Johnny looked up then erupted in shrieks of excitement that made me jump. “Gingerbread! Gingerbread!” He sped precariously down the hall. Just before hitting the door at the end, he swerved to the right and disappeared through another door.
Mrs. Plumpton watched his retreat with a proud smile. “I don’t believe that child walks anywhere. Always running he is.” She turned back to me. “Come along, dear.”
I followed Mrs. Plumpton’s ample behind as she toddled up the wide staircase.
“Now dear, the children call me Mrs. Plumpton but I’d like you to call me Olga.” She paused at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath, and pointed to the left. “Mrs. Carleton has her suite of rooms at that end of the house on the same side as you and the children. Because of her malaise, Mr. Carleton has a suite of rooms across from her. Now, you must not allow the children to play down there or they’ll disturb her. She is not well and spends a good deal of time in bed, poor lamb.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Olga. I’ll be sure to keep the children away.”
We turned right and I followed her down a narrow hallway where she halted in front of a panelled door and pushed it open.
“This is Master Johnny’s room. I see that you’ve made our young rascal’s acquaintance.” She glanced back at me with a smile. “He is quite a little man, that one, very dear. He’ll give you no trouble at all.”
“Aye, he’s verra charmin’.” I noticed she had not included the girl, Vanessa, in her praises.
I peered over her shoulder at the toys strewn across the hardwood floor. A rocking horse lay on its side and a homemade kite was crumpled on the floor, the string hopelessly snarled. A small fishing rod leaned in one corner, the crusty remnants of a worm dangling from its hook.
Olga bent and righted the horse, smoothed the mane with her fingers. “Good Lord! You’d never know I’d tided his room this morning, the little devil!” she said with a weary smile. Johnny was obviously much loved.
As she lead me from the room, she shook her head and chuckled, “I think I’ll send the little scamp up here to tidy it himself.” Then she linked her arm through mine. “Come, Meara, I’ll show you to your room, dear.”
We continued a little further up the hall, rounded a bend then paused in front of the next door while she pointed down the hall. “Vanessa’s room is next, so your room is between the children.” Her face clouded as she glanced down the hall. “I’m afraid Vanessa may take a while to warm up. She’ll only like you when she believes she can trust you, which may take some time. You wouldn’t know it but she really is a lovely girl.”
“She is a bonnie wee thing,” I agreed, “I’ll do my best to gain her trust, Olga.”
She smiled and nodded her head, then opened the door. Sunlight flooded through a sparkling window where the ceiling slanted down to meet the outside wall. The bed was huge, nestled beneath a soft yellow quilt. It sat atop a cornflower blue, braided rug that covered the wide pine plank floor. The rug was similar to the one in my chamber in Duntulm that Mother and Hannah had made for me and I felt a tightening in my chest but quickly focused on my new room. A pine armoire stood beside the window and a matching washstand stood next to the bed. A desk filled the space on the other side of the window and on it sat a huge bouquet of fresh wildflowers.
I crossed the room and buried my nose in the flowers. Wildflowers. “Ah, Olga, they’re so bonnie. Thank you!”
“My pleasure, Meara, now have a look out the window, dear. I think your room has the loveliest view of all.”
I moved to the window and pushed the curtain wide. My room overlooked the stables at the back of the house. I could see Carleton standing by the paddock with Rabbie close by leaning over the top, one foot propped on the bottom rung. A high-spirited black stallion danced back and forth, clearly agitated.
I looked to the view beyond and my breath caught in my throat. The land rolled gently as far as the eye could see. Maple, birch and pine blended with a plethora of wild flowers. There were no misted mountains in the distance and no sprigs of heather but here and there I spied a tall purple thistle that seemed to wave at me with the breeze and my heart warmed a little.
My eyes were drawn back to a massive oak tree that shaded much of the back yard. Vanessa, the forlorn waif, sat on a swing that hung from the oak. She slowly swung back and forth, her feet dragging beneath, her bright hair curtaining her face. I clasped my hands and watched as she kicked dejectedly at the ground. She looked so desolate that I wanted to gather her in my arms and hug away her misery. Poor wee thing! What had made her so sad at such a young age? I wondered if it had something to do with the dark looks that had passed between Olga and Carleton.
As though she had read my thoughts, the swing halted and Vanessa glanced up at me. Her eyes found mine and we stared at one another for a long moment. Hesitantly, I raised my hand. At the same instant she leaned forward and stuck out her tongue. My hand froze and I watched as she leapt off the swing, ran across the yard and disappeared behind the stables.
“Lovely isn’t it, Meara?”
Distractedly, I turned from the window. “Oh, I’m sorry. I beg yer pardon, Olga?”
Her brow wrinkled and she looked at me strangely as she repeated her question. “The view. Isn’t the view lovely?”
“Oh, aye, Olga, it’s charmin’,” I answered, my eyes following the back and forth sway of the empty swing, “verra charmin’ indeed.”
TWENTY-ONE
September 11, 1809
Captain Duff stepped down from the seat and tethered the old mare. A merchant in Uig had directed him to Meara’s home and had willingly agreed to lend Duff his horse and cart in return for a bottle of whiskey. Luck would be his if the sway-backed nag didn’t drop dead before he had a chance to return her.
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he whistled to himself as he strolled up the cobbled path, the vibrant blanket of fallen leaves crunching beneath his feet. He tipped his head back and let out a low whistle as he stared up at the imposing stone castle. There was the tower room, just as Meara had described, its windows peering down at him like great, sad eyes.
As he neared the door, he searched the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew the letter. Then he reached up and lifted the heavy brass knocker and released it so it thudded loudly back into place.
After a few moments it swung open and a plain young lass stood before him, a basket of laundry balanced on one hip, tendrils of frizzy, nut-brown hair escaping from beneath her linen cap.
“Aye, sir, what can I do for ye?” she asked, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.
Duff held up the letter. “I’ve a letter here for Angus MacArthur. Would ye fetch him for me, lassie?”
“Aye, sir, I’ll just...”
“Who is it, Edme?” interrupted a grating voice that rang with authority and caused Edme to jump guiltily.
The owner of the voice did not wait for Edme to answer but wrenched the door wide to reveal to Duff the glowering face of an extremely homely woman. Rabbie had been too kind in his description. He had omitted the angled lump of flesh and bone that protruded like a buzzard’s beak from the centre of her face. The yellow dress that hung from her frame cast a jaundiced pallor over her pinched face. Without taking her dark eyes from Duff, she reprimanded the unfortunate girl, “Dinna stand there gawkin’! Away ye go, ye bampot!” The washer girl scurried away, her chapped, red hands grasping the heavy basket precariously.
“Och, ye must be the Mistress MacDonald.” Duff addressed her in a pleasant enough voice, though his eyes were like chips of ice.
“Who are ye?” Deirdre’s voice was nasty and she wasted no time on pleasantries as she fired suspicious questions at him. “What’s yer business?” Her eyes scanned Duff’s face with palpable distaste. “And how do ye ken my name?” Duff noted the agitated fingers that tapped at her side, the pinched nose that gave the appearance she had just smelled a ripe cow pat.
Enjoying her displeasure, Duff decided to amuse himself. Raising one arm above his head, he sniffed loudly at his armpit. “Nay, Mistress, whatever it is yer smellin’ I reckon it isna me. I bathed a few days ago, ye ken. Well, last week for sure.” Though truth be told, he did smell a bit like a fishfry.
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion and she took a step back. Staring hard at the repugnant woman, Duff deliberately ran a finger down the length of his silver scar. He was instantly rewarded as she flinched and pulled her chin in to her chest, her lips tightly crimped.
“Well, milady, my business be wi’ Angus MacArthur and no other, so if ye’d be so kind as to fetch him for me, I’ve my own anxious nag waitin’ to take me back tae town.” He smirked at that then waved the hand that held the letter at her, as though dismissing her. With complete disregard for Deirdre’s outrage, Duff boldly peered over her shoulder into the foyer.
Her face flushed deeply and her insect eyes flashed a warning. “I’ll do no such thing! Ye may not ken who yer talkin’ to, but I’m the lady of Duntulm. Angus MacArthur works for me and he’s occupied with his duties at the moment!” Her fingers were a blur as the drumming accelerated with each clipped word. “Whatever ye ha’ there, I’ll see that he gets it, Mr.?”
Duff ignored her and instead sidestepped her and strode deeper into the foyer. He settled his bulk on a small wooden settee that sat at the base of the stairs. Then he leaned back, reached into his inside pocket and withdrew his pipe which he proceeded to light, sucking noisily on the tip.
Deirdre watched him, her mouth agape. His nonchalant disregard infuriated her and for a moment she was unable to speak.
Duff looked up and raised his eyebrows through the blue curl of smoke, as though surprised she was still there. “I dinna mind waitin’ til Mr. MacArthur is finished wi’ his duties, milady. As I said, my business be wi’ Angus so I ken ye’ll understand if I dinna trust ye wi’ this letter.” His insult was obvious and Deirdre took it as such, her lips gathered as though she had just sucked on a lemon. His lips twitched as he reigned in his laughter, “Now dinna let me keep ye from what ye was doin’.”
“I said I will gi’ him the letter,” she sputtered, spittle flying from between her horsey teeth. She flounced across the foyer and halted before him, jerking one hand into his face and setting the other on her hip. Her eyes darted to the letter that he had set in his lap.
Duff smiled at the woman with a patronising tilt of his head. He was enjoying himself immensely. Apparently this woman, with her inflated sense of worth, did not know when she was being toyed with. Clearly she was unused to disobedience. With exaggerated slowness, he covered the letter neatly with his large hand. Then he carefully replaced it in his breast pocket and patted it nicely into place. Deirdre’s eyes bulged hungrily as they followed his movements.
“Nay, Mistress, it’s no trouble at all. My nag can wait. I’ll just sit here til yer man’s free. It’s no trouble at all.” He smiled up at her. “No-trouble-at-all,” he repeated, enunciating each word with precise finality.
The imposing woman stood before him, her body quivering. Her finger seemed about ready to wear a hole through her gown as she drummed on her thigh. Duff frowned as a tremor quivered through her eyelid. This woman was quite disturbed.
Deirdre glared at the nasty, smelly stranger. How dare he? Who did he think he was, talking to her this way? More importantly, what did the letter contain? Thoughts flew through her mind as she stared down at the pompous fool. If she demanded to see the letter and didn’t produce Angus he would undoubtedly question her motives. She had no idea who he was or what he knew of her. She didn’t have much choice.
Duff watched Deirdre with ill-concealed amusement. She certainly was a repulsive looking thing, shaking in all her self-righteous wrath. He could see how young Meara, feisty though she was, might have been controlled by this bitch. He settled back against the wall, folded his arms over his belly and crossed his legs at the ankles. He spied Edme peeking from the shadows down the corridor, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes crinkled and sparkling. He winked at her and watched as her shoulders shook silently. Then Duff blinked slowly and shifted his eyes back to Deirdre.
Her nostrils turned white and she exhaled noisily. “Verra well, then, I’ll get him for ye,” she spat. She stomped away but paused to look back at him. “Dinna keep him long, he’s got work to do!” Then she moved down the hall, shoulders stiff, large feet thumping on the stone floor.
Duff glanced back to the washer lass but she had disappeared, no doubt hurrying to spread the news.
Leaning back on the small, uncomfortable bench, Duff rested his arm on the polished wood and took a long pull on his pipe as he pored over the rest of room. The foyer was huge and imposing, but cold and barren. No tapestries or paintings adorned the wall as Meara had described. He peered over his shoulder and his eyes fell upon the only piece of artwork, a portrait that hung high on the curving wall by the stairs. It was a fair likeness of the offensive creature named Deirdre. In her arms was a bairn, a handsome dark-haired lad with eyes identical to Meara’s. Duff studied the painting. He had never really doubted Rabbie and Meara’s story but the painting confirmed their incredible tale. His piercing eyes continued their perusal of the bleak space and came to rest on a large, rust-coloured stain that marred the stone floor at his feet. Duff drew his boots back and leaned forward, staring thoughtfully at the discoloured area.
A shuffling sound drew his attention. An ancient man, with tufted white hair, emerged from the shadowed corridor. He held a duster in one hand and leaned on a cane with the other, his eyes cast down. His body was oddly crooked and the fingers that clutched the duster were gnarled and misshapen with rheumatism.
Captain Duff rose and approached the old man, who eyed him warily, his cloudy eyes registering distrust.
“Angus? Angus MacArthur?”
The old man leaned heavily on his cane and looked Duff up and down. Without answering he asked, “And who might ye be, lad?” His brogue was strong, though his voice quavered with age.
“I’m Captain McDougall.” He thrust his hand out and Angus shoved the duster under one arm and clasped it, still warily eyeing the captain. Duff reached into his pocket and produced the letter. “I’ve a message from yer grandson and yer mistress, sir.” He held the letter out to the old man.
Angus stared at the letter in confusion. Then a transformation settled over him. The look of scepticism melted away and his mouth trembled for a moment before he asked, “Then they’re... they’re alive?”
Duff placed a steadying hand on the distraught man’s shoulder. “Aye, man, they’re alive and well in the Canadas. They asked me to bring ye this message.” He took the duster from the crippled hand. With contempt he tossed it on the bench then passed the letter to Angus.
Angus held the letter close to his face. Through a blur of tears he tried to read the name that was written in neat, familiar handwriting on the front of the envelope.
Angus MacArthur, Duntulm Castle
On unsteady legs, Angus made his way to the bench and sat heavily, propping his can against the wall. He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. His hands shook as he withdrew the sheet of parchment from the envelope.
As he read, a tear brimmed over and traced a meandering path through the creases on the worn cheek. It looked like a face that had not seen joy in a long while.
Duff stood quietly and waited, empathy for the man heavy in his chest.
When Angus finished, he painstakingly folded it and pressed it back into the envelope. Then he slowly rose to his feet and retrieved his cane.
“They’re alive,” he said simply, his reddened eyes on Duff.
“Aye, that they are and I promised Miss Meara and young Rabbie I’d bring word from ye on my return to the Canadas. My ship is docked at Uig. She’ll be stocked for the return and we’ll be sailin’ afore the week’s out.”
Angus nodded silently, his knobby thumb rubbing back and forth across the envelop
e.
“I’m headin’ back the now to purchase supplies, ye ken.”
“Aye, Captain. I thank ye deeply for this,” he nodded down at the letter. “I’d like to show it tae my daughter and granddaughters. Then I’ll ha’ the stable lad deliver a reply tae ye on the morn. Will that suit ye?”
“Aye, that’ll do fine then.” Duff wanted to ask Angus about the child and Meara’s husband but it was none of his business and he’d learned long ago not to get involved in the affairs of others. Well, he thought wryly, he tried not to anyway.
Angus thrust out a hand. “Thank ye kindly, sir. Ye ha’ lifted a heavy load from an auld man’s heart the day.” Duff shook his hand then squeezed the aged man’s shoulder.
“Ye ha’ a verra fine grandson, a lad to be proud of. He’s guardin’ Miss Meara wi’ his life. Verra fine indeed.”
Duff pretended not to notice the quick tears and turned to let himself out as Angus retrieved his duster and crossed the foyer with a new spring to his step.
Before leaving, Duff looked over his shoulder and was not at all surprised to see a flash of yellow as someone slipped into the shadows and disappeared down the corridor. He looked at the retreating back of Angus and paused for a moment. Then resolving not to get involved further, Duff opened the door and let himself out into the crisp autumn afternoon.
*****
The kitchen glowed by the light of a single flickering candle. Dinner had been served hours ago but the rich aroma of venison pie still lingered within the warm room. Three people sat around the table, their long shadows flowing like liquid back and forth over the walls. A sheet of parchment lay on the table between the three bent heads.
Mary spoke first through the tears that rained from her triangle eyes, “They’re alive. Blessed Lord, my wee laddie’s alive!” She reached out and clasped her daughter’s hand. Janet squeezed her mother’s fingers and blotted at her own tears with a damp handkerchief.
Angus smoothed a hand across the letter again. “Nou my lassies, Captain Duff sails in two days. He’ll take a letter back wi’ him and tonight I intend tae search the study. I ken Sloan has hidden Robert’s coin somewhere and I mean tae find it and send it along wi’ the letter so wee Rabbie and Meara can pay for passage home.”
Megan Denby Page 29
