Beauty Among Ruins Read online

  Dedication

  Linda.

  For believing enough in the magic of words to take a chance on this wide eyed writer with nothing more than a simple story and hope to offer.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Praise for J’nell Ciesielski

  Also by J’nell Ciesielski

  Copyright

  Prologue

  May 1914

  New York

  Creeping through the back door, Lily Durham slipped across the black-and-white tiled kitchen and checked the hallway before scurrying up the stairs to the main floor.

  Moonlight washed over the parquet walnut floors that the white-tied men and shimmering-gowned women of New York society had glided across earlier in the evening. The last bash of the season before the wealthy retired to their summer homes in Newport had been quite a feast for the eyes and ears. No expense was spared to bring in the most fashionable delicacies and highly acclaimed musicians on the Eastern Seaboard for a party that reeled in extravagance as the epitome of society’s merriment.

  And a complete bore compared to the hullabaloo offered in the servants’ hall. What girl wouldn’t seize the chance to toss off her pinching satin shoes and kick up her heels for an hour of unrestrained frivolity?

  Lily took off the lacy white maid’s cap and skipped up the sweeping carpeted staircase. Her feet ached after all the running around, but nights like this were worth blistered heels and pinched toes. The summer was to bring nothing but hot days and evenings filled with boring card games.

  She tiptoed down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky places lest someone wake up and demand to know why she was returning after all had gone to bed. Sliding into her room, she eased the door shut behind her and sighed with relief. Not a soul was wiser to her midnight rendezvous.

  “I sent you to bed over an hour ago.”

  Gaslight flooded the room. Still dressed in her ruby-red silk gown and glittering diamond earrings, Mrs. Durham stood as still as a marble statue in front of Lily’s vanity.

  “Oh, Mother.” Lily flung the maid’s cap on her feather pillow before flouncing down on the bed. “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I feel much better prepared for battle after a good night’s sleep.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. Where have you been? And dressed like a housemaid?”

  “The servants would have recognized me in a ball gown, and those who do know my face were good enough to keep it to themselves lest they spoil the fun.”

  “If your father had seen you—”

  “Father never notices me unless there’s a chance to snag the latest eligible bachelor.” Lily untied the apron she had borrowed from the maid’s closet and leaned over to unbuckle the black patent shoes. “You can tell him I tried tonight, but Vincent Astor is recently taken, and Jakey won’t inherit his trust fund for a number of years.”

  “That is it!” Mrs. Durham stamped her dainty foot on the thick, white carpet. Her sharp aristocratic nose flared red. “I have tried and tried, but you push us too far. I hoped your debut into proper society two years ago would settle you down to the matter you were intended for: making a suitable match. No man will take a girl who laughs too much as a wife, and before long they’ll pass you over completely for a girl of more tender age.”

  “Eighteen is hardly in danger of spinsterhood.”

  “Your frivolities will bring nothing but shame on this house.”

  The shoe slipped from Lily’s cold hand. This speech had sent a quiver through her heart many times before, but tonight something was different. The finality in her mother’s voice shot fear straight through her.

  “Am I really so shameful to you, Mother?”

  Mrs. Durham didn’t blink. “Tomorrow Abigail will pack your trunks. You’re going to stay with your cousins in Hertfordshire for the summer.”

  “England?” The coldness reached Lily’s head, pushing in on all sides until her thoughts whirled together like a blizzard. What about her friends here? What would she tell Robert after he promised to take her for a ride in his new Renault? How could she survive in England? The English were so cold, so humorless, so bland. Everything that sent her tearing in the other direction. “I refuse to go.”

  “You do not have a choice.” Her mother picked up the jar of powdered rice on the vanity and puckered her lips with distaste. “And know that if you attempt a dramatic confrontation in hopes of persuading us otherwise, your allowance will be cut off without another cent. Perhaps a few months in England will see you develop a bit of self-control.” She put down the jar and dusted her hands clean. “One can hope.”

  “So that’s it? You’ll just ship me off to be someone else’s problem? I’ll land on your cousin’s doorstep and say, ‘Surprise! I’m here to live with you.’”

  “I wrote her over a month ago. They’re expecting you by the end of next week.”

  “You’ve had this planned for over a month? Was I to wake up one morning and suddenly find seagulls flying outside my stateroom?”

  “Your father and I do not need to inform you of every decision we think best. One day a husband will handle such responsibilities. Until then, you do as we say. We have given you every luxury and yet you continue without a responsible thought in that too pretty head of yours. Sneaking along dark halls dressed as a common maid.” Mrs. Durham, the high society party planner of the season, pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to go on.

  Standing, Lily walked to her armoire and flung the door open with numb fingers. The bottom board where her rows of shoes ordinarily smiled up at her was empty. Abigail had started early. “Thank you for letting me know exactly where I stand in this family.” She shut the door and laid a hand against the smooth wood. “Perhaps you’ll find some small pride for me from a distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or so they say.”

  “I shall write to Cousin Hazel when I think it’s time for you to come home.” Her mother glided to the door, hand pausing on the polished doorknob. “Use this time wisely. It’s for your own good.”

  Lily spun and smiled with brittleness pricking her heart. “Shall I find a husband while I’m there? A lord, perhaps? That should make Father happy.”

  “Their gentry is still recovering. It may take a few generations for them to regain their power after that last boat of debutantes, like Cousin Hazel, rescued them. As much as your father would love to have a title in the family, it’s best to wait until you return before we consider those prospects.” Mrs. Durham paused, the ice briefly cracking on her face. “I have tried, Lily.”

  “I know, Mother. But we always seem to try for different things. Perhaps one day we’ll get it right.”

  The door shut. Lily took a deep breath and turned back to her armoire to finish what Abigail had started. If her mother wasn’t shedding a tear, then neither would she.

  Chapter 1

  April 1915

  Laggan, Scotland

  If only the snobs on Fifth Avenue could see this.

  Lily Durham ducked her head back inside the car window, careful to prevent the pheasant feathers on her hat from being crushed against the glass. Sprawling green hills, lush woods, and a castle with diamond-paned windows and towers spiraling high into the blue sky were enough to vanquish any qualms she’d had about leaving gentle England for the wilds of Scotland.

  “Are you sure this is a hospital? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “A convalescent home.” Her cousin Elizabeth—Bertie, as she corrected Lily at their first meeting almost a year ago—adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on the edge of her nose and flipped a page from the folder in her hand. “Wealthy families are opening their homes for the returning soldiers to recuperate without all the sterilization of an actual hospital. According to our introduction packet, the MacGregor estate is the oldest and largest in Lanarkshire County.”

  “Does it say anything in there about handsome soldiers?”

  Bertie’s nose disappeared into a paper crease. “Yes, right here. There will be at least three to every nurse. No more than fifty patients at a time to ensure proper attention is awarded each.”

  “You put your face any closer to that and you’ll have ink marks on your forehead.”

  “You asked about the Tommies.”

  Lily snatched the papers from Bertie’s hand and stuffed them back into the satchel tucked between their feet. “What I want to know can’t be found from scribbled statistics.”

  Bertie rolled her eyes. “Oh, you mean the color of their eyes, the charm of their voice, and whether or not they’d make a good dance par
tner.”

  Lily grinned and hooked her arm through Bertie’s. “Precisely. And I’m finding the best dancer just for you.”

  The barest smile floated across Bertie’s lips. “You know I can’t dance. Don’t make me remind you of what happened at that surprise birthday party you threw for me last summer.”

  “The important thing was that you stayed upright. Besides, your mother’s couch looks much better with a punch stain on it.”

  “She doesn’t think so.” The smile faded from Bertie’s face as they rounded the last bend in the drive. Two bandaged men in wheelchairs sat under a large, shady oak tree. A nurse bent over one of them, tucking a blanket around his remaining leg. “I don’t know if any of the men here will be up for dancing. They need quiet and fresh air.”

  “Sitting in a silent room staring at white walls may heal the body, but it doesn’t heal the soul.”

  “Don’t let the matron hear you say such scandalous things. They don’t like nurses who talk about anything other than proper bandages and crutches.”

  “Good thing your Red Cross nurses denied me to join their ranks, and yet you dragged me along anyway.”

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving without you.” Bertie squeezed her arm. “I’m so glad your mother is allowing you to stay so long. I thought with the war starting she would demand your immediate return to America, but it’s so dangerous now to be sailing out in the open waters with those German U-boats lurking around.”

  Lily turned back to the window. The late-afternoon sun shot between the trees in a dizzying effect of light and dark, catching her thoughts somewhere in between. Her mother had written at the end of the summer, asking Cousin Hazel to extend her hospitality in hopes of Lily experiencing more of what the gentle English countryside had to offer. But as the gentleness disappeared with the declaration of war, Lily allowed herself the smallest hope that her parents would demand her return at once. It wasn’t until after she had written to tell them of her volunteer work in Scotland that they had replied. And it was only to state their relief in knowing she would be much safer there than farther south in England.

  “You know Mother. She only wants what’s best.” Lily turned back to Bertie. “And what’s best is I’m here to help you get into trouble.”

  “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “Perhaps not, but we do have off days.”

  The Renault glided to a stop in front of the thick front doors. Bertie grabbed her satchel, stuffed to the brim with folders and books on nursing, and vaulted out before the chauffeur could throttle down the engine. With a quick fluff to her hair, Lily followed.

  Despite New York society’s determination to always appear unimpressed, she couldn’t help staring in awe at the enormous castle that devoured the sky at this close range. Weathered gray walls scaling four stories high stood formidable as giants, harsh and rugged from years of challenging the elements that threatened their stance. Rounded towers with conical roofs guarded each corner, with a rectangular tower rising from the middle like a crenellated crown.

  “I’ll get lost in a place like this.”

  “Needs a good scrubbing.” Having grown up on a sprawling English estate complete with Thoroughbred stables and garage house, the effect was lost on Bertie. “Then again, Kinclavoch is close to four hundred years old.”

  “I thought you said this place was called MacGregor.”

  “It’s the MacGregors’ estate.” At Lily’s confusion, Bertie sighed. “Kinclavoch Castle is home to the family MacGregor and by which the lord and master is titled Lord Strathem.”

  The British and their stuffy titles.

  The massive brass stag head knockers shook as the front door swung open. A thick woman in a blue cotton chambray dress, starched white apron with a red cross, and prim nurse cap stepped out.

  Her close-set eyes swept over them with shrewd appraisal. “I’m Matron Strom. Are you my new girls?”

  Bertie stepped forward and inclined her head. “How do you do? My name is Elizabeth Buchanan, and this is my cousin, Lily Durham.”

  Lily flashed a smile. “It was a long trip, but we’re delighted to finally be here.”

  Matron Strom raised a sparse eyebrow. “Delighted to spend the spring in the glorious Lowlands at this magnificent estate, or delighted to charm your way through the injured and haunted boys inside?”

  If the woman thought to intimidate her with barbs, she was in for an unpleasant surprise. Lily’s mother had given her a lifetime of practice. She smiled even brighter. “Whatever I am called upon to do, I am at their disposal.”

  “How magnanimous is the American spirit. Mixed with British sensibility, it should prove an interesting combination. Get your bags and come inside.”

  “Might we have a footman to help?” Lily called as Matron Strom turned back to the house. “We brought a trunk and a few cases.”

  “You were instructed to bring only one suitcase.” The woman’s colorless lips pinched at the corners. “Do you always have difficulty following instructions?”

  Lily bristled. “Of course not, but I could hardly fit my nightdress in one suitcase. How are we expected to fit an entire change of clothes in one?”

  “The same as every other girl here.” With a click of her shiny black pumps, the matron marched through the door. “Get used to lifting things. You’re going to work now.”

  “Not very friendly, is she?” Lily took one of the suitcases the driver pulled down from the luggage rack and slung it over her shoulder. Bending down, she grabbed one handle of the trunk.

  Bertie took the other side of the trunk and lifted. “Talking like we’re here on a lark doesn’t start us off on the right foot.”

  “I know we’re not here for a lark, but we don’t have to keep a sour face the whole time either.”

  Inside it was difficult to keep anything on her face but awe. Gleaming mahogany floors opened up to a three-story great hall. Light filtered through the high-arched windows and scattered over the blue-and-gold rug and dark wood furniture. Oil paintings of kilted men with swords drawn and storm-ravished moors lined the walls. Centuries of masculine strength gazed upon all who dared enter, but a cold stillness hung in the air. As if the life were sealed behind the beaten stones.

  “Ahem.” Matron Strom stood at the bottom of a carved stone staircase. Her broad forehead creased with displeasure. “If you’re quite finished ogling the surroundings, I’ll take you to your room and then show you to your stations.”

  Lily’s lungs strained against her corset as they trudged to the top of the fourth floor. Never in her life had she climbed so many stairs. Across the sagging trunk, Bertie’s pink cheeks puffed in and out. Matron Strom looked ready for a marathon.

  “This way.” She turned left and then down a long maze of hallways and doors. The carpet gave way to bare floors and walls as the air grew closer. Stopping at an unadorned door near the end of the hallway, she turned the handle and stepped in. “You’ll find everything you need, and if you do not, then you simply do not need it.”

  The narrow room had two metal-frame beds, a small dresser with a pitcher and basin, an unvarnished wardrobe, and a high window framed with yellow muslin curtains. Servants’ quarters.

  “Well, this is . . . darling.” Lily set her suitcase down on the foot of the bed before testing the mattress with a bounce. “Good springs.”

  Matron Strom’s eyebrow spiked. “Put your things away neatly. I give unannounced inspections, and a failure will earn you bedpan duty for a month. You’ll find your uniforms in the wardrobe. I expect them clean and without wrinkles at the beginning of each shift.”

  Bertie opened the wardrobe and pulled out one of the uniforms. Nodding in satisfaction, she glanced back in the closet. “Are we to wear our own shoes or are they assigned as well?”

  “Funds are limited, which is why you were instructed to bring sensible footwear.” Her unblinking brown eyes sliced to Lily. “If the pretty silver buckles you brought pinch your feet, don’t complain on my time. The men here are our priority, nothing more.”

  “Precisely why we’re here.” Bertie laid her uniform across the bed and dropped a hand to Lily’s shoulder as Matron Strom continued to glare at her. “Both of us.”

  “We shall see.” The matron paused in the doorway with one last warning. “The castle has a total of one hundred and eight rooms, only thirty of which you are allowed in for hospital, sleeping, and eating purposes. Stay out of the north wing. It contains the family’s personal rooms, and they have requested we respect their privacy. Twenty minutes and I expect you properly dressed and downstairs ready to work.”