A Secret Scottish Christmas (Agents of the Crown Book 4)

by Regan Walker

  Robbie gave Kit a surprised look. “You added the animals you envisioned when you were drawing my face?”

  “Of course. Those are the two sides of you,” said Kit. “The playful rogue and the dangerous spy, though at the time, I did not know of your work for the Crown.”

  Muriel recognized her own image in the next drawing. It depicted that day in the library when she had puzzled over her cards while fiddling with her pearls. The sketch even captured the feather rising from her head into the air. “Our card game, I presume.”

  Emily laughed. “Yes, I believe that was the moment when I fetched you the Madeira, giving you time to consider your next move.”

  Muriel lifted her chin. She would not apologize for her small deception. “I did not even win that round. As I recall, that one went to Robbie.”

  Kit turned another page. “The last one of the couples is of William and Emily under the kissing bough.”

  “Oh my,” said Emily, bringing her hand over her heart. “You caught us kissing.”

  William put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Just as I would want to remember us this holiday. The first kissing bough at our home in Arbroath being christened. Something to tell the bairn about.”

  “This next one,” explained Kit, turning the page, “is twice as large as the others, taking up two pages. It’s my sketch of our time when you skated on the frozen pond. You’re all in it, save Muriel and myself. We were sitting on the bench. And there are smaller drawings of some whose actions caught my eye.”

  “That would be me taking a fall,” put in Robbie. “Nash is the one gliding around the ice with Ailie.”

  Muriel recalled the afternoon with great fondness. The others did as well, speaking of their time on the ice as a day they would long remember. As for Muriel, she would always think of the memory the day had brought to her mind when she and the earl had skated on another pond.

  Turning the page, Kit said, “Here is Angus Ramsay dining with us. I am so glad I got to know him. Isn’t he a distinguished-looking fellow?”

  “That he is,” said Ailie, “and a wonderful man.”

  Muriel studied the weathered face Kit had captured with her pencil. In the many lines and hearty smile, she saw a friend she hoped to see again. “A fine gentleman.”

  “Those of you who went deer stalking will remember this scene,” offered Kit.

  Muriel leaned over to see a glen between two hills and the hunters with their guns over their shoulders, waiting it seemed. Ailie stood to one side with Nash and the setters.

  “What were you waiting for?” asked Emily.

  “The hinds to appear,” said William. “More particularly, the right kind of hind for the culling.”

  Muriel pointed to a small sketch in the bottom corner. “What’s this?”

  “That is the aftermath of the avalanche,” replied Kit. “You can see the snow piled up and one deer’s legs sticking out of the snow.”

  “Oh my,” said Muriel. She had heard them describe it at dinner that night but to see it, even in miniature, was quite another matter.

  Kit flipped to the next drawing. “This is the happy day we brought in the Yule log.”

  “Happy for those of you who did not have to drag the beast inside,” said Nick.

  “We did it together,” William corrected.

  “So we did,” agreed Nick.

  Turning the page, Kit announced, “The day everyone decorated the house for Christmas. I thought to capture the kitchen, a room you never see. Here are Emily and Muriel adding green boughs to the shelves with the help of Mrs. Platt and Martha.”

  “How thoughtful of you to draw this,” said Emily. “Martha will be ever so pleased to see she was remembered as a part of your holiday.”

  “Mrs. Platt must see this as well,” Muriel chimed in.

  Kit turned the page to reveal a sketch of all the ladies, even Muriel. “Christmas Eve. You all looked so pretty, I just had to try and record it. I do hope I got the gowns right.”

  “You managed to get mine just right,” said Muriel. “What a memory you have, Kit.”

  “Well, I did ask to see some of the gowns later to get a bit of our frippery correctly drawn.”

  Standing behind his wife, Martin leaned down and kissed the side of her head. “You did very well, Kitten.”

  “Since we were always eating it seems, I thought one of the sketches had to be a meal. This is Christmas dinner, roast goose and all the trimmings.”

  Many oohs and aahs resounded. Muriel remembered the dishes, especially the desserts. “Won’t Mrs. Platt be pleased to see this?”

  “You’re making me hungry,” said Hugh.

  “And now for Dunnottar,” announced Kit, who was well into the second sketchbook. “The brooding ruins, but without the ghosts. I really wouldn’t know how to draw one.”

  Muriel scrutinized the drawing, seeing the massive dark rock and the ruins resting upon it, reminders of troublesome days in Scotland’s past. In the corners of the drawing were smaller vignettes, the craggy coast as seen from the sea, a storm petrel in flight, and a few of the buildings. One was the chapel.

  “I remember well the chapel,” said Nash. “It was there Ailie accepted my proposal of marriage.”

  Ailie remembered it well, too, judging by the look she bestowed on Nash.

  “And the final three sketches,” said Kit, “are from Stonehaven: The Ship Inn, Nash and Ailie in the church being married and the Hogmanay feast after.”

  The others pored over the drawings, some asking to examine the first sketchbook. Muriel herself was more than a little impressed.

  Emily kissed the artist on her cheek. “You have given us a wonderful gift, Kit. One we will treasure always. Now that you will all be returning to London, even taking our dear Ailie for a while, this will remind William and me of our time together.”

  “Thank you, Kit,” said William. Rising, he added, “When everyone is finished here, dinner awaits.”

  The next morning, Ailie woke in the same chamber she had slept in for the last five years, only it was not the same. Now, a naked man lay beside her, a very attractive man, whose lovemaking brought heat to her cheeks just to think of it. He had taught her to love their bodies and the marriage bed.

  She stared up at the ceiling as dawn crept into their chamber. “Nash, I’ve been thinking…”

  He rolled toward her, brushing her breasts with his fingers, causing her nipples to draw into tight buds, sending a twinge of anticipation to her woman’s center. “Yes, my love?”

  “Where will we live when we are in London?”

  He captured her hands in his and pressed them into the pillow above her head, as he trailed kisses down her neck. Her thoughts scattered. In between kisses, he said, “With my parents until we find our own house. I’ve had my eye on another one at Adelphi Terrace coming up for sale.” He nibbled on her breasts. “Now I have a reason to buy it, that is, if you like it. We won’t need a very large house, not at first anyway.” He raised his head to give her a wicked smile. “And if we are close to my parents, they can keep an eye on our house while we’re away in Arbroath. Would that suit?”

  She gazed into his hazel eyes, glistening with desire. “Aye, it suits me fine. And since Rhona has agreed to come along, I feel better facing the gentry in London. She’ll see that I am properly attired.”

  “You have nothing to worry about on that score. Muriel has agreed to help and she is an expert in the ton.” He resumed kissing her neck, dropping his mouth to her breasts. “I can smell bread baking, my love, but we might have a bit of time for us if we don’t dawdle.”

  But she and Nash did dawdle, as he put it. When they finally made their appearance downstairs, no one seemed surprised. Honeymooning couples, they were told, were not expected to watch the clock.

  Ailie had taken the setters for a good long walk before stowing them belowdecks where special arrangements had been made for them.

  From the deck of the Albatross, the passengers wa
ved goodbye to Will and Emily. Ailie knew they were all sad to be leaving, but the parents among them were also eager to return to their children and their homes.

  A lump formed in Ailie’s throat and her eyes filled with tears as she waved goodbye to her brother and sister-in-law.

  His arm around her, Nash shouted from the rail, “I’ll bring her back in the spring to see the babe!”

  The ship’s sails billowed with wind as the Albatross left the coast heading south.

  “Wherever you are is my home now, Nash.”

  “’Tis the same for me, Ailie.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone knows if Captain Anderson carries Madeira on this ship,” said Muriel as she turned toward the aft hatch.

  Robbie offered Muriel his arm. “As to that, I’ve no intelligence, but he stocks a damn fine brandy.”

  Ailie laughed, grateful the two of them had lightened her mood.

  Nash took her hand. “Come, my love. Since we failed to appear at breakfast, I’ve a hunger for some of that haddie stew.”

  “Cullen Skink,” she said, returning his smile, secure in the knowledge she had found the right man and none too soon.

  See the Pinterest Board for A Secret Scottish Christmas

  Author’s Note

  It may surprise you to know that Christmas was not celebrated as a festival in Scotland for about four hundred years. This dates back to the Protestant Reformation when the Scottish Kirk proclaimed Christmas a Catholic feast. While the actual prohibition, passed by Scotland’s Parliament in 1640, didn’t last long, the Church of Scotland, which is Presbyterian, discouraged Yule celebrations beginning as early as 1583 and this continued into the 1950s. Many Scots worked over Christmas and celebrated the Winter Solstice at the New Year, which celebration came to be known as Hogmanay.

  It was not until 1958 that Christmas Day became a public holiday in Scotland; Boxing Day followed in 1974.

  William Stephen. Should you be wondering, William Stephen’s character is based on a real person, as is his family in Aberdeen and their business, Alexander Stephen & Sons. Alexander Stephen founded his shipbuilding enterprise on the Moray Firth in 1750. In 1793, William Stephen, a descendent of his, established a firm of shipbuilders in Aberdeen. In 1813, another member of the family, again named William, began another shipbuilding enterprise in Arbroath.

  The real William Stephen did, indeed, fight in France where he was taken prisoner and, upon his release, opened a shipyard in Arbroath in 1814. You first met him and Emily in The Holly & The Thistle. His sister Aileen, however, is entirely fictional.

  As of 1817, Arbroath was Scotland’s biggest sailcloth producer. At the time of my story, it was a thriving harbor town with at least three shipbuilders.

  Ailie’s Setters. Yes, Goodness and Mercy were Gordon Setters. Alexander, the Duke of Gordon (1743-1827), established his famous kennel of working setters at Gordon Castle in Scotland, but at the time of my story, he was just perfecting the breed and they had not yet come to be known by his title. Nor were they just black with tan markings. In the early days, they also had white markings. You can see them on the Pinterest storyboard for the book.

  The Ships. All the ships in the story were real and built in Arbroath. The Albatross was a ship built by William Stephen. The Panmure, a fully rigged schooner, was built by Alex Fernie. It was named after the Earl of Panmure, who lost his title after the Rising of 1715. The Ossian was a schooner built in Arbroath in 1820, though I doubt it was of the advanced design Ailie envisioned in my story. Those ships came a bit later.

  The Peterloo Massacre. The Peterloo massacre that took place at St Peter’s Field in Manchester in August 1819 happened as I have presented it, relying upon journals of individuals who were there that fateful day. The slaughter sparked protests in both England and Scotland. There was rioting in both Glasgow and Paisley. Unlike many workers in England, the weavers in Scotland were a skilled and literate group that traditionally worked on commission, choosing their own hours. They were proud, independent and, not surprisingly, more radical in their outlook than the English.

  From the autumn of 1819, a “general rising” had been expected, hence the rumors that made their way to Arbroath that December. And perhaps that is one reason for the government’s harsh treatment of George Kinloch. All these events culminated in what became known as the “Radical War” of April 1820.

  George Kinloch, you will be pleased to know, safely reached Brittany, France and wrote to his wife at the end of December that he was in perfect health and good spirits. (He was a great correspondent and we know much of his thoughts from his letters to his wife Helen.) I took some poetic license with his point of departure; he sailed from Dover not Arbroath. The prior year, when he had gone to France with his two sons, he sailed from Dundee. But, to me, Arbroath seemed like such a reasonable place for him to sail from on this occasion. Don’t you agree?

  Henry Hunt was finally released from prison in 1822, wearing an elegant tartan courtesy of the Greenock Radicals. George Kinloch was pardoned in 1823 and, in December 1832, after passage of the Reform Bill, he was made the first representative in Parliament for the people of Dundee. Ailie was right. He was, indeed, a hero.

  Inns, Taverns, Churches, Streets and Newspapers. All these were real. My readers know that the research to make my stories authentic is important to me. The Ship Inn and the taverns mentioned were actual establishments. Some are open to this day but others are historical. The churches were actual places of worship, open at the time. (The Covenanters’ Stone in the Dunnottar churchyard did exist at the time and today.) The streets named were real streets. And the newspapers referenced were journals read at the time.

  The Language of the Scots. As you might imagine, Scots living on the Northeast coast of Scotland spoke a unique dialect, as they do today, except in prominent families such as the Stephens, who spoke the King’s English. (Their journals read like ones written by English men and women). They might have spoken with an accent, of course. Most of the common people would have spoken the Doric dialect. Since Doric would be hard for readers to understand, I used it sparingly and sprinkled the book with a few Scottish expressions to give you a flavor for the local speech, particularly in the taverns and for Ailie’s grandfather.

  Scot, Scotsman, Scotch or Scottish… how to refer to the Scots? The terminology can be confusing. Robert Burns, Scotland’s poet, referred to the people of Scotland as “Scots”. As you know from reading my stories set in Medieval Scotland, the people have always been “Scots” and their kings were never Kings of Scotland, but Kings of the Scots, the people being of first importance, not the land, as in England. The Scots themselves refer to their stories and language as “Scottish”, but in past times they used the word “Scotch” in place of “Scottish” or “Scot”, something not done today.

  In Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay, first published in 1857, the author looks back “forty years” (which would be to the Regency era) and describes the unique “Scottish dialect”. In one place, he says, “I recollect old Scottish ladies and gentlemen who really spoke Scotch.” He also refers to “the Scotch” as a people and describes himself as “an out and out Scotchman”. So there you have it.

  Clans, Septs and Tartans. In 1815, the Highland Society of London asked all the clan chiefs to authenticate their tartans. Thus, by the time of my story, many tartans had been recorded. The Stephens were a sept, or a part of, Clan MacDuff; and Angus Ramsay was of Clan Ramsay. Each had its own tartan.

  Horticulture in Scotland and Orangeries. An orangery (or orangerie) was a room or a building on the grounds of fashionable estates from the 17th to the 19th centuries where orange and other fruit trees were protected during the winter, similar to a greenhouse or conservatory. Pineapples were grown in Scotland’s orangeries (sometimes called the pinery) from the early 18th century, most often in pits filled with a source of heat. Oak bark in water was often used. When the oak chips fermented, they released heat at
a slow and steady rate.

  It was not until the 19th century that orangeries were able to develop into efficient glass houses for plants. By 1816, piped hot water had been introduced into Britain, making it possible to locate stoves outside the orangery.

  Food and Drink. In the late 18th century, Georgian hostesses entertained in grand style in their new dining rooms. Instead of the usual two large courses of food at dinner, wealthy families in Scotland offered guests several smaller courses including soup, fish, game, roast meat, pudding and dessert. Food was richer with more complicated recipes and there was a greater emphasis on cream and sugar in desserts.

  Kale. THE Scots national vegetable was the green kale, particularly among Lowlanders. Nettles, leeks, onions, sorrel, carrots, and turnips were all considered inadequate rivals. The cotter’s garden is still called “the kaleyard”, and the time-honored vegetable still holds a place of honor in the nation’s esteem.

  The Absence of Whisky. Some of you might wonder why my Scottish characters weren’t drinking whisky. While distillation of whisky had been going on for a long time, most of the distilleries were illicit. The invention of the column still by Scotsman Robert Stein in 1828 revolutionized whisky making in Scotland. Then in 1831, Aeneas Coffey invented the Coffey or Patent Still, which enabled a continuous process of distillation leading to the production of grain whisky, a less intense spirit than the malt whisky produced in the copper pot stills. Andrew Usher & Co improved upon this invention in 1860, blending malt and grain whisky together to produce a lighter flavored whisky.

  In the early days, Scotch whisky was mostly considered the equivalent of moonshine—a drink enjoyed by unrefined Highlanders, aged in sheep bladders and filtered through tartan. Men of William Stephen’s stature would be drinking the finest European wines, along with sherry, port, brandy and cognac.

  Shipmasters, like the Powells, sailing to France, would have brought back such drinks. In To Tame the Wind, we learned that Claire Powell was the daughter of Jean Donet, comte de Saintonge, who owned cognac-producing vineyards in France. From The Holly & The Thistle you might recall that Muriel’s favorite drink is Madeira, the wine from Portugal popular in the Regency era.