but also because of a sadness she thought she could see through the thin mask of courtesy and interest.

It was left to Oonagh and Mary to raise one agreeable, uncontentious subject after another.

“How long does your journey take, Mother-in-law?” Deirdra asked, turning to Mary as soon as the main course was served.

“About twelve hours,” Mary replied. “Although most of it I shall spend asleep, so it will feel much shorter. I think it is an excellent way to travel, don’t you, Miss Latterly?”

“Indeed,” Hester agreed. “Although the little I saw of Scotland on my way here, I should imagine it is very beau- tiful to look at, especially at this time of the year.”

“You will have to go back during the day on your return next time,” Mary suggested. ‘Then you can look out of the window all the way. If it doesn’t rain, it should be really very nice.”

“I don’t know why you’re going,” Hector Farraline said, speaking for the first time. He had an excellent voice, rich in timbre, and even though a few of his words were slurred, one could tell that when he was completely sober his diction would have been beautiful-and with the faint lilt of the northern Scots, not the flatter Edinburgh accent of Mary’s speech.

“Griselda needs her, Uncle Hector,” Oonagh said patiently. “It’s a very emotional time for a woman when she is expecting her first child. It is not unusual to feel unwell and a trifle apprehensive.”

Hector seemed confused. “Apprehensive? Of what? Won’t they have the best possible care for her? I thought they were well-to-do… socially prominent family. That’s what young Connal said to me.”

“Socially prominent! The Murdochs?” Mary said with sharp amusement, her silver eyebrows rising high, giving her face a startled look. “Don’t be absurd, my dear. They come from Glasgow. Nobody who matters has ever heard of them.”

“They’ve heard of them in Glasgow,” Deirdra put in quickly. “Alastair says they are prominent, and certainly have a great deal of money.”

Eilish flashed a smile at Hector, then lowered her eyes. “Mother said nobody who matters,” she said quietly. “I rather think that excludes all of Glasgow, doesn’t it, Mother?”

Mary blushed very slightly, but she did not retreat. “Most of it, perhaps not quite all. I believe there are some quite agreeable areas a little to the north.”

“Just so.” Eilish smiled down at the plate.

Hector frowned. “Then why doesn’t she come home to have her child, where we can look after her? If there’s nobody who matters in Glasgow, what is she doing in London?” After that piece of eccentric logic he turned and looked at Mary, his eyes soft, his face confused and on the verge of anger. “You should stay here, and Griselda should come home and let her child be born in Scotland. Why doesn’t what’s-his-name-” His face creased up. “What is his name?” He looked at Oonagh.

“Connal Murdoch,” she supplied.

“Yes,” he agreed. “That’s right! Why doesn’t Colin Murdoch-”

“Connal, Uncle Hector.”

“What?” Now he was totally confounded. “What are you talking about? Why do you keep interrupting me and then repeating what I say?”

“Have a glass of water.” Oonagh suited the action to the word and poured a tumbler for him, passing it across.

He ignored it and sipped at his wine again. He did not continue. Hester had the strong impression he had forgotten what he was going to say.

“Quinlan says they are going to reopen the Galbraith case,” Deirdra said in the silence, then almost immediately her face tightened as if she wished she had chosen some other subject of conversation.

“Quinlan is Eilish’s husband,” Oonagh explained to Hester. “But he is not involved in the law, so I don’t know how reliable his information may be. I daresay it is merely gossip.”

Hester expected Eilish to come to his defense and insist that he was correct, or that he did not listen to, much less repeat, gossip. But she remained silent.

Hector shook his head. “Alastair’U not be pleased,” he said dourly.

“No one will.” Mary looked unhappy, a frown puckering her brow. “I thought that was over and done with.”

“I expect it is,” Oonagh said with conviction. “Don’t think of it, Mother. It is just idle talk. It will die away when nothing comes of it.”

Mary looked at her gravely, but did not reply. “I still wish you weren’t going to London,” Hector said to no one in particular. He looked sad and aggrieved, as if it were a personal blow to him.

“It’ll only be a few days,” Mary replied, her face surprisingly gentle as she looked at him. “She needs reassurance, my dear. She really is very troubled, you know.”

“Can’t think why.” Hector shook his head. “Lot of nonsense. Who are these Munros? Won’t they look after her properly? Doesn’t Colin Munro have a physician?”

“Murdoch-” Oonagh’s lips thinned in impatience.

“Connal Murdoch. Of course he has a doctor, and no doubt midwives. But it is how Griselda feels. And Mother will only be gone a week.”

Hector reached for more wine and said nothing.

“Have they new evidence in the Galbraith case?” Mary asked, turning to Deirdra, a pucker between her brows.

“Alastair didn’t mention it to me,” Deirdra replied, looking surprised. “Or if he did, I don’t remember. I thought he said there was not sufficient evidence and threw it out?”

“He did,” Oonagh said firmly. “People are only talking about it because it would have been such a scandal if Galbraith had come to trial, being who he is. There will always be those who are envious of a man in his position, and whose tongues will wag, whether there is anything for them to wag about or not. The poor man has had to leave Edinburgh. That should be the end of it.”

Mary glanced at her, as if to speak, then changed her mind and looked down at her plate. No one else added anything. The rest of the meal passed with only the odd remark, and after it was finished, Oonagh suggested that Hester might like to rest for a few hours before the commencement of the return journey. She might go up the main stairs to the bedroom set aside for her use, if she cared to.

Hester accepted gratefully, and was on her way up the stairs when she encountered Hector Farraline again. He was halfway up and leaning heavily on the banister, his face filled with sorrow, and beneath it a deep anger. He was staring across the checkered expanse of the floor at the portrait on the far wall.

Hester came to a stop on the stair behind him.

“It’s very fine, isn’t it,” she said, intending it as a form of agreement.

“Fine?” he said bitterly and without turning to look at her. “Oh yes, very fine. Very handsome, was Hamish. Thought himself quite a fellow.” His expression did not change, nor did he move, but stood clinging to the banister rail and leaning half over it.

“I meant it was a fine portrait,” Hester corrected. “Of course I didn’t know the gentleman to comment upon him.”

“Hamish? My brother Hamish. Of course you didn’t. Been dead these last eight years, although with that thing hanging there, I don’t feel that he’s dead at all-just mummified and still with us. I should build a pyramid and pile it on top of him-that’s a good idea. A million tons of granite. A mountain of a tomb!” Very slowly he slid down until he was sitting on the tread, his legs sprawled across the stair, blocking her way. He smiled. ‘Two million! What does a million tons of rock look like, Miss-Miss-” He looked at her with wide, unfocused eyes.

“Latterly,” she offered.

He shook his head. “What do you mean, girl, latterly? A million tons is a million tons! It’s always the same. Latterly-formerly-anytime!” He blinked.