by Cat Knight
The next cottage was a short distance and Blair entered it, hoping to find it more habitable. It, like the last it seemed colder inside than out, and her prediction that the gate house would not be any better proved correct. Unless she was willing to freeze to death, she would have to head back to the house. Fear seemed a useless instrument in her emotional tool kit anyway. Speaking sternly to herself, Blair made her way back up toward the lodge.
Most likely she had simply fallen asleep in the bath and her own mind, to protect her from drowning, had sent her terrible dreams to waken her. IF, and it was a big IF, these events had really happened and something or a dead someone wanted to ‘get her’ tonight, she would face it head on. There would be a solution and Blair needed to find it.
Steaming hot milk mixed into chocolate coloured swirls as Blair stirred it on top of the cocoa thinking wryly that midnight feasts were becoming routine.
She carried her mug into the sitting room where she lit the fire and pulled the cushions up. No matter what rational reasons, or comforting answers she gave herself about the happenings, the horror of it played in her mind and Blair was just too jumpy to return to her room upstairs.
Snuggled by the fire, fully dressed, and with a mound of sheets over her, she gathered up the bunch of torn pages and wrote down everything that happened that night. Blair’s mind rested, now that she had written it out, and by the comfort of the flames she drifted off.
Callum arrived around dawn, his car lights illuminating the driveway.
Blair brought a broom to the cottage. She swept it clean while he unpacked a small camp. Guilt pinged at her for his mean accommodation, but not as much as her relief that he was here.
“Have you eaten?”
“Aye, I had my oats, but I would welcome a good strong cup o’ tea.”
“Come up to the house then when you are ready.”
Fifteen minutes later Callum was sitting at the kitchen bench and Blair got out her pages of notes and showed him the new entry.
Callum ran his hands through his hair uncovering the birthmark usually well hidden under his fringe, and shook his head in disbelief.
“We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”
“Do you think I’m just dreaming?”
“I don’t know, Blair, but It’s a crazy world yer livin’ in. Hopefully forensics will have results in soon and we can make some sense of the situation. Maybe yer’ll rest better then.”
Chapter Ten
Moira Stewart’s office was bursting with books, papers, and artefacts of old Scotland. Her family crest mounted upon the wall and if Blair had to guess it was a pair of Stewart tartan pants that she wore with a soft blue shirt. A mop of unwieldly corkscrews fizzed out from her head and round blue eyes, large and flowing with intelligence, were framed by blue diamante cat’s eyes glasses. These matched her shirt exactly, but disagreed with her orange hair and round freckled face.
In the hushed quietness of the museum, with its perfectly arranged displays and mild-mannered staff, Moira Stewart was graffiti upon its walls. Clashing, untidy, loud, lovely.
“Welcome to Scotland.” She shook Blair’s hand. “So, yer a Wallace and come home to Scotland and to Elleric Lodge?”
“Yes, that’s correct. The estate was willed to me... and I... answered its call I guess.”
“And ye want to know a bit about it?”
“Yes, I do...”
“Have ye met the other inhabitants yet?” Her brogue was broad and Blair had to think for minute about what she had said.
“Well, I’ve talked to Mrs. MacDonald in town at Top Jobs Employment Agency.”
“No-o I meant the gorsts.”
Callum gave a nervous chuckle and Blair just looked agog. Moira ignored their shock.
“I’m from a family of historians. I’m the only one who ever bothered getting a qualification to add a bit of respectability to it, but all the women in my family made it their business to know the local business. I suppose ye could say that being a terrible gossip runs in my blood. But I expect ye’ve come to talk to me about a surprising little find you had out there.”
Blair and Callum looked at each other. Moira shrugged.
“The forensic department sometimes ask us to help them out in cases like this. And besides, I’ve got a friend there who told me all about it.”
She winked. Blair and Callum didn’t know how to respond to this information. So, they stayed quiet.
“Quite often we local historians can help piece old cold cases together, help to point them in the right direction. David contacted me after he’d been out to the estate. I’ve a trove of knowledge which might be helpful. I’d already searched it all out for him, so it happens to be ready for ye.”
Moira had in front of her a book. “But I thought I’d ask ye, Blair, do ye know of the Highland Clearances?” Blair shook her head.
“Well, this would be some good reading then. It’s my own copy, but I’ll lend it. I trust ye to return it. Cos, I know where ye live, and I have connections with Scotland Yard.”
She winked again. Blair laughed and took the book.
“Thank you, Moira.”
Moira nodded and continued.
“What ye’ll see is that it was a terrible situation for most folk back then. People were thrown out of their homes and tossed off the land they worked on for their Laird. Huge numbers tried to leave Scotland altogether for America – the New World. But traveling left them vulnerable to thieves and most couldn’t afford to stay at an Inn so they slept on the roadsides.”
Moira fixed Blair with a knowing look that made Blair somehow uncomfortable.
“Now the property ye have Blair, Elleric Estate, was owned by the Laird Alasdair Wallace – yer ancestor – and he had tenants by the name of Campbell whom he evicted.”
Blair’s skin itched where a small patch of dermatitis had recently formed and her eye lid began to twitch. Moira continued.
“Supposedly out of sympathy for the Campbell’s situation, he offered to take the two eldest children, Fiona and Lachlan, into his household.” Blair had been staring at her itchy spot, but now she lifted her head and looked at Moira.
“Fiona and Lachlan?” she asked softly. Moira nodded and continued.
“Fiona was to work as a maid, training to be the housekeeper, while Lachlan would work in the stables and do slightly heavier work around the house. The family jumped at the offer, after all, it was a roof and food and a job for life for each of the children. It spared them the ordeal of the journey with all the privation and danger involved. And so, they went to live in the big house, and the family left for the New World.”
“So, what happened to Fiona and Lachlan?” Blair winced with insecurity.
“Talk gets around and people said the Laird was cruel to them. When they disappeared, the Laird said they had run away and implied they'd stolen from him. Some folks believed it. Some thought worse had happened, but who was going to speak out against the Laird? And it wasn’t so far-fetched that they’d have run with the way he was treating them.”
“Now how do you know all this?” Blair became inexplicably defensive.
“It’s a well-known story, but ye can ask the Campbell’s yer-self. Some of that branch of the Campbell family still live here, in the highlands.” Blair started to say something, but Moira continued. “And there are other stories which would make yer hair as curly as mine, but this is the story that I think might settle best for ye with what yer dealing with at Elleric Lodge.” She paused for effect while her words dangled in the air for a moment. “I think those bones have a very good chance of belonging to Fiona and Lachlan. I believe David is contacting the Campbell’s to find out if they willing to have their DNA compared.” Moira had a mischievous smile. “I’ll give ye their number if ye like.”
Blair and Callum looked at each other and back at Moira. “Oh... and yer relative, Alasdair Wallace - he moved to the lowlands. It was within a year of those bairns going missing. He never returned. Some say they haun
ted him out. So, is it true then? Have ye seen gorsts there?”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it.” Blair felt hesitant. “Not today though, but thanks for everything, and I promise I’ll return your book.”
They left the library, on the way to the records department Blair with book in hand, Callum shaking his head.
“I never would’ve put those two in a pair, they are a mismatch if ever there was.”
Blair shrugged.
“Well she was all nudge, nudge, wink, wink, so maybe it’s on the sly?”
“Ahh, we are getting up on the lingo, aren’t we?”
The story Moira told her remained on her mind and she wanted to sit for a while and examine the page of records that listed people buried in the burial area.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted – should we get a cup of tea?”
Callum glanced at her sideways, and barely suppressed a pleased smile.
“Ye are becoming a proper Scottish lass, aren’t ye? How’d ye ever do without yer tea before? Sure, we can get tea. And if ye’d like, we can wander around later and take in a bit of the city.”
Settled in the teashop with tea and scones, Blair read over the list of people in cemetery. Alasdair Wallace was not amongst them.
“I should contact the Campbell’s.”
Blair was thinking out loud and had not expected a response.
“Is that a good idea? They might not want a stranger turning up and poking into their family history.” Callum was giving her a hard stare. Blair shrugged, it seemed the least of her worries.
“It can’t hurt to do that. If what Moira says is correct then I need to try to make it right. Just as I was told to.”
She punched in the number that Moira had given her.
Chapter Eleven
Leaving the heart of Inverness behind and heading out to the suburbs, the scenery began to change. Within thirty minutes they found themselves in drab streets of what appeared to be government housing. They pulled up at the address that Ewan Campbell provided and searched for the apartment number. The complex held at least fifty apartments in this section, and probably around two hundred altogether. The bleak grey concrete with its stained exterior and dirty windows cried misery and Blair hoped that the poor inhabitants held more cheer than their surroundings.
A small, stout, salt and pepper haired woman wearing silver framed glasses answered. Morag Campbell greeted them with a shy smile and led them inside.
The apartment was clean, but cold and damp. Blair could see why she wore thick woollen stockings and a full pleated pinafore with shirt and cardigan.
They were seated on a soft vinyl plain green sofa. It had been well taken care of, but its colour and the buttons that softened the harshness of its appearance dated it in the sixties.
It had served many years. Blair guessed the couple themselves were in their seventies. Morag carried a tray in with a small floral printed tea pot and matching cups. There were exactly four shortbread biscuits on a plate.
Blair settled herself neatly on the edge of the settee taking in the little flat.
The inside walls were whitewashed block and the carpet was industrial wear of a drab brown colour. A small kitchenette, one bedroom, and single bathroom were squeezed into a tiny area. But the Campbell’s had turned it into their home and family photos, some dating generations back, sat in pride of place in front and back of dozens of little knick-knack items. And for all its modesty the place felt lived in, if chilly and damp.
Ewan Campbell came out from the bathroom. Like his wife, he was stout with a belly and shook Callum's hand firmly. He had a cheery grin and took Blair’s hand in both of his own, his voice held kindness.
“So, yer a Wallace come back home to the highlands?” Blair nodded, feeling unreasonably ashamed that she was here, because of her ancestor’s wrong doings and yet Ewan was so very charitable.
Ewan began telling what he knew. “The stories that were told to me were that the parents of the missing bairns emigrated to America. I’m descended from the line who went to Edinburgh looking for work, because they had no fare for the boat. I’d be a distant uncle to the bairns. There was always the talk that the Laird had done away with them, and that’s what the family believed. Times were difficult for everyone. I doubt if the parents ever got word.
Or if they did, what could they do being so far away? But the story was always told – handed on like - so the children would be remembered.”
Blair was crumpled in a sad hunch. “Ach lass, there’s good and bad in all of us, we hold naught against ye for yer forebear’s sins. Especially after all these years.”
“Do you think the bones were the children’s remains?”
Blair rubbed her eyes, feigning itchiness.
“I say it’s likely. They’d be the right age for it. The forensic people got a sample of the DNA from me and I think we’ll know soon enough. If its them, then maybe they can rest now.”
Thoughts were whirling around Blair’s mind. Without second guessing herself, she knew what should be done. “There’s another reason I wanted to meet you. It’s not to do with the bones, or the children either.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you see... it’s in the deeds to the house that one of the cottages belongs to the Campbell family. I believe that since you are a close relation, that would be you.”
Ewan and Morag looked at each other and back at Blair. After a moment Morag ventured
“Well, no... surely we’d have been told about it.”
Blair shook her head, “Not necessarily, the place has just been handed on through the generations, and no one cared about the lodge, or the cottages, or any of it. I suspect it got ignored. Or maybe your Campbell ancestors didn’t want to live there, because of the children.
But my lawyer, in America, made sure that I was aware. And now that I’ve found you... well... it’s yours to live in if you want it.”
Safely driving away in the car Callum looked at her and said, “That was a load of bollocks, wasn’t it?”
“Well, I knew they wouldn’t accept charity.”
Chapter Twelve
Blair removed a Scotch pie from the oven baked especially for Callum. It was good to have a dinner guest and it provided an opportunity to say thank-you for all the driving to Inverness and, well, everything. Besides, the cottage was still in a very basic condition, not ready yet for real cooking, and to be honest Blair had discovered she just liked hanging with him. The pie smelled scrumptious and she set it to the side till she was ready to reheat it. Her mobile rang. It was David Cowen.
“Hi, David, this is Blair, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. I’ve got the news we’ve all been waiting on.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean – that – it’s just an expression... like hey, how’s it going. So, how are thing going?”
“Good news. Ye’ve solved the mystery of the ages. The bones are the remains of the Campbell bairns. Their DNA’s a matched up enough with the Campbell’s in Inverness to be considered conclusive.”
Blair was aware of a dull relief.
“That is great news – I guess. I mean, it also points to their murder too, though. Poor kids.”
“I wouldn’t dwell on that. We can’t know their cause of death.” Blair was silent, after a moment David continued. “That part will have to remain a mystery. By the way, the Campbell’s have no issues with ye burying the bones properly in yer land. A wee bird told me they are moving up to Elleric Estate.”
“And a wee bird told me you’ve got a good friend at the library.”
“Ach, it’s not possible to have a private life around these parts.”
Blair walked up the stairwell to the rooms she had previously avoided. Since the bones were identified no terrifying or weird events had happened. Everything was blissfully uneventful. Victoriously, Blair had even been able to sleep in her room again.
It was almost time for Callum to arrive and she sifted t
hrough her jewellery looking for her turquoise drop pendant and matching earrings.
Leaning forward to fasten the clasp on the necklace, lengths of hair fell down in front of her eyes. She must get it cut, it grew so qui.... black locks dropped around her face. Blair jumped backwards. Shit, calm down. Making herself look again, the mirror showed her usual blonde reflection. There was nothing different about her hair, her mind was playing tricks. Shadows falling over the room were all that she had seen, and it had only been from the corner of her eye. Breathing deeply, she became calm. But Blair couldn’t deny that she had thought the reflection in the mirror was Fiona’s.
In an act of rebellion, she put her face in toward the mirror and inspected it, turning it at all angles. Yep, same old face. It’s only you. Positioning her face to the side again to prove the point Blair laughed at herself and turned her face back and forth. Nothing was amiss and Blair was finally winning.
From her peripheral vision, she noticed movement out in the yard, it was Callum. She knocked on the window and waved, pushing lanky black hair off her shoulders. Callum lifted his arm in greeting and waved. Blair squinted and rubbed at her eyes. Was it Callum? She couldn’t tell for sure. Something was seriously wrong; her legs shook and a sickness churned around her belly. Callum was in dire trouble. Blair shouted to him but he couldn’t hear her. He kept walking, heading to the front door. She had to stop him. Her frail fists hit the windows as hard as she could, but the sound disappeared into the atmosphere. “Callum, Callum.” Blair screamed as loud as she could but her cries fell into a void. Callum turned his face from the window and even from her stance high above she could see the terror in his eyes. She followed his gaze. The Laird was coming. Helplessly she watched as the Laird hit him about the head. The force knocked him to the ground. Callum made to stand and the Laird kicked him viciously in the ribs. He rolled to the side, trying to crawl to his knees. But the Laird didn’t stop. He kicked him again in the head and the scrawny body went rolling over the ground. Callum’s head turned and his neck lay at frightening angle. The Laird bent down and watched the life drain out, then dragged Callum’s pitiful body away. A vacuum stopped Blair’s mind, but slowly seeds of the darkest thoughts pushed their way in. Her mind rallied against the despair, to spare the pain, but she could not hold back its force. Walking out past the mirror Blair saw she was no longer there.