“Canna afford tae be wastin’ my money on Keith’s ale,” replied Noak.
“Audney, bring us a couple o’ pints!” Hardy called across the room. He led Noak to a table away from the others. Audney appeared a minute later and set two glasses down in front of them.
“Thank ye kindly, Hardy,” said Noak, taking a long swallow. “I haena had a pint in two weeks!”
“Is it really so tough for ye?” asked Hardy.
“I canna seem tae bring in a hundred pound a week,” replied Noak. “I canna weel survive on that. An’ there’s my daughter’s doctor bills, ye ken.”
“Hae ye thought mair aboot what I said afore, Noak?”
“Aboot sellin’ ye the Bonnie Muir?”
Hardy nodded.
“I canna weel do that, Hardy. ’Twas my father’s boatie, ye ken.”
“Aye, an’ ’tis a worthy craft, Noak. Ye proved that last week. But if ye need the money, why not sell it, an’ buy it fae me again when ye’re back on yer feet? I’ll make ye the same offer I made the other lads. ’Tis a standin’ offer—ye can buy back yer boat for what I paid ye.”
“An’ hoo much would ye be willin’ tae gie me?”
“I’d pay ye twenty-four thousand.”
“Twenty-four!” exclaimed Noak.
“I’d pay ye that today.”
“’Tis worth twice that.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isna. But ’tis that much less it will cost ye tae buy it back, ye see. ’Tis more cash than ye’ll be needin’, I’m thinkin’, an’ will make it that much easier for ye tae git back on yer feet an’ make it yer own again later.”
Hardy’s reasoning seemed sound. Noak nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m no sayin’ I dinna appreciate yer offer, Hardy,” he said. “’Tis kind o’ ye tae think tae help me oot.”
“’Tis the least I can do for the man who saved me an’ my crew.”
“I’ll hae tae think on it, ye ken.”
Hardy nodded and rose. Noak returned to his friends.
Hardy sauntered toward the bar. The conversation that followed was reaching the point where it was becoming tiresome to the daughter of the inn’s owners when the chief walked through the door.
David sat down with Noak Muir and his friends. They were discussing Hardy’s offer to buy the Bonnie Muir. Behind them they could not help overhearing the heated exchange at the bar.
“. . . no way for a lass tae be speakin’ tae her laird,” Hardy had just said.
“Ye’ll no be my laird, Hardy Tulloch,” said Audney.
“I’ll be yer daddy’s laird, an’ it winna do tae anger me, Audney, or I may find I’m boun’ tae raise his rent.”
“I ken weel enouch that ye canna wait tae raise everyone’s rents!”
“Aye, I jist may hae tae do jist that on the buildings an’ land I dinna sell for a nice profit. But the laird’s wife may hae special privileges when it comes tae takin’ care o’ her parents.”
“Ha! Ye think I’d marry the likes o’ yersel,’ Hardy Tulloch?” retorted Audney. “I told ye already—naethin’, no if ye was the last man on earth, would make me think o’ marryin’ ye.”
David’s ears perked up at Hardy’s mention of selling. It was the second time he’d heard him hint at such a thing, even implying that he had potential buyers. What did his cousin have up his sleeve?
David saw Hardy reach across the bar and take hold of Audney’s arm.
“Let go o’ me, Hardy!” she cried. “Ow! Let go, I tell ye!”
David stood and walked toward them.
“What do ye want, David!” Hardy growled. “This is none o’ yer affair.”
“If you’re hurting one of my lassies, Hardy,” said David calmly, “then I have no choice but to make it my business.”
“She’s no yer lassie. Ye had yer chance. Noo she’s mine.”
“I’m no yer lassie, ye big lout!” said Audney angrily, trying to yank her arm away. “Noo let go o’ me afore I whack ye in the face. An’ dinna think I winna!”
Hardy roared with laughter but kept his fist tightly clutched around Audney’s arm.
“Hardy,” said David calmly. “She has asked you kindly. Now I am telling you to release Audney.”
“An’ who’s goin’ tae make me?”
David smiled. “I just heard Audney tell you that she would. Speaking for myself, I would tend to believe her. But if she doesn’t, I will.”
“Ye’ll pay for it if ye try!” spat Hardy.
Thinking better of starting an all-out row in the pub, with a half dozen or more strong fishermen watching who would almost certainly side with their chief, Hardy gave Audney a rude shove backward. She fell against the counter opposite the bar and let out a cry.
David’s face filled with indignation. Few things enraged him more than seeing a woman treated roughly. His fists clenched, and he took a step forward. But he too thought better of carrying the altercation further.
“If I see sich a thing again by yer hand, Hardy,” he said, “I winna hold mysel’ back fae givin’ ye the thrashing sich a cowardly thing deserves. For noo I’ll jist tell ye tae leave Audney in peace, an’ gae yer way.”
With the look on his face of an enraged bull, quivering with fury to be spoken to in such manner by the younger cousin he despised, Hardy glared back at David. The fire in his eyes flamed with wrath. That he was strong enough and mean enough to kill, none doubted. Whether Hardy Tulloch had ever taken a life, no one knew. But in that moment there was no doubt what was on his mind.
A few chairs slid back on the wood floor. Six strong fishermen rose to their feet, ready to storm forward in defense of their chief.
With a movement amazingly swift for such a big man, Hardy spun around and strode with giant strides across the floor and disappeared into the night.
57
Plan C
HOUSTON
“Mr. McLeod . . . it is Bruce Thorburn.”
“Hey, Thorburn,” boomed the Texan’s voice on the other end of the phone, “you got good news for me?”
“I fear not, Mr. McLeod,” replied the Scotsman. “As I think your people say there in Houston, we may have a problem.”
“What’re you talking about? This is no time for jokes.”
“I am afraid it is not a joke. It appears that we have encountered an unexpected setback.”
“What in heck’s gone wrong now?”
“Things were looking promising . . . I contacted you, as you recall, from the island during their summer fair. Everyone was prepared for our man to be installed as the heir. I managed to meet with the fellow in private as well—a great hulking oaf of a fisherman, as you may have heard. The man was as eager as we were to begin the process for sale of all the property the moment it is transferred into his hands.”
“Then what’s the dang problem?”
“It seems that at the last minute the investigator hired by the court, the fellow Ardmore, unearthed a third potential heir to the property.”
“How could that be! Where in the heck did he come from?”
“I have no idea, Mr. McLeod. The rumor is that it’s an American.”
“What in the Sam Hill’s an American got to do with it?”
“I could not say, sir.”
“Dad blame it—right when we had the big fella roped and corralled! So where does the thing stand now?”
“My sources and our solicitors are not optimistic about our chances at this point. It may be that whoever this individual is has a closer connection than either of the two Tulloch cousins.”
The Texan exploded in an outburst of profanity.
“Yes, sir,” rejoined Thorburn calmly, accustomed to his boss’s temper. “It would seem,” he added, “that perhaps we would be advised to regroup and consider Plan C.”
The line was silent for several seconds.
“Find out who he is, Thorburn,” said the Texan. “We’ve got to get to him before anyone else. If he’s an American, then I’ll pay him a visit
personally. No more fooling around.”
“Very good, sir.”
“We gotta go straight after it and get this thing done. Maybe this’ll work out better after all. We’ll be dealing with my kind, not these backwoodsmen of yours. Ain’t no American likely to walk away when I put the dough on the table.”
“I will find out what I can and get back to you, sir.”
58
News
WHALES REEF, SHETLAND ISLANDS
A week later, with a series of lectures in Edinburgh to the Natural History Society of Scotland behind him, David returned to Whales Reef looking forward to a few quiet days at home. There were no appointments on his docket for ten days.
He made himself a cup of tea, retrieved a stack of envelopes from the table, and settled into his easy chair to look through his accumulation of mail.
A letter from MacNaughton, Dalrymple, & MacNaughton caught his eye. Quickly he opened it.
Dear David,
Sudden unexpected developments in the investigation of potential heirs to Macgregor Tulloch’s estate have just come to our attention through Mr. Clement Ardmore, acting in his capacity as investigator for the probate court. As your finances, and the future of the wool factory, may be seriously impacted, I want to explain these developments in person. Please call me at your earliest convenience.
I am,
Sincerely yours,
Jason MacNaughton.
59
The Letter
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Loni Ford was sitting in Madison Swift’s office when the mail cart began its rounds on the seventh floor of Capital Towers.
Glancing in the open door as he passed, the young man who was in his first week on the job paused.
“Excuse me, Miss Ford, would you like Miss Swift’s mail here or should I take it to your office?”
“Here is fine, Robert,” answered Loni. She rose and walked to the door. “I’ll take it.”
“There’s a registered one you have to sign for.”
He handed Loni the postal slip. She signed it. He handed her the remaining stack and continued on his way.
Loni absently thumbed through the envelopes as she sat down.
“Anything interesting?” said Maddy.
“Doesn’t look like it. I was expecting those papers on the Westminster acquisition and—”
She stopped abruptly. “Huh!” exclaimed Loni.
“What?”
“There’s a letter for me. I never get mail here. It’s the registered one!”
“Open it. Maybe you won the lottery.”
“I don’t play the lottery. Uh-oh . . . it’s from a lawyer’s office.”
She passed the letter across the desk to Maddy. “You read it,” she said with a serious expression. “It must be bad news. One of my grandparents must have died.”
“Someone would have called you.”
“But what else comes from a lawyer—a summons, a lawsuit . . . obviously it’s bad news.”
“Since when have you been using your middle name?” said Maddy, staring at the envelope. “I never even knew what your middle name was.”
“What are you talking about?” replied Loni. “I don’t use my middle name.”
“Whoever this letter is from, they think you do. Alonnah Tulloch Ford.”
“Tulloch?” repeated Loni. “I had a grandfather named Tulloch. But I never met him.”
Maddy continued to peruse the envelope. “The name isn’t the only unusual thing,” she said.
“What else then?”
“This letter was mailed from Scotland.”
“Scotland! Must be something to do with the November conference. Open it and see what it says.”
“It’s addressed to you,” said Maddy.
“Just open it!” laughed Loni. “If it’s bad news, I prefer to hear it secondhand.”
Maddy slit the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Loni watched as her boss’s eyes widened and her eyebrows arched. The next moment she let out a whispered Whoa!
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Loni.
“You’d better sit down for this,” rejoined Maddy.
“I am sitting down! Tell me what it says.”
“Okay, but you’re not going to believe it. According to this, some fellow in Scotland died. You’ve inherited his house.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“That’s what it says—actually, this letter calls it a cottage.”
Maddy handed back the letter.”
Alonnah Tulloch Ford, Loni read.
Dear Miss Ford:
Last year in the small Scottish fishing village of Whales Reef in the Shetland Islands, Mr. Macgregor Tulloch passed away, leaving no will and no immediate family. After an exhaustive search in a difficult and controversial probate, we finally have been able to locate your whereabouts and establish contact with you as the closest living heir to Mr. Tulloch’s estate. His holdings are sizable, and the estate includes the Cottage, Mr. Tulloch’s lifetime home, as well as most of the acreage and properties of the island of Whales Reef. These will now pass to you.
Unfortunately, time is of the essence in this matter. As it has taken us so long to locate you and, working with attorneys in the U.S., to confirm your identity by certificates of birth and marriage, it is urgent that you sign documents and take possession of the property in person within two weeks. After that time it will pass to the next in line.
If you could email me of your receipt of this letter, and your plans, I would be honoured to establish a time when we could arrange for you to meet me in Lerwick and make plans for you to see the property.
I am,
Sincerely yours,
Jason MacNaughton,
MacNaughton, Dalrymple, & MacNaughton,
Lerwick, Scotland
U.K.
60
It’s Your Destiny
Loni laid the paper aside, shaking her head in disbelief. “It must be a mistake,” she said. “They’ve got me confused with someone else. I told you, my grandfather Tulloch died years ago.”
“You’re obviously connected to somebody with that name,” said Maddy, pointing to the letter.
“Why have I heard nothing about it till now? My grandfather wasn’t even from Scotland. He lived in Philadelphia.”
“You should at least notify this man that you received the letter.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Loni thoughtfully.
Grabbing the letter and envelope, she walked slowly to her office.
She returned half an hour later.
“Thought you’d be interested,” she said to Maddy. “I emailed the lawyer. I told him I received his letter but that there must be some mistake. He’s already replied back.”
“And?” asked Maddy.
“He says I am the one. He says Tulloch was my mother’s maiden name, and after they traced her lineage to the U.S., they were led to me. He doesn’t say how exactly. He assures me there is no mistake.”
“Then congratulations!”
Loni drew in a long breath. “I wrote back a second time and said it was my intention to let the next in line have the inheritance, but that I would give him my final answer within a week.” She paused. “What could I possibly want with a cottage in Scotland?” she added after a moment.
“Well, it’s yours now,” Maddy said. “You never told me you had relatives in Scotland.”
“I had no idea myself! This is as big a shock to me as to you.” Loni shook her head again. “I know virtually nothing about my mother’s side of the family. When my grandfather died—my other grandfather, Grandfather Tulloch from Philadelphia—everything was secretive. My grandparents went to his house and packed up everything. I was his only relative, so his things came to me. He was in the furniture business too, just like my grandparents—those who raised me, I mean. Though they had had no contact with him, there was nobody else to see to his affairs. Whatever other relatives there mi
ght have been on my mother’s side, I suppose he lost contact with them.”
“What about his wife, your mother’s mother?”
“I don’t know,” Loni answered. “I assume she died before that. I know nothing about her.”
“Was anything left to you when he died?” asked Maddy.
“Yes—mostly from the sale of his house. That’s how I was able to go to college, where I had the good fortune to meet a certain Madison Swift—”
“Then I am most grateful to him too!”
“—who plucked me out of obscurity at that jobs seminar and set me on the road to fame and fortune!”
“We hope!” laughed Maddy. “Just give me time—I’m working on it.”
“You can leave out the fame part!” added Loni.
“So go on with the story about your grandfather . . . or both your grandfathers. I have to admit, it is confusing.”
“It’s confusing to me too,” rejoined Loni. “That’s why my past has been a mystery. I went through a stage when I even doubted I was a Ford at all. My grandparents’ secretiveness didn’t help.”
“Why were they secretive?”
“I think it had to do with our community. It was very conservative . . . ultra-conservative. I suspect my mother may not have been of the same background. Maybe she wasn’t a Christian at all, I don’t know.”
“By the way, does Hugh know you grew up as a Quaker?”
“No. Only you know that. It’s not that big a deal. But it’s my own business, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Fair enough. What about your real middle name . . . is that a secret too?”
“I don’t know. I guess not. I just don’t use it, that’s all. It’s Emily.”
“Oh, that’s nice—Alonnah Emily Ford. I like it.”
Again Loni grew reflective.
“Whether it had to do with our community or not,” she said, “for whatever reason, my father’s marrying my mother must have caused a break between my father and my grandparents. Ninety-nine percent of Quakers are modern and liberal and ‘worldly,’ as they would say. We were part of the one percent, probably more like a tenth of a percent. If my father left the Fellowship to marry my mother, I suppose that would explain a lot. He would probably have been ostracized. Quakers call it disownment. It’s basically the same thing as shunning. When my mother and father were killed, my grandparents took me in. The community couldn’t very well disown a baby. But this is mostly guesswork, what I’ve picked up through the years.”
The Inheritance Page 26
