Page 74 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“As you wish, Barnaby. I will behave myself for your sake,” he added, glaring at his brother, which he knew was unfair, but he was spoiling for a fight and Nic at least knew what he’d be getting into.

“I’ll come round in the morning, then, and settle up,” Kilbane said as Louis stood.

Louis turned around and waved this idea away. “Not tomorrow. I’m away for a week or so. I’ll call on you when I return. There’s no hurry.”

Kilbane inclined his head. “As you wish. Goodnight, monsieur, and thank you for an entertaining evening.”

Louis bowed and took himself off with Nic, Barnaby, and Max hurrying after him.

Chapter 35

To Dare the Devil

Dearest Matilda,

Thank you for your letter. It was so lovely to hear from you. Believe me, I understand how troublesome sons can be. I would not be without my boys for the world, and they have become fine young men, yet sometimes I could merrily lock them in the cellar and take myself off to Bedlam for a bit of peace. They are the most ridiculous creatures on occasion, and I despair of them. I shall be relieved when they are all safely married off and their wives have the managing of them.

Yes, it is wonderful to have Helena come to stay, though Gabriel is returning to London for a couple of weeks. That terrible train crash in France earlier this month has made his investors jittery, and he must return to soothe their nerves. Such a tragedy makes your heart bleed. It quite makes one anxious about stepping foot on a train again, though naturally I did not voice such a concern to Gabriel.

Things seem to be going well with Evie. She’s a delightful girl and has fitted in wonderfully well as we knew she would. Helena and I are hoping one of the boys catches her eye, and vice versa. She seems to have taken to Muir and the two of them are as thick as thieves, but I’m uncertain if there is a romance there yet. I think Muir will offer for her, for he knows a good thing when he sees it. Yet sometimes when no one is observing her, she seems rather melancholy, and I wonder if she is not just doing her best to make everyone else happy. I hope not, but I cannot shake the feeling something is troubling her.

―Excerpt of a letter from Ruth Anderson, Countess of Morven to Matilda Barrington, Marchioness of Montagu.

3rd June 1842, On the road to Wick, The Highlands, Scotland.

“Barnaby.” Louis gave his friend a little shake as the carriage rolled to a halt. They were finally on the last leg of this interminable journey, but he suspected Barnaby would appreciate a hot meal before they went any farther. He’d been snoring soundly for the past hour, which was not entirely soothing, but as the journey was being undertaken for Louis’ sake, he hardly felt in a position to complain.

“Wha’ what’s that?” Barnaby mumbled sleepily before focusing on Louis. “Are we there?” he asked hopefully, rubbing a weary hand over his face.

“Not yet, but the inn looks decent. I thought you might want a meal.”

“Lord, yes. My belly thinks my throat’s been cut,” Barnaby said, stretching in his seat.

“Well, let’s hope they’ve got something edible,” Louis murmured, not holding out much hope after the horror of the stuffed sheep’s stomach last night. Why anybody would want to do such a thing was incomprehensible to him.

“You’re not still upset about the haggis?” Barnaby asked him with amusement.

“I shall go to my grave upset about the haggis,” Louis retorted darkly.

Barnaby sniggered.

Louis got down from the carriage and stretched out his spine with a groan. “Did people really undertake this journey before the train arrived?”

“Yes. Did myself a few times. Bloody awful it was, too,” Barnaby said with a grimace.

It had taken them a day and a half to make a little under half the journey by taking the train from Euston to Birmingham, and then on to Manchester. From Manchester they could get as far as Preston, but then they were back to a carriage journey over indifferent roads and increasingly difficult terrain for the last four hundred odd miles. After the speedy train journey, it felt like crawling. It was taking days, and Louis was beyond impatient.

They ate a decent if hurried meal at the Sutherland Arms in Golspie, which was thankfully free of haggis or anything else he couldn’t identify, before climbing back into the carriage again. With luck, they’d arrive in Wick late that evening.

As the carriage moved on once more, Louis glanced across the carriage at Barnaby, who was looking out of the window at the countryside. He’d never once complained about the tedious journey or in any way made Louis feel beholden to him for doing him this favour. He was a rare friend, and Louis knew it.

“Thank you, Barnaby,” he said, needing the man to know he appreciated what he was doing for him a great deal.

Barnaby turned back to him, surprised. “Eh? What for?”

“For everything. For being my friend, for bearing with me along this trip, and not thinking me a fool.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Happy to do it. Anybody would be,” Barnaby said with a cheerful smile, waving this away.