by Joan Lingard
Will knocked again and Lucy, forgetting about the onlookers, cried out, “Dad, it’s us! Will and Lucy. Please open the door. Please! We want to see you.”
They waited, scarcely daring to breathe. Lucy had her fingers crossed tightly. Then they heard a chain being unhooked, and the door opened. And there stood their father!
“Dad!” they cried, launching themselves at him.
He hugged them fiercely and when at length they separated they saw that he had tears in his eyes.
“Come in.” He opened the door wide. They went in and he closed it behind them.
The living room was as William and Louisa had described it, except that the sofa could not have survived for over two hundred years. At some time somebody had replaced it but the table looked old and scored, as did the two upright wooden chairs. They could imagine William and Louisa sitting there. A wood fire burned in the grate, making the place warm and cosy.
“How did you manage to find me?” asked their father, sounding incredulous that they had.
They told him about finding the journal.
“That was clever of you.” He said he’d been planning for some time to tell them about it, and this place, very soon. His father had brought him here when he was their age.
“The family’s secret hideaway!” said Lucy.
“My father told me it had to be a secret and that I, in turn, should let my heir into it when he or she – or both of you! – reached your teens.”
“So that’s why Mum doesn’t know about it,” said Will.
“Yes, I’ve always felt a bit awkward about that.”
“Perhaps we’ll have to tell her now?”
“I think we shall.” Their dad then started to say how terribly sorry and ashamed he was to have put them through such an ordeal. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You have to!” Lucy hated to hear him sound so sad.
He shook his head. “I just seemed to freak out. Everything was in such a horrible stupid mess and was going from bad to worse.”
What was amazing them was how normal he seemed. They couldn’t believe it. He was the dad they’d always known and they’d expected to find him in a heap.
Paper and pen lay on the table. It looked as if he had been making notes.
“Sit down,” he said.
They took the sofa and he sat on one of the upright chairs.
“How’s your mum?” he asked first of all.
“OK,” said Will.
“Coping,” added Lucy.
Their father nodded. “I’m sure she is.” He smiled. “I’ve been trying to. I guess you realise I had a kind of breakdown? That’s how it felt, like I was breaking down. Into tiny little pieces. So I came to hide. Not very noble, is it?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” insisted Lucy.
“It does actually, Lucy. Because it affected the two of you and your mum. The first few days I was here I was in a kind of pit of black despair. Then I went and talked to the doctor and he referred me to a counsellor. That was what I needed. Somebody to talk things through with. Before that I’d felt I was peering into a tunnel blocked off at the end.”
A piece of wood tumbled out of the fire on to the grate and he got up to put it back.
“The result is I’ve been able to take some decisions. I think I’ve found a way forward, to make a new start.”
“That’s great,” said Will.
“But what about the money you owe?” asked Lucy. “Will you be able to pay that?” Without their house being sold, she was thinking, but did not voice.
“I’m going to have to sell this flat, I’m afraid. I hate the idea, but I’ve got to.”
“Oh, Dad!” cried Lucy. To think that they had just found this lovely little hideaway which had been Louisa and William’s before them and were going to lose it before they’d had a chance to use it!
“I know. I feel dreadful about it. Especially since my father – and grandfather – made me solemnly promise to never ever sell it. And when I promised I truly thought I never would.” Their father’s voice cracked and he put his back to them and stared out of the window. A few flakes of snow had begun to fall. “I shall be betraying their trust. They explained to me how it had been handed down through the family for generations. To think that I should be the one to break the chain!”
“You can’t help it!” cried Lucy, wanting to get up and comfort him, yet sensing he needed to be left alone for the moment.
“I should have been able to.” He turned to face them again. “I was a fool, an absolute fool. I ran up all those debts. If my father knew—”
“But he doesn’t,” said Lucy. Their grandfather had died before they were born.
“We don’t mind that you can’t pass it on to us,” said Will, though he did feel a pang as he said it. “Are you able to sell it?”
“I’ve been into it with the solicitor. There’s a clause in the will which states that if a member of the family should find himself in dire need – especially in debt – he may do so. I’ve thought and thought and I just can’t see any other way out.”
“It’s OK, Dad.” Lucy was worried that he might slump into another breakdown. “Like Will says, we don’t mind, really we don’t.”
“It is only an old flat,” said Will.
“There are a few days left before your case comes up in court,” said Lucy.
“Do you think you could manage to sell it before then?” asked Will.
“The solicitor already has a buyer ready to sign on the dotted line and with the money in cash. He could have sold it ten times over apparently.” Their father looked round. “It is a little gem,” he said sadly. “I’m so sorry, children, that I won’t be able to pass on your inheritance.”
“We still have our house,” Lucy pointed out. “It’s not as if we’re homeless,” she added, thinking of poor old Peg.
Will’s mobile rang. “It’s Mum,” he said, looking at the number on the display.
“Tell her we’re coming home,” said their father.
When they reached the house they let him go ahead and spend a few minutes alone with their mother. When they did go in they saw that she had been crying. They did not feel far from it themselves. Lucy had been sniffling all the way up the hill.
“We should have a special meal to celebrate, Mum,” she said.
“We were just going to have fish fingers!” said their mother ruefully. “I didn’t have time to shop today.”
“Why don’t we have a carry-out?” suggested their father.
“I suppose we could.” Their mother was hesitating a little, thinking, they knew, of the money. “OK, why not?” She fetched her purse.
Will and Lucy went out to buy it. They were told they could choose. Lucy wanted Chinese, Will Indian. In the end they opted for Thai, which was kind of in between. While they were waiting for the order to be made up they talked about the family’s little hideaway.
“It’s a shame it has to be sold,” sighed Lucy. “It’d have been a great place to hang out in.”
“Better to have Dad home, though.”
There was no question about that and it was wonderful that he was going to be able to clear his debts. But what about afterwards? Even if there was some money left over from the sale of the flat it wouldn’t last all that long. He would have to get a job, wouldn’t he? Their mum didn’t get paid a huge amount at the library.
When they brought the carry-out home they found their parents sitting together on the settee drinking a glass of red wine. Their dad had his arm round their mum’s shoulder. He looked as if he had never been away.
“Your dad’s got another piece of news for you,” said their mother. “There’ll be a little money left over from the sale of the flat.”
Will and Lucy looked at each other. Surely he wasn’t going to start up another of his business enterprises! It might be the end of Gran if he did.
“He’s going to use it to do a teacher-training course.”
Their dad would make a great t
eacher, they knew that. He already had a degree in history and from the time they were very young he had told them stories about the past and brought the people and places to life.
“That’s a great idea,” said Will.
“Fantastic,” said Lucy.
Chapter 22
Louisa and William
Since we have Papa home again this will be the last entry in our journal so we are writing it together.
There was great rejoicing in our house when we brought Papa in. We had to fetch Maman’s smelling salts, of course, but she recovered quickly. Bessie picked up her skirts and did a little jig in the middle of the kitchen floor. The two of them were even more delighted when they heard that Papa’s debts had been cleared and he had some money in hand as well.
“No more running down the street on the stroke of Sunday midnight,” he said, his face beaming.
“You must run to the flesher’s, Bessie,” cried our mother. “Vite, vite! Buy a guineafowl and a leg of mutton and a dozen fresh eggs. Tonight we feast!”
We looked at each other, the same thought spinning through our heads. How long would the money last? And what would we do when it ran out? Papa could not be allowed to get into debt again.
As if he could read our minds, he said, “Don’t worry, children, I have a plan. A way to earn a living. Perhaps not a big one, but a living nevertheless.”
He had had plans before but none of them had ever worked out.
“You are not going to write another book, I hope?” said our mother. “I mean to say, I do not mind you write the book, but the last one still lies in the drawer unseen by the world.”
“I have hopes that it may be seen some day, but no, it was not of that I was thinking. While I was lodging in the palace an old friend came to visit me. Do you remember James Christie? He lives up in Buccleuch Place.”
“You seemed to have much social life in the abbey.”
“Let Papa tell us, Maman,” we begged.
“We studied together at the university, James and I. He teaches in the High School. He came to tell me that there was a vacancy for the teaching of language and literature and he had recommended me for the position. I have applied and been accepted.”
“Bravo!” we cried.
“A schoolmaster will not earn much,” lamented our mother. “We will never move to the New Town now.”
“Maman!” we cried.
“I am pleased, of course,” she went on hurriedly. “I am glad you will have employment, Ranald. It is merveilleux! But I wish for your sake that it could be something better. You deserve more.”
“It could not be better,” he declared. “I shall enjoy teaching the boys.”
Papa is a good teacher. We can vouch for that. He makes everything he talks about interesting.
“And you, William,” he said, “will come with me to the school as a pupil. I am sorry, Louisa, that you will not be able to but, as you know, it is a school for boys only. I think we might send you to Miss Smith’s Academy for young ladies.”
We are sad to think that we shall be parted for our education since we never have been before. We have learned everything we know together and are used to having each other’s company from morning till night. One consolation is that Charlotte is to be enrolled at Miss Smith’s Academy also. She had told us so the previous week.
We went out to help Bessie with the errands as there would be too much for her to carry. Papa gave her a purseful of money before we left. She was happy that she could settle all our outstanding bills around the town, and so were we. We could look the shopkeepers in the eye again. We met up with Peg and were able to give her a bannock and cheese and a salt herring that we purchased from a Newhaven fishwife.
Afterwards we called on Charlotte and told her our news, though not the part about the apartment, our secret hideaway. For that has to remain a family secret. She was pleased to know that she had been of help by telling us about Monsieur Goriot going to play whist with the count and Madame de Polastron. It was the bit of the jigsaw that had helped complete the picture.
We had our feast this evening and Bessie sat at table with us, supping wine and becoming a little tiddly.
Papa proposed a toast. “To a new beginning,” he said, raising his glass.
We are pleased that we can conclude the story of our father as an ‘abbey laird’, though sad to lay the journal aside. It has come to seem like a friend during our time of trouble. We have decided to place it in the wall cavity in the sitting room in the hope that, sometime in the future, one of our descendants – or perhaps two, for twins do run in our family – may discover it and find our tale of interest.
Chapter 23
So the other Ranald Cunningham became a teacher as their own father was to do!
“I guess a number of things run in the family,” said Will with a grin.
“I wonder what became of the Comte d’Artois,” said Lucy.
“Let’s find out.”
They rummaged through some of their father’s history books until they found a reference to the Comte d’Artois. They looked it up.
The count had become King Charles X of France in 1824, following the death of his brother Louis XVIII, and had reigned for six years until being forced to abdicate after yet another revolution. So, in 1830, once again in debt and fleeing from creditors, he returned to seek refuge in the sanctuary of Holyrood Abbey for another two years.
“He didn’t seem to learn a lesson,” said Lucy. She hoped their dad would!
By 1830, William and Louisa would have been nearly fifty years old. Lucy and Will could not imagine them grown-up and middle-aged. They could think of them only as being of a similar age to themselves, tailing the evil Monsieur Goriot down the hill into the Grassmarket.
They reread the closing paragraph of the journal and afterwards turned back to the front page to look again at the sign of the black dagger, drawn by their ancestors more than two hundred years before. It was time then to close the book, rewrap it in oilcloth, and return it to its place in the wall.
“I shall miss William and Louisa,” said Lucy.
“We can always read their story again,” said Will.
Copyright
Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
First published by Puffin Books, London in 2005
Published by Floris Books, Edinburgh in 2014
This eBook edition published in 2014
© 2005 Joan Lingard
Joan Lingard has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh www.florisbooks.co.uk
The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 978–178250–148–0
