Chapter 12
After the Folly
Edinburgh – July, 1919
Robert met him at Waverly train station and, grasping Alastair in a fraternal embrace, he exclaimed, “God, tis so awfully good to see you, Alastair!”
“Och aye, and ye as weel,” Alastair responded.
Two hours later, they were seated in the Boar’s Head’s Behin’, each working on their second pint of ale. Having commenced with the requisite small talk, they recalled wistfully that time when life had seemed simple, when the possibilities had been boundless. By this point, the ale providing sufficient lubrication, they both worked up the courage to discuss the reason for Robert’s visit.
Alastair was the first to break the ice, offering, “Ye’re lookin’ weel, Robert. Better than Ah might’ve expected, Ah cannae deny.”
“Thank you. You look fully recovered as well,” Robert responded, “How’s the prosthetic leg?”
“Loosy, but considerin’ the alternative, it’ll have tae do,” Alastair replied grimly. It was apparent that their reunion was a happy one, but neither felt the inclination toward outright joy.
“Soo tell me, hoo is yer recovery goin’, Robert?”
“I’m doing much better, thanks.”
“Ah never asked while we were prisoners - how long were ye at Verdun?”
“Nine months. You were there, too, if memory serves.”
“Aye, that Ah was, fur seven months. That was the woorst, Robert, the absolute woorst.”
“I couldn’t agree more. At times, I felt myself some sort of subhuman beast.” At this the two of them gazed wistfully off into space as, each having dispensed with the obligatory discussion of war, both were equally certain of the desire to move on from it without further ado.
Attempting to change the subject, Robert now offered idly, “I always thought you had a thing for Margaret. It must’ve been hard on you when she was killed. Didn’t you run into her at the Somme?”
“Aye, indeed Ah did. That was two years back,” Alastair replied thoughtfully.
“I missed her, but only just,” Robert volunteered, “I went looking for her after I got out of the hospital in Paris, just after she was killed.”
“Reit, and then again, wrong.”
“Oh, what does that mean?”
“Long stoory, Robert, long long stoory. That is the reason Ah sent ye the telegram.”
“I thought you wanted me to come to fulfill the promise that night on Arthur’s Seat. You remember - when we all agreed to meet again when the war ended. And now, there’s only the two of us.”
“Reit. Ah jist used that as an excuse tae get ye tae come back tae Edinburgh, Robert.”
“I say, what are you getting at, Alastair?”
“There’s moore, Robert, quite a bit moore tae be said.”
“I have all the time in the world, and I suspect that you do as well.”
“Point weel taken.”
“Well then, carry on,” Robert suggested, “Go ahead, fill me in.”
“Weel, that is indeed the reason that we are here Ah suppose, but Ah warn ye, Robert, it will be quite a shock.”
“I can take it,” Robert responded, “After all, I survived the war.”
“Then ye’ll nae concern yerself if we take a short walk, Ah’ll warrant.”
“A walk? Where to?”
“We must goo tae Arthur’s Seat, my friend.”
“You can’t make it up there, Alastair, not with your leg.”
“Nae need, we only need make it tae the base, where we built the fire five years since. Noow, come oon, Robbie Boy.”
An hour later they stood on the very spot where it had all started so long ago, Robert lost in the memories afforded by such a revolting place.
“Noo, we’re gooin’ tae remember, Robert,” Alastair commanded, and so saying, he drew a small wrapper from his bagpipe, inquiring, “Remember?”
“Yes, of course,” Robert replied, “We each had a bit of haggis.”
“Reit, as we shall noo, remembrance bein’ the goal.”
Taking the offering, Robert responded, “Right,” and the pair simultaneously bit into their chunks, the tasty morsel immediately bringing every detailed memory into perfect focus.
“I say, Alastair, I get the point. I remember everything. Now, what’s your point? What’s happened?”
“It all started reit here, Robert.”
“Yes, I understand. Tell me, Alastair. Tell me.”
“Reit. But it will nae show well fur some ay us. Boot Ah suppose there’s nae choice. Ye see, a quite bad thing has been done, Robert.”
“I say! What on earth are you babbling about, Alastair?”
“Weel, Ah’ve discovered that Margaret was indeed court-martialed. And afterwards, they threw her in the brig.”
“That must’ve been before she was killed.”
“Nae, Robert, nae, ye have it all wrong. If’n ye please, jist bear with me fur a spell.”
“Right. I am all ears.”
“Robert – brace yerself – Margaret is nae dead.”
“What!” Robert exclaimed in utter disbelief, “You mean, she’s alive?”
“Aye, but only jist. She’s been in prison fur all thes time. They let her oot in January. Ah heard they were thinkin’ it weren’t right tae keep war criminals behind bars, when they was returnin’ all the prisoners ay war. Soo they let her goo.”
“What!” Robert exclaimed incredulously, “Why ever on earth did I think she was killed?”
“Because Ah told you she’d been killed, as did that doctor. But it was nae reit. Elizabeth told me she’d been killed too, but she lied tae me.”
“My God! How long was she in prison?”
“Mor’n two years, Robert.”
“My Lord, she must be in terrible shape, Alastair!”
“Ah’d say that is the understatement ay the century. She’s survived somethin’ too horrible tae be comprehended.”
“Yes…well…perhaps…” Robert stammered in confusion, but suddenly recovering his train of thought, he suggested, “But you say Elizabeth lied, so it wasn’t any of our doing, was it, Alastair.”
“Aye, weel, perhaps that be nae quite reit, Robert.”
“Oh?”
“You see, Ah’ve quite by accident helped tae cause Margaret’s demise, Ah’m afraid.”
At this revelation, Robert half rose from his chair, exclaiming doubtfully, “Indeed! Just exactly how so?”
“Weel, tis indeed a long story. As ye may recall, it was actually Elizabeth instead ay Margaret was fraternizing with the troops.”
“Yes, of course. You told me about it that day under the tank.”
“Reit. Ye see, Elizabeth thought Ah was dyin’, and soo, she gave me a look, as ye weel kin. Remember, Ah told ye aboot it when we was hidin’ ourselves under that stinkin’ tank. And quite a look it was, Robert. Ah even got tae touch those lovely melons of hers. It were like the nectar ay the gods. It moost have been somethin’ in those lovely melons, because the next mornin’ Ah was nae only alive, against all oods, but somehow much the better. Soo ye see, Robert - Elizabeth saved my life.”
“That’s quite a story, Alastair,” Robert replied introspectively, “But what does it have to do with Margaret being alive?”
“Weel, as ye will recall, Ah later told one ay those dyin’ soldier boys what Elizabeth done fur me, while Ah was convalescin’ in Paris. The next thing Ah know, some Army police-type is tellin’ me that she’s in big trouble. Ah was afraid fur Elizabeth, soo Ah lied – Ah told him it was Margaret,” Alastair responded.
“Right. I do recall you telling me that. But why did you do it?”
“Because Ah had somethin’ fierce inside me fur Elizabeth, that’s why. And besides, Elizabeth told me that Margaret had been killed. So Ah was hopin’ tae save Elizabeth by blamin’ it all on Margaret, who was supposed tae be dead.”
“Are you quite certain, Ala
stair?”
“Whit do ye mean ‘Am Ah certain’? Ay course, Ah’m certain! Elizabeth told me when she thought Ah was dyin’ that Margaret had been hit by artillery fire.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant, are you sure you were taken with Elizabeth!”
“Robert, och, Robert! Ah ought tae kin my own mind. Ah had a stoatin’ feelin’ fur Elizabeth from the very start, from that night in St. Andrews, when we kissed.”
“And there I’ve been thinkin’ all along you were in love with Margaret.”
At this Alastair responded, “Listen, - we four, we could not seem tae get oon with it all. We’ve unfinished business, Ah’m afraid. We are all knotted up together, and it all goes back tae that night in St. Andrews. Elizabeth was at the heart ay it all, and Ah was an unwittin’ partner in her deception.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Alastair.”
“Don’t play the fool with me, Robert. Ye know exactly what Ah am referrin’ tae. Ah have nae time fur yer bandyin’ aboot. Ah’ve already lost five years ay my life. Now, we must resolve our differences soo that we may properly move oon with our lives.”
“What differences?” Robert responded doubtfully.
“Ah’ve asked ye tae come a long way tae find oot the answer tae that question, Robert, soo please, pitch in.”
Robert eyed him and, seeing as how he was deadly serious, he replied, “Well, if memory serves, we had a great time at the Beltane bonfire.”
“And ye kissed Margaret.”
“True, but then, so did you, Alastair. I remember that from the game on Arthur’s Seat, when you caught her in her lie.”
“Aye, but Robert, she kissed me oon the cheek that night. Ye, oon the other hand, kissed Margaret oon the night of Beltane, a smolderin’ kiss the likes ay which Ah’ve not seen before or since.”
“Yes, so what if I did.”
“She’s been achin’ fur ye ever since, Robert. Ah know it, Ah can feel it in my bones.”
“What! Surely not!”
“And ye! Ye’ve got the same achin’ fur her!”
“Not a chance! You just said - she’s a convicted war criminal!”
“Robert, have ye nae been listenin’ tae me? She’s quite innocent of fraternizin’ with the troops. It was Elizabeth did it.”
“So? And Elizabeth’s dead now. Besides, Margaret was indecent that night on Arthur’s Seat.”
“Whit are ye blabberin’ aboot noo, Robert?”
“When she pranced around and showed us her knickers,” Robert interjected.
“That wasn’t Margaret! It was Elizabeth!”
“No it wasn’t, Alastair! Elizabeth told me so herself! She told me Margaret did it!”
“Nae, Robert, nae. Elizabeth told me the selfsame thing. But she was lyin’ all the time, tryin’ tae dissuade ye from yer lust fur Margaret.”
“What! I’m confused. What on earth are you babbling about?”
“She lied tae the both ay us, Robert. Elizabeth told us both that Margaret did it, but it was Elizabeth all along showed her knickers that night. She told me soo herself oon her deathbed, when she was dyin’ ay the Spanish flu.”
“What! Why would she lie about such a thing, Alastair?”
“Because she too was in love with ye!”
“What! They were both in love with me?”
“Reit, ye daft prig! Elizabeth told me, when Ah thought Ah was dyin’, in the field hospital, that Margaret had been the one showed her knickers that night. But then later oon, when she was the one doin’ the dyin’, Elizabeth confessed the whole truth tae me. When Margaret dragged Elizabeth behin’ the bushes that night, reit over there, they had TWO sporrans, remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember! Who could forget?” Robert replied, gazing in the direction Alastair had pointed.
“Margaret intended tae doff her blouse and place a sporran over her breasts, and she hoped that Elizabeth would do the selfsame. Being just a mite too intoxicated, she went a bit far with it, startin’ tae doff her skirt as weel. At that point, Margaret grew embarrassed, unwillin’ tae goo that far with it. But Elizabeth refused tae back off, wantin’ tae give the boys more ay a show than Margaret was up fur.”
Reminiscing about that night. Robert responded, “I see…and?”
“Soo Margaret flung her sporran at Elizabeth, who suddenly used the two sporrans in the way that Ah surely need nae remind ye ay.”
“Right…”
“Soo Margaret opted oot, and Elizabeth dooned the disguisin’ scarf, sayin’ it would work better that way, fur nae one would ever know which one it was showed her knickers. That way, Margaret wouldnae have tae feel embarrassed that she had backed oot. Under the circumstances, Margaret had nae choice but tae gang along. But in reality, Elizabeth done it with the scarf in the hope that you would assume it were Margaret, thereby destroying yer interest in her.”
“This is too much…” Robert blurted, realization coming over him for the first time, “So it was Elizabeth that night!”
“Tis certain, Robert, and why do you suppose Margaret opted oot?”
“No idea.”
“Because she’d fallen way too hard fur ye, ye idiot! She couldn’t bring herself tae show off her body tae the boys in the presence ay the man she loved, that’s why!”
“Surely not!” Robert exclaimed. He contemplated for a moment, then mumbled, “Wait, I’m still confused…” and halting yet again, he stroked his chin in thought and continued, “So Margaret didn’t show her knickers that night before the war, and she didn’t fraternize with the troops during the war. So she didn’t do anything wrong. So why in heaven’s name didn’t Elizabeth confess when they arrested Margaret? Surely she knew about it.”
“It’s worse than that, Robbie. She figured oot ye’d slept with Margaret, soo she laid a trap fur Margaret. By showin’ herself off to a few ay the troops, she was plannin’ tae get Margaret arrested, all the while hopin’ that if she got Margaret oot ay the way, she’d have ye tae herself.
“How do you know all of this, Alastair?”
“Jist bear with me, Robert. But then, Ah came wounded tae the hospital, and she found my wireless telegraph. That gave her a better idea – tae kill Margaret. She thought it’d be safer that way fur her.”
“To kill her?”
“Reit. So Elizabeth set off a bomb under Margaret’s bunk, usin’ my wireless as a detonator. Apparently, she got herself transferred, and then she went and said goodbye tae Margaret, plannin’ tae set off the bomb remotely as soon as she was a safe distance down the road. But unknown tae Elizabeth, by then Margaret had already been arrested, and some new nurse was unfortunately lyin’ oon Margaret’s bunk. Soo ye see, Elizabeth planned the whole thin’, but her plan went wrong, because by the time she blew the bomb off from down the road somewhere, Margaret had already been arrested and spirited away fur trial. And since Margaret’s personal possessions still lay beneath the bunk, the medical staff misidentified the body.”
“I still don’t understand how you know all of this, Alastair.”
“Robert, Ah’ve just told ye, Ah sat with Elizabeth afore she died. She told me everythin’,” Alastair replied matter-of-factly.
“But you’re telling me that Elizabeth died thinking she’d killed Margaret. How did you find out Margaret hadn’t been killed.”
“Oh, that –that was some of yer doin’, Robert. Remember when we were lyin’ beneath that damn tank in France, we got tae talkin’ aboot Margaret. You claimed the timeline of her death somehoo didn’t seem reit. Weel, that got tae gnawin’ at me after Elizabeth died. Eventually, Ah began tae think that perhaps even Elizabeth’s lie was wrong. Soo Ah went down tae London, tae the War Office. Ah did a bit of snoopin’ aboot, and Ah found the officer interviewed me about the fraternizin’ charge. He told me Margaret was still in the brig. Soo that’s hoo Ah found oot she’s alive.”
“My God, this is all too much. Tis all too confusi
ng. Did Elizabeth perchance tell you what happened to my sporran?”
“Nae, I’ve nae seen hide nor hair ay yer sporran since that night.”
“Damn! That was the family sporran!”
“Weel, buy another one!”
“You idiot, It wasn’t the sporran that was important. Tis what was in it!”
“Och, and what might that be?”
“Oh, nothing - just a poem.”
“Whit sort ay poem?”
“Tis nothing. It was given to me by my father.”
“And who, pray tell, might have written it?”
“It was written by my ancestor, MacTavish Sutherland, just before the battle of Culloden.”
“Och aye, then Ah suppose it does in fact have some special meanin’ fur ye, Robert.”
“Yes, it most certainly does, Alastair, it most certainly does.”
“Weel, then, Ah’ve a certain feeling ye’ve not heard the last ay it.”
“I hope you’re right. Now, get on with the story.”
“Reit. So, it ate at Margaret, ye see. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she’d opted oot. And when Richard was killed in action a couple ay months later, she got stoatin upset. She realized that the world had changed entirely, that her puritan ways were ridiculously outdated. She began tae believe that she was the one was wrong that night on Arthur’s Seat – that Elizabeth had been right all along. And tae make matters worse, she could see that Elizabeth was in love with ye, jist as Ah was in love with Elizabeth. Soo Margaret was truly conflicted, and as a result, she could nae get the nerve tae tell ye ay her feelin’s fur ye.”
“Ah, I see,” Robert said, “And now I know why she met me in London two years ago.”
“Och aye, and when exactly was that?”
“Oh, I remember exactly when it was. It was late June.”
“And what happened?”
“Oh, nothing important, nothing at all, Alastair. We just met, but I could tell she was tormented by something.”
“Reit! Elizabeth said you slept with Margaret. Was that when it was?”
“A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things. If memory serves, you told me the same thing once upon a time.”
Alastair stared at him and murmured yet again, “Margaret was tormented by ye, Robert!”
Contemplating the enormity of it all, Robert mumbled to himself, “Well, I say…So she wasn’t an exhibitionist, I mean, she isn’t an exhibitionist!”
“Nae, my friend, that is the farthest thing from her true person.”
“My God, I’ve gotten it all wrong. I’ve been wrong all along. And to make matters worse, after what I thought she’d done, I began to do everything I could to put her from my mind. And I don’t mind telling you, when you’re on the front lines in a war, that is next to impossible, even when you think someone you care for is dead.”
“Reit, boot ye couldnae, could ye, Robbie Boy?”
“No, I couldn’t, I know that now. Actually, I’ve known it for some time…”
“Soo, Ah have but one last question fur ye, Robert.”
“What might that be?”
“Exactly whit have ye in mind tae do aboot it?”
Wharton Manor – A Month Later
As Alastair wandered into the sitting room he noticed bright sunlight spreading across the patterned rug. He glanced toward the garden, turned about and, lurching in surprise, he exclaimed, “Och, Lady Sutherland. Ah’m soory, Ah’m afraid Ah’ve invaded yer solitude.”
Lounging unobtrusively within her favorite chair, she responded matter-of-factly, “Mr. Stewart, our home is your home. Please, have a seat here with me so that we may chat a bit. I’m so glad you came for a visit. I believe that we have certain things to discuss.”
Scratching his chin in confusion, he replied, “Certainly, madam, Ah’m at yer service.”
Having allowed him to ensconce himself comfortably opposite her, she commenced, “Now then, Robert has told me all about you, Alastair. May I call you Alastair? Tis just that I feel as if we already know one another.”
“Och aye, by all means, Lady Sutherland. Alastair, it is.”
“Splendid! Now, I believe that I have the story straight, but for a few small details.”
“Story? Whit story?”
“Why, the story of the past five years, of course.”
“Reit,” he affirmed, nonetheless having no earthly idea as to what she was referring.
“Now, Robert tells me that there were two young ladies, from your time together in Edinburgh before the war.”
“That is reit - Elizabeth and Margaret.”
“Now, I have the story, but some of the pieces are missing. So let me be blunt, Alastair – which one of them was it?”
“Whit! Which one ay them was whit, Lady Sutherland?”
“Please don’t pretend to play the fool with me, Alastair. After all, I am his mother. Which one of them stole Robert’s heart, of course.”
Suddenly realizing that he was ensnared within her web, Alistair blurted, “Och…”
“Alastair, my boy, let me reassure you – you and I, we are in this together. Whatever you divulge to me, I can assure you, shall be used by me solely for Robert’s own good.”
“Reit, Lady Sutherland, fair enough…fair enough,” he responded thoughtfully, “Soo, Tis like this. At first, Ah thought he was taken with Elizabeth, which was tae my displeasure, fur Ah myself was quite taken with her.”
“Go on.”
“Yes, weel, as ye doubtless kin, Ah was fortunate tae meet up with both Margaret and Elizabeth during the course ay the war, as a result ay which Ah discovered that, whereas Margaret showed nae interest in me, Elizabeth was quite the opposite. That, of course, was tae my good fortune.”
“Yes?”
“Weel, then Ah came home fray the war, and Elizabeth and Ah met oop in Edinburgh. She became in the process the love ay my life. Unfortunately, she died of the influenza December last.”
“Oh, I say, that is terrible news! I offer my deepest condolences, Alastair!”
“Ah thank ye, Lady Sutherland,” he responded with a saddened visage, “As ye’ve doubtless discerned by noo – Tis Margaret. Robert is in love with Margaret, although Ah fear he disnae know it himself.”
Lady Sutherland held her hands up and, touching her opposing fingers together pensively, she murmured, “Yes, of course, I already knew that. I agree completely. I just wanted to hear it from you as well.” She paused and, momentarily gazing out the window, she forthwith commanded, “Now, Alastair, you must leave it to me. I believe you’ve done quite enough already. Leave the rest to me.”
“Ay coorse! Ah had hoped ye might be helpful. Ah thenk ye. Robert means the warld tae me,” and at this he rose to leave the room, but then, thinking better of it, he volunteered, “There is one other small detail, Lady Sutherland.”
“Yes?”
“Thar be a sporran – the Sutherland family sporran, if’n Ah’m nae mistaken.”
“What! What on earth are you talking about, Alastair?”
“Ye jist leave that part tae me, Lady Sutherland. Noo Ah know the meanin’ behin’ the sporran, it shall be taken care ay with a telegram, ay that Ah’m certain.”
“Excellent! I shall rely on your good judgment.”
“There’s one other thin’, Lady Sutherland - Margaret was court-martialed fur fraternizing with the troops durin’ the war. She was convicted, sentenced tae be executed, and thrown intae the brig.”
“But I don’t understand. How did this all come to pass?”
“Ah’m nae certain, but Ah’ve pieced most ay it together as best Ah coods. Apparently Elizabeth, wantin’ Robert fur herself, laid a trap fur Margaret, thereby gettin’ her arrested fur some heinous pleasures with the troops. Margaret was subsequently convicted by the military court, and the regulations called fur her tae be executed by firin’ squad, boot her good heart was evident tae her keepers, and the war wa
s takin’ a turn fur the better besides, soo they kept puttin’ off the execution, finally disposin’ ay it altogether. And when the war ended, they simply let her goo, along with the prisoners ay war. Ah suppose they didn’t want the shame on their hands ay executin’ a nurse.”
“My, this is all terribly distressing. Where is she at the moment?”
“Why, she’s goon home tae Australia, Lady Sutherland. Ah thought ye’d have kinned that.”
“Oh! My! That IS regrettable,” she mused with a frown. But then she suddenly brightened, adding, “But perhaps…yes, I am quite certain of it…that is, in the grand scheme of things, just the right solution.”
“Scheme? Solution?”
“As I said, Alastair – you just leave it to me.”
“Aye, ay coorse, Lady Sutherland,” he responded, “Jist one last detail.”
“Yes?” she responded expectantly.
“Ah’m thinkin’ ye’ll be knowin’ exactly how tae make proper use ay whits in thes here envelope,” he said and, handing it to her, he rose and left the room.
Wharton Manor – A Week Later
Robert relaxed within the sitting room, Lady Sutherland by his side.
“Your friend Alastair was a treat, Robert. I’m so glad you invited him to visit.”
“Yes, we went through quite a bit together. I suppose he’s my best friend in the world.”
“Perhaps even better than you know, Robert.”
“What does that mean?”
“All in good time, dear. Too bad he couldn’t stay longer.”
“He’s studying to be a scientist at the university. I’m sure he’ll make a great one.”
“Yes, I can see - he’s quite brilliant,” and, glancing toward him, she subsequently inquired, “I was wondering, Robert - whatever happened to that lovely young lady in Edinburgh?”
“Which one, mother? There were so many,” he responded facetiously.
“Yes, just so, but didn’t you tell me that one of them had been killed during the war?”
“Yes, Margaret, Margaret MacCreedy.”
“Right, that one. Am I correct - did Alastair tell me that she actually survived?”
“Why yes, Mother, she did indeed survive the war.”
“Excellent! So tell me, Robert. She IS in fact the woman who has stolen your heart, isn’t she?”
“What!”
“Oh, come now, my son. There is only one thing that could distract a man from what you’ve been through, and you’ve clearly been distracted ever since you came home nearly a year ago. At least half a dozen eligible young ladies have practically thrown themselves at you, the heir to an Earldom, and you’ve hardly even noticed. So don’t even consider the possibility that you’ve been fooling your father and me.” At this she halted, gave him a rather stern look, and continued with, “So tell me. Tell me this instant, or, seeing as how you are behaving as if you were yet a child, I shall send you to detention!”
Despite his apparent irritation at her forward manner, he could nonetheless see no way out, thereby necessitation him to admit, “Alright, mother. Yes, tis Margaret. She is the one has consumed my inner thoughts. Somehow, I cannot seem to push her from within myself. Unfortunately, she was court-martialed for fraternization. So you see - it simply won’t do. ”
“Court-martialed! How could that be, Robert?”
“Oh, she wasn’t guilty of it.”
“So she was exonerated?”
“No.”
Putting on her very best acting show, Lady Sutherland exclaimed, “What? You mean she wasn’t guilty, and she’s not been exonerated?”
“Right.”
“Well, then exactly what are you going to do about it?” she inquired, already knowing the answer to her own question.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. There is nothing that I can do, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” she responded in that dangerously serene way of hers, “And why ever did you not look her up after the war ended?”
“What! At first I didn’t even know that she had survived. But then, when I found out that she had, it simply didn’t make sense. Can you not see that a convicted war criminal is not an appropriate match for the son of an earl?”
“Oh, I am simply wondering…just wondering…” at which point her voice trailed off. Eventually, she took up again, querying, “Do you have a notion where she might be at present?”
Attempting in vain to appear as if he cared not one whit, he muttered, “No…” and for his part, he hoped that this whole line of questioning would come to a rather abrupt end. But suddenly, the realization coming over him that he was being led on, he exclaimed accusingly, “Wait! You already know all of this, don’t you mother!”
“Of course I do, my dear,” she responded with evident satisfaction, “I feared you’d never catch on.”
“Right, mother, I can see the trap has been properly laid. You and Alastair have played me for the fool. So…what, pray tell, do you have in store for me?”
At his inquiry she smiled in that matronly way of hers and, smirking condescendingly at him, she said softly, “Now, Robert, you have always done my bidding. For that I am extremely grateful. You are a child to make any mother proud. However, if you do not follow my instructions in the current circumstance, I shall be forced to reconsider my lofty opinion of you.”
“Whatever are you talking about, mother?”
“Robert, I’m afraid that I must insist that you do two things to rectify this heartrending situation.”
“Yes? And what might that be?”
First, you must take this, and you must use it in the manner designated,” and so saying, she handed him a piece of paper.
Taking it in hand apprehensively, he asked to no one in particular, “Why am I certain that I am not going to be pleased by this?” But he nonetheless gazed carefully at the piece of paper, then slowly raised his gaze to hers in shock, exclaiming, “No! Surely not, mother!”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Robert,” she replied with obvious satisfaction.
“So, I’m to go by ship to Australia. I assume that she has returned there. Am I right?”
“Yes, of course she has. She couldn’t remain in England. She is a convicted war criminal.”
“You seem to have worked this all out. And what, pray tell, is the second requirement?”
“You must figure that one out for yourself, but I imagine you shall. Otherwise, when you arrive in Melbourne, you shall find that you have wasted your time. But just to make sure that you do sort it out, here is an envelope that should quite do the trick.”
Australia – November, 1919
Robert pulled the buggy to a halt beside the ranch house, the dust swirling claustrophobically about it in the late afternoon sun. A rather imposing middle-aged man sauntered out onto the porch and, hands thrust nonchalantly within his back pockets, he offered, “Afternoon, mate. Something I can do for you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m told this is the MacCreedy ranch. Might that be correct, sir?”
Immediately detecting the polished English accent, the man responded, “You’re not from round here, are you?”
“No sir, indeed I am not. Actually, I’ve come quite a long way, from England in fact, in search of a young lady, name of Margaret MacCreedy. Might you know her whereabouts, sir?”
“What did you say your name was, young man?”
“Robert, sir, Robert Sutherland,” and stepping presumptuously from the buggy, he took a single step up onto the porch, holding out his hand in greeting.
The man reached forward in his own turn and, grasping the outstretched hand, he responded, “I’m MacCreedy, Mac MacCreedy. Margaret MacCreedy is my daughter.”
“Ah, I see,” Robert responded apprehensively. “Margaret and I are old friends, sir, from the Great War. Perhaps she has mentioned me.”
“No, can’t say that she ever has.”
Prepared for this deflating possibility, Robert
nonetheless plowed ahead, explaining, “We met in Edinburgh, before the war, sir.”
“I see,” Mac responded, “Terrible war. Of that she did speak a bit, but she’s not said much else at all in the nine months since she came home.” He stepped down from the porch and, moving a bit closer, he proffered, “See here, mate, if you are as you say – a friend – then welcome to you. If you will wait here a few moments, I shall fetch her. I expect the two of you will have some catching up to do.”
“Thank you, sir,” Robert responded gratefully. He watched idly as Mac MacCreedy sauntered off towards the barn, apparently in no hurry whatsoever. A few moments later, Mac strolled leisurely from the barn, came toward the house and, halting at the bottom stair to the porch, he said, “She asked me to tell you that she’d be along in a few moments - other matters to attend to first. Just wait here, Mr. Sutherland,” at which point he mounted the stairs, obviously intent on re-entering the house. But then he turned and, as if it were an afterthought, he offered, “And she tells me you fought in the Great War. May I say – thank you. Thank you for all you did to make this world a better place.”
Having no idea how to respond to such an unanticipated compliment, Robert simply nodded his concurrence as he watched the receding figure disappear within the house. Now alone, he glanced toward the green hills, yet again noticing the strange trees in the distance.
As he gazed about, fear of what might transpire within the span of the next few minutes swept over him. He thought back, way back in time, to those days in Edinburgh so long ago. Had the gulf grown too wide? Had the world of his dreams vanished forever? He had travelled halfway round the world, in the dim and perhaps fleeting hope that some things might indeed have survived the war? Whatever the outcome, he understood instinctively that for him, the remainder of his life turned on the outcome of the approaching encounter.
Suddenly, a familiar voice emanating from behind him, he heard her inquire, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Robert Sutherland?”
At this, he swiveled about in sheer trepidation. The sun at her back, she forced him to squint and raise a hand as a means of bettering his view of her. She was to all appearances the same Margaret from his youth, but somehow older, somehow wiser. As he studied her carefully, he realized that she was wearing a Scottish kilt, and it was adorned with a somehow familiar sporran. Dumbfounded by absolutely everything about her, he thrust his hands into his pockets, embarrassed at having been so obviously stunned by her appearance.
She stood motionless, awaiting his next move. Slowly recovering his senses, he turned to face her head on and responded formally, “Margaret,” but his own hoped for smile somehow couldn’t be summoned.
For her part, Margaret simply nodded grimly and imparted yet a second time, “Robert.”
His equilibrium returning just a tiny bit, he managed to blurt, “How are you?”
“Never better,” she responded sarcastically, “And you?”
“I suppose I’ve been better…” and, seeing that she was clearly not in a mood to coach him through his long-prepared lines, he stepped down from the porch. Attempting to buy time, he mumbled vaguely, “See here, Margaret, I’ve come quite a long way.”
“Yes, Robert, I should know,” she responded impatiently, “I’ve done that trip both ways. Now, what’s on your mind?”
Hoping that his self-effacing humor would somehow reduce the void between them, he blabbed, “Right. If you must know, I was quite seasick the entire journey…”
Studiously avoiding the proffered opportunity to commiserate, she responded noncommittally, “It happens.”
He procrastinated a moment further and, attempting yet another approach, he offered, “I’ve brought you something,” and, saying this, he produced a document which he thrust furtively toward her.
Eyeing it suspiciously, she queried, “What’s this?”
“Take it. Read it,” he commanded sternly, attempting by his officious manner to somehow gain the upper hand.
She took it doubtfully and, unfolding it, she scrutinized it silently. Abruptly gazing upwards into his eyes, she inquired disinterestedly, “How did you manage this?”
“Long story,” he mumbled and, seeing that she was somehow not sufficiently thankful to request amplification, he continued with his carefully planned oratory, saying, “I assume you know that Elizabeth died.”
“Yes, Alastair told me.”
“Alastair?”
“Yes, I saw him before I left England.”
“Ah, I see. He came to see me as well, but he didn’t mention seeing you. At any rate, he was with Elizabeth when she died. She confessed everything. I assume you know the details.”
“Yes,” she responded bluntly and, crossing her arms in expectation, she commanded,” Go on.”
“It seems she wrote it all down. And she made Alastair promise that he would make it all come to rights. Alastair, realizing that he might not make headway with the British military, turned the confession over to my mother, who in turn gave it to me. I was able to use it to obtain for you the pardon you’ve just received. Of course, you deserve a full overturning of your conviction, and I understand that too is forthcoming. So you see, Elizabeth did her best to make it right in the end.”
Her eyes now narrowing to slits, she accused, “So is that why you came all this way?”
“Right…I mean – no!” he exclaimed and, pushing a clod of dirt introspectively with one boot, he added in obvious discomfort, “I say, Margaret , I’ve come to discuss ‘things’ with you.”
“Well, you’ve come a long way for the purpose of having a simple discussion, Major. You could have written. That would have been quite a bit simpler, you know.”
Attempting to somehow penetrate her well-conceived armor, he denied, “No, that simply wouldn’t do. I owed you this visit, I mean - I owe you this visit.”
“That’s flattering, but you don’t seem to have prepared at all during your lengthy trip. I should have thought you would have something significant to say, rather than aimlessly kicking dirt with your boot.”
His sense of equilibrium fleeting with each utterance by her, he sought to bide time, suggesting, “Margaret, I need to understand.”
“Understand? Understand what?”
Momentarily rising to the challenge, he exclaimed, “I need to understand how this all happened, that’s what!”
“There’s nothing magical to understand, Robert, you prig. Once upon a time, a gorgeous young lad moved to Edinburgh, and in the course of a weekend adventure, he succeeded in capturing the hearts of two young ladies, who coincidentally happened to be the best of friends. To complicate matters, the lad’s best friend fell in love with one of the young ladies, although it was not clear which. Unfortunately, a war interceded, a war the likes of which the world has never seen, and the affection that each of the young ladies held for the lad was tested severely by subsequent world-changing events. During the course of the Great War, one of the young ladies practiced a horrific deception. Unfortunately, none of the four characters in our lamentable story seem to have been able to sort out the complexity hidden within the relationships, thereby ultimately leading to the attempted murder, arrest, conviction and incarceration of one of the young ladies. That lady is of course, yours truly, Margaret MacCreedy – a much-maligned lady, I might add.”
“Yes, I agree completely, and for that I am so sorry, Margaret.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Robert.”
“No, that simply won’t do,” he contradicted, “I hope that, given the document I have supplied you with today, you shall accept my full apology for the part I played in your unfortunate demise. Although I was unaware of your incarceration, I nonetheless played the unwitting prig.”
“You could say that again!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing accusingly.
“Wait!” he exclaimed and, belatedly catching up with her lengthy explanation, he gazed directly into her ey
es and murmured, “You said that both of the young ladies fell in love with the same lad, presumably meaning yours truly - which would mean that you are in love with me…”
“That was years ago, Robert,” she replied brusquely, her furrowed brow displaying little sympathy for his confused state.
At this, he gazed forlornly at her and, fearing by her denial that his chance had passed, he babbled inanely, “Hold on…how did you figure all this out, Margaret?”
“You tell me, you pompous English prig!”
“I don’t understand. You knew about this all along?”
“Let’s just say - I suspected. But for the longest time, I couldn’t get it out of Elizabeth, because she was certain that I was in love with you as well, and of course, she wanted you for herself.”
Stroking his chin in sudden contemplation, he responded, “So that charlatan used you to try and catch me.”
“Charlatan?” Margaret interjected. “Charlatan! Look who’s talking!” and at this, she glared pointedly at him.
Withering noticeably beneath her scornful stare, Robert responded defensively, “What? I don’t understand.”
“Did you lay a hand on Elizabeth that night in St. Andrews, Robert?” Margaret queried.
“No,” he responded flatly.
“And why?”
“She wouldn’t let me!” he lied.
“Balderdash, Robert. You didn’t even try!” she put in.
“So?”
“Why didn’t you try to seduce her that night?”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Margaret.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she commanded, “Just tell me why, Robert!”
“Let me think…,” he responded, his mind racing back to that time long ago. “Alright, I remember. Yes, I remember it well. I suppose I was confused.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Margaret responded, “I’m going back to work, Robert. You chap my bum!” and at this, she turned on her heel.
Lunging in desperation for her arm, he wheeled her around to face him and begged, “Wait! Just give me a second. Let me get my head clear…”
At this she glared at him expectantly but, seeing that he apparently had nothing further to say, she hauled off and slapped him across the face.
Rubbing his face in pain, he croaked, “Ow! What was that for?”
“That was for lying to me!”
“What? When?”
“You know, in London, before you were wounded!”
“Lying? I don’t understand, Margaret. Lying about what?”
“About the same thing you’re lying about now.”
“What?”
“Robert, if you say that one more time, I’m walking away. We two, who are the dearest of friends in this whole world - if you cannot speak the truth to me, after all we’ve been through, after surviving the greatest war in the history of humankind, not to mention dehumanizing incarceration of the both of us, then you shall never ever be able to speak the truth to me.”
“Margaret, it’s the damned war. I can’t seem to get past it. I don’t understand how it is that all my comrades in arms have died, but I somehow have been allowed to live. I don’t feel deserving. Indeed, I feel that it was all for naught.”
Staring at him momentarily, she murmured, “If you, having travelled halfway round the world, cannot speak honestly to me at this moment, then indeed all is folly!” This last seemed to remind Robert of a distant memory, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to place it properly.
Seeing his confusion, she reached down, pulled a tattered piece of paper from her sporran and, thrusting it into his hand, she commanded vehemently, “Read it, Robert!”
“Wait!” he blurted out, realization suddenly striking him full force, “How did you get this?”
“Long story. Just read it! Read it aloud to me!” she commanded yet again.
Glancing disconsolately at the bloodstained paper, he folded it up and peered at her in desperation. Sensing that she would countenance no less than full compliance, he quoted precisely from memory:
It comes tae me fray countless scrapes-
The soul ay man doth live tae fight.
Whoever wins, aught victor be,
Tis futile folly - win or lose.
And, when the dust ay battle clears,
The souls ay those who’ve noo departed
Shall beckon frae the graves beneath-
Let nae oor blood be spilt in vain!
Tae ye who now trod ower thes ground
Hear thes message frae the tomb-
That born ay folly by thes battle,
Tis folly too if aught be gained.
He paused and, eyes brimming, his head bobbed reflexively. Hundreds, no – thousands of departed comrades in arms now beckoned to him, the haunting memory of each and every one of them rushing over him. And now, the meaning slowly coming into focus, the events of the preceding five years finally tumbling into place, he slowly raised his eyes to hers. Suddenly, he could see it all, the torment, indeed the folly, the explanation for it all making sense for the first time.
“Margaret,” he whispered, she for her part now apparently intent on turning him out, on walking out of his life. Suddenly she turned, took one step, then another, striding – away from him.
“Wait!” he mumbled in terror, but she just kept walking.
“WAIT! Margaret, wait!” he cried aloud and, taking a single stumbling step toward her, he mumbled to himself, “Damn!”
At this she turned and, placing one hand on her hip, she inquired testily, “Were you speaking to me?”
Rushing toward her, he exclaimed, “Yes!”
Holding her ground, she posited, “Speak your mind, you prig.”
Arriving at her side, tears visibly streaming down his face, he begged, “Please, Margaret. Don’t leave me now. Now, when…when…”
“When what?” she demanded.
“When I’m so afraid of losing you that I can’t even speak logically. I have something to say…”
“Then say it, mate.”
“Tis true, so true, it has all been folly but for you. I love you, Margaret MacCreedy.”
“And I love you, Robert Sutherland, you gorgeous prig!” she replied, the tiniest hint of a smile creasing her features and, holding her hand out to his, she commanded, “Now come with me to the barn and meet your son, Trant.”
Epilogue
As you will doubtless recall, I, Robert Sutherland, the Thirteenth Earl of Winston, promised at the outset of this, my story, that it was my hope that the telling of it would somehow guide you, my descendants toward a more perfect world. Heaven knows, my generation failed profoundly, perhaps more so than any other in the history of humankind. But there it is nonetheless.
And though I have in the intervening span of a lifetime suffered through such madness, not to mention much sadness, I nonetheless find to my amazement, on recounting my life to you, that a poem inscribed on the eve of a battle fought more than two hundred years ago would somehow describe - perhaps even foretell - the course of my life. I am speaking of my marriage to Lady Margaret Sutherland, the love of my life, and the mother of my dear son and heir Trant.
As you now know, my father took me to a battlefield when I was but a boy, telling me the tale of one MacTavish Sutherland, a member of the Sutherland family. A poem, found on the body of old MacTavish after his death at Culloden being my principle legacy, was passed down by my father to me on that cold and blustery day in February, 1904. And now, just as he charged me on that fateful day, I do now so charge thee.
I ask you, how could the final mortal act of old MacTavish Sutherland - a musty Scottish poem – find its way from a centuries-old battlefield in Scotland, subsequently be placed within a ragged sporran by an eleven year old lad, surreptitiously disappear on the eve of war, somehow survive the Great War, thenceforth be transported halfway round the world, and miraculously be restored to the future Earl of Winston
by the very woman responsible for proliferating the Earldom of the Sutherland family? I ask you, my progeny, can you believe otherwise than this – that you, my descendants, are indeed born of folly? And if so, then - tis folly too if aught be gained.
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