Chapter 13
Linneliath was a grand home, and despite her difficulty in understanding Struan’s shifting moods, Elspeth felt that she was truly where she was meant to be.
Now that she and Struan would be living here permanently, and hopefully adding to the size of their family soon, it was absolutely time to bring light and life and color back to the house.
Fortunately the housekeeper and the staff in general seemed to be in agreement.
A few of the maids even offered suggestions for what sort of styles seemed to be popular at the moment.
Elspeth listened to everyone, and noted when someone pointed out a particular issue with the house, or had an intriguing thought about fixing it.
But first and foremost, she trusted her own impulse, honed by a life dedicated to maintaining and improving the household.
Elspeth also ordered the gardens and the grounds to be given a more thorough attention than had been offered over the past decade or so.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t an easy matter to bring in new plants or trees on short notice, but Elspeth could dream.
No one would mistake this place in the wilds of northern Scotland for any tidy and trimmed property further south.
The sky still stretched above the house, wild and untouchable, and the moors still rolled away into the distance, making the house feel like a little toy boat upon stormy seas.
But it was trim and clean and had great potential, and Elspeth felt a sense of accomplishment.
While the cleaning helped, there were still real improvements to be made to the house if she ever hoped to make it feel welcoming for family and friends—and she hoped for large numbers to eventually visit and stay.
She spent several days overseeing the movements of various pieces of furniture in all of the bedrooms so that by the end half a dozen rooms were bright and clean and contained everything a guest might want.
She thought about wall hangings and draperies and sconces and chairs and cushions, and also dreamed about a nursery filled with new toys and games and dolls for the children who were destined to run through these rooms, filling the home with their laughter.
But those children wouldn’t arrive if she couldn’t make inroads with her own husband, who remained polite and often kind, but still reserved and reclusive, and certainly not eager to come to her bedroom at night.
Yes, he’d kissed her, and the kiss had left her trembling, ready to either faint or possibly throw herself at him to chase more of that wildly exciting feeling.
But as quickly as he’d begun to kiss her, he’d stopped.
And of course he told her that it wasn’t her fault, but whose fault could it be?
Of the two of them, one knew how to kiss (Struan) and one did not (Elspeth).
He was a man with experience, as nebulously mentioned by her stepmother in that stilted and unhelpful talk back in Edinburgh.
Clearly, she had done something she should not have and disappointed him.
Though honestly, how anyone expected a lady to have experience without experiencing anything previously…
Elspeth gave a little annoyed huff. Why could things not be simple?
Mairi would have something to say on the subject on the inequality of expectations, something forceful and witty.
Elspeth, however, was not a naturally forceful person, so she wasn’t sure how to proceed, and it was perhaps not a surprise that her method of avoiding the issue meant that she spent even more time working on improving the house.
Elspeth already loved Linneliath, but after over a fortnight of living there, she had a short list of items she hoped to purchase in the village.
Struan’s tour the second day had ended early because rainclouds had been threatening from the west by the time they’d got through most of the property, and then events had conspired to make it impossible for him to take her on another, lengthier excursion.
So while she’d met several tenants, she’d yet to see much of the land beyond what Struan personally owned.
She didn’t want to wait for the next delivery from the village, so she decided to take a journey there herself.
She didn’t like to think that her curiosity about her new home would result in any of the servants being forced to linger for an excessive amount of time, while Elspeth stuck her nose in all the shops and interesting places the village would have.
She dressed in her sturdy, but admittedly drab purple day gown and put on her wool cloak to ward against the stiff north breeze that had been blowing steadily all night into the morning.
She set off down the track leading from the great house to the main road.
In this part of Scotland, it seemed uncommon to make much of a point of specific property lines, which meant that there was no fence around Linneliath, and little to demarcate it from the world beyond.
Elspeth turned onto the road, which was two worn parallel tracks exactly the space of wagon wheels apart.
It being spring, there were plenty of places where the track had turned to mud or puddles had formed.
When she encountered those, Elspeth stepped to the side, and proceeded along the way until she passed each obstacle.
Occasionally, this meant going into a farmer’s field, but in reality, most of the land around here was given over to pasture, and Elspeth saw the fluffy shapes of Highland sheep, or goats, or the occasional cow as she went.
At the sound of wagon wheels churning up mud, Elspeth turned to see a farmer approaching. She gave a friendly wave, and the driver stopped to offer her a cautious greeting, obviously wondering who this stranger was.
“Good morning!” Elspeth said. “Are you going into the village? I live at Linneliath, and I’m walking that way myself. But I may have underestimated the distance.”
“Live up at the big house now, do you?” the farmer said with interest. “What’s your name, lass?”
“Elspeth McGregor I was born,” she told him with a smile. “And you, sir?”
“No sir for me,” he replied with a chuckle that sounded like two rocks grinding against each other. “You’ve met David Dunbar, my lass. Hop in the back, there’s plenty of room for a passenger.”
Elspeth wasted no time in clambering aboard, and she soon found herself sharing her seat with bales of raw wool.
She squished the contents experimentally, thinking that the farmer must be intending to go beyond the village with this product, for surely it would be sold to markets well beyond this corner of the world.
She asked him exactly this, and received a thorough education regarding the economy of the wool trade, from raising the sheep to the eventual purchase of bolts of woolen cloth. The man was clearly an expert, despite his humble appearance and his disdain for being called sir.
They passed a low building that looked like an old farmstead with children running around outside. Elspeth asked, “Is that the village school?”
“No, my lass. The village school is just by the old kirk on the high street. This school is for teaching and boarding the young ones who haven’t homes.”
“An orphanage?” she guessed.
“Not in name. It can’t be an orphanage because some of the children there aren’t officially orphans. Ye ken?”
“So they are unofficial?”
“They’re children whose parents or guardians are gone for long stretches of time, and have no one to watch over them till their fathers or mothers return. Some sail on whaleships, some are soldiers serving overseas. Others traveled to Canada or elsewhere to work and make their fortune.”
He went on to explain that these children lived at “the far school” for months or years at a time, alongside a few children who were official orphans, and would stay until they came of age, when they’d have to make their way into the world as best they could.
And yes, sometimes the children in the first category moved into the second category—the world was a dangerous place, and not all letters home contained good news.
When they reached the village, a newly enlightened Elspeth jumped out of the wagon when he pulled up to the building that seemed to serve as the tavern and the central gathering spot.
She offered a cheerful farewell, wishing Mr Dunbar good luck in selling his wool, and a hope that she would see him again.
She made her way down the main street, looking this way and that with intense curiosity.
Struan hadn’t spoken much of the place, and had intimated that she would find it small and dull after experiencing Edinburgh.
But it seemed to be busy enough, to judge by the number of people she saw walking down the street, or in the several buildings to either side.
She didn’t enter the tavern, but did stop in a shop with a sign advertising dry goods and sundries.
A woman with red hair braided so that the plait fell over her shoulder greeted Elspeth.
Elspeth inquired if the woman sold any buttons.
The woman pulled out a wooden box and sorted through it, holding up several options, until Elspeth pointed to one and told her she would take half a dozen.
The woman seemed flummoxed when Elspeth informed her that she was living at the so-called “big house” now.
“I’d heard that the young Mr MacInnes was back, but I didn’t know he was bringing anyone along with him. So you must have lived in Edinburgh, correct? For I can tell you’re not English or French. You would not have met him overseas.”
Elspeth laughed, and admitted it was so. “Yes, we sailed part of the way from Edinburgh, and then took the rest of the journey by carriage. It’s far north indeed. I’d not appreciated the distance from one end of Scotland to the other until now.”
The woman smiled a little wistfully, and said that perhaps sometime Elspeth could tell her more of Edinburgh, for the woman had never been there herself.
But it was also clear that the time was not now, for several people had come in, and she didn’t want the merchant to lose a sale on account of chattering with her.
She paid for her buttons and gave a polite nod to the red-haired woman, as well as the others in the small shop, all of whom were eyeing her without appearing to do so.
Elspeth continued strolling down the street, taking in each building, whether it be some sort of business enterprise, or somebody’s home—though most of the buildings appeared to be a combination.
When she came to the small stone church in the middle of its green and somewhat wild-grown graveyard, Elspeth turned and walked down the white gravel path, curious to see the inside of what appeared to be an ancient building.
However, before she could reach it, she was distracted by the inscriptions on the moss-covered stones.
Or rather the inscriptions she could actually read, for several of the stones were so weatherbeaten that only a few letters could be distinguished.
She saw a date from the early 1600s and she suspected that most of the graves were older than that.
She recognized Struan’s family name, though she wasn’t sure if it was actually the same family, considering that so many surnames in Scotland were shared.
She was contemplating a small headstone with an indistinguishable name underneath a carving of a much faded cherub when she heard a man’s voice behind her. “A kirkyard is no place for a fresh-faced thing like you. Only the dead here.”
Elspeth turned and saw a young man standing on the gravel path, regarding her with eyes of bright blue. The curiosity in his face was plain.
“You’re new,” he went on, stepping closer. “Why don’t you let a local show you the sights?”
“I think I have seen the sights,” Elspeth replied. She smiled back, but there was something about him that made her slightly uncomfortable. While his demeanor and words were perfectly friendly, something in her warned her not to come too close to him. She said, “I must start back home now.”
“I’ll walk you there,” he said easily.
With no reason to deny the offer, she turned to leave the small graveyard and retrace her steps down the main street.
The man, keeping up a patter of anecdotes about every building and person they passed, was amusing enough.
But when he suggested a stop in the tavern for a drink with him, she started to lose her patience.
“I must get back.”
“Ach, who will miss you?”
“Well, at some point my husband might. I am married.”
“Huh, there’s been no such ceremony in this church for weeks. I’d know if there was.”
“I was married in Edinburgh. I’ve only just arrived here to live at Linneliath.”
“The big house, eh? What do you do there?”
“Why do you mean, what do I do?”
“Chambermaid? Seamstress? You ain’t no lady’s maid, for there’s no lady there.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “I am the lady.”
He stared back, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you are good, aren’t you? I didn’t see that coming. Oh, you the lady! That’s rich.”
“It’s not a joke.”
He was still laughing. “Aye, it is. And a bold one. You the lady, looking as you are. Anyway, the young master isn’t married.”
“He is, because he just married me. In Edinburgh.” She resumed walking, eyes to the front. The sooner she was away from this boorish man, the better.
But the man reached for her, catching her shoulder.
“No need to pretend, lass. I’m no clergyman, for all that we met in a kirkyard.
I don’t care if you’re his piece. If he’s back and brought along a plaything from the city, that’s all to the good.
The girls around here are boring. But you’re a puzzle.
Pretty little puzzle too. Come, give me a taste of what you’re giving him. ”
Elspeth twisted away. The street seemed suddenly deserted. And she knew no one in this tiny town. Mairi would certainly know what to do in this situation. But Mairi wasn’t here. Elspeth was, and she was all alone.