by Regan Walker
“In Baltimore,” said Tara, “we would call this fish chowder, but our fish would not be smoked and we’d add salt pork and parsley, sweet marjoram, savory and thyme. I agree with Robbie, Nick. It’s good. We should take some back to London, too.”
Nash, thinking himself quite brave, brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted, surprised to find he liked the salty fish combined with the sweet milk, potatoes and shallots. “Actually, I find it rather tasty, perfect for warming one’s insides on a cold day.” He smiled at Ailie. “You see? I can learn to like your food.”
For some odd reason, that caused Ailie to blush, which made the freckles scattered over her nose stand out. He thought the effect quite charming.
Across the table, Muriel made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “Humph”.
After luncheon, they retired to the parlor to sample Mrs. Platt’s wassail. Nash had a fondness for the drink that tasted of apples, cinnamon and cloves. It reminded him that Christmas was a little less than a week away.
Remembering Robbie’s admonition, he thought perhaps he should go to town but, later, when the temperature dropped, he decided against it. Thus, he was in the parlor with the others, gathered for dinner, when the unexpected visitor arrived.
Chapter 10
“Guid eve’nin’ tae ye!”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Ailie turned. “Grandfather!”
Making her excuses to Muriel, Ailie hastened to meet him at the parlor door. The footman must have taken his coat and cap, leaving him in his dark blue woolen jacket, knitted vest and trousers. A scarf of the same blue was tied around his neck almost, but not quite, like a cravat. Beneath his silver hair, strong features and blue eyes, he sported a well-trimmed beard.
She kissed his leathery cheek that smelled of the sea and smoke, reminding her of his days at sea as a fisherman and of his current occupation. “You must come warm yourself by the fire, Grandfather, and then I will introduce you to our guests.”
She ushered him to the fireplace, proudly announcing to the others, “Grandfather Ramsay has paid us an impromptu visit. Once he warms up a bit, I will properly introduce you.”
Their guests parted to allow them to pass, curious gazes and smiles following them across the room. When they reached the countess, Ailie’s grandfather paused to give Muriel a long studying perusal before continuing on.
They reached the fireplace just as one of the footmen came to add a log to the fire.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ailie knew the answer before asking. Most of their guests were drinking wassail, but her grandfather would want a fisherman’s drink.
“Ale’d be guid.”
The footman nodded to Ailie and went to fetch the drink.
Her grandfather stretched his weathered hands toward the flames. “It’s fair jeelit outside. Cauld enough tae freeze kelpies.”
Ailie was amused at his mention of the mythical water spirit. “’Tis been freezing cold all day, Grandfather, and it’s worse now that the sun has set. I’m delighted to see you but why ever did you come out in such weather?”
Ailie’s brother appeared beside her. “Aye, is all well?”
The footman returned, handing her grandfather the ale.
“Weel,” began her grandfather, taking a long draw on his drink, “when ye sent word a band o’ Sassenachs were comin’ tae Stonehaven fer Hogmanay, I had tae see ’em fer meself. A mate o’ mine was sailin’ this way so I hopped aboard.”
Wondering where they would put him, Ailie asked, “How long will you be able to stay?”
“I hae tae leave in the mornin’ when my mate returns.”
“One night,” she murmured under her breath, exchanging a glance with Will.
“All the bedchambers are taken,” explained Will. “Even the servants have had to double up. But you can have my study. You remember, it’s the room on the other side of the entry hall just before you reach the library. The large sofa will make for a comfortable bed and you’ll not be disturbed.”
“’Twill do me jus’ fine. I’ve slept on fishin’ boats fer most o’ me life, ye ken.”
Angus Ramsay, now a widower, once owned his own fishing boats, but when he gave up the sea, he sold them and went into business in Stonehaven smoke-drying haddock. He was the reason they never lacked for smoked haddies. Now in his sixties, Ailie thought him quite distinguished looking, his weathered face, tanned and lined from so many years in the sun, speaking of his character.
“Well then,” said Ailie, “if you’re sufficiently warmed, you’d best meet our guests and join us for dinner.”
Her grandfather eyed Muriel. “I’d like tae meet her first.”
Will rolled his eyes. “I leave that to you, Ailie. I’ll see about preparing the study. And, Grandfather, after you’ve met the others, you must greet Emily.”
“Aye, I’m fond o’ the heather-eyed lass, soon tae be the mother o’ me new gran’bairn.”
Resigned to her role as interpreter, when Will left them for Emily, Ailie looped her arm through her grandfather’s and sallied forth to introduce him. “Now behave,” she said, leaning close to his ear. “You’re about to meet a countess of great renown of whom Will and I are quite fond, a marquess and his marchioness, the daughter of an earl and four shipmasters.”
“Unless one o’ them is Robert the Bruce, I’ll nae be swept off me feet.”
Ailie grinned, unsurprised that her grandfather would not be impressed by titles of British nobility. He saved his ardent passion for Scotland’s heroes. She stopped in front of the countess. “Muriel, may I introduce you to Angus Ramsay of Stonehaven, my maternal grandfather?”
Muriel nodded and graciously offered her hand.
Having frequently been a guest in their father’s home in Aberdeen, Angus Ramsay was not unmindful of the ways of the gentry. With more polish than Ailie might have expected given his station, her grandfather smiled at Muriel and bowed over her hand.
“Muriel is the Countess of Claremont, Grandfather, but our guests have decided to use given names for their stay with us, so I suspect she will allow you, for the now, to address her as ‘Muriel’.”
“Here’s tae ye, a grand fair lady, Muriel.”
Muriel’s hand went to her quizzing glass but she did not raise it, perhaps sensing that Ailie’s grandfather would have found it highly amusing and very English. But, as a lady, she did not fail to show her gratitude. “Most kind of you, sir.”
After that, the introductions proceeded smoothly.
According to Will, Hugh, while a marquess, had friends in many walks of life and could be unassuming. Mary, his gracious wife, accepted Ailie’s grandfather and he her. After making the introduction, as they walked away, Ailie’s grandfather said, “She has the look o’ a green-eyed sea witch. I ’spect her husband’s under her spell.”
Ailie was bemused by her grandfather’s ready acceptance of the fishermen’s folklore. “From what I have seen, you’re not far from the truth.”
Her grandfather took to Tara as soon as he discovered Nick’s wife was an American of Scots-Irish blood. “One o’ us!”
Nick told him that Tara sailed as often as she could. “My Irish cook is a great keeper of the fairy lore, Mr. Ramsay, and believes my wife is the leanan sídhe, a fairy of terrible power.” Nick added a grimace to go with the description.
Nick and Tara shared a chuckle, but Ailie’s grandfather just smiled, accepting fully Tara’s mythical origin. In Scotland, the glens had always produced legends of fairies, old clan tales, forebodings and superstitions. They were as much believed as the Scriptures.
When Ailie introduced her grandfather to Martin’s wife, Kit expressed a desire to sketch him. “I’m doing sketches of everyone this holiday, Mr. Ramsay,” she told him. “You have such an interesting face, I hope you will allow me to draw a likeness of you.”
“I shall put meself at yer disposal,” he said with a wink at Martin, who obviously knew the effect his wife had on older men.
/> They arrived in front of the twin Powell brothers and Ailie’s grandfather paused. “My oath! ’Tis two fish from the same barrel.”
Nash and Robbie smiled good-naturedly. Ailie knew they had heard such remarks many times, yet they were kind to her grandfather, which pleased her.
Ailie introduced them, putting the correct name to each twin, not only because of the clothes Nash wore but because of the unseen connection that now existed between them. When she met his penetrating gaze, she recognized him.
Her grandfather looked up at Robbie. “Rabbie,” he said, pronouncing Robbie’s name in the Scots fashion. “’Tis the name o’ the Bard o’ Ayrshire. Ye’re unwed, aye?”
“Both of us,” put in Nash, shooting Ailie a surprisingly bold look.
Before her grandfather could say more and embarrass her completely, Ailie excused herself and rushed him away. “Really, Grandfather.”
“Weel, ’tis time ye find a man, and that one’s named Rabbie.” To that, Ailie had no intention of replying. Her grandfather was worse than Will.
She led her grandfather to where Emily and Will stood talking with a footman.
“Guid tae see ye, dear Emily.”
“You, too, Angus.” Emily kissed him on his cheek. “I have requested another chair be added to the dining table. It will be a snug fit but I’m sure we will all do just fine.”
“I don’t think our guests will mind, Leannan,” said Will. “They are getting along splendidly.”
“As long as ye put me next tae Muriel,” said Grandfather Ramsay, “sittin’ close will nae fash me.”
Will gave Ailie a side-glance, his brows drawing together.
“Don’t ask,” she said.
At dinner, her grandfather—now addressed as “Angus” by all their guests—was quick to claim the chair next to Muriel who sat in her usual place adjacent to Will. Since the rest of them took the seats they’d had at their first dinner, that left Ailie between Nash and Robbie but with Angus squeezed in next to Muriel. Snug indeed.
After the barley soup and a fish course of baked cod in cream sauce with leeks, Will announced, “In honor of our English guests, we’re having roast beef tonight.”
Exclamations of delight sounded around the table.
“We English do like our roast beef,” said Robbie. He winked at Ailie. “And I wouldn’t turn away a slice of cheddar cheese.”
“I do believe there is cheddar cheese for you,” Emily assured him. “We can thank Muriel for her cook’s good services.”
“Mrs. Platt is a jewel,” said Muriel.
As the footmen served the roast beef, Ailie’s grandfather turned to the countess. “Ye brought yer cook?”
“Of course, my good man. If we’re to have a fine Christmas dinner it was necessary.”
Ailie’s grandfather shot a look of incredulity at Will. “Ye’re celebratin’ the Sassenach Yule?”
Will leaned toward him. “Grandfather, we have English guests who have come to celebrate Christmastide. We’re not telling the Parish Kirk minister. I learned to love Christmas when I was in England and I promised Emily we could celebrate the holiday as she always did before she married me.”
“Aye, weel if ’tis Emily’s wish, I willna object,” he said sheepishly.
Ailie had always known a lady could turn her grandfather from his intended course. Her own grandmother had managed to wrap him about her pinkie.
“William,” said Angus, “I fergot tae tell ye, I brought some o’ today’s smoked haddies and left them with yer man at the door.” Ailie smiled to herself. “Yer man at the door” was their grandfather’s name for their new butler.
“Very generous, Grandfather,” said Will.
Ailie darted a look at Nash. “Just think, smoked haddies for breakfast.”
“Eggs and scones for me,” he muttered under his breath.
Ailie jabbed him in the ribs. As close as they were, it was easily done.
“I look forward to the haddies, myself,” said Robbie, loud enough for Angus to hear. “How good of you to bring them.”
“Aye, ’tis me business, ye ken.”
A conversation then ensued among their guests about the business of smoking fish, her grandfather explaining he followed the Norse tradition of smoking the fish over an open fire.
“The Norse left their imprint on this part of Scotland,” she said. “We keep many of their traditions.”
Loving her grandfather as she did, the smell of the smoked fish brought back wonderful memories of Ailie’s summers spent in Stonehaven as a young girl, when she’d spent hours talking to her grandfather as he carefully tended his smoking fish.
Their guests were probably being kind not to remark on the faint odor of fish and smoke that lingered about her grandfather, as much a part of him as the pungent shag tobacco he smoked in his pipe. She had never stopped to consider him from someone else’s viewpoint—from that of London aristocrats and gentry, who were more accustomed to a drawing room than a fishing boat. But as she looked around the table at their guests, she saw only attentive interest and approval as he described his work. Inside, she relaxed. They like him for himself, she realized, just as I do. And she liked their guests all the better for it.
“I dinna suppose ye have any neeps an’ tatties?” her grandfather asked Emily, as he slipped a bite of beef into his mouth.
Nash raised his brows. “Neeps and tatties?”
“Turnips and potatoes,” said Will. Then to their grandfather, “Tatties aye, neeps no. But there are carrots.” Angus accepted some carrots and potatoes onto his plate as he pulled a rolled newspaper from inside his jacket and thrust it at Will. “The weekly. Thot ye might like tae see it.”
Ailie recognized their weekly newspaper the Montrose, Arbroath and Brechin Review. Robbie and Nash leaned forward, trying, she supposed, to get a look at it. Perhaps, being so far from London, they were starved for news. “Would you like to see the paper when Will’s done with it?”
“I would,” said Nash.
“Here,” Will handed him the newspaper, “just leave it in the library when you’re finished. It’s mostly local news, but occasionally there might be something that would be of interest to you and the others.”
From across the table, Martin said, “Shipping news?”
“Often,” said Will, “in the back of each issue, especially now that we have three shipbuilders in Arbroath and more than twenty ships operating from the harbor.”
“Weel,” began Ailie’s grandfather, “there’s talk o’ the clearances in the West, such as ye’d niver see here. No MacTavish ever put a puir man off his land.” He paused as if trying to recall more from what he had read. “An’ the laird from Dundee is still missin’, bless ’im.”
Mary addressed her husband. “Is that the one Captain Anderson told us about?”
“I believe so, sweetheart,” said Hugh. “The captain was unhappy about a man from Dundee charged with sedition for some speech he gave.”
“The verra one,” said Angus. “Admired in these parts. A man o’ quality who speaks fer the puir.”
Robbie and Nash exchanged a look. Ailie, sitting between them, wondered what was behind it. Why would they find George Kinloch of interest?
“I am happy for Kinloch to have escaped the authorities,” she said, speaking her mind. “The man only wants what’s fair for the people of Scotland. How is that sedition?”
Nash turned his wine glass in his hand, staring at the red liquid. “Perhaps it was not him but the worrisome crowd that came to hear him.”
“It might not have been sedition in November when he gave the speech,” Robbie interjected, “but, since then, the government has adopted a series of acts, one of which requires a magistrate’s permission to convene any public meeting of more than fifty people if they are discussing matters of state.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Muriel. “Why the men’s clubs of London would have to close their doors. Most nights, that is all they talk about.”
&nb
sp; Emily turned to look at her friend. “How might you know what men discuss at their clubs, dear Muriel?”
Muriel’s back went rigid, her nose lifting. “Many a night the Earl of Claremont would return all riled up about some argument a gaggle of men got into at White’s. The subject was always politics.”
“Doubtless, ’tis not the nobility the government is worried about,” offered Nash.
Her grandfather ruefully shook his head. “’Tis a sad day when a man canna gather his friends tae speak o’ what’s important tae him. If ’tis reform the Dundee laird seeks, ah’m sorry tae say he will nae be gettin’ his wish any time soon.”
The meal having concluded, the ladies retired to the parlor for tea, while Robbie and the six other men lingered around the table drinking brandy and port and smoking cigars. In the case of Angus Ramsay, a pipe.
With a glass of fine cognac in hand, Robbie listened to the conversation between Will and Angus on the political climate in Scotland, hoping to hear more about Kinloch.
“The problem,” explained William, “is too much power in the hands of too few. For Aberdeen, Arbroath and three other boroughs, there is only one representative in Parliament. For all of Scotland there are only fifteen.”
“Manchester has none,” mumbled Nash.
“That is a travesty,” put in Martin. “The massacre there reminded me of what happened in Derbyshire.”
Robbie shared a look with Nash. William’s words had echoed what they had heard in the taverns in Manchester. They had never told Nick and Martin of their spying for Sidmouth but their parents knew.
“Weel,” put in Angus, leaning back to send a puff of smoke into the air, “at least we hiv Joseph Hume in Parliament.”
“I have heard my father speak of him,” said Hugh. “Elected last year?”
“Aye,” said William. “After a long absence. Like as not you’ve also heard he’s a radical, as all those who seek reform are labeled these days.”
Angus pulled his pipe from his mouth. “Hume comes from guid stock. I knew his fathir, maister o’ a fine fishin’ boat in Montrose.”