Moreton's Kingdom

by Jean S. MacLeod

‘I’ve got a bear!’ Sandy rejoiced, slipping his free hand into his father’s. ‘An’ he’s got a stick to help him walk.’

  ‘Is that what it is?’' Charles laughed, glancing in Emma’s direction with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Perhaps he’s a lame bear,’ suggested Sandy with a frown. ‘Perhaps he needs a stick to help him.’

  Charles turned away, a look in his eyes which Katherine found difficult to fathom, while a dark, angry colour stole into Emma’s cheeks.

  ‘I hope we’ll see you again before you go back south,’ she said to Charles. ‘I hope there’ll be no more complications.’

  Charles was looking idly in Katherine’s direction.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the ball in our court now.’

  Mrs. Falkland came to say goodbye.

  ‘I’m glad we met,’ she said unexpectedly, holding Katherine’s hand for the conventional few seconds. ‘I expect you’ll be continuing your holiday as soon as your car is repaired.’

  There was an odd, waiting silence before Katherine answered.

  ‘I haven’t come very far out of my way,’ she confessed, ‘and I had no very definite plans.’

  She knew that she would have been rejected if she had appealed to Morag for help because, like Emma, Morag would be firmly on Charles’s side, but she felt that she could have asked Emma’s mother for understanding. Perhaps Mrs. Falkland had known Coralie quite well in the past and liked her.

  Charles opened the back door of the Rover for her to get in, reserving the front passenger seat for Sandy.

  ‘Hop in!’ he said. ‘I suppose you want to steer.’

  Sandy raised adoring eyes to his.

  ‘Can the bear sit beside me?’ he asked.

  ‘Where else?’ Charles said his goodbyes, looking directly at Emma. ‘We’ll see you at Glassary soon, I hope?’

  ‘Whenever I can get away.’ She put a hand over his. ‘Goodbye, Chay!’

  They travelled for the best part of an hour, going deeper and deeper into the mountain fastness, with giant bens crowding the skyline and flashes of bright water shining through forest trees. Charles handed over a road atlas.

  ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t know where you’re going,’ he said. ‘We’re travelling east, but we’ll go south again in a couple of miles.’

  Katherine pored over the road map, her head bent to conceal the expression in her eyes. She could not fathom this man’s disposition, at one moment severe, the next warm and understanding, especially when he looked at the child. It had been the same when he had looked at Emma and, to a lesser extent, her mother. There was understanding, but there was something more. Had a long and abiding friendship turned eventually into love?

  It was something she could only speculate about, not something she wanted to understand, she told herself defiantly.

  Soon they were turning into a hidden glen, following a silver thread of water until they were finally at their destination. Katherine held her breath when she first saw Glassary, thinking that a more remote place could hardly be imagined. Remote and beautiful. She gazed at the surrounding peaks closing in the dark stretch of loch water and the turreted house set above it on a grey crag. The ultimate fortress, she thought with sudden alarm, a grim citadel which looked as if it might contain an ancient dungeon surrounded by an impregnable wall.

  In the bright light of day, however, it smiled at their approach, and Sandy at least was happy to be there.

  ‘Can I go to see Fudge?’ he asked excitedly, forgetting Emma’s gift of the bear.

  Charles smiled.

  ‘All in good time,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve been fattening him up for you!’

  The blue eyes regarded him lovingly.

  ‘Did he miss me awf’lly?’ Sandy wanted to know.

  ‘Ponies and little boys generally miss each other!’

  Again the face of understanding, Katherine thought. Charles really did love the child and therein lay the ultimate tragedy. However much they pulled apart, Coralie and her former husband had this much in common; Sandy was their only child, the little boy they must have loved in the beginning with all their hearts, one accusing the other with merciless intent because they both wanted him whatever the consequences. Because they loved him they would tear themselves apart all in the cause of love.

  Studying the dark face of the man behind the wheel, she tried to see more than determination in the steely eyes and protruding jaw, but what she saw still disconcerted her. Then, as the morning sunshine still dazzled her eyes, she looked beyond him to the shadows cast by the surrounding mountains on the grey, turreted house above the loch.

  ‘Why have you left my car so far behind?’ she demanded as they approached it along a narrow spur of rock which stretched like an arm into the water. ‘Surely there’s a suitable garage nearer this—this fortress?’

  Charles smiled at the words she had chosen as he drove steadily towards his home.

  ‘I left it at Killin because there’s really no great hurry,’ he said evenly. ‘I mean to keep you in “this fortress”, as you call it, until I can convince myself that you’re no longer a danger to us, that you’re not the sort of person I think you are.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Katherine demanded when she recovered her breath.

  Charles considered her through his driving mirror, meeting her challenge with a faint smile.

  ‘It means that you and I think along the same lines,’ he said. ‘You evidently despise me for taking Sandy away from his mother and I feel sure that you intend to trick us whenever and however you can. I don’t believe you were coming to Scotland entirely on holiday at the right moment; I think your sympathies were with Coralie all along.’

  She gazed at his unresponsive back view, aware that her futile anger only amused him, and then she, too, was looking ahead at the house they were approaching.

  ‘It’s completely feudal!’ she declared in exasperation as he drove the car over a stone bridge which spanned the narrow arm of the loch. ‘Your attitude—this place—everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours! If it wasn’t such a nightmare I’d believe it impossible,’ she rushed on. ‘Are we really on an island?’

  ‘Not quite,’ he shrugged. ‘There’s a narrow neck of land at the north end, but I’d advise you not to use it. The bridge is the only way across.’

  Katherine looked down at the shining water surrounding the house as they crossed the bridge and at the belt of pines which sheltered it from the north, aware that she would have loved this place if she had come to it under happier circumstances. The old grey stone kissed by the sun could have seemed welcoming and friendly and real contentment might have blossomed from its stillness and peace.

  ‘It’s your family home,’ she said.

  Charles Moreton nodded.

  ‘I was born at Glassary,’ he said. ‘So was Sandy, for that matter, and my brother, whom you’ll meet very soon.’ A frown creased his dark brow. ‘I wouldn’t say he’s the most hospitable of men,’ he added, ‘but you must work that out for yourself.’

  They were almost at the house, skirting a semi-circular lawn which divided the two carriageways, and Katherine saw the grey facade of Glassary clearly for the first time. A stone canopy supported by stone pillars guarded the doorway between two long mullioned windows which looked out on either side of it, watching for strangers, no doubt, and there were four other similar windows along the front of the house and six above on the first storey, while at each corner stood a round tower crowned with a little turret of grey slate.

  An elderly woman came to the door.

  ‘This is Mrs. Stevas,’ said Charles. ‘She’ll look after you while you’re here.’

  Mrs. Stevas didn’t look at all like a gaoler, Katherine thought as Sandy rushed towards her to be enveloped in a gigantic hug.

  ‘I’ve got a bear!’ he announced excitedly. ‘A little wooden bear!’

  ‘There won’t be any prizes for guessing who made him!�
�� Mrs. Stevas smiled, stepping back into the hallway. ‘And none for guessing where your first port of call will be once you’ve had your lunch!’

  “To see Fudge!’ Sandy cried. ‘Has he been lonely while I’ve been away, Mrs. Stevas?’

  ‘He’s been eating his head off—with grief, if you like!’

  The housekeeper turned to Katherine. ‘If you’ll come this way, miss, I’ll be showing you to your room,’ she added conventionally. ‘You must want to get settled in after so long a journey,’ she said. ‘I’ll feed the bairn while you’re having a wash.’

  Whatever explanation Charles had offered her about their unexpected visitor, Mrs. Stevas appeared to be the soul of discretion, too good a servant to show her feelings at a first encounter.

  Katherine looked round for Charles.

  ‘He’ll be off to the Stable House,’ Mrs. Stevas said. ‘Mr. Fergus will be waiting.’

  ‘Is—Mr. Fergus his brother?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘His younger brother.’ The housekeeper underlined the relationship as if it was very important. ‘You’ll be meeting him as soon as you’ve had a meal. He doesn’t come to the house at lunchtime because he can’t walk that distance more than once a day. He has the electric wheelchair, of course, but he’s stubborn about using it. Like all men, he thinks it diminishes his dignity in some way or other. We’re always telling him it won’t be for ever, but I don’t think he believes us. Even Dr. Farquharson has a job with him at times, though he’s much better than he was in the beginning. You’ll like Mr. Fergus,’ she concluded with a smile. ‘Everybody does.’

  They climbed a wide flight of stairs adorned by a red carpet which shone like a ruby against the dark mahogany of the panelled walls, and Katherine wanted to ask Mrs. Stevas a thousand questions, although she knew that not all of them would be answered. Instead, she concentrated on the layout of the house which could become her prison for a number of days.

  The stairs went up to a wide landing where they branched right and left to the upper storey of the house along a corridor with doors on either side.

  ‘Glassary is a very old house,’ Mrs. Stevas explained, ‘but this is the sunnier side. The family always slept here when they were at home, but now it’s mainly for guests.’

  Katherine wanted to laugh out loud at the misnomer, since she was far from considering herself a guest.

  ‘We’re a long way from the main road,’ she suggested instead. ‘Glassary is really isolated. My car broke down,’ she hurried on to explain, although she had a strong suspicion that Mrs. Stevas knew all about her odd adventure. ‘It was too late to have it towed to a garage last night, but I’m hoping something can be done with it quickly. You see,’ she added carefully, ‘I’m on holiday and I had hoped to get to the Trossachs this morning.’

  ‘You’re not so far away from them.’ The housekeeper opened a stout mahogany door near the end of the corridor, ‘You’ll be quite comfortable here in the meantime.’ Some of Charles’s determination had tinged her voice. ‘There’s no need for you to feel isolated,’ she added cheerfully. ‘There’s plenty to do at Glassary if you have a mind to look for it.’

  The words might have been some kind of warning, yet Katherine felt that Mrs. Stevas could easily be won over.

  ‘If there’s anything more you might need just ring the bell,’ she said, turning to go. ‘Jamie will bring up your suitcase in a wee while and lunch is at one o’clock. It’s a meal everybody pleases theirselves about—generally cold venison or salmon because the men are out—but they manage to make up for it at dinner time! Mr. Fergus is in by then, too.’

  Wondering about ‘everybody’, but not prepared to ask, Katherine inspected her room. Although somewhat forbidding with its heavy Victorian furniture standing round the walls and a large half-poster bed dominating the centre of the floor, it was completely adequate, and there was a smaller apartment leading off it which she discovered to be a bathroom. Quite a modern bathroom, she noted, with a handy shower and glazed waterproof curtains tucked into the bath.

  All mod. cons! she thought whimsically, although she was half inclined to look for a barred window.

  Maybe if I had a strong sense of humour I’d be able to see the funny side of all this, she thought, as she crossed the bedroom to look out of the casement window to the hills. No need for bars, she decided, seeing the long drop to the gravelled drive beneath her.

  When she had washed her face and tidied her hair she went back to the window as if drawn there inevitably. It was the only way of finding her bearings and working out her escape.

  The short gravelled drive held out its arms to embrace the lawn with the wooden bridge which spanned the narrow neck of water behind it, while beyond the bridge the gravelled approach road led eventually to the road through the glen. There was nothing complex about it, but the fact of Glassary’s isolation stood like a barrier between her and the outside world. Without a car there would be little hope of getting away even if she did appeal to Mrs. Stevas for directions and possible understanding.

  She was still at the window when Charles Moreton made his appearance on the approach road. He was driving a Range Rover with two dogs in it, both black and white collies who sprang to the ground even before he had drawn up at the front door. She heard him reprimanding them as she stood back from the window. He had come from the Stable House, she supposed, where he had no doubt put his brother in the picture. Whatever Fergus Moreton turned out to be like he would be this man’s strongest ally.

  Within minutes there was a brisk knock at her door.

  ‘Come in!’ she commanded, but was completely unprepared for Charles acting the part of porter. ‘I—Mrs. Stevas said Jamie would bring up my case.’

  He deposited it in the centre of the room.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  He prowled round the half-poster.

  ‘When you’ve had something to eat I want you to meet my brother.’ He stood gazing across the room, his dark face devoid of expression, but somehow Katherine knew that what he was about to say affected him deeply. ‘A year ago he had a serious accident and he isn’t completely recovered. He avoids strangers as much as possible, so I hope I can trust you not to make your sympathy too obvious. Above all, he abhors pity. What he did was beyond the bounds of affection,’ he added, ‘but I’ve no intention of burdening you with the details. He’s prepared to meet you because you’ve been brought here on Sandy’s account, but that’s all. Can I ask you to understand?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ She looked back at him without anger this time. ‘I’m sorry about your brother. Does he manage to work on the estate?’

  ‘He’s an artist,’ said Charles. ‘A considerable one, I’m led to believe by the people who know about that sort of thing, and he can sell most of his canvases as soon as they’re finished. He and Emma Falkland are very much alike: they would prefer to keep the fruits of their labour but they realise how uneconomic that is. They produce them at local exhibitions and sell through the hotel. It’s quite a lucrative idea when they get round to it.’

  ‘I can appreciate the point of them not always wanting to sell their work,’ said Katherine, thinking back to her meeting with Emma. ‘A great many artists would rather give their work away, like Emma did with Sandy’s bear.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but Sandy is special where Emma is concerned! He’s having his lunch, by the way, and then he’ll have a nap while we have ours. Afterwards, I’ll take you to the Stable House.’

  ‘It’s part of the estate, I suppose?’ Katherine suggested. He nodded.

  ‘Within riding distance. We keep Sandy’s pony down there.’

  ‘Fudge,’ Katherine remembered, thinking that Sandy must have lived happily at Glassary in the past, learning to ride on a stout little Highland pony which had become his greatest treasure.

  She followed Charles down the staircase, deciding to leave her suitcase unpacked. I mean to run, she thought, as soon as eve
r I can.

  They passed a curtained alcove in the hall.

  ‘The phone is in there if you want to use it,’ said Charles.

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘That you were being kept a prisoner?’ His steely gaze came down on hers. ‘In no way,’ he said, ‘but I need your co-operation. I think I’ve made that clear. Till your car is fit for the road again you will remain at Glassary, but you’re quite free to use the telephone, even though it’s only to contact Coralie in your own time to report.’

  A slow colour dyed her cheeks.

  ‘I’m not prepared to lie about that,’ she countered steadily. ‘I do mean to get in touch with Sandy’s mother, if only to tell her where he is.’

  ‘She won’t come back here,’ Charles said grimly. ‘She knows the score only too well.’

  His uncompromising manner where Sandy’s mother was concerned disconcerted her even when she knew him prejudiced.

  He must have phoned ahead from the hotel, because a substantial meal was set out in the mahogany-panelled dining-room which could have seated twenty or more with ease.

  When they had made their choice from the cold dishes set out on the sideboard, Charles sat down at the head of the table and Katherine pictured a family gathering in the long room, each member with his tale to tell on his homecoming, a happy family, close-knit, and looking towards the mother of the house for love and support. She would have sat in the high-backed chair at the foot of the table, a gracious presence, eager to share their individual joy, but that chair was now conspicuously empty. Coralie had vacated it without compunction.

  Charles Moreton’s father would have sat where Charles was sitting now, with the portrait of a man behind him who was surely his father and Charles’s grandfather. The family likeness was unmistakable, with the same dominant aquiline nose and identical penetrating gaze, the same high forehead above thickly aggressive brows, dark men in their own dark environment of brooding loch and mountain and glen gazing down the long table at the children who had crowned their marriage with love and contentment and the woman who had made it all come true. However far their ancestry went back in this one spot they would all have looked the same, their mutual air of supreme confidence stemming from their superiority in the past, from the ancient clan system which bred such men in the days when courage meant something more than lip service to a cause and when blood was thicker than water wherever a name was shared. Dark deeds had been done in these hidden glens, like the treacherous Massacre of Glencoe when the Campbell hordes had swept down on their neighbours who had offered them hospitality on a winter’s night, slaying them, one by one, in the darkness, or the killing of James of the Glens, who must have trodden these mountains in his youth as Charles Moreton had done. In those days there had been many sons to carry on the family name, but now there were only two—Charles and his brother Fergus.