Heather Song

by Michael Phillips

  I jumped to my feet and turned around. But all I managed to catch was a glimpse of Ranald’s back disappearing through the door.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Reidhaven,” said Mr. Murdoch. “It would appear that at last you are the uncontested Duchess of Buchan.”

  “I have you to thank,” I said, “for taking such care to be deliberate in your investigations and procedures before anyone knew anything about Alasdair’s Edinburgh affidavit.”

  “Including me!” Mr. Crathie laughed. “I understand now why it was best it remained silent until it was settled. I believe we would have won even had this case of Mrs. Urquhart’s gone forward. Which, by the way, Mrs. Reidhaven, you were right about what you whispered to me—that fellow Bain had something on your sister-in-law, something extremely persuasive. Have you no idea what it is?”

  “No, none. What happened when you were alone with the judge?”

  “The man Bain said he had information he could not make public but that he was certain would result in the suit being dropped. He asked for a moment alone with Mrs. Urquhart. The judge, very annoyed by this time, was barking at us all. But he granted the request. The two of them were shown to an adjoining room and left alone. They were not together more than a minute. When they came out the woman’s face was white as a sheet. She whispered amongst her solicitors a moment, then they informed the judge that her contest of her brother’s will was being dropped. It was a remarkable turnaround.”

  “I can see I must pay a visit to Ranald Bain!” I said. “Though knowing him, if it is something he feels his conscience requires him to keep secret, nothing I say or do will induce him to tell me.” I couldn’t help remembering Iain’s private exchange with Olivia about Gwendolyn, and wondered if that had any connection to what had just happened in the courtroom.

  “I still maintain what I said to you before—I think there is every likelihood that the woman is clinically mad. I’ve never seen anything like her wild performance in there. I would be extremely careful of her, Mrs. Reidhaven, and get her out of the castle without delay.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better for her to leave on her own?” I said.

  “I suppose so. With such types, it is always best not to rouse their anger. Just keep me apprised of the situation. If she doesn’t leave cooperatively, you let us handle it.”

  “I promise, I will.”

  “Oh, and by the way,” added Mr. Crathie. “You asked about the minister Barclay. I managed to turn up some information. It just came through yesterday. He is no longer with the church.”

  “What— I can’t believe it. What is he doing, then?”

  “I cannot say. All I have been able to learn beyond that is that two months ago he was in London.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Dangerous Olive Branch

  The nicht had been rainy, but fair was the mornin’,

  Bright shone the sun, comely Nature adorning,

  Sweet bloom’d the daisy yon bonnie simmer mornin’

  An’ fragrant the green dewy plain;

  Saft to their minnies the wee lambs were moanin’,

  Fond ’mid the flow’rets the wild bee was dronin’,

  As Katie sat milkin’ her kye i’ the loanin’,

  Yon bonnie mornin’ after the rain.

  —James Smith, “The Bonnie Mornin’ After the Rain”

  By then everyone in Port Scarnose knew of the lawsuit. And now knew also of its peremptory dismissal. Speculation ran rampant as to the reasons. No one knew anything for certain, only that Ranald Bain must have something on Olivia Urquhart, and that whatever it was must be powerful and secretive.

  I called on Ranald the very next day. He was back to his normal self—dirty dungarees, plaid wool workshirt, and thick Scots accent.

  “I scarcely recognized you!” I said. “You looked like an MP! I didn’t imagine you owned such a dashing suit.”

  “’Tis only for special occasions—’twas either the suit or the kilt.”

  I thanked him profusely for what he had done—whatever it was!—but not to my most persistent entreaties would he divulge one word of his secret. The expression on his face, however, told me that whatever it was that he and Olivia shared, it was personal and painful.

  When I returned, a familiar car sat in front of the castle. I recognized it immediately as Mr. Crathie’s. I wondered how long he had been waiting for me, and if he had more papers for me to sign.

  I walked inside and found him standing in the entryway.

  “Hello, Mr. Crathie,” I said.

  He returned my greetings, though he struck me as unaccountably nervous.

  “You could have waited for me in the Drawing Room,” I said. “Have you seen Alicia? She would surely have—”

  Footsteps coming down the stairs behind us interrupted me. I glanced behind Mr. Crathie to see Alicia descending toward us. The moment she saw me, a blush spread over her cheeks.

  “Actually, Mrs. Reidhaven,” said the attorney, “I didn’t come on business. I hoped that Alicia might be free to take a drive with me along the coast.”

  “Oh, of course. That’s wonderful.”

  “You don’t mind, do you, Marie?” said Alicia. “I wasn’t sure how long you would be gone.”

  “Not at all.”

  “If you don’t need me for anything, Nigel asked if we might have dinner together at the Banff Hotel.”

  “Certainly—take the rest of the day, and the evening!”

  Alicia walked past me, a faint fragrance of perfume following in her wake. I must say, she looked radiant. I had never seen her with makeup on. As she and Mr. Crathie reached the door, she turned her head to cast me a momentary smile, and mouthed the silent words Thank you.

  I was very happy for her.

  Olivia went into a self-imposed exile. I assumed that she returned to Aberdeen. Neither was Adela Cruickshank seen in the village after that. After two weeks we thought we had better check the room where she had been staying. We found it empty of any sign that anyone had occupied it for years. When she had come to move her things out, we hadn’t an idea.

  I wasn’t quite so eager to investigate Olivia’s private domain to see whether she, too, had somehow moved out without our knowing it. I would wait until I was certain all remnants of her temporary occupation of the castle were gone before I would again take up residence in my former apartments. Eventually, however, I had to know. I went to the room and knocked, then again, and called loudly. I knew she wasn’t there, but I didn’t want to go in without giving a warning just in case. When there was no reply, I tried the door. It was locked. I tried every key in my possession, but none opened the lock. I asked both Nicholls and Farquharson if there were keys I didn’t know of. Both men examined the large key ring I had in my hand and said that as far as they knew, those were all the keys since the changing of the locks several months before.

  At that point I had no choice but to call in a locksmith from Buckie to pick the lock and have a new key made.

  It was strange to invade Olivia’s private domain, even though it had once been mine. All her things were still in place. Nothing appeared the worse for her presence. I did not look around extensively. I only wanted to determine the status of the apartments. I did have one additional motive. During all the months since my return, when either Alicia, Nicholls, or myself had methodically examined every nook and cranny of the castle in search of my pedal harp, there remained one set of four rooms we had not ventured into—the former apartment of the duke, which had then been mine and Alasdair’s, and more recently had been occupied by Olivia during her brief tenure. I secretly hoped that she might have hidden my harp in her own rooms, knowing it was the one place I would never dare look.

  Now I did look, and with great disappointment saw nothing whatever that interested me, certainly no harp.

  I could be patient to wait for her to collect her clothes and the furniture that was hers. My eyes did fall on one item, however, that instantly made my blood boil
. An old rusty iron ring lay on her bureau containing a dozen equally old and equally rusted giant keys—each four to six inches in length, one notably of brass that was greening rather than rusting.

  I grabbed it, left her rooms and locked them behind me with the new key, and again went in search of Harvey Nicholls.

  “Have you seen these before?” I asked, showing him the ring.

  “They look like more keys to the basement rooms, my lady,” he replied.

  “Just as I thought!” I said. “Olivia specifically told me she had no basement keys. She was lying through her teeth the whole time. Take these, Nicholls—see if there is any lock you could have missed, even a small storeroom, a closet, a room within a room, an unobtrusive recess or panel or movable wall…anything. You know how these old places are, with mysterious passageways and alcoves and storage rooms and stairways hidden behind walls. I don’t know if there’s anything like that. How I wish Alasdair was here. These keys would not have been in her room unless she was hiding something from me. I simply do not believe her story about my harp being stolen by some man she hired whom you never saw. It’s got to be here…somewhere.”

  Alas, even the new search produced nothing but dead ends. And still no sign of the Queen.

  A week and a half later I was asonished to receive in the post a note from Olivia saying that she would like to talk to me about Alasdair and Gwendolyn. She apologized for the misunderstandings about the will and the estate. She added that she hoped we could put all that behind us. As the weather had been nice, and knowing how much I loved the sea, perhaps we could take a walk together. She loved the coastline, too, she added, as it reminded her of happy times when she and Gwendolyn used to walk together. She asked me to call and gave a telephone number. I recognized it as that of her former house where I had first made her acquaintance and spent so many happy hours with dear Gwendolyn. She also thought she might have an idea where we could locate my missing harp, about which she felt just dreadful.

  Overjoyed at the prospect of this olive branch of reconciliation, I went to the telephone immediately. Olivia’s tone, as I had gathered from the note, was warm and friendly. I could hardly believe the change. Even as sisters-in-law, we would never become friends. Yet I hoped we might be something other than adversaries. We made arrangements to meet that same afternoon at three o’clock at the Scar Nose promontory. It had rained the night before and was bright and clear and promised to be a lovely day for a walk.

  I had already planned to have lunch that same day with Ranald at his cottage. Because of Olivia’s call I drove rather than walked up and we had a nice visit. We enjoyed a simple cold lunch with egg mayonnaise on softies. With the court case behind me and my future now clarified, we talked about the difficulties and decisions now facing me. I told him about my father and his work in the States, which I also felt a responsibility to attend to.

  “So you see, Ranald,” I said, “I’ve lost two men in the last year, and now find myself wanting to do what I can to further the works of both…yet they are six thousand miles apart!”

  “Ye’ll du what the Lord gies ye tae du faithfully, o’ that I haena a doobt. But it may tak time for him tae mak yer way clear. Jist be nae in a hurry, lass. God’s best things tak time tae unfold.”

  Ranald gave me good counsel, but mostly was just a wise and willing listener. We prayed together. Then he asked if I would like to play. I glanced at my watch. It was about two. I said that I was a little short of time and that maybe we ought to get together again soon. He said that was fine and that he understood.

  As we were cleaning up the lunch things, a fighter jet suddenly screamed by overhead. Though it was a common occurrence here, I nearly leaped out of my skin. It prompted Ranald to tell me about his days as a young man in the RAF during the early years of the Cold War.

  “I had no idea you were in the RAF—so was Alicia’s father.”

  “She an’ I need tae swap stories. Div ye ken whaur her father was afore they came tae Lossie?”

  “I don’t know that she told me that. She did tell me that she would like to learn to fly one day herself.”

  “Did she noo? She maun be an adventurous lass!”

  I don’t know why, but the thought of bearded, white-haired Ranald Bain as a young fighter pilot flying secretive missions over the Soviet Union of the 1950s surprised me. He asked if I would like to see some of his old photos, both of his RAF years and of the croft and of he and Maggie and their Winifred.

  Suddenly I again remembered the time. Again I looked at my watch. It was 2:40.

  “Oh, I would dearly love to see them,” I said, quickly rising. “But I have to go. Believe it or not, Olivia Urquhart wants to get together with me. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. After all that has happened, I am hoping that at last she is going to bury the hatchet. I am encouraged that this might be the beginning of a breakthrough. She and I agreed to meet at three for a walk.”

  “A walk…whaur?” said Ranald, his voice suddenly grave. He stood and followed me slowly toward the door.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, “probably along the coast. She said she has always loved walking along the headlands, as I do.”

  Ranald’s expression turned yet more serious. “I sud say she does,” he mumbled. I had no idea what he meant. Then he reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dinna gae oot wi’ her alone, lass,” he said. His tone was so commanding, it frightened me.

  “But I have to, Ranald,” I said. “You were the one who told me of the Scripture about agreeing with your adversaries. I tried and it wasn’t successful before she took me to court. Perhaps now, after the fact, she might at last be ready.”

  “Marie,” he repeated, “dinna gae. E’en after a’ that has ta’en place, ye hae nae idea fit she is.”

  “I think I have some idea.”

  “Ye dinna ken a’.”

  I stared back at him, then slowly nodded. “I understand,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

  I turned toward the door. He walked outside with me. I faced him again, tried to smile, and thanked him for lunch. But his face remained somber. I knew he wasn’t satisfied with my response. He gave me a warm, fatherly embrace, then stepped back.

  “God gae wi’ ye, lass,” he said, “an’ protect ye.”

  I must have had a puzzled expression on my face. His words sounded far too much like a benediction for comfort. I nodded, and got into my car and drove back down the hill toward Port Scarnose.

  Chapter Forty-six

  The Cliffs of Findlater

  Wha will be a traitor knave?

  Wha can fill a coward’s grave?

  Wha sae base as be a slave?

  Let him turn, and flee.

  —Robert Burns, “Scots, Wha Hae”

  I was standing on the overlook above the Scar Nose at five till three. I was surprised to see Olivia drive up in her car. I had expected her to walk. She greeted me from the open window with a friendly smile and asked if I would like to go for a short drive. She would show me one of her favorite walks, she said. I nodded and climbed in on the passenger side.

  We drove east, through Crannoch, turned off the main road and into the farmland, where Olivia parked in a small obscure wood. We got out and began walking along a path out of the trees, through cultivated fields, toward the sea. I wasn’t exactly sure where we were. Being east of Crannoch, I should have known. I knew most of this coastline intimately. But a mental fog was invisibly settling over me. The path was a little muddy in spots from the rain, but there was mud everywhere in Scotland. It was something you got used to. Olivia talked about Gwendolyn’s harp playing and how happy she was that I had given Gwendolyn that opportunity and had taken such an interest in her. Again she expressed regret that the situation between us had been so awkward and had caused so many misunderstandings. But she hoped this could be a new beginning. I kept waiting for her news about the Queen, but I didn’t want to appear too anxious.

  We reached the promontory proba
bly a mile or two east of Crannoch beyond Logie Head.

  “Have you seen Findlater Castle?” Olivia asked.

  A chill swept through me.

  “Oh, Findlater,” I replied. “Yes…I, uh…Alasdair pointed out the ruins to me one time from the sea.”

  “Would you like to see it close up?” she asked.

  “I, uh…Maybe this isn’t the best day,” I said hesitantly. “I remember Alasdair saying it was dangerous.”

  “Nonsense—he was afraid of his own shadow. I want to show it to you.”

  I continued to follow. I was afraid of alienating her. We walked along the top of the cliff east from Logie Head, single file in spots where the path was narrow, occasionally side by side. I had to watch my footing because we were at the edge of the headland where the cliff rose straight up from the sea.

  “There are the ruins,” said Olivia, pointing ahead some two hundred yards. I knew well enough by now where we were. Ranald’s and Alasdair’s cautions rang in my ears. But I could not stop. A dreamy inevitability had come over me. My brain was sleepy. Ahead was the spot where we had found Alicia standing in the rain as Ranald and I approached the ancient castle from the other direction.

  I saw the ruins now more plainly from this angle. They were still not so easy to see as they had been from aboard Alasdair’s yacht. A little grass-topped promontory jutted out into the sea, on the side and top of which what remained of Findlater Castle appeared from this vantage point like great piles of rocks and fallen stone walls. A steep narrow path went down over the edge of the promontory, along a narrow sort of land bridge, then up to the ruins. From the path the cliff extended almost straight down to jagged rocks where the tide swirled and splashed and beat against them. What an inhospitable place to have built a home to live in, even if it was a fortified castle.

  We walked on to the point where the path veered out onto the promontory and down in the direction of the ruins. There we stopped. We were almost exactly at the place where Alicia had been standing. By now I knew I was in a precarious situation. But I was walking in a dream. I had become just like Alicia, under a spell. The wind was blowing strongly up from the sea, howling and whipping my hair across my face.