by Kate Forsyth
‘Can I see it . . . I mean, her? Mary-Lou?’
‘Of course,’ her great-grandmother replied. ‘The double bass is in the music room. There are quite a few musical instruments there, our family has always loved music. You must ask Linnet to show you where it is.’
‘Okay. I’d like that.’
‘So let me look at you. Red as any Rose, I see. You’ll grow very tired of people saying that to you around here. I know I did. And tall! The Roses are always tall.’
Hannah smiled and Lady Wintersloe smiled back. ‘I am so very glad to see you, Hannah. Thank you for coming all this way.’
‘Hannah was very keen to meet you,’ Roz said stiffly. Hannah wondered if her mum was annoyed at being left out of the conversation for so long, since Roz made it sound as if she had not been very keen to meet Lady Wintersloe again herself.
‘I am pleased to meet you too, Hannah. I’m only sorry I left it so long to write. I had not altogether realised how much you would have grown. It was only as my own birthday approached, and I remembered how old I was, that I realised.’
‘So how old are you?’ Hannah asked.
Her mother exclaimed in horror, but Lady Wintersloe smiled. ‘I’m eighty-eight, Hannah. A magic number, your father would have said.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a palindrome, just like your name, Hannah.’
‘Oh. That means the same forwards and backwards, doesn’t it. Did you know my father called me “Hannah” because my birth date is like that? It’s the twenty-first of December.’ Lady Wintersloe nodded to show she knew the date. Hannah seized her pen and scribbled 21/12 on the edge of her great-grandmother’s newspaper. ‘See? It’s the same backwards as forwards. Apparently Dad said it was a mathematically perfect date.’
‘Your father liked palindromes,’ Lady Wintersloe said. ‘He thought they were magic. The Fair Folk are either drawn to them, or repelled by them, according to their nature. The Seelie Court love order and symmetry, but the Unseelie Court hate it and are confounded by it.’
Hannah was puzzled, and her great-grandmother smiled wearily. ‘You do not know the terms? The Seelies are spirits of a benevolent nature, while the Unseelies are cruel and malicious. Unfortunately it is the Unseelie Court which now rules the hollow hills.’
‘Fairies, do you mean?’ Hannah was not sure she had understood her great-grandmother properly.
Lady Wintersloe’s eyebrows drew together. She leant forward, laying one thin hand on Hannah’s arm. ‘I am speaking of the Sidhe, Hannah. Pronounced ‘shee’ but spelt S.I.D.H.E. We call them the Fair Folk, or the Good Neighbours, because it is not safe to call them by name. They are not pretty little fluttery things like the fairies you see drawn in books and cards. They are as tall as you or I, or even taller, and powerful indeed.’
‘Like elves?’ Hannah asked, thinking of Legolas in the movie of The Lord of the Rings.
Lady Wintersloe’s face relaxed, and she sat back. ‘Yes, Hannah, very like elves, though they are German in origin and we are talking about the Sidhe, who are Scottish and Irish. They have always been here or, rather, lived alongside us in their own realm. Some think they are ancient nature spirits, maybe even the old gods and goddesses who withdrew from this world when they were no longer worshipped. Others think they are just another race of people—more in touch with the natural magic of the world than us humans—who withdrew into the hollow hills and mounds when they were defeated in battle. Sidhe is Gaelic for “people of the mounds”.’
‘They say that up to ninety-five per cent of Scots continued to believe in fairies right up to the end of the nineteenth century. Isn’t it incredible?’ Roz shook her head in disbelief.
Lady Wintersloe said sharply, ‘The Sidhe have been known in Scotland for centuries, Rosamund. There are endless stories and poems and ballads describing their deeds.’
‘Well, yes, fairy stories,’ Roz replied. ‘Every culture has its myths and legends. That is how primitive people try to explain natural phenomenon like thunder and lightning and the moon waxing and waning. We know better now. We have science to explain such things.’
‘Science cannot explain everything, Rosamund,’ Lady Wintersloe said austerely.
Roz huffed out her breath in exasperation. ‘Perhaps not, Lady Wintersloe . . .’
‘Please, Rosamund! You’re my grandson’s wife, it is ridiculous to stand on ceremony with me,’ Lady Wintersloe said sharply. Roz flushed scarlet, and Hannah looked from one to the other in dismay. ‘Why do you not both call me Belle? It sounds much nicer.’ Lady Wintersloe said, trying to speak more gently.
‘Then you must call me Roz,’ Hannah’s mother replied coolly. ‘No one calls me Rosamund.’
‘But it is such a pretty name . . .’ Lady Wintersloe said, then paused. ‘Very well, then, Roz. Don’t you sometimes think, like Hamlet, that there are more things in heaven and earth than you can dream of in your philosophy?’
‘Perhaps, though I cannot imagine that fairies are one of them,’ Roz answered dryly.
‘It is not wise to underestimate the Fair Folk,’ Lady Wintersloe said, sitting as stiffly as she could, with her cast held out awkwardly before her.
Hannah glanced at her mother, and saw Roz surreptitiously roll her eyes. She obviously thought the old lady was wandering in her wits. Hannah was a little surprised too, she had to admit, even though it was not so long since she had been leaving letters to the fairies at the bottom of the garden.
Lady Wintersloe turned pointedly to Hannah. ‘But we were speaking of palindromes, weren’t we? Do you know this one? “Did Hannah say as Hannah did?” Write it down; you can’t get it otherwise.’
Hannah took her great-grandmother’s pen and wrote the sentence down, and Lady Wintersloe leant forward to run her finger backwards over the sentence. ‘See? It’s the same frontwards or backwards.’
Hannah laughed in surprise. ‘So it is!’
Lady Wintersloe nodded. ‘Your father told me that one. He knew lots. Let me see. There’s one about “rats” and “star”, I don’t remember that one. Oh, here’s one! Write down: “Do geese see God?”
Hannah had to turn the newspaper round to find a piece of margin free from scribbles. She wrote the sentence down, and then read it backwards. ‘It’s a palindrome too.’
‘Your father’s favourite was always, “Draw, O coward!” He and Allan used to have pretend sword fights in the old castle, and shout that all the time.’ Lady Wintersloe sighed.
A soft knock on the door caught Lady Wintersloe’s attention and made Roz look up from the magazine she was rather noisily riffling through.
‘Ah, Linnet! Tea? Lovely.’ As Lady Wintersloe moved, a twinge of pain crossed her face and was sternly repressed.
Linnet came trotting into the room, pushing a wheeled trolley. It was laden with delicate china plates and cups, painted with a design of blackthorn blossoms and sloe berries, and a two-tier cake stand, laden with goodies. A tall, elegant teapot, bearing the shield of the Rose family, steamed enticingly.
Hannah jumped up to investigate. She saw scones, a bowl of whipped cream and another of dark purple jam, sugar-dusted shortbread, and a huge sticky cake crowned with curls of orange peel.
‘I hope you’re hungry!’ The tiny old woman beamed around at them as she pushed the trolley next to Lady Wintersloe’s left hand.
Lady Wintersloe poured two cups of tea, her hands trembling visibly, then paused and looked at Hannah. ‘Tea, or would you prefer milk?’
‘I’ll have tea, please.’ Hannah cast a quick look at her mother to see if she objected, but Roz gave a little nod. Her great-grandmother carefully poured her a cup, added quite a lot of milk and two sugar lumps, and gave it to Hannah, who drank it thirstily, feeling very grown-up. No one had ever offered her tea before.
‘What a spread! You’ve done us proud, Linnet,’ Roz said, sitting forward in her chair. ‘I think I’ll try your famous marmalade cake. Thank you.’
‘And you, my lamb
?’ Linnet twisted her head up to look at Hannah, her green eyes shining. ‘I know you’d like some marmalade cake!’
Hannah hesitated. She did not like marmalade. She could feel her mother willing her to be polite, and so said reluctantly, ‘All right. Just a little bit.’
She took a tiny fragment of cake into her mouth, and was surprised by the explosion of taste. ‘Mmmm!’ She took another, larger bite. The cake was one of the most delicious things she had ever tasted, tangy and yet sweet, moist and yet not too sticky.
‘More?’ Linnet asked, cutting another huge slice.
‘Yes, please!’
Linnet did not eat with them, trotting out as soon as everyone was served. The comfortable ritual of food eased some of the tension that had risen between Roz and Lady Wintersloe, much to Hannah’s relief. She did want them all to be friends.
‘So what do you think of Scotland so far, my dear?’ Lady Wintersloe asked, pouring milk into her saucer and putting it down on the floor. The movement obviously cost her some pain, for she grimaced as she straightened and put her hand to her leg. The cat stalked over, orange eyes disdainful, and lapped at the milk delicately.
Hannah had to swallow down a huge mouthful before she could answer. ‘I like it! It’s so pretty. I love all the castles.’
‘There are some very fine ones. We must organise some day trips for you both now that you are here. You won’t want to spend all your time entertaining an old lady.’
‘No,’ Hannah agreed.
Roz frowned at her, but a sudden smile lit up Lady Wintersloe’s gaunt face. Hannah suddenly wondered if her great-grandmother had once been beautiful.
‘You must meet Max, my gardener’s boy. He is only a couple of days younger than you. You would remember the night he was born, Roz. It was that dreadful, dreadful winter, the year we lost Robert. His mother’s car broke down in the snowstorm, and she saw our lights.’
‘Oh yes,’ Roz said blankly. ‘Of course.’
‘Genie had nowhere to go, and so I offered her a job. You would’ve seen the garden? She does a wonderful job. It’s about our only source of income now, people coming to see the house and the garden. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.’
Roz said nothing. Like always, she had frozen at the mention of her dead husband and seemed hardly to hear what Lady Wintersloe was saying.
‘There are quite a few children your age roundabouts, Hannah,’ Lady Wintersloe went on. ‘The little Shaw girl from the general store, and Donovan, of course. Donovan is Allan’s boy, Roz.’
‘But . . . Bob never told me Allan was going to have a baby too . . .’ Roz was startled out of her reverie.
‘I think it was rather a surprise for Allan as well,’ Lady Wintersloe admitted. ‘He and Donovan’s mother weren’t married. I don’t think they even knew each other that well. I certainly had never heard Allan mention her, and I’ve known him all his life. It was all very sad. She came to him for help, when the baby was on its way, but there was a car accident and she died. It was the same night Robert went missing. You remember how thick the snow was? Allan tried to get her to the hospital, but went too fast on a corner and went over the cliff. The van burst into flame, but he managed to get her out in time. She gave birth to Donovan there in the snow, and died before the ambulance could get to her. Two nights before Christmas Eve.’
‘So Donovan’s birthday’s the day after mine?’ Hannah asked in quick interest. ‘We’re practically twins.’
‘Two nights before Christmas Eve,’ Roz repeated. One hand went up to clutch the wedding ring she wore hanging on its chain inside her shirt.
‘Yes. An odd coincidence, don’t you think, that he should be born the very same night Robert died? I’ve taken an interest in the boy as a consequence. He’s rather wild, as you would expect growing up without a mother, but very talented.’ Lady Wintersloe sipped her tea and set her cup back in its saucer. ‘Have you had enough, Hannah? Would you ring the bell and ask Linnet to come and clear?’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Roz said. ‘Hannah and I can clear everything away.’ She nodded at Hannah who obediently got up and began to stack the cups and saucers back on the trolley.
‘Really, Roz, there’s no need. Linnet—’
‘Linnet is probably enjoying a nice sit-down and a cup of tea herself,’ Roz said firmly. ‘Come on, Hannah.’
Carrying the teapot and a dirty plate, Roz sailed out of the room. Hannah pushed the trolley after her.
‘I know she means well,’ Lady Wintersloe murmured. ‘But Linnet hates having her kitchen invaded.’
Hannah was trying to manoeuvre the trolley out the door. She glanced back. ‘How come?’
Lady Wintersloe shrugged elegantly. ‘I suppose she does not like anyone to see her work her magic.’
The Queen’s Garden
Hannah thought about her great-grandmother’s words as she pushed the trolley down the hallway. Had Lady Wintersloe just meant that Linnet’s cooking was so good as to seem like magic, or something more mysterious? Was Linnet some kind of witch? Hannah couldn’t help feeling excited at the thought.
Jinx the smoky-grey cat promenaded down the hall before her, tail crooked like a question mark. Roz was waiting for her by a swing door, teapot held high.
‘She has got to be the worst snob I have ever met! She hardly even looked at me, let alone asked me how I was. Did you notice? And the way she treats poor Linnet, who must be nearly as old as she is. Wanting to be waited on hand and foot . . .’
‘She does have a broken leg,’ Hannah said.
‘Well, yes, but still!’
‘I liked her. I didn’t think she was a snob. I mean, she is a countess.’
‘So? A lucky accident of birth. Doesn’t make her any better than anyone else.’
Hannah gazed at her mother in surprise. ‘I don’t think she meant to ignore you. I mean, I am her great-granddaughter and she’d never met me before.’
Roz huffed out her breath. ‘Sure. Of course. It’s just . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘It was just the same with Bob!’ she burst out. Hannah looked enquiringly at her mother, but Roz would not look at her, instead opening the low oaken door into the kitchen.
It was like stepping back in time. A fire smouldered in an immense black cavity in the wall. The carcass of a large bird hung on a copper spit above it, its juices dripping down onto the coals and making them spit with yellow flame. An ancient table ran down the middle of the room, copper saucepans and ladles and bags of onions and bunches of herbs hanging on hooks from a long copper grate above. Three oaken dressers, all mismatched in size and style and colour, were crowded with pots, bowls, plates, platters, colanders, eggcups, glass bottles of cloudy liquids, and jars of marmalade and jam. A one-legged bird was perched on the sill of the open window, eating from a flowerpot of snails.
Linnet was stirring something in a big orange pot on the ancient cooking range. She was so small she had to stand on a three-legged wooden stool. She turned in surprise, and hopped nimbly down. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have worried! I’d have been there in just a moment!’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Roz said. She went to pour the leftover tea down the huge old porcelain sink, but stopped in surprise. There was a basket of baby squirrels sleeping on the draining-board, all curled up together on a baby blanket. They were tiny hairless things with curling tails and fast-shut eyes. ‘Look, Hannah!’
‘Oh, aren’t they gorgeous!’ Hannah hung over the basket. ‘Can I pat them?’
‘Best not,’ Linnet said. ‘They’re only here until the Wildlife Trust can come and get them. Donovan found them out on the hills this morning. Their mother was killed by a stoat, he thinks. He has to come back every two hours to feed them, so I hope they’re collected before bedtime else he’ll be sleeping over again.’
‘He’s rescued hurt animals before?’ Hannah asked. She liked the sound of a boy who rescued baby squirrels.
‘Oh, yes! All the time. Last year it was a baby fawn who had
been hit by a car, and another time it was an injured hedgehog. There’s been lots of bunnies and birds—he even brought home a peregrine once, with a broken wing. He rescued old Hoppy the jackdaw there too.’ She nodded at the one-legged bird, who cocked its head and stared at them with a silvery-white eye. ‘He loves his animals, that boy does.’
‘So why doesn’t he keep them all at his place?’ Roz asked.
‘His dad won’t let him,’ Linnet said. ‘Allan doesn’t think it’s right for a boy to be mooning around over a load of baby animals. Besides, half the time Donovan found the animals when he was out on the hills instead of being at school, and Allan doesn’t want to encourage him to run wild.’
Roz frowned. ‘He does sound rather wild.’
Linnet smiled fondly. ‘Oh, he’s been a handful since the day he was born, that boy. Whizzing all over the place on that bike of his, and playing his trumpet loud enough to wake the dead. But he’s a good lad.’
Jinx leapt up onto the bench and crept along it, long and low, her glowing eyes fixed on the sleeping squirrels.
‘Watch out for the bogey-cat!’ Linnet shrieked and swept the yowling cat off the bench. ‘How did she get in here?’
‘She came in with me,’ Hannah said guiltily.
‘Watch out for that Jinx!’ Linnet said grimly. ‘She’ll kill every one of those baby squirrels just for the fun of it. Nasty, sneaky thing! I wish her ladyship was not so fond of the dratted thing, but she’s fair taken in by her. Here, help me chase her out, else she’ll drink all the cream and spit in my soup. Yah! Out of here, you old bogey!’
The old woman caught up a tiny broom that looked as if it had been made for a child, and began to sweep under the table, whisking it into the corners and around the huge pantry. A grey streak flashed past and out the door, and Linnet slammed the door behind it. ‘That got rid of her!’ she said with satisfaction, as Hoppy the jackdaw screeched and flapped its wings in surprise.
‘Has Lady Wintersloe still not got you a dishwasher or a microwave, Linnet?’ Roz said, looking around. ‘This kitchen is like something out of the Middle Ages!’
