by R E Gauthier
Kelsey smiled as she ended the call. Throwing the phone onto the bed, she walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Wonder where I can get an authentic Scottish Stew around here?” She asked the empty room. “Maybe I should have asked Colin; I bet he knows all the best spots to eat.”
***
With some food in her belly from room service, and a hot shower. Kelsey planned the next day. She decided the first thing should be finding an establishment where the local’s congregated and where she could find people who may know the true identity of her uncle. Nikki discovered that the most likely ‘real’ Ethan MacDonald had attended a boy’s preparatory private school; Belmont House sat in the nearby, affluent town of Newton Mearns. Kelsey planned to visit it after she found a pub or bar that she could find older locals. With the picture she had of her uncle, Kelsey hoped she would find someone who knew him before he assumed Ethan MacDonald’s name.
Along with finding the local watering-hole for information, Kelsey also hoped to get some traditionally cooked Scottish food, not the stuff they sold tourists. She missed Nanna’s cooking and promised herself she would try to eat as much homecooked food while she was in Scotland. The hotel’s Concierge wasn’t all that helpful but said he could ask a local girl who may know where Kelsey could find some authentic, traditional Scottish fare.
Chapter Forty
Glasgow, Scotland, Late Morning, March 23, 2012
Colin drove through the streets and assured Kelsey that the bar he drove to was the oldest one in the city that the locals went to and there wasn’t a better place to find the answers she searched for. Her taxi driver regaled her with the folklore of the haunted bar and the history of Stockwell Street. Kelsey closed her eyes and listened to his thick, Scottish brogue lull her into a simpler time. Her uncle Ethan had a similar voice; deep in timber and thick with the Scottish accent. Fingering the worn, black and white photo of her uncle, she wondered what his real story was. Had he walked these streets? Did he sneak into the pub to see the ghosts?
The taxi pulled up to the Scotia Bar on the corner of Stockwell and Howard. “Ere we ur; noo dinnae forgoat tae ask fur Maggie Peterson; she'll ken th' answers ye'r keekin fur.”
Ask for Maggie Peterson; okay, got it. Kelsey thanked him and asked if he were sure they would have some good Scottish food. “Ta. Urr ye sure they'll hae some guid scots fairn?”
Colin nodded. “Aye, thay be haein a guid neeps 'n' tatties, wi' haggis, 'n' a wee lamb stew wi' ale.”
Kelsey grimaced; for all her grandmother’s attempts, Kelsey never could eat haggis without gagging. The thought of eating a sheep’s stomach filled with the animal’s entrails and oatmeal and spices turned her stomach. The lamb stew, on the other hand, made Kelsey’s mouth water. She paid Colin and promised to call him on his cell phone when she needed to go to her next destination.
Stepping out onto the curb, she straightened and took in the smells and sights of one of the oldest streets in Glasgow. Besides the car exhausts, Kelsey’s nose picked up the tantalizing aromas of food cooking; one distinct smell was that of a scotch ale’s smokiness heated over low heat. Her stomach grumbled with hunger. For all her attempts, Nanna wasn’t able to locate an authentic scotch ale with the right smoky whiskey tones. Her grandmother told Kelsey only the best would make the lamb scotch stew or pies taste like they had when Nanna was young.
Walking inside, Kelsey adjusted her eyes to the dimmer light as she walked over to the bar and sat on one of the high stools.
The bartender was a young woman with long black hair and a silver nose ring. “Whit kin ah git fur ye?”
Kelsey ordered a bottle of water because she wanted to keep her wits about her today and asked if she could have a big bowl of the lamb stew. Once she had her stew, she thought she could then ask about Maggie Peterson. Craning her neck, Kelsey looked around the bar and saw a few people sitting at tables talking and laughing. It was early in the day just before lunch, so the bar wasn’t bustling yet. The décor was rustic and old in a very charming way. A large stone fireplace took up almost one wall, and the tables, bar-top, and chairs were all in thick, solid oak.
“Ye'r nae fae aroond 'ere; a'm Maggie Peterson, th' high heid yin 'n' a'd lik' tae fàilte ye tae th' scotia.” A stocky woman with greying brown hair held out her hand toward Kelsey.
So, this was Maggie Peterson. It seems as though one didn’t have to ask to see the manager; she came to welcome the newcomers when they entered the pub. Kelsey sized up the older woman, who she would have guessed at fifty or sixty years of age, as she gripped the steady hand in her own. Maggie Peterson’s hand was well-calloused from years of working with her hands. “They ca' me Kelsey MacGregor 'n' I’m 'ere tae find oot some fowk history; Colin Brown said ye micht ken th' answers tae some o' mah questions.”
Maggie Peterson laughed. “Old Colin has been rattling his mouth off again. It’s nice to meet you, Kelsey; I wouldn’t have taken you for a Scottish lass; the moment Tess said we had a newcomer, I saw American written all over you.”
Maggie’s sudden switch to speaking without an accent set Kelsey at ease. Even though Kelsey’s brogue came naturally when she talked to someone speaking with it as well, doing so, gave her a small headache. Raising an eyebrow, Kelsey cocked her head.
“Oh, the accent? I drop it when I know I’m not talking to a regular tourist or someone who will have a hard time keeping up with what I am saying. You’re not a regular tourist, are you? Your brogue is not bad, but I can tell you’re an American.”
Kelsey shook her head and took out the picture of her uncle, the one taken, according to Nanna, a year or two before Ethan MacDonald came to the United States. Kelsey hoped that Maggie Peterson would recognize him. “As I said, I’m here to look into some family history, and I’m wondering if you know this man.”
Maggie took the offered photograph and put on her glasses. “He does look familiar; do you know his name?”
“I knew him as Ethan MacDonald, but I know now that isn’t his name.”
Shaking her head, Maggie said, “No, that’s not Ethan MacDonald; God rest his soul. I knew Ethan well; his family lived next door to my aunt in Waterfoot. His accident set that little place on its ear.”
“What happened?” Kelsey knew from what Nikki told her, that Ethan MacDonald died in a drowning accident one summer day after his sixteenth Birthday. She wanted to gain Maggie’s trust and see if the woman knew her uncle. “This man is my uncle and we only just found out the name he used wasn’t his own. I’m looking for any information I can find about his true identity.”
“Tess is here with your stew; come sit down over here.” Maggie motioned for Kelsey to follow her to a small table in the far corner of the bar. “Sit and eat, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Kelsey sat in the well-worn warm oak chair and the air filled with the unmistakable smells of lamb cooking long and low in a Scottish Ale. “God, this smells heavenly. I’ve been waiting for some of this stew for many years. I can hardly contain myself any longer.”
Maggie chuckled. “Don’t let me stop you. Your accent and your love of good Scots stew; someone raised you right.”
Nodding, Kelsey took her first bite of the stew. Her mouth filled with the taste of the smoky ale, the generous, melt-in-your-mouth lamb, and the flavors of what the stew should taste like. Closing her eyes, she savored another bite before she tried to speak. “My Nanna grew up in a small town near Aberdeen, and she’s kept my Scottish heritage alive for me.”
“You’re a lucky woman; not many young people can say the same. So, you say your uncle used the name, Ethan MacDonald. It is possible there was another Ethan MacDonald, but I’m sure I know this fellow. I’m certain I’ve seen him before. I cannot remember where I saw his face.”
“How long have you worked here? Maybe you saw him come here when he was young. He did tell us he grew up in Glasgow.”
“Oh, I’ve worked here almost my whole life, and before I worked here, I came with my father, he
managed the place before me. If your uncle ever came here, I would have seen him.” Maggie narrowed her eyes as she looked at the photograph again. “That’s it; I saw him in the newspaper story about the accident. He was a friend of Ethan MacDonald; he was there the day Ethan drowned.”
That made sense. Her uncle assumed the name of his childhood-friend’s name because he knew no one would question the validity, if the person, whose identity he had stolen was dead. “You’re sure? You wouldn’t know where I could get a copy of that story, do you?”
“I can do one better. I have a copy here. My father always kept anything historically significant around in case people were looking for stories. I have a veritable museum of Glasgow History upstairs. I’ll go get the book, and you finish your stew before it gets cold.”
Kelsey didn’t wait until Maggie left the table to comply with her suggestion. She didn’t fear the stew would cool though, as Maggie served in a small stone bowl that held the heat well.
Maggie returned as Kelsey finished her last bite of the stew.
“Can Tess bring you a bowl of Cranachan? Our cook makes it like it should taste, not what the fancy restaurants try to pass off as a Cranachan.”
Despite Kelsey’s mouth-watering with the thought of tasting another thing that reminded her of home, she declined. “Did you find that newspaper article?”
“Yes, and I also found a follow-up story about the heroics of the boy with Ethan that day. They listed off the names of the three boys who tried to rescue the MacDonald boy.” Maggie handed the scrapbook with the article to Kelsey.
Taking the offered book, Kelsey looked closely at the faded newspaper’s article about a harrowing tale of bravery. The story’s headline read: ‘Glasgow Boys Tried Their Best.’ Under the tagline, there was a photograph of three somber boys on the water’s edge. The story described how the boys tried to pull Ethan MacDonald to shore and resuscitate him. The writer said that a boy by the name of Stéphane Guilliaume, had decided to run for help but by the time he came back with someone, Ethan had died. Two other boys; Thomas Gordan and Glen Fergusson stayed with Ethan to try and get him breathing again, to no avail. Looking down at the photograph, Kelsey looked closer and recognized the familiar brow ridge of her uncle in the boy in the middle. The names under the photo read from left to right, and the one in the middle was Stéphane Guilliaume. “Does Stéphane sound at all familiar?” She asked Maggie.
Maggie nodded. “Yes, that’s it. His name is Stéphane Guilliaume. He went to the same school as Ethan and the other boys. Belmont House was a school for boys back then; now they have girls too. I’m assuming if you’re looking for information, something must have happened to your uncle for him not to be able to tell you the truth himself.”
“My uncle died over twenty-one years ago, and I’m trying to piece together his life. You’ve been a huge help; until now, I only had an alias to go by, but with your help, I finally have his real name.”
Maggie grinned. I’m happy I could help you. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of Cranachan? I can get you one for the road. I’m confident you have much more to do, now that you have an essential answer to your questions.”
Kelsey decided that Maggie was right, a little dessert to celebrate a massive lead in her investigation. She also ordered another cup for Colin because without his help she may never have found this bar or Maggie Peterson, and then she may never have discovered her uncle’s true identity.
***
Unable to contain her excitement at this new development, Kelsey called Nikki to have her look more into the name; Stéphane Guilliaume. Colin came to pick her up and take her to the next stop on her travels. They were on their way to Belmont House School to talk to the current principal to garner any information he could give them about the earlier running of the school before it became a private school for boys and girls in the ’70s. Nikki couldn’t find much information but suggested Kelsey could inquire to look into the school’s archives.
Colin had been rattling on about the history of the affluent area they drove through. The southern region of Glasgow was littered with many small hamlets and suburbs that were once large estates and farmlands.
They pulled up to the high hedges and wrought-iron fence surrounding a large white building. “Ere we ur. Dae yi'll waant me tae hauld yer horses doon th' wynd? howfur lang dae ye think this cuid tak’?”
Kelsey smiled. Colin’s use of the old idiom of holding horses made her smile. She wasn’t sure how long it would take but didn’t want him waiting about for her. She suggested he try to get some fares while he waited for her to call him when she had finished. "You kin see if ye kin git some fares while a'm 'ere 'n' ah will ca' you."
Colin nodded and drove off.
Kelsey looked for the main door. Noticing a woman exit through a more massive door in the larger white building, she walked in that direction. At one time this school housed boys from age five to eighteen and her uncle attended the school. Could she find the origins or family behind her uncle, Stéphane Guilliaume? Drawing in a breath, and pulling on the door, Kelsey said softly, “I’m on your trail Uncle Stéphane, let’s see if I can find what you’ve been hiding all these years.”
Chapter Forty-One
Retirement Community, Giffnock, Scotland Late Afternoon, March 23, 2012
The Principal of Belmont House School, Garrett Stillwell, gave Kelsey the name of a historian and the once headmaster of the Belmont House School that he said could help Kelsey with her search on more information about her uncle. An elderly Ewan MacAvoy lived in a retirement community in nearby Giffnock, so Kelsey called Colin, who was more than willing to drive Kelsey to her next destination.
Colin had some antidotal information about the location of the retirement community. His family used to own the farmland, and they sold it to the developers back in 1977. Kelsey smiled. Colin knew a lot about everything. She looked forward to his stories as she made her rounds during this investigation. Once she finished her search in Glasgow, Kelsey would miss the sweet man, who helped her find her answers.
Arriving at the retirement complex, Kelsey told Colin he could leave her, and she would find a way back to her hotel. Colin declined and said, her business was the best he’s had in a long time, besides he enjoyed helping her. Smiling, Kelsey told him he deserved a break and gave him the rest of the cash she had on her to buy himself a nice hot meal.
Inside the large brick building, a woman at the front desk wasn’t sure she wanted to allow Kelsey inside to visit a resident without a prior appointment. Kelsey thought of a way to gain entrance and told the woman her story about looking for information about her dead uncle and that Ewan MacAvoy was reportedly the best person on the history of the area. After a few calls, the woman named Doris told Kelsey that Mr. MacAvoy would find her in the common room. Doris showed Kelsey how to get to the room down a long hallway.
Kelsey walked into a massive bright room with a long bank of windows overlooking a large garden. The bright late-March sun warmed the air and invited more of the seniors to assemble in the room. Seeing an empty table, Kelsey sat and waited for Ewan MacAvoy.
While Kelsey waited, she texted Nikki, asking her if there were any updates on the Washburg investigation or if she found any information on Stéphane Guilliaume on her end. As Kelsey waited for a reply from Nikki, an elderly gentleman walked into the room, looking far too spry for a man described as Ewan MacAvoy, who just celebrated his ninety-second birthday last month. Kelsey looked away and resumed her watching the large room’s occupants milling amongst themselves.
“Ye mist be lassy MacGregor. Doris said ye wanted tae ask me aboot yer uncle; wha micht be yer uncle?”
Kelsey looked into the bluest and kindest eyes. The man’s eyes and mouth smiled, and she felt her face heat up when she saw the elderly gentleman’s thoughts slip into her mind. The man, who looked to be in his late eighties, had to be Ewan MacAvoy, and he had some ideas on her looks that made Kelsey feel suddenly embarrassed. Up until then,
she had been doing good at keeping people’s thoughts and feelings out of her mind. I must be tired. Drawing in a deep breath, Kelsey forced all but her thoughts out of her mind and smiled. She held out the photo of her uncle, who, she now knew, was Stéphane Guilliaume. “Ye kin ca' me Kelsey. A'm chuffed tae me ye, Mr. MacAvoy. Ah spoke tae Mr. Stillwell at th' Belmont Hoose Schuil 'n' he said ye cuid tell me aboot mah uncle. He wid hae gaed tae th' schuil whin ye wur headmaster. This is his picture 'n' his name is Stéphane Guilliaume.” She thought mentioning the present principal of the Belmont House School would help him trust her more.
Ewan MacAvoy’s eyes widened and then narrowed.
Kelsey didn’t need to read his thoughts to know Mr. MacAvoy was taken aback with her Scottish brogue. She explained that her grandmother had taught her about her Scottish heritage and language.
The surprisingly spry Ewan smiled, sat down, and took the photograph from Kelsey’s outstretched hand. Taking out a pair of glasses, Ewan MacAvoy set the photo on the table. “Ye said his name is...why aye, ah dae ken him. An braw student. He hud a harder time than th' ithers. Orphaned weans kin be picked oan mair. This yin hud a pure tough spirit. Na yin teuk advantage o' him though.”
Had Mr. MacAvoy said orphaned? Her uncle was an orphan; that might be why Nikki had a hard time to find much on the young Stéphane Guilliaume. Kelsey asked Ewan MacAvoy all he could remember about her uncle that could help them discover where he had been born. If anyone knew who his parents were.
After a few moments, the local historian and once headmaster retold a story of how Stéphane Guilliaume came to attend a private all boys’ school in an affluent area of Newton Mearns instead of getting his education at a government-funded school where most orphans attended. Kelsey learned that a benefactor paid for her uncle to attend the school. Stéphane Guilliaume was born to a woman who died in childbirth, and after starting his early years in a school at a nearby village for orphans, he came to the Belmont House School.