But Candice was in no way relieved. She must try an alternate tact.
Two mornings later, as she was dressing, she turned to her maid and said, “You’ve lived in the area most of your life, Mary. You know many of its people, do you not?”
“I was born here, mem. I know my share of folks.”
“How about at Aviemere?”
“We mingle some.”
“Tell me, have you heard of a sheepherder from Donachie named MacLeod?”
“I never knew him, but everyone knew of him. Kept to himself on the mountain, so I heard.”
“His granddaughter is now Master Andrew Graystone’s nurse.”
“I did hear that.”
Candice walked purposefully to her wardrobe to choose her gown for the day. She sorted through several dresses as if she was having difficulty making up her mind.
“You know nothing else about her family?” she asked.
“Why do ye think I would know anything, mem?” In truth Candice knew very well that her maid had at one time been quite friendly with Sid, the stableman at Aviemere, and she now hoped to utilize that relationship to her advantage.
Candice pulled out a lovely pink silk dress from the wardrobe. “I didn’t realize I still had this old thing,” she said. “I should get rid of it. But it is still too lovely just to throw out, don’t you think, Mary?”
“Aye, mem, it is that.”
“How would you like it, Mary?”
The maid’s eyes immediately lit up. “Me, mem?” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Candice. “And the blue one, too—I really shall never wear them again.”
“That’s too kind of ye, mem.”
And indeed, the maid could not remember when her mistress had been so generous.
“I would be quite willing to part with them, but—I would like a little something in return.”
“I have no money for such fine dresses.”
“I don’t mean for you to pay me, Mary. It’s something else.”
“Mem?”
“A simple, trifling matter really. I must just appease my curiosity. I would like you to find out—quietly, of course—what you can about this Jamie MacLeod, the nurse at Aviemere—or about her grandfather, or whatever other family she might have. Do you understand?”
Yes, the maid understood. And how could she refuse her mistress? Besides, the dresses were exquisite.
In less than three days the maid had justified her reward. And almost the same moment she had handed the dresses over to the ecstatic Mary, Candice was making preparations to be off to Aviemere. This was far better than she had expected! How could one of the man’s own servants know what he apparently did not know himself? No matter. He soon would know. She would waste no time delivering her tidings to the laird of Aviemere.
Edward received her cordially, but received her news without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. A most disconcerting man, Candice thought. He was the first man she had never been able to read like a book, but then that had been part of her fascination with him in the first place.
“You see why I was bound to come to you,” she said.
“I see,” he replied. “As you had to tell me about her being a peasant.”
“But this is so much more horrifying—”
She stopped short in affected dismay. “You—you didn’t know of this, did you?”
“No, I did not,” he replied.
Well, that’s a relief, she thought. But when she spoke, her words were, “Then I am glad I can be the one to save the Graystone name from such scandal.”
“We have done well enough without your help for the last two hundred years, Miss Montrose.”
“Oh, well—” her voice trailed away helplessly. The man really was utterly exasperating!
“Thank you for your concern, Miss Montrose.”
“I would really feel more comfortable if you called me Candice.”
“That’s fine. Now, if I may show you to the door . . .”
“You understand, Edward,” she persisted, “I mean no ill will toward the girl. But what would become of dear little Andrew if, when he was older, it was learned that he had in fact been raised by the daughter of a murderer?”
———
Whether the whole matter would have rested there is questionable, for Candice Montrose would no doubt not have given up so easily. And despite his protestations of scorn for the opinions of social circles, Edward Graystone could not help turning the thing over uneasily in his mind. If Candice was right—and though he did not trust her further than he could throw Andrew’s new red ball, he was quite sure she was careful enough not to go about spreading false rumors; no doubt the information was reliable—there could be certain adverse consequences. As much as he liked Jamie . . . well, he would have to think the matter over prudently.
Whatever conclusions Edward may have come to had he been allowed to pursue his thoughts will never be known. Nor can it be told whether Candice would have achieved her self-grasping designs through other methods had this particular scheme failed. Events were soon removed from either of their hands when Jamie learned the substance of their conversation regarding her.
Sid MacKay, despite his uncommunicative exterior, had taken a liking to Jamie MacLeod. He was intensely loyal to his laird and had seen the healthful changes in him in recent months. Attributing this brightening of the moral atmosphere around Aviemere to Jamie’s coming, he could not help feeling a fondness for her in his heart, on behalf of the Graystone family.
Never prior to Mary’s chance meeting with him in the village had he made the connection between Jamie and the stories that had circulated around a decade earlier about Lundie and Gilbert MacLeod. And even as he had put two and two together, he never suspected why the news that Jamie was in all probability the daughter of Lundie’s murderer had roused such a light in Mary’s eye. At least he did not suspect the danger he had exposed Jamie to until the next afternoon when he saw the Montrose daughter ride up in her carriage with the same gleam in her eye. Suddenly he realized his blunder, confirmed by Cameron the butler who had overheard the first of the conversation before closing the door behind him, leaving Graystone and the Montrose woman alone.
Not revealing to Cameron the reason for his inquiries regarding the interview, Sid took his way slowly back to the stables, pondering what best he could do to alleviate the effects of his horrible mistake. At length he did the only thing he could see his way clear to do: he sought Jamie out in the nursery and made a full and heartsick confession, begging her forgiveness for relating rumors which he had no way of knowing the truth for a certainty.
Jamie thanked him, then retreated to the solitude of her own room. She regretted now more than ever not having told the laird about her discoveries regarding her father. Now it would seem that she had kept the truth from him, and he would have every reason to suspect her of ulterior motives in the matter. Indeed, she had deliberately kept it a secret, but not for the reasons he was bound to suspect.
She spent the evening and a good portion of the night as well in prayer. She must face this squarely and forthrightly. She could never let herself be the cause of bringing scandal to either Andrew or Edward Graystone. By early morning she had made up her mind as to the only honorable course of action open to her. As soon as she judged prudent, she made her way to the library where she found Edward at his desk poring over the daily correspondence.
“What can I do for you, Jamie?” he asked, looking up.
“Mr. Graystone,” she began with poise in her tone, “something has come to my attention about which I must be very candid with you. I wanted you to know that I never meant to lie to you. That is—”
“Are you referring to the matter of your father?” he asked.
She nodded.
His features hardened and his eyes glinted in the old manner. “Gossip!” he exploded.
Suddenly he lurched to his feet as if pacing the room might stem some of the turbulent emotions churning w
ithin him. He strode to one of the bookshelves, then said, “I dealt with the matter, Jamie. And I made it clear I didn’t give a midge’s eyebrow for such gossip.”
“But, sir, it might not be gossip. That is, I don’t believe it is true. But everyone else does. That’s the way the matter was left twelve years ago.”
“I don’t care if it’s true or not.”
“But it could reflect on Andrew. I want you to know I never even considered the harm it could have done him. And I know you’re wondering why I never said anything.”
“As a matter-of-fact,” he said, “I’ve never once wondered, Jamie. I’ve grown to trust you and to trust your love for my son. If you said nothing, I’m certain you had good reasons.”
“There are reasons, sir. But I’ve wrestled with whether to make you aware of them or not. But if I’m going to come to you in honesty, then you deserve to be told.”
She paused and took a deep breath, looking nervous now for the first time.
“What is it, Jamie?”
“There is someone,” she began, “who accuses you—that is, the Graystones—of the murder my father is said to have committed as well as the murder of my father himself.”
“What?” he cried, and for a moment Jamie felt a surge of her old terror of the man. But she quickly calmed.
“Her accusations are all ridiculous. She’s—she’s an embittered old woman. And frightful in her own way. And I don’t believe her. I don’t really know what to believe! To think that either my father, or your family, could have murdered—it’s all just too awful even to think of.”
“Jamie, I hope none of this changes your—your position with us.”
“But don’t you see—it must!”
“It doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. No, I won’t hear of it!”
“There could be talk against you—against Andrew, as he grows.”
“I don’t care. I can handle a little scandal!”
“But, Mr. Graystone, I’m not sure I can.”
The answer brought him up short, and he said nothing.
He looked at Jamie standing before him. She was so strong in many ways—in all the ways that mattered—but still so vulnerable, delicate like one of her precious spring flowers. He thought of what she might have to face because of this—the scorn of gossip, and especially seeing the name of her father, whom she was now able to love, only in memory, dragged into the dirt of public humiliation.
Yes, maybe he could stand a scandal, but was it fair of him to ask her to endure one?
“Blast it all!” he cried, slamming his fist on the desk.
———
That very afternoon Jamie wrote to Emily Gilchrist.
Not a few tears dropped on the pages of her letter. Only a year ago she had cried at the prospect of leaving Emily. Now she was crying at the thought of going back.
The bonds that had developed within her heart for this place within such a short time were all but inexplicable on the conscious level. Certainly there was little Andrew. How could she ever bear leaving him? And no doubt a good part of the sorrow of parting had to do with the roots of her very existence which had begun and been nurtured not far from where she now stood.
But there was more. Though she could not quite explain what it was, and was perhaps a little afraid to try to explain it—for it was bound up in the person of Edward Graystone.
He had frightened her, intimidated her, angered her, but then gradually warmed to her, and finally joined her in faith. She had, without realizing it, become part of this man, his son and his home.
And it was not possible that such a parting could be easy.
But hers had been a life of sad and painful partings. And she would endure this one as she had all the others.
———
Two weeks later Jamie boarded a carriage, headed for the train which would take her to Aberdeen. Her heart had been drained by the emotion of the last several days, and it seemed impossible that her eyes could shed another tear. But suddenly the well was full to overflowing again, and as the carriage lurched away, more tears came and continued through half the journey.
Edward Graystone stood with his son and watched the carriage rumble away with as much dismay, though not nearly the innocent confusion as young Andrew. Why did he suddenly feel so desolate, so empty?
He knew they would never find another nurse like Jamie MacLeod.
Why had he let her go!
Yet he knew why, as did Jamie. And they both had to trust that somehow good would come of the parting as it had of the meeting.
Part V
Robbie Taggart
36
The Sailor Returns
It was the first warm day of spring.
There were no spring flowers to be found along the cobbled streets of Aberdeen, but the day was lovely nonetheless, and Jamie wasted no time in taking her charges out for a morning walk.
Ten-year-old Cecilia walked sedately at Jamie’s side, while the younger Kenneth skipped ahead, cockily chasing a bumble-bee. He was no longer a round-faced toddler, but now a rather pudgy six-year-old. He had not changed except in height and girth. Fleetingly Jamie thought how it had been dear Kenny who had at last convinced her to go to Aviemere. She wondered about Andrew, as she often did, realizing the ache of separation may have been muted by time, but could never be obliterated.
It had been a year since Jamie had left Aviemere.
It had been a good year. God had directed her tenderly and faithfully, and even brought happiness into her life to help her forget her loss. When she arrived, Emily had insisted that she stay with them, not as a mere temporary guest, but as a member of the family. Having little choice in the immediate future, Jamie was able to accept this at first. But she knew that eventually she would have to make her own way in life, though she had no idea what she actually meant by that or how it would come about. The question was resolved, at least for the foreseeable future, about two weeks after her arrival when Mrs. Wainwright, the children’s governess, approached Jamie one evening.
The governess had a widowed sister in Edinburgh who had been begging Mrs. Wainwright, herself also a widow, to come live with her. The governess had wanted to make the move, for her sister was not in the best of health, but her loyalty to the Gilchrists prevented her. The commitment she had made to the children came first: she loved them and could never leave them in the care of just anyone.
When Jamie returned, therefore, Mrs. Wainwright felt as if God had sent her just to meet her own need.
“Now that you’re back, Jamie,” she said, “I know they’d be in the best of hands. Why, you are just like family!”
So Jamie was now governess to her dear friend’s children—a young governess, to be sure, and one without formal training. But the children loved her, did what she said, and Emily kept Jamie one step ahead of them by teaching her whatever she might have lacked regarding the children’s lessons the night before. Jamie had learned quickly, Emily was delighted to have her adopted “daughter” back, and the children seemed to feel no sting at the loss of Mrs. Wainwright.
It could not have been more perfect . . . except for the vague emptiness Jamie felt in her heart whenever her thoughts strayed westward, over the hills to Aviemere.
Dora Campbell wrote often and kept her informed of doings on the estate.
Yes, Andrew was growing. There was a new nurse and, though not to be compared with Jamie, she said, the woman was adequate. Jamie could not help smiling as she read the letter. She wanted the best for Andrew of course, and she hoped the situation was not a hardship for the new nurse, but it felt good to be held in such high esteem. At least everything about the estate must be immensely easier and less tense now that Edward Graystone had accepted his son, and more than that, his God.
One especially good piece of news came when Dora answered a vague question Jamie had posed in a letter. Janell, the parlor maid, was just fine, and, contrary to Dora’s initial estimation, the girl had set
tled into her job nicely. As she thought of the laird, Jamie could not help wondering if he had heard anything more from his brother. Of course she dared not ask Dora about that, and Dora volunteered no information. For all Jamie knew, she was the only one of the servants who knew of the tense situation between the Graystone brothers. Dora did volunteer, however, the news that Candice Montrose’s visits to the estate had increased, as had the laird’s to Montrose Manor. “There’s something about that woman I can’t abide,” she had written. “But then I’m just a housekeeper and he never would ask the likes of me. If he wants to run off and marry the woman, like everyone says he’s going to, and make a fool of himself, that’s hardly my concern. She’s just not at all like the first Lady Graystone, that’s all!”
As she read the words Jamie could not keep back an involuntary twinge of her heart. She dismissed the thought as ridiculous, but could not help the pain she felt at the memory of Candice Montrose’s role in forcing her away from Aviemere. The thought of such a woman becoming Andrew’s mother was almost more than she could bear.
Jamie did not wonder that she heard nothing from Mr. Graystone himself. There was a new nurse now, and loyalties must be transferred to her. It would only make it more difficult for everyone if old ties were maintained. She knew that. Of course, it was the only reasonable way. And if he did marry, she sighed, then Andrew would have a new mother to fill his emotional needs. Somehow, though, she could not visualize Candice Montrose giving the boy the security he needed. But as much as she tried to convince herself of the logic of all these things, she could not keep away the faint disappointment at the silence which hung over that portion of her memory.
But she had a new family now, and that was where her future lay—in Aberdeen, where her father had always wanted her to be!
She had already learned, through painful experiences earlier in her life, that looking back, trying to hang onto the elusive past, was no way to step fully and confidently into the future God was preparing for her. She prayed often that God would somehow allow her to retain the positive memories of Aviemere while removing the longing and ache and desire to hold on to what could never be again.
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