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other of them, and back again.
    Vespasia allowed Isobel to answer.
    â€œYes, I am terribly sorry to tell you, it is. So you see why we must speak to Mrs. Naylor in person. We were both there, and can at least tell her something of it, if she should wish to know.”
    â€œIt’ll be Miss Gwendolen herself this time,” he said, shaking his head stiffly, his eyes bright and far distant.
    Vespasia felt intrusive in his shock and sadness.
    â€œYes. I’m profoundly sorry,” Isobel answered. “Where can we find her, or send a message so she may return, if that is what she would prefer? We are prepared to accompany her south, if she would permit us to.”
    â€œAye, mebbe.” He nodded awkwardly. “Mebbe. It’s a long journey, and that’s the truth.”
    â€œYes, it is, but the train transfer in Edinburgh is not too inconvenient.”
    â€œOh, lassie, there’s no train from Ballachulish, and no likely to be in your lifetime, or your grandbairns’, neither,” he said with a sad little smile. “And mebbe that’s for the best, too. Boat to Glasgow, it’ll be. I’ve heard tell there’s railways to Glasgow now.” He spoke of it with an expression as if it were some exotic and far-distant Babylon.
    â€œBallachulish?” Isobel repeated uncertainly. “Where is that? How does one get there?”
    â€œOh, to Inverness, it’ll be,” he replied. “And then down the loch to the Caledonian Canal, and mebbe Fort William. Or else across Rannoch Moor and through Glencoe. Ballachulish lies at the end of it, so I’m told.”
    â€œHow far is it?” Isobel obviously had no idea at all.
    â€œLassie, it’s the other side o’ Scotland! On the west coast, it is.”
    Isobel took a deep breath. “When will Mrs. Naylor be back?”
    â€œThat’s it, you see,” he said, shaking his head. “She won’t, least not so far as we know. It might be next spring, or then again it might not.”
    Isobel was horrified. “But that’s … that’s the other side of winter!”
    â€œAye, so it is. You’re welcome to stay the night, while you think on it,” he offered. “There’s plenty of room. There’s been barely a soul in the house since poor Mr. Kilmuir met his accident. It’ll be good to have someone to cook for, and the sound of voices not our own.”
    â€œHas Mrs. Naylor been gone so long?” Vespasia put in with surprise. “I thought that was well over a year ago.”
    â€œYear and a half,” he replied. “Early summer, it was, of ’51. Now, if I can get you some luncheon, perhaps? You’ll not have eaten, I’ll be bound.”
    â€œThank you,” Vespasia accepted before Isobel could demur. They needed sustenance, and even more they needed the time it would take in order to make a decision in the face of this devastating news.
    â€œWhat on earth are we going to do?” Isobel asked as soon as they were alone in the main hall again where the fire was warmer. “Will they listen if I explain to them that Mrs. Naylor wasn’t here, and wherever she is, is at the other side of Scotland, and there’s no way to get there?”
    â€œNo,” Vespasia said frankly. “For a start, if she is there, then there must be a way for us to get there, also.” But as she said it she felt panic well up inside her. She had spoken on impulse when she promised to come as far as Inverness with Isobel. Part of it was sympathy, part a profound and increasing dislike for Lady Warburton and a desire to see her thwarted, and a good deal more than she had realized before, a desire for Omegus’s respect, even admiration. Now it was beginning to look like a far greater task than she had bargained for. But pride would not let her falter now, and honesty would not allow her to let Isobel believe that what they had done so far