A plate of Violet’s Fish Fingers and some thick homemade chips later and Ruby had fallen under the thrall of Mrs Hibbert who clucked away to her in her soft accent throughout the meal. Martha drained yet another cup of tea and glanced at her watch, realising that the time had come for her to prepare for the evening. She moved off the couch where she sat beside her daughter who had allowed the housekeeper to bounce her on her knee while crooning nursery rhymes in a low voice. Ruby stared, watching the woman’s face intently, her eyelids growing heavy before she’d force them back open again and continue to watch her new friend. Martha smiled. This was something that Ruby didn’t have, she realised. A grandmother. A proper granny to sing her these old songs and teach her how to bake, or sit for hours with her doing jigsaw puzzles. Her eyes widened as she saw Ruby finally succumb, and nestle into Mrs Hibbert’s arms, relaxing against her chest, her soother lolling from her lips as she bounced her gently and continued to sing.
“You might as well take a chance on leaving now, my dear,” said Mrs Hibbert softly, between the lines of a tune that Martha didn’t recognise. “Why don’t you get dressed in my room? It’s the door next to yours – and you can be on your way. I’ll take my chances with this wee one. If she’ll go to sleep for me, then there’s less of a shock if she wakes up and sees me with her.”
It made sense, Martha knew. And she really had to get moving. She hesitated for a moment before pushing herself upwards from the cosy, threadbare sofa, and tiptoeing out of the room. She picked out the clothes she needed and then stepped under the shower for a quick wash before shutting herself into Mrs Hibbert’s room to prepare herself.
When she emerged, Ruby was asleep in her bed and Mrs Hibbert was trying to figure out the workings of the baby monitor. Martha smiled, gently took it from her and pressed the ‘on’ switch.
“I’ll most likely hear her from here anyway,” Mrs Hibbert remarked, placing the monitor on the small, tiled fireplace as if it were cut crystal. “Don’t you look nice though!”
Martha smiled and gave a little twirl, feeling the swing of the full-length, velvet, Empire-line gown in midnight blue which she had found in a vintage dress shop in Edinburgh. The bodice was decorated with tiny pearls, and the thick shoulder straps were trimmed with silver edging. She had teamed it with kitten heels in the same shade of blue and had pulled her hair back to one side with a diamante-encrusted fan-shaped comb. Mrs Hibbert stood back to admire Martha fully and, for a brief second, Martha was sure again that she recognised her from somewhere, that she had seen her before.
“Thanks so much, Mrs Hibbert,” she said and meant it. “Not just for the compliment but for everything – for looking after us, especially when you were so busy today– it’s really been lovely.” Another gust of wind roared outside and the pelting rain against the house caused the monitor to crackle. Martha jumped. The damn thing always made her unnecessarily uneasy these days, especially in strange surroundings. “The afternoon with you has really been the calm before the storm – literally,” she added.
The old lady waved her away. “It’s a pleasure, dearie,” she said. “Now get ye on up to the big house. Your friends are waiting and the wee thing – she’s beautiful – is sound asleep in her little cot bed. No harm done. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Martha nodded, feeling that pang that she always had on leaving Ruby. Always. Without fail.
Mrs Hibbert saw the moment’s hesitation. “She’s perfectly safe, Martha,” she said. “That’s why she’s out here with me. So she’s safe.”
Martha looked the housekeeper in the eye then, the words finally striking a chord with her. Did that mean that she would be unsafe in the castle then? The note from the butler to Gabriel said that the staff were all nervous. Why wouldn’t that include Mrs Hibbert, as sensible as she seemed? What had she seen up there? And why wouldn’t a child be safe?
Hibbert broke the stare before Martha could open her mouth to speak, and bustled out of the door into the hallway, returning with what Martha realised was a black oilskin cloak and hat and a pair of wellington boots.
The old lady was smiling. “Now don’t laugh at me, but I reckon this lot will complete your ensemble this evening.”
Martha laughed as she allowed herself to be draped in the waterproof gear. Mrs Hibbert really had thought of everything.
“It’s a short walk to the back door of the castle,” she said wisely, “but it can be a wet one – I’ve many years experience of winters up here but I’ve never made the trip in gear so fine as what you’re wearing so let’s keep it fine, eh? There you go!” She pulled the sou’wester down heavily on Martha’s ears and held her arm for balance as she slipped out of her shoes and replaced them with the boots which were a size or two too large. “Leave the lot inside the back door when you get there, and if it’s still blowing a gale when you’re coming back out – which I wager it will – then they’re ready for you and you won’t get soaked.”
“Thanks again,” said Martha as she allowed herself to be ushered down the small back hall.
She stood for a second or two at the open door, the hall suddenly filled with the sounds of the rain beating against the walls and down on the cobbles of the yard. The movement of the door triggered a sensor light and she saw in the distance the back door of the castle which she knew was her destination – Hibbert assured her that the plain brown door was unlocked and would lead her straight into a hallway where she should take the stone stairs up to the main body of the house. Martha smiled and thanked her again before tugging the hat down on her head and suddenly plunging herself out into the wet night, head down as she hurried toward the castle, all the time glad of the fact that Mrs Hibbert was watching from her cottage, observing her passage.
Reaching the door, with a great heave she pushed it open and made her way inside to the darkness and cold of Dubhglas Castle.
CHAPTER 34
Gabriel was the first person that Martha recognised on stepping through the doorway under the stairs into the main hallway which by now was busy with people in evening dress, milling around with drinks in their hands.
The Christmas tree which she had last seen lying across the boxes, was now upright and firmly secured, in pride of place in the hallway across from the front door where it greeted guests. It seemed friendlier now, festive, twinkling with lights, as was the garland wound around the stairway and the festive friezes atop each of the doors which led off the hallway. A couple of waiters circulated offering hors d’oeuvres – plates of crostini, mini-burgers and quiches. Martha’s stomach gave a pang as she saw them. She had only picked at her meals all day, still too shaken by Ruby’s near-miss with the tree to enjoy lunch. The air in the hallway was no longer musty, but now thick with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree, and of cinnamon and cloves coming from a great tureen on a trestle across the drawing-room door where a waiter ladelled out cups of mulled wine.
“Don’t you look positively splendid,” observed Gabriel as she reached him.
Martha gave a slight curtsey before taking in his appearance, then stared at him in disbelief. “You’re wearing a kilt,” she observed, stunned. “And those socks . . . Gabriel . . .”
Gabriel glanced down at his legs and reached an arm down to tug the end of the kilt, as if to make himself decent. “And your point is?” he queried drily.
“Your knees . . .” Martha continued, nibbling on her food and continuing to stare, a mocking expression on her face as she did so.
“I am a Scotsman, young lady,” pronounced Gabriel in response, brushing his hand imperiously along the green and blue squares, “and this is my family tartan I’ll have you know. Well, it’s a tartan at least. Of that much I am absolutely sure. All is well in the housekeeper’s outpost?” He flagged down a waiter and plucked two champagne flutes from his tray, handing one to Martha.
She accepted and nodded, looking around her then for Will. “Vicious night, isn’t it?” she remarked, only to be greeted with his customary shrug
followed by his attention being drawn across the room to a waving woman standing by the Christmas tree standing beside a man who was essentially an older version of Gabriel.
“That’s my folks over there, actually,” he observed. “Come and say hello, why don’t you? Only for heaven’s sakes don’t mention ghosts, my brother, the Navy, the Territorial Army or Ally McCoist to my father. In that order.”
Martha hid a grin as Gabriel took her arm and led her across the hallway toward the smiling couple.
An hour later and they were going in to dinner in the long banqueting hall to the rear of the castle. Will came to escort Martha and Sue in – Sue stunning in a backless, red halter-neck with matching lipstick and her blonde hair tight in a chignon. “You know me! I always keep something fancy in my overnight bag,” she shrugged when Martha complimented her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And for Sue, it was. She was nothing if not always prepared.
Will was looking stunning himself in his dark-blue tux, his tie slightly loose at the neck from repeated tugging. Martha reached a hand out to straighten it and basked in his smile. Forget about last night, she urged herself. You didn’t mean any of it. Look forward. This is what’s important now.
It wasn’t hard to be distracted from any such thoughts. Tall, festive flower arrangements stood at equal distances along the table which was covered with white linen and laid with red-glass goblets and tartan napkins held in shape with holly-topped napkin rings. Two more Christmas trees, smaller than the one in the hallway, flanked the fireplace behind Christopher Calvert who sat at the head of the table. Two more stood at the opposite end of the room where a small stage was prepared with a number of chairs, instruments atop them or at their legs. Martha noted the accordion with some dread. Outside, the rain lashed across the panes of glass which overlooked the lawns. It made inside seem cosier, the thick drops trailing down the windows catching the reflection from the candles and the tree lights and making the window sparkle.
And the food, when it arrived, was fantastic. A salmon and prawn starter served with crème fraiche on homemade potato cakes was followed by a creamy leek soup. The main course of simple beef and trimmings was delicious and Martha felt her seams begin to strain as she devoured the last mouthful of Yorkshire pudding and set her cutlery on her plate.
“You always do that, don’t you?” grinned Will beside her.
“What?” She smiled hesitantly back, wondering what he was thinking.
“You save your favourite thing on the plate for last – like Yorkshire puds. I don’t know anyone who loves them as much as you do.”
Just then Gabriel appeared behind them, dinner jacket off and tie loosened. He hunkered down between Martha’s and Will’s chairs.
“Whooh! That was a good bit of scran, no?”
Martha was puzzled by the term. “Seriously, Gabriel, have you started to speak in tongues since we got here? And your accent is getting stronger too!”
“It’s being around my dad,” he giggled. “Military slang.” He made a dismissive wave of his hand and continued to scan the room. His face was red from a combination of sitting near the fireplace and the wine he was clearly enjoying. “Those caterers are quite the job. You should hire them for your – emmm – parties. In the future. Any parties you might be having –”
“You having a good time up top there?” barked Will suddenly, changing the subject and nodding toward Gabriel’s place setting.
Gabriel made his lips into an ‘eee’ of silent apology. “Och, you know, old folks’ jokes – ‘remember the times’ – all that old yawn,” he huffed as he glanced up the table to where his godfather, a sprig of heather pinned to his lapel, was engaged in conversation with Gabriel’s parents who were seated on either side of him.
“You’re having a great time, admit it!” smiled Martha.
“Do you think you might get to ask him about Pine?” said Will suddenly.
Gabriel’s expression changed to one of uncertainty. “Not sure if it’s the time,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not my parents’ special subject.” He stood up sharply, his knees cracking as he did so. “Oh, I’ve eaten too much,” he groaned, and rubbed his stomach. Then, looking at Sue who was seated beside Martha but engrossed in conversation with the man to her right, he muttered, “I’d best have a word with Brice. Mr Duffy there next to her could be a really good catch for her actually. Local salmon smoker so he is.” Gabriel raised his eyebrows and moved on to Sue and the salmon smoker.
Will slung an arm across the back of Martha’s chair and surveyed the room.
“Did you get all that business done with Dan?” he asked suddenly.
Martha reached out and took a small swig from her wineglass, feeling herself go red as she did so. Thank heaven the room was so warm.
“The forms are signed anyway,” she said. “I saw some photos as well. It looks lovely – we might take a trip there when we’re with your folks next time and see –”
“Martha, when we’ve finished with dinner, I wonder could I talk to you about something?” Will interrupted.
Her heart froze in her chest. He knew. He must know that something had happened with Dan. What else could it be?
“It’s not bad or anything,” he continued, his own cheeks going a little pink.
He must have seen my face, she thought. Calm down, for heaven’s sake! Don’t give yourself away with a stupid guilty expression.
“At least I hope you won’t think so . . .”
“Of course,” she managed quietly, forcing a smile, feeling the shock of his request subside. It was probably something to do with his work, she reasoned. A six-month secondment to a haunted friary in Wales or something . . .
A shadow passed over her face for a moment, interrupted by the familiar clang of spoon on glass as speeches were announced. Christopher Calvert had risen to his feet and was demanding silence. He began to speak in a low tone that she could barely hear. It appeared that he was thanking his staff, the caterers – the usual thing, it seemed. Martha allowed her thoughts to drift off and she absent-mindedly pushed her spoon around the empty dish of panna cotta with rhubarb compote. It was so difficult to focus on the speeches in that heat. Her reverie was interrupted by applause as the speech ended.
Sue touched her arm to get her attention, announcing a little too loudly. “This is Mr Duffy, Martha! He smokes salmon, can you believe that?”
Martha extended her hand to greet the man and registered that while his face was distinguished, his greying hair still thick on his head, his eyes a steely blue, when he smiled his mouth was entirely devoid of front teeth, top or bottom. She could see Sue grimacing in a ‘get me out of here’ way and she spent the next few minutes engaged in a conversation with Mr Duffy conducted across Sue, trying to ignore the faint smell of fish and peat which was beginning to creep her way as she leant forward.
Her escape came when a team of staff entered the room and started to clear away teas and coffees. The initial whine of the accordion was the signal for toothless Mr Duffy to finally spot a fresh target and he excused himself and disappeared across the room, leaving Sue to vanish quickly to check if the weather was yet clement enough do some smoking of her own.
“Oh Christ, I hate ceilidh music!” Martha exclaimed, turning her nose up as a guitar and a fiddle joined the accordion and a joyful tune rang out across the room.
“You’re not alone in that,” came a woman’s voice from behind her.
Martha turned sharply to see Gabriel’s mother standing there. She smiled and indicated that she should sit in the seat vacated by Sue.
The older woman was smartly dressed in a slate-grey silk shift, a shawl alive with exotic peacocks in blues and greens was draped over one shoulder to enliven the look. She was tall, her hair cut short and grey in colour. Violet McKenzie’s skin was clear and her blue eyes bright. She really was an attractive woman, thought Martha as it struck her that she must be in her late seventies or even early eighties.
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br /> “That son of mine babbles on about you all the time, you know,” smiled Violet, seeking Gabriel out in the crowd.
His cheeks red, he had headed to the dance floor and was attempting some sort of jig in his kilt. Martha did an exaggerated double take and it was Violet’s turn to smile.
“It’s good to see him enjoying himself up here for a change,” she remarked, taking a sip from the glass of red she had brought with her. “He always hated it as a child. Hid in his room with earphones on, Christopher used to tell me. Had no interest in fishing or shooting or any of the outdoor stuff.”
It was a simple observation but loaded, perhaps unwittingly, with comparison. Martha looked at Violet’s face, as she in turn watched her son again, and realised that she was looking into the face of a woman who had lost a child. Whose firstborn had been taken from her. Alive when she left him for his summer holidays, then gone, without her being there with him when he died. Martha felt an incredible sadness sweep over her. How could she still come here, she wondered? Still function, cope, smile, live even? How did she get through every day?
“How’s your little girl doing? Ruby, isn’t it?” Violet asked politely and with real interest.
Martha averted her gaze a little too quickly and nodded. “She’s great,” she replied. “Sound asleep with Mrs Hibbert out in the cottage.”
“I hope I can meet her tomorrow?” asked Violet. “I never thought Gabriel would speak with affection about anything that can’t debate the finer points of religion with him, but he gets a real kick out of Ruby.”
Martha smiled again. She knew that, but Gabriel would never have admitted it in a million years. Martha wondered exactly what sort of things he discussed with his mother when they chatted alone? He was close to her, she knew. Closer than he let on. Closer because of his father’s hard line, his military discipline and methods. But in his own way Gabriel adored him too.
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