Megan Denby

by A Thistle in the Mist

  “Oh, Da, what if Sloan finds out? He’ll, he’ll...” Mary could not finish her sentence but her lips trembled with fear.

  “Dinna fash, lass. It has to be done. I’m no afeert of that cooard.” His murky eyes were fierce in the candlelight. “Ha’ we no allowed them tae hurt us enough?”

  The question hung in the silent kitchen.

  Janet broke the still, “I’ll write the letter, Granda.”

  Angus nodded at his granddaughter and set a sheaf of papers on the table that he’d brought with him. “The sooner wee Heath’s back wi’ his mother, the better and the stables ha’ gone tae hell withoot our young Rabbie.”

  Mary and Janet nodded, their eyes sober in the candlelight, as Angus passed a quill to Janet.

  *****

  Hours had passed since Janet had written the letter.

  Angus had seen Mary safely back to her room, just a few steps from the kitchen. Then he had walked Janet to her room down the hall. Alec was away at sea again and Angus made sure his granddaughter was settled. Holding the candle high, he stepped through an adjoining doorway and into the nursery. He looked down at his great granddaughter, Flossie, as she slept in her small cot next to her brother’s cradle. The halo of blond curls had grown a little in the past year and her cheeks were still smooth and baby-plump. Next he had gazed at his great grandson. Wee Dougall was four months old. He was nearly bald, with a touch of red fuzz and a strong, broad forehead. He suckled in his sleep and murmured contentedly. Annie slept across the room in a bed under the window. Angus gently touched the hair that fanned across the pillow and smiled, then turned back and kissed Janet goodnight.

  Janet’s amber eyes were clouded with worry as she hugged him. “Granda, will ye please let me wait wi’ ye? I dinna like ye doin’ this alone.”

  He shook his head then cupped her cheek with his worn hand. “Dinna fash nou, lassie, this’ll all be over soon.” Janet hugged him hard then kissed his papery cheek before he hobbled across the room and exited through the nursery door.

  He had returned to the kitchen to wait, ensuring that everyone, namely Sloan and Deirdre would be well asleep when he searched the study.

  As the hours passed, his eyelids began to droop and his head bobbed forward. When his chin bumped his chest, he jolted awake. He pulled his pocket watch from his inside breast pocket and held it up to the short candle, squinting as he read the numbers. Just after two. It was time. He was sure they’d be asleep by now. He only hoped Sloan had made it to his own chambers at the other end of the castle and had not passed out in the study, as was his custom.

  Angus creaked from the chair, his joints stiff and unyielding. Leaning heavily on his cane he crept from the kitchen and down the hall toward the study. The light from the candle cast strange shadows on the walls and a shiver travelled down the length of Angus’ spine.

  Foolish auld man, afraid of the dark are ye the nou? he berated himself silently, as he finally reached the study.

  The door was slightly ajar and Angus pushed it inward silently. He moved into the room and shuffled around to close the door. It clicked shut and Angus turned back toward the desk.

  Abruptly, the unmistakable sound of a flint scraping across stone screamed through the silence. A match flared to life and Angus stumbled back as Sloan grinned up at him, the match illuminating his long face, like a ghastly mask.

  The candle slipped from his tenuous grasp and sputtered out on the floor. The lit match bobbed through the dark and Sloan’s face disappeared for a moment. Then the lamp on the desk sucked at the flame and Sloan’s face once more came alive.

  “Well, old Angus, nice of ye to finally join me.” Sloan’s lips peeled back from teeth that pointed in all directions as though lost. “I’d about given up on ye.”

  “I heard a noise and... and weel I came tae check.” Angus’ voice quivered badly and he swallowed convulsively.

  “Well, that’s strange, old man. And here I thought ye’d come to rob me blind. Mebbe I was wrong,” he said, as his voice hardened and his bloodshot eyes glittered. “Was I wrong, old man?”

  “I dinna ken what yer talkin’ aboot. I told ye I...”

  “Listen, ye worthless old bawbag,” Sloan cut in, “Let’s cut the shite, shall we? I ken about the letter and I ken ye were comin’ to steal my coin to send tae that bitch, Meara and her loyal lapdog, Rabbie. Ye should teach that bletherin’ daughter of yers, Mary, to lower her voice and shut her fat trap if yer tryin’ to keep a secret.”

  Angus bristled and leaned forward angrily, “Nou just...”

  “Shut up and sit down. I’ve got a few plans of my own.” Sloan leaned forward in his chair. He propped his bony elbows on the table and steepled his fingertips. “I said sit down,” he hissed, his voice slithering through the study.

  Angus sank down into the chair that faced Sloan, his cane clattering to the floor. His mind worked busily, trying to figure a way out of this mess.

  Sloan watched him for a moment, a smirk lifting his thick lips. The lamplight shone up onto his face, and his misshapen nose, never having healed properly from Rabbie’s punch, cast a warped shadow down his flat cheeks giving him a decidedly ghoulish look. He reached down and slid open the drawer of the desk. He grabbed several sheets of parchment then shoved them across the desk to Angus. Next he pushed the ink well and quill toward the old servant.

  Angus watched Sloan in confusion, a sick feeling spreading through his body as he stared at the parchment.

  “Now old, man, I believe we ha’ a letter to write to yer everlovin’ grandson and his cunt of a mistress.” Sloan smiled, his pale eyes watching, waiting. “It would seem that this is the night for letter writin’.” Sloan settled back his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head comfortably before he continued. “We ha’ some news for our sweet Meara, don’t we?” he asked innocently.

  Angus felt his heart sink slowly until it seemed to rest on the floor of his belly and he struggled for air.

  “Why, I think it’s only proper the wee bitch kens her precious wee Heath up and died right after we shipped her off, don’t ye?” The words were pure evil, the voice even more so. Sloan picked up the letter opener and with brow knit began to clean his nails.

  Angus swayed in his chair.

  Sloan looked up from his nails. “Easy old man, dinna go and croak on me afore we’re done.” He glanced back down and blew the gathered dirt from the tip of the opener. “I just think it’s fair that Meara ken the truth. We dinna want the poor lass havin’ false hope now.” Sloan sighed and shook his head. “Though I pity ye, having to be the one to tell her that Duncan is dead and gone too. That damn Napoleon!” He clucked his tongue and raised his eyebrows in mock sorrow. “It might just send her off the deep end, ye ken. What’ll the poor lass do now that her mannie and wean are both gone?” Sloan sighed again, a slow audible release of air across his overlapping teeth. “Why there’d be no reason for her to come back to Scotland what wi’ her whole family gone.”

  Angus grabbed blindly for the edge of the desk and tried to loosen the buttons on his shirt with the other. The man was wicked. Angus’ body shook and his breath was shallow as he stared back at Sloan.

  A delicate white moth fluttered from the shadows, drawn to the glow of the lamp. It circled the flame then landed on the desk. With one swift move, Sloan impaled the insect’s wing to the desk with the letter opener. He freed the blade from the wood and with a tight smile, slowly slid the moth up the shaft, careful not to break the wing from the wiggling body. With the other hand he dragged the lamp close then proceeded to roast the flailing creature alive, its tiny body parts curling in the heat and turning to a small pile of ash on the desk. Sloan didn’t notice Angus’ sharp intake of breath.

  He carefully cleaned the blackened blade with his handkerchief then delicately blew the ash from the desk. His features were slack, eyes oddly distant when he glanced back at Angus. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth then continued in an even tone, as though torturing living
creatures was an everyday occurrence for him.

  “Like I was sayin’, I hate to be the bearer of bad news and that’s why yer goin to do it. Yer goin’ to write and inform Meara that Duncan and Heath are dead. Then she’ll have no reason to come back and meddle in our affairs. We’ll be rid of that trollop for good.” Sloan smiled, a deceptively gentle smile, and folded his hands before him.

  Angus drew a shaking breath and leaned forward. He shook with fury as he answered, “I willna do it! Ye’ll ha’ to kill me first!” He slumped back, the effort to speak taking all his breath.

  Sloan tipped his head and stared at Angus, his lips gathered in disappointment. Then he shook his head. “See, I thought ye might say that. I thought ye might gi’ me a hard time and that’s why...” He paused dramatically and reached for the lamp. Picking it up, he slowly turned in his chair, the lamplight bouncing around the interior of the study. “That’s why I brought along a wee bit of insurance, a friendly bit of persuasion I guess ye might say.”

  Sloan directed the light across the room then held it high out of the way. Reluctantly, Angus leaned across the desk and looked past Sloan.

  Flossie’s softly rounded cheeks glowed pink by the light of the lamp. His great granddaughter slept in Deirdre’s arms. Deirdre lounged comfortably in Robert’s barrel chair, her features masked by the shadows. The lamplight glinted off the lethal tip of the dirk that Deirdre held loosely in one hand. With the other, she gently stroked Flossie’s curls. The child murmured in her sleep and cuddled deeper into Deirdre’s arms. Deirdre lightly touched the tip of the blade to Flossie’s cheek. The child flinched and then relaxed, blissfully unaware.

  The lamp swung around and shone into the white face of Angus MacArthur.

  “God help ye man, ye can sink no lower,” he whispered in a hoarse voice laced with despair.

  Tears spilled from his eyes and wet the paper as he accepted the quill that Sloan held out to him.

  “Thought ye’d see it my way, old man.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Life in a Nova Scotia

  “Slow down, laddie!”

  Strands of September sunlight found us and warmed the tops of our heads. It laced through the sparsely leaved maples and dappled the chestnut mop of the lad who dashed ahead. Crisp leaves scurried out of Johnny’s way, startled by the rush of his eager feet.

  Johnny halted abruptly and bent over, intently studied something at his feet. With a whoop of delight, he scooped a treasure from amongst the leaves. Then he charged back toward us, something long and purple dangling from his fingers. Blue eyes sparkled with delight as he held up a fat worm.

  “Look, Nessie!” he squealed, his face alight with excitement. “I’m gonna see if Daddy’ll take me fishing today. The fish’ll love this guy, eh Ness?” He beamed up at his sister, eagerly awaiting her response.

  Vanessa looked down at her little brother. Johnny, it seemed, was the only one who could bring a true smile to her dark eyes. She grinned indulgently now, “I think Daddy’s gone for the day, but maybe Rabbie’ll take you.”

  Johnny’s face fell as he glanced back at the wiggling creature. It twisted this way and that, seeking a chance to escape, as though it had just heard what its fate was to be. Johnny scratched his nose, leaving a smudge across the tip. Then he looked up at me, his forehead wrinkled.

  “Do you think Rabbie’ll take me fishing, Meara?” His blue eyes pleaded with me as the slimy fellow surged, frantically trying to break free. Johnny swung it back and tightened his hold then looked back up at me.

  I searched my pocket and found my handkerchief, then polished the small, upturned nose and smoothed an errant curl from his forehead. Then I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Well, laddie, I think it’s been some time since Rabbie’s been fishin’. He used to catch some fine trout from the loch back home.” I pretended to ponder his question, feeling his coiled energy vibrate beneath my hand. “Ye might have to teach him how to hold a fishin’ rod all over agin.” I watched the quick smile grab his lips. “I dinna ken though, are ye up for that, lad?”

  The shoulder slipped from beneath my hand as Johnny spun away and dashed ahead once more, the worm’s fate firmly sealed. “I’m gonna find more worms then help Rabbie finish the chores so we can go right away,” he threw over his shoulder.

  I smiled down at Vanessa, who walked sedately by my side. She did not return my smile, but watched her brother, almost wistfully, as though wishing she could join in. “Rabbie’ll take ye too if ye’d like, Vanessa,” I said carefully. She shook her head, the white-blond hair flowing gently around the smooth curve of her high cheekbone.

  “I don’t want to,” was the cool reply.

  It had been over two months and Vanessa still had not warmed to me, despite my efforts. She was no longer rude, but it was as though she would not let herself trust me. Try as I would, I could not break through the invisible shield she carried.

  We were on our way back from the nearby village of Yarmouth and another fruitless visit to the post office. I carried two letters in my pocket. Both were addressed to my employer. Captain Duff had told us that on the off chance he didn’t make it back before winter set in, he would see that a return letter from home was delivered anyway. I knew it was much too early for a reply from Angus and yet I repeatedly tortured myself with daily treks into town.

  I glanced back down at the shining head by my side. Vanessa stared at the ground as she walked, the leaves crunching beneath our feet. She was somewhat of an enigma to me and I wasn’t at all sure whether I would ever be able to gain her trust. She mostly kept to herself, reading whatever she could get her hands on. Her father brought her books several times a week. Though Vanessa was extremely pleased with these gifts, she seemed to hold back. More often than not, John’s eyes would cloud with disappointment as his daughter ignored his outstretched arms and slipped away to her room, her nose buried in the newest book.

  I looked ahead to Johnny, his curls tousled by the breeze, his step meandering as he searched for more worms. This wee lad was a pure delight to me. He was eager and precocious, pure and untainted by whatever had jaded young Vanessa.

  I had been given free rein with the children. John was away most days, and most evenings too, although he did make an appearance every morning for breakfast. I had lost count of the late nights I awoke to the sound of John’s horse-drawn carriage pulling up to the stables. My window provided a clear view and it seemed very strange to me what often transpired. John would quickly step down from the carriage, all but ignoring Rabbie who had been roused from his sleep. Instead, with a weaving gait, no doubt from too much drink, John would quickly enter the house from the back, leaving the horses to a sleepy Rabbie. I noticed the dusky shadows beneath John’s eyes, as though he never had quite enough sleep. His thriving chain of hotels seemed to keep him very busy and though he doted on his children, I had yet to see any interaction between John and his wife.

  Grace Carleton rarely made an appearance, and days would go by without a glimpse of this mysterious lady. She was a lovely woman, though evidently not in good health. She had the same fair hair as her daughter and I could see where Johnny’s blue eyes came from, though hers were veiled with suffering. No one spoke of what troubled the lady of the house but I could tell she was unhappy.

  Vanessa and Johnny treated her as though she might break at any moment. Often when we’d climb the stairs, Johnny, racing ahead like a wee dervish, would stop and spin around, reminding me in hushed tones to be quiet so as not to disturb his mama.

  We emerged from the cover of the trees, leaving behind the damp of decaying leaves and rotting foliage to step into the embrace of the warm autumn afternoon. We passed three stately frame homes before Johnny dashed up his drive, determined to be first as usual. I followed him past the house and back to the stables, where I found the tot by the paddock begging Rabbie to take him fishing.

  Rabbie turned at our approach and grinned ruefully. “Well, Meara and Miss Nessie, might ye be the ones t
hat set this young pup on me the day?” Johnny stood his ground before Rabbie, feet spread wide. He held a fistful of dangling worms in one grubby hand, shading his eyes with the other as he stared up at Rabbie.

  “I told Meara I’d help you with your chores, Rabbie. I’m five now so I’m big ‘nough to help you, ‘cause Papa says I’m ‘most a man.” He held his free hand up, displaying five fingers, as he had done almost every day in the two weeks since he had turned five. He squinted up at Rabbie, tipping his head to the side, most endearingly. “So that’s big ‘nough, right Rabbie?”

  “Don’t beg, Johnny. Mama says that’s not very gentlemanly,” Vanessa scolded.

  Rabbie stamped his foot impatiently, fixing his sister with an indignant frown. “I’m not begging.” He paused, his brow wrinkled in thought. “I’m n’gotiating.” He looked back to Rabbie, who I knew was trying to hold back a grin. “Right, Rabbie?” Johnny prodded.

  “Well, lad, I ken ye are a good negotiator and that’s a fine deal. I was just sayin’ to myself, Rabbie, ye sure could use a strong young man to help fill the oat bags and water trough, and now, here ye are!” Johnny tossed a triumphant look over his shoulder at Vanessa who in turn glanced up at me, wise beyond her years, and rolled her eyes. “I see ye’ve already found some bait there, lad.” Rabbie leaned over and studied the writhing mass, then glanced at me and winked.

  “Well, have a good time, lads,” I said, smiling at Rabbie. Vanessa and I turned to leave but Rabbie called after us.

  “Ness, I kent yer brother has enough bait for three. Would ye come with us then, lassie?”

  Vanessa hesitated, obviously torn between her newest book and an afternoon adventure.

  “Why don’t ye stop by the kitchen and see if Edie can’t fix us a wee bite to take with us, then run to yer room and get yer new book?” Rabbie prompted – rather cleverly, I thought.