Chapter 22 A Friend from the Past
”Ah Lady Lizzie, I see that you recovered a bit of colour. I trust that Mr MacLugh has been filling you up.”
Lizzie snorted hot tea through her nose. Not a pleasant sensation.
She peered at Brun who had the most stoic expression on her face she had ever seen on another human being, while he calmly munched on a sandwich. He lifted one eyebrow.
The right one, she noted.
Seeing that Lizzie was otherwise busy cleaning herself, he answered on her behalf.
“Of course, Mrs Clisham! You didn’t think I would allow Her Ladyship to starve, did you?”
Blimey! Are they talking about food?
She glared at Brun while addressing the housekeeper, “As a matter of fact, Mrs Clisham, I think that Mr MacLugh has been feeding me way too much. I might need to go on a diet.”
Brun coughed on his sandwich. Revenge was a sweet thing.
Mrs Clisham scoffed, “Nonsense, Lady Lizzie! You have such a beautiful figure. Don’t you agree, Mr MacLugh?”
He was still purple, but he nodded enthusiastically in agreement and now Lizzie was not entirely sure that Mrs Clisham had been truly speaking of food to begin with.
“How was your holiday, Mrs Clisham? Is your family well?” Lizzie said a little louder, hoping to steer the conversation away from innuendos.
“Oh yes, Lady Lizzie, all are well!” Mrs Clisham beamed with pride, “All my brothers and sisters and my twelve nephews and nieces!”
“Twelve!” Lizzie cried, “What are their ages?”
“Ah everything between ten years old and your age.”
“I’m sorry, I know you’ve mentioned before where your family is from…” she went on, trying to recall it. Mrs Clisham had said something about her family, but it had been in the aftermath of the Lammas Fair and that had not been a good day for her.
“From Stirling.”
Lizzie bobbed her head, but she felt Brun tense by her side. She glanced at him, but he did not acknowledge her, apparently focussed on pouring himself another cup of tea, so she returned her attention back to Mrs Clisham.
Yawning,Lizzie closed her book and set her glasses on the bedside when her bedroom’s door creaked open. She peered towards the door, expecting Brun to walk in, but it closed again.
“That’s odd…”
Reckoning that she had left the door ajar, Lizzie kicked the blankets off her legs, just as the air shimmered and Brun materialised beside her, making her yelp.
“Forgive me,” he muttered, sitting on the edge of her bed and kissing her lightly on the lips, “I glamoured my presence in the corridors. The Clishams have already gone to bed, but I didn’t want to take chances.”
She tilted her head.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
He stared at her as if she had just said that the Earth was flat.
“Only a complete idiot would feel embarrassed by being seen by your side, Lady Lizzie,” he caressed her face with his fingertips, causing a shiver to run down her back, “I merely did not want the Clishams to think I’m a scoundrel, seducing a woman who is more than four centuries younger than me.”
“Fair point…” she bobbed her head.
Brun frowned, looking vaguely offended.
“What happened earlier?” she asked, placing her glasses back on her face, “Something Mrs Clisham said agitated you.”
He nodded, “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about: Eleanor, Aranna’s lady’s maid, was also from Stirling.”
She arched a sceptic eyebrow at him, “And you don’t think this is just a coincidence?”
Brun shook his head, “Oh no, I do not think this is a coincidence at all,” he trained his blue eyes on her, “Aranna planned this! I am certain that Mrs Clisham is somehow related to Eleanor!”
She scowled with disbelief, “I think that this is quite a stretch! How could Aranna possibly have planned this? I mean, how could she be sure that Eleanor’s descendant would be working here in Glennloch exactly when I arrived?”
“Scrying was usually the territory of Conjurers, but Aranna had a keen interest in it. She was not as skilled as Fayla, but not mediocre either.”
Lizzie rubbed her face, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.
“Okay, so you think that Mrs Clisham is Eleanor’s great great-granddaughter – well, we should probably throw a few more greats there – and that she may have inherited something given by Aranna to her lady’s maid.”
He shrugged, “I know it sounds very implausible but knowing Aranna, I would not discard this possibility.”
“But what this something could be?” she asked, squeezing her temples between her hands as if that could help her extract an answer from her brain.
“That I know not,” he muttered softly, reaching for her hands and easing them from her face, “But after that puzzle box, no doubt something fancy!”
She tried to imagine what kind of item could have survived three hundred years within the same family. Another painting perhaps? A document? No, probably too perishable…
Brun’s next words snapped her out of her reverie.
“Lizzie, I need you to investigate this matter while I am away…”
“Away?” she repeated, feeling dread coiling inside her, “Where are you going?”
His eyes did not meet hers, “I need to make a short trip to Edinburgh. Nothing serious… Just Glennloch business.”
Her eyes narrowed at his babbling. Brun never babbled.
He was lying to her.
She began to feel sick. Why was he lying to her? It was the second time he claimed to have business to sort out in Edinburgh and it was the second time he was lying about it, she was sure.
On the first time, Lizzie had wondered whether he had gone to meet a lover. Maybe, after everything that had happened between them, he was going to end things with this woman? Knowing how honourable Brun was, it made sense. He was not the kind of man to break up with a woman over the phone or with a text.
Or by simply disappearing…
Right?
But what if he was not going to break up with her at all? What if he was hoping to keep both her and this woman in Edinburgh as lovers.
She groaned. The monster of jealousy was a hard one to deal with…
“Lizzie, are you all right?”
His blue eyes were trained on her with such intensity it made hard for her to breathe. His face was so open, so genuine. Could he really be leading a double life?
Recall that he has been living a double life for five hundred years…
“What are you really going to do in Edinburgh?” she interrogated him. She had not wanted to sound so harsh, but the words just spilled out of her mouth unrestrained, “Please, tell me the truth.”
Brun was taken aback by her tone. His lips parted and then closed again. Clearly he was deciding what to say.
Then his shoulders slumped and he grabbed her hands, bringing them to his chest. His heart was beating strongly.
“I cannot tell you yet,” his tone brooked no argument and she was ready to lash out her anger when he squeezed her fingers, urging her to listen, “But I swear to you on my life that it has nothing to do with another woman.”
Heat crept up her neck all the way to her cheeks and her eyes widened.
Bloody hell, he guessed exactly what I was thinking!
“I’m yours, Lizzie Endell, I’m faithful to you. I always will be yours for as long as you have me.”
She blinked with embarrassment, hoping a black hole would appear and suck her away.
“I didn’t mean… I’m not asking–”
“I know…” he interrupted, sliding a hand to the nape of her neck, “but I wanted to say it, nonetheless. I have no lover in Edinburgh or anywhere else in the world. I cannot tell you yet what I am doing there, but I promise that once this businessis resolved, I shall explain everything to you, you have my word.”
“Brun, I–” she tried again, but he leaned forward, claiming her lips.
“Please,” he whispered against her mouth, “Trust me.”
Brun parked his car outside a two-story, yellow-bricked housein the quiet south side of Bruntsfield in Edinburgh but did not climb out right away. He checked the time. Ten thirty in the morning.
Hopefully, it was a decent time to call on an old friend.
After spending the night in Lizzie’s room – albeit sleeping little – Brun got up at the crack of dawn and returned to his own chamber quietly, before the house began to stir into activity, and left just as Mrs Clisham was going down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
A smile curled his lips. Their conversation on the night before had been enlightening.
Lizzie had been jealous of him, he was sure of it. She had been convinced that he was going to see a woman in Edinburgh, though whence such suspicion had come from he could not say.
Although he was loath to be the cause of such anguish for her, part of him could not help but feel a tiny stupid male pride.
He clenched his jaws. That probably made him a bad man.
After five hundred years alone, I may have earned the right to a little mischief…
In his defence, he had left a loving note to Lizzie, renewing all the promises he had made her on the previous night and assuring her that she could call him on his mobile at any time if she needed him, but that he would be back before tea.
He studied the house again, rehearsing in his head what he was going to say. His conversation with Lizzie had been interesting, but surely the one he was about to have would be even more.
Bringing his focus back to the task at hand, Brun climbed out of the car and in three long strides he reached the front door, ringing the bell. He captured faint voices coming from the inside and moments later, he heard the sound of steps and of the lock turning. The door cracked open and a woman in her thirties peered through the gap.
“Can I help you?” she scanned him from head to toe.
“Hello, good morning,” he greeted, opening a bright smile, “I’m looking for Edward Douglas, does he still live here?”
She opened the door a little more, filling the gap with her body. She was a tall blonde woman with big blue eyes. Brun frowned, finding her face vaguely familiar.
“Do you know my granda?” she asked, a small crease appearing between her brows.
Well that explains why she looks familiar.
“Yes, we met a few…” he paused. Obviously saying decades would not be good, “a few years ago.”
She bobbed her head, “And your name is…”
“Apologies,” he tilted his head, “I’m Brun MacLugh.”
“Well Mr MacLugh, why don’t you come in? I’ll check if granda can see you.”
Brun hesitated, “Is he not well? Forgive me, I should have called first, but I was in the neighbourhood and thought of paying a quick visit.”
She nodded again but there was suspicion on her face. Considering Edward Douglas’ skills, he no doubt passed some tricks of the trade down to his granddaughter.”
“Oh no, granda is fine. Strong as a bull as they say, but sometimes he’s just plain cantankerous and doesn’t want to talk to anyone… Anyway, please come in. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She stepped aside to let him come in and then disappeared into the house.
Keeping his hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers, Brun studied the photographs hanging on the wall, wondering whether Edward would want to see him at all. Would he even remember him? The last time they spoke must have been some sixty years before, and it had not been a pleasant conversation.
The topic had been Brun’s immortality.
At the centre of the wall there was a big black and white portrait of a couple on their wedding day and Brun instantly recognised Edward. He had been fair-headed like his granddaughter and had the exact same eyes.
There were pictures of Edward and his family spanning several decades: he and his children from babies to adults and the more recent ones of him surrounded by his children and grandchildren. And even great-grandchildren already it seemed!
A life well-spent, Brun thought with a pang of envy. All of that had been taken from him.
His musings were interrupted when Edward’s granddaughter returned.
“Please Mr MacLugh, come this way.”
He followed her down the hall and across a rather cluttered living room that bore some of the unmistakable signs that an elderly person lived there: a blood pressure monitor over the dining table along with several boxes of different medicines, a couple of walking canes leaning against the wall on a corner, and a pair of thick reading glasses discarded on the seat of an armchair.
They crossed white-painted French doors into a well-kept backyard where a man in his nineties using a blue cap was kneeling on the ground, weeding out a flower patch.
He lifted his head and when their eyes met, Brun could see the shock on his face.
“Granda, I checked your mail already,” the granddaughter announced, kissing him on the cheek lovingly, “I was about to leave…” her gaze flickered to Brun, “unless you need me for anything else?”
Edward dropped his gardening gloves carelessly on the ground and using a cane and his granddaughter’s arm as support, he got up to his feet and returned the kiss, “No Caitlin, it’s all right. I’ll see you Wednesday?”
“Yes, see you Wednesday, granda,” she confirmed and then turned to Brun, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr MacLugh.”
“Likewise Ms… Douglas?”
Although her eyes were still cagey, she confirmed with a small smile, before walking back into the house.
Once they heard the front door closing, Edward walked towards Brun till he was standing a foot away from him and studied his face attentively. Then he began to chuckle.
“Well, either you’re the spitting image of your grandfather, or I was right all along!”
Brun grinned at him, “It’s good to see you again, Eddie.”
Their paths had crossed for the first time when Brun served in the British Army during the Second World War. He and Edward, or Eddie as he preferred to be called, served in the same platoon during the Battle of Normandy.
Brun had been around for a while and decided it was time to fake his death again. The perfect opportunity presented itself with the new European war. His plan was to pretend to sustain a fatal injury and then disappear for some twenty years or so. With the new warfare technology and a little luck, he had even hoped that perhaps he would be truly killed this time.
All was going according to plan, but then Eddie was gravely wounded in the battlefield, and Brun could not bring himself to abandon his comrade: he saved Eddie and then vanished, magically creating a record of his death.
As fate would have it, ten years later Brun accidentally bumped into Eddie in Perth during a Second World War veteran’s event in the city. He seldom took part in community activities like those, lest someone recognised him, but he had been feeling particularly lonely at that time of his life, and the men he met during that war had been his last real friends, so somehow he found himself attending the ceremony.
Saving someone’s life was a powerful thing. An act which was not easily forgotten and Eddie recognised him at once. Only he was now a Scotland Yard inspector and one of the best investigators of his time.
Not enough time had passed for Brun to pretend to be his own son and because he was technically dead, he had not been using aging spells to glamour his appearance.
Brun had denied being the Brun MacLugh that Eddie was referring to, but six months later Eddie showed up at his doorstep and produced a yellowed photograph of Brun in his military uniform when he served during the First World War!
Heavens, that had been awkward!
The photo was of extremely poor quality, therefore Brun insisted that the man was someone else. Eddie had not been at all convinced and for the next twenty years he had made his personal mission to investigate Brun, finding a score of empty graves with his name and it was not hard for him to suspect that Brun had been roaming the earth for centuries.
Although Eddie could not bring his astonishing conclusions to his superiors, lest he ended up in a psychiatric ward, he still stalked Brun until his retirement. Because of Eddie’s relentlessness and with the advent of photography and later video recording, it became increasingly difficult for Brun to stay in society, even using aging spells, thus after Lizzie’s father was born, he faked his death again and left Scotland, disappearing in mainland Europe.
“Are you here to suck my blood then?” Eddie asked, pulling a chair for himself and pointing another one for Brun.
Brun blinked in confusion for a moment at the extraordinary question and then roared with laughter, “Heavens! You think I am a vampire?”
He looked up towards the sun, “Well, it’s daylight all right. Vampire is possibly the wrong explanation…”
“I am no vampire, Eddie, but you were right, I am immortal.”
Eddie fixed his rheumy eyes on Brun, studying his face again, “You haven’t aged a single day, Brun. It’s been more than seventy years since Normandy and you look exactly the same! How is that possible?”
“I am a Changeling.”
His eyes widened, “Jings! Like a baby switched by the fairies?”
Brun bobbed his head in agreement, “Something like that.”
Eddie pulled out his cap, revealing his bald head. Only a few puffs of pure white hair remained, reminding Brun of cotton balls.
“Well, if I told this story to anyone now, they would probably think I’m more senile than I already am…” he pondered rubbing his jaw with his hands, “so you’re not here to kill me…”
“Always the policeman I see…” Brun chuckled.
He shrugged, “The instincts never truly leave you, I guess… Then why are you here?”
Brun leaned forward and trained his eyes on Eddie, “Because I need a favour, and you’re the only person I can trust to ask this… I imagine that you still have contacts in the Scotland Yard?”
Eddie nodded, “Aye, of course. For some reason I’m some kind of hero to them…” he scoffed, clearly finding the idea absurd, “I come back every now and again to chat with the young lads and lassies joining the force,” then he trained his blue eyes on Brun, “Although you made a fool of me for seventy years, I do owe you my life… What do you need?”
He placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“I’m truly sorry for the grief I caused, but trust me, I was only trying to protect you,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I need you to find someone for me. Someone who, like me, should be long dead.”