They arrived at Duncreoch House, their Scottish hunting lodge, late the next evening. The butler opened the carriage and ordered their luggage to be taken to their separate rooms. He apologised for the empty chambers – for the moment they would simply close the door on them, until all the other servants arrived.
The evening meal was awkward. Theresa couldn't stop praising the musty, faded grandeur of the stone medieval fortress, but Alice knew it was simply a change of scene for the old maid. She was too tired to talk properly, and had an early bath in steaming water before retiring to her room.
Alice's bedchamber was even more curiously beautiful than she remembered. Her bed was piled high with dark tartan blankets, and all the furniture was intricately carved from walnut and rosewood, adding to the slightly oppressing feel of the place. But this was lightened by small lamps dotted about and the addition of several fur rugs. It had been her room since she was a child, and she had ordered it to be painted in light blue, with a red and white border. Unusual though the colours may be, it worked for her, and it still relaxed her even now.
A maid brought up a little china mug of warm milk and a tiny plate of biscuits. "Sleep well, wee one." That was one positive thing about this strange, old place. The servants, mostly Scottish born, were all very kind and knew how to calm children. She remembered, they used to sing to her in their beautiful language of Gaelic, which she always found soothing. Their accents were soft and worked well with the otherworldly sounds of the language.
Alice blew out the candles beside her bed, and settled down into the thick blankets. She could hear the wind as it failed to enter the wide stone walls. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.