The Shooting Season

by Isobel Starling

  I shuddered from my memories and found I was in the Great Hall, standing in front of the enormous white stone fireplace stacked with burning logs. The heat it sent out was intense and much needed to fill such a vast room with a high vaulted ceiling. The three men with whom I had traveled were gone, and I was alone.

  I removed my hat, and my leather gloves, and laid them on a side table, and then I unbuttoned and shrugged out of my heavy greatcoat. I turned and laid it over a chair, then noted my surroundings. This was still a house of mourning and it felt somewhat like a mausoleum. I had left my townhouse where garlands, holly wreaths, and ribbons decorated my home for the seasonal celebrations in three days' time when my sister Gracie and her family would visit, and I had come to a house where there would be no Christmas at all. It felt peculiar.

  I glanced at the items displayed in cabinets and on the walls in the Great Hall. They told the story of Lord Ardmillan’s life, his military career and the deaths of many—man and beast. The hall was filled to the brim with antiquities and treasures from the dead Lord’s travels—ceramics, tapestries, paintings, and ornaments, along with a vast haul of hunting trophies. I counted at least ten stag’s heads in this room alone, all with impressive antlers, mounted to display the Lord’s prowess. A familiar voice echoed from the foyer and stole my attention. My heart thudded with anticipation and fear.

  “Mrs. McKelvie, you should have sent a boy to tell me our guests had arrived.” Euan Ardmillan admonished playfully.

  “Ye know yer not too old te go over my knee m’lord!” Mrs. McKelvie retorted, and then I heard Euan’s light laughter and a witch-like cackle from the elderly housekeeper.

  I was amused by their repartee. Mrs. McKelvie had ruled the hall’s kitchen when I visited thirty years ago, in fact, she had wet nursed Euan as a babe, and so, with Lady Ardmillan dead forty years, Mrs. McKelvie was the matriarch and considered part of the family.

  “Yer nice gentleman friend is in the Great Hall, Euie.” The housekeeper said affectionately,

  “The other guests have retired to their rooms. I’ll send in tea and set out the lunch buffet in the dining room.”

  “You’re a treasure, Mrs. Mac! What would I do without you?” Euan praised. I then heard the tip tap of shoes on the flagstone floor.

  Remembrance

  Before I could prepare myself Euan Ardmillan stood in the doorway to the Great Hall. A wicked part of me had hoped that he had filled out and become bloated and ravaged by his debauched, sinful lifestyle, but no. Euan Ardmillan may have aged, but he had done so gracefully and somehow, he had become more attractive. I wondered if, like Oscar Wilde’s character Dorian Gray, Euan had done a deal with the devil and there was a vile portrait of him in the attic that absorbed his sins. Euan’s frame was still boyishly slender, but his blond hair had faded to silver and was worn to his nape. I knew him as a fresh-faced youth, but now he sported a well-trimmed silver beard that gave him a rather regal air. His blue eyes still sparkled with the mischief of youth and when he smiled at me I was that boy again—a boy so entranced he was unable to resist falling into Euan’s arms. But no, I was determined that I was no longer a sinner. I stood ramrod straight and remembered my place.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Ardmillan. I would like to convey my deepest sympathies for your loss.” I said respectfully. “I am sorry it has taken such a sad event for us to meet again.”

  “Ah, come now, Ben. You know as well as I that my father was an old reprobate and the world is better off without him. We’re not on show! Let’s be done with the formalities,” Euan said, marching towards me.

  “It has been long, far too long,” He said pulling me into an embrace. I was horrified. Euan had not known me to be afflicted with this fear of touching for I had been extremely tactile when we were lovers. But that was thirty years ago and I had closed myself off to all intimacy. I was shocked by his lack of decorum. We were in a public hall and there were other guests and staff. Any could wander in and see me wrapped in the arms of the new Lord. The scandal could ruin us both. But Euan’s embrace felt…good, warm, and familiar and the swirl of affection long-denied stirred in my gut. A tear leaped to my eye as Euan placed a tender, whiskered kiss to my lips and then stood back. I should have been appalled and embarrassed by how informal and intimate he was behaving with me, but as Euan held both of my hands and took my measure I was still that tongue-tied boy who had been so overawed by Euan’s interest that I allowed him to lead me a merry dance.

  “Age looks good on you Ben.” Euan grinned.

  “I can’t believe I am the one to go grey while you still have your lustrous black locks!”

  “It’s a family trait.” I said almost apologetically, “My own grandfather retained his hair color until well into his seventies.”

  “A few years to go until we are both silver foxes then!” Euan laughed. He let go of my hands, and in all honesty, I did not want him to. The immediacy of our reconnection was startling and not unwelcome. I’d harbored secret thoughts of Euan for many years, pined for him even. But I knew my longing would do me no good, in this life or the next. The sound of footsteps and the tinkle of china brought me back to myself.

  “Please, sit, warm yourself by the fire.” Euan invited. I took one of the chairs by the hearth and Euan seated himself in the other. The butler who entered the hall carrying a tray of teacups and accouterments put the tray down, moved an occasional table closer to us, and laid out the tea things.

  “That will do Rennie, thank you,” Euan said as he reached for the silver teapot. The butler nodded, and retreated, closing the huge carved timber doors behind him to give us privacy.

  I sat pensively with my hands clasped in my lap watching the flames dance up and down the stack of pine logs. Euan poured two cups of tea and I heard him slide my cup across the table. Minutes passed where the only sound was the crackling of burning logs.

  “Losing my father has made me think deeply about my past actions.” I looked up to see Euan had rested his head on the back of the chair and was speaking with his eyes closed. I longingly mapped the contours of his face, the shifting light of the flame dancing upon his skin. Gods, I had adored that face for most of my adult life.

  “He had many regrets in his latter years, you know, but he could not muster the physical energy to do anything about them. It is the most frightful thing to see a bullish man wither into senility and still believe he has his hands firmly on the reigns of his family.”

  “I imagine it is,” I said, wondering where this was leading.

  “As is formality, we announced that Lord Percival Ardmillan passed peacefully in his sleep, but the truth is that he was a tyrant until his last breath,” Euan admitted. “It was ghastly…his passing.”

  “You were with him?” I queried.

  Euan opened his eyes and sat up to address me.

  “Dr. Sinclair was tending to him and asked me to step outside for a moment. I did so, and then I heard the Doctor cry out. I returned to the room to see my father half out of the bed, his hands wrapped around the throat of Dr. Sinclair, begging him for a tincture to cure his ills. My father had his fingers clasping the man’s neck, suffocating him as he was taken, and in the death throes his hands went rigid.” My hand shot up to cover my mouth. I was horrified to hear this tale.

  “I had to break his bony fingers to get them off the Doctor’s throat so he didn’t drag the poor man to hell with him.”

  “Oh, my goodness. That is… appalling. God rest his soul.” I made the sign of the cross.

  “Where he’s gone, God will never meet him,” Euan said morosely. “Now, all I have is forty thousand acres of barren hills, this huge drafty house filled with the spoils of his raping, and pillaging his way around the colonies—and of course, thousands of pounds of debt and death duties.“ Euan grumbled. “I don’t want any of it.”

  It was clear to me that Euan detested his father. He sounded repulsed by his inheritance, and I thought, not a little ungrateful.

  Th
e man I knew at university had at first stolen my attention not only because of his good looks, or because we shared rooms. Euan displayed a social conscience and told me he wished to use his station for good. I admired that very much. He was on the boards of several charities and told me he had donated his own money. It was a very virtuous act and so even though he had cut me loose so long ago, admiration still burned like hot coals in my heart.

  “I had an ulterior motive for inviting you Ben,” Euan admitted. My brows rose with curiosity.

  “I would be interested in engaging Hannan’s to sell some of the art collection. The walls in this place are crumbling from the weight of canvases and if I don’t get rid of half of the art there won’t be a house left to hang the canvases in!”

  I could see that nearly every inch of wall displayed something, from mounted hunting trophies to military regalia, swords, shields, tapestries, and framed canvases. It was quite the treasure trove.

  “I’d be honored.” I brightened. It would be quite a coup to have Lord Ardmillan’s art collection for sale in my auction house. The cream of London society would flock to viewing days and to the sale for sure.

  “Do you have an inventory prepared or should I make a list while I’m here?”

  “Yes, I have selected the canvases that need to go—forty in total, several old masters. I will give you the details later and we can arrange shipment to your London premises where they can be appraised, yes?” Euan smiled, appearing very pleased with himself.

  “Oh yes! Very good, very good.” I returned enthusiastically. I knew that the Ardmillan Estate had some very valuable work by Italian Renaissance artists. Euan grinned at me and I felt warmth flood through to my fingertips—a heat that was not caused by the open fire! It was a most welcome feeling to be back on level ground with my old best friend. I’d missed him, not that I would ever tell him that.

  Euan moved to the edge of his seat and looked at me earnestly. “I know years have passed and you have moved on, but I’ve been thinking about you—” I was startled by his directness and the change of subject.

  “I understand I was beastly to you when our… friendship ended. I truly am sorry. I was such a fool to cut you out of my life.”

  Sweat beaded my brow and I was tongue-tied at hearing the apology I never thought I would get. I had been so broken by Euan ending our affair, cutting me off so swiftly that it felt like I’d lost a limb. To try and forget I’d poured myself into my other passion—collecting. It had, in turn, given me a good life full of beautiful artifacts, a London townhouse, and my own business premises. I was well-off, respected, and connected to the kinds of men who could afford the art and antiquities I sold. Although the apology was welcome I did not know what to do with it. Time had taught me that, no matter how painful, parting from Euan had been for the best. Society was still reeling from the trial of dear Oscar Wilde who was imprisoned for his affair with Lord Alfred Douglas. It was a dark time for all who harbored a preference for men as bedfellows, and even though I believed none in fashionable society knew of my sinfulness, I felt the weight of shame and prayed nightly for forgiveness. I was grateful that the Good Lord had seen fit to provide me with a fulfilling livelihood even though I did not have a companion to share it with.

  “I need you to understand what happened between us.” Euan continued, making me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I had heard loss made a man reconsider his life and I supposed Euan had taken the time to reconsider our friendship. I reluctantly permitted him to continue.

  “You were always such a passionate fellow, Ben, so full of love”, Euan said the word love as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “But no matter how I adored the passion, your desire to be mine alone restricted me at a time in my life when I did not want to be restricted. Do you understand? I needed to see the world, taste the exotic flavors and to find which suited me best.”

  “I didn’t suit you?”

  “No, you did… you do…” Euan sounded pained.

  “But you married?”

  “Yes, I did.” Euan paused for a moment of thought, as if he were weighing out how to proceed. “As you know, our…predilection is one that could see us jailed. Therefore, I trust that you will not repeat a word of what I tell you.”

  I nodded gravely.

  “Lady Eliza, my wife is… like me,”

  “What do you mean?” This was a most unexpected turn of events.

  “She believes love comes in many forms and can be had with both men and women.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing.

  “We made an arrangement that suits us. She is a good friend and a wonderful mother to our sons. But we live separate lives unless we are attending a public occasion. She takes male and female lovers, as she pleases, as do I. It is a good marriage and works very well.”

  I was appalled by what I’d just heard.

  “Inconceivable. That kind of arrangement goes against the teachings of the Church. It breaks sacred wedding vows and, I hasten to add, the laws of the land.” I blustered self-righteously.

  “Would you rather we lived pious lives without pleasure…without love because a politician—who is probably buggering his valet—says it is wrong? Or a withered old man in Rome who never tugged his prick has decided what I can and cannot do with my own body?”

  This was outrageous, blasphemous talk. I was staring at Euan with incredulity, lost for words. Had the death of his father driven him mad? My whole body was aflame with anger, and confusion. How could this be so? I had no idea such understandings could be reached between a man and a woman where both parties could remain in the marriage while seeking pleasure elsewhere.

  Euan sat back in his chair and sipped from his teacup. I also sat back and gripped the arms of my chair while the import of what he’d said hit home. I considered what it would be like to have a companion at home, to have a woman as a friend to share my life and yet not be my bed partner. The thought of it flawed me. If I’d known such an arrangement was possible my life might not have been so lonesome and solitary. But no. This went against everything I believed in. I had made my decision to become emotionally frigid and try to deny my shameful sexual needs. The only reason I was at Dunecht Hall was to make my purchase, not rake over the bones of my failings as a man, and my reckless past relationship.

  “You are forgiven,” I said. “We were both young and foolish. I am glad you have a companion and a family. I am happy for you.” I conceded, although my throat felt like closing with each word.

  “Have you no companion of your own?” Euan ventured.

  “The Good Lord is my companion,” I said automatically reaching to lay my hand upon the silver cross that sat warmly against my chest.

  “Of course, of course”, Euan replied but he looked a little sad at hearing my answer.

  “Did I do this to you?” He asked softly.

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Make you so buttoned-up and pious?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me anything! You made your choices, and I made mine!” I justified, my temper rising.

  “Your preference doesn’t sound like much… fun, Benedict!”

  I was outraged. How dare he! How dare Euan judge me and my choices? This conversation was over. I stood abruptly.

  “What we did was illegal and shameful. Have we not both seen better men punished for sharing such affections?” I said coldly, shutting down the improper talk.

  “Now, could you ask your man to show me to my room please, I am quite exhausted from my journey.” The easy friendliness was now gone from my voice. My heart thundered in my chest and if the weather and my creaking body would have allowed it I would have run from the hall like the devil was at my back.

  “Oh, of course. Forgive me.” Euan said his voice unable to hide his disappointment that I was ending this conversation. He stood and strode to the fireplace and then tugged on a bell pull. Within moments the butler, Mr. Rennie, entered the hall.

 
“Please show Mr. Hannan to his room,”

  The Viewing

  Dinner was a formal affair. The gong sounded at six p.m. calling all to the dining room. I dressed in a long black frock coat, matched with a splendid green silk waistcoat; kerchief and bow tie. I made my way down the wide mahogany staircase, overlooked by exquisite Italian Renaissance paintings, and a ghastly array of mounted animal heads.

  Although all cities and towns in England now availed of gas lighting, the pipes had not yet been installed here in the wilds of Scotland and so the house was still lit with candles and oil lanterns as it had been when I last visited. I paused before I entered the dining room. The earlier meeting with Euan had tied my stomach in knots. I’d expected, as gentlemen of standing in our later years, we would be formal and stiff with one another, but Euan reached out and touched me without thought, as if it was his right to do so. He was far too candid and made me…feel for the first time in years. I was a stately man of fifty and yet he had an effect on my equilibrium as immediate now as he’d had back when we were boys. I took a steadying breath. I considered it necessary to remind myself that I was here on business. I would stay for as long as it took me to conduct my business, and then I would board the next train south and be back in London on Christmas Eve.

  Stepping into the dining room I saw the guests gathered around the hearth to keep warm. All heads turned. It seemed they had been waiting for me. I was pleased to finally meet the competitors who would be bidding on Lord Ardmillan’s private collection. Along with Euan, we were also joined by the family solicitor Mr. Buchanan who would oversee the sale of goods. I noted he gave me a peculiar sour look that I did not understand, but then Mr. Cecil stepped to my side to greet me. We shared formalities and then I saw another person I recognized. It was Ms. Emeline McGovern, a portly woman well past marrying age who, with her elderly father Angus, ran McGovern’s Auctioneers in Edinburgh. We had attended many society dinners together in Edinburgh and her father’s auction house was once my favorite place to be while not studying. It was there when I was twenty-one that I purchased the first item for my true collection. I was glad that Ms. McGovern had not worked with her father then as it would have led to some great embarrassment on my part.