by Rachel Secor
The state of her own dress made May-Jewel gasp in dismay, and she left for her own room to do the same.
* * *
There was an irreproachable air to the lifetime servant. For over seventy years he had worked for the family, serving two lairds even before Sir Robert was born. Katherine knew Charles would know the Craig secrets, the hidden places, and the stories behind them. Her childhood memories of him haunted her. It was difficult to think of him as a servant when, as a young girl, she considered him sort of a white knight on horseback. Earlier in the drawing room his manner had been cold. It was still cold. As he stood before the women, his expression seemed almost hateful. He stiffened his stance as Katherine started to speak.
“Charles, you were here when Garth was born, were you not?”
“Aye.” His bushy brows met in annoyance.
“What can you tell us about Garth and his mother?”
He seemed startled by her request for he cringed visibly. He grew thoughtful. After all these years, ta be reminded of such a tragedy. Why does this woman want ta dig an’ rummage through the wispy-webs o’ an old man’s failin’ memory? They wanted him to resurrect the misery so long ago put into the hands of God. He knew that none of the past could be undone or erased. But there seemed to be no way for him to avoid answering.
Patiently, to try to put Charles at ease, Katherine repeated her question.
He frowned at her again. His thoughts slowly formed into words. “Lady Edythe were from London. Master Robert were scarcely twenty years when they be wed. She were a piteous thing, a puny English woman. Aye,” he nodded at Katherine’s surprise, “a Sassenach, who couldna’ bare this desolate manor, touched by the’ loss of all she be knowin’. Afore long her health began to fail. She were struck sick by loneliness. Sometime after, the master left on a long voyage an’ when he coom back, the Mistress were taken ta her bed. She were no’ ill, only heartsick, an’ wantin’ ta go home. The master wouldna’ let her go. She moved aboot the manor like a ghost, her hair all wild an’ her clothin’ rumpled an’ stained. The master wouldna’ help her an’ turned his mind from her. He agin went for a long time ta sea.”
“Was she with child then?” Katherine asked.
The words painful to hear, Charles pursed his lips and nodded, looking from one woman to the other. They wanted to know too much. He didn’t like that. Images passed through his mind as he tried to sift the unimportant facts from the rest. But he couldn’t manage them, and he began to tremble.
Filling a small glass with wine, May-Jewel put it in his hand and echoed Katherine’s question.
He drank from the glass, then answered. “She were given ta dark periods an’ were many a time found hidden aboot the place, one time sittin’ an’ rockin’ in the garret, other times sittin’ an’ rockin’ in the wine cellar.”
The women exchanged knowing glances.
“Was Garth the one she was carrying then? Or did she have another child?”
His stance weakened and his shoulders drooped. How many more questions? His memory shivered as if it were naked. Time and events rolled around his head, becoming entwined and melted into one undistinguishable lifetime. He rubbed his temple, trying to discern one act from another, one day from another. Then he remembered. “Aye. The second bairn… ’twere a girl…” his voice faded to a whisper. “ ’Twere born dead. The master be gone ta the penal island then… and…” His words trailed off until they came no more. In his mind’s eye he reviewed the cold images of the past, and they frightened him.
“When Charles,” May-Jewel impatiently prodded, “when did Lady Edythe give birth to Garth?”
Charles closed his eyes as if trying to remember. But he knew when it was as if it were yesterday. “ ‘Twas in ‘31. The first of Est, mid-way past the feast of Lughnasadh.”
“It’s an agrarian feast in August,” Katherine whispered seeing May-Jewel’s puzzlement. “Garth was born August 1831. Go on Charles.”
“When the master returned that time, Lady Edythe wouldna’ let him touch the babe, sayin’ he couldna’ have no part of him. The master left agin an’ he stayed away from the manor seven or eight years. When he agin saw the boy, he were a big strappin’ lad.”
“What happened after Sir Robert returned?”
“The master moved ta the west wing, leavin’ her and the boy ta themselves.”
“She must have died from a broken heart,” May-Jewel uttered, her voice tight with pain as if she was the one Robbie had forsaken. She couldn’t believe it of the Robbie she knew and loved.
“Nay, ‘twere young master Garth’s doin’,” Charles replied. His mouth tightened with anguish. He then wished he could take back the words that he had so hastily spoken.
“That can’t be true!” Katherine gasped, envisioning the gray eyes that had searched hers only an hour before. They weren’t the eyes of a murderer.
“’Twas what Sir Robert told everyone. But I ne’er believed it. “ ‘Twere just a wheen o’ blethers from an angry man, an’ the Sheriff-court lay ‘twere an accident.”
May-Jewel, flushed with morbid curiosity, asked, “How did she die?”
“She fell doon the east wing stairs.”
“But why did Robbie say that his son had done it?”
“I dunna know. I coom on the scene an’ young Garth standin’ atop the steps like a cairn, a heap o’ stone. The master done accuse him. The boy ne’er shed a tear, then or at her layin’ away.”
For the first time in her life, Katherine felt pity for someone else, for the child Garth. “What became of the boy then?”
“Father and son stayed in ta manor for a couple o’ years. But they dinna get on an’ had nought to do with each other. The boy grew wild an’ had a hand in many childish but wrong doin’s. Then the master sent the boy away ta his great uncle in India.”
Katherine trembled for Garth’s plight was like her own. He sent his own son away! Just like he did me, she lamented. Her heart broke for the boy who was so much like herself, alone and lonely.
“He sent him away?” May-Jewel’s cry echoed.
“Aye. The boy were just shy o’ his twelfth year. ‘Twas pitiful how the lad stared at the Master with those broodin’ eyes o’ his, as if he be accusin’ his father of the same deed he himself be accused o’. An’ ne’er a word passin’ ‘tween them.”
“And yet you say that the man that arrived today is Sir Robert’s son, Garth?” asked Katherine. “What makes you so sure?”
“I told ye, ‘tis his eyes! He has the image o’ Lady Edythe in them.” Charles, having had enough of the conversation and their probing questions, shook his head, as if to push the memories back into the sarcophagus of his mind, and started to walk away.
“Wait,” Katherine said, “in which wing will we find Sir Robert’s quarters? Where would his private papers have been kept?”
“The solicitor took most of the Master’s papers with him an’ what he dinna take, Mister Fleming had sent ta his Edinburgh office when he took the Master’s bedchambers for himself.”
How presumptuous of Alex, Katherine thought, but she didn’t dwell on that. She suddenly remembered that she wanted to ask him about the maid. “One more thing, Charles, what do you know of Selina, the small dark woman who came to me as an upstairs maid?”
Visibly trembling, Charles answered, “Some things are best left alone, mistress.” He hastily exited the room.
“Well, that was creepy,” May-Jewel stated. “What do you think made him say that?”
“He obviously knows more than he’s willing to admit about the woman. We can press him later. Right now let’s deal with Alex. It looks as if there weren’t any limits to his taking over after Robert died.”
May-Jewel placed her hands on her hips as if scolding a child and said irately, “Just what did he think he was doing moving into Robbie’s quarters? And those papers weren’t his to deal with! Does he think we’re doltish females? That if we didn’t see a journal or an office that we wouldn’t t
hink about the business or the estate?” Her voice rose as did her anger. “Did he think by spiriting everything out of the manor that we’d leave things in his eager hands?” Her eyes flashed as a mass of raven curls bobbed free of their restraining pins and formed a dark frame about her livid face. “To think I actually considered the idea that he… that we…” She stopped, aware that Katherine was staring at her. “That he was a gentleman, and we could be friends,” she finished feebly.
Katherine was keenly aware of the flush that covered May-Jewel’s face. Had she been too quick to trust her? With all that had happened, Katherine hadn’t had time to explore any possibilities that might exist. If May-Jewel fancied herself in love with him, then Alex could get control of the manor and the business through her. A coldness settled in the pit of her stomach and spread like icy fingers up the back of her neck. She stared at May-Jewel and was tempted to pursue the conversation but decided to push it aside… for the moment. There was something else weighing heavily on her mind. Charles had given his side of the story. But, as she had learned from children previously placed in her charge, there was always another side.
“We have to find someone else who was here when Lady Edythe died,” she finally said.
Happy that the subject had been changed, May-Jewel quickly agreed, “Yes, Molly seemed willing to talk before, and she looks old enough to have been living around here then. Of course, we could confront the one claiming to be Garth.”
Katherine, unsure whether she was teasing or not and feeling the blood rise to her cheeks at the mention of his name, snapped, “Never mind him. We’ll talk to the cook. It’s unreliable at best, but gossip will have to serve for the moment.”
Molly was sitting at the table peeling potatoes when the women approached. Before they could question her, however, she quickly told them about the provisions that were missing. “ ‘Taint much, mum, ye understand, but I dinna want ye ta think I was the thief.”
“It’s all right, Molly,” Katherine assured her, sitting at the table across from her. “You need not worry about the missing food. We’ll look into it later.”
Once the cook was reassured the women weren’t going to accuse her of stealing, it didn’t take much prodding for her to tell what she knew about Lady Edythe and the past. “Thomly, Brice’s Da was alive then,” she started, “but he were sent ta gaol on account o’ tearin’ up the grounds lookin’ ta find the Mistress’ emeralds. The story be told that the jewels still be missin’.”
May-Jewel’s eyes widened. “Jewels? Emeralds? Are they in the house? What are they worth? And they haven’t been found yet?”
“Nay, legend has it that each is as big as your eye. An’ so green that the whole o’ the Green Isle pales in their glow.”
Before May-Jewel could question the cook further about the emeralds, Katherine interrupted, “Molly please continue about Lady Edythe.”
“Yes, mum. Me kin, Bridget and Auntie Clara, were the upstairs maids then, an’ I heard aplenty. Cousin Brigide died the same year as the boy went away, an’ Clara be old now, but livin’ in London proper. They said ‘twas murder.” She leaned closer to them. “But which one done the deed… the master, the son or old Charles?”
Katherine and May-Jewel both cried, “Charles?”
“Aye,” Molly whispered as she looked around. Once she was sure that no one else was there to listen, she continued, “It be said there be more ta that old man than what can be seen. An’ there be the wee still one, her buried proper. They say the bairn were born dead ta this world, but clings ta that old man’s soul. But mind you it be only talk. So dunna go aboot sayin’ anythin’ ta him.” She touched her temple. “He’d be goin’ o’er the edge if it be spoken aloud.” Her eyes scanned the door nervously. “They say he wanted the mistress ta go with him ta a safe place. An’ when she scolded him for his thoughts, he put the evil-eye o’ Black Donald on her. An’ that be who did the pushin’ if ye ask me. Me Da says he saw a blackbird atappin’ at the upper window, the very window of her room, the day she died. ‘Tis the sign o’ death, ye know. An’ they all stood aboot her as she lay on the floor, none willin’ ta touch her, not the master, nor the boy, nor even Charles. They say them that has nothin’ ta do with a corpse canna be innocent.”
Katherine was shocked at the gossip and stood as if to leave. But Molly kept talking, determined to finish what she started.
“ ‘Twere Charles himself what placed the salt an’ earth on her, so the Earl o’ Hell couldna meddle with her journey ta the beyond. She be buried ‘neath the cairn oot by the gate o’ the kirk o’ Mac na Creige. She werena worthy o’ bein’ buried with the rest o’ them.”
Katherine suddenly took an interest in what Molly was saying and sat back down. “Do you know why?”
“ ‘Twere rumored that the Master denied that Garth be his son.”
Knowing glances were again exchanged between the sisters. This was what they had wanted to know.
“See, gossip will tell all,” May-Jewel whispered to her sister. “We might not have to worry about Garth after all.”
Katherine shushed her and questioned Molly. “There’s a family cemetery?”
“Aye, an’ the second Lady Craig be there too, with her wee boy. They died o’ the epidemic. Same as Charles’ Da an’ half o’ the village.”
“Where is it?” Katherine asked.
“I’ll tell ye where ‘tis mistress, but I wouldna go there, it being daylight or no.”
“Spare us the superstition, Molly,” May-Jewel rebuked, “just tell us where it is.”
A worried look flitted over Molly’s face. “I wouldna go there,” she repeated.
“Molly!” May-Jewel insisted sharply.
“It be a mile or two doon the hill.” Molly pointed toward the back of the manor. “On the back side o’ the house there be a road that goes through the shaw an’ then divides. One way leads ta Carstairs, t’other to the kirk. The older minister who lives in the manse be Earnan Macailean. T’other be Vicar Hawes. They’ll tell ye who be buried here and there, if you’ve a mind to know such a thing.”
* * *
The stableman, Brice, had a hard, sly look about him. He reminded Katherine of a weasel as he darted quickly in and out of the barn, readying their horse and carriage. May-Jewel took an immediate and thorough dislike to him. Though his hands were busy with the hitch, his eyes were locked on the women.
“Will ye be gone long?” He mumbled, hardly moving his lips as he spoke as if he disliked speaking to them at all.
Katherine shook her head in reply as she and May-Jewel got into the carriage.
May-Jewel started to question Brice, “How far to the…”
But Katherine didn’t let her finish. She snapped the reins, and the horse loped away.
“Why did you do that?” May-Jewel asked, holding onto her hat. “I wanted to know how far we had to go to get to the cemetery.”
“I didn’t want him to know where we were going. I don’t trust him.”
“Oh,” May-Jewel replied, looking back at the stableman who was staring after them.
“Besides, I’ve been down part of the road earlier and the cemetery can’t be that far away.” Katherine urged the horse forward. Thinking about where they were heading, she considered, It’s a shame we have to go to the dead to find the truth about the living.
Chapter Nine
The clerics’ house, called the manse, was of stone and was situated close to the side of the church as if it wanted to touch the sacred building but didn’t dare. As there wasn’t anyone around to hinder them, the women entered through the rusted gates to the cemetery and wandered about the grounds at leisure. Though the sun had started toward the west, there would still be plenty of daylight in which to investigate. Most of the stones had little etched on them, only a flower or a small cross. There were those that were inscribed in the old Gaelic, but Katherine, unaccustomed to it, gave up deciphering anything that wasn’t in the Anglicized form.
The bushes gre
w thicker and taller toward the back of the cemetery blocking most of the sunlight. Some stones were almost completely hidden. May-Jewel followed after her sister, becoming increasingly tired of the briers and branches that reached out to catch her as she passed by them.
“There’s nothing of any interest here,” she whined, detaching her skirt from a thorny branch. “Let’s go back.”
“Wait a moment.” Katherine approached a large grave stone situated close to the iron fence. It had an angel with one broken wing sitting on top of the headstone. Not seeing any inscription on the stone itself, she looked down and saw in the ground before it part of a bronze tablet. She bent down and pulled away the weeds that had grown over it, exposing the lettering. “May-Jewel, listen to this:
HERE LIES LADY ROSEMARY, SECOND WIFE OF
SIR ROBERT CRAIG, AND INFANT SON, WILLIAM.
DIED JUNE 23, 1852.”
“Two wives,” May-Jewel exclaimed bitterly, “one for his youth and one for his middle years. What kept him from marrying either of our mothers? He had time between wife number one and wife number two!”
Katherine scowled as she pulled more weeds from around the tablet. “It took you long enough to get upset over Robbie’s antics.”
Ignoring her sister’s quip, May-Jewel asked, “I wonder why she’s buried here and not in the family plot.”
Katherine shrugged. “I guess she offended Sir Robert as well. Maybe he questioned her child, too?”
“Hmmm.”
As they stood looking at the stone, a twig suddenly snapped in the thicket behind them. Spinning around, they sought the source of the noise but only silence surrounded them.
Scanning nervously about, May-Jewel asked, “Do you think someone else is here?’
“No one is here but us,” Katherine whispered once she found her voice. “Come on, there’s another large grave stone over there.” She pointed to the furthest corner of the cemetery. “I can see the top of it.”