I should have. But something held me back. Something more than my fear that they wouldn’t believe me, although that was a foregone conclusion.
Kate came in with the tea tray. We made polite conversation while she served and poured. Again, the tea was unusually spiced and delicious. After setting the tray on the table, she picked up two more embroidered pillows and placed them behind my mother’s back.
“If there is anything else you need, Mrs. Murray, just ring the bell.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that,” Mother answered. After Kate left the room, she lowered her voice and asked, “Is it my imagination or is she being overly solicitous to me?”
“It isn’t your imagination,” I said dryly. “She seems like a completely different person.”
“Maybe you resemble someone, Susan,” my father said. “After all, servants tend to stay with families for generations.”
I could feel my mouth drop open. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Kate had told me herself that her mother had been the housekeeper at Traquair before her death. If Lord Maxwell’s indiscretion had been with a servant, Kate’s mother would probably know. Maybe she’d even kept in contact with the woman. My thoughts came quickly, tumbling over each other in their hurry to materialize. Maybe that was the reason Kate was so resentful. Class differences were stringently maintained here in Scotland. Kate obviously resented working for a woman from the same social order as herself. I breathed a sigh of relief. That I could handle. It was ancient curses and death threats that bowled me over.
Mother loved the bedroom. Dad opted for a shower before his nap, while she stretched out on top of the high four-poster bed. “There’s more to tell you, Chris,” she said, “but the most important part is over with. I’m just too tired to go into it any further today. If I sleep through dinner, don’t wake me.”
It was early still, only a little past noon, but I was exhausted. Ian had called earlier to say he would give everyone a day to adjust to the time change before inflicting himself upon us. I was grateful that he wasn’t coming over. I didn’t think I had the strength or the enthusiasm to tell him about my mother’s startling revelation. He must have suspected the truth long ago. I thought back to our first conversation at the tearoom in Peebles, where he’d hinted at the rumor that I was the earl’s illegitimate daughter. I didn’t think he would be terribly surprised to learn I was his granddaughter.
There could no longer be any doubt. Like puzzle pieces, everything fell into place. Everything was there, exactly as it had been with the Murray women who came before me. My features, my Maxwell strain, my diabetes, everything except the most important factor.
I picked up my bedroom phone and dialed the Peebles operator. “I’d like the number of the medical clinic please.”
“I’ll connect you,” she said.
In less than a minute, a pleasant voice answered the phone. I started to explain what I needed when she interrupted me. “There’s no need for an appointment. Just come in and take your turn unless you have an emergency. This isn’t an emergency is it, dear?”
“No,” I replied, “no emergency at all. It’s just that—”
Her voice changed. “Is this Traquair House calling?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised.
“I recognized your voice, Miss Murray. It isn’t everyday one hears an American accent. Of course, I’ll make you an appointment. When would you like to come in?”
The sooner the better. “This afternoon if possible.”
“Will four o’clock be suitable?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Apparently privilege still had its advantages, even in modern-day Scotland. Fluffing my pillow, I buried my nose in the fragrant linen. I wasn’t used to sleeping in the middle of the day, but I couldn’t shake this unusual lethargy. I yawned. Four o’clock was hours away. If I closed my eyes for just a minute, there would be plenty of time to make the drive into Peebles.
Seventeen
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
May 1510
John Maxwell stared at the twin bundles in his wife’s arms. ���Two of them?”
Jeanne, her face framed by two neat plaits of black hair, glowed like a Byzantine Madonna. “They are wonderful, are they not?”
“By God, ’tis you who are wonderful, Jeannie. However did you manage it?”
She smiled demurely, but her eyes danced with mischief. “I had a bit of help, m’lord. You were not exactly lax in your duty.” To Jeanne’s delight, her husband’s face reddened. At night, with the candles dimmed, John was creatively uninhibited when it came