Free Wild Island by Antonia Fraser

red.'
    It was impossible to tell from her expression whether Bridie either approved or disapproved of the phenomenon: a valley where a white rose would not-or could hot-grow.
    'Now eat, Miss Shore,' said the older woman in a kindly voice. 'These things need not concern you, you with your tea to eat.'
    Jemima gave herself up to the array of Bridie's confectionery, and discovered that she was quite astonishingly hungry. Bridie continued to stand over her, talking as Jemima ate. It was clearly a situation in which Bridie rejoiced: the visitor as the grateful devourer of her wares, herself as the expositor of the ways and doings of Glen Bronnack, narrowing onto the precise details of Eilean Fas itself, and the house Tigh Fas.
    As Jemima ate four baps without difficulty, Bridie gave her a quick geographical sketch. She spoke of Kilbronnack House, 'residence of the Colonel and Lady Edith, 'just outside Glen Bronnack and conveniently adjoining Kilbronnack itself.
    Bridie spoke of the town too, which she described as a wonderful shopping centre, in every way superior to Inverness, and in some ways infinitely better than London, as Lady Edith herself had confirmed to Bridie. She then came to the subject of Eilean Fas, the need to be careful crossing the bridge at all times. And then she spoke of Tigh Fas, the sadness that the Estate had let the house run down, no curtains, no proper furniture, and how Jemima's unexpected appearance-'a tenant at Tigh Fas, I was awful delighted' - was thought by Bridie to herald a wonderful new era when the Estate would have to renovate the house again. She made no mention of the late Charles Beauregard's plan for a Bonnie Prince Charlie Memorial.
    Finally she talked of the capricious ways of the Aga cooker which only Bridie could understand. She talked of food, food which she seemed anxious to cook for Jemima, and which she implied could be best obtained from Kilbronnack with her, Bridie's, approval, or at least connivance.
    'You having no car,' said Bridie half hopefully, half accusingly. ‘ And the telephone not being here, it was never worth the bother, with the house so empty. And the nearest telephone being at my house, the Black Lodge that is.'
    Jemima let the point go. From the South, how delightful a Paradise without telephone or car had seemed. That mood had temporarily vanished. Something about the house was still making her uneasy: the lack of telephone or transport did not help. She would have to arrange for a car at least. But she was not prepared to discuss the subject with Bridie.
    'You're very kind,' she answered. 'But I shall just be camping here. I don't really eat much myself. Besides,' she attempted jocularity, 'your tea will last me for several days.'
    'But you'll be having some visitors, now ?' There was a new avidity in Bridie's voice. She pronounced the word visitors, as Colonel Beauregard had pronounced the word tenant -with a mixture of awe and something like lust.
    'No visitors.' Then she compromised. 'I'm planning a new series of programmes for. the spring. I need absolute quiet.'
    The mention of hallowed television led to a temporary lull in Bridie's offers; Jemima suspected it might, however, be no more than a truce.
    In all this it was noticeable that one topic on which Bridie Stuart did not dwell was that of the late Charles Beauregard. Yet he had presumably been her employer - until his death. It had been made amply clear to Jemima that young Charles Beauregard, not the much older and maturer Colonel Henry, had been the owner of all this vast estate, these lodges, this  castle, this house in which she found herself. Even Kilbronnack House, Bridie made it clear, belonged to the Beauregard Estates, not to 'the Colonel perrssonally' as she put it, rolling both the r and the s. It must have been an odd feeling for the Colonel and his lady not even to own their own home...
    The omission of the name of Charles Beauregard was all the more noticeable in the case of Bridie,