Sleepless in Scotland

by May McGoldrick

  She brushed her fingers against his, drawing his attention. “There is a visit I want to make. One that is a long overdue.”

  “Where is it you’d like to go?”

  “Would you very much mind if Millie and I were to pay a visit to your mother at Bellhorne?”

  * * *

  He had two lives. Two worlds in which he moved.

  Standing on the rocky shore, he stared out at the wall of fog that covered the grey-green waters of the Firth of Forth. He could feel them coming.

  Since the beginning of time, wild-eyed sailors, drinking hard to forget, would tell tales of sharks and sea monsters that could tear a man in half with a single bite. And of kraken and leviathan that would hunt a ship for a fortnight and then demolish it in a single moment, leaving only splinters and corpses to float upon the sea.

  Men lived in one world. Monsters lived in another.

  He stared out at the water. The worlds were separated by the thinnest gauze. By a hair’s breadth of mist.

  He’d heard the captain say a monster hunted in the city, killing the innocent. It wasn’t true. He was no monster. He was indeed a hunter. Beyond the grey waters, beyond the mist, he hunted when the voices came. Time to avenge once again. Find the prey. Execute them. Mark them.

  Yes, he lived in two worlds. There in the city, he knew the dark places where the foolhardy ventured out. There he hunted.

  But when it was over, when the blood had been washed clean, he made his way back across the water. He returned here to his lair.

  To Bellhorne.

  Chapter 9

  Standing on the new pier at Queensferry and waiting to board their ferry for the crossing, Phoebe gazed around her at the small boats moving busily about and at the green shore to the north. Beyond the distant point of land jutting out into the Firth of Forth to the east, a large three-masted ship was moving steadily toward the port at Leith. The whole world seemed connected, and she only wished she had a way of bridging the gap with the man standing behind her.

  She and the captain had established a connection, only to lose it. She thought they’d resolved their disagreement the day he’d taken her to visit the Orphan Hospital, after their conversation in his carriage. She’d owned up to the mistake she very nearly made. And he’d been accepting of her writing, so long as she understood the responsibilities. But then something within him shut down.

  At first, Phoebe sensed the change in him when she’d suggested visiting Bellhorne. But after considering it, he’d put her mind at ease by saying a visit from them would be a pleasant change of pace for his mother. They’d set the date for Saturday. He would pick them up, travel together to Fife, and he would convey them back to Edinburgh on Monday.

  And then . . . nothing.

  She didn’t understand the change in him. Their parting that day had been civil, but hardly affable. She told him that Hugh and Grace would be in Edinburgh overnight, but he declined her invitation to dine. And during the carriage ride today, Ian had again been largely silent in her company. He didn’t look at Phoebe as he had done before. In fact, he avoided looking at her at all. There was a severity in his demeanor that made her think all that had been gained between them was lost.

  The road from Edinburgh had been slippery and wet from the rain, but there were breaks in the clouds now, and the skies over Fife on the far shore looked promising.

  Phoebe stepped away from her sister and the captain, walking to the edge of the pier and pretending to look down at a fishing boat that was tied up at the foot of some stone steps. She hazarded a glance back at Ian. He was holding his hat and cane in one hand and studying the activities of the ferrymen preparing for them to board.

  His hair looked rumpled, but it fell in handsome waves across his brow. She itched to approach and run her fingers through the thick locks, pushing them off his eyes. He had a manner of standing that was striking. He was balanced and relaxed, and yet he had the coiled feline energy of a man ready at any moment to spring into action. The wind riffled his black greatcoat, flapping it around his booted legs. As she watched him, Phoebe realized he was even more handsome now than he’d been in those heady days of youth.

  She was treading on emotionally vulnerable grounds, so she forced her attention away from the man, focusing in their surroundings instead.

  The recent additions to the piers they were standing on had enclosed the harbor and provided more dock space for the busiest ferry crossing in Scotland. But this was a regular travel route for Captain Bell. He knew where to go, who to see, when the tides were in. As a result, they were soon onboard and underway.

  Before long, Queensferry was behind them, but their destination across the water to Fife seemed quite far away. Millie, occupied with the excitement of being on a boat, wandered toward the bow.

  The wind caused the ferry to sail far out in the Firth of Forth before tacking back toward the north shore, and Phoebe smiled at an old sailor murmuring the lines of the Scots ballad as he passed.

  “The king sits in Dunfermline town, drinking the blood-red wine. ‘O where will I get a good sailor, to sail this ship of mine?’”

  Left alone with Ian, Phoebe seized her chance to try and draw him out. “Is the water fifty fathoms deep here, Captain?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, glancing at the grey-green firth. “Why do you ask?”

  “Half o’er, half o’er, to Aberdour, it’s fifty fathoms deep.” She smiled, continuing the poem she’d overheard. “And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens—”

  “With the Scots lords at his feet,” he finished. “A good question.”

  His dark eyes met hers, and instantly her cheeks warmed. She was helpless when it came to her own reaction to the man.

  Ian moved to the railing. The spray from the white caps sparkled around him as the wide boat rose and dropped on the rolling swells.

  “I wonder, Captain Bell, if you’d consider doing what you’ve encouraged me do a number of times in the past.”

  He struck the shroud with the head of his walking stick. “What would that be?”

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s troubling you.”

  He hesitated, his attention on the passing water. But before Phoebe could press him, he straightened up and faced her.

  “It’s my mother.”

  “Oh, I see . . .”

  He squeezed the brim of his hat and tapped it against his thigh. “Outside of the small circle of friends and acquaintances who live near us, she hasn’t received any visitors since Sarah’s death.”

  The rumors had circulated that Fiona Bell had become a recluse after Sarah’s death. But that didn’t excuse everyone else’s negligence. Whatever guilt Phoebe harbored for not taking this trip sooner, increased.

  “I must apologize for my family, but especially for myself. I should have reached out to her.”

  He stopped her. “That isn’t necessary. When my sister disappeared, she received many letters. Many came from friends who wanted to visit her at Bellhorne, and often she was invited to go to them. She turned them down.”

  And Phoebe had been lacking in even that simplest of gestures. No offer to visit, no invitation to Baronsford. She’d left the matter totally in her mother’s hands. Her own grief, however, did not excuse her from doing what was proper. Embarrassed by her negligence, she tried to summon a reasonable explanation, but she had none.

  Phoebe untied the ribbon holding her bonnet and pulled it off before a wind gust tore it from her head. She felt ill. And here she’d practically forced herself and Millie on the hospitality of his family. No wonder he was unhappy.

  “How does she feel about us visiting today?”

  “She doesn’t know,” he replied. “I thought it would be best for her if you arrived unannounced.”

  The hat ribbon twisted around and around her fingers. She would need to have a proper apology ready for when they arrived at Bellhorne. Her lack of correspondence with Mrs. Bell was an insult that she’d never intended.

 
; How much damage is done in the world unintentionally, she pondered.

  “This way there will be no panic, no needless distress in advance.”

  “That is quite sensible,” she said quietly. “Our sole purpose of this visit was to provide her with some company and a sympathetic ear, if she desires it. Nothing more. We didn’t mean to impose. And we certainly didn’t want to cause either of you trouble.”

  Ian steered her toward the outside of the cabin where the wall blocked the wind. Always alert, always thoughtful, she thought.

  “Does she like to talk about Sarah? Is she still grieving?”

  For a prolonged moment he looked into her eyes, and she sensed there were things he wanted to say. The thought occurred to her that perhaps he was uncomfortable sharing family confidences. From what he’d seen of her as a writer, she might not be trustworthy. When his attention seemed to fix on a gull that flew up, hung in the air near them, and then drifted back toward the stern, she put a hand on his arm.

  “Please, Captain. Tell me,” she asked again. A lock of her hair had come undone in the wind, and it whipped across her eyes. “If you’re concerned at all, Millie and I can board the next ferry heading back. We don’t want to complicate your life or add to your mother’s sorrows.”

  His touch resembled a caress when he caught the errant lock of hair, held it for a moment, and then let it loose again to dance around her face.

  “Life at Bellhorne,” he said finally, “is a carefully contrived charade to keep my mother happy. The housekeeper, Mrs. Hume, keeps my sister’s rooms clean and ready for when Sarah . . . when Sarah returns. Every day, the cook prepares my sister’s favorite pastries and serves them at breakfast. The grooms exercise her mare and have it ready. The butler, the house staff, the gardeners, and even the tenants that my mother might come in contact with are a part of this imaginary world in which Sarah is still alive. They’re all committed to the game. My cousin Alice Young, who came from Maryland to be my mother’s companion, the physician who sees to her health, even the minister.”

  He stopped and ran a hand through his hair.

  “My mother believes that Sarah has been on an extended visit to America, where she’s staying with family in Maryland.”

  Phoebe thought back to the first news that came of Sarah’s disappearance. Her friend was there one day and the next she’d vanished. She wondered how Mrs. Bell could have accepted Sarah’s sudden absence. And what about now? Three years, Phoebe thought in disbelief. Three years in which a mother never questions such a lengthy absence? She was no expert on the workings of the human mind, however. Her sister Jo had been separated for sixteen years from Wynne Melfort, but when those two met again in the Highlands, it was as if they’d never been apart.

  “This story of Sarah traveling to America . . .” She had to know the truth. “When was your mother told this?”

  “Right after my sister disappeared.” Ian tapped the cabin wall with the head of his stick. Two lines furrowed his forehead. “Before we knew for certain what happened to her. The lie was kinder than all the ugly rumors that were beginning to circulate.”

  Phoebe had vehemently defended her friend when the stories and gossip spread of Sarah running away with a phantom lover. They were all lies. She knew her friend. There was no one she cared for enough to leave her family that way.

  “My mother has always been attached to her children, but to Sarah especially. And she hasn’t been well for years. Since my father died, she’s become frailer and frailer, and her heart is weak. I never doubted Sarah’s character or judgment, and I feared the worst may have happened to her. I didn’t think my mother could handle the uncertainty . . . or the tragedy.”

  Phoebe’s heart ached for them all. From the first moment of hearing the distressing news, she’d suspected there had to be foul play involved. And she’d been right.

  “And she believed it all?”

  “Her memory is not what it once was.” He shrugged. “With enough help, anyone can build a castle of lies.”

  “So she never heard that you discovered Sarah’s remains?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. No parent should ever be exposed to that kind of horror.”

  Her brother Hugh’s face came to her mind. How shattered he’d been after losing his son and his first wife.

  “That was why the funeral was held in Edinburgh. That’s why your mother was absent. She didn’t even know.”

  Ian leaned a shoulder against the cabin, his lips a hard, thin line. The pain he’d endured!

  “Afterwards, I brought Sarah’s casket back here and laid her to rest in the church crypt.”

  She understood his reasons for deciding it had to be this way. Still, the idealist in Phoebe wanted to say it was a mother’s right to know. She would want to know. But she wasn’t Fiona Bell. She wasn’t married. She had no children. She had never loved a daughter, only to lose her so horribly.

  She also tried to imagine herself in Ian’s position. How do you convey such tragic news to your own mother, knowing she was not strong to begin with? She couldn’t.

  “What do you want Millie and me to say?” she asked. “We were friends of Sarah’s. I . . . I loved her like a sister. Should we even ask about her?”

  Relief flickered in his dark eyes as his hand reached for hers. Her fingers slid into his as if they’d always belonged there.

  “She’ll bring it up on her own. Sarah is her favorite topic. And it doesn’t matter that you’ve been to Bellhorne so often and that you already know our family history,” he told her. “She’ll show you the roses she planted for Sarah. She’ll take out my sister’s favorite books and share memories of their walks. And you’ll hear the same stories a number of times over the next two days.”

  Phoebe wished she could wrap him in her arms and hold him and try to soothe the sadness that weighed him down. Mrs. Bell dwelled in a fortress of dreams. What worried Phoebe now was a son’s heartache.

  She looked down at their joined hands instead. “I won’t disappoint you, Captain. My sister and I will be everything your mother needs us to be during our visit.”

  * * *

  Ian had sent word ahead from Edinburgh, and a carriage was waiting for them at the ferry dock.

  He sat across from Phoebe for the sixteen-mile journey to Bellhorne. Before they climbed into the carriage, he’d overheard bits and pieces of her telling Millie what lay ahead. Ian had no worry that these two would be true to their promise. He also was certain that his mother would be happy to see them. These young women, especially Phoebe, were reminders of the days when Bellhorne pulsed with life and friendships.

  The carriage rolled past Inverkeithing Bay, and Ian looked out at the retreating tide. He’d told Phoebe he’d built a castle of lies, but he knew it rested on a foundation of sand. It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

  Everything about what he was doing went against the grain of his integrity, against his very character. The perpetual fabrications about Sarah’s well-being, the news from fictitious letters, the false assertions of her adventures constantly ate away at him. And now he’d promised his mother he would write and convince his sister to come home for a visit.

  Lies and more lies.

  Telling Phoebe the truth did nothing to ease his guilt, but he felt the link between them grow stronger. He knew her secret, and now she knew his.

  They were not a half hour from the ferry when Millie laid her head on her sister’s shoulder and dropped off to asleep.

  Ian’s knee brushed against Phoebe’s skirts. She hadn’t bothered to put her hat back on after the crossing, and he admired the dance of dark curls around her face. He liked to watch her, and he wondered if she knew how plainly her moods were reflected in the arch of an eyebrow, or the blush on her cheeks, or the tilt of her rebellious bottom lip. Her attention was on the passing countryside, but he sensed her mind was on him, as well. Every now and again, she glanced back at him, and their gazes locked.
/>
  He was attracted to her. There was no denying it. And she was drawn to him. The spark between them was unmistakable, but this week had been a trying one. Between the lecture he’d given her after their visit to the Orphan Hospital, and telling her today about his mother’s condition, Ian would hardly win any prizes as a suitor.

  As a suitor. He’d never thought of himself in those terms before. But it was the truth.

  Millie started in her sleep, then nestled her head into a more comfortable position against her sister’s shoulder. Her breathing soon became deeper.

  The tenderness in Phoebe’s face as she looked over at the younger woman was endearing. The Pennington bond. He knew of no other family that had such a strong sense of devotion amongst its siblings.

  “Were the Viscount and Lady Greysteil offended I didn’t come for dinner last evening?” he asked quietly.

  “No, they were only in Edinburgh for one night, and they understood that my invitation was made at the last moment.”

  “I hope you weren’t offended.”

  “Not offended, but disappointed that you declined.” She unbuttoned the top of her traveling coat. “I thought I’d already lost your good opinion of me.”

  Her reaction two days ago when he’d relayed the history of the hospital’s troubles had only increased his respect for her character.

  “Quite the contrary. But I hope you know that all the things I said after our visit to the Orphan Hospital were made as suggestions, not demands. My intention was not to force my opinion on you. I only wanted you to be aware of the tenuous position of charities with regard to their supporters.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “But I would be very happy to let the topic rest, at least for now, until I have an opportunity to learn more.”