Eight

W hen Follifoot brought tea, Ellen informed him that she and Natalie would not require supper, to which Follifoot smiled sympathetically. Damn Farnsworth, but the old man was so very tight with his precious pound sterling it was a wonder he could get anyone to cook for them. This cook, whoever she might be, had to be the worst yet. The food was bland and nondescript, and in the most unfortunate of cases, inedible. Thank God for Agatha—the dear woman had taken pity on poor Natalie and what she called the new cook's tripe. Once or twice a week, she prepared a delicious meal for them. This evening, the smell of roasted beef wafted through the suite of rooms, causing Ellen's mouth to water.

Ellen walked to the room adjoining the sitting room, where Natalie was hard at work on a new drawing (to add to the hundreds she had already made). She paused, peeked over her daughter's shoulder, and saw that this one was like most of the others—a damsel in distress, a princess locked in a tower, awaiting the knight who would come and rescue her.

Just like the two of them.

"Agatha has roasted a beef for us. We'll dine when you've washed your hands."

Natalie frantically began to color one part of her castle, not ready to put it away just yet. "One minute more, Mother, please? "

"A minute more, then it's up to wash your face and comb your hair," Ellen agreed, and brushed her hand across the top of the girl's head. She left her daughter then, in her world of drawings and one-act plays, all of them about a lonely princess in a tower.

Ellen went to her dressing room and surveyed her gowns. It really didn't matter if she dressed for supper or not, since it was only she and Natalie, but she stubbornly refused to give in to the hopelessness of their virtual exile, and insisted on carrying on as if they were indeed out in society. She chose the blue silk her sister Eva had given her. Like all the gowns Eva gave her, it was a little snug in the bodice, but it was very pretty, and frankly, Ellen could use something to brighten her day. This was the part of the evening she hated most, dressing alone, looking at herself in the mirror, reminded that she was twenty-eight years old and shut up like an old widow.

Please, God, something had to change . Something. Anything! But what? And how? Those questions beat a steady rhythm through every thought and every dream—even now, as she let loose her hair, methodically brushed it, and wrapped it in a simple chignon, it played in her mind until she couldn't see anything but hopelessness staring back at her.

Hopeless, yes. But then she'd think of Natalie, whose stories grew more fantastic with time, and she felt a keener sense of urgency to find a way out. It mattered little for herself. She had long since passed the point of tears—they simply weren't good enough for the sort of pain she felt inside. But for Natalie, she could not, would not, allow them to live like this for the rest of their lives. She would not allow Natalie to end up like her, alone. Dead. No hope of happiness.

God in heaven, her impotence was choking her.

Ellen stood abruptly before she drowned in it. She went to gather Natalie, who was still working on her drawing of the princess in the tower. After some cajoling, she finally convinced Natalie it was time for her supper, and helped the girl change her apron, wash her face, and comb her hair.

Together, they opened the door of the austere dining room and instantly heard a scratching sound.

"It's the mouse," Natalie opined.

"Wretched little thing," Ellen muttered, disgusted. The very thought of a mouse in her suite made her skin crawl. "Must be starving, too, as often as it comes round. Please set the plates, Natalie," she said, gesturing toward the sideboard where a few plates were neatly stacked. "I'm going to find him," she added, picking up a poker.

"Don't hurt him!" Natalie cried.

"I won't," Ellen lied, and walked out into the corridor. She paused, listening, and thought she heard something in the old sitting room across from their dining area, which Agatha used for her sewing. She walked into that room, looked around at the cloth strewn about and the pair of silver shears Agatha had proudly shown her one day. Ellen picked up the shears, turned them over in her hand, and wondered what they would bring on High Street.

And just as suddenly, she dropped the shears. What was she now, a thief? Disgusted, Ellen turned her back on the shears and walked out, the mouse forgotten.

When she entered the dining room, Natalie was sitting patiently at the table. "Did you find him?"

"No," Ellen said.

"Good!" Natalie exclaimed, clapping, as Ellen put the poker aside to uncover the dish Agatha had left. Roasted beef, leeks, and potatoes…it smelled heavenly. She dipped the ladle into the dish, put some on Natalie's plate, then her own. Ellen looked at her daughter and asked, "Would you please say grace? "

Natalie nodded, clasped her hands together and bowed her head. "Dearest God," she said softly. "Bless us our bounty and Miss Agatha for bringing it. And please find us a new place to live. Amen."

And please let me never think of stealing from Agatha again, Ellen thought. Please, God. Amen.

Natalie picked up her spoon, dipped the edge of it into the beef. "Did you ever know any princesses, Mother?" she asked.

"Just you, darling," Ellen said, reaching for her spoon. A muffled sound in the corridor caught her attention, and she lifted her head. The mouse again.

"I'm going to be a princess someday. Do you know the story of the princess in the tower? She lived there for ten years, and no one knew it, except her father, but he was a king and he was a very mean man."

"Mmm," Ellen said, tasting the beef, the excellent flavor spoiled only by the sound of the mouse again. She sighed wearily; Farnsworth wouldn't pay for a rat catcher unless a rat found its way to his door.

"And he wouldn't let her out of the tower because he didn't want anyone to marry her. But one day, she put her head out the window and looked all around, and—"

"Don't forget to eat, darling," Ellen gently reminded her, and Natalie quickly put a spoonful in her mouth.

"The princess looked all around, and she could see cows and sheep and donkeys and dogs, and…"

"Cats?"

"Cats!" Natalie exclaimed, and put another spoonful in her mouth as she considered that, before she finally shook her head. "No. She didn't see any cats," she said definitively. "But every day she put her head out the window to have a look around, and one day, she saw a man on a horse, and she waved to him, and she said, ‘Good day, good daa-aaay!' "

Another sound from the corridor, and Ellen put her spoon down, stood resolutely from her chair. "Did the man see her?" she asked as she surreptitiously picked up a poker from the hearth.

Caught up in her story and oblivious to her mother's actions, Natalie nodded eagerly as Ellen walked calmly to the corridor door. "Yes! He saw her and he thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen!"

"Ah," Ellen muttered absently, gripping the poker to give the mouse a good what-for, and abruptly threw open the door, but was so startled by the shadowy figure of a large man that she shrieked, dropping the poker with a loud clatter on the bare floor. Behind her, Natalie shrieked, too, and dropped her spoon onto her plate.

"I can explain, I can!"

What was this? The captain? Incredulous, Ellen put her hand over her wildly beating heart and peered out into the dim corridor to make certain it was him. "Captain Lockhart, what do you think you are about?" she demanded hotly.

"I can explain, I swear it," he said, looking very sheepish.

"Captain Lockhart!" Natalie squealed with delight.

"Then by all means, do so," Ellen snapped, ignoring her daughter. "Are you in the habit of sneaking about a ladies' suite?"

His green eyes widened with shock; Ellen couldn't be entirely certain, but she thought he even blushed.

"What? Sneaking…? Lord God, no, of course no'! I am a captain in the Highland Regiments of the Royal Army in service to His Majesty, the king! I would never do such a thing!"

He declared it so loudly and emphatically that Ellen couldn't help but believe him. Yet there he stood. "Then what, pray, are you doing at the door of my dining room?"

The captain bit his lower lip, and for a moment he reminded Ellen of a giant little boy. "In truth, I…I gave me word to his lordship that I'd no' come up those stairs, but I…I…" His voice trailed off, his brows dipped in confusion, and he suddenly jerked his gaze to the room behind her. "What's this smell, then?" he asked, peering over Ellen's shoulder, trying to see into the dining room.

The beef. Of course! The poor man had been subjected to the cook's fare, too—he likely was starving. Ellen glanced over her shoulder at the large soup tureen. "So you've sampled our haute cuisine, I take it?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid I've had the bloody misfortune, indeed." He caught himself, coloring slightly at his curse, but Ellen laughed. It was a bloody misfortune!

Standing there in his overcoat and looking rather abashed, the captain tried not to look at the tureen. "I beg yer pardon and yer forgiveness, madam. I didna mean to startle ye so," he said, his gaze now falling to the poker lying on the floor between them. "I didna mean to climb the stairs a'tall—"

"It's quite all right, sir. I understand completely, I assure you—I'm afraid we haven't had much luck keeping a cook in our employ," she said, stooping to retrieve the poker. "Fortunately, Miss Agatha has taken pity on my daughter and brings us a complete supper every now and again to spare us the awful rot we are served. I assume the scent of her roasted beef wafted its way down to you?"

"Beef?" he asked in a reverent tone.

"Mother, he must have some!" Natalie insisted, coming to Ellen's side to tug on her gown. "Please say he might!"

Ellen looked at the captain, who was now staring at the poker she held as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It occurred to her that even with that rather jagged scar, he was really a handsome man, in a rough, Highland sort of way. In fact, in spite of his rather mean looks and his frank manner of speech, she had the sense that he was really a gentle giant. She rather liked this Scot, and it was no secret that Natalie certainly did.

This Scot, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more uncomfortable by the moment, and abruptly put a hand on the nape of his neck and stepped back. "I beg yer pardon, I do—"

"Please stay, Captain!" Natalie pleaded. "I drew a picture. Would you like to see my picture?" Naturally, she didn't wait for a response, but turned and ran for her picture so fast that Ellen could hardly stop her.

She smiled at the captain, silently debating whether or not she dared invite him in, for Farnsworth would surely toss them out in the street if he discovered the captain here. But then again, Farnsworth was gone for the evening. How would he know? Follifoot would not come up again tonight. And the captain was a rather intriguing fellow. But he must have sensed her debate, for he stepped back. "You mustn't mind her, of course," Ellen said quickly.

"No, no, I…"

"I would invite you to try some of the beef, but you look dressed to go out."

That drew a suspicious glance from the captain, but when she merely lifted a curious brow, he looked down at his clothes, as if he had no idea what he was wearing until that very moment. "Oh. Aye, aye…"

"Ah. Well, then." It was a foolish idea to begin with. Deadly, really. "Perhaps the next time Agatha—"

"But I'm no' expected for a time yet," he quickly interjected, and glanced up at her again. "The beef… ach, the truth is, the beef, it smells heavenly."

Ellen smiled broadly. Damn Farnsworth after all. "Then you simply must come in and have a plate of it. "

"Oh, no, I really shouldna—are ye certain, then? I'd no' be intruding on yer family supper?"

"Of course not! It's only Natalie and me, and I think you know how she feels," Ellen said, laughing, and if he had any doubts, Natalie came bursting through the opposite door at that moment, her drawing clutched tightly in her hand. She rushed to stand in front of the captain and thrust the picture up to him, stopping just short of actually punching him in the nose with it.

"It's a princess," she said breathlessly.

The captain reared back, took the drawing, and squinted to carefully consider it. He nodded thoughtfully, said, "A fine princess she is, lass. None bonnier." He handed the drawing back to Natalie, who clutched it against her chest and looked up at her mother, beaming with pleasure.

It was so rare to see such a smile from Natalie that Ellen's heart tipped a little.

She gently pushed Natalie toward her chair. "Please do come in, Captain. We'd be very much honored to share our supper with you." She stood aside to give him entry. "And please do make yourself quite comfortable. But I must warn you," she said with a grimace, as he dipped his head and stepped across the threshold, "I'm afraid we've a small rodent who visits the dining room almost as frequently as we do."

"A mouse, eh?"

"I can't seem to catch the wretched creature and be rid of it," Ellen said apologetically, shutting the door behind him. "Natalie, will you make a place setting for our guest?" She gestured toward a chair directly across from where Natalie was sitting. The captain looked at it, then at Ellen, and hesitantly shrugged out of his coat.

Ellen immediately took the heavy garment and draped it across the nearest chair, then walked to the head of the table. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the captain moved woodenly toward the chair she had indicated, then sat gingerly, managing to wedge his large frame between the table and the small seat. Natalie skipped around the table to where he sat, bringing his plate and spoon, which she set directly in front of him. And then, without warning, she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug.

"Natalie!" Ellen cried.

The captain smiled thinly, reached up, and patted her arm. "There now, lass," he said, "Suithad."

Much to Ellen's great surprise, Natalie let go and walked to her seat, as if she understood what the captain had said.

Baffled, she leaned across the table and ladled some beef onto his plate. "What was that you said…what language?" she asked as she set the plate in front of him.

"Gàidhlig… and a little Scots, I suppose," he said with a shrug, watching her, his hands folded tightly in his lap.

Ellen sat, put her napkin in her lap. The captain picked up the one Natalie had lain next to his plate and did the same.

"That's very interesting."

He nodded absently as he stared at her plate. Rather odd behavior, she thought, and picked up her spoon. The captain instantly picked his up. "Please," she said, nodding toward his plate, and dipped her spoon into her beef.

The captain did exactly the same, carefully took a bite of the beef, then closed his eyes, savoring it.

Natalie laughed.

The captain opened his eyes and looked at her. "Laugh if you will, wee one, but ye donna understand a man's hunger." No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he glanced at Ellen.

Ooh, he had not meant that, she told herself, but felt herself color nonetheless, and focused on her food. "So…are you in London for long, sir? "

The captain dug his spoon in the beef again and took a healthy bite of it. "Canna say, exactly."

She waited for him to say more, but he kept eating, as if he hadn't done so for days. She poured him a glass of wine and remarked, "You said you hailed from Aberfoyle. I was wondering, where is that, exactly?"

"Ah, she's north of Glasgow."

"Is it very pretty there?" Natalie asked.

The captain stopped in his devouring of the soup to consider her question. "Not as bonny as Laria, I'd wager, but a lovely hamlet all the same."

"And what did you do in Aberfoyle?" Ellen continued.

The captain blinked. "Do?"

"Did you have an occupation, sir? I mean, of course, before your military career?"

"No," he said, quickly shaking his head. "The family…me father, he's the laird. We live on the land. On the old Lockhart estate, that is, north of Aberfoyle, on the banks of Loch Chon." At Ellen's blank look, he put down his spoon. "Loch Chon. She's a wee bit north of Loch Ard." Ellen had no idea what he was saying and shook her head. "You donna know?" he asked, incredulous. "Mi Diah, The Trossachs is the most beautiful place on God's earth!"

"Is it really? Natalie and I have not traveled much. Perhaps you could tell us?"

The captain rolled his eyes, placed his spoon carefully next to his plate, then braced his hands against the edge of the table. For a long moment, he looked at the ceiling, as if uncertain quite where to start.

"'Tis truly beautiful, on me life. I will no' do her justice, I know. But the hills, they bleed into Loch Chon, with trees so thick they look like the sweep of a lady's ball gown, all purple and green and gold. And the water, 'tis very clear, like crystal, yet so dark a man canna see his own arm. And the hills, with the winter snows, stand majestic above the loch." He lowered his gaze and looked at Natalie. "At Loch Chon, where me family lives, ye can smell the green and the grass when the rains come. It's fresh, then, like the world has been washed and come round to a new beginning. And then ye look up, and ye see a sky as blue as yer eyes, lass, and a night as black as India ink, with stars that sparkle like gems against it. And just when ye think it could no' be more beautiful than that, the moon, she rises like the Lady of the Loch, hangs full and ripe above yer head, just waiting to be plucked." As he spoke, he lifted his hand upward, as if the moon were indeed within his grasp.

Entranced, Natalie followed his gaze up.

But the captain lowered his hand and casually picked up his spoon. "'Tis a bonny place, then," he said matter-of-factly, and shoved another hearty spoonful of beef into his mouth.

Neither Ellen nor Natalie spoke for a moment, until Natalie murmured sincerely, "It sounds like Laria. Pretty and green and clean…"

The captain suddenly looked up, turned his head toward the door.

"…and there is lots of sunshine—much more than here in London," Natalie blithely continued as the captain suddenly came to his feet.

Ellen put her spoon down. "Captain? Is something wrong?"

He put a finger to his lips, moved quickly and gracefully for a man his size, then stopped again, his head cocked, listening.

"Actually, it never rains in Laria. Except in the spring before the flowers bloom. But that's really all," Natalie continued, staring off into space as her mind conjured up her imaginary kingdom.

The captain moved again, toward the door, then froze. Ellen's heart seized—she imagined Farnsworth on the other side of the door and felt a jolt of panic.

"And the summers are nice and warm and the birds sing all the time and—"

The captain moved so quickly that Ellen scarcely realized what he was doing before the sound of a loud whap startled Natalie out of her recitation and propelled Ellen to her feet with a gasp. The captain bent over, scooped something up, then turned around, his fist closed. "Mouse," he announced, obviously pleased with himself.

Natalie shrieked, clamped her hand over her mouth in horror.

"You stomped the mouse to death?" Ellen exclaimed, just as horrified.

The captain looked at Natalie, then Ellen, his expression confused. "Aye," he drawled, then looked at Natalie again. "What, then? Ye wanted to keep it?" he asked, incredulous, and groaned loudly when Natalie began to wail.