Fields of Blue Flax

by Sue Lawrence

  Chapter Forty-seven

  May 1859

  Charlotte had begun to play the final verse of Psalm 27 when she heard a noise. She glanced around but the light was beginning to fail and she could see nothing in the gloom of the church. She turned back to the piano and continued to play, far more loudly than she would on a Sunday. Her father had told her that the music was there to enhance the worship of his flock, never to overpower. She sat up straight and played the final chords with gusto, then flicked over the pages of the psalter, checking his list for the next one she needed to practise.

  A voice boomed out of the gloom. ‘Charlotte, where were you this afternoon?’

  She flinched and swung round from the bench.

  Her father stood at the front pew. As Charlotte’s eyes became accustomed to the shadows, she noticed that his hands were clasped in front of him and he was twisting them round and round as he spoke.

  ‘This afternoon, daughter. I repeat my question. Were you out?’

  Charlotte gripped the edge of the bench and looked directly at him. The only parts of his body that were not black were his pale white face, thinning grey hair and those hands, turning. His black eyes glinted in the light from the window above the pulpit.

  ‘I decided to take a walk after luncheon, Father. I am not sure if you recall my saying I might do so, as the afternoon was set fair.’ She felt his eyes bore into her. ‘Now of course it is somewhat chillier. Indeed, I believe I have finished practising for Sunday now, Father, and I shall return home. Mother looked so much better today and…’

  ‘Were you in the woods with David Barrie?’ He remained immobile apart from those hands.

  Charlotte felt herself begin to sweat. ‘No, Father, I did not walk in that direction, I…’ And just as she thought to tell him that she had taken the Forfar road, not the Oathlaw road, she remembered meeting the members of the kirk session on her way home. Her knuckles were white as they tightly gripped the bench.

  ‘You were seen emerging from the woods by Mr Lamb.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I had spent the early afternoon at Oathlaw House in audience with Lady Munro and then he arrived with the other members of the kirk session in the late afternoon for our meeting.’

  So you had spent the entire afternoon quaffing as much claret as you cared to drink, she thought.

  ‘Yes, Father, I am so sorry. I seem to have forgotten. I thought I had seen a young doe run into the woods so I took a short walk along there but went no further than the first clearing before returning to the main road.’

  Her father began to approach, still wringing his bony hands. ‘Doctor Macleod arrived late at the meeting as he had to attend to one of his patients in the village. He said he had just seen David Barrie come out of the woods. The doctor stopped to engage him in conversation but Barrie seemed to be in a hurry and sped up the road towards his cottage.’ He paused and pursed his lips. ‘Charlotte, did you see that man this afternoon?’

  He was now near enough to her face that she could smell the reek of stale wine. He had that look often admired by the likes of Lady Munro, but feared by her: that of a zealot. It was as if there was a fire being stoked inside him. His face, previously ashen and cadaverous, was taking on a flushed, angry look. She knew that expression well and all the muscles in her body tightened. Thank God she was in the church.

  ‘Father, I believe, now that I think of it, that I did see David Barrie near the woods – but I did not pass the time of day with him, for I was aware I had said to Mother I would be back for when she awoke after her afternoon nap.’ She attempted a smile. ‘It is good, is it not, that Mother is enjoying better health?’ Her fists grasped the wood of the bench even tighter. She was safe in here, nothing could happen in the sanctuary.

  He came even closer so that she could feel his hot, malodorous breath as he bent down towards her. ‘I have warned you before of seeing any strangers, anyone of whom I do not approve. That is why we employed a governess instead of sending you to school, that is why your poor mother is often abed, her already frail constitution suffering because she worries too much about you and your insistence in attempting to be a free spirit.’

  He spat out the last two words, as if spitting out a mouthful of dirt. ‘You are not and never will be a free spirit. Even when you reach adulthood in three years’ time, you will persist in following the rules I have set should you wish to continue to live in the manse. Commands must be obeyed.’

  She looked down, silent, hoping that, since he was in a holy place, the black mood would subside soon. But he continued to shout.

  ‘And now, you will remove yourself from that bench and come with me!’ He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her up.

  ‘No! Father, no, please!’

  He was thin and gaunt but strong as an ox. She tucked her feet under the bench so that, as he pulled her, the bench came too. He saw what she was trying to do and struck her across the back of the head. Even in his most violent rages, he was always rigorous about where the blows landed, ensuring he never touched her face.

  She let the bench go as the pain hit. He then dragged her up the steps towards the back of the church and out into the corridor. She began to whimper. ‘Please, Father, please, no…’

  He hauled her along the corridor, pausing only to kick the vestry door open. He pulled her inside and flung her onto the floor. She heard the grating turn of the key in the lock.

  He stepped towards her, his face livid red, his black eyes blazing. He put his foot on her dress and began to unbuckle his belt.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  2014

  After the funeral, Gerry did the rounds of the guests back at the hotel, politely nodding when they said how lovely the service had been and how well he and the kids were coping. Jack and Anna sat in a corner with Lottie, each with a glass of warm white wine in their hand.

  ‘It’s times like this I wished I smoked. Any excuse to get out and away from everyone,’ Anna said, taking a gulp of wine. ‘This wine’s disgusting, isn’t it.’

  Jack nodded his agreement.

  Lottie’s phone rang. When she saw who was calling, she grabbed it and headed for the door. ‘Back in a minute!’

  Once she was outside, she whispered, ‘Dad? You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. Though being in a police cell’s not quite as cool as it looks in the movies. I’m thinking of boring a hole in the wall with my toothbrush. Who knows, I could be out by next year.’

  ‘Dad, it’s not funny.’

  ‘Sorry, Lotts. Anyway, they’ve been questioning me, but they said I could use the phone in the tea break before they start again.’

  ‘What’s the charge?’ Lottie asked, brows furrowed.

  ‘Possible manslaughter.’

  Lottie gasped.

  ‘That’s why I’ve got to get a lawyer involved soon.’

  ‘But Dad, this is ridiculous, I just don’t get it.’

  ‘It’s something I have to do, Lotts. Right, I’ve got to go. How are things at the funeral tea?’

  ‘It’s all right. Dad, will you let me know what’s happening?’

  ‘When I can. Bye, darling.’

  Lottie went back inside the room and over to Jack and Anna. She sat down with a thump. Anna asked if she was all right.

  ‘Yes, fine. Want another drink? I could try and get some gin and tonics?’

  Lottie nodded.

  Uncle Charlie sat down beside them and turned towards Jack. ‘I’ve been looking for that father of yours, young man. Can’t see him anywhere.’

  ‘Oh, he’s over there, Grandpa. D’you want me to go and get him?’

  Charlie shook his head then peered round the room, searching.

  Anna took her grandfather’s hand and stroked it. ‘Are you tired, Grandpa?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘I think I am. Is it time to go home yet?’

  Mags took Charlie’s key from him and unlocked the front door. He followed, arm in arm with Peggy. Both their heads were bowed, stooped with sadness.r />
  Mags went into the living room where there were piles of papers all over the table.

  ‘What on earth’s all this, Mum?’

  Peggy took her brother over to his armchair and helped him take his coat off before loosening his black tie. Charlie slumped back against the cushion and shut his eyes.

  Peggy joined Mags at the table. ‘Last night Charlie suddenly decided to go through all of Chris’s things. You know, school photos and letters from her trips, paintings and things from when she was little.’ She shook her head. ‘It was all just too sad.’

  Mags shuffled through some of the things then pointed to an old shoebox. ‘What’s in that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, take a look at that, sweetheart. He said it’s for you.’ Peggy looked round as if for approval from her brother but there was a gentle, whistling snore from his armchair. ‘Bless him, he’s done in.’

  She turned back to Mags. ‘He said it was from our father. I told him that was impossible – I’d been given all the things from our parents’ house to sort. But he said this box had been given to our father when Granny Elizabeth Barrie died, and he’d then given it to him. He was very lucid when he told me all this last night, said he’d been determined to keep it a secret, didn’t want to burden the family with whatever’s in that box, but he wanted to pass it on to you before he forgot about it all.’

  Mags lifted the lid off the tattered shoebox and saw inside a very old journal with faded satin ribbons tied around it. She lifted it up and saw a pouch made of black velvet underneath.

  ‘It’s a diary. Whose is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Charlie insisted you take it away to have a good look at it. He said it was some of the few things in our granny’s possession, and that she brought bad luck.’

  She leant towards Mags. ‘You know he’s been talking every day about the fact that all the misfortune began when you girls started to research her history. You know, the kids’ accident, then poor Chris. So can you just do him a favour and take it away with you?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Mags. ‘Shall I stay and heat up that casserole for your tea?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’ll give me something to do. What kind is it?’

  ‘Beef in Guinness. I know Uncle Charlie likes that, I thought it’d keep up his strength. Just do some mashed potatoes with it, Mum.’ Mags looked at her watch. ‘Do you mind if I leave now? Lottie and I were going to have a quiet evening at home.’

  Peggy reached across to her daughter. ‘Mags, what’s going on with Doug? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Things are okay, Mum, Mags swallowed. ‘We’re just having a bit of time apart, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.’ She gave her mum a weak smile and kissed her forehead.

  ‘I do worry, sweetheart. You look terrible, like you’ve not slept in days. You’ve got to look after yourself, Mags.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. Anyway, give me a ring tomorrow morning with your Tesco shopping list and I’ll order online for you.’

  Peggy pressed the back of her hand against Mags’s cheek and smiled. ‘You are a treasure, my love. Such a good person.’

  Mags stood up. ‘Not sure I am a good person, actually, but it’s too late to change anything now.’ She put her hand up to wave as she headed for the front door.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  26th March 1871

  Cookie reached the top step with her tray and stretched out her hand to hold onto the banister. She had been up and down the stairs at least ten times a day for the past week and she was exhausted. There were those in the village who said she was foolish, looking after Miss Charlotte like this when she was so sick with the influenza. No one else, apart from Doctor Macleod, had been near her. But if she succumbed to the illness then so be it; her life would hardly be worth living if Miss Charlotte died anyway. Two women in the village had already been taken and there was a child that was bad with it too.

  Of course he had been nowhere near her. His excuse to Cookie, when she served him his lone suppers, was that he could not risk infecting his parishioners. But she knew he was a coward and thought only of himself. If Lady Munro had caught the influenza, she was sure the minister would be straight over to Oathlaw House to see her. But his own daughter, well, that was a different matter.

  Cookie tapped lightly on the door and went in, placing the tray on the dresser. Charlotte lay in bed, her face a flushed pink colour, sweat dripping from her brow. Her eyes opened and she attempted a smile.

  ‘Oh, look at you, Miss Charlotte, let’s put a cold towel on your broo. And I’ve brought up a wee bowl o’ ramson soup, ye ken it’s good for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Cookie,’ she whispered, as Cookie pushed back her hair and mopped her forehead.

  ‘Can you try just a wee bit o’ soup?’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘If you don’t mind spooning it for me, Cookie. I have no strength even to hold a spoon.’

  Cookie gave her a couple of spoonfuls then Charlotte raised up a hand. ‘Thanks, Cookie. It’s delicious, but I can’t manage any more. It’s my favourite soup in the world, you do know that, don’t you?’ She leant her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes.

  Cookie nodded and sat back in the chair. ‘Aye, I ken well.’

  Charlotte coughed, a deep, hacking cough that wracked her whole body. Once the coughing fit had passed, she stretched out her hand. ‘Cookie, there’s something I need you to do. Please.’

  ‘Anything, Miss Charlotte,’ she said, leaning forward to hear Charlotte’s faint voice better.

  ‘Over there in the bottom drawer of my dressing table is my journal. I want you to give that to Elizabeth, should I die.’

  ‘You mustnae speak like that, you’ll be just fine.’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘I do not think so. I am becoming weaker by the day. Please go and see where it is, under my handkerchiefs.’

  Cookie slowly got to her feet and went to the dressing table. She lifted a pile of handkerchiefs up from the drawer and saw a journal, tied with pink satin ribbons. She held it aloft. ‘Is this it?’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Now, please go to the drawer of the little bedside table and look in there. You will find a pouch.’

  Cookie opened the drawer. There were some papers on top; one was a programme of Chopin’s Edinburgh soirée in 1848. Tucked at the back was a little black pouch. She took it over to Charlotte.

  ‘This pouch has the key inside. You must give both to Elizabeth. But,’ said Charlotte, trying to push herself up a little but collapsing back on the bed, ‘only when he is dead. That is important.’

  Cookie nodded. She helped Charlotte sit up, propping a pillow at her back. ‘But Miss Charlotte, I am already fifty years old. He is, what, sixty-five? He may outlive me.’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘I doubt it. Thank you for doing this. It is important the child understands everything that has happened.’

  There was a noise downstairs and both women turned their heads towards the door. Cookie hurriedly tucked the journal and key away in their respective hiding places and went to the door. ‘He is home,’ she said. ‘I had better go and see what he requires. There’s aye something. Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Charlotte?’

  Charlotte shook her head, lay back on the pillow and shut her eyes.

  Cookie descended the stairs slowly and saw him through the study door. She turned towards the kitchen and heard him call out. ‘Is there any news from the sick bed, Mrs Anderson?’

  She turned round and saw him lean forward from his desk. He was dressed in black, as usual. ‘There is no change, sir. Will the doctor return this evening?’

  ‘He said he might, although I do not wish to trouble him as he is visiting so many of my flock who are stricken with this illness.’ He stood up straight and came towards her, towering high above. ‘I shall take tea presently, Mrs Anderson.’

  He blinked his ink-black eyes as if there was dust in them. He rubbed them then opened them wide as if seeing clearly once more. Ey
es sharp, glinting and evil like a corbie’s, thought Cookie.

  Chapter Fifty

  2015

  Mags sat at the kitchen table with Anna, Jack and Uncle Charlie. In front of them was a pot of tea, a pile of scones and dishes of butter and homemade jam. The sound of piano music floated along the corridor and through the door.

  ‘I love that tune, it’s brilliant isn’t it?’ Anna said, taking another scone. ‘These are delicious, Auntie Mags, really light.’

  Jack spread butter thickly onto his scone. ‘Your food’s always good.’ He dolloped on some jam. ‘What are you cooking for the big lunch next weekend, Auntie Mags?’

  ‘Well, it’ll be the first time we’ve all been together since the funeral.’ She twiddled with a loose strand of hair then glanced back at Anna and Jack. ‘So I thought we’d have a whole fillet of beef. You like that, don’t you, Uncle Charlie?’ She raised her voice. ‘Imagine, you’ll be ninety soon!’

  ‘Yeah, Grandpa, we need to get you a new outfit. Not every day you reach such a milestone!’ Anna took her grandfather’s bony hand in hers and beamed at him.

  Charlie smiled back but said nothing.

  ‘You’ll love it. I know you keep telling us you don’t want a party, but that’s just nonsense,’ said Anna, shaking her head and looking straight at him, a cheeky grin on her face.

  Charlie patted her hand then pushed his chair back and slowly stood up.

  ‘You okay, Uncle Charlie?’ asked Mags.

  ‘Fine. Just need the toilet,’ he said, shuffling towards the door.

  ‘Granny’s ring looks nice on you, Anna, the garnet suits your colouring.’

  ‘You sure I’m meant to have it, Auntie Mags? Why don’t Lottie and I share it, a few months each?’

  ‘Nope, your mum loved it and so it’s for you, only you, sweetheart.’

  ‘Grandpa’s doing a bit better now, don’t you think?’ said Jack.