Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  The hand became agitated and the eyes narrowed to pinpoints of black while the bowl in her other hand tipped to one side.

  “Rory taught me to be a wumman that morn and he would ha’ been mine too if it weren’t for that hooer, Searlaid,” she snarled, the crooked fingers halting their feverish search. She flung the bowl down on the table, her hands curled to fists that clenched and unclenched in her lap.

  “When we was done, I lay in Rory’s arms. I was so happy... so happy.” Lizzie’s voice cut like a rusted knife as she continued, “He kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Searlaid, I love ye, lass. We must wed soon.”

  Lizzie’s eyes suddenly cleared and she impaled Robert with a fiery stare. “Rory broke my heart that day, ye understand? He was blutered and thought as I was his bonnie Searlaid, not some plain dobber that washed his kilts and trews. Searlaid was everythin’ I could never be. She was bonnie with fair hair and eyes the colour of the sky. And she had a straight back.” Lizzie’s voice rose hysterically, “I didna ken until that moment that Rory was betrothed to her. I hated her. I couldna stop the tears and Rory woke fully. I remember his face like it were yesterday. He was sickened... disgusted! He begged me not to tell. He ga’ me a bag of coin and took the ring from his finger. He paid me like a hooer. He told me to leave and he wouldna look at me agin.”

  Lizzie wilted in her chair, the used-up face collapsing in upon itself.

  “I went back to my chambers and bathed, washed away his seed... washed away my blood. I hid the coin and the ring; the coin and ring that bought my silence.”

  The room was quiet save the cheerful crackle of the fire. Lizzie picked up the spoon and stirred the porridge. Reaching up to the shelf once more, she felt about until her fingers closed around a glass vial. Robert stared at the cloudy liquid and watched as she poured several drops into the bowl of oatmeal.

  The distinctive odour of laudanum touched his nostrils. The reason for his stupor abruptly became clear. Something niggled at his memory. The smell of laudanum – laudanum and garlic – but the notion was lost as fast as it came.

  The wooden spoon was again offered but this time Robert pressed his lips tight.

  Lizzie was undaunted. Her smile was cruel as she reached out and pinched Robert’s nostrils shut. Each time he opened his mouth to breathe Lizzie shoved in a loaded spoon.

  Her voice was thick with sarcasm as she continued to force-feed him, “There’s a good laddie. Deirdre tells me ye canna get enough of this. Dinna fash now. Ha’ a wee bit more. Ye need to rest, Laird MacDonald.”

  Robert’s body loosened and spread over the bed.

  Lizzie peered down at her lap, picked at the threads of her arasaid. “Rory married Searlaid. Course you ken that,” she said, glancing up at Robert. “He never spoke to me agin. Soon after, I married Donnie McBain, one of the stable lads. He was no much to look at and his first love was the whiskey but he’d been sniffin’ after me for a time. On our weddin’ night he knivvled me when he found I was no a virgin. The beatings was regular after that.”

  In a flat voice she continued, “Deirdre was born early and Donnie accused me of bearin’ another man’s bastard. I prayed to God as he was right. Nine months later Sloan came along. There was no denyin’ who his father was; the son of the de’il himself. Nothin’ I did made Donnie happy. He couldna stay out of his cups and then o’ course he lost his job.”

  Lizzie ran a weary hand across eyes that sparkled in the firelight.

  “Wi’ Rory’s coin, we came here to Inverness but I kept his ring for myself. Donnie got himself another job in a stable and I learned to step aside when he threw a punch. When he were sober enough he’d fuck me. Course I just lay quiet, thinkin’ o’ my Rory, til he were done. I didna want to wake the weans with fussin’, ye ken.”

  Lizzie set the empty bowl on the table.

  Robert’s head lolled on his neck. He struggled to focus on Lizzie’s retreating face, on the silent tears that meandered through the accordion grooves.

  “I got used to the beatings but one night I woke and heard Deirdre bawlin’ somethin’ awful. She was just a wee lass... no more ‘n five. Donnie had her across her bed with her nightie pulled up and his own pants at his ankles. I tried to pull him off but he smacked her bare erse and called her a bastard. Wee Sloan just stood aside and watched.”

  “Och, surely ye’d ha’ tae agree. Donnie went too far that night... just too far.”

  Lizzie stilled in the chair. Her voice was empty, her expression blank as she finished her tale, “I dinna remember doin’ it but Donnie’s bloody dirk was in my hand and he lay dead. Deirdre and Sloan helped me load his body into the cart. Their wee hands pushed hard agin their father’s back, while I pulled and we managed to load him up. I buried Donnie out on the moor that night. The weans ne’er spoke o’ it agin... didna remember I guess. Course I helped ‘em along with their memory a wee bit... like any good mother would.”

  Things had just begun to make sense, but opium claimed the wasted man in the filthy bed. The room and everything in it faded as he closed his eyes.

  Lizzie’s voice came from somewhere far away, “I didna see the harm in lettin’ both the weans think Rory McQueen was their father.” She looked back at the slack face of Robert MacDonald.

  “There was no harm in that. Was there?”

  NINE

  November 1808

  All is Revealed

  The pail snagged on the uneven stone as I pulled it toward me and steaming water sloshed over the side. I knelt on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor of the corridor, cursing as the hot water leaked through layers of cloth to wet my legs. I searched my sleeve for a dry spot and used it to mop the damp from my forehead. The waistline of my dress pressed at my belly and I yanked at the fabric in annoyance.

  A queasy feeling stirred and taking a deep breath, I sat back on my heels and waited for it to pass. This wretched malaise had plagued me for weeks. I fished into one of the deep pockets of my apron and found the biscuit I’d smuggled from breakfast. I chewed on the dry bread and slowly the feeling passed.

  What was wrong with me? Eating in addition to regular meals seemed to help but I’d been doing far too much of that of late and my gowns were getting snug.

  Brushing the crumbs aside, I dragged the pail toward me. As I backed up the hall, my behind met with resistance and I peered over my shoulder at a large pair of feet that protruded from beneath a wool skirt.

  With a sinking feeling, I peered up into the glowering face of Aunt Deirdre. Her braids were pulled into a coil that accentuated the hook of her nose and her brows were drawn tight, the slash of her mouth revealing the contempt I knew she felt for me.

  I was at a decided disadvantage, down on my knees, but I refused to show Deirdre any lack of confidence. “Good morning’, Aunt Deirdre,” I said pleasantly, as I wrung out the cloth.

  She ignored my greeting, set her hands on her hips and leaned forward to inspect my work. “Och, ye daisy, it appears yer mother ne’er taught ye the proper way to wash floors did she, girl? Ye’ve missed here and here and ye’ve left crumbs behind.” She pointed back up the hall at the shining floor.

  Heat rushed to my face at the mention of Mother and I felt the bite of my own nails in my palms. Then the words were out of my mouth before I could help it. “Ye seem to ken a great deal about cleanin’ and scrubbin’, Aunt Deirdre. Were ye a servin’ lass then, before ye came to live off us... er... I mean with us?” I asked, flashing a sugary smile, unable to help myself.

  Her long face turned red and I cursed myself inwardly for going too far.

  “Ye ken nothin’ of the life I’ve led! For a lass in yer position, Meara, ye’ve far too much to say and I’m sick of ye!” she spat, fingers tapping at her thigh. “Ye dinna think I can see what’s goin’on do ye? Yer no but a lazy tart. I’ve had it wi’ this ailment of yers that comes and goes at will. Yer belly is actin’ up and yet,” Before I could stop her she reached down and plucked the remains of the biscuit fro
m my pocket, dangling it just in front of my nose as she triumphantly continued, “yer stealin’ food from the kitchen. Something doesna ring true here.”

  Crushing it between her hands, she allowed the crumbs to sift through her fingers. Reaching down the front of her gown she withdrew an embroidered handkerchief. I recognized it as Mother’s and I half-rose as my stomach fell.

  She spat on the delicate square and with flared nostrils, she wiped the remainder of the biscuit from her hands with an exaggerated care I knew was designed to bait me.

  Hatred rose hot up my throat but I held my ground. I had much to lose if I gave in to my temper. I knew it and she knew it.

  She leaned over, her face almost touching mine. “Let this be a warnin’, Meara. I’m finished wi’ ye. Finished! Do ye hear? Just gi’ me one more reason to lock ye away in the tower room. Ye understand? I’d like nothin’ better then to be rid of ye.” A sly smile played upon her lips and I was immediately wary.

  “Och, it would seem that yer lad, Duncan, has deserted ye.” Mean eyes burned into mine. “That’s unfortunate, Meara. Wi’ yer father so far away, I canna think of a soul that would miss ye, save that snivellin’ sister of yers,” she said with a cunning tip of her head.

  I could not hide the loathing I felt for this woman as I spat, “Nothin’ ye have to say can hurt me, Deirdre!”

  She reached out with a bony hand and I pulled back sharply but she only brushed a stray curl from my face, her fingers trailing intimately across my cheek. “I think yer wrong there, lass,” she purred, her voice sleek. “There’s no tellin’ what tragedy might befall yer poor Da.”

  The words seeped into my head.

  “And that whiny sister of yers? Weel, she hasna looked well for quite some time. I think it might be the consumption and we ken what the good doctor thinks about that. It might be best if we send her away too... for her health of course.”

  My heart careened to a stop. How I hated her! God’s blood! I wanted to scratch the eyes from her face! I balled my hands but kept my arms at my sides as I stared back at her.

  “I believe we’ve come to an understandin’ then, my dear niece,” she oozed, her eyes glittering with victory. She moistened her lips and continued, “Or should I say ‘dear daughter’?”

  Tipping her nose, she sniffed at the air, “Dinna dally now, Meara. Lunch smells divine and wi’ that appetite ye won’t want to miss it.” She lifted her skirts and stepped over me, crushing what was left of the biscuit with the heel of her shoe.

  I sat unmoving as she sauntered up the hall and out of sight. Then powerless to hold it in any longer, I let loose my anger.

  “Argh!”

  Grabbing the dripping cloth from the tepid water, I hurled it up the corridor and listened furiously to the plopping sound it made as it ricocheted off the wall and hit the floor. Then I kicked the wooden pail, feeling a hard vibration travel up my foot.

  “Ye filthy bitch!” I cried, angry at the tears that thickened my voice.

  I punched my palm with my balled fist. The wall sconces flickered madly and acrid smoke stained the air as I paced up and down the hall. I had to get away from here! I had to! But how? Dammit! And where would I go? What would Deirdre do to Da if I left? Only she knew where he was and there was no doubt in my mind she was cruel enough to follow through on her threat to harm him. What about Hannah? Would she really send my sister away too? And Duncan? Dear God... Duncan. I halted. Duncan would look for me here when he returned!

  Goddamn her to hell!

  I rubbed a hand across my eyes. She had me exactly where she wanted me. I was trapped in the web she had skilfully spun. Da’s fate rested in my hands and Hannah’s as well. There was nothing I could do.

  With plodding steps, I found the rag and knelt back down to redo the floor. Daisy found me on my knees and succeeded in licking away my anger, her rough tongue warming my cheek with her love. I paused and scratched my wee saviour behind the ears and was rewarded with a vigorous wiggle of her rear end. “Ah, my Daisy, I love ye. What would I do without ye, my wee mite?”

  I had almost reached the foyer when a warning growl started in Daisy’s throat and I turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Och, a fittin scene this is. Just where ye should be, Meara,” my uncle snickered, “on yer hands and knees.” I didn’t know what the hell he meant but I had no doubt he referred to something wretched. Sloan punctuated his statement with a lewd gesture aimed at his crotch.

  What an ass! I seethed silently. Could my day get any worse?

  Wishing no more confrontations, I ignored him and bent back to my work.

  “Oof!” Air rushed from my lungs as a hard boot connected with my bottom and I sprawled forward onto my forearms. Pushing myself up, I turned on him.

  “How dare you?” But my voice was lost to Daisy’s sharp barking. She bared her teeth and snarled up at Sloan but he ignored her, listing slightly as he stared down at me.

  His hair hung lank and greasy about his shoulders and his pockmarked face shone pale in the shadows. It looked as though it took great effort to hold his head up on his skinny neck. His eyes skittered about in their pouchy sockets as he tried to focus on me.

  “Dinna ‘gnore me when I’m talkin’ to ye... ye fuckin’ cunt!” he slurred.

  He lunged at me and grabbed my arm. My anger evaporated, replaced by a tight coil of fear.

  “There’s no Duncan to save ye the now, is there?” he taunted, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my upper arm as he mockingly looked up and down the hall and over his shoulder, as though searching for Duncan. He looked back down at me then tangled his fingers in my hair. With a grin, he yanked, pulled it loose from its clasp and forced my head back. Daisy snarled and closed her teeth around his ankle but he viciously shook her loose. I heard a yelp then a thump as her small body hit the wall.

  “How does it feel, Meara? How does it feel to be treated like scum?” He pulled harder. “I said... how... does... it... feel?” His eyes burned with a hatred that scared me and I could muster no bravado. A white paste attached the top corner of his mouth to the bottom corner and his breath spoke of recent vomit. I strained to see past him to where Daisy lay still.

  “Leave hold the lass, Mister Sloan!”

  Tears stung my eyes at the sound of Angus’ thick burr.

  The waver of his voice did not mar the firm command. Rheumy eyes flashed an angry challenge as he emerged from the dim corridor.

  Sloan looked from me to Angus. With an offhanded shrug, he shoved me away.

  “Aye, old man, I’m finished wi’ her. But yer not always goin’ to be around to protect her, are ye?” he sneered. Then he spat a gob of yellow mucus on the floor at Angus’ feet.

  With those menacing words hanging, Sloan slouched back toward the study, his careful step the sign of a drunk, the slam of the door signalling his leave.

  Angus turned quickly and rushed to my side, concern darkening his eyes. “Are ye all right, wee lassie? Did he hurt ye?”

  I cradled Daisy’s body and shook my head, not trusting my voice. Daisy opened frightened eyes and burrowed into my chest. Angus offered me a gnarled hand and I let him help me to my feet. Then he gathered my trembling form in his arms and I leaned heavily against our old servant, Daisy limp between us.

  “It’ll be fine, lassie, just fine,” he soothed, his big hand patting my back.

  His words could not comfort and a heavy sense of dread, like nothing I’d felt before, took me as I stared at the closed door. In that moment I knew for certain that Duncan and I had sorely underestimated my uncle.

  ******

  Daisy seemed to suffer no more than a few bruised ribs and after kissing her sweet face, I left her out of harm's way in the great room, where Sloan never ventured, asleep by a crackling fire. I finished the floor with no more disturbances then trudged toward the kitchen, the heavy bucket, banging against my leg. Mary and Janet called out a greeting as I lugged the pail to the door and tossed the contents into
the yard. Slipping out of my soiled apron, I sank onto a stool. I’d missed lunch but Mary took a plate out of the stone oven that she’d kept warming for me.

  The confrontations had left me drained. I wasn’t usually so easily upset and I was angry with myself for allowing Sloan to get the better of me. I mumbled a thank you as Mary set the plate before me then glanced down at my lunch.

  Congealed eyes of a fried herring stared up at me. The pungent tang crawled up my nose and it was just too much. I stumbled to the basin and threw up the contents of my stomach. I felt Janet’s gentle hands hold my hair back as I retched.

  As the heaving subsided, Mary passed me a cool cloth and a goblet of water. I mopped at the sweat and rinsed the sour taste from my mouth. Eyes closed, I felt for the stool then rested my clammy head in my hands.

  “Sorry Mary. I dinna ken what’s wrong with me,” I murmured, stifling a big yawn. “I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’ll clean the basin in a moment.”

  My apology was met with heavy silence to which I lifted my head. Mary and Janet stood before me, both of them inexplicably beaming. Mary seemed about to burst, a grin splitting her plump face. The mysterious look, one that had become familiar and somewhat annoying to me of late, once again passed between mother and daughter.

  “What?” I demanded, my nerves raw, my voice quivering, “What?”

  Janet cupped my face with her hand and gave me a soft, reassuring smile. “Ye havena guessed then, Meara?” she asked.

  “Course she hasna,” Mary burst, “she’s no got a mother to tell her these things, ye ken!”

  Janet glared a warning at her Mary. “Weesht, Mother!”

  Mary clamped her mouth shut, furiously chewing her bottom lip.

  “What? What are ye talkin’ about?” I implored as fingers of panic tightened around my belly. “I dinna ken what ye mean!”

  Janet settled on a stool next to me and circled a comforting arm around my shoulders. Her voice was soothing, “Meara, I dinna think it’s the flu or the fish that’s makin’ ye ill.”