Chapter Sixteen
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Logan.” Seated in a wooden chair beside a wide, polished mahogany desk, Dougal reached into his pocket and pulled out a small linen-wrapped package. He laid it on the desk surface.
Samuel Logan, a heavyset gentleman with gray side-whiskers and a preference for tobacco, for the room reeked of it, nodded.
“I always have time for a nephew of Sir Hugh MacBride. Chambers Street Publishers was honored to produce his poems.” He gestured toward the bookcases lining his walls, where Dougal noticed his uncle’s volumes of poetry and other writings prominently displayed.
“We published something of yours, as well. Do you have something else?”
“Nothing at the moment. Your firm was kind to publish a series of my articles about lighthouse design that appeared in the Edinburgh Review a few years ago. Principles of Pharological Design with Respect to the Forces of Nature is hardly exciting reading.”
“On the contrary, it was fascinating stuff,” Logan said. “We have respectable orders every autumn for Pharological Design from engineering classes at universities in Scotland and England too. It provides you a wee income, eh?” He smiled. “What brings you here, sir, if not another treatise?”
“I do have something, but I am not the author. It is merely an inquiry.” Dougal slid the package across the desk.
“I thought you might find it interesting. A dear friend who lives on a Hebridean isle wrote this wee journal. I do not have your talent for judging the best in books, but I think it worth a look.”
Logan reached over an untidy pile of papers and books to pick up Meg’s journal. Setting a pair of gold-wire glasses on his nose, he flipped through the book, nodding thoughtfully. Finally, he looked up.
“Did the author appoint you as messenger, sir? There is a distinctly feminine sensibility to this wee journal.” He peered over his spectacles.
“She gave me her journal as a gift, and I thought to show it to you. I do not think she would mind that. But she does not believe her work worthy of publication. As you can see, it is not a personal diary, but rather a chronicle of nature on the Isle of Caransay.”
“Aye, remarkable.” Logan turned pages. “Your friend is quite talented. These are skillful drawings, pleasing and precise, with poetic descriptions too. Exquisite thing. It’s as if we’re peeking into a lady’s diary while she shares her love for her home in the Isles.
” He turned more pages. “She brings the place to life, yet remains anonymous. Marvelous. Quite unique.”
“I hoped you might like it.”
Logan paged through the rest of the book, then glanced up. “Is this all of it?”
“There are other journals, I believe, and all treat the flora and fauna, weather, the geological character of the island and so on. She manages to capture the beauty and variety of life on the island, along with the seasons and the moods of the sea, too, in these elegant drawings. I assure you the other journals would be equal in merit to this one.”
“I would like to see the others, if she is agreeable.”
“She made these just for the joy of the work, but I think she would be happy to share them in book form for others to enjoy.”
“We may be able to arrange that. This is beautiful.” Logan sat forward.
“There is a great deal of interest in Highland culture just now. People are mad for Scotland, its history and culture. Mad to tour the Highlands and purchase any souvenir they can find. Some think we should not perpetuate the romance of plaids and bagpipes and heather, but honestly, it helps the Scottish economy to do so. Queen Victoria herself writes Highland journals, did you know?”
“I have heard so.”
“A Hebridean journal written and illustrated by a Scotswoman would be quite popular.” Logan tapped the desk with his fingers. “Do you think she would agree?”
“Perhaps. I will ask her.”
“Tell her of our great interest in publishing them.”
“I hope to see her when I return to the island. We are building a lighthouse out there.”
“Excellent! Let me give you a letter of introduction.” Logan took up a sheet of paper, dipped a pen, and began to write.
Waiting, Dougal flipped pages in the little book, skimming past delicate studies of flowers, seashells, and other delightful images. He paused to read some marginal notes in Meg’s lovely handwriting beside images of Sgeir Caran, the rock, the sea, the birds.
Eagles mate for life, she had noted beside a sketch of two birds in flight. This pair has been together many years. Their loyalty is transcendent. As they soar over the sea rock in unison, one realizes the profound poetry of their devotion, the love of two souls who will never part.
A shiver ran through him, deep and secret, as if Meg herself had whispered in his ear. He closed the book quietly.
Logan sealed an envelope and handed it to Dougal. “I have taken the liberty of enclosing a cheque in the amount of thirty pounds. I can offer the lady a little more, but I hope this will secure her interest in giving us the privilege of publishing her journals.”
“Thank you, Mr. Logan. I will convey this to her and ask her to reply.”
“You may wish to act as her adviser, since you have published with us yourself.”
“Small experience, but I would be glad to be of assistance.” Dougal slid the envelope and the little book into his pocket. “I admit, I took a risk in showing you her wee book.”
“You are a loyal friend, sir. Convince the lady that this is a golden opportunity. I hope her dreams equal your dreams for her.”
“Dreams?” Dougal stood. “I hope so, too.”
*
“Certainly, Mrs. Larrimore, if you think we need extra staff for the soiree, please hire them.” Meg stood in the drawing room with Angela Shaw and the housekeeper of the Charlotte Square townhouse.
“You will find willing maids of service at Matheson House,” Angela suggested. “It is newly established, and there are several young women there eager for work.”
“Huh, them lassies,” Mrs. Larrimore said dubiously.
“They are well-bred young women caught by unfortunate circumstance,” Meg said. “Many of them desire honest work. Hire a few as kitchen maids and upstairs maids for the evening, at least. We will need a couple of lady’s maids as well.”
“I suppose I could inquire,” the housekeeper said.
“Now, we shall have music and dancing that evening. I believe the drawing room will be large enough if some furniture is removed to the upstairs rooms. The carpet is large in that room and should do nicely for dancing.”
“Aye, and the musicians can sit in that corner, near the garden doors.” Mrs. Larrimore pointed to a roomy area beside the small conservatory. “We can set conservatory plants about in pots.”
“Lovely idea,” Meg said. “The roses in the conservatory are plentiful. Use some of those. Mrs. Shaw, have other flowers been ordered?”
“Yes, madam. Yellow and ivory roses and some others for variety and color. And the buffet table will have an arrangement of sugared fruits in a tower, very pretty. And I made some tiny nightingales out of silk and paper in the Japanese method to set among the flower arrangements, in honor of Miss Lind, since she is called the Swedish Nightingale.”
“Splendid idea! You have a delicate hand for craftwork.” Meg looked around the room. “We also need to designate two upstairs rooms as dressing rooms for the ladies and the gentlemen.”
“Aye, madam,” the housekeeper agreed. “The rooms will be heated and well lit, and there will be plenty of soap and water, towels, combs, pins, and so forth for the guests.”
“It will be a nice touch to provide rose and lavender water, and almond cream too.”
“I will see it done. The grooms will be told to reduce the hearth fires as the evening goes on. With so many guests, we do not want the place too warm!”
“Good. I will leave the details to you, Mrs. Larrimore, as you know what is needed. We will arrive in groups after the concert at the Music Hall. All must be in readiness by eight o’clock, I think. And we should designate a lady’s maid for Miss Lind, who will arrive after the others.”
“Katie will do. She’s a good lass. Did you look at the menu, madam?”
“It is perfect. I would not change a thing,” Meg said. “Mrs. Shaw?”
“Very nice. And I like the plan to provide fruit ices and lemonade early, with a light buffet supper served at midnight.”
“Very good, then,” Mrs. Larrimore said. “I’d best get back to work.
Cook will start baking well before dawn that day, and we will be busy—meats to roast for cold slices later, dishes and punches to prepare, ice to be delivered and stored.
And the entire house will be cleaned and polished beforehand. Do not fret about any of it.”
“Thank you. Oh, the dressmaker from Paris will arrive afternoon,” Meg said. The housekeeper bobbed her head and left the room.
“It promises to be a lovely event,” Angela said.
“This is not a large house for such a party,” Meg replied, glancing around. “I…I am feeling a bit nervous, Angela.”
“Strathlin Castle has more room, but it is too far. Your guests can quickly return to their homes and hotels from here. And it is convenient for Miss Lind, as well, since she is traveling.”
Meg nodded distractedly. “I know you and Mrs. Larrimore and the others will make this a wonderful party. It is…something else entirely.”
Angela tilted her head. “Can I help?”
“I must puzzle it out on my own.” She thought of Dougal walking the machair of Caransay deep in the night, puzzling out his theorems as well as his feelings for her.
Seeing Angela’s keen glance, Meg smiled brightly.
“You are always a help. We had best hurry. We are expected at the opening of the new exhibit at the National Museum of Antiquities. They have some recently discovered Celtic treasures which I hear are quite stunning.”