I held Ceit until the Groom had disappeared back towards the stables, then pushed her away, ever so gently. ‘Your carriage awaits, my love,’ I said, bowing.
She rewarded me with a laugh and presented her hand to me, dropping another one of her little curtsies.
I laughed with her. Yes, our love may have been silent, but it was true.
***
Chapter Fifteen
Ceit sat primly beside me in the front of the landau as I drove it to Tarbert. She held my manuscript carefully, occasionally running her fingers over it and looking down at it.
At one point, she reached over and kissed me, hugging the manuscript to her heart as she did so and the action invigorated me. I found myself laughing out loud as we drove, and I urged the horses to run faster so we could feel the sting of the salt air on our cheeks and the wind whipping past us as we sped along the road.
There was the church which I had avoided since before Christmas, perched atop of a hill in a most prominent position. And there was the sea and the loch, rushing past us.
I had no desire to linger in the village. I parked the landau outside the shop, a general hardware and household supplies emporium which also housed the post office, with the intention of hurrying in to post my manuscript: ‘I will be gone no longer than I have to be, I told Ceit.
She seemed terrified by all the people in the village – it was a busy little harbour town after all, and she shrank away to huddle in the corner of the seat, her eyes wide and searching. Poor thing – if she was indeed devoid of hearing, the sight of the hustle and bustle must have been beyond comprehension for her. Not knowing who was coming up behind her, who was hailing her, who was approaching her …
I felt guilty for bringing her here. It was entirely selfish of me to take her away from the tranquillity of Howard House – but needs must. And she, after all, had encouraged me to post the manuscript.
‘I shall be as fast as humanly possible,’ I told her again, squeezing her hand.
She nodded. One forefinger hit off the other forefinger. Her hands were shaking.
Hurry.
‘I promise,’ I said.
And hurry I did.
I would have been faster still, had the woman behind the counter not attempted to delay me with conversation.
‘Mr Howard!’ She was a thin, wiry woman, clad in black tartalan which rustled as she moved. ‘I heard your sister had returned to London. I didn’t know that you were planning on staying on without her.’
‘I don’t need tell everyone in the village my business, do I?’ I replied smoothly. I handed over the manuscript. ‘But as it happens, I have been working on this novel and I found it better to work unhindered. I suggested that Miss Howard return to London for the festive season as I was not much company and she does enjoy a little socialising.’ There was no need to tell her Ceit had been staying with me instead.
The woman, Mrs Mackie, was seemingly satisfied by that response as she laughed. ‘You’re right, Mr Howard. Young girls these days, they do enjoy parties. But you know,’ she looked at me searchingly, ‘you do seem a little peaky. I was wondering whether you had been ill. It seems your Uncle, God rest his soul, was ill and nobody knew. We would have helped him, but we never saw him.’
Although Mrs Mackie said those words innocently and whilst staring at me fixedly, I could sense the undertones. That was the trouble with small villages. You could never have any privacy. No wonder Ruairí disassociated himself with the world. Having these people following your every move and speculating on your health was enough to turn anyone into a hermit.
‘I am perfectly well, Mrs Mackie,’ I said. ‘And will be starting my new novel as soon as I return to Howard House. So you may see me again in a few weeks, with another package to post, but please do not worry about me unnecessarily. I shall be working.’
She nodded, capitulated and named her price for the postage. I fumbled in my pockets for the money and handed it over. Once more, I noticed how frail my hands looked and that they were shaking slightly. I rubbed my chin and felt the prickling of several day’s worth of stubble, moved my hand to my cheeks and felt the sharpness of my bones protruding from the skin; I dropped my hand and put it in my pocket.
I wondered, for a brief moment, whether Mrs Mackie was right and I was ill. I certainly felt healthier up at Howard House than I felt at this particular moment. I wobbled and stumbled forward into the counter, the world shifting a little on its axis as I put out my hands to save myself.
Mrs Mackie was saying something, but it seemed to be coming from a great distance and I tried my very best to concentrate on her and understand her. How long was it since I had eaten? Or even drank water? I couldn’t remember when I’d last had a full night’s sleep, that was for certain.
I was on the verge of admitting to Mrs Mackie that perhaps I did need some sort of medical assistance, when I looked up at the door and saw Ceit peeping inside the shop. Beautiful, wonderful, terrified Ceit.
Oh, my love.
My love?
She held the frame of the door, worried at coming inside the shop, I think – of entering the unfamiliar, frightening atmosphere. How terrible that she could not hear what I was trying to say; what Mrs Mackie was trying to say. That she must just be seeing me, the man who had sworn to protect her and look after her almost brought to his knees,
I closed my eyes. I could not imagine what it would be like to be deprived of one’s senses – of any sense.
My love. Be strong.
Her words flowed into me, strengthening me, even as Mrs Mackie was opening the latch on the counter and coming towards me.
Ceit. I had to be strong for her. I reached out my hand but she wouldn’t - couldn’t -come in.
Be strong. I’m here.
I concentrated on her, I made myself look at her, made myself focus on her…
And gradually, the world stopped moving. My feet were planted firmly on the floor, my limbs could bear my weight. I did not feel the effects of hunger or thirst or fatigue.
I was myself again.
I stood up, and forced myself to breathe slowly and evenly.
I was strong again.
‘Mr Howard!’ Mrs Mackie’s voice came at me and I blinked. I turned to look at her and saw the woman looking highly concerned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am, Mrs Mackie,’ I said. ‘I am now.’ My gaze slid away from Mrs Mackie and I looked at the door again. I turned to face it, looking for Ceit. I needed to see her. I needed to know she was all right.
‘Who’s there? Who are you waiting for?’ asked Mrs Mackie, confused. She looked from myself to the door, to myself again.
But she was gone – huddled back, I would have thought, into the landau, scared out of her wits, waiting for me to rescue her.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I told Mrs Mackie. ‘I do apologise.’
I nodded briefly to her, my cheeks burning at such a show of weakness and hurried out of the shop.
I was right. Ceit was in the carriage, waiting for me.
I climbed up and took my seat beside her. I picked up the reins. Ceit pressed her fingers onto my forearm and I looked at her. She spread her fingers and made little circles around her face.
I nodded. ‘I know you were worried. I was too,’ I said. I cracked the reins and Ceit hung onto me as if she would never let me go. I looked down at her as I manoeuvred the landau away from Mrs Mackie’s shop. ‘Come. Let us go to the castle,’ I said. ‘It’s peaceful there.’ Still holding the reins, but loosening my grip slightly, I brought my hands together, my index finger and thumb touching. I moved my hands away from each other, horizontally ‘It’s quiet,’ I reiterated. Ceit nodded and laid her head against me, where she remained for the rest of the bumpy ride up to the headland where Tarbert Castle was situated.
And I was relieved to be leaving the village. The incident in the shop had worried me more than I had thought possible.
***
Chapter Sixteen
> I drew the landau up to the side of the road, at the bottom of the track which led up to the castle. It was muddy and unpleasant as I helped Ceit out of the carriage and I began to doubt whether I had made the correct decision to bring her here after all.
One look at her, however, had me convinced I hadn’t made a mistake after all. She turned her little face up to the castle – nothing much more than a tower and a tumble of rocks on the headland – and she took off at what I can only describe as a gallop. She ran up the hill, weaving her way expertly between the rocks and the muddy patches that spattered across the grass.
‘Ceit!’ I called, uselessly, I know, and I began to run after her.
I kept her in my sights as she scrambled up the hill. I had to keep pausing to catch my breath – I was much less fit than I had been last time I climbed up here, and my heart was thumping against my chest as I dragged great ragged gulps of air into my lungs. ‘Ceit!’
She doubled back, silhouetted against the sky and ran down to meet me, her arms flung out and her hair streaming behind her. I could hear her laughing, taunting me almost:
How can I be up here already and you be down there?
‘I don’t know!’ I gasped as I leaned on a rock and doubled over to catch my breath. I felt like an old man – three times my age at least. I shook my head, unable to get another word out. The world began to close in again and I feared a return to that state I had endured within Mrs Mackie’s shop.
She was beside me in an instant, her hand at my elbow, supporting me and guiding me upwards.
She felt so vital next to me, I could almost absorb the energy from her.
Come on Charles! We have to get to the top.
Exhausted, I let her manoeuvre me up the track, keeping my eyes fixed on the path, concentrating on putting one foot in front of another. I couldn’t even speak to her.
Here we are.
She stopped and tugged at my arm so I looked up. I squinted against the sunlight glinting off Loch Fyne and beyond that, the Firth of Clyde. There was a surprising amount of warmth in that sun – the grass was green and dry, the walls of the castle not dripping with frost or dampness as I would have expected. Ceit clutched at my arm again and I looked down at her.
Isn’t it beautiful?
Her eyes were sparkling, just like the diamonds that crested the waves in the water far below us. I had been up here dozens of times. It was a nice enough place, the scrambling playground of an adventurous little boy on his holidays. It held good memories for me and I had hoped I could introduce her to some of the magic. However, it seemed that she was breathing magic into it for me. The place had never looked so green and so picturesque. The lapping water below had never looked so charming.
‘Yes,’ I said slowly, looking around me. ‘It is indeed beautiful. I had never realised before.’ I straightened up, forcing my back to unbend and stretch out. I was twenty-five, not seventy-five. The walk up here had not been so bad, had it?
I took a deep, invigorating breath of the mild air and marvelled afresh at the Gulf Stream. It could make pockets of springtime in the west of Scotland and we had been fortunate enough to stumble upon one of them here today.
There were even some daisies sprouting through the grass. Ceit fell upon them with a little cry of delight and began stringing them together into a chain. I leaned against the grey stones of the castle and watched her. In my pocket I carried a small notebook and a pencil, a habit I had fallen into at Howard House so I was always ready to draw or jot down notes as I strolled with Ceit. I took them out now and slid down the castle wall until I was sitting on the warm grass, my knees bent and the notebook balanced upon them.
I began to sketch Ceit as she was then, surrounded by daisies and – yes – buttercups. Now I saw drifts of pink-purple clover nestled within soft leaves, bees buzzing drowsily around them. It was remarkably warm, more like a summer’s day than early January, but I was content not to dwell on this wonder; I was content only to capture Ceit in graphite, cross-hatching the shadows that dappled the grass around her and shading the blushes in her cheeks.
The peace and tranquillity of the headland and the ruined castle relaxed me and fortified me in equal measures. I laid the book down and placed the pencil neatly on top of it, then stretched and yawned.
Ceit looked up. She was wearing the original daisy chain as a headdress and already had one chain around her left wrist. She had incorporated softly glowing yellow buttercups and pink-tipped daises and was in the process of making another one – I presumed it was for her right wrist. But no. I was wrong. She smiled into my eyes and began to crawl across the grass towards me, never breaking her gaze. It was hypnotic. When she reached me, she kneeled before me and took hold of my left hand. She fastened the flower chain around my wrist and then took hold of both my hands. She crossed my arms gently against my chest.
Love.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do love you.’
She smiled and laid her palm on my forehead. She began to stroke my forehead very gently and her touch was soothing. My eyelids fluttered and closed. The sights and sounds of the outside world vanished, and I was in that wondrous dream-state again.
‘Do you like it here?’ she asked me.
‘I think I love it here. I’m sure I love you,’ I told her and she laughed. She sat back on her heels and began to unbutton the front her dress.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘What does it look like?’ she replied.
‘But we are in public!’ I said, half-horrified, half-excited. ‘What if someone stumbles upon us?’
‘What if?’ she replied. ‘Would it stop you? Nobody will bother us. Trust me. Help me, Charles. I can’t get the laces.’
She turned so her back was to me and tipped her head forward, lifted her hair up so it tumbled over her forearms and waited. I understood. And on the top of that hill in the shadow of Tarbert Castle, I helped her undress and she helped me undress and soon there was no time for conversation.
And then I was back. We were still on the hill, still against the castle. Still fully clothed. Ceit was nestled beside me, watching the boats bobbing around on the Loch and the waves breaking against the shores. She was humming a tune, so strange and so beautiful that I was spellbound. I listened carefully, not moving for fear of disturbing her – surely, though, my silent companion could not be singing? How had she ever heard music? How could she even translate music into sound?
She turned to face me, conscious, perhaps that I was watching and wondering. Her smile was guileless, and I realised the music was still there, barely audible, just on the very edge of my conscious mind. But it couldn’t be her. It didn’t seem to be coming from her now. She scrambled to her feet, collecting my sketchbook and pencil and presenting them to me. She caught my wrist and fingered the daisy chain, then touched the one in her hair and the one on her own wrist.
I wish we could wear them always, to remind us of today.
‘I do too,’ I said. I stood up, the warmth of the sun easing my aches and pains and held my hand out to her. I noticed my hand was my own again, not old or frail, but mine; strong and capable and tanned a light gold from the sun this afternoon. ‘Incredible,’ I said, turning my hand a little.
I wish it could always be summer.
Ceit stood, hugging herself and looking a little sad.
‘But just imagine what it will be like here at Midsummer,’ I told her, taking her in an embrace. I held her away a little, so she could read me and understand how ardently I meant what I was about to say. ‘I promise I will bring you back. This is our special place now.’
But she shook her head.
No. You are my special place.
‘And you mine,’ I said. ‘Without you, my manuscript would still be incomplete.’
You must get back to work when we return home. You don’t have forever. I need you to do it, Charles - before Midsummer comes.
As I felt those words take shape in my mind a little shiver of unease
flickered through me. There was something about Ceit at that particular moment that I caught and I didn’t like. She looked sly, triumphant, even. She took my hand and the look was gone. She was back to her sweet self, smiling up at me and tugging at my arm to get back to the landau.
Home.
I let myself be led away from the ruins of Tarbert Castle. I didn’t look back until we were at the bottom of the hill.
When I did, the grass was muddied and flat. The walls of the old building were grim and gun-metal grey. The glassless windows were dark holes in the structure and the sea beyond was bleak and wild. No boats bobbed on the water. No spots of white or yellow dotted the hillside.
When I helped Ceit into the landau, my hands were shrivelled again; the hands of an old man. There was no sun tan. Just white, slack flesh and snaking blue veins.
I struggled to climb into the carriage, my legs refusing to co-operate. I took the reins and hoped the horses would get us back before exhaustion and despair claimed me.
***
Chapter Seventeen
The days after our trip to Tarbert fell into the usual pattern. We woke, we walked. I worked, we slept. We made love. She spoke to me in my dreams and I thought of nothing else.
It must have been towards mid - February when I thought of Bella.
Ceit was somewhere in the house – I know not where. I was in the drawing room, describing the heroine of my novel in great detail, scratching the words onto the paper, waxing lyrical about her strawberry blonde hair and light-heartedness. She had a most individual dress sense - quite formal and prim on a day to day basis, but when she went to the ball, she shone. She caught the eye of a young rake, who—
I paused and re-read my work. It was Bella. My little sister who I had treated so cruelly before Christmas. I laid the pen down, nauseous as I recalled our final conversation. I saw again the carriage driving away down the path, full of trunks and people. Bella, squashed up inside, being taken to a railway station to find her own way home in mid-winter.
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