by Megan McCoy
Ailsa was beginning to feel like a prized mare. “I hope so.” She was really quite unsure how else to answer.
“Eat your cake. You’re skin and bones,” Prune said matter-of-factly.
Ailsa picked up her fork and took a bite of the cake. She put her hand to her mouth to keep from coughing. It must have been drenched in a bottle of rum. The spiced fumes bit at the back of her nose. She’d be drunk if she finished it.
Prune smiled, taking a big bite herself. “It’s good, isn’t it? I’ll give you a slice to take home to our laird. Och, he’s a braw laddie, not unlike his grandfather.”
“Speaking of Ian, he said you knew his grandmother Cora.”
Prune paused, cutting herself another slice. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard for a while, Cora.” Something similar to jealousy flashed in her eyes.
“You knew her though. Her and Donald.”
Prune closed her eyes, savoring her cake. “Aye, I knew her. She was a Sassenach, an outsider, like yourself. Though she was English, not American.”
“I didn’t realize she was English,” Ailsa said, pushing her cake around on her plate.
“It was whispered when she first came that she might be a spy for the Germans, but the duke at the time quickly dashed those rumors. She was the one who suggested they use the house to barrack soldiers during the war for commando training.”
“I didn’t know that. She must have been sad to see Donald go to war.”
“Donald?” Prune laughed with a hiccup, finishing her second piece of cake. “Donald wasn’t a soldier. He was deemed medically unfit. Weak lungs.”
“Oh.” That didn’t fit with the Mizpah coin. “I should get going, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Aye. The weather’s turning for the worst I’m afraid.” She cut off a piece of cake and wrapped it up. “Give this to His Grace. A fine man like himself deserves a treat.”
Ailsa took the cake, smiling. “I’ll be sure to tell him. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Campbell,” she said, seeing herself out. Ailsa got in the car and started it up. The rain was falling down in a steady stream. She had more questions now than she did answers, but she was sure of two things. Mrs. Campbell enjoyed her tipple and she had a huge crush on the duke.
Chapter 6
“Is Ian back?” Ailsa asked Mrs. Innes when she returned, shaking the rain from her jacket, as she hung it on a hook inside the door.
Mrs. Innes set down the book she was reading. “Not yet, dear. I don’t suppose we’ll see him until later. There’s a cold running through the village. The clinic will be full,” she said, standing. “I put Robbie down for nap. Can I make you a cuppa?”
Ailsa smiled, despite her inner turmoil. “I think I’ve had enough tea today.”
“Was your trip into the village successful then?”
She nodded. “I think so. Mrs. Innes, did you know that Glen Torridon house was used as barracks during the war?”
The older woman sat back down, her short gray hair bobbing with the effort. “I wasn’t here yet. I was just a wee lass myself, but most of the big estates did their part for the war.”
“I didn’t think the war touched Scotland.”
“Och, no. There wasn’t a part of Britain that wasn’t affected. The Highlands were used to train the most elite allied forces - the commandos. The area was deemed perfect not only for its remoteness, but also for its harsh and rigorous territory. Glen Torridon became one of the training centers.”
“It must have been something to see, the house full of soldiers and action?”
“There used to be pictures of it. Of the men training and the barracks. The grand ballroom had been turned into a mess hall where they ate.”
Ailsa sat up intrigued. “I wonder where they are? The pictures?”
“There used to be a display in the community hall in the village.”
Ailsa stood up. She wasn’t sure where this was leading or how it would help with the coin, but it was at least something. “Mrs. Innes, do you mind watching Robbie a bit longer for me?”
“Ailsa, what are you up to, lass?” She shook her head disapprovingly.
“Nothing. I just thought I would stop by and see Ian. Mrs. Campbell gave me a piece of rum cake to give him.” She shrugged into her jacket, zipping it up.
“You won’t find what you’re seeking looking backwards,” the older woman remarked carefully, her mouth turned down in a frown. “You need to trust Ian on this.”
“I do trust Ian. I’m just not sure he trusts me,” she said, shutting the door.
The pelting rain continued to increase as Ailsa maneuvered the car through the downpour, squinting to see the road in front of her on her way to the village, her wipers were going at full tilt. At this rate the roads would be flooded soon. She pulled into the car park and ran the short distance to the community hall, thankful for the sudden blast of heat when she entered.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a neatly dressed, elderly gentleman in a navy pinstriped suit asked.
Ailsa took her jacket off and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm up. “Maybe,” she said, looking around.
“Oh, dear God.” He put his hand to his chest apologetically. “Duchess, please excuse my manners. I didn’t recognize you.” His accent was a strange mix of a Scottish brogue and Italian.
She smiled at the man, who at this point truly looked aghast.
“Eduardo Nutini, at your service.” He gave her a slight bow.
“Please Mr. Nutini, call me Ailsa.”
“May I get you a cup of tea perhaps, my lady?” he asked, escorting her toward a small sitting area by an electric fireplace.
“No, thank you,” she said and then seeing the disappointment in his face added, “maybe in a minute though. I was wondering if the hall still had the display of the soldiers’ barracks at Glen Torridon.”
“I’m afraid that was taken down years ago, my lady.”
“Oh,” she said a bit defeated.
He held his finger up. “I’ve a thought. If you have a moment, my lady, I can check the back room where we store items. I don’t believe anyone every picked up the memorabilia.”
Ailsa’s eyebrows rose. “Really, that would be great,” she said, taking a seat in one of the hall’s blue velvet chairs by the fire while Mr. Nutini went to look.
He returned a short time later with a small crate, setting it on a small table. “We’re in luck. I found it.”
“Do you mind if I look?” Ailsa inclined her head toward the box.
“Of course not, my lady. I’ll make us a pot of tea.”
“I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.” She was still full from this morning’s niceties.
“No trouble. It’s my pleasure. It’s not every day I get to take tea with the duchess.”
She began to poke around in the box, pulling out a framed letter from Winston Churchill himself to Malcolm Ian McLennan, the Duke of Torridon dated April 13, 1942. It thanked the duke and duchess for the use of their estate and their war time effort in support of the British army. She set it down and picked up a picture of the castle with a regiment of soldiers in front of it. Eager young faces, stoic in their stature, stood ready to go out and fight for their country. Mr. Nutini came back with a pot of tea and poured her a cup. She took it as she pulled out another photograph. He sat down in the chair next to her. “That’s me,” he said, pointing to a small boy in a lady’s arms.
“You?” Ailsa echoed, surprised.
“Aye, my lady.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”
He stopped her. “Don’t be. My parents immigrated here after the first world war in hopes of a better life. When the second world war broke out my father was interned. Of course, being from Italy and its fascist involvement with the war caused a lot of hardships. He was sent to Orkney at the Scapa Flow to work on constructing a barrier to keep out the Nazi U-boats.”
“Was that your mother?” she asked, pointing to the woman holding him.
“Aye. When my father
was taken away, it was just my mother, sister and me. We had never felt like outsiders until the war started. Suddenly, no one would employ my mother and what little money my parents had put away didn’t last long. It was the duchess who took us under her wing.”
“The duchess?”
“Aye, well not the duchess at the time. That would have been Janet McLennan. No, it was Lady Cora.”
Ailsa set her cup down, drawing herself upright, she reached out and touched his hand eagerly. “Cora?”
Mr. Nutini blushed slightly at the gesture, but patted her hand anyway, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Aye, Cora. She insisted that we stay at the Big House. Maybe it was because she was an outsider too, being English and all. When the commando basic training center was set up, she made sure my mother was employed as one of the housekeepers. And when the war was finally over and my father returned, she saw to it that we still had a place in the village.”
He picked up a silver frame from the box. “That’s Cora.” His finger ran over her face in a silent caress. Ailsa looked up at him noting the admiration in his eyes. Somehow, she was exactly how Ailsa pictured her to be. She was standing with a group of soldiers, in front of what looked like an obstacle course, wearing men’s trousers and laughing as tendrils of hair escaped the ribbon holding it back. The spires of the castle could just be seen in the background. “She was a breath of fresh air in dark times.”
“She sounds like she was very special.”
“Aye, she was a maverick and a free thinker. Well beyond her years.”
“I wish I had known her.”
“You remind me of her. You’re strong, my lady. Everything you’ve been through.”
She bit her lip to ward off the tears behind her eyes, still so easily stirred, and picked up another picture. She didn’t like to think of the past year. “This must be Donald,” she said clearing her throat. The picture was of Cora and a young man. Thin and sallow faced with a rather weak chin, he didn’t have the look of a leader, not to mention a duke.
“Aye, that was Donald.”
“And they were in love.”
It was a statement not a question, but he looked at her shrewdly and answered nonetheless. “Love, my lady, is very complicated.”
There was one picture left in the box and Mr. Nutini brought it out somewhat circumspectly. It was of a young soldier, decked out in his regalia in front of the loch, his cap sat on his head at a jaunty angle and the smile on his face bordered on cavalier. She recognized the glint in his eyes. “Who’s that?”
“Malcolm,” he said, his brows lowering thoughtfully as he looked at her.
“Malcolm?” She stared back blankly.
“Donald’s brother.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize he had a brother.” Ian often had the same look in his eyes, it must have been where she had seen it before. A family trait.
“He died in the war in Hong Kong.”
“How tragic.”
“Aye, he was the golden child. Poor Donald. I’m not sure what he would have done without Cora.”
A crack of thunder pulled them both from the moment. Ailsa looked at a clock on the wall. “I really must be going. I didn’t realize the time.” She started to stack the pictures back in the box. Mr. Nutini stopped her. “I’ll get it, my lady.”
“Mr. Nutini, may I ask who it was that wanted the display taken down?” she asked with a small sinking feeling.
“It was His Grace. We took it down eight years ago.”
She stood up disquieted from the answer she knew he would give. “Thank you, for the tea and for the help.”
“It’s been a true pleasure.”
She reached out, giving him a hug and kissed him on his cheek. He seemed startled, but kissed her back. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Nutini,” she said as she shut the door and ran to her car.
The rain had turned into a downpour and the sky had darkened making the water on the roads hard to see. Ailsa drove the short block to the clinic, and after parking, she went in the front door. A young girl behind the reception counter looked up. “Your ladyship,” she said surprised. “Dr. McLennan is in his office. You can go on back.”
Ailsa nodded at the girl. “Thank you, Sally.” She found Ian behind his desk.
“Darling.” He stood up and came over to her, giving her a kiss. “This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”
She set the cake down, moving a file folder. “Mrs. Campbell sends her warmest salutations.”
He eyed the plate suspiciously.
“I think she used the words ‘handsome, braw laddie and fine man.’ To be exact.”
“I’m sure she did,” he said, grinning as he pulled the plastic off the cake. “Christ, there’s enough alcohol in there to fell a man.”
“I think that’s the point.” Ailsa laughed.
“You haven’t been snooping around?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just spreading Christmas cheer.” She was caught off guard. The look in his eye reminding her exactly of the young soldier.
He glanced out the window. “Aye well, I don’t want you driving home in this by yourself. Give me a few minutes.”
“But the car?”
“Alec and I will get it in the morning.” He finished his report and turned off his computer. Ailsa stood back as he stuck his head out of the office. “I’m leaving, Sally. Turn the phones over to the night recording and get yourself home.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl called back.
“Yes, sir,” Ailsa repeated in his ear, teasingly.
“You could learn a lesson from her on how to show respect.”
“Oh, really.” Ailsa laughed. He had her turned over his desk in an instant and before she knew what was happening, his hand came down squarely on her bottom, not once, not twice, but three times. Hard enough to leave a sting. Her breath hitched but she didn’t cry out.
“That will teach you,” he said playfully, pulling her back up and kissing her.
She felt the heat grow in both her cheeks as his gray eyes bore into her smugly. The same eyes as the dead soldier.
Chapter 7
Christmas Eve day dawned blustery and cold. The sky had cleared to a brisk morning, but heavy clouds sat distant in the horizon, threatening more storms. Ian was already gone when Ailsa woke up, leaving their cocoon of tangled blankets to brave the outside world. Ailsa ran her hand between her legs, tender from their lovemaking, the slight touch igniting a new yearning. They were supposed to wait another month after giving birth, but Ian’s impromptu spanking had left them both a little heated and caution gave way in the end to a flurry of limbs and passion.
She got up and made her way to the nursery, Robbie was just stirring. Picking him up, she walked over to the window to look out. Steam rose off the top of the loch, catching the light and dusting the world in a fog of tiny diamonds. From this angle she could just see the tops of the pine trees that lined the small island rising up just off the shore. She bit the tip of her thumb and looked down at the sweet face of her son, thinking. It seemed she had hit a dead end with the coin, not sure where to look next. Yet, she couldn’t get Cora and Donald out of her mind, she knew she was missing something. Robbie gave a small squeal, not unlike a baby piglet, vying for her attention.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said sitting down. “You’ll be hungry.”
After she fed him, she dressed him in his warmest clothes and donning her own coat and gloves, she put him in his pram and set out for a walk. Her mind wandered back to the coin and everything she’d learned yesterday. It was strange she didn’t remember seeing Donald’s brother on the family tree in the attic. Why would he have been left off? There was a small family cemetery by the chapel on the estate and she found herself headed in that direction.
She passed by the outbuildings, heading away from the loch. Alec was out front cleaning the mud off a quad bike. “Where are you headed, my lady?” he called out to her.
She gave him a wave. She knew anything s
he said to him would find its way back to Ian and he had already warned her to leave the past in the past. “I’m just headed to see Father Carlin.”
“Aye, well watch the weather and don’t stay too long. From the looks of the sky we might have ourselves a white Christmas.”
“I’ll be careful.” She continued her way up the path, cutting through the forest until she came to the church. No one seemed to be around. The cemetery lay to the east of the chapel surrounded by a wrought iron fence. She picked Robbie up and left the carriage outside as she unlatched the gate and let herself in. The wind picked up, blowing the blanket that covered Robbie askew and sending a chill up her spine. The past lay here, quietly trying to protect its secrets against the ghosts of fact and time. The fence that surrounded them could keep some things from coming and going but it wouldn’t prevent the truth from eventually rolling up on shore. Ailsa felt her pocket, the weight of the coin answering. She walked around, looking at the headstones. Ian’s dad, mother and sister lay side by side in the front. Malcolm Robert McLennan, 9th Duke of Torridon; Mina Blaine McLennan, Duchess of Torridon; Lady Morgan Mina McLennan. Someone had laid white heather on each of their graves. She gave the sign of the cross and said a quick prayer for each of them. In the row behind were four more graves. Malcolm Ian McLennan, 7th Duke of Torridon; Janet Campbell McLennan, Duchess of Torridon; Malcolm Ian McLennan II, Marquis of Torridon; Donald Angus McLennan, 8th Duke of Torridon. Strange that there was no grave for Cora. It should have been next to Donald’s grave. She looked in the other rows but could find none. Where was she buried? She went back to the second row and knelt before the young soldier’s grave. Malcolm Ian McLennan II. Marquis was the title given to the first-born son of a duke. She looked down at her tiny package, he was also a marquis. The dates engraved were 1917-1942. He would have been twenty-five when he passed. The only other marker on the headstone was a sentence that read ‘Royal Scots 2nd Battalion.’
“I wasn’t expecting to find you here?” A voice called out behind her.
Ailsa jumped, putting a hand to her chest, she left it there until she felt her heart begin to beat again and looked up into the cheery face of Father Carlin. “You scared me, Father.”