by Lizzie Lamb
‘Mitzi and Angus?’ he asked.
‘In the kitchen, supervising food and drink for our - your - unexpected guests,’ she answered crisply, hoping he hadn’t noticed her trip over the pronoun.
‘Isla?’ he asked, holding his hands out towards the fire.
‘Upstairs.’
‘Par for the course.’ He curled his lip and Fliss suspected there would be fresh confrontations over breakfast tomorrow and was glad she had her bolthole to scurry back to when tonight was over. Isla was a fool, a show of penitence now and Ruairi’s attitude towards her could alter significantly. But it was a compromise she was seemingly unwilling to make.
No need for Cat to go down the same road, however.
‘Cat’s been a godsend. She’s got a real talent for helping me - and helping others.’ She brought Cat forward, willing him to say something positive to her.
‘Well done, Squirt,’ he said, obviously picking up the vibe. He peeled off his coat, handed it to Jaimsie, came over to ruffle Cat’s hair and laid a brotherly hand on her shoulder. Fliss felt the love between them, and guessed that despite the heavy brother act she’d witnessed on several occasions, there was great affection and trust there, too.
‘Thanks, Ruairi,’ Cat beamed.
‘Right; you seem to have everything under control here, Fliss. I’ll leave you to it. Jaimsie - the fire can look after itself - away and get a wee dram for everyone, if you please.’ The grin that split Jaimsie’s craggy face showed that it pleased him very much indeed.
‘Oh, but - it’s not a good idea to give alcohol to people who might be in shock or suffering from hypothermia. It goes against the fundamental principles of emergency first aid.’ Fliss bit her lip, knowing she sounded like some starchy ward sister and steeled herself for his reaction. The General Medical Council might view Ruairi’s cure-all askance but in these parts, giving guests a shot of whisky was in keeping with highland hospitality.
‘Come, Nurse Bagshawe, surely you won’t deny your patients a dram of uisge beatha.’ He pronounced it ish-ga ba-ha.
‘I’m afraid I must until they’ve had something to eat and a warm drink inside them,’ she replied firmly. Her heart hammered against her breastbone as she waited for his wrath to descend.
‘Highly commendable,’ was his surprising reaction. ‘I bow to your superior knowledge in these matters. We’ll hold it in reserve until you give us permission to administer it. It has healing and antiseptic properties you know,’ he said poker-faced. But she could tell from the light dancing in his eyes that he was teasing her.
‘If you say so,’ she stammered, thoroughly wrong-footed by his backing her up. She gave him a far from convinced look and stood with one hand on her hip and with the other holding a disposable thermometer. Like she was indeed Nurse Bagshawe.
Then they caught the inimical glance that Jaimsie the piper was sending towards them, openly furious at being denied a dram of the Laird’s finest malt. His expression was so comical that Fliss burst out laughing. Ruairi, hiding his own amusement, said something soothing to Jaimsie, in Gaelic.
‘I hope you’re not undermining my authority,’ Fliss said giving him a mock-stern look as Jaimsie brightened up and walked off towards the kitchens.
‘I wouldn’t dare. I thought it best to let Jaimsie have his uisge beatha or he’d be playing the Urquhart Funeral March on his bagpipes every morning for the next week as we beat the bounds past the Wee Hoose.’
‘I know. I’ve seen you …’
She clammed up - she didn’t want him thinking she hid behind the curtains in the hope of catching a glimpse of him marking out the limits of his ancestral acres. Even though that was exactly what she did. Ruairi’s brow puckered, as if he was trying to figure her out and get a handle on the sea change taking place between them. Then, as the first travellers were brought before Fliss’s triage station, he issued orders to the staff and volunteers - and it was all hands to the pumps.
Time passed quickly as a steady stream of travellers of all ages passed through Fliss’ hands. She showed Cat how to clean and dress a wound, assess each traveller for injury and decide on treatment. Fortunately, most of the travellers were well enough to be dispatched almost straightaway to the kitchen for sandwiches and a mug of good strong tea.
‘We were on our way back from Oban and a family wedding when the weather got worse,’ an elderly gentleman explained, as Fliss cleaned his grazed knuckles with an antiseptic wipe. ‘I never thought we’d end up anywhere as grand as this.’ He looked round the hall with its imposing staircase, family portraits and air of gracious antiquity. ‘Never mind having the Laird himself carry me out of the mini bus.’
‘Aye, we’ll no forget tonight in a hurry,’ his wife added and looked over at Ruairi. ‘The likes of us … in a place like this,’ she echoed her husband’s words.
Fliss looked at the scene through their eyes. Ruairi and Murdo looked the part in their plaid trousers - or trubhas - in contrasting tartans, short dinner jackets with silver buttons on the turned back cuffs and dress shirts. The ladies in their evening dresses and Angus in his tux with Gordon tartan cummerbund all added to the overall effect. In the short time she’d lived here, she’d grown accustomed to this element in the Urquharts’ lives: the grandeur, formality and respect for the past. But to the wedding party from Glasgow it must look very fine indeed.
‘Aye, and if ye dinnae mind me saying so, Lady Urquhart - you’re a lucky lassie,’ another female wedding guest whispered to her ‘To be married to such a fine man.’
‘Oh, but I’m not … and he’s not,’ Fliss reddened as she realised that Ruairi had overheard their conversation. Turning away, she concentrated on tending to the old lady’s sprained wrist and said no more. But as she bound up the injury, she allowed herself to imagine how it would feel to be the mistress of this fine house and wife to its laird. Raising her head, she caught Ruairi’s unfathomable look as if he was pondering on the old lady’s words, too. She had a light, fluttering sensation in her stomach as she returned his enigmatic look and then a darker thought struck her.
What if he was wondering how Fiona would have coped tonight? Imagining her graciously binding up the old lady’s injuries and whispering soothingly to her; a lady born and bred? Perhaps his look showed that he wasn’t over her, that he was hoping one day she’d come back into his life and that she was a usurper.
Enough. Fliss pulled herself together and stripped off her disposable gloves. Tonight was her chance to show what she was made of, not wonder if Ruairi Urquhart was nursing a broken heart. With the air of someone used to coping with emergencies she asked Cat to escort the old lady and her husband down to the kitchen and then walked over to Ruairi who was speaking to one of the gillies. She coughed to gain his attention, not daring to lay her hand on his arm twice in one night.
‘I think most of the wedding party will need to spend the night here and see what the morning brings. No one is seriously injured, so perhaps you ought to tell the emergency services to stand down? Tomorrow, it might simply be a case of ferrying our visitors to Port Urquhart or the nearest large town and having the mini buses pulled out of the ditch by a tractor.’
‘You’re right,’ he conceded, his straight black eyebrows drawing together as he gave weight to her words. ‘Other places might have greater need of the Fire and Rescue Services than we do.’
‘Sorry - have I overstepped the mark?’ she asked, trying to read his expression. ‘Naturally, it’s for you to decide what’s best in these circumstances. I have an organising gene that has a tendency to take over if I don’t keep a rein on it. My friend Becky reckons I was born with a clipboard in my hand and a pencil behind my ear.’
‘Don’t apologise. I’m like that myself, like things done and dusted.’ This time his smile was designed to smooth any ruffled feathers. The delicious fluttering of a few minutes ago returned; it started in the pit of her stomach and travelled upwards to her heart. Just as Ruairi looked as if he might qualify his statem
ent, the hall door slammed back on its hinges and Murdo entered with a woman in her early thirties.
It didn’t take long for Fliss and Ruairi to realise that she was heavily pregnant.
Chapter Twenty Four
‘I found this lady near the entrance to the estate. Her car has a flat tyre.’ Murdo handed her over to Fliss, went back outside and returned moments later carrying a large holdall.
‘I’m Fliss; welcome. You’ve chosen the wrong night to get a flat tyre.’
‘I certainly chose the wrong night to drive to Inverness, that’s for sure,’ was her spirited reply.
‘You went out shopping in this?’ Ruairi asked incredulously, taking in the storm with a sweeping gesture.
‘I know. After four children, you’d think I’d have enough equipment to open my own branch of Mothercare, wouldn’t you. But, oh no, I had to make one last trip to Inverness before I’m too huge to fit behind the wheel of the Discovery.’ Despite making light of the situation, she looked slightly shame-faced. She pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and gave a small moan, and appeared grateful when Fliss guided her towards the porter’s chair by the fire. ‘I’m Shona McAlester, by the way.’
‘Ruairi Urquhart, Laird of Kinloch Mara,’ Ruairi came forward and shook the hand of his new guest. He gave her an anxious look. ‘When’s the baby due?’
‘Not for another three weeks. I carry a bag of things round with me, just in case.’ She indicated the holdall that Murdo had left by the front door. ‘We live on the far side of Kinloch Mara, and have taken over a small hotel there. My husband wanted to do the shopping for me, but I insisted that he stayed at home and looked after the other wee ones. I said to him: Archie, stop fussing; after four children I think I’d know if number five was about to put in an early appearance.’
Fliss got the impression that Shona was probably insistent about many things!
‘Five children? Wow.’ Cat moved closer to the fire, inspecting her like she was one of their brood mares about to foal.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Fliss asked as Shona rubbed her lower back. For a moment she felt absurdly like Prissy in Gone with the Wind who famously knew nothing about delivering babies. She fervently hoped Shona would spend an uneventful night at Tigh na Locha and be on her way in the morning. Dealing with an expectant mother in her third trimester was a different ball game to cleaning a graze and sticking a plaster over it!
‘I’m fine. Just got a bit cramped in the car. A cup of tea and I’ll be right as rain. If someone could just ring my husband and let him know what’s happened.’ She rooted in her large tote bag, found a business card and handed it over to Ruairi. ‘Something tells me I’m going to be hearing lots of I told you so’s when I get home.’ She gave Fliss a cheeky grin but winced as she sat down, stretched out her legs and examined her swollen ankles.
‘You rest while Ruairi makes the phone call and I’ll check you over for injury. Cat, would you fetch Shona something to eat and drink from the kitchen?’ Fliss laid a cool hand on Shona’s wrist and discovered that her pulse was racing.
‘I’ve got twitchy legs and backache from trying to sleep in the car,’ Shona elaborated. ‘I tried to call the emergency services but there was no signal. Lucky Murdo found me.’
‘Yes, it’s a dead zone round here,’ Fliss informed her and couldn’t resist casting a look at Ruairi. Maybe this emergency would make him change his mind about allowing a mast on his land.
‘Sorry I just need to …’ Shona walked round the hall to restore the circulation to her calf muscles and massaged her back just above her hip bones with both hands. ‘Oh no …’ She moaned as a steady trickle of fluid dripped down her legs and pooled at her feet. Ruairi stood rooted to the spot but Fliss rushed forward to help. ‘My waters have broken,’ she informed unnecessarily. ‘I’d better …’
‘There’s a cloakroom just through the hall where we can clean you up.’ Fliss picked up the holdall Murdo had left by the door before turning to Ruairi. ‘Do you think someone could …’ she nodded at the slick of amniotic fluid on the hall floor.
‘I’ll get that attended to,’ he said briskly. ‘You do whatever is necessary to make our guest comfortable.’ Although she was dealing with an emergency Fliss’s heart leapt at his use of ‘our’. It made her feel like she was part of the team; his team - and it was a good feeling.
At the mother-to-be’s insistence, Fliss left her alone in the cloakroom; but she was equally insistent that the door was left unlocked and slightly ajar. When she returned to the hall, Ruairi was waiting for an update.
‘Well?’
‘That is one stubborn lady!’ Ruairi shot her a look that suggested women as a species were as stubborn as a troupe of seaside donkeys. ‘I think in the circumstances you should send for your GP, or is there a midwife in the vicinity?’
Ruairi thought long and hard before answering. ‘Our GP’s the other side of the washed away bridge, but there’s Mrs MacLeish. She was a practice nurse in the surgery at Port Urquhart before she retired. I suppose we could call on her.’ He looked through the window to see if the storm had run its course. ‘I’ll ring Jack Dunbar and ask Murdo to fetch Mrs McLeish. Can you step into the breach until they arrive? I’ll also try to raise Callum McDonald, our local police officer - he’s bound to have dealt with this kind of emergency before.’
Murdo put his wet coat back on without complaint and went out into the storm, while Ruairi walked into the dining room to make the call. Fliss re-tied her apron in a businesslike manner before returning to the cloakroom to help Shona. Thirty minutes later, there was no sign of Murdo with Mrs McLeish and Ruairi hadn’t been able to raise Callum McDonald. Shona had already snapped Fliss’s head off several times for asking her to sit down when plainly she wanted to pace the hall between contractions.
When it became obvious that Shona wouldn’t be able to climb the stairs to the guest bedroom, Fliss - with Cat and Ruairi’s help - followed Dr Dunbar’s instructions and prepped the library to act as a makeshift delivery room. They covered the leather chesterfield with a shower curtain, which they had rubbed down with antiseptic spray. A lace trimmed, monogrammed linen sheet was spread over that in an attempt to make everything appear less clinical and Shona more comfortable. There was a fire burning in the grate and Cat brought armfuls of scented candles from the dining room. Under instruction from Fliss, she was busy arranging cushions at one end of the couch and covering a pillow with an old towel. ‘I’ve seen cows and horses give birth but this’ll be quite different, won’t it?’ she asked Fliss concernedly.
Fliss didn’t answer; her experience of childbirth was limited to what she’d seen on Holby City or Doc Martin, but she kept that to herself. When Mrs McLeish arrived, hopefully all she’d have to do was follow the retired nurse’s instructions.
As the wind rattled the front door in its frame, Shona was wracked by another contraction. Stubborn to the last, she refused to lie down on the makeshift bed, preferring to walk around the hall supported at the elbow by Mitzi whose hand she was gripping tightly. But at least she’d seen the sense of changing into a nightdress from her holdall and the dressing gown Cat had brought down from upstairs.
‘How far apart are the contractions now?’ Cat asked Fliss anxiously, her blue eyes large and frightened in her pale face.
‘Every five minutes,’ Fliss said, checking the grandfather clock.
‘Shouldn’t she be lying down or something?’ Ruairi asked, looking to Fliss for guidance and reassurance - like she was an expert in childbirth.
‘You try telling her that! When I spoke to Dr Dunbar earlier, he said we should take the lead from Shona.’ Fliss tried hard to keep the quaver out of her voice. ‘Seeing as this will be her fifth child, the doctor said she - and her body - will know better than any of us what’s required.’
‘Christ - I hope he’s right,’ was Ruairi’s fervent prayer. Then he turned to Cat who was hovering anxiously by the library door biting her nails. ‘You’ve done bril
liantly this evening Puss Cat. Why don’t you take the little ones who’ve had their supper up to play with your old toys in the nursery? That’s the best help you can give us for now. And tell Isla to stir herself and help you.’
‘If you’re sure you don’t want me to help with the birth?’ she asked, openly relieved.
‘That’s fine. There are plenty of us to help Fliss until Mrs MacLeish gets here.’ He exchanged a worried glance with Fliss; clearly thinking the same as her - what was taking Murdo so long? Providentially, at that moment the walkie-talkie on the hall table crackled into life.
‘Ruairi, it’s Murdo - over.’ Ruairi headed for the library to take the call and Fliss followed close behind.
‘Ruairi. Go ahead.’
‘I can’t get through to Mrs McLeish. The Port Urquhart road’s closed to traffic. I’ll have to go round via Kinloch Head to fetch her. But that’ll take the best part of an hour. Over.’
Ruairi and Fliss looked at each other. With the contractions just minutes apart, the baby could arrive before Mrs MacLeish got there. Ruairi took a deep breath and looked long and hard at Fliss. Fully aware that she was their best hope if they wanted the baby delivered safely, Fliss nodded.
‘Just get here as soon as you can. But don’t take any risks. Over and out.’ The walkie-talking went silent. ‘You heard?’
‘I heard.’
‘Now what?’
‘I know Shona might not want to - but I’d feel happier if she came into the library. She can walk around in here just as well as in the hall. I think we’ve done our best to get it ready under the circumstances. When the contractions come closer together we’ll be ready.’
‘You sound very sure.’
‘I’m not.’ She gave a brave little smile as she discarded her soiled apron and put on a clean one. ‘Once Shona’s settled, I think you should ring Dr Dunbar or Nurse McLeish and ask them to talk us through the birth - step by step. Or if all else fails, ring 999 and they’ll put us through to someone who can help.’