The Wish Club

by Stella Cameron

  Max was lost to her. She must finally accept that loss.

  “But ye canna leave without tellin’ me something’.” Widowed some years earlier after a brief marriage to a groom, Mairi had shown neither grief at her loss nor the inclination to marry again. Nevertheless, she thrived on chatter about romances in the household, and if there was no real romance in progress, she invented one. “I’ve no’ forgot how close the two o’ you were. Runnin’ free and wild on the moors. Together all the time. And I’d have t’be blind not t’see how he looks at ye now. And I’ve seen him watch ye, miss. He’s always watched ye.”

  “Ye do blather, Mairi.”

  “I know,” Mairi said happily. “Always have. Ye should hear what me father says about me blatherin’. Happiest day in his life when my dear mistress took me on here, and I didna go home for more’n visits anymore. He reckoned I made him deaf wi’ all me blatherin’, but that was just his excuse for pretendin’ he couldn’t hear what I said. And that was his excuse not t’answer me.”

  Patience came naturally to Kirsty, but she had to get away. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Mairi. I promise ye. But Niall will be—”

  “He’s no’ the same gentle one ye played with. Master Max—Mr. Rossmara. Ye know it, don’t ye, Kirsty?”

  “Tomorrow we’ll talk,” Kirsty said firmly, but her heart thumped harder.

  “Ye’d do well t’think about it. I don’t know what went on between the two o’ye in there, but ye were together— alone—a long time. Did he kiss ye?”

  “Mairi!”

  Mairi’s light blue eyes shone with innocence. “A harmless enough question if he didna. But I’d be bound to wonder, particularly with that kind o’ reaction from ye. So, he did kiss ye. And did he hold ye tight?”

  “Mairi! No, in either case. I wouldna allow it—even if he weren’t a gentleman and unlikely to behave so badly. But he is a gentleman and treated me wi’ deference.”

  “What did he want wi’ ye then?”

  “Tomorrow,” Kirsty said firmly. “Good night to ye, Mairi. And angels watch over ye while ye sleep.”

  “They will. They always do.” But Mairi was not to be diverted so easily. “I’d best go and see if he wants anythin’. I know he sits in that study alone until all hours. I’ll see if he’d like a wee bite. Shanks forgets things these days.”

  So Mairi hadn’t seen the visitors arrive. “I think Max— that is, Mr. Rossmara—would prefer to be left alone.”

  Mairi smiled naughtily. “Left alone to think about ye, ye mean? Och, I’m sure. Did ye speak o’ old times?”

  It occurred to Kirsty that since Mairi was at the center of the household comings and goings, she might know more about Lady Hermoine. Just thinking the woman’s name clenched a body’s stomach.

  “Kirsty?” Mairi prodded.

  What had she expected when she’d been told to go to Max? That he would apologize? That he would tell her he’d made a terrible mistake in not renewing their friendship years earlier and that he now wanted them to be friends again?

  He’d become a strapping man. So tall and broad, with shoulders that spoke of his frequent forays into the fields to work beside tenant and laborer. The years had made his dark red hair even darker, and his eyes . . . Well, his deep green eyes were deeper yet, if that could be so. They glittered, and there was a band of black around the iris. His brows flared, and his cheekbones were sharply hewn. But when he smiled, oh, yes, when Max smiled a woman’s heart might forget to beat entirely. His mouth was wide and firm and expressive. And a dimple settled in each of his lean cheeks. And his teeth were straight and white, and there was a dent in the middle of his chin.

  Kirsty sighed. She’d like to touch each feature—first with her fingers, then with her mouth. Horrified that she should think such brazen things, she gasped and covered her own mouth.

  “What is it?” Mairi asked, frowning. “What ails ye? Did he hurt ye? Is that why ye’re so quiet. Was it one of his terrible turns he had?”

  “Terrible turns?” Kirsty shivered, but not from fear. “What can ye mean, Mairi? Your imagination is unruly.”

  “It’s nothing’ t’do wi’ my imagination, ye puddin’ brain. If ye’d not your head in the clouds, ye’d know he’s a black one wi’ his temper.”

  Kirsty had heard about Max’s temper. She didn’t understand the rumors. He’d been a gentle lad and a gentle young man.

  “Do ye not know how he goes away on his own? Shuts himself up, and they say they hear things break. There’s some as say he drinks when he’s alone and in one o’ his moods, too.”

  “Max wouldn’t do any such thing!” Kirsty turned raging hot. “And I’ll no’ listen t’such nastiness about him. So there.”

  “Ye love him.”

  “I—” Kirsty moved her lips but wasn’t sure what to say. “Ye’ve been readin’ silly romantical novels, Mairi. It’s ashamed I am o’ye.”

  “Silly romantical novels is it? And what are the books I see your nose in a’ t’time?”

  “Mr. Dickens doesna write romantical novels.”

  “What does he write about, then?”

  “Life,” Kirsty declared. “The way it really is for some who don’t have our blessings. Poor little lads in London Town, and in orphanages.”

  Mairi sniffed. “Ye’re tryin’ t’change t’subject.”

  She would change the subject quickly enough, Kirsty decided. “Do you know Lady Hermoine Rashly?”

  “Countess Grabham’s niece?” Mairi pulled a face. “Her as comes t’call on Mr. Rossmara? I know how sometimes when she comes he tells Shanks t’say he’s no’ at home.”

  “But they’ve been acquainted a long time?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I would know that there’s a good deal said about The Hallows. The countess’s home. Grumpy says it’s a hell’s kitchen. That’s what she calls it, hell’s kitchen where all manner o’ evil takes place. Carriages comin’ and goin’ by night. And wildness, wi’ laughter and drinkin’.” Her eyebrows rose, and her eyes became very round. “An’ who knows what else they’re up to over there. It’s gentlemen they say comes by the carriages at night. Sometime a lady or two. But they’re always gone by t’mornin’.”

  Kirsty realized her mouth was open and snapped it shut. “At Countess Grabham’s? She’s a most correct lady. And in mournin’ by the looks o’ it.”

  “Aye, well mayhap. No’ countin’ Lady Hermoine, she’s three permanent houseguests. Surely ye know all this? Surely ye’ve seen Dahlia, Zinnia, and Wisteria?”

  “Ye’re talkin’ riddles, Mairi.”

  “I’m tellin’ ye there’s Dahlia, Zinnia, and Wisteria livin’ at The Hallows and they’re all dressed in gowns that must cost enough to clothe every man, woman, and bairn on this estate. And their faces are painted. And they show a great deal too much o’ themselves, not that they’re seen about too much. Only when they’re in their carriage goin’ t’Edinburgh. On their way to spend more money, no doubt. They say what goes on in that house of a night would turn a body’s stomach.” For a woman considering an upset stomach, Mairi smiled a good deal too eagerly.

  “Good night t’ye, Mairi,” Kirsty said. “I’ll speak with ye tomorrow.”

  “I’ll tell ye more about The Hallows,” Mairi promised. “Rituals, that’s what they have over there. No virgin should be abroad at night, they say, so ye watch yoursel’.”

  Kirsty shook her head and went belowstairs to gather her shawl. If Niall hadn’t given up on her and headed home, he’d be in a rare mood, she thought glumly. Just what she needed when her mind was so troubled.

  She was startled to see the housekeeper, Mrs. Moggach— Grumpy to the staff—sitting in her chair by the stove. The woman had gained considerable bulk in her long service at Kirkcaldy. She and Shanks were of an age. Sometimes they showed each other great deference. Sometimes they argued bitterly. But they always supported each other against the rest of the staff. Tonight Grumpy pored over a small, well-worn book in her lap.


  “Good evenin’ t’ye, Mrs. Moggach,” Kirsty said, speeding across the big kitchen toward the corridor that led to the back door. “I hope it’s a good book ye’re readin’.”

  Grumpy slapped the book shut and thrust it into a big pocket in her voluminous apron. “Sneakin’ around,” she said. “Always sneakin’ up on a body. Puttin’ your nose where ye’ve no right t’put your nose. What I read’s no affair o’yours, miss, and don’t ye forget it.”

  “I’ll not forget it,” Kirsty said, unmoved by the onslaught. “Was the travelin’ library in Kirkcaldy this week? I didna want t’miss it again.”

  “Well, ye have missed it. It’ll not be back for two weeks, so ye’ll have t’make do wi’ fillin’ your time wi’ work. And good it’ll do ye. Idle hours on your hands, that’s the trouble wi’ ye, Kirsty Mercer. Idle hours and ideas beyond your station.”

  Kirsty mumbled nothing in particular, escaped to the corridor, and dashed past the meat and fish larder, and the dairy scullery, to the door that led into the kitchen gardens.

  Niall had obviously given up on her and gone away. He was younger than Kirsty but behaved as if she were his sole responsibility. She would have a good deal of tongue-lashing to listen to when she saw him. He’d want to know why she’d been so late.

  The explanation wouldn’t be an easy one to give.

  She had a goodly distance to tramp to reach the little settlement of crofts where she’d lived all her life.

  Rooms in the castle. Rooms. Her own place, where she’d be alone when she had a mind to be alone.

  And a desk in Max’s study. To her he would always be Max, just as he always had been. She was to have a desk with him—where she’d see him often, maybe every day even.

  She stood still, abruptly overcome by that which she must accept and incorporate into the way of things. Max was betrothed and would marry beautiful Lady Hermoine Rashly.

  They had to plan their wedding trip, that lady had informed her while Kirsty still reeled from the shock of hearing that Max was to marry. Throughout all the years while she’d grieved for the loss of him—and she still grieved— she had not allowed herself to think of him with someone else. Well, she would have to think of it now because she would have to see him with his wife.

  A small sound broke from her burning throat.

  A silly dreamer. That’s what she was. He was a gentleman, and she was the daughter of a poor crofter. But she was about to get a most wonderful opportunity to better herself, and it was Max who would give her that opportunity.

  In the gathering gloom a shape emerged from behind a bush. “Kirsty!” Niall said. “What kept ye?”

  She gave a little shriek, clutched her heart, and staggered about.

  “Oh, stop your playactin’ wi’ me,” he said. “It’ll not distract me, I can tell ye.”

  “You’ve given me apoplexy,” Kirsty gasped, letting each knee sag almost to the ground in a manner she’d learned from Max’s boyhood antics. “Fetch a sawbones. I’ll not recover from this, but at least try for our mother’s and father’s sakes. Oh, it’s my heart, I tell ye. I feel it leapin’ out o’ my chest.”

  An explosive sound came from Niall, who could never hang on to a bad mood for long. “Look at ye, ye daft hapeth. Another minute o’ that and ye’ll trip on your skirts and really kill yourself. Stop it now, Kirsty.”

  She coughed, and took deep, noisy breaths, and pretended to mop her brow. “Oh, I think I’m recoverin’. I may yet live. As long as ye don’t press me more, Niall. I need t’be quiet. If I’d a sawbones here, he’d tell ye as much.”

  “Ye worried me,” Niall said. He was as dark as Kirsty was fair, a fact that was remarked upon since their father was fair and their mother a pale redhead. But Niall had eyes as brilliantly blue as his sister’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Kirsty said. “I know a message was sent home t’let Mother and Father know I’d been kept back, so they’ll not be worryin’, except about you, mayhap.”

  He scoffed. “They dinna worry about a great strong man like me. Why did they keep ye back? There’s little t’do at the castle, so ye told me.”

  Niall was a finely built young man and he drew every female eye in his direction, a fact that made Kirsty very protective of her brother. “I had to have some discussions,” she told him evasively.

  “What kind o’ discussions would that be?”

  “About things I could do—things I’ve particular skills t’do. I’m glad t’have the opportunity.”

  “Why? I thought ye were happy wi’ what ye’re already doin’.”

  Kirsty slipped her arm under her brother’s and they half ran down the castle mound. Birds swooped, swift black shadows against a darkening sky, and the scents were of approaching night. She hadn’t realized just how long she’d remained at the castle.

  “Well,” Niall said. “Aren’t ye happy wi’ your duties?”

  “Very happy. Or most of the time I’m happy. But I get bored when there’s nothing different to do. And the young Stonehavens will have no need of me soon enough.”

  He took hold of her hand and broke into a run, and Kirsty had to struggle to keep up without falling. “Slow down, ye great lug. Ye’ll kill your own sister at this rate.”

  Niall stopped running at once, but kept a hold on her hand. From the day when he’d realized he was bigger than she was he’d decided she was his to protect. He looked over his shoulder and put an arm around Kirsty.

  She struggled, and said, “What is it?”

  “There,” he said in a triumphant whisper. “It’s him. The man on the great horse. Father’s seen him passin’, too. Now you will.”

  Kirsty managed to turn around. Some distance above them, where the dusk sky met the hill, a man on a big horse stood in stark silhouette.

  “See him?” Niall asked.

  Kirsty clutched her brother. “I see him.” She recalled Mairi’s warnings. “Why did ye no’ tell me about him before?”

  “Father forbade it. Until he saw for himself, he said I saw the man because Mother said she did, and we were not to fright ye wi’ our stories. I’ve seen him three times now, and Ross McCreavie’s seen him as often.”

  “He’s away,” Kirsty said. “Gone behind the hill. Who can he be?”

  “I dinna know. But I’d like to. Don’t say anythin’ t’Father.”

  “I wouldna. Come on. Hurry now.” She pulled him along.

  “Wait,” Niall said. “This new position at the castle. Will they pay ye more?”

  Kirsty bit her lip. “I didna ask.”

  “So who’s the great lug now? They’ll gi’ ye more t’do. That means more duties. But ye don’t know if they mean t’pay ye more.”

  The sooner she was honest about what was to happen, the better. “Niall,” she pulled him to another halt where they looked down upon dwellings huddled into a fold of the hills. Dogs barked, and children screeched with laughter that carried on the air.

  “What is it?” He’d picked up on her anxiety and mirrored it in his own voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’s wrong. I want ye t’be happy for me. D’ye understand?”

  He grew very still, and she was afraid to look into his face. He said, “How do I know if I understand if I don’t know what it is ye’re happy about?”

  “I’m goin’ t’love livin’ at the castle,” she told him in a rush, clutching the ends of her shawl and keeping her face turned from him.

  He didn’t answer.

  “It’ll be good for all o’ us. There’ll be more room at home, and more money I’m sure. I’ll still bring my wages home, but I’ll have my keep up there.”

  “Good for all o’ us?” he asked softly. “Kirsty, ye canna leave. Ye canna.”

  “O’course I can.” She did look at him then, and she made herself laugh. “We both have t’grow up and make a life for ourselves, Niall. You’ll do the same one day.”

  “I’ll not so.”

  “Ye will. When ye take a wife o’ your own ye’ll no
t be livin’ wi’ Mother and Father.”

  “Why d’ye have to live there?” He sounded stubborn as only Niall could sound stubborn. “Why can ye no’ take on more duties and still live wi’ your family where ye belong?”

  “I’ll be needed at Kirkcaldy. I’ll have important duties that’ll mean I must be able t’be reached if there’s an emergency. And I’ll work much longer hours.”

  “I don’t like the idea of ye bein’ alone in one o’ those servants’ rooms. It’s one thing for us t’make our livin’ from the Stonehavens the way we always have. It’s another for ye t’be servin’ them and beholden t’them even for your bed.”

  Kirsty took hold of his arm again and urged him to walk faster. They continued downhill towards the crofts, where lanternlight showed through doors left open to welcome the cooled air of evening.

  “Ye must tell them ye don’t want t’stay there.”

  “I’ve already said I will.” Somehow she would explain exactly what she would be doing. “Tomorrow I’m t’take my things and move in.”

  “Tomorrow? Oh, Kirsty, no. Mother’ll cry, y’know she will.”

  “I’ll just be at the castle. I’m never going to be far away, and I’ll see ye all every day.” She would make sure she did.

  “There’s tales about that place.”

  Tales, always tales, Kirsty thought. “They aren’t true. If ye spent as much time there as I do, ye’d know it. It isn’t haunted.”

  “There’s plenty to say it is. But it’s the livin’ I’m no’ happy about ye encounterin’, no’ the dead.”

  She’d been afraid of this. “I’m going t’be very safe.”

  “Ye always said ye loved our family more than anythin’.”

  “I do.”

  Niall pulled her to a halt and turned her to face him. “Then why d’ye want t’leave us?”

  “I don’t. And I won’t—not really. I’ll just be on the hill, that’s all.”

  He shook her gently until she looked into his face. “Ye’ve never forgotten him, have ye?”

  “I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about.” She could never get away with trying to fool Niall.