Scones and Scoundrels

by Molly Macrae

  “We understand your words,” Tallie said. “But what do they mean?”

  “She’s bringing a dog,” Gillian said. “It goes everywhere she does.”

  “A service dog?” Janet asked.

  “I don’t think so. But it goes to book signings and only drinks out of ceramic bowls. No empty margarine tubs to be substituted. Or aluminium mixing bowls.” Gillian was beginning to look and sound unhealthy. She tried smiling, which didn’t improve anything. “Can you believe it? Not once in all our correspondence, in all the negotiating over her accommodations for the three months she’s going to be here, did she mention a dog.”

  “Can she bring a dog here from Canada?” Tallie asked. “Won’t it have to be quarantined?”

  “Yes, she can bring it. No, there’s no quarantine. Yes, it’s arriving with her. No, the flat we found for her does not allow pets. On top of that, Daphne emailed yesterday to say she’s arriving two days early. At first I thought that was a good omen. Then she told me about the dog.” Gillian started to sway, her brow pale and sweaty. Tallie moved her glass a safe distance away.

  “Will the agency bend the rules just this once, I asked, oh pretty please?” Gillian said in a singsong. “Will they let a well-loved, well-cared-for, literary dog stay for a mere three months? No, they won’t. Not even for our illustrious visiting migraine will they bend their sacred rules. And how much time have I got to sort this out before she arrives?”

  “Not long,” Janet said.

  “Not long,” Gillian echoed. “Two days. And this on top of final arrangements for Friday night. Oh, my God.”

  “What are you going to do?” Tallie asked.

  Gillian swayed toward Tallie and grabbed her arm as though it might save her from drowning. “Is there room at your B&B?”

  “Oh, Gillian, I’m so sorry,” Tallie said. “We’re fully booked at least this week and next.”

  “Then the only thing I can do is hope for a great big bolt of lightning and a tremendous crash of thunder, followed by a miracle.”

  “A thunderplump,” Janet said.

  “I don’t even need a blattering downpour,” Gillian said. “Just something huge and divine and directed at Daphne. What do you think my chances are?”

  “That doesn’t sound like the competent, organized, rational woman we’ve come to know and admire,” Janet said.

  “But wouldn’t it be nice? The two musketeers. We went to different universities, went different ways. Maybe it seems odd we didn’t keep in touch, but not really. She had a difficult patch in our last year, and I see it happen all the time with the kids I teach. Daphne was a lot of fun back then. Until she wasn’t. But I’ve been hoping we could have that back.”

  Tallie slapped her hands on the table. The slap fell short of sounding like thunder, but Gillian jumped. “I think I have your miracle, Gillian,” she said, “and her name is Maida Fairlie.”

  Maida Fairlie was a small Scottish woman weighed down by the rectitude of dour ancestors. She was also the mother-in-law of Janet’s son. Tallie told Gillian about the house Maida had been trying, unsuccessfully, to sell.

  “It belonged to her parents,” Tallie said. “It’s empty. Maybe she’ll consider a short term lease.”

  “It’s the house right behind ours,” Janet said. “Call her, Tallie.”

  “Call her,” Gillian said, “and hope for a Maida miracle.”

  When Tallie got through to Maida, and told her the situation, and heard her wavering one way and then the other, she handed the phone to Gillian.

  “Gillian’s the one working the miracle,” Christine said as they watched her end of the conversation. “Look. She’s got Maida to say yes. You can tell because, just like that, the cares of the world lifted and she looks ten years younger. I must say, I’ve never lost ten years talking to Maida.”

  “Just as well,” Danny said, overhearing Christine when he came to clear away empty glasses. “You only need to lose two or three years.”

  “That was inspired problem solving,” Janet said to Tallie. She tapped the list of requirements. “Now tell me where I’ll find these G-force fighter pilot or whatever they are pens Daphne Wood is so keen on.”

  “I’ll ask Basant,” Tallie said. “If he doesn’t have them, maybe he can get them.”

  “Order them online,” Danny said. “Be here faster than you can blink Selkie’s Tears from your eyes.”

  Tallie thumped her empty glass on the table. “Shop locally.”

  “Mind the glassware, lass.” Danny rescued the glass from Tallie. “But she’s right, Janet, and I shouldn’t need reminding. Locals need to stick together. Another round, anyone? No? You know where to find me if you change your minds.”

  Gillian finished her conversation with Maida Fairlie. She handed the phone back to Tallie, and waved at someone behind Janet. “Tom,” she called and then shook her head. “Och well. Darts. But, Tallie—” She sat back with a sigh and a smile for all of them at the table. “My load is lightened by the miracle you’ve wrought. You and Maida. I’m to go for a walk-through tomorrow, but the house sounds perfect. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have that off my mind. Thank you. And now I can let Daphne know and relieve her mind, too.” She stopped for a moment and made a face. “I reckon I might have left her with the impression I was angry with her.”

  “Imagine that,” Janet said. “So then, not to shovel anything back onto your load, but what should we do about Daphne’s list of requirements? How seriously should we take it?”

  “Ah, but here comes Tom. Good.” Gillian waved him over and he came to stand behind her chair. She turned to look up at him as he started to knead her shoulders. “The latest and largest Daphne problem is solved, Tom, thanks to the bonnie bookshop clan.”

  “Moral support on my part, only,” Christine said.

  “And where would we be without morals?” Tom asked.

  “But back to the list,” Gillian said. “Janet, if you can provide the more mundane requests, I’ll tackle the rest.”

  “You’ll speck-tackle the rest,” Tom said. “Because our whole Daphne term will be spectacular. She’ll be great. She’s brilliant, our Daphne is.”

  “And he’s blootered,” Christine said to Janet, but not quietly enough.

  Tom pulled the chair out next to Gillian, dropped into it, and laid a heavy arm across her shoulders. “I’m blootered, but brilliant, as well, and proud of my wee girlie here, for her beautiful brilliance, too.”

  Gillian leaned her cheek against his arm and then slid from under it, taking his hand and getting to her feet. “It’s away home for you, Tom. Give me your keys and I’ll get you there so you can sleep it off and be brilliant at school tomorrow.”

  “You get some sleep, too, Gillian,” Tallie said. “Tom’s right. Everything’s going to be brilliant.”

  Rab MacGregor reappeared at their table shortly after Gillian left with Tom. He needed their help, he said. He’d had an urgent call from Maida Fairlie.

  4

  Sea mist from the harbor met them as they left Nev’s. The mist didn’t so much creep in on cat’s feet as twine around their ankles and brush past them. It followed Christine as she helped her parents into their ancient Vauxhall. She told Janet she would settle her mum and dad at home and then join the others in their late evening rescue of Maida. The mist swallowed Ranger the terrier up whole as he trotted ahead of Rab, but it couldn’t quite catch hold of Rab, who said he’d see the others soon. Summer gave her regrets, shrugging into the mist as though it were a blanket. She had to be in bed early, to get up and bake for the tearoom and feed the guests staying in the bed and breakfast. Janet and Tallie watched her go and then kicked home through the mist to change into clothes more suitable for the work ahead.

  “How many words do we have now for mist or fog?” Janet asked as they walked up Fingal Street toward their granite cottage on Argyll Terrace.

  “Murk’s one of my favorites,” Tallie said. “But we own a bookshop, so we can look i
t up. Don’t you love saying that? We own a bookshop.”

  Janet linked her arm with Tallie’s. “This particular mist has more personality than some. A more interesting personality, anyway. It isn’t like a wall of fog.”

  “A wall of fog is dense and thuggish. It only wants to blot things out.”

  “That’s exactly how it is,” Janet said. “But look how this stuff gathers and pools and seems to be following us. It’s curious, wonders what we’re up to.”

  “We’re shifting furniture,” Tallie said to the mist, “to save Maida’s bacon.”

  Maida, in her excitement at being asked to let her house for more money than she would have dreamed (or dared to suggest), had neglected to give Gillian a piece of information. That wasn’t to say that the missing information would have immediately turned Gillian against renting the house, but it had created a situation of near panic for Maida. Or as near to panic as Maida Fairlie ever came. The once comfortable, though rather plain, semidetached house stood completely empty, and after months of no interest from prospective buyers, Maida had stopped dropping by to air it out or sweep.

  When Maida had phoned Rab for help, she hadn’t told him the full extent of her emergency, either, so that what he passed along to Janet and the others was further watered down. When Janet and Tallie arrived in jeans and old shirts, ready to “shift a wee bit of furniture,” Maida was unlocking the front door.

  She looked past them to the pavement and the street. “No one else with you?”

  Janet turned to look at the street with her. “I thought Christine and Rab might be here by now, but they’ll be along soon. We came through the back garden.”

  Maida looked at their shoes. “Mind and wipe your feet, then.” She opened the door and went in ahead of them, turning on lights.

  “Wipe them on what?” Tallie asked.

  “Oh, aye,” Maida said. “I’ll add a doormat to my list of things to bring along.”

  “How long has it been empty?” Janet asked, trying to gauge the cobwebs, dust, and dead bluebottles.

  “A wee bit of sweeping and dusting will set it right,” Maida said. “The broom and dust mop are in the cupboard, there. I’ll go watch for Rab.”

  Janet and Tallie looked at each other, and Janet was about to mutter something when Maida came back. “Thank you for coming round,” she said, the full weight of her dour ancestors imprinted on each word.

  “Well,” Janet said when Maida had gone again, “bare floors are easier to clean.”

  Tallie went to the cupboard. “Choose your weapon, Merry Sunshine.”

  Two of Maida’s teenaged nephews arrived with Rab and the first load of furnishings in a small utility van. Christine rolled to a stop in her parents’ car behind the van.

  “Ranger not supervising tonight?” Christine asked Rab, as he watched the nephews maneuver a bedframe from the back of the van.

  “He’s minding the van.”

  They each took two straight-back chairs from the van and followed the nephews through the front gate and up the short path. Maida could be heard following the nephews with cautions to mind the woodwork, corners, floors, and walls. Bedframe safely landed, Maida sent the nephews and Rab out for the rest of the bed, then she greeted Christine with the same dour thank you she’d doled out to the others.

  “This is very good of you, too, Maida, and on such short notice,” Christine said.

  “I’ve always said I’m well-blessed.” Maida picked a cobweb from her sleeve. “The house has what you might call a few—” She hesitated before elaborating on what the house had a few of. “I dinnae like to call them problems, per se. Eccentricities, perhaps.”

  That word again, Janet thought.

  “So, what’s my tenant to be like, do you know?”

  “We don’t know much beyond her professional reputation,” Janet said, feeling Tallie’s and Christine’s eyes on her. “She’s a wonderful writer.”

  “Prolific,” Christine said, “and wide-ranging.”

  “She has something for every reader,” Tallie added.

  “And a dog,” Maida said.

  “Will that be a problem?” Janet asked.

  “I have nothing against dogs, so long as they don’t yap or bite,” Maida said. “Or drool, or jump up, or lick. Or shed.”

  “What about housetrained? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Christine asked.

  “What’s the best way we can help you tonight, Maida?” Janet asked, after giving Christine a discreet poke in the ribs.

  They moved aside as the nephews carried in a narrow end table on top of which they’d balanced a dish pan containing several pots and pans and a drainer stacked with dishes. Janet saw Maida bow her head and close her eyes. When the load came to rest with only a thump and no additional sounds of crashing or breaking, Maida’s eyes popped open and then fixed on the trail of mud from one of the nephews.

  “I have two thoughts at this point,” Maida said. “First, I could use help organizing at the other end so that Rab and the lads know what to take and what not. Second, we’ll have to clean the floors again when we’re finished.”

  “How will we know where you want things put on this end?” Christine asked.

  “I reckon it’ll be obvious. If not,” Maida said with one of her rare smiles, “use your imagination.”

  Tallie volunteered to go with Maida and the two drove off into the mist. Janet and Christine split up to clean kitchen and bath and start putting things away. Rab and the nephews brought in the last of the load from the van and went to pick up another. By the time the van had made half a dozen trips, stopping once to get more boxes from the bookshop, they’d brought a second bed, a dining table, a kitchen table, two more straight-back chairs, an overstuffed armchair, a toaster, an electric kettle, a teapot, flatware, a short sofa, a wardrobe, two bookcases, blankets, linens, and pillows. Janet wondered if Maida had anything left in her own house.

  Maida and Tallie brought the last load, including teabags and milk, and two of Maida’s prayer plants, African violets for the kitchen window, and a purple passion plant.

  “To make it more homelike,” Maida said.

  “As opposed to the derelict pensioner’s flat it must have appeared when you got here,” Christine whispered to Janet, after Maida went into the kitchen and wondered aloud about bringing over cookbooks. “It’s no wonder it hasn’t sold. And Maida in the cleaning business. Tcha.”

  “She might be like one of those barbers who stays so busy, because he’s the best, but then he never has time to get his own hair trimmed,” Janet said.

  “You’re a kind soul, Janet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If somewhat delusional.”

  “Shall we give the floors a quick clean tonight and call it good enough?” Tallie asked.

  “Surely tomorrow’s good enough for that and setting right anything we’ve put wrong,” Christine said. “We’re all exhausted and most of us have work or school tomorrow.”

  “I’ll stay,” Rab said. “Finish it tonight.”

  “I can get the worst of this out the front door right now,” one of the nephews said. He opened the front door and swept a few straggles of leaf and mud out. Then, not bothering to shut the door, which they’d been leaving open as they worked, anyway, he faced his brother and proved his strength by hefting the broom as though it were a set of barbells.

  As the others discussed or avoided further cleaning, Janet went to close the door. It was then that she saw another vehicle appear out of the mist and roll to a stop in front of the house—a Land Rover of some sort, she thought. The driver got out, came around to the passenger door, opened it, and her traveling companion hopped out, too.

  “I can’t ask any of you to stay longer,” Maida said above the others. “Mind, if you do, the windows need going over, too. The broom is not a caber!”

  Janet watched as the travelers looked up and down the street, sniffed the air, and appeared to study Maida’s house.

  “Not
that cleaning the floors will make any difference,” Christine was saying, unaware of the travelers now coming through the front gate and up the short path to the door. “Not after the wretched dog tracks its muddy paws all over. What time are Daftie Daphne and the wretch due to arrive tomorrow? Do we know?”

  Janet stepped out onto the stoop and held out her hand to the woman whose face she could now see clearly. “Hi, you must be Daphne Wood. I’m Janet Marsh. We’re very happy to have you here.”

  “Yip,” said the dog.

  The woman looked at Janet’s hand and stuck her own in her jeans pockets. Janet pulled her hand back. She turned to let the others know the author had arrived, and saw there was no need. They stood like an uncertain chorus behind her. Christine met her glance with one raised eyebrow.

  “I haven’t introduced myself,” the woman said. “How do you know that I am this Daphne Wood?”

  It was a fair enough question. Before anyone else answered, one of Maida’s nephews jumped in.

  “She looks like the picture on the back of her books,” he said. “We have them at school, and she had her hair wrapped round her head just like that. She can’t be anyone else, can she? But what kind of dog is that?”

  Neither Daphne Wood nor the dog answered.

  “Pekingese,” Rab said.

  At that, Daphne Wood nodded.

  “Looks like a wee lion,” the nephew said. “Did you cut its hair like that?”

  “Pekes are lovely dogs,” Maida said. She gave the dog a dubious look as she pushed past Janet. “Hello, Ms. Wood. I’m Maida Fairlie. It’s my house you’ll be staying in.”

  Daphne said nothing.

  Maida renewed her efforts. “Welcome back to Inversgail. Welcome home—and to your home away from home. It seems like there should be an official welcoming committee, but I suppose we’ll have to do. You’re a wee bit early, aren’t you? Only you’ve caught us putting the finishing touches on the place. Rab, boys, why don’t you help Ms. Wood in with her luggage? I hope you had a good trip, Ms. Wood? Did you fly into Prestwick? That’s a long way to drive on such a night. How long did it take? No trouble finding us, I hope?”