The house was large and comfortable, clearly the dwelling of a prosperous merchant or tradesman. It stood alone at the top of the high street that was paved in tidy cobblestones.
The woman in brown emerged with her son – a stocky, silent fellow of not much more than twenty. Together, they helped Catherine down from the carriage.
“I am grateful for your kindness. But I cannot stay. I am travelling north, and I need to make some progress before the day is done.”
“She is the Countess St Clair,” Lydia murmured.
“Indeed?” The lady in brown looked at Catherine, her face suddenly grim. There was an awkward pause.
“I am going to Castle St Clair.”
Silence.
“It is—”
“I know where it is.”
Catherine drew back. She looked at Lydia for help, but Lydia was folding and refolding a handkerchief.
