A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  Perhaps she should try being more forthcoming. “I had an odd experience yesterday while traveling here. A man carrying a pistol stopped the carriage. I think he was a highwayman, but when the coachman told him who I was, he left us alone.”

  “That was probably Auld Jack. He is a highwayman, but he does not rob other Scots, only the Sassenach.” She sounded more confident on this subject.

  “The Sassenach? What, pray tell, are they? The highwayman called me that.” And the footman who had flinched when she had looked in his direction at dinner had used the term, too.

  The girl ducked her head. “Sassenach? It is our word for the English.”

  “And not a compliment, I take it.” She might have only been there one night, but it was already clear that the staff did not plan to trust an Englishwoman. It was hardly surprising her aunt avoided coming here. “I wonder why that highwayman spared me if he dislikes the English so much.”

  The frightened deer look was back in her eyes. “You belong to Kinloch, so ye are not really a Sassenach. I mean, English,” she said tentatively.

  Elizabeth gave up.

  AS ELIZABETH CAME DOWNSTAIRS the following morning, one footman was muttering to another, “What can ye expect from a Sassenach?” She pretended not to hear it, and, as soon as they saw her, they stiffened and took their positions against the wall, their faces wooden.

  “Could you tell me where breakfast is served?” Elizabeth asked one of them. “If a Sassenach is permitted to know such things.”

  He flushed. “In the dining room, miss.” Holding open a large carved door for her, he said stiffly, “Through here, if ye please.”

  She could not decide if he was trying to be as stoic as English servants in great houses or whether it was just because he disliked her for being English, but she nodded in an attempt at graciousness as she passed him.

  The dining room was decorated with sculptures and jeweled bowls from India, much like the house in Edinburgh. The long table was set for one.

  The housekeeper brought in the tray of breakfast foods herself. “The cook tried to guess what ye might like, Miss Merton. We know the English dinna care for some of our Scottish food, so she tried to avoid those. I hope ye will tell us what you would like in the future.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacLaren.” Elizabeth was tempted to say she would like not to be treated like a foreign invader, but that cause seemed hopeless. “It looks delicious.”

  She helped herself from the tray, remembering her last breakfast in Edinburgh, laughing with her aunt and Mr. Fitzpatrick. Going somewhere completely isolated had sounded perfect when her aunt mentioned it, but she had not thought of eating every meal alone, surrounded by staff who thought she was one of the enemy. The area was so sparsely populated that she doubted she had many neighbors, and even if she did, they would be unlikely to welcome an Englishwoman as a friend. This would be a lonely stay. If only she could return to Edinburgh!

  Then there was the business of overstaffing the house. She ought to determine the truth of the matter so she could tell her aunt about it. That would give her something to do, at least.

  But she did not know what to do about any of it. When she had awoken this morning in the dark, unfamiliar bedroom, she had decided that if her aunt left her this estate, she would sell it and look for something closer to Edinburgh. She could not imagine coming all this distance to a dreary place that meant nothing to her.

  Outside the window the sun was breaking through the clouds. That was what she needed, a ramble outside after the long day of traveling, and it would take her away from all the English-hating staff. She pushed away the remains of her breakfast.

  “Is aught the matter? May I fetch ye something else?” asked the housekeeper.

  “No, everything is perfect. I am merely restless and wish to go walking. Perhaps you can recommend a footpath.”

  “Walking in this cold? I hope you have warm clothes. One of the footmen can go with ye.”

  “There is no need. I like to walk alone.”

  The housekeeper looked dubious. “Very well, if that is what ye wish. Will you go now?”

  “Not yet,” said Elizabeth. “I must check on Timothy first.”

  ELIZABETH CLIMBED THE stairs to the nursery where Timmy was picking at his breakfast of a roll and milk. He looked so pleased to see her that she said, “From now on I think I will take my breakfast here in the nursery with you. It is far more pleasant than sitting alone at the end of that long table in the dining room.” And at least Timmy would smile at her.

  The boy’s eyes brightened. “I would like that.”

  “I will inform the housekeeper, then.” This was as good a time as any to put her plan into action. “I also plan to tell her you are to have meat at breakfast and dinner.”

  Nurse looked up from her chair by the window. “But the doctor said he must not have meat more than once a fortnight or it would agitate his spirits.”

  Elizabeth said firmly, “My aunt put me in charge of Timothy while we are here, and I am changing the doctor’s rules. There will be no more purgatives or bleedings. No leeches. Timmy is to be out of bed except when he needs to sleep, and he should have as much exercise as possible, especially outdoor exercise.” She stared defiantly at Nurse.

  Nurse’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, miss.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I have reasons. My sister Kitty was consumptive as a child. The apothecary prescribed lots of fresh air, exercise, and meat. She recovered, apart from a cough.”

  “I would feel ever so much better about doing that,” said Nurse shakily.

  “You would?” Elizabeth exclaimed in astonishment.

  Nurse’s cheeks flushed and she hurriedly began to fold a pile of linens. “It only stands to reason that staying in bed all the time will not make someone strong.”

  That had been much easier than she had expected. “Timmy, do you want to go out in the garden with me when you are done eating? We will bundle you up so well you will not feel the cold.”

  Timothy dropped his fork. “Can we go right now?”

  “Not until you finish your breakfast,” Nurse told him sternly.

  TIMOTHY WAS ALREADY looking tired by the time they reached the garden, so Elizabeth limited their first outing to a short walk. Not that it mattered; the boy was so thrilled to be out of doors that even a brief stroll around the kitchen garden appeared to be a great treat for him. It brought a tinge of pink to his wan cheeks.

  “Can we do this again tomorrow?” he asked, out of breath despite the minimal exertion.

  “We will most certainly do something out of doors,” Elizabeth reassured him. “But it will take time to build your strength.”

  “And no more purgatives?” The boy sounded as if the concept was beyond his fondest hopes.

  “Not a one. Now let us return inside, and that big footman will carry you up to the nursery.” The stairs would certainly be too much for him at this point.

  “His name is Big Tom,” said Timmy importantly. “Because the other footman is Tom, too, and they call him Little Tom even though he is tall, because he isn’t as tall as Big Tom.”

  At least Timmy was getting to know the staff. After seeing him safely back in Nurse’s hands, Elizabeth decided it was time for a long walk of her own.

  When she returned downstairs and announced her intention, the butler held out her pelisse and cloak. She tied on her winter bonnet and picked up her muff.

  The housekeeper hurried up to her, holding up a green and blue plaid muffler. “Ye should wear this, Miss Merton. Folks here can be suspicious of strangers, and this will tell them ye are a MacLaren.”

  Should she point out she was not, in fact, a MacLaren? But the muffler looked warm even if it would clash with her dark red cloak, so she wrapped the woolen fabric around her neck.

  The housekeeper followed her outside. “If ye would like to walk down by the loch, you can follow the lane. There is a path yonder that climbs the hill. It is steep, but the
view is good. That path over there goes to the common grazing ground.”

  Elizabeth pointed at a path going over the hill in the other direction. “What about that one?”

  “Oh, no, not that one,” the housekeeper said quickly. “’Tis washed out and not safe. Too steep to walk without scrambling, and it is very dull, nothing to see. You would not like it, not at all.”

  “No doubt it is icy as well.” Elizabeth watched Mrs. MacLaren’s expression.

  The housekeeper nodded emphatically. “Aye, very likely.”

  Elizabeth did not suggest that it also looked like the sort of path rabid dogs might frequent, but she was sorely tempted. Someday she would have to explore along the path the housekeeper wished to keep her away from. “I will go along the ridge, then.”

  “Very good, miss. Do not be forgetting the sun sets quickly here in the hills.”

  Even earlier than in Edinburgh? “I will be careful.”

  ­She could feel the housekeeper watching her as she set off and was glad to pass out of view behind a rock outcropping. This was better, to be free and able to explore an unknown place. After a mile or so she reached the top of the hill, the muscles of her legs aching from the climb. She looked back at Kinloch House, a white shadow against the frosty ground, with the tenant cottages below, smoke curling from their chimneys, and the dark water of the loch beyond. She turned slowly in a circle, taking in the view of the loch and the snow-capped mountains and hills surrounding it, their barren sides offering a bleak beauty. The clean, crisp air filled her lungs, clearing out the soot of a winter’s worth of coal fires.

  When had she last been alone, so far from any other human? Certainly not since coming to Scotland. Even the countryside near Longbourn was populated enough that it would be difficult to escape so fully. Now she had escaped Hertfordshire, Edinburgh, and Mr. Darcy. What was he doing now? Had he discovered her departure yet? Would his regret be mingled with relief, to be rid of the responsibility for her? She bit down hard on her cold lip, trying to chase away the memory of his kiss under the mistletoe and the rush of heat it had sent through her body. Some things could not be forgotten, though, only regretted.

  The sun came out from behind a cloud, and she shaded her eyes against the bright reflection from the loch. The landscape could not be more different from the gentle, green hills of Hertfordshire, but it had a drama of its own. Perhaps she could find some rest for her spirit here after all.

  ELIZABETH’S RAISED spirits lasted until her return to Kinloch House, where they were quickly quenched by more conversations that stopped abruptly when she came into the room, frightened looks, and maids who flinched away from her. Good heavens, what did they think she would do to them?

  She was annoyed enough to seek out the housekeeper in her rooms, where she found Mrs. MacLaren comforting a crying maid. They both fell silent at the sight of her, of course. “Mrs. MacLaren, I would like a moment of your time when you are free. It is not urgent.”

  The housekeeper gave the maid a pat on the shoulder. “Off ye go, Janet. Miss Merton, I would be happy to speak to ye now. Shall I come upstairs?”

  Normally Elizabeth would expect that, knowing it would be more comfortable for both of them, but she was feeling contrary. “This will be fine. I hope I did not interrupt something important.” Why had the girl been crying?

  “Janet was feeling a wee bit nervous, that is all.” Mrs. MacLaren held out a chair for her at the small table. “Did you enjoy your walk? I hope ye did not take a chill.”

  “It was quite pleasant.” Elizabeth made herself as comfortable as she could be on the wooden chair. “Since I will only be here a few weeks, I had not anticipated involving myself in the management of the house, yet I find myself with many questions.”

  The housekeeper, unlike the lower servants, did not quail. “I will be happy to answer whatever I can.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I expected to find a house that had been shut up for many months. Instead it is in perfect condition, as if you anticipated it being full of guests at any moment. It is certainly well staffed, and I might even say overstaffed.” She sat back, waiting for the excuses to begin.

  “Aye, we do have a great many servants at this time of year,” Mrs. MacLaren agreed. “If it were summer, there would be fewer.”

  “What does the time of year have to do with it?”

  “Och, the master, may his soul rest in peace, was a generous man. When a tenant family would fall into arrears on their rent, he allowed them to work some of it off by sending their young people to serve here in the winter, when they could be of little use on the farm. Other houses have spring cleaning, but we do it in winter when we have the extra hands. The last two harvests have been bad, so more tenants than usual could not pay their full rent. I had to turn some away and send them to the steward to be put to work maintaining the roads and fences.”

  It could be the truth. “You claim this was on the orders of my aunt’s husband?”

  “Aye. Your aunt has never countermanded the orders, so we have continued the practice. Perhaps she would like to make changes now.” New lines showed on Mrs. MacLaren’s worn face.

  “I will ask her. I certainly can make no complaint about the state of the house, but I find it odd that, despite the flawless upkeep, the staff seem terrified of me. Is there a reason for that?”

  The housekeeper’s stern face softened. “Och, it is nothing about ye, lass. Many Highlanders are frightened of the Sassenach. The English, that is. It took time for them to trust your aunt, too. When they see ye are not like the other English, they will nae worry so much.”

  That was unexpected. “I would not say I am particularly different from any other woman from England,” said Elizabeth stiffly.

  “Hush, dinna say such a thing!” Mrs. MacLaren sounded shocked. “I cannot speak for English women, but Englishmen have treated the Highlanders ill. The Army took over here after the rebellion, and they were right cruel. They took Kinloch House and gave it to an English officer who did not care what anyone here suffered. Some tenants starved, and more would have done were it not for the clan chieftain’s charity. The common folk here have never known any kindness from the English, excepting your aunt. The old master told me there were many kind Englishmen, but we have never known them.”

  A rebellion? Surely she could not be talking about the Jacobites. Culloden had been almost seventy years ago. “I do not imagine the Army is known for kindness when dealing with a defeated enemy.”

  “Kindness! That wee plaid muffler you wore today – a man would have been transported for that, even thirty years after the cruel slaughter at Culloden!” The housekeeper’s eyes flashed.

  “For wearing plaid?” exclaimed Elizabeth in disbelief.

  Mrs. MacLaren took a deep breath to calm herself. “Miss Merton, I urge ye not to judge when ye dinna know the suffering we faced. ’Twas a nightmare, those years. The nightmare would still be happening here, had the old master not bought the place to protect the old ways.” She wiped a tear from her eyes.

  Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt for raising a painful subject and for her own ignorance of the situation. “I will be the first to admit that I know little of the history of the Highlands.” Perhaps that would mollify the housekeeper’s clear distress. “But I assure you, I have no intention of being unkind to anyone here.”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. MacLaren straightened. “Have ye any other questions?”

  “Yes. I have noticed some of the servants and gardeners are elderly. Are the staff not given pensions for their years of service when they are too old to work?”

  The older woman’s gaze flicked away from her for a moment. “Och, aye. But some of them have lived their whole life here at the house and have nowhere else to go. The old master let them stay on, and in return, they help out for an hour or two here and there.”

  Elizabeth studied her. This time it was definitely not the truth, but why should the housekeeper lie about it? Was it simply to avoid Elizabeth�
�s disapproval? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

  IT BECAME ALMOST A game for Elizabeth to discover what mysteries lay at Kinloch House. When she saw Margaret later that day, she told the maid about her walk and mentioned that she planned to take another one tomorrow, up the hill behind the house.

  “Och, not that path, miss!” the girl exclaimed.

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “There is...there is a terrible, nasty old man who lives up there, and he has vicious dogs. He has trained them to attack strangers,” said Margaret earnestly.

  The next day Elizabeth realized it was not just the mysterious path that was off limits for her. There was always someone to steer her away from the stables, too. First they were being mucked out, which was remarkable since there was no smell of horse manure, and then there was an ill horse who could not be disturbed. There was only one thing to be done: she informed the groom that she would walk up the path behind the house instead.

  The groom shook his head gravely. “There be a nest of wildcats there. Just a fortnight ago, they mauled a poor lad who was fool enough to go up that way.”

  Elizabeth was tempted to ask if the wildcats fought with the vicious dogs on the icy path, but she decided to bide her time.

  THE DAYS QUICKLY FELL into a pattern. Breakfast in the nursery, a short time outside with Timmy, and a longer walk by herself. Afterwards she would go over Timmy’s lessons and tell him a story. But none of it was enough to keep the long dark evenings from dragging, leaving her too much time for thought. She tried to fill the hours with reading and other tasks, but she missed the companionship she was used to in Edinburgh.

  On her fourth evening at Kinloch, she brought out her embroidery, hoping the close work would distract her, but after only a short time, she had to unthread her needle and pick out the stitches she had so carefully made. Why did irises have to be her aunt’s favorite flower? Simple flowers were easy enough to embroider, but her attempt at the elegant lines of an iris looked like a child’s drawing. Perhaps she should just give up and make something else for her aunt’s birthday gift.