Angel Harp: A Novel

by Michael Phillips

  We reached the far end of the rose garden where another opening appeared in the hedge.

  “Come through here,” said the duke, leading the way.

  Again, the tall hedge obscured sight of what lay on the other side. Now I suddenly found myself walking toward a small pond with a stream running into it from the far end. All around it were rocks and ornamental trees of various kinds. Fish swam in the pond and paths led out from it toward several smaller gardens bordered on all sides by tall hedges.

  “It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed. “Wherever you turn, there are new mysteries to discover. Did you plan it this way? You see just a little at a time, then you go through an opening in the hedge and find yourself in a new little world all its own.”

  “You are very perceptive, Marie. That is it exactly—the secret of a good garden is gradually revealed mysteries.”

  “Well, you have certainly succeeded. I have never seen anything like it. This is stunning!”

  “I am glad. It pleases me that you enjoy it.”

  I had been prepared to be angry with the duke for abandoning his daughter. But there had to be more to the story. This could not possibly be an evil man.

  “I don’t see how you have any time for your business,” I said. “This garden must take an enormous amount of work.”

  “It does. But I have help. I do not do all the maintenance of the grounds myself. I have a man on my staff who doubles as a gardener and a gamekeeper—Farquharson is his name. The estate also employs many maintenance people if I need them.—What about you?” he asked abruptly. “Were you never married?”

  The question surprised me, though I don’t know why. People are curious about such things. If I was curious, why shouldn’t he be?

  “Actually I was married, too,” I said. “For seven years, in fact. It was a good marriage. My husband was a fine man and I loved him. But he died suddenly and I have been alone now for six years. We had no children.”

  “I am sorry,” said the duke.

  “Thank you.” I nodded. “It has been hard, I admit that. I have been alone, and sometimes… I don’t even know what I was going to say. Sometimes it is just hard being alone.”

  “I understand. Of course, it is exactly the same for me. Here I am in this huge castle, one of the wealthiest men in the north of Scotland, but I am alone, too.”

  At mention of the castle, I glanced back. From the vantage point of where we were walking, with the sun coming through the trees and falling on the light gray of its stones, it was a sight that could have been taken straight out of a fairy tale.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I said. “But it must also be spooky living in such a huge old place, at night I mean, during a winter storm. Although men probably don’t get afraid of ghosts and goblins like women do.”

  “Don’t be too sure!” The duke laughed. “There are enough stories and legends and tales about this old place to fill a book, and to keep anyone—even a man—lying awake in the middle of the night listening to every little noise and thinking the worst. There are secret passageways even I don’t know about.”

  “I would think you would have explored them all as a boy.”

  “Many—but not all. My sister, however, was fearless. She boasted that she could get from any room to any other room in the castle completely unseen, that no lock could keep her from wherever she wanted to go.”

  “Is that true?”

  “I don’t know. Knowing her, it might have been!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Let’s just say she was very skilled at terrorizing me.”

  “She was older?”

  “Actually no, she was a year younger. But she had, I don’t know, a spiritual, perhaps an occultish power that could strike terror in a young boy like me.”

  “How? What did she do?”

  “She was an amateur poet,” he replied with a little laugh. “Not really a poet. But she loved to speak in little ditties that she turned into hexes and curses. Just phrasing them as rhymes added to their terror—I’m not sure why. Perhaps because that made them lodge in my mind where they would work on me.”

  “It sounds awful. What kinds of things did she say?”

  “She loved to frighten me. There was said to be an underground passageway that leads over to the church. In ancient times, when the church was Roman Catholic, its crypt was connected by this passage to a monastic school located at the castle. But when bones were discovered in the passage, thought to be those of monks from centuries past, the passage was closed up. So the story goes. I was terrified of the stories and stayed well away from the spookier parts of the castle—the attics of the various wings, the basement rooms beneath the east wing, even musty old storage rooms could be terrifying, and there are dozens of such rooms. But Olivia claimed to have explored everywhere, from roof to basement. She told me she had seen the bones and had even picked up a skull in her hands. I was horrified at the thought, but she just laughed at me. She was always trying to frighten me. I’m afraid I wasn’t very brave as a boy. I never knew whether to believe her or not.—Do you like to sail?” he asked abruptly.

  “Sail?” I repeated, taken by surprise at the sudden shift in the conversation. “I don’t know. What do you mean… like in sailboats?”

  The duke laughed again, like he had before. “Yes, sailboats!” he said.

  “No,” I answered. “I mean, I have never been on a sailboat in my life.”

  “Oh, then you must! There is nothing like it.”

  His face came alive with animation, like I had not seen it before that moment.

  “Can you… are you free? Come out with me—we’ll go out and have lunch amid the wind and waves! Say you will, Marie. I haven’t had anyone to take sailing in years. Maybe we will see the dolphins.”

  I was so surprised by this sudden turn in the conversation, all I could do was stare back at him with my mouth open.

  “You mean… actually go sailing—out on the North Sea?” I said, beginning to laugh. “You’re not joking?”

  “No, of course not! It will be great fun.”

  “You didn’t exactly inspire my confidence with your tales of you and Iain capsizing!” I laughed.

  His expression clouded at the mention of Iain’s name, but only for a moment.

  “I have learned how to sail properly since then,” he said.

  “And you have a boat?”

  “The most beautiful fifty-two feet you have ever seen in your life!”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me back through the hedge. Releasing it, he led me, hurrying almost frantically and talking all the way, back toward the castle. Within minutes the arrangements with Miss Forbes for breakfast had been changed to orders for a complete lunch basket to be packed.

  Nicholls was summoned from somewhere.

  Twenty minutes later we were in the BMW, my car still parked where I had left it, and on our way to the harbor.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  On the Firth

  The sailor’s cheerings aloud in the bay,

  Yo-ho, my lads, heave-ho!

  Away! O’er the rolling brine, away!

  Where the winds their bugles blow.

  Let the weakling crouch by the hearth,

  Let the worldling gloat o’re his gold,

  O’er the wave let me bound with a ship that is sound,

  And a crew that is staunch and bold.

  Up to the breeze with the shivering sail!

  Yo-ho, my lads, heave-ho!

  Let the straining shroud ring loud in the gale,

  Where the breaker curls in snow.

  —“The Rover”

  When I thought of a “sail,” I had not imagined a yacht! But that’s what I found myself boarding—a beautiful white pleasure yacht outfitted for use with either sails or engine. I had seen it in the harbor before but had taken no notice. Today it would be a sailing vessel.

  The moment we were out of the harbor and sailing toward open water, the duke changed even more t
han I had noticed that morning. He was animated, excited, full of boyish enthusiasm for the adventure.

  And so confident and in command. He knew everything to do. Before long he had me holding ropes as he adjusted sails, shouting orders and laughing at my ineptitude. Suddenly he had become the captain of an ancient sailing ship, and the two of us were setting out for lands and seas unknown.

  I had the time of my life. I didn’t even get seasick.

  He took us straight out from the harbor. It was remarkable how quickly the shoreline faded behind us. Then he dropped the sails and we began floating gently with the water lapping against the sides. He got out Miss Forbes’s basket and, the perfect host, set out tea and sandwiches.

  It was so quiet, so peaceful. I had heard people who loved the sea talk about what it was like being all alone out on the water. After experiencing it I knew what they were talking about. It was one of the most peaceful settings I had ever been in.

  Except for the mystery about Gwendolyn, I couldn’t understand why the people in the village thought so ill of Duke Reidhaven, or, as I suppose his proper title would be, the Duke of Buchan. I was still a little uncertain what to call him. Names and titles were so confusing! I still wasn’t quite sure if that was the proper term of address. But whatever I was supposed to call him, I liked him. He was pleasant and courteous. Now that we were talking more freely about things, I found him an interesting and engaging man. Maybe he wasn’t that way toward the locals. I didn’t know.

  I lost track of time. After lunch we were sitting on the deck on two chaise lounges chatting and laughing about nothing important. The sun was warm and the fragrant sea breeze so intoxicating.

  I began to doze. Vaguely I knew that Gwendolyn would be expecting me before long. But I couldn’t bring myself to call an end to such a wonderful afternoon. I was happy. I would let it run its course and go see Gwendolyn when I got back.

  Then I woke up, still lying on the deck. The duke’s chair was empty. I sat up and glanced around. He was at the wheel. One of the sails was up again and we were moving gently through the water.

  I stood up and stretched and walked toward him. He smiled.

  “You went to sleep,” he said.

  “I did,” I said, drawing in a deep, contented sigh. It was so peaceful and quiet and warm, I couldn’t help it. “Where are we bound, Captain?”

  He laughed with delight. “Back toward the harbor,” he said. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you and keep you to myself for the whole day. I remembered what you said before about the girl you are teaching to play the harp. I thought maybe I should get you back.”

  “That was considerate of you—thank you,” I said. “What time is it?”

  “A little after three.”

  “I’m already late!” I laughed. “But it’s not set in stone. I’ll go see her when I get back.”

  We stood there beside each other for several minutes in silence, gazing out in the distance where the shoreline was gradually coming into view.

  Suddenly I saw a great splashing and movement in the water only twenty or thirty yards off the side.

  “Dolphins!” I exclaimed. “Look… look, Alasdair—there must be ten or more! Look, they’re jumping in and out—oh, wow!”

  He laughed at my enthusiasm. I hadn’t even realized that I had called him by name.

  “They love to lead a boat like this,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s quite common.”

  I continued to watch in wonder.

  “How long will they follow us?” I asked.

  “Until we reach shallow water.”

  “How do you know where to go?” I asked as we continued to approach the shore. “Or maybe I should ask, how do you know where we are?”

  “I have a GPS on board if I need it. But for a short excursion like this, I just follow the coastline. There in the distance,” he said, pointing, “the outline of Crannoch Bin is just coming into view. I use that as our landmark and simply set our course toward it. If we were going into Inverness or up to John O’Groats, or around the point to Aberdeen, I would do the same, use visual landmarks. If we were bound for Shetland or Orkney or the European mainland, that would be different. Then we would have to use GPS.”

  “Do you really sail that far?”

  “I’ve taken her all the way into the Mediterranean, to Italy, Greece, Malta, but not for a very long time.”

  “My goodness—I had no idea.”

  “Perhaps you would like to join me for an extended excursion later in the summer.”

  “To the Mediterranean—that sounds like an indecent proposal!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said the duke, obviously flustered. “I meant nothing like that.”

  “I was only joking!” I laughed.

  Again we slapped along in the waves for a while in silence.

  “Tell me about your daughter,” I said at length. “Never having been a parent, I don’t know what it’s like.”

  If the duke took offense at my question, he didn’t show it. He didn’t answer immediately.

  “To answer your question from earlier,” he said after a bit, “no, she did not die. She lives with her aunt, my sister.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “It seemed best,” answered the duke vaguely. “I was in no position to care for an infant.”

  “And now?”

  “She is still with her.”

  “Do you see her?” Again I felt a little deceptive for asking.

  The duke glanced away. Slowly he shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “No, I don’t.”

  He sighed deeply, still looking away. The emotions my question had stirred obviously ran deep. I waited a minute or two. But it was clear he was not going to say more.

  I reached up, hesitated a moment, and laid my hand on his shoulder briefly.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Reid—uh… Alasdair,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stir up anything. I know it’s none of my business—I am just interested.”

  He nodded. I withdrew my hand and walked away to the bow and stood watching as we sliced through the blue water. I stood for twenty or thirty minutes until we began to draw close again to the little harbor of Port Scarnose. By then the dolphins were gone. I turned and walked back to the duke where he still stood at the wheel. I went to his side and slipped my hand through one of his arms.

  “This has been a lovely day,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Marie,” he said, looking toward me with a quiet smile. “You’ve wakened me from a long sleep.”

  “I’m sorry if I—”

  “Say no more,” he said. “I understand. It is just that your appearing from out of nowhere like this, it has stirred up many things inside me that I thought were dead. So you mustn’t mind if I occasionally grow quiet or withdraw into my shell. I am still learning many things.”

  Now it was my turn to smile and nod with what I hoped was understanding.

  “What is that?” I said, pointing to a tiny little domed structure perched on a knoll a little inland toward the castle.

  “It’s called the Temple. It’s an abandoned summerhouse the inhabitants of the castle used years ago when they were going to the beach.—But we are approaching the harbor. All right, then, First Mate,” he said. “Man your post. We must bring in the sail and swing her around before we run aground!”

  I had no idea what I was doing, and I don’t think it was really all that dangerous. Actually I doubt he really needed my help at all. But he pretended to. Working together we brought down the sails, then he started up the engine. Five minutes later we were gliding into the harbor as gracefully as a white swan over a placid lake.

  We tied off the yacht, then walked along the dock back to shore and to the BMW.

  “About the harp,” said the duke as we drove up the steep hill from the harbor into the village. “I told you I hoped to be able to hear you again. When do you think that might be possible?”

  “And I invited you for tea,
if I recall,” I said. “You said you might accept next time.”

  “Touché! That I did.”

  “Then let me extend the invitation anew. Would you like to come to my little rented cottage for tea, and harp music?”

  “I would indeed. I accept.”

  “Tomorrow, noonish?”

  “I will be there.”

  “What about Nicholls? I will feel bad for him just sitting outside in the car.”

  “I’ll come without him. I can drive, you know.”

  We both laughed.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Tea with the Duke

  Last Hogmanay, in Glesca’ Fair, me an’ mesel’ and several mair,

  All gaed off to hae a wee tair, to spend the nicht in Rothesay, O.

  We started off frae the Broomielaw, baith hail and sleet and rain and snaw,

  Forty minutes after twa, we got the length of Rothesay, O.

  —“Rothesay, O”

  The next day promptly at noon, the duke drove up behind the wheel of the BMW. It was hard to think of him as Alasdair, not “the duke.” But he was just a man, a person, like everyone else.

  I was watching for him. As he got out and came up to the house, his step was almost jaunty. He had been that way the day before at the castle too. Though out on the boat there had been some emotional moments, it still seemed, I don’t know, that he was coming to life somehow, coming out of his shell. His expression was more animated. He was dressed in blue slacks, with a light tan pullover sweater over dress shirt and red tie. I suppose it would be called casual, even with the tie. The men here wore ties to work in their gardens!

  I opened the door and he greeted me with a warm smile.

  “Hello, Marie,” he said. “Here I am. No backing out this time.”

  “I am impressed! Come in. Welcome to my humble abode.”

  My harp was standing to one side of the room. His eyes went immediately to it and he began walking in that direction.