Shared by the Highlanders (27 page)

Now, in the tearoom, we pour, stir, spread jam and cream on our scones. We have a guidebook, which includes a potted history of the house. Will is studying it carefully.

“It mentions Duncan in here, and even wee Iain. Apparently the lad came to London with King James when he moved his court there. But there’s not much about Elspeth, apart from the fact that she seems to have lost the Mackenzie jewels.”

Robbie slants a glance at him. “That sounds unlikely. Did she have jewels then?”

“Aye, she was an heiress in her own right, afore her marriage. I was betrothed to her, you’ll recall, so the Sinclairs were acquainted with her wealth as part of the marriage negotiations. The jewels were sapphires in the main, and worth a king’s ransom. Indeed, I believe that was how Elspeth’s unscrupulous Mackenzie forbears acquired them originally. She would not have mislaid them.”

Robbie shrugs. “Perhaps they were stolen. It must have happened after we were here though, else she would have said, surely.”

“Aye, maybe. It doesn’t tell us here.” Will turns over a few more pages. “Plenty of activity in the Jacobite Rebellions though. Apparently Bonnie Prince Charlie was holed up in a secret chamber in the eaves of the house for several weeks.”

I stir my tea. Will has been an avid student of Scottish history during the period after our impromptu departure. I’m not especially surprised though that Elspeth Blair has not figured prominently in those accounts.

“Women were often left out of the history books, unless they did something massive. Or were very powerful.”

“Mmm, Elspeth always seemed right powerful to me,” muses Will.

I wave my scone at him. “You had your chance there, big boy, and you blew it. You’re mine now.”

He grins at me and snatches the scone. It’s in his mouth before I have chance to react. It was my best piece too, loaded with extra cream. I lunge for it, but it’s too late.

“Children, behave. They’ll be after throwing us out.” For once Robbie is the sensible one. “Why don’t we go and find someone who might know about Elspeth. Are there Blairs still living here?”

Will consults the guidebook again. “Yes, the property belongs to Lady Agnes Blair. She’s over ninety years old and apparently lives in an apartment somewhere in the house.”

“We could ask. Maybe we can call and see her, ask if she’s a descendant of Elspeth.” Robbie helps himself to the last scone, rather to my disappointment.

“I doubt she’ll be happy about receiving visits from tourists. We
would
get slung out if we tried to get into her private quarters.” I hate to throw cold water on their plans, but it’s been my observation that owners of stately homes who have thrown themselves on the mercy of the National Trust rarely want to mingle with the paying customers.

“Aye, perhaps. Pity though…”

“Why do you want to talk to my auntie?”

We all turn in surprise at the childish, haughty voice with a distinctly transatlantic drawl. A small girl stands beside our table. She’s perhaps seven or eight years old, and to describe her as imperious wouldn’t do her justice. A pretty little thing, she glares at us from under bright blond hair arranged in neat plaits.

“Were you talking to us, sweetheart?” Robbie leans down to meet her at eye level.

“You were talking about breaking into my auntie’s flat. I heard you.”

Robbie makes no attempt to deny it. “Your auntie is Lady Agnes, aye? We were just saying we’d like to visit her, that’s all.”

“No one visits Auntie Agnes. Except me and my daddy.”

Robbie’s loops flatten, but he seems ready to accept this. “Aye, well, okay. We’ll not be bothering her then.”

“You could ring her doorbell, and she’d let you in.”

I shake my head. “No, we wouldn’t want to disturb her. If she’s elderly and not very well.”

The child offers me a withering look. I’d bristle if she were just a tiny bit less cute. “She’s not ill, just very old. If you want to go and see her though you’ll have to be quick. She’s going on holiday tomorrow, to America. Come on.” She spins on her heel and marches off in the direction of the door marked ‘staff only.’ We exchange startled looks, then grab our coats and bags. We hurry after her.

The small girl, who introduces herself as Elspeth Margaret Charlotte Blair, leads us through a maze of corridors not usually frequented by the public, I’m sure. On a couple of occasions we are asked if we are lost, or need help, but our miniature guide waves away all such assistance.

“We’re going to see Auntie Agnes. I’ll take them.” No one on the staff challenges her. Even if Lady Agnes turns out not to be a descendant of the Elspeth we knew, this child most definitely is.

We stop in front of a solid door, marked strictly private. Little Elspeth knocks on it. Hard.

Several minutes tick by before we hear a shuffling on the other side, then the sound of the lock turning. The door is opened, to reveal a lined, knowing face. “Hello?”

“Auntie, I’ve brought you some visitors. They were going break in, but I told them we could knock.”

“Ah, yes, most wise. Far better to just knock. Now, who have we here?” She peers at us, seemingly unfazed by the mention of attempted burglary. Her gaze lights on Will. “Do I know ye, lad? You have a familiar look to you.”

Will turns on his dazzling smile. “No, Lady Blair, we haven’t met. We were interested in an ancestor of yours though and wondered if you might spare some time to talk to us? If you’re not busy that is. We understand you’re preparing for a trip and we wouldn’t want to delay you.”

The old lady lets out a sound I’m sure I’ve heard from Robbie before now, usually when one of his precious engines is misfiring. “Ancestors? Far too many bloody ancestors cluttering the place up if you ask me. Can’t move for the buggers around here. Most of ‘em were up to no good most of the time. Who was it you were wanting to rake up now?”

Will supplies the information. “Elspeth Blair. She lived here in the sixteenth century. In the fifteen sixties. One of her sons, Iain, went to London with King James.”

The lined face smoothes out a little. “Ah, yes, our Elspeth. A fine woman, one of the best. Not like the rest of that shower.”

“Indeed,” Will agrees, tactfully not delving any more deeply into the perceived misdeeds of the other bygone Blairs. “She’s not in the guidebook though and we were wondering if you might know a little more. She had three children, didn’t she?”

Robbie interrupts. “No, it was four. She was expecting again.”

Will nods. “Right, four.”

Lady Agnes opens her door wider, beckoning us forward. “You need to get your facts straight, laddie. Elspeth had seven bairns in all. Four lads and three girls. And they all lived to adulthood, which is more than most could claim back then.”

“Seven. Right.” The men look at each other. Clearly Duncan must have come home at least a few more times after we left.

“Elspeth was a Mackenzie before she wed, and she married Duncan Blair in around fifteen sixty. Would that be right?” Will is pressing for more, even as we trot after Lady Agnes, ending up in a cluttered sitting room.

I look around in fascination. The place is crammed with family heirlooms, photographs, porcelain figurines, and other knick-knacks. The old lady navigates the chaotic space with remarkable agility for a woman in her nineties. She gestures us to sit down in the overstuffed and somewhat threadbare armchairs set in the middle of all the disarray.

“As to that, I’d need to look it up to be certain, but it would have been about that time, aye.”

“Look it up? You have a family record then? Or do you mean in a history book?”

“I have the family bible about here somewhere. Unless it’s downstairs in one of the glass cabinets.” She bestows a bright smile on our small escort. “Elspeth, dear, would you ask Taylor to bring us some tea, please?”

“Oh, not for us. We just…”

Lady Agnes waves away Robbie’s protest. “You’ll take some tea, dear. And maybe a scone?”

He knows when he’s beat. We all do. As our miniature guide darts out in search of this Taylor individual, we settle down for a chat.

Ninety minutes and two refilled teapots later we get up to leave. Little Elspeth re-joined us and has been chipping in her comments and observations. The child is remarkably well informed about her forbears. Agnes is her great-great-aunt, and it is Elspeth’s family in California who Agnes will be visiting when she leaves for the USA tomorrow.

Agnes too knows her stuff, and has made a particular study of Elspeth. “I was a Mackenzie too, and married into the Blairs. As she did.”

“You say all seven of Elspeth’s children survived. What did they go on to do? We know about wee Iain…”

Agnes regards Will with curiosity. “Wee Iain? He was a giant, over six feet tall. There’s a portrait of him in the main hall downstairs.”

I’m quick to rush in, in an attempt to cover Will’s slip. “Really? Oh. I’d like to see that. We must have missed it when we looked round.” I’m also interested to see if I can recognise the six-foot-tall adult Iain from the small boy I last saw dripping his way across that same hall.

“Third from the end, right hand side. Mind, he almost came to a sticky end. Drowned in the loch when he was but a baby.”

“What?” We all turn to gape at Agnes.

Will is the first to collect his wits. “Drowned in the loch? But you said…”

“I said almost. He was dragged lifeless from the water by a witch who breathed his life back into him, or so the story goes.”

“A witch?” Even now the word makes my heart hammer in my chest.

“Aye, so they said. More likely some sort of healer. It would have been that mouth-to-mouth thing they do nowadays, but most back then had no idea. If it happened at all. Elspeth wrote about it though, in her journal.”

“She kept a journal?” Robbie has paused in pulling on his jacket.

“Aye. I told you that earlier.”

It’s true, she did. But we never expected it to include the story of wee Iain’s rescue from the loch, even less my own part in that.

“Would it be possible to see the journal?” Will too has put down his coat. I guess we’ll be staying a bit longer then.

“Aye, I suppose so. It’s in here somewhere. Would you like more tea while I go look for it?”

We assure her we’re fine, and resume our seats.

It’s some thirty minutes later when Agnes shuffles back into the room, this time carrying a leather-bound ledger-style book. Whilst its condition is good, it looks quite ancient. She’s wearing white muslin gloves, and tosses a second pair onto the low table in front of us.

“The journal is hundreds of years old, and fragile. Only one of you can touch it, and you have to wear those. I’ve found the page for you though.”

Will reaches for the gloves. Neither of us challenges him. Agnes lays the book down on the table, her touch reverent as she strokes the leather cover.

“This is usually kept locked up, in the dark to help preserve it. No choice about that, but it’s a pity. It’s good it should come out from time to time. The words were put there to be read. Here’s where Elspeth describes what happened that day.” Agnes points a gnarled finger at a spot halfway down the page. We all lean forward to look.

I’m no wiser for the effort. Elspeth’s handwriting is neat enough, but small and spidery, the ink darkening and fading as she must have dipped her quill again and again. It’s in an old-fashioned looking script, and I struggle to pick out any of the words. Will is scanning the closely written lines fast though, clearly more at home with it. Robbie too seems to be able to make out what she wrote.

“What does it say?” I whisper. “Can you read it to me?”

Will glances at me. “Aye, lass. I’ll try.” He leans over the yellowing parchment and starts to read.

“This is dated the seventeenth day of April, fifteen sixty-six.” He looks up at us both. “Does that sound about right?”

If Agnes considers the question odd she says nothing. We just look at each other, and both Robbie and I nod.

Will continues. “Today was a momentous day, yet quite awful too. My baby died, drowned in the loch. But my bonny bairn was restored to me, and in a most wondrous manner.” He pauses, then resumes Elspeth’s account.

“Iain has been showing an uncommon interest in fishing with his brothers. I have forbidden it as he cannot yet swim. However, he became separated from the rest of the household today and went alone to the water. He fell into the depths, and would have been lost forever but for the swift actions of a stranger who sought shelter here this last night with two friends from afore my marriage. She sped to the place he sank, flew across the surface of the loch to reach him, then dived repeatedly until he was found. My poor wee boy was lifeless though as he was carried ashore, and I knew, despite the heroic efforts of my dear friends, that he was lost. But a miracle was wrought before our eyes as the woman knelt beside his body, kissed him, and he breathed again.

Some will call it sorcery. Indeed, superstitious villagers already clamour at my gates. I call it a precious gift, the life of my son. I am in this lady’s debt, and ever will be.”

Will stops and looks to me, then Robbie. Elspeth’s version of events is accurate enough, as viewed from her perspective. She wouldn’t have ever seen a racing dive before and to her it may have resembled flight. Neither, probably, had she witnessed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and the effect can be dramatic. If it goes well, which it did for Iain.

“So, there you have it. Elspeth didn’t denounce her boy’s rescuer, but the local population did. They called it witchcraft and drove the visitors from Glen Blair.” Agnes is shaking her head, perhaps at the ignorance of the late-medieval mind. “Elspeth was just glad to have her child back.”

“Of course,” I murmur. “But it wasn’t such a big deal. Not really.”

“Och, I know we can explain what happened nowadays. But they couldn’t, had never seen the like. Even Elspeth wasn’t sure if it was witchcraft or not, but she set aside her doubts in her gratitude. And she rewarded the so-called witch handsomely. Gave her the Mackenzie diamonds.”

“No, she didn’t.” On this point I am certain. Without any shadow of a doubt I would have remembered that bit.