Page 17 of To Winter at Wildsyde

“Good Lord, yes,” Ruth replied grimacing. She’d been twelve years old and her mother had sent the staff into a tizzy trying to arrange a ball for four hundred people. A week before the big day, she’d changed her mind on every single detail that had been painstakingly arranged and then worked herself into a fury when they’d tried to explain that at least half of what she wanted was impossible at such short notice. This was partly because she expected hundreds of bouquets of red roses, peonies, and carnations in the middle of February, and partly because her idea were vulgar and horrific.

“That very week I had been offered employment by Viscount Somerton.”

Ruth blinked at him. “I didn’t know that.”

Garrick nodded. “I’d been going to accept, despite….”

Ruth smiled. “Come now, Garrick. Papa pays way over the odds to keep staff who would never work for such a jumped-up mushroom in other circumstances.”

Garrick frowned, his dark brows drawing together. “I would not have said—”

“Oh, piffle. It’s true and we both know it. Get to the point, and don’t spare my blushes, I beg you. You know I prefer candour.”

He gave her an admiring smile and nodded. “That I do. Well, to be frank, Mrs Anderson, if you hadn’t taken control of things, little slip of a girl that you were, I think you’d have lost over half your staff during that debacle. The most intelligent thing your father ever did was putting you in control of the household, though I felt it was most unfair of him. You grew up a deal quicker than you ought to have done, but I was never prouder of anyone. To see such a young girl ordering about that great staff with aplomb was something I’ll never forget, and I tell you now, if not for you, I’d be working with Viscount Somerton.”

Ruth blushed a little and did not need him to point out that the viscount was a bad-tempered curmudgeon.

“Thank you, Garrick, but the household hasn’t gone to wrack and ruin in the short time I’ve been absent, has it? You didn’t feel the need to run away just yet?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not yet, but it isn’t the same without you, so don’t go thinking I’ve made some great sacrifice in coming here. I did it to please myself, and if I can repay you for the many kindnesses you’ve done me, so much the better.”

“You’ve outdone me for any kindness, I’m certain. I’ll never be able to repay you,” Ruth said, letting out a sigh of relief. “But I shall try,” she added, winking at him.

***

“I’m supposed to wait for Mr Anderson’s return before work begins on the castle.”

Mr Clugston’s face was the picture of discontent. He rubbed his hand over his smooth, bald head while they bickered back and forth in the biting cold of a frosty November morning.

After a fruitless hour of searching and following his trail through a variety of neglected storerooms, she’d finally tracked him down in the inner courtyard.

“Really?” Ruth said, her tone scathing. She folded her arms, glaring at him. The argument had been going around in circles for the past two days and she’d lost the last vestiges of her patience. She’d been nice as pie and more than reasonable to begin with, assuming Mr Clugston would be as eager as she was to begin work when there were materials and men ready to be used. As the work in question was to make the servant’s quarters more comfortable, she considered it a crucial part of her plan to win the Scottish staff over to her side. To her frustration he’d simply kept repeating the same line over and again with nothing resembling a sound argument. He was supposed to wait for the laird to arrive. Well, since her husband had given no one a clue when he’d be back, they might wait until doomsday, and that was unacceptable.

Why should Mrs MacLeod and the others put up with leaky roofs and chimneys that smoked when everything was here and available to fix the problems? So, she’d stuck to Mr Clugston like a burr on a kilt and driven the poor man distracted. Now, she sensed the first weakening of his resolve and went in for the kill. “And when Mr Anderson returns, assuming it’s at some point this century, will he tell you not to fix the roof on the north wing of the castle?”

“Nae,” he admitted. “But still, I answer to—”

“To Mr Anderson,” she snapped, repressing the urge to throw something. “Yes, I know, but you know that he wants the north wing fixed first, the same as I do, and if that leak gets any worse it will do considerable damage. The servants’ quarters are an absolute disgrace, and I cannot get on with repairing the interior of the castle before the roof and the chimneys are set to rights and windows repaired. There are vast amounts of work to be done. You have all the materials, you have men at your disposal—”

“The men are working on other—”

“Then get more!” she shouted, the last thread of her temper unravelling. Mr Clugston stiffened and Ruth took a deep breath, aware that this was not the way to get her point across. “Forgive me, Mr Clugston, I know you are doing your best to carry out your work as you see fit, but I am committed to returning Wildsyde to its former glory, and I would have thought a man who appears to love it as much as my husband does would want to support me in such an endeavour, not stand in my way as the place crumbles before our eyes. Mr Anderson is not here,” she added, seeing his expression soften a little at her words and praying she’d said the right thing. “But I am, and I need your help.”

Clugston sucked in air through his teeth and then muttered a curse. “Ach, devil take it. Very well, Mrs Anderson. The roof will be fixed, and the chimneys too. I’ve nae glass yet but the moment it arrives the lads will set to.”

Ruth gave a crow of delight and was so overcome by her victory that she kissed Mr Clugston’s whiskery cheek. Clugston blushed to the tips of his ears. Ruth thought his bald head turned a little pink, too, but she couldn’t be certain. It might just have been the cold.

“You are a prince among men, Mr Clugston, and you have just earned yourself a bottle of whisky. I found a very dusty pile of bottles in the cellar. I’m assuming it’s a good vintage?”

His eyes went very round. “Ach, nae, Missus, the laird will nae be happy if ye go giving away his whisky. It’s more than a man’s life is worth.”

“I doubt it’s worth more than mine,” Ruth said dryly, thinking about her husband off somewhere spending her dowry and hoping it was all on materials and not women and high living. “And my husband is not here to object, is he? Come around when you’ve finished work. You may dine with me, and we’ll open it together in celebration.”

Ruth walked away, unable to hide her delighted grin. Work was coming on at a terrific rate inside the castle. If the work to the outside could be done at the same pace, the old place should look very different indeed by the time her errant husband deigned to appear. The thought pleased her greatly.

She had used the past few days to make some changes to his study. It had been a somewhat ramshackle, masculine space when he’d left, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she thought about how it would look on his return. It was childish, she knew that, but he’d abandoned her, and it hurt. It seemed an innocuous enough revenge in the circumstances. Innocuous, but very clear.

She’d teach him to go off and leave her alone without a word.