Looking totally befuddled, he waved toward his work area. “Use whatever ye like.”
Beaming, she thanked him and set to work, first cutting out the tracings she’d made of the children’s feet using the paper on which the Duchess had penned her gift list. She then cut the sturdy side flaps from the saddle, which she’d use for soles and heels. Holding her breath, she then laid the patterns on the damaged apron and smiled. With careful cutting, she’d have enough usable leather for two pair of small, mid-calf high boots.
Yes!
She took a deep breath. It had been years since Grandpa Enna, bored to tears after turning over his business to his son, had taken her, his equally bored granddaughter, under his wing and instructed her on the fine art of boot making; years since she herself had made a pair. And then she’d been sitting in a fourteen footer, what Lynn cobblers called their fourteen by ten foot shoemaker’s shops, with a master cobbler and a full array of wooden forms and specialized tools. Not sitting in a ferrier’s stall with only his tools, a bit of embroidery thread and the pouch her dear Grandpa Enna had given her on her sixteenth birthday.
She pulled his gift—what she’d come to think of as her good luck talisman—from her pocket. She opened the well-worn leather pouch and smiled as a dozen tacks and a cobbler’s nail set fell into her palm. When he’d given her the gift he’d said, “With this, you’ll never bemoan a broken heel.”
She’d grinned and said, “But there’s no hammer, Grandpa.”
He’d laughed and said, “You can always find a rock, but never a tack when you need one.”
He’d been right. She did have a hammer. “Thank you, Grandpa Enna.”
Well, she’d delayed long enough.
The horses had kept the worst of the night’s chill at bay within the barn but now the doors were open and the sun had yet to warm the day. After carefully storing the tacks and nail set, she blew on her hands then began tracing the patterns on leather.
As she picked up the hoof knife ready to cut into the leather, Robbie said, “I’ll be out back firing up the forge should ye have need of it.”
“Thank you, Robbie.” She didn’t think she would, but then again she might for the shanks. “And Robbie...”
He turned. “Aye, m’lady?”
“Let’s keep this...what I’m doing...our little secret.”
Two hours later she finished cutting the leather. She then trimmed her pattern just a bit and placing them on the blanket, cut out boot linings. The boots would smell of horse but better that than have the boys develop blisters on their long trek.
Hours later, she gathered all her cut pieces and grabbed the hammer. She now needed the anvil.
Finding the smithy’s three-sided barn deserted but a low fire burning in the forge, she pulled a short bench over to the nearby anvil, hiked up her skirts and settled astride it, her meager tools at her side.
~*~
The Duchess of Maitland stared in disbelief at her ferrier. “She’s making what?
“Boot’s, Your Grace. Wee boots for the Stewart woman’s bairns.”
When the other young ladies had announced they’d be attending the Clachankirk village’s afternoon games, Melinda had just assumed Olivia would be attending the events with them and thus be in close proximity to young Colin. Earlier in the day Augusta, true to her nature, hadn’t been able to keep secret the fact that she’d seen Colin and Olivia kiss beneath some mistletoe last night then a second time at the bonfire. The news had pleased Melinda immensely, but never had she imagined Olivia choosing a bit of boot making over attending the games and seeing Colin again.
What could have possessed the girl to do such a thing? Just because her father was a noted shoe manufacturer, didn’t mean she could actually make a pair, much less two. Augh!
“Where is she now?”
Robbie gnawed on his lower lip. “She’s in the distillery having her hands tended. They’re a bit of a bloody mess, pardon my language, Your Grace.”
“Good Lord...please tell her I wish to see her as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Your Grace.”
After Robbie left to do her bidding, Melinda shook her head. Miss Priscilla Crawford might be a handful but her best friend’s grandchild was proving the most unmanageable.
An hour later, Olivia stood, hands clasped behind her back, before Melinda.
“Hello, dear. I understand you didn’t attend the games this afternoon. Will you be attending the musical tomorrow?”
“Uhmm, no, Your Grace. I’ve another commitment.”
“I see. And what might that be?”
“I promised the Stewart children shoes, Your Grace. They have none and have a very hard journey ahead of them.”
“You have the skills do this?”
“Yes.”
Seriously doubting it after what her ferrier had told her, Melinda said, “Please hold out your hands.”
Her reluctance obvious, Olivia Conor held out her hands and Melinda gasped. “Good Lord, child. You’ve blisters and cuts across both hands.” She shook her head. “I absolutely forbid you to continue in this vein. Forbid it.”
Olivia bit into her lower lip then straightened and look Melinda in the eye. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I have no choice but to continue until the task is completed. Grandpa Enna insisted a man or woman was only as good as his or her word, and I gave my word to the children. They will have shoes if it means I end up cutting off a finger in the process.”
Oh dear God. Olivia was as stubborn as her grandmother. There would be no nay-saying her once she’d made up her mind.
Resigned to losing this battle, Melinda nodded. “Your grandfather was a good man.”
Olivia smiled for the first time since entering the parlor. “He was. Did you know him?”
“Only through your grandmother’s letters.”
Obviously curious now, Olivia asked, “How did you come to know my grandmother?”
“We were born a day apart on the same Highland estate and grew up together.”
“You’re Scot? You have no accent.”
“I am. My father was a hereditary Baron and the accent went the way of all things Scot when taken in hand by an English schoolmaster.”
“And my grandmother?”
Had the family told this girl nothing? “Your grandmother was the daughter of our overseer.”
“Ah. Then how did—”
Fearing she’d already said too much, Melinda, Dowager Duchess of Maitland, rose. “I’m sorry, dear, but you must excuse me. I have a meeting with my solicitor.”
She had one more important piece of business to complete before the grim reaper caught up with her if she hoped to right the decades old wrongs.
~*~
As Liv exited the Duchess’s parlor, the Duchess’s butler Giles stopped her. “Miss Conor you received a missive today. I took the liberty of placing it on your dressing table.”
Praying it wasn’t another letter from her father saying he was on his way, Liv thanked him and hurried to room.
As promised sitting on her dressing table was the missive. With shaking hands she opened it and read,
Dear Olivia,
You were missed today. I hope to see you again soon.
Most sincerely,
Colin
Feeling unexpectedly giddy, Liv pressed the note to her heart.
He missed her. How lovely. She’d missed him as well. But they would have to go another full day without seeing each other. There was no hope for it. The children’s simple boots were only half made.
Tucking the note under her pillow, she sighed then made quick work of readying for dinner. No easy task given how tender her fingers were.
TARTAN BOWS AND MISTLETOE
CHAPTER NINE
Clachankirk Village
Late the next afternoon
Proud as Punch but nervous, fearing she may have made the boots too tight, Olivia rapped on the Stewart’s cottage door. When Mrs. Stewart door opened, she thrust th
e boots into the startled woman’s hands. “Here they are, as promised.”
“Oh! Thank ye ever so much!” She waved Olivia into the cramped cottage, which smelled of banked fires, cabbage soup and mutton. “Some tea, m’lady? Mrs. Bryce was kind enough to lend us some.”
Knowing just how dear tea could be for someone in Mrs. Stewart’s position, Liv said, “Thank you for offering, but I really must run back to Blythe Hall. The Duchess is holding a musical this evening and I dare not be late. Are the children about? I’d like to check the fit of the boots. It’s been so long since I made a pair, I may have made mistakes.”
“Of course.” She mounted a ladder leading up to what Liv assumed was a sleeping loft. Climbing only high enough to see into the exposed raftered space she called to the boys.
Thinking them asleep, Liv whispered, “I didn’t mean for you to wake them.”
Mrs. Stewart smiled. “I’m not. They’re just reading fairytales by the window.”
The boys suddenly popped up and look down at her with big, solemn blue eyes. Smiling, she said, “Good afternoon, Tommy, Robert.”
In unison they responded in kind then scrabbled like wharf rats down the ladder to stand on either side of their mother.
“Miss Olivia would like you to try on your new boots.”
Both boys’ eyes lit up and grinning, they raced to the three-legged stools before the fire.
Holding her breath, praying she wouldn’t have to rework the leather, Liv fitted Tommy, age three, first. After tying the lacings, she said, “Can you wiggle your toes?”
Tommy giggled and then nodded. Much relieved, she said, “Now it’s Robert’s turn.”
The moment she finished tying six year old Robert’s laces, the child jumped up and raced around the room. When he finally came to a stop, he preened and said, “I’m taller!”
Liv laughed. “Yes, you are by half an inch thanks to the heels.”
Eyes glassy, Mrs. Stewart watched her children admire each other’s footwear then turned to Liv. “I don’t know how to thank ye. I’ve no words...”
Liv took the woman’s callused hands in her gloved hands. “There’s no need to thank me. It was my pleasure.” She then reached into her reticule and took out several pound notes. Mrs. Stewart immediately took a step back and held up her hands. “I can’t possibly take—”
Liv pressed the money into the woman’s hands. “You must for the children. We’ve no idea how much lodging or food is in Newcastle, but this should hold you until you find work.”
Her tears now rolling unchecked, Mrs. Stewart whispered, “I’ll repay ye.”
Liv hugged her. “You will but only by helping someone else as you’re able.”
With that Liv patted the boys on the head and took her leave.
~*~
Entering Blythe Hall, Liv felt on top of the world. She was bruised and blistered but the look on the Stewart children’s faces had been worth all the blisters and cuts beneath her gloves. Yes, she’d done her grandfather proud.
Now, if Mr. MacNab would only come to the musical, her day would be complete.
As she greeted the Duchess’s butler and handed him her coat, Miss Crawford came skidding down the staircase and called her name. “Olivia, come quickly. We need you upstairs.”
“Has something happened to the Duchess?”
“No, it’s Augusta.” Priscilla took firm hold of Liv’s arm and rush toward the stairs. “Come. She’s supposed to play this evening but she’s quite ill.”
“What’s wrong?”
In a hushed tone, Priscilla said, “She has her monthly and is curled in a ball, moaning.”
“Ah, I have just the thing.” And she did, having suffered the same malady on the rare occasion herself. At the fourth floor landing she said, “Go ahead and tell Augusta not to worry. I’ll be right there.”
Liv darted into her room, pull open her trunk and opened the drawer containing her bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. Every drop worth its weight in gold as every woman of Lynn knew.
Entering Augusta’s bedchamber, Liv tutted in sympathy for her prostrate friend, took a spoon from the untouched dinner tray on the side table, poured out a healthy spoonful and held it to Augusta’s lips. “Open wide.”
Looking miserable, Augusta sniffed then grimaced. “What is that?”
“Pleurisy root, life root, fenugreek, unicorn root and black cohash. Take it. It will make you as right as rain in minutes. Trust me. I know the woman who makes this. She’s an absolute wonder with herbal remedies.”
“I don’t know...”
“Augusta, would you rather disappoint your hostess?”
“Of course not.”
“Then be a big girl and open wide.”
Augusta did as she was told and swallowed. After a shudder she muttered, “That’s awful.”
“But it works. Now try to relax and let it.”
Priscilla flopped down on the bed beside Augusta as Liv settled on the fireside chair.
“So,” Priscilla said. “Tell us all about the MacNab’s kisses.”
Liv rolled her eyes, unused to being in a gaggle of relaxed female company. “They were very nice.”
“I suspect they were better than nice from the way you leaned into them.”
Aghast, Liv said, “I did not.”
From the bed Augusta assured her, “You most certainly did too.”
Priscilla asked, “Will you allow him kiss you again?”
Would she? Yes, she definitely would. “If he comes to the ball, which I very much doubt he will.”
“Oh, he’ll come.” Priscilla said. “After all, he’s the Earl of Clachankirk.”
Liv frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said he’ll be there. Apparently he always attends the balls the Duchess holds, although of late he has the reputation for being unfashionably late.”
Shaking her head, Liv leaned forward. “I must have misunderstood. You called him—Colin MacNab, the minister—the Earl of Clachankirk. Why?”
Priscilla shrugged. “Because he is the Earl of Clachankirk. Leastwise according to Robbie and he should know. He was born and raised here.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“No,” Augusta chimed in. “He is and poor as a church mouse if the staff rumors are to be believed. His father apparently squandered away a fortune and most of their land and left him, the heir, to pick up the pieces. If he has any hope of rebuilding what once was, he’ll have to capture a wealthy wife.”
Heart hammering, unable to believe the level of deceit Colin MacNab had perpetrated against her, Liv shot to her feet. “Excuse me.”
She needed to speak with the Duchess this minute and she would not be denied.
Minutes later the butler asked her to wait in the Duchess’s parlor. Too irritated to sit, she paced. How could Colin let her believe he was simply a humble minster? How? He’d played her for a fool. And she’d wager a healthy sum that the Duchess was party to it. After all, her soul purpose in holding balls was to marry off eligible women to titled men. Hadn’t that been why her father had been overjoyed when they’d received the unexpected invitation?
She looked at the mantel clock. What could possibly be taking the Duchess this long?
She huffed and stopped before the easel holding the Duchess’s huge, gold-leafed and leather bound family bible. Lifting the lid she traced a finger over the elaborate illustrations. Seeing a red ribbon poking out near the back of the book, wondering what passage the Duchess might have been reading, she flipped the pages.
In fading ink she found ten generations of births, marriage dates and deaths. With idle curiosity she scanned the names on the family tree—some were atrocious—then stopped, could only stare seeing her grandmother’s name. Any thought that this might be a coincidence evaporated seeing next to it the name Enna Conor, their birth, marriage and death dates below their names. Directly below that she found her father Michael Conor and that of her mother, Mary Louise Conor
and below that her own name and date of birth.
Unable to catch her breath she staggered back.
“I see you found the bible.”
Liv spun and found the Duchess, ghastly pale, standing in the doorway. “What in God’s name is going on here?” Liv asked. “Why is my family tree listed in your family bible?”
Heaving a heavy sigh, the Duchess turned to Giles saying, “I’ll take care of this. See that our guests are comfortable.”
“Are you sure, Your Grace?”
“Quite sure. Thank you, Giles.”
He closed the door behind him as the Duchess made her way to her fireside chair.
“Have a seat, Olivia.”
Since Liv couldn’t have stood much longer anyway, she settled on the settee across from the Duchess.
“I’m sure you have many questions.”
Hell, yes, she had many questions. “Let’s start with why my grandmother, your childhood friend, is listed next to your name and that of the man I assume is your brother.”
“Yes, Edward was my elder brother by one year.” She took a deep breath. “I told you yesterday that your grandmother and I grew up together. We were all dear friends, your grandmother, my brother Edward and me. As things sometimes happen Edward and your grandmother fell in love. She was only fifteen and he had just turned sixteen at the time they discovered she was with child. My brother went to our father in hopes of gaining permission to marry. Unfortunately for them, Edward and our father weren’t on the best of terms. More importantly, Edward was a titled heir and she a commoner. He was Church of Scotland, she was Catholic. No matter how Edward pleaded, our father wouldn’t hear of them marrying and summoned Mary’s father.
“Behind closed doors they decided it was best for all concerned that Mary be shipped to America where she had an aunt, where she would have her baby and preferably never be heard from again.”
Her poor grandmother. How could anyone, much less a father, turn their back on a frightened and pregnant fifteen year old girl? A child really.
Stunned as well that her father was a blow-by, Liv asked, “Why have I not heard of this before?”
“Because no one but those in my immediately family, Mary and your grandfather Enna knew.
Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas Page 6