The Treasure of Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  “What’s wrong?” asked Hilary.

  “I am afraid,” he said with a forlorn sigh, “that I have committed the classic blunder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It appears we are out of petrol.” He attempted a light chuckle, but his humor fell on deaf ears.

  “I really can’t believe this,” said Hilary. “I should think a man of your intelligence would plan his kidnappings more carefully.”

  “I will be sure to do so in the future. But this is my first time.”

  “So . . . what do you propose we do?”

  “I see nothing for it but to get out and walk.”

  “Walk? It’s freezing out there!”

  “It will soon be freezing in here, too. The distance can’t be too far. We can make it. If you’d prefer, I’ll go myself, and send someone back for you.”

  “Never mind.” Hilary opened her door and stepped out. “How do I know you wouldn’t just leave me here to rot?” She started on her way down the road.

  Ashley climbed out, locked the car with Hilary’s purchase inside, then jogged to catch up with her.

  “I thought we had a truce,” he said somewhat breathlessly when he reached her.

  “I changed my mind.” She hurried on ahead of him.

  I am a patient man, thought Ashley to himself, hurrying to keep pace with the insufferable woman. But he was no villain, and had just about had his fill of these barbs.

  They walked on in silence. The cold and the wet snow began to make its mark felt on Hilary’s pace after three or four minutes, and soon they were once more walking side by side. Another ten minutes passed in silence as frosty as the ground upon which they were walking. They had covered perhaps a mile when finally Ashley spoke.

  “I am terribly sorry about all this,” he said. “I suppose half of what you think about me is justified. But what I did today, no matter how it appears, was for your own good.”

  “You deprived me of a delightful sail. I am freezing. I have frostbite in my toes, and my shoes are ruined. And you say all this is for my own good!”

  “I fear that your delightful sail, as you call it, would have proved something a little more ill-fated. I do not trust that man’s—”

  “What right do you have to pass judgment on another?” she said, stopping and focusing full on him. In her eyes was the look he had expected. “Moreover,” she added, “who are you to dictate my preferences?”

  “So you think von Burchardt had only sailing in mind?”

  Hilary chuckled. “You were attempting to protect my honor?”

  “You are a grown woman,” Ashley replied, “quite capable of doing that for yourself. I simply thought—”

  His words were cut short by the loud roar of a vehicle approaching behind them. As they turned they saw a truck, possibly of late forties vintage, braking to a stop. Its battered body showed every rough, back-road mile indicated on its odometer.

  “Mr. Mackenzie!” Hilary exclaimed as the driver stepped out. “You are heaven sent!”

  “What a coincidence meetin’ up wi’ the twa o’ ye oot here,” he said.

  “I’m afraid we ran out of gas back there,” said Ashley, extending his hand. “I’m Ashley Jameson.”

  “Karl Mackenzie, at yer service. So ’twas yer fine new car I seen back aboot a mile?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Weel, ye’ll be needin’ a ride, so aboard wi’ ye.”

  “It seems I am always cold and wet when we meet,” said Hilary, climbing in.

  Mackenzie laughed. “Nice excuse to have ye for a cup o’ hot tea.” He threw the truck into gear and the ancient vehicle lurched into dubious motion. Neither Ashley nor Hilary, however, were in any mood to disparage their good fortune. “The wifie will be so pleased to see ye again, mem! Ye will join us for a bit o’ tea before we rescue yer auto?”

  “We’d be honored, Mr. Mackenzie,” replied Ashley. “You’re most kind.”

  Thirty minutes later the two wayward travelers found themselves seated on the floor of the Mackenzie’s cozy cottage, bare feet propped up toward the fire to gain the best advantage of the warm hearth. Struggle as she might, under the circumstances Hilary found animosities difficult to maintain, notwithstanding what Ashley had done. Frances Mackenzie’s broad, friendly smile and hugging welcome as if Hilary had been her own daughter did not help Hilary to nurse her grudges either. Soon pleasant conversation began to flow among them, covering a wide range of topics, though conspicuously avoiding any mention of the house on the hill.

  “What do you grow here, Mr. Mackenzie?” asked Ashley.

  “Oh, whatever I can make my wee plot o’ land produce. Potatoes, wheat, oats, sometimes barley.”

  “And you raise livestock?”

  “Na that much. A half-dozen nowt—”

  “Nowt?”

  “Cattle. An’ two or three pigs, a handful o’ chicks. My byre’s nae so big.”

  Ashley questioned his host further, and before long they were deep in a discussion of spring planting, the fickle Scottish weather, and the delights and hazards of fishing off the north coast. Little Kerrie hovered about, awaiting every pause in the dialogue to question this new representative of the wide world about her favorite crown Prince.

  “I think yer shoes an’ socks’ll be aboot dry when I return,” said Mr. Mackenzie at length, standing up. “I’ll jist be off to town to fetch ye some petrol.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Ashley, jumping up off the floor.

  “Ye’ll do nae such thing, yoong man,” expostulated Mrs. Mackenzie. “Ye’ll sit right where ye are an’ drink another cup o’ tea.”

  “I’m well able to handle a bit cannie o’ gas,” said Mackenzie. “So ye jist heed my woman, an’ I’ll be back round shortly.”

  He left the room and Mrs. Mackenzie walked back into the kitchen to set more tea brewing, Kerrie following her. Ashley and Hilary were left alone.

  Ashley sighed. “They’re marvelous folks,” he said. “I can’t help thinking that this is what it’s really all about.”

  “What what’s about?” said Hilary in a relaxed tone, her previous anger by now forgotten.

  “Life, I suppose.” He paused, reflecting on his words before continuing. “I don’t know. You meet so many people. And the pace of the twentieth century in places like London, even Oxford to a degree, is so fast, so impersonal. Everyone caught up in his own life without much regard for what’s going on about him. But then you step into a place like this . . .” He stared at the bright tongues of flame licking at the slabs of dried peat in the hearth. “My first reaction is that it’s from another world, another century. Yet . . . I cannot help but think that this is the real world and all that—out there—is the illusion. I have my Greeks, and I love them. I have learned a great deal about character from them. Yet the study of Classical Greece, the bankers and investments of London, the political decisions around which the world revolves—none of it could get along, none of it would have meaning without people like the Mackenzies.”

  “Lady Joanna was constantly saying that very thing in her journal,” said Hilary. “The people are what makes the land what it is. They are its life, she said. Had I not met the Mackenzies, I probably would not understand what she meant. I still don’t fully know what she meant, because she spent so much longer here than I have. But perhaps I will learn.”

  “The place is growing on you?”

  “How can it not? Stonewycke is no longer just an estate, a castle. Now everything about the whole region has more meaning—the Mackenzies, Mr. Davies over at the inn, even this weather, the wild sea, the desolate moors. I am beginning to feel a little of what Lady Joanna wrote about, I suppose.” She paused. “I will be sad to leave,” she added.

  “And you think it will come to that?”

  “Someone will have to go.”

  A brief silence fell before Ashley replied.

  “I sense, Hilary, that you belong here,” he said. His voice was deeply ear
nest.

  “A city girl like me? I wonder.”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” said Ashley. “It has to do with something deeper. The Macintyres, Logan and Allison, probably have to live in London. Perhaps they prefer it, I don’t know. Yet they belong here no less. They are an intrinsic part of it, and it is part of them. I’m sure it’s bound up in birth and ancestry. But it’s more than that too. They love Stonewycke and its people and all it represents. I think what I sense is that same deep love growing within you.”

  Hilary grew restive and cast Ashley a long serious glance.

  He was making it very difficult to maintain her anger, justified as she still considered it. Was all this just his clever way of soothing over his true intent? She couldn’t tell. His words fell pleasantly on her ear. Yet she didn’t really know what he intended. Perhaps she would have to watch herself more carefully—around both von Burchardt and Jameson.

  ———

  They arrived back at the estate about an hour later. Hilary spent the rest of the afternoon in her room.

  Dinner that evening was rather a tense affair. Hilary sat in relative silence. Though her ire against Ashley had subsided, she was still confused and wary. Ashley seemed more introspective than usual and said little. Allison was present, looking pale and worn. She ate hardly at all, and did her best to make an apology to Hilary over her outburst in the heirloom room. But her words seemed so detached and feeble that with Hilary’s remaining caution preventing any genuine warmth from showing itself, the whole display came off as forced and unreal.

  Midway through the meal, Logan stood to make a surprise announcement, which he hoped would clear the air, put the events of that morning behind them, and enliven the gloomy atmosphere that seemed to have descended upon the place.

  “I’ve been thinking it is time for a bit of a change of pace around here. It is no secret that we have all been under varying degrees of stress, and I believe such is sufficient reason for us to lay aside our mourning of Lady Joanna’s passing for a few hours—I’m certain she herself would give us her blessing. Therefore, I have decided that Stonewycke shall host a small ‘soiree’ for our friends, neighbors, townspeople, and perhaps a few of my political associates—a thorough mix, just like a creamy Scottish trifle. What do you all say? We’ll have some music, kick up our heels a wee bit. Of course we’d insist on you remaining with us until then, Jameson. How about it?”

  “Splendid idea!” replied Ashley. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Allison, dear, what do you say? I’ll have Flora, and maybe Jo and Hilary, help take care of all the arrangements. You won’t have to do a thing but be your charming self. Mrs. Gibson can ask some of the village ladies to help with the food and drink.”

  Allison seemed to have some difficulty focusing on him. Then her quivering lips bent into an attempt at a smile.

  “Good! Good!” Logan grinned, rubbing his hands together. How much of his buoyancy was an act intended on bolstering his wife’s suffering only he himself knew.

  “I’ll send Jake around town and to some of the farms first thing tomorrow,” Logan went on as if running through a preparations list in his mind. “I’ll call some of my own cronies in the area. Moryson can drive over to Culden and down to Huntly—I’ll want the Gordons and Blacks to be here if they can. Professor Jameson, perhaps you’ll be kind enough to help us set up the large hall, furniture out of the way for dancing, tables set up for refreshments, that sort of thing?”

  “Certainly—my pleasure.”

  “You’ll invite the Mackenzies?” asked Hilary.

  “Of course!” replied Logan. “And what about that von Burchardt fellow?” he added. “He seems to have rather taken a liking to you, hasn’t he, Hilary?”

  “I hadn’t really noticed,” she answered, flushing slightly.

  “As a matter of fact, he was here earlier asking for you, but apparently you were out with the professor here.” He motioned toward Ashley. “Seemed almost frantic to see you. But after cooling his heels in the drawing room for half an hour, he finally left. You entertained him a while, Jo. Did he say anything about what he wanted?”

  “Uh . . . no, nothing,” Jo replied, taken off her guard by the question. “Just small talk, that’s all. No, he said nothing.”

  “Yes, well . . . in any case, we ought to try to contact him on his yacht. Anyone planning a trip into town?”

  Before Hilary could volunteer, Jo answered, “I have to go down to one of the shops tomorrow morning. I’ll see if I can find him and invite him.”

  “Fine! Now, there’s a great deal to do, and we’ll all have to pitch in. So let’s get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day. There are many preparations we have to make. I propose, if we can get everything in order soon enough, that we don’t delay. Let’s have our—let’s see, what shall we call it? Our ‘Goodbye-to-Fall-Welcome-to-Winter’ party two evenings from tonight, on Friday.”

  45

  Astonishing News

  Friday came.

  All day the usually quiet castle was a beehive of activity, cars and vans and delivery trucks arriving at regular intervals, the telephone ringing almost constantly. It had been no small matter to notify and then prepare for over fifty guests in such a short time. But Logan had been determined to divert attention off their own personal concerns, and hard work seemed to be the answer.

  As the day wore on and as things shaped up, he could not help being pleased. Every time he walked by the kitchen, where the cook was superintending a makeshift crew of six of her friends from the village, Logan chuckled to hear her complaints about the impossibility of the task, “When ye’re no gi’en enocht hoors in the day t’ make what ye’d conseeder proper preparations.”

  Yet whenever he saw her in the hall, tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead, he gave her a pat on the back and a “Well done, Mrs. Gibson! We’ll make it on time!” And by midafternoon the faithful woman was beginning to take on a lively glow as the fruit of her labors began to appear in the form of completed trays and dishes of food ready to be carted into the hall.

  In the big hall itself, all furniture had been removed except for the long rows of tables to one side, which would display Mrs. Gibson’s wares, and some forty or fifty folding wooden chairs set up around the perimeter of the room for the guests not inclined to dance.

  About two o’clock, a small band arrived and began setting up their equipment. There was not a great deal to be done, in that the band consisted of one accordion, two fiddles, a pianist, a drummer, and a vocalist who doubled on the penny whistle. To Logan’s chagrin, the bagpiper had taken a sudden illness and was unable to be there.

  A glorious day had dawned for the party. The autumn sun shone bravely, warming the frozen earth to almost 50 degrees by noon and melting the last remnants of the snow about the grounds. Though it would be dark by five o’clock, Logan made sure that the grounds would be well lit and hoped the warmth would linger long enough into the evening that their guests would be able to enjoy a walk outside or in the garden. The great hall opened out into an inner courtyard to one side and to the south lawn on the other.

  At 4:30 Hilary drew herself a hot bath and slid into the soothing water with a contented sigh. It had been a hectic day, yet she anticipated the evening which lay ahead. Logan’s idea had indeed been just what the situation called for. She had not seen Emil since leaving him bewildered on his yacht. And now that her emotions had had a chance to cool, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to, or what she would say to him when she did. Of only one thing she was certain—he would be here tonight.

  She had conspicuously avoided Ashley for the past two days, and he seemed to be likewise avoiding her. Why he had done what he had, she had not a clue. She would find out what he was up to, but not until after the party. He was too much a puzzle to be able to walk straight up and have it out with him. In the past two days her wrath had changed in character to a smoldering irritation that she did not quite know where to direct. Ther
efore, she kept to herself, watched his movements, her suspicions still in place, though she saw nothing more to increase her mistrust of his motives.

  Once back in her room she laid out her new outfit and nodded her head with approval. Whatever the circumstances surrounding their madcap little drive to Fraserburgh, at least she had to admit that it had proved serendipitous for her. She had a new dress to wear to the party.

  She dressed leisurely. It was not yet five and the guests were scheduled to arrive between six and seven. She spent more time than usual on her hair, then finally took up her dress and slipped it over her head. Its lines were simple, as she liked, but soft and feminine. The silky skirt flowed in gentle folds, its subdued colors entwining in a manner reminiscent of heather swaying casually in a mild September’s breeze. She had purchased a strand of simulated pearls, but as she clasped them around her neck she could not help thinking how nicely the locket would have complemented this particular dress.

  At 6:20 she left her room and made her way slowly down the corridor. At the top of the main stairway she paused. On the floor below, Logan stood among a half dozen guests who had just arrived. Hilary noted the contrast between them—a farmer and his wife, a single man wearing an expensive dinner jacket, a merchant she recognized from Port Strathy, the postmistress, Mr. Davies from the Bluster ’N Blow, and another couple, only that moment arrived, who had been brought to the door in a limousine and whose tuxedo and jewelry matched the extravagance of their ride to Stonewycke.

  With each one Logan was at ease, and made them all comfortable with one another. He really has a gift, thought Hilary, of putting people at ease and making them feel they are important to him. The small group was laughing, and Logan had just slapped the farmer on the back. Now he proceeded to introduce the new arrivals, treating them all, despite their widely varying stations, as equals.

  A moment more she paused, taking in the scene, reflecting how appropriately Logan’s behavior at that moment epitomized what Lady Joanna would have said Stonewycke represented—its people and the ministry of the estate to the community of the surrounding region. She was proud of Logan, whether he turned out to be her father or not—just for the man he was. He is a good man, she thought, a man of character, a man of depth, a man of compassion. How little she had truly understood him when first they had spoken on the day of that London press conference!