Page 119 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Sensing someone’s gaze, I stopped adjusting the cameo brooch at the base of my throat and looked up.

There was no one there.

* * *

I shook out the folds of my dress and strode over the tiled floor of the Great Hall in my lace-up ankle boots. It was as though I’d stepped back in time, and that I was indeed a strict but fair teacher, waiting for her students to arrive.

But instead of Edwardian children, I could see through the glass in the doors a long line of buzzing locals and tourists snaking away from The Ramblings front entrance, down the heavy stone steps and along the gravelled drive.

My stomach overflowed with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. This had to be a success.

The hem of my dress hissed across the floor as I moved.

Mindy, who’d trained as a hairdresser before becoming a dressmaker, had coiffed my hair into a classic Edwardian style. She’d put it into a half ponytail before pinning it up and backcombing it into a crown effect.

For Cayla, she’d combed her long, straight, strawberry blonde hair too before plaiting it into a French braid and securing it with a piece of cream satin ribbon.

As if on cue, Cayla clicked up behind me. She was decked out as Florence in a modest, fluted grey cotton dress down to the floor, with a starched white apron over the top of it. Even though the outfit was plain, she looked lovely; young and fresh-faced, with her shiny hair streaming down one side in its ribboned braid like a waterfall.

‘Look at you,’ I marvelled at her. ‘How can you make such a plain dress look so wonderful?’

She blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Do I look stupid?’

‘Of course you don’t. This is what women wore then, and as you’re playing Florence, you need to look the part.’

She laced and unlaced her fingers in front of her as the chatter from the public outside grew in volume. Cayla shot them a worried look. ‘What if I forget my lines, Daisy? What if I freeze?’

I moved towards her and gave her a supportive hug. ‘Then we’ll help one another.’

She hugged me back. ‘Thanks for being here for me.’

‘I should be the one thanking you.’

She snorted. ‘How do you work that one out?’

‘I might have a bit more acting experience than you, but that Fox review…’ My mind skittered to Evan and I blinked. ‘It really drained my confidence, and I almost thought I’d never want to act again.’ I flapped a hand. ‘Ok, so this is hardly Broadway, but I’m getting back in the saddle, albeit slowly.’

Cayla glanced again towards The Ramblings main entrance doors, which were closed. Flashes of expectant faces could be seen through the glass.

She nodded at my dress. ‘You really suit that colour. It looks great with your hair.’ She paused. ‘Where’s Evan?’

I raised my chin. ‘I’ve no idea. Why?’

‘Oh, it’s just I thought there might be something going on between you two.’

I fixed my attention on one of the urns of dry reeds in the corner of the hall. ‘No. Not at all. What makes you say that?’

‘Just a hunch,’ she remarked lightly. ‘Whenever I saw you two together, there was always this atmosphere. Like in a good, romantic way.’

Sadness and disappointment nipped at me, but I tried to disguise it.

‘You’ve got a great imagination.’

Cayla offered me a gimlet, mature eye despite her teenage years. ‘I didn’t imagine any of it. You and Evan couldn’t keep your eyes off one another.’

‘You’ve been reading too many Ali Hazelwood novels.’

I steered the conversation away from Evan and towards how Alison and Bennett had transformed The Ramblings for the tour. Any hint of modern-day furniture or fittings had been stowed away, and in its place were reflections of the 1900s; walnut furniture and quilted chairs had been dotted around the hallway space.