by Sarah Maine
Mrs. Nichol had been surprised by her arrival, having had no warning of it, but welcomed her nevertheless, and they had sat at the kitchen table and discussed how best to divide duties between them. There was little heavy work but the old housekeeper confessed herself glad of some help with it, and matters were soon settled. One of Ellen’s first tasks had been to prepare a tray of tea for her new master, and she had laid it carefully, choosing a cup and saucer that was not chipped or cracked, and taken it through to him in the study. He had risen when she entered, as if she was a visitor rather than a servant, and greeted her kindly.
“I hope you’ll be happy here, Ellen.” He too had given her a searching look. “And you must feel free to go across to your mother’s cottage whenever you wish.” She guessed that he knew the reason behind the move, and wondered why the thought brought on a feeling of shame. “And I trust you’ll be happy and here you will be safe,” he said, confirming the matter.
He had given her a gentle smile of understanding. He was a good man and she was grateful for the refuge.
It was a shock, therefore, when she went to answer a knock at the front door the following morning and opened it to find Mungo Sturrock standing there, his eyes mocking her. “Good morning, fair Ellen. Is your master at home?”
Mr. Drummond had just left, and too late she realised that Mungo must have known this. “No, he isn’t.”
She made as if to close the door, but he stepped forward, filling the doorway. “It’s customary in these circumstances, you know,” he said, forcing her to give ground, “to invite a caller in to wait, and a well-trained housemaid would also offer some refreshment. Must you be schooled in your duties, Ellen?” He looked beyond her to where the housekeeper had appeared. “Good day, Mrs. Nichol, I understand the minister is out, but I’ll await his return. Ellen was just offering me some tea.”
Mrs. Nichol, oblivious to the tensions, nodded vigorously. “Of course, though I’m not sure how long he’ll be, sir.”
“I’ve all the time in the world. Run along now, Ellen, I’ll find my own way.”
Ellen returned to the kitchen, tight-lipped and angry, and began assembling tea things on a tray. A cracked cup would do for him. Surely here, though, of all places, he would offer her no assault. “Not that cup!” Mrs. Nichol protested, flustered by Mungo’s unprecedented appearance. “And no scones made.” She bustled about, finding a starched linen tray cloth in a drawer. “Whatever can Mr. Mungo want with the minister, I wonder?” Ellen remained silent and rolled up her sleeves ready to begin cleaning, hoping to avoid taking the tray through, but this was not to be. “Make yourself tidy, my dear. I will hold the door.”
When Ellen entered the room, Mungo Sturrock was coolly examining the papers on Mr. Drummond’s desk, but he left them and came over to the fire as she set the tray down on the side table. She straightened to find him once again blocking her route to the door. “Tell me, Ellen, does your new position please you?”
“It does, sir. Excuse—”
“Mr. Drummond decided he needs two servants to look after him, did he?” He let the remark hang there. “What a finicky fellow he must be. Although I believe my brother was the one who espied the need.” She made another attempt to get round him but he side-stepped her, keeping his distance but not letting her past. “Very considerate, my brother, don’t you think?”
“Your tea is there, sir, and if you’ll excuse me—”
“In a moment. Tell me a little about your duties here. What is it the minister requires of you that the good Mrs. Nichol cannot provide?”
From somewhere she found the strength to answer him. “It pleases you to torment me, Mungo Sturrock, but people are wise to your ways and—”
“What ways are those?” He moved a step closer, filling the space between them, but still made no attempt to touch her, his eyes searching her face. “Have you been carrying tales, fair Ellen, and blackening my good name?”
“You’ve no good name! No one has forgotten Maria.”
“I have.”
“Let me pass.”
“You’ve not poured my tea.”
“Pour it yourself, and may it choke you.”
At that he laughed. “It’s your spirit, Ellen, which makes the chase so delightful, even at the cost of a bloody nose.”
She pushed past him just as the door opened and Mr. Drummond entered. From his alarmed expression, she saw that he had been told of his visitor. “Thank you, Ellen. That’ll be all,” he said, and held the door open for her to make good her escape.
Oliver
Mungo Sturrock returned to the fireside. “Good day, Drummond. Ellen invited me in to await your return and has just brought me tea, though she’s neglected to pour it. Why not ring for another cup and join me?” He dropped into the chair beside the fire and crossed his legs, entirely at his ease.
Oliver went over to the tray, filled the cup, and handed it to Mungo, but remained standing, fighting his outrage. He had glimpsed Mungo crossing the stream and it had occurred to him that he might be heading here, so he had swiftly returned. “What can I do for you, sir?” he said.
“Two matters,” Mungo replied, then paused and looked pained. “But I can hardly unburden myself with you standing over me like this. Pray do sit down.” Oliver sat. “That’s better. Are you sure you won’t ring for a cup?” Mungo looked very out of place in the stark room, large and brazen with self-confidence, and Oliver declined. “Firstly, I’m sorry to have to report that there is upset amongst the tenants about the work you are doing out on the headland.” He looked gravely at Oliver, but there was mockery in his eyes. “This worries me and I should be pleased to hear how you plan to resolve the situation.”
Oliver ground his teeth. “We intend to bring the work there rapidly to a close.”
“You relieve my mind—”
“And the second matter?”
“More delicate still, I’m afraid.” Mungo Sturrock lifted his cup and sipped at the tea, looking at Oliver over the rim. “It concerns my brother. May I speak in confidence?”
Oliver would have cheerfully knocked the cup from his hand, and his teeth with it. The man was the very devil. “Go on,” he said.
“It is a serious business, minister, and one that gives me deep concern. I fear that Alick is beginning to question his Christian faith.” He paused, his eyes holding Oliver’s in false communion. “Mama will be devastated, you know, if I am proved correct—” He leaned forward in a parody of intimacy. “Has he disclosed to you, Mr. Drummond, that he’s recently joined the Psychic Society?” He hadn’t, and Oliver must have failed to hide his surprise as Mungo sat back again, satisfied with his reaction. “I thought not. Worrying, isn’t it? My parents, my mother in particular, would be most upset to learn of this, so I have brought my concerns to you. What ought we to do, Mr. Drummond?”
Damn the man’s insolence! And damn Alick’s stupidity in telling him. But what could he say? “I will consider the matter,” he replied.
Mungo said nothing for a moment, enjoying Oliver’s discomfort. Then: “You will forgive me saying, Mr. Drummond, but as a minister, my brother’s spiritual well-being is not only a concern for the family but is central to your duties. My worry is such—”
Oliver got to his feet, holding himself in check with difficulty. “You choose to mock, sir. I know my duty, and you have previously made clear your views on my ministry. I am perfectly well aware of what really brings you here.” Mungo’s eyebrows went up at that. “You saw me leave this morning, I know you did, so your motive for calling was to pursue a course from which you had been diverted.”
Mungo sat back apparently well-pleased at having provoked a response. “And what course would that be, minister?”
But Oliver had had enough and said, with as much dignity as he could muster: “You have finished your tea, so you must excuse me. I have work to do. If you wish to speak to me again, I will arrange to meet you in the church.”
Mungo chose to look out
raged. “Am I to be denied the comfort of your ministry, Mr. Drummond?”
“You do not seek it.”
“But what of my brother’s immortal soul?”
“I’ve said all I intend to on that subject.”
“And so I am barred from the manse?”
“Yes.”
Mungo seemed to consider this a moment, then got to his feet. “You’d do well to remember your position here, minister, and to whom you owe it.” He spoke mildly, but the pretence of affability slipped a little.
Oliver reached out and rang the bell. “Mrs. Nichol will show you out.”
Oliver found himself shaking as the door closed behind Mungo, and he went to sit behind his desk, spreading his palms on the surface to steady himself. The look on Mungo’s face as he turned at the door suggested a foe undefeated, retreating only to regroup; and his mischief now had the added spice of resistance— Dear Lord, could the man find no better occupation! Perhaps Ellen would be safer away while Mungo was at home, but where would she go? And there was her mother to think of— But how on earth was he to convey the message to Mrs. Nichol that the baronet’s heir was not to be admitted? It must be done, though, for whatever else happened Ellen must be protected. He considered the matter a moment. The only sure way would be to issue a general embargo on visitors being admitted to the manse in his absence. But that would hardly do! How could he turn away his tiny flock should they come to him in need? It would be disastrous, compounding the view that the minister considered himself above his fellows. Damn Mungo Sturrock! And damn those wretched undertakings on the headland which had exposed him to censure, leaving him vulnerable. The sooner that he and Alick could draw matters to a close there, the better.
It was only later that he remembered the second of Mungo’s spurious reasons for his visit, and found time to wonder what company Alick Sturrock had been keeping.
Next day he strode out from the manse to meet Alick at the headland, resolved to bring the work there to an end, and to finding a way of exploring where Alick’s intellectual curiosity had led him. Somehow he must do this without divulging that Mungo had come to the manse, still pursuing Ellen, and spreading his poison. He sensed that telling Alick might inflame the situation.
He arrived to find that once again Alick was there before him, sleeves rolled up and at work. He looked up and hailed Oliver as he approached. “I made a start,” he said. “It is a floor, I’m certain, or whatever served as floor. Beaten earth really. Glorious day for it, eh?” And he continued heaving the last of the stones aside, apparently oblivious to anything other than the work in hand.
“We must finish here today,” Oliver said, straining as he helped Alick lift one of the larger stones. “If it doesn’t finish us first.”
Alick laughed. “You do very well, Oliver,” he said, and they worked together in companionable silence for half an hour until they had cleared the rest of the interior and revealed a surface of compacted earth. Oliver straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow, conscious again, despite everything, of the satisfaction of physical activity.
They agreed to have a break and sat together on the rocks, looking out over a clear blue sea. Alick lit his pipe, offering it to Oliver, who declined it. “It’s fascinating, don’t you think, all this interest in what we are doing here.”
Oliver looked at him in astonishment. Had the discord not registered with him at all? “Fascinating, perhaps, but regrettable. We’ve upset people.”
“So I hear. But there was never any talk of the place being haunted until we started, you know. No phantasms at dusk, no weird lights glowing on the headland.”
“I should hope not.” But here was his opening. “These things interest you, do they?” he asked. “Phantasms and the like?”
If he had been expecting evasion, he was mistaken. “They do! Very much. Fascinating stuff. And here on our very doorstep we have an ancient legend which we’ve never really given a thought to, and now, suddenly, there’s widespread concern that we are disturbing something which has been biding its time in the ether, or lurking in the soil. The legend had just lain there, dormant, but apparently a part of everyone’s deep psyche, and now it’s suddenly alive again, and still with the power to stir up a fuss and move their emotions.”
“Rubbish,” Oliver replied, “it’s simply folklore that everyone’s suddenly remembering,” but Alick’s words disturbed him.
“And what is folklore?” Alick leaned back on his elbow and looked out to sea as if considering. “Somewhere beyond gossip and memory, stretched over time. And with a kernel of truth embedded in the centre.”
“Perhaps. But that kernel is lost in the tangle of fantasy.”
Alick continued to stare out beyond the waves, his eyes unfocussed, then looked back at him with a twisted smile. “And yet, minister, you ask us to believe in something very similar, do you not?”
“What do you mean?”
“Christianity.”
“That’s quite different—”
“Is it? The church tells us a set of stories and asks us to believe in them, so why not other stories too? Does one preclude all others?”
“The teachings of—”
“Why not simply accept that there are things beyond this material world which we cannot understand?”
“But that surely is the basis of all Christian teaching,” Oliver replied, “of Christian faith!”
Alick looked out to sea again and drew on his pipe. “Ah yes. Faith—”
He had spoken in tones of deep scepticism and Oliver looked back at him, bewildered and concerned, uncertain how best to proceed. Mungo’s anxiety for his brother’s soul was counterfeit, but Oliver’s duty was clear.
He tried for a lighter tone. “Faith, the Bible tells us, is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1 . . .” he began, but Alick continued his seaward gaze and Oliver faltered.
“The evidence of things not seen,” Alick echoed after a moment. “Do you never question it yourself, Oliver?” he said, and looked back at him with an expression so open and honest that it was all Oliver could do not to admit to very real doubts, not only of his own faith but of his fitness for his current role. But that would never do! Alick looked away again, taking his silence for denial. “Forgive me, of course you don’t.”
His pipe had gone out and Alick took some time relighting it, and carried on speaking as he did. “But bear with me a moment, if you will. I value your views, my friend, and who else is there in this benighted place with whom to discuss such matters? I joined the Psychic Society, you know, and it’s eye-opening stuff. Really makes you think.” So Mungo was right about that too! “A lot of it is clearly fraudulent, of course, but if you tell me a man’s soul transcends death, why cannot I also believe that his spirit might linger on earth?”
“Are not the spirit and the soul one thing?”
“Do they have to be? And anyway, could not that same soul-spirit remain earth-bound by choice, or even by necessity? If earthly matters are unresolved.”
“Alick! This is child’s stuff.” For an intelligent man, his friend could be extraordinarily naïve. “There is no circumstance in which—”
“No, listen. Treat me like a child, if you like. Suppose a man did evil all his life and then as death approached he did a good deed and craved forgiveness—would his soul-spirit be admitted through the pearly gates?”
“God forgives those who repent—”
“Splendid! And supposing that he lived a fine and godly life and did one ghastly thing, then died before he could repent or put things right, what then? Eternal damnation?”
“We cannot know who will be saved and who cast out. Only God—”
“Exactly! We cannot know. And there you have it. There are things that are unknown—things not seen—and it is only by scientific enquiry that we begin to understand them. If things are ordered, as we believe them to be, and purposeful, then they must be observable. And many things that have been
observed and reported have been dismissed as rot. Blind bigotry! Faith alone is not enough anymore, don’t you see! We must be allowed to make enquiries into these things unseen, Oliver, even though it goes against the grain.” Oliver tried to interject, but there was no stopping the man. “It wasn’t so very long ago that we were burning alive those who challenged Christian teaching, but we’ve moved on from there, surely, and need to take stock and be allowed to question the things we’ve been told we must not question.” He made a large, expansive gesture, scattering tobacco and ash from his pipe. “We must question everything! The people here are not credulous savages to be told what they must believe and what to discount; they hark back to an older wisdom. One we have lost—”
“I told you there was cause for worry, Drummond.”
Mungo Sturrock had come up silently behind them, and both men swung round at his voice.
“God, Mungo. You gave us a start,” said Alick, and then he frowned. “What d’you mean?”
But Mungo ignored him and began examining the area they had cleared. “I saw you out here, but I’d understood you were packing it in. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Drummond? Still no gold or silver? Or have you secreted it all away somewhere?”
“Cause for worry about what?”
Mungo continued to ignore him and stood looking down at the surface of beaten earth. “Unless it’s buried beneath the floor, of course.”
Alick turned to Oliver, scowling. “What’s he been saying?”
Mungo shifted his attention back to them, his eyes mocking Oliver. “But how tactless of me, minister! We spoke in confidence.”
Oliver looked from one brother to the other and opted for the truth. “Your brother is concerned about your immortal soul, Alick, and the company you keep.” Mungo looked surprised, then amused at his directness. “He paid a call to the manse yesterday, with the spurious excuse of wanting to see me, having assured himself first that I was out. He came to bait poor Ellen, of course, then proceeded to bait me—”
