Chapter 9 #2
‘Mum and I have got some decorations on order for the wedding, Uncle James,’ Heather spoke up, nervously. ‘I was wondering if I could bring them over here to store? With the damp in the Inn, I feel a bit worried about things getting spoiled.’
‘Oh. Right. Okay.’ James sounded a little put-upon, but he nodded. ‘Just bring up whatever you need me to store and I’ll put it in the East Wing.’
‘Uncle James, actually, I had a question for you,’ Sorrel interjected.
‘When I was at the Inn recently, Tam and I found an old piece of newspaper about a woman called Emma Gordon. It had been kept in a glass jar, in a secret compartment in the basement. And there was a ribbon as well, with knots in it. Tam thought it might be a spell or something.’
‘Oh! How interesting.’ James leaned for a moment on the back of the chair that Sorrel sat in. ‘I do know of Emma Gordon, yes. She was a kind of con artist, I think? Back in the times of the Crofters’ War.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Yes. Fascinating. I’m a bit of a history buff, and I try and keep a good record of our family history. She was quite the woman for her time, as I recall.’
‘Yes. So the article said, anyway. I’ve looked her up on the internet and got more or less the same information.’
‘Indeed. What a good find. I’m not sure about the ribbon with the knots. Perhaps she was a little witchy herself,’ James said, thoughtfully. ‘Strange that someone should have kept the piece of newspaper, though. I wonder who put that there.’
‘So you don’t know anything about why Emma Gordon would have been connected to the Inn?’ Sorrel asked.
‘I can’t think of anything, no, but I’ll consult the records and see. You should ask your father,’ he suggested. ‘How is Angus, by the way? And your mother? Are they managing in that caravan?’
‘They seem all right, thank you.’ Every time Sorrel thought about her parents, she got an ache in her stomach. ‘Keen to get back to the Inn, of course. Get the business up and running again.’
‘I’m sure. I did offer that they could stay here, with your sisters, but Angus refused.’ James sighed. ‘I do wish he would get over this vendetta he has against me and my side of the family. It’s ridiculous. You know I also offered to pay for the repairs?’
‘Yeah. Mum said you would. He just won’t have it, though.’ Sorrel shrugged. ‘You know how he is. I’m helping them out a little.’
It was actually a lot, in terms of money, that was needed for the Inn’s repairs, rather than a little, but Sorrel felt it would have been rude to say that.
‘I do know, and that’s very good of you, dear. It’s sad, because we were such good friends when we were young.’ James shook his head. ‘Then, for some reason, he got so paranoid about the lairdship. I’ve never really understood why.’
‘He says it’s connected to the Flag of the Old Ones.’ Sorrel felt slightly disloyal for having this conversation; she did love Angus, very much. He was a good man, a good father. But he was also unhealthily obsessed with the castle ownership.
‘I know.’ James sighed again. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong; I take the flag seriously.
It’s a lucky charm, a blessing from the Old Ones on the Balhennie Clan.
You don’t do well as the clan chief of an ancient Scottish family if you don’t acknowledge the folklore of your people.
Evelinda puts out a bowl of cream for the house faeries every night when she’s at home. ’
‘Superstitious nonsense,’ Aunt Joan sniffed. ‘A person could trip on a bowl of cream very easily.’
‘Only if a person was wandering around the castle kitchens at night, Joan,’ James replied, crisply.
‘Where is Aunt Evelinda, Uncle James?’ Sorrel asked. ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’
‘She’s away, visiting her sister in Inverness,’ the Laird said. ‘I do miss her; the place isn’t the same without Evie. But her sister’s not been well. She’ll be back in a couple of weeks.’
Sorrel wondered where she would be in a couple of weeks. The way her life was going at the moment, it could be anywhere.
‘Anyway, that flag is ancient; likely, one of the Balhennies of yesteryear brought it back from the Crusades. Whatever it is, it’s got a good energy, and it’s said to have protected the castle more than once,’ the Laird continued.
‘The only faeries I believe in are the ones in storybooks. The important part of your lineage is your family, James, not the castle or some ridiculous scrap of fabric brought back from goodness knows where.’ Joan sniffed again.
Chrissie tapped her on the arm and gave her a stern look, as if to say, Enough now; this man lets us live here rent-free.
‘Aye, indeed, indeed. You’re right, Joan.
The Princesses of Balhennie – that’s you and your sisters – are the jewels in the crown of our clan.
’ James shot Sorrel an affectionate glance.
‘Evelinda and I weren’t blessed with children; we’ve always considered Angus’s children our own.
We really are so happy to see you back, hen,’ he added, patting Sorrel’s hand.
‘And… if you’re funding the Inn’s repairs, maybe I can repay you, at the very least? ’
‘That’s really generous, Uncle James. Maybe? I’ll keep you updated. And I’m sorry that Dad isn’t more friendly with you,’ Sorrel said, awkwardly. ‘I do worry about the wedding, if I’m honest.’
‘Not at all, hen. No need to worry or fret.’ James gave her a warm smile.
‘We’re looking forward to it. It’s going to be a lovely day.
As I say, the Princesses of Balhennie are the jewels in the crown.
It’s only right and proper that we should celebrate the special day of one of our jewels at the castle. ’
‘That’s so lovely of you. Thank you, Uncle James,’ Heather said, looking teary. ‘I’ve actually been so worried about it.’
‘It’s more than my pleasure, dear. Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to some business.’ He gave them all a friendly but firm smile, and made his way out of the drawing room.
Poor guy, Sorrel thought. We’re all leaning on him for help, and Dad insists on being thoroughly ungrateful about it all.
The fact that her uncle had just offered to compensate Sorrel for whatever she was going to pay for the Inn’s repairs was incredibly generous. She worried, though, that if Angus found out, he’d see it as some kind of betrayal. She sighed inwardly.
‘Now, dear,’ – Aunt Chrissie leaned forward and peered at Sorrel, took a scone from the pile on the plate on the oval table – ‘tell us everything that’s happened over the past ten years.
Don’t miss anything out.’ She cut the scone in two, and spread butter on both sides with a surprisingly deft hand.
‘Everything?’ Bluebell interjected. ‘That might take a while.’
‘It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, dear,’ Aunt Joan intoned, theatrically. ‘Mouldering away up here in a castle. Two aged antiques that nobody wants any more.’
‘Will you pipe down, Joan?’ Aunt Chrissie glared at her sister. ‘I want to hear. Sorrel is blood. This is important. All the girls are important.’ She smiled at Heather and Bluebell and patted their hands. ‘And then I want to hear all about the wedding preparations, dear. So exciting!’
So, Sorrel began to recount the main events of the last ten years, but Aunt Chrissie’s comment about her being blood nagged at her.
Because she wasn’t blood. That was her big secret. That was what no one knew, apart from her and her mother.
The Princesses of Balhennie. It was such a lovely sentiment, but Sorrel’s heart ached at the knowledge that she wasn’t one of them. Her sisters were the jewels. What was she? A piece of costume jewellery, at best. A fraud.
Sorrel wasn’t a Balhennie. She was living a lie. And she always had.