Chapter 12
I n this part of the world, so isolated, so unspoiled, the moonlight feels different. It seems so pure, a bright white beacon of the night as opposed to the dim, outshone light of London, which seems yellowed like an insomniac’s eye in comparison. Alone again in my room, I watch the moon’s pale face as she casts a stream of silver across the lawn. Though beautiful, her light is icy, and I too grow colder as the night draws on.
Without the distraction of Sophie, of the hustle and bustle of the castle, of attempting to construct my own enemies-to-lovers trope in real life, the emptiness fills my chest again after three more weeks of being alone. Milligram after milligram, no amount of synthetic serotonin can ever quite plug that space. Diversion has been my only successful treatment so far, but even that wears off, the night falls, and sadness returns. I hate the night, I hate the moon, and I hate being alone.
Summer melts away in the silence of my bedroom.
With more stuffy dinners and quietly pompous small talk, my existence here feels hardly different to how it looked in London, though somehow even more lonely. As the whereabouts of my suitcase is still a mystery, and Mrs Buchanan continues to insist that since I am fully clothed finding it is not on her list of her priorities, even my clothes aren’t my own. At least in London I was miserable in style, now I’m just depressed and frumpy.
The rest of my life is cleaned up around me whilst I sleep, and the pipes have been too busy at various parties and the waking of other guests, so I haven’t seen Sophie or Fraser for longer than a passing smile for weeks. Though I have known them only weeks, I feel their absence in almost everything I do. I hardly noticed how much I needed them until my days began to feel so incomplete without them in it.
The closer we draw to the Ghillies Ball at the end of the month, the more savage Mrs Buchanan becomes as she barks her orders and is never seen without a sweat on her brow. Thankfully, in all of her stress, she has been too preoccupied to hassle me. Although, at this moment in time, I would kill to see her sneer at me. At least someone would be looking at me at all.
Unable to stand any longer, absorbing the darkness from outside as though it’s infectious, I pull on one of the slip dresses that came in the pile of clothes that Sophie had lent me from the castle’s wardrobes and sneak along the empty corridors. With the high windows, the moonlight floods the hallways, as though the place itself is designed for adventures in the dead of night. Silence is thick in the air, not a single creature seems to stir inside the castle, and all I wish to do is cut through the stillness with a bloodcurdling scream that I’m sure will relieve whatever this feeling is within me for just a moment.
Unsure of what compels me, I leave the castle and trek my bare feet across the lawn until my skin feels as cold as my blood in the Scottish midnight. My body still aches from my fall with every step, but I push on. Haunting the hedgerows of the maze, I follow its high green walls step after step, until the path ends and I am face to face with a leafy portcullis and can pass no further. Time slips away into the night and only the slow throbbing in my feet informs me of just how long I have been moving like a ghost through the maze.
‘Lady Alice?’ A familiar voice cuts through the ruminating silence and I jump at the unexpected sound.
Fraser Bell turns the corner, white shirt glowing in the twilight. Here he feels like Theseus and I his minotaur. I am weak, ready to be defeated.
‘Are you okay?’ He speaks again after words fail me.
‘What are you doing here so late?’ I ignore his question as I return one of my own.
‘I could ask you the same question, ma’am.’ Fraser gestures towards me.
‘Does no one in this place realise that simply adding an honorific to the end doesn’t negate the insolence of a statement?’ I chuckle as a warm glow brushes over his cheeks. Fraser opens his mouth to speak, his brow sloped in such a way that I know the words that are about to come out of his mouth.
‘I’m—’ he begins but I cut him off before he can finish.
‘Please do not apologise, or call me ma’am.’ The blush deepens on his face. ‘I give you a free pass to be as brazen as you like, just as long as you call me Alice. And just Alice. Just, please , speak to me like I’m your friend. If only for tonight.’ I practically beg, and Fraser clears his throat.
‘Are you not cold, m—Alice? You’ll catch yourself a chill running about like that at this time of night.’
‘Malice?’ His slip of the tongue entertains me. ‘You know what, I’ll take it. At least it’s better than a stuffy title.’ The brief expression of panic on his face melts into timid amusement. ‘To answer your question, I am utterly freezing, but I am committed now; I must find the middle of this bloody maze.’
‘And waiting until the morning wasn’t an option?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Come on, I’ll take you.’ Fraser nods his head to the path behind him with a shy smile and sets off slowly. Following the luminosity of his shirt, he becomes my guide and I copy each of his steps as we travel further and further into the maze. ‘So, may I ask again, why you are in his majesty’s maze at midnight?’
I am grateful that he doesn’t turn around to speak to me, only continues to lead me through the winding paths. ‘I felt like being alone.’
‘Were you not alone in your room? I would have thought everyone in the house is asleep at this time?’
‘I was, but it’s different, isn’t it, being alone and choosing to be alone. By deciding to be alone elsewhere, it’s like it’s been my decision all along. Opting to be alone doesn’t feel quite as lonely as simply being left by oneself.’ The words tumble out of me before I can really think of them, and I am glad when Fraser keeps his eyes locked forward. ‘That probably makes no sense.’ I cover up my anxious turn with a laugh, but the piper doesn’t choose to laugh with me.
‘I think it makes perfect sense.’ For just a split second, he glances at me over his shoulder and smiles in a way that the moonlight catches his teeth and for the first time all night, the shimmering glow doesn’t feel so cold. ‘Here we are.’
Wandering out into a clearing, we have finally reached the heart. The once endless yews make way for granite statues and obelisks and, for a moment, I am transported back to London and its galleries. Tracing my fingers along the cool stone, each groove, each corner seems to radiate with life.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathe.
‘I’ve always said there’s a certain special charm about them at night. There’s almost something saintly to them.’ Fraser puts into words the sensation I couldn’t quite explain. Standing side by side, we watch them in silence, as though we are both waiting for one of them to speak, or cry, or reach out a hand. Only the breeze moves around us and I am drawn out of my head with a bone-rattling shiver that I can’t quite suppress.
‘Here.’ Fraser disappears into a shadowy corner of the maze and picks up a thick woollen jumper from a bench and hands it to me. I open my lips to protest, but it’s his turn to cut me off. ‘If I am not allowed to call you ma’am, you aren’t allowed to argue with me.’
With a soft shake of my head, I accept the jumper with a gentle smile and a timid ‘thank you’ before sliding the thick fabric over my head. Smelling faintly of hay, horses, and the musky scent of an aftershave still lingering in the fibres, it’s clear from the fraying sleeves that this has been a common feature of his wardrobe for many years. Despite the rawness of the wool, it is actually rather soft. Well-worn threads tickle rather than itch, and I am warmed almost instantly.
‘Why are you out so late then, Piper Major? Don’t you have to be up early to disturb the peace of those of us who’d actually rather like a lie-in?’ Fraser’s deep laugh fills the silence of the night in a song more beautiful than those he wakes me up with.
‘I, er, struggle to sleep.’ Fraser avoids my eyes, and speaks to the granite statue of the late queen instead. ‘Instead of lying in bed tossing and turning, I find it’s nicer to have a wander. See the parts of the world that most people miss whilst they’re sleeping.’
‘And what parts might they be?’ I ask, genuinely intrigued by his candour.
‘The stars, the wildlife, the quiet of three o’clock on a Monday morning. There’s no peace on earth quite like it.’
‘This place is always silent. Too silent.’
‘Then you’re not listening well enough.’ He turns to me with a smile and pulls me softy by my arm until we both sit side by side on a cold stone bench in the middle of the maze. ‘Listen right now …’ He pauses for a moment and the silence envelops me again. ‘Can you hear it?’ I shake my head, but it doesn’t dull the excitement that crosses his face. ‘Right there.’
Focusing all of my energy into my hearing, I close my eyes. At first, all I hear is the breeze as it slides through the leafy fingers of the trees and rustles at the rhododendrons. Then, there’s a faint call from an animal in the distance. It’s a high-pitched cry, though not like that of a bird, or deer. Before I can focus any deeper, the sound is drowned out by soft breaths. The velvety melody of them, though almost silent, makes it impossible to hear anything else besides. With each breath in and out, another tight patch of tension in my body seems to ease as my chest instinctively follows its lead, rising and falling in harmony.
Snapping open my eyes, I am met with Fraser’s clear green irises watching me closely. Reddening at the thought of him perceiving my moment of weightlessness, I speak quickly. ‘What is it?’ I ask, referring to the animalistic cries in the darkness.
‘Red squirrels,’ Fraser whispers with a grin. ‘All but extinct everywhere else, but here they thrive.’ The soft cry cracks through the silence again and we both smile at the sound. ‘Things are never quiet with them around, but I’m glad of it. If they’re quiet, it means they’re all gone.’
A soft hoot drawls through the night and instinctively, my attention shifts back to Fraser, as though waiting like a patient child for him to label the asynchronous sound. ‘Now I know that one’s an owl but that’s where my expertise ends.’
‘Tawny,’ he says softly. ‘But we have a few different kinds through here. You can always tell the tawny though – they’re the ones that make the classic “too-wit, too-woo” sounds.’
Fraser sits beside me grinning at the moon and her stars. The unabashed joy that lights up in his face, at each distant call of all of the nocturnal lovers in nature, sets him apart from anyone I have ever known. It’s like all of his secrets are laid bare right there on his face and he makes no attempt to hide them. Fraser Bell isn’t an open book, he is a song in perfect harmony and I intend to learn him by heart. For Sophie’s sake, of course.
Though my mind swims with questions to ask him – his favourite animal, his greatest fears, his favourite colour – for once, I cannot bring myself to infiltrate the comfortable silence that has settled between us. Instead of thoughts of myself, I think of him, whether he’s ever been in love, whom he may admire most, if he has ever had his heart broken, and my mind swims with all of my predictions. When those thoughts have run their course, I listen to the trees, to their inhabitants, to the city of nature that hustles around us.
So at peace, I no longer shiver with the cold, nor fight the heaviness of my lids, without a second thought, I find my stooping head pressed against Fraser’s shoulder and his rhythmic breaths pulling me to sleep.
When I open my eyes again, I am no longer in the maze, nor in the garden. Sprawled across the top of my bed, my duvet beneath me and a throw tucked around my legs, I am still clad in Fraser’s woollen jumper – the only clue that last night wasn’t a dream.
There is another thing that makes this morning different from all others. Checking the carriage clock beside me, I see that 9 a.m. has long gone, and without a peep from my regular alarm, whether that is beneath my window or that of the queen. I have slept entirely undisturbed until almost half past ten, and unless I have somehow managed to sleep through the bagpipes, Fraser hasn’t yet been to wake the house.
Am I to blame? Is he in trouble? Will he be in trouble now? Everywhere I go, I somehow manage to derail all that is good, as though I have the reverse of the Midas touch and all of the gold that surrounds me suddenly turns to dust and scatters as soon as I get too close.
Hopping out of bed, I rush to open the curtains and to my immense relief, there he stands in his spot beneath my window, his bagpipes in their case at his feet, and his tired eyes fixed upon me. As soon as I reveal myself to him, he leaps into action, awakens his instrument and commences his opening song.
Rushing to the door, I pause at the handle. Having lived in plenty of households such as this one, I know that a lady running around in the piper slash stableboy’s jumper is enough gossip to keep everyone excited for weeks. Whipping it off, and dragging on an outfit compiled from all of the discarded garments on my floor, I toss Fraser’s jumper back onto my bed before racing down the stairs and out in the garden to see him.
Though I’m no longer there, he still faces my window, his cheeks flushed from the force of his breath. Standing in the doorway to the castle, I watch him play, take note of how his fingers skip across the holes and his whole body seems to contract and tense with each new note. When the familiar tune begins to draw to its end, I close the distance between us and stand face to face with the piper who falters on his very final note at the unexpected sight of me.
‘Are you okay?’ Today, I am the first to ask the question.
‘Am I okay, ma’am?’ Fraser looks at me a little gone out, as though he never expected such a mundane sentence to fall from my lips.
‘Fraser.’ Folding my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes at the title he consistently punctuates his responses with.
‘Sorry, aye, I am very well. Thank you?’ His tone is almost questioning, as though still confused at my meaning, though to me it is obvious.
‘You aren’t in trouble?’
‘Why would I be?’
‘You’re late. I— Well I didn’t know if last night had anything to do with it?’ Looking around nervously, I await an interruption from Mrs Buchanan storming across the grass to berate him, but she doesn’t come.
‘I am late because of last night,’ he says bluntly. ‘But—’
‘Oh bloody hell, I’m sorry. I really didn’t intend— I really didn’t mean to—’
‘Alice?’ Fraser interrupts me and for the first time my name crosses his lips. The syllables fall so naturally that I begin to question why anyone would wish to be called anything other; the whole world would be full of Alices if they heard how the name sounds from the mouth of Fraser Bell. ‘I am late on purpose. You were so tired yesterday that you fell asleep in the maze.’ He leans in closely to speak under his breath. ‘I, er, carried you back to your room and thought I’d wait until you woke up organically before I woke you myself.’ He scratches at the back of his neck as the blush begins to creep up mine. ‘I apologise if I overstepped. It was clear to me, as someone who sleep rarely visits easily, that you needed as much as you could get.’
I am unsure of how to feel. Until now, I foolishly hadn’t put much thought into how I had actually gotten into bed. I knew it was very unlikely that I would have found my own way out of the maze alone but the thought of Fraser carrying me such a way – across the garden, up the stairs – to deliver me safely back makes my heart heave in my chest. Imagining his arms wrapped under my legs, circling around my back, sends a shiver through me, and before the image can fully form, I shake it out of my head as though allowing it to fully fledge would be heretical. The thought that Atticus would never do such a thing fills the space instead and my guilt only mounts.
‘What about the queen?’ I suddenly panic. I am no longer his priority; he doesn’t work to my timings anymore. In thinking of me, his true role has gone unfulfilled.
‘Her majesty has requested not to be woken on a Sunday morning any longer.’ He struggles to hold eye contact and his freckled cheeks pink in the damp of the mid-morning.
‘So today should be your day off?’ Guilt throbs in my gut all too familiarly.
‘Yes, ma’am. But I wished to check if you were better this morning after your restless night. I apologise for my disturbance.’
‘No, no, I should be thanking you. I don’t know what came over me, must have just been the excitement of the day.’ Chuckling breathily, I run my hands through my hair, and the way it snags on my rings in the process reminds me that I am probably not much of a sight at this moment in time. I wonder what my mother would think of me: sneaking about in the gardens in the middle of the night with the ‘staff’, parading around in public without so much as running a brush through my hair beforehand. I think it would be enough to send her into shock. Kitty and Hugo also cross my mind for the first time in a while. Their sneers are so vivid in my mind that for a split second I am sure I can smell the sickly sweetness of Kitty’s perfume, as though she is haunting me in spirit.
Straightening out, I return my features to their rehearsed hardened state. ‘Thank you, Piper Major. It shan’t happen again.’
Fraser’s expression roughens too. Standing to attention, he simply salutes me until I turn and walk away.