The Lady of the Lakes

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I am,” he said, nodding crisply. “As certain as God in heaven and the ground beneath my feet.”

  “I’m tired,” Mina said when Walter finished kissing her hand, though he continued to hold her with an expectant look. She hadn’t expected to have such a deep conversation with Walter, and it had drained her of physical, mental, and emotional strength. “Will you walk me back to the house?”

  “Of course,” he said, dropping her hands and taking his position beside her. He was troubled, she could feel it, and she reviewed all they had said and thought of a hundred ways she could have said her part better. He loved her, and it made her heart soar to hear it one moment but feel burdened by his devotion the next. She had nodded when he asked if she loved him, and she felt certain that she did—only did she know what love for a man really meant?

  The truth was she did worry about their different situations in life. He was content to live in a crowded block in Edinburgh, where he had adequate clientele and was involved in Court of Sessions. Could she be happy living in a city all year long? Would she be able to get new dresses every season like she did now? Would he have to work long hours so that they never saw one another? Could they afford nurses and governesses and cooks and maids, or would she have to care for their home and family in addition to managing it?

  She was ashamed of herself for having these thoughts. Should she not store up treasures in heaven? Then again, heaven had sent her to earth as an heiress with a title to pass on to her firstborn son; that was a responsibility she should not take lightly. As her father had said, generations counted on her.

  To ease the lingering tension as they returned to the house, she asked more detailed questions about Walter’s travels before coming to Fettercairn. He had mentioned the Troussachs at dinner last night, and Walter was eager to talk of all he had seen and done now. He was such a gifted storyteller, and he made the travel sound exciting, but fearsome as well. Did he not worry for his safety? Mina had never traveled beyond her home garden by herself and did not find the idea of such exploration exciting, though when she was younger she’d often fantasized of adventure. She’d grown out of such childish ideas. What else had she outgrown?

  They made their way up the steps of the house only to have Gleyson open the door for them first. The butler held out a package for Mina once they had crossed the threshold. “This arrived for you, Miss.”

  Surprised, Mina took the package. “By post?”

  Gleyson nodded, then handed a letter to Walter, who also looked surprised. Bowing, Gleyson left them in the entryway.

  “It’s a little like Christmas,” Mina said, smiling at Walter. “Shall we go to the parlor and open them?”

  “Certainly,” Walter said, following her into the room. They took opposite chairs, and he broke the seal on his letter while she used her sewing scissors to cut the string of her parcel. She unwound the paper to reveal a thin book, cheaply bound with a blue paper cover. She turned the book over and felt her eyebrows lift as she read the plain-set title.

  Lenore

  An English Translation

  By Walter Scott

  “Did you send this?” she asked, looking up at him. How odd for his gift to be delivered while he was visiting, but then he did not know he would be invited to Fettercairn. Perhaps he sent this before he was sure.

  Walter was reading his letter, a slight blush on his cheeks. When he finished, he refolded the paper, then looked first at the book in her lap and then at her.

  “Well,” he said in a tone she thought he meant to be lighter than it truly was. “What a strange turn.”

  “Whatever do you mean? Did you not send this?” Mina waved to the book in her lap.

  “No, I did not.” Walter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It seems a friend of mine, Miss Cranston, thought to surprise us both and had my translation bound as a gift for you.” He nodded to the book. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “She sent it from Edinburgh?” Mina asked, still confused.

  Walter nodded.

  “And Miss Cranston knew you would be here?” She nodded toward the letter in his hand. Had the book come to Mina alone, that would be one thing, but the woman must have known Walter would be here too and that made Mina suspicious. It was an unsettling feeling to imagine him telling his friends that he was coming north to see Mina, as though he’d been invited before he’d even left the city. Such liberties were concerning.

  “Miss Cranston, uh, knew I was hoping to be here.” He lifted the letter. “She thought whether I was here or not you would enjoy having a copy of my translation.”

  Mina touched the cover of the book. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of this work, Lenore.”

  “It’s a German ballad by Gottfried Bürger. I finished the translation after you left Edinburgh and have been in correspondence with a friend regarding publication but, well, nothing is determined.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Miss Cranston says she thought you might like to be the first to read what we hope will be my first published work.”

  The assumption that Walter would be invited to Fettercairn was arrogant and presumptuous on the part of Walter and his friends, but she could not determine if it was reasonable for her to feel the way she did. To have this take place so soon after their discussion about his father’s warning made it even more awkward.

  “And so I shall enjoy reading it,” Mina said, smiling politely. “And congratulations at having completed this, um, translation. You must be very proud at seeing it in print.” She raised the cheap book, which he stared at without smiling. She sensed he was embarrassed by its presentation.

  “I will not be hurt if you would prefer not to read it. The original work is rather . . . dark.”

  “I thought you said it was a ballad?”

  “Yes, but German and gothic.” He stood and put the letter into the inside pocket of his coat. “I appreciate Miss Cranston’s intent, but the more I think on this, the more I think it is not such a good idea.”

  He took a step toward her, reaching for the book, at the same time Mother entered the room. Walter stopped, his hand dropping to his side.

  “What is not such a good idea?” Mother asked, smiling as she always did and looking between them. Neither of them spoke, and so Mother focused on the book in Mina’s lap. “What have you there, Mina?”

  Mina glanced at Walter, whose cheeks were even brighter than before.

  As Mother reached for the book, Mina felt sure the awkwardness was only going to get worse.

  “‘By Walter Scott,’” Mother read in a musing tone. “You wrote this, Mr. Scott?”

  “I translated it from the original German,” he said, then explained again how his friend had sent the book to Mina as a gift.

  “How thoughtful,” Mother said, handing the book back to Mina. “Perhaps you could give us a reading after dinner, Mr. Scott.”

  The look on Walter’s face became even more uncomfortable, but he nodded and kept his tight smile in place. “If you would like,” he said, nodding. His eyes remained fixed on the book. “Only . . .”

  Mother raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  “Only, perhaps you should read it first and determine if you feel it appropriate.”

  “Surely your friend wouldn’t send something inappropriate any more than you would write such.” Mother laughed teasingly, and Mina looked between her mother’s amused face and Walter’s anxious one. Mother paused, her expression changing to one of concern when no one joined her. “But I shall see if I can’t find time to review it, if you like.”

  Walter bowed slightly. “The day is so lovely. Perhaps a ride would be nice.” He looked at Mina. “Would you be interested in joining me, Miss Stuart?”

  “No, thank you,” Mina said, needing to be alone to process the morning they had spent together. “I fear I am quite tired.”


  “And she does not enjoy riding very much even when she is fit,” Mother said, sitting beside Mina and taking her hand. She looked at Mr. Scott. “But please do enjoy the countryside. We shall expect you for tea at, say, three o’clock?”

  “Thank you,” he said. He glanced at Mina before turning and exiting the room. It was the first time Mina had ever seen him eager to leave her company.

  Walter tried to overcome the tension of the morning during his ride but carried a pit in his stomach. He replayed the awkward conversations over and over, trying to determine what was so out of place.

  Mina had been embarrassed at receiving the book, yet there seemed to be something more. As though she thought he had lied about why Miss Cranston had sent it. Why had Miss Cranston sent it? In her letter to Walter, she explained that she wanted Mina to see his great talent, but he could not understand why Miss Cranston hadn’t realized that the book made a rather pretentious gift.

  Walter didn’t talk to Mina much about his personal writing. He felt that until he actually accomplished something in the industry, he had little claim to call himself a “writer.” The translation Miss Cranston had sent was kindly meant, he had no doubt, but it was not the presentation of a published work—something a publisher had faith in.

  And while Walter read all types of literature, including dark poetry by Bürger, Mina enjoyed lighter works—something he had quickly learned during their earliest letters. Lenore was anything but light. The idea of reading the work out loud to the Stuart family made his stomach clench with anxiety. No doubt Sir John would give him his leave on the spot. So many things had changed between Mina and himself. Was she even the girl he had fallen in love with? The pinched look on her face as she’d regarded the book made his chest burn.

  Walter returned to the house in time to tidy himself up for tea. To his surprise, Lady Stuart was standing on the landing as though waiting for his arrival.

  “Did you have a nice ride, Mr. Scott?”

  “Yes,” Walter said. “Your land is some of the loveliest I have ever seen. I do quite like this part of the country.”

  She nodded acceptance of his compliments and waved him toward the parlor, talking as they walked. “I took some time to look through your translation this afternoon.”

  Walter said nothing, knowing what was coming and yet bracing himself for it. At least her tone was kind, even sympathetic.

  “I think, perhaps, it would be better if you don’t read for us as I suggested,” she said. “While it is a compelling tale to be sure, and I’m sure your translation is very well done, the story itself does seem rather . . . heavy for a young woman.”

  “Yes,” Walter agreed, terribly embarrassed. Earlier, Lady Stuart had asked why his friend would send Mina something objectionable. Why, indeed?

  “I don’t believe that Lord Stuart would like Mina to read of such things as blasphemy and Hell. I hope you understand.” She said nothing about Walter translating such a piece, but he felt the censure all the same. He was so out of place here. In every way, it seemed.

  Walter swallowed. “I do. And it was not my idea to have it sent. My friend thought . . . Well, she has different tastes than Mina.”

  “She?” Lady Stuart repeated, turning toward him with raised eyebrows.

  Och, could anything else go wrong? “I have been friends with Miss Cranston since childhood,” he explained, wanting to assure her that there was nothing romantic between them as Lady Stuart’s eyebrows seemed to suggest. “She is engaged to marry next spring.”

  Lady Stuart’s expression softened. “Under the circumstances, I think I shall keep the translation from Lord Stuart’s notice, if you don’t mind. I think it would be better for everyone.”

  “Certainly,” Walter said, wishing his collar did not feel so tight around his neck. “If you would like to return it to me, I’ll see that it’s not discovered by Sir John or Mina. I mean for no discomfort between any of us.”

  Lady Stuart patted his hand as they reached the doorway. “I shall have it returned to you this evening. I’m glad that we understand one another.”

  The next day was Walter’s last at Fettercairn, and Lady Stuart suggested an outing to an old monastery a few miles north. Walter was grateful for the distraction and the chance to enjoy a new experience with Mina. Lord and Lady Stuart, along with two grooms, brought up the rear.

  Mina and Walter rode side by side at the head of the party. He wanted to ask after her mother’s comment from yesterday that Mina did not like to ride, but he was not sure he could handle the discussion. Riding was one of the great joys of his life, and he didn’t want to know if she did not feel the same. She seemed comfortable enough in the saddle, however.

  Mina did not speak of the translation, and Walter hoped the entire topic would fade into the distance. The book had been returned to his room last night, and he had placed it at the bottom of his saddlebag, determined to do his best to forget all about it.

  Mina instead asked after his years on his grandfather’s farm, which he was only too glad to share. Had the topic bored her, he’d have found other topics of conversation, but she asked so many thoughtful questions that when the high walls of the monastery came into view, he realized he had monopolized the entire journey.

  “Now, look what I’ve done. We’ve been riding for over an hour, and I’ve talked about myself the entire time. You’ll think I’m a prideful man.”

  Mina smiled. “I surely prodded the stories from you, Walter, and you know it.”

  “Well, you must promise to talk only of yourself on the return journey.” He glanced over his shoulder, enjoying the ease that had finally replaced the tension between them. “Would I forever earn your father’s censure if we raced the last bit?”

  She laughed. “Certainly you would, and should one of our horses catch a rabbit hole and break a leg, you might very well be escorted back to Edinburgh with pistols.”

  Walter smiled, but swallowed as well, unsure if she were exaggerating.

  They continued their walk, then dismounted at the entrance. The grooms took charge of the horses, and the two couples walked the grounds.

  Sir John had a great knowledge of the place and relayed the history of the different rooms and turrets. Walter was an eager student and hoped that his ability to remember the details might garner some respect in the other man’s eyes. The chapel was still in good repair, though a collection of swallows had claimed the rafters for their summer homes. The birds darted and swooped, making Mina pull close to Walter’s arm whenever the birds came near her.

  After the official tour, Lord and Lady Stuart returned to the entrance where the servants had set out a picnic, which gave Walter and Mina a chance to walk the exterior alone. The day was as fine as the company, and Walter dared to hope yesterday’s difficulties were behind them. When he spied a small white flower growing near the base of the wall, he bent down and plucked it from the stalk.

  He faced Mina, tucking the flower in her hair while repeating a verse of Shakespeare.

  When daisies pied, and violets blue

  And lady-smocks all silver-white

  And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue

  Do paint the meadows with delight.

  When he finished, he stepped back and smiled. She gazed up at him with an expression as soft as the highland breeze dancing through her hair. He considered kissing her there in the shadow of the ruins but didn’t want to come across too eager for such intimacies when things had been so strange during his visit.

  “You have a romantic soul, Walter,” Mina said, raising her hand to lightly touch the petals of the flower in her hair.

  He smiled wider, keeping to himself that romanticism sometimes did him no favors. He was glad it had today, however. Another idea gripped him and so he turned and withdrew his pocketknife from his trouser pocket. “You should always return something of beauty to a place you take bea
uty from,” he said, opening the blade. He crouched down and cut her name into the thick turf at the base of the plant: Williamina. When he finished, he wiped the blade on the inside of his pant leg and returned the knife to his casing.

  Mina looked at the tribute, then rose onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek, further restoring his confidence. “You are very sweet, Walter.”

  “Thank you for a lovely day, Mina,” he said, just as movement caught his eye. He turned more fully toward the corner of the ruin and felt the air go out of him when he saw Sir John watching them. How long had he been there? Had he seen Mina’s kiss? Walter swallowed.

  “We’ve been waiting on you for a quarter of an hour at least,” Sir John said, any camaraderie from earlier lost.

  “Sorry, Father,” Mina said, sharing a quick look with Walter before hurrying ahead.

  Walter kept up as best he could, cursing his limp. At least she’d seen him on horseback, something he took pride in as he was equal to any man in the saddle. They had shared a better day together on their final outing and even Sir John’s disapproving glare could not extinguish that. Not completely, at least.

  July 1796

  After Walter’s visit in late April, Mina and her mother visited family in Perth for most of May and June. It was wonderful to see her cousins again, attend society events, and enjoy summer in a larger community. It was nearing the end of June before they returned to Fettercairn. Mina’s skin was far too brown from the summer sun, but she felt light and happy. While in Perth, she had received two letters from Walter, which she enjoyed, and three letters from William Forbes.

  Mina reflected upon her mother’s encouragement all those months ago to make a decision based on wisdom rather than ignorance, and she evaluated whether she had followed that counsel. She had not singled Walter out from the other men while in Edinburgh, and she had truly put her attention toward getting to know a variety of men. Still, no man invigorated her the way Walter did, except for perhaps Mr. Forbes. If only he wasn’t her parents’ choice for her.