Chapter 9
T he guilt continues to gnaw away at me for the rest of the day. Watching Jimmy from my window, replanting until long after the sun sets, unable to even look at Flo, makes me feel utterly rotten.
Sophie assured me that I would only make things worse by getting myself involved again now, as even if I admitted to my meddling, both parties and their pride would never allow me to take any of the blame. The self-repulsion only mounts when night falls and both Fraser and Sophie join Jim in the flowerbeds once they know they’re free from the prying eyes and bitter tongue of Mrs B.
‘ I have no idea who you’ve become. ’ My mother’s words ring round and round in my head and for the first time in my life, I actually agree with her. In the last few months, it’s as though I’ve lost the little grip I had on my life and everything has just seemed to spiral out of control. It’s not as though until now I have been particularly prosperous, just clawing my way through the days for as long as I can remember. Now even that doesn’t seem to be enough. Feeling blistered and bruised, I’m surprised I can still breathe correctly. Part of me is almost disappointed that I still can.
That thought only makes me hate myself more. Here I am, sitting in a bloody castle, with my haircut alone costing more than a family of six’s weekly shop, the maker of my own misery, and I’m feeling sorry for myself whilst my friends are sent to clear up all of the messes I make. It’s repulsive.
Rifling through the clothes I have managed to accumulate from all of the lost property across the castle, I dig out a pair of jeans and a woollen jumper that have been thrust to the back of the drawers.
Sneaking my way through the castle (finally on a good errand this time), I steal a pair of wellies at the kitchen door and make my way across the grass in the twilight hellbent on fixing my own mistakes. Drawing close to Fraser and Sophie, I can hear their soft chattering whilst still remaining unperceived. My confidence faltering for a moment, I stop and listen to what they’re saying. The thought of eavesdropping sits sour in my stomach but as soon as their voices come into range, I hold my breath to hear.
‘It’s nice to have a bit of excitement around here for once, isn’t it?’ Sophie whispers. Fraser doesn’t reply, only looks at her dirt-covered skirt and face. ‘Yes, okay, I wouldn’t say that this is particularly exciting but having something new around here is what we’ve needed for so long.’
‘Trouble, you mean?’ is Fraser’s quiet response.
‘She’s not trouble.’
‘She causes it. Seemingly without trying.’
I realise that it’s me they’re talking about. It’s nothing new – I’ve had the world gossiping about me for decades – but something about Fraser and Sophie discussing me makes me itch.
‘Jim says that her mum was exactly the same. She sent your gran round the bend back in the day.’
Well surely that part can’t be about me. My mother and I have never so much as had a similarly positioned freckle in common, let alone her behaviour resembling mine in any way.
‘For years we’ve washed the same beds, played the same tunes, been to parties with the same people. Trouble is exactly what we needed. The castle may be perfect and pristine, but the culture of the place is crumbling. I think she will be good for us.’ Her words warm me and calm the turmoil that was threatening to boil over in my stomach.
‘She isn’t here for us. Just remember who she is, Sophie. She will never and can never be a friend.’
Fraser’s Scottish drawl renews my pain, and the desire to denounce all that I am cuts through me and leaves me rooted on the spot. Though it hurts, I can’t stop myself from listening.
‘I know that,’ Sophie replies, but her tone has shifted and she sounds deflated. ‘She will have plenty of friends like her; she won’t need us when she leaves. But I think she needs us right now, as much as we need her.’
I think of Kitty, Hugo, even Barty, and I realise I would not associate a single one of their names with the word ‘friendship’. People like Kitty don’t do friendships, they do partnerships. Every one of their relationships are formed with the single object of gaining something, bettering themselves, their families, their businesses. In fact, all of my relationships are ‘give and take’. Even my father; I take his financial support and family name, and in return, he gets a daughter he can use to expand his empire, or sell the image of his family that he wishes to portray. At least, that’s likely what he hoped for and is now bitterly disappointed. At least I have Atticus. I have nothing to give him except my heart, and he’s held on to that since we first met, and I have possessed his just as long. Perhaps he is the only real friend I have.
‘She will forget us quickly enough once the summer ends.’ Fraser’s voice cuts through the moment of silence that had fallen across the garden.
Almost determined to prove them wrong, I finally regain control over my body and decide I have eavesdropped long enough. I wander into their line of sight as though only just stumbling across them.
‘Lady Alice!’ Sophie is startled when her eyes finally land upon me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to fix the problems that I’ve caused.’ Sophie opens her mouth and begins to protest, but I cut her off quickly. ‘I absolutely insist and shall not change my mind.’
‘If those are the lady’s orders, we must oblige,’ Fraser drones, thrusting his trowel into the loose earth.
‘No, there is no order, no obligation. You may both walk away and leave me to it if you so desire, or wake the house to have Mrs Buchanan berate me. I am here, as an equal, and perhaps one day as a friend, if you both shall have me?’
Sophie and Fraser look at one another, the latter’s cheeks pinking at the knowledge that I may have heard a little of their conversation. The former only smiles, hands me a pair of polka-dot gardening gloves, and pats the space of grass beside her.
Getting straight to work replanting, I speak without looking at either of them. ‘This really wasn’t exactly how I envisaged it going,’ I say, hazarding a chuckle. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Sophie says quickly. ‘You had good intentions.’
Fraser stays silent.
‘I hope Jimmy is okay,’ I whisper after Sophie tells me how the ageing groundskeeper had called it a night just before I joined them, complaining of a sore back.
‘It will take much more than the Buchanan to trouble Jimmy.’ Fraser speaks for the first time after a prolonged silence. ‘I’m just not sure that Balmoral is ready for love.’
Sophie and I catch a glimpse of one another, a shared look of surprise crossing each of our faces.
‘This place was built out of love,’ I can’t help but gush once I have gathered a little of my composure. ‘Prince Albert purchased the place, redesigned it and had it rebuilt himself all because it pleased his wife. Queen Victoria loved the Highlands, and he loved her, so he created this to be the perfect Scottish paradise. Every inch of this place was created in the image of love.’ I grow more and more excited as I recall the little that I already know about the place.
Clambering to my feet, I get a little overexcited as I stare at the grey stone castle shimmering in the moonlight.
Sophie and Fraser watch me, an amused glint crossing the former’s face. ‘The thing everyone gets wrong about love is they expect it to happen miraculously. Sometimes it’s written in the stars, but sometimes fate is actually just hard work and a little meddling.’
‘Shouldn’t it be for the couple to decide if they wish to be in love?’ Fraser is surprisingly serious but this is the one topic in which I don’t doubt myself.
‘Love creeps up on us all so slowly – there is no decision about it. If one has to decide to be in love, it is simply a practicality. No, what I mean is that sometimes one needs a little push in the right direction, to untangle that self-doubt from the inexplicable yearning and to finally have the gall to take what one truly desires. Romeo and Juliet fell in love but without the help of the nurse or the friar, how could they ever have done anything about it? Who knows what would have happened to the star-crossed lovers had they never had help.’
‘Do you not think they might not have died if their teenage crush was just left to fizzle out?’ Sophie swoops in with the reality check. ‘I’d say their help was actually pretty irresponsible.’
Fraser and I chuckle in unison.
‘She has got a point to be fair.’ Fraser’s face lines in amusement as he battles against releasing his laughter.
‘Okay, okay, maybe it was a bad example. But my point still stands: fate always needs a hand and Balmoral should always be full of love.’
* * *
When all of the grandfather clocks in the house chime midnight at ever so slightly different times, the three of us call it a night. After saying goodbye to Fraser at the kitchen door, Sophie and I leave our muddied boots by the pantry and creep back through the corridors before parting ways at the stairs. Sophie goes down; I must go up.
When I am alone again in my room, before the haunting thoughts have time to return, I get to work on this tale’s auxiliary plot. Already, in failing to bring together my intended protagonists, I have mistakenly brought the supporting cast closer together. For the first time in years, Fraser and Sophie were alone and grasped the opportunity of developing their passing acquaintance and unrequited crush into the beginnings of something rather more exciting. Now, all I need to do is keep up the momentum.
If it’s my mistakes that have forced them together, then perhaps the way forward isn’t to curb my mischief, but rather redirect it.
‘Sophie?’ I find the young maid in the dining room the following morning, polishing the cutlery on the table. She drops the silver knife in her hand, and it clatters against a neighbouring plate as she greets me with a friendly grin, then quickly rushes to inspect the fine china for any signs of chipping.
‘Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep okay?’ she enquires politely.
‘Same as usual,’ I reply, ‘I just about reach the deep sleep phase and then Pipe Major Fraser Bell keeps his time better than Big Ben and I’m awoken to his screeching. I at least thought the excitement of yesterday would have made him oversleep by a few minutes but alas!’
At the mention of his name, Sophie lays down her cloth and cutlery carefully to hand me her full attention.
‘He is rather annoying for that. But Mrs B runs this place down to the second and when I hear him playing for you in the mornings, I know that’s my cue to stop whatever I’m doing and have the breakfast room prepared. He’s quite an effective alarm to be honest.’
‘What time does your day begin?’ I ask, realising I don’t actually know too much of what Sophie is supposed to be doing here aside from babysitting me.
‘Well, contractually it’s six, but Mrs B likes us all up and mustering in the kitchens at five-forty-five, just to leave a buffer for any silly business.’ Shame curdles in me, like a drink turned sour in my gut. Whilst I moan about not quite achieving my nine-hour sleep target, Sophie is already on her fourth chore of the day. She would never be able to lose a whole week to her bed, forget how to function, disregard every one of her responsibilities. She must think me as spoilt as Buchanan does, except she stands here, right now, her smiles bringing me comfort.
‘What was your dream, Sophie?’ I see my question takes her off guard. It takes me by surprise just as much.
‘It was an odd one to be honest,’ she begins as I grow increasingly intrigued. ‘I was hoovering in my old school hall and all of a sudden this man came in and just poured a big vat of chip shop gravy all over the floor.’
I allow her to finish without interruption, and then the maid shakes her head, as though her unconscious annoyance has returned. ‘I meant your life’s dream, Sophie,’ I say, chuckling.
‘Oh, aye, right.’ Blushing, she pauses to muse for a moment. ‘I haven’t put much thought into it recently.’ Her slim fingers twirl the ends of her hair. ‘I used to want to open my own youth club, in the village. I didn’t have much to do growing up; we didn’t live anywhere busy enough for them to bother building anything cool nearby. Don’t get me wrong, getting out in the fresh air, building dens in the woods, swimming in the lochs was great, but come winter, it would’ve been great to have something to do with your pals indoors.’
‘What did you do instead?’ I ask, and she looks at me as if the answer is obvious.
‘Caught a lot of colds.’