Fields of Blue Flax (12 page)

‘Not much further,’ Mags said.

Christine nodded and set off to her right.

‘No it’s this way, between those two trees over there. I’m sure I remember it being there.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said Christine, stepping gingerly over the wet grass to join Mags who was inhaling deeply.

‘Can you smell the wild garlic, Chris?’ Mags pointed to the plants all around. ‘Did you know, the leaves are the same as lily of the valley, but there’s one difference: the lily’s are
deadly poisonous.’

They picked their way towards the trees, but there was no sign of a cottage. ‘Oh, wait,’ said Mags, ‘it must be the other way, my memory’s shot.’

They walked back to the clearing then off to the right. ‘Look,’ said Mags. ‘There it is. It’s so cute, like a gingerbread house in the woods.’

‘Lets just hope there’s no witch inside.’

The little stone cottage was a perfect oblong, with two little chimneys poking up at either end. It looked like something a child would draw if asked to paint a cottage. There was a wooden door in the middle and two windows, with chipped grey paint, on either side. A vine grew up one side, creeping up and over the low doorway.

‘That’s an impressive climbing rose,’ said Mags. ‘It must be pretty old, it’s so thick and gnarled. I wonder if it still flowers.’

‘Well,’ said Christine. ‘You’ve seen the cottage. Can we go back now?’

Mags ignored her cousin and rapped gently on the door. When there was no answer, she peered close into the window, palms of her hands at the side of her head, outstretched against the pane.

‘There’s no one in,’ she said. ‘It looks so different. They had furniture from Doug’s gran’s house in it before. It was like entering a time warp, stepping back to the 1930s.’

‘Let’s go. I’m peckish.’

‘Christine Duncan, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you’re hungry in your life. I’m always the one who’s ravenous. But fine, let’s go. I can’t wait to tell Doug about this.’

Christine immediately strode back towards the clearing,
but stopped when she realised Mags wasn’t with her. She circled round to the back of the house, where she found Mags standing at the foot of a huge, knotted oak tree.

‘I just remembered about this enormous tree. They kept saying they’d chop it down because it made the back room so dark. There used to be a swing or something on it.’

Christine looked up through the sturdy branches and slender twigs to the sky.

‘No,’ said Mags, grinning. ‘I remember now, it was a tree house.’ She pointed to a couple of rotting planks of wood wedged between the branches. ‘There’s the remnants of it there. It used to be a proper little house, a tiny tree house. Doesn’t look in good shape now though, what a pity.’

‘Must have been a storm,’ said Christine starting to walk away.

Mags joined her, ‘Yeah, when was that? Late eighties?’

‘1989 here in Scotland. Down south it was ‘87,’ said Christine staring straight ahead as they strolled towards the clearing.

‘Amazing the facts you teachers have at your fingertips,’ said Mags, looking at her watch. ‘Right, I’m going to phone Doug when we get to the pub and tell him about it. He’ll be so excited, he might even want to buy it!’

They arrived at the Drovers Inn pub and parked in the large car park. The sun was now blazing in a cloudless blue sky.

‘It’s turned into a gorgeous day, hasn’t it?’ said Mags. ‘Let’s sit outside,’

‘Right, why don’t you grab this table, then? I’ll get us drinks at the bar.’

‘Diet coke for me, please.’

When Christine was gone, Mags delved into her basket for her phone and tapped in Doug’s number. While she waited for him to answer, she put on her sunglasses and sat with her face raised towards the bright sun.

‘Doug, hi, just a quick call. Guess where we went today? The Old Steading in the woods, remember?’

She nodded thanks at Christine who had just put down a coke in front of her.

‘Yeah, it’s up for sale so we thought we’d check it out, hasn’t changed a bit. Well, inside it has, but that huge tree’s still there in the garden with the tree house, it’s all wrecked now though… What? Yeah, of course Chris was with me. Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you.’

Mags ended the call and smiled at Christine. ‘I still think it’s amazing we saw the remnants of that little tree house. I used to have this dream, long before Doug and I were even married, that we’d take our kids there to play in the woods. I must’ve read too many Swallows and Amazons books; Dad used to have the whole set at home, remember?’

‘And did you?’ Christine asked without lifting her eyes from the menu.

‘Did I what?’

‘You and Doug, did you take Lottie there?’

‘Yeah, we took Lotts up a couple of times when she was a toddler. We kept saying we’d repair the tree house but never got round to it. Doug loved it there though.’ She smiled and picked up the menu. ‘Right, what looks good?’

‘I fancy the asparagus tart with salad.’

‘Oh, good shout, it’ll probably be from that farm down the road. I noticed a sign when we passed.’

Christine got out her phone and began to Google. ‘I’m checking what lily of the valley signifies on a Victorian
grave.’

‘Good idea.’ Mags pressed her thumbs to her temples. ‘Can I have one of your Nurofen, I can feel a headache coming on.’ She stretched out her hand.

Christine opened her mouth to speak but instead leant down to pick up her bag, and rummaged inside. ‘Sorry, I must have had the last one in the café.’

‘Never mind. Maybe some food will help. I’m just going to nip to the loo.’

Christine watched until Mags was inside the pub then abandoned Google to write a text, typing and pressing ‘send’ quickly. She then returned to Google.

‘I gave the man at the bar our order,’ said Mags, sitting down. ‘Did you find anything?’

‘Here we go,’ said Christine squinting in the sun. ‘Lily of the valley on Victorian gravestones symbolised innocence, purity and virginity.’

‘Oh, bless her, her father must have wanted that on her grave. How sad.’ Mags tore off a crust of bread. ‘Maybe the Victorians didn’t know the leaves are also lethal.’

Christine’s phone vibrated. She glanced at it then slipped it into a zipped pocket in her bag.

‘Bring on the food!’ said Mags. ‘I am bloody ravenous!’

Chapter Twenty-one

1866

Elizabeth sat on a high stool at the manse’s kitchen table podding peas, her grubby feet dangling as she bent her head over the trug. She put down an empty pod and turned to the elderly woman standing at the stove.

‘Cookie, can I eat just one pea?’

‘If you say please, I might let you.’

Cookie walked over towards the child who was mouthing ‘please,’ and tickled the back of her neck. ‘You can even have two, Elizabeth.’

‘Thanks, Cookie!’ she said, picking up two tiny peas, one in each chubby hand. She popped them into her mouth one after the other and smiled. Her dark eyes glinted in the sunlight that was flooding through the window.

‘Come on, you’ve got to carry on podding those peas, lassie, or the Minister and Miss Charlotte willnae hae anything to eat for their lunch.’

There was a knock at the back door and in walked Margaret Barrie. She wiped her feet on the mat, removed her bonnet and dropped it on a chair at the door.

‘Hello Elspeth, I hope Elizabeth’s behaving?’

‘Come away in, Margaret,’ said Cookie, ‘she’s podding peas for the Minister’s lunch.”

‘It’s awfie good of you to have her here. You’d say if she got in your way, wouldn’t you?’

‘Margaret, it’s a pleasure, she’s guid company.’

‘Why’ve you no’ got yer shoes on, Elizabeth? You look like an urchin!’ Margaret pointed at her feet, mucky with
soil.

‘Och, she’s fine. She was helping Grieve oot in the garden.’

‘Aye well, you let me know if she’s too much trouble.’

‘You ken Miss Charlotte likes when she’s around. She wanted her to go to the drawing room wi’ her this afternoon and hear her piano practice. She’s got a recital in the kirk hall next week and she’s been practising a’ day long.’

‘Oh, please, Cookie!’

‘I dinnae think that’s suitable, Elspeth. Look at the state o’ her.’

‘Dinnae be daft, Margaret. I’ll gie her feet a good scrub in the big sink an’ put her shoes on again. It’ll dae her good and the Minister’s to be oot all afternoon.’

Elizabeth swivelled round and looked at Margaret. ‘Please, Ma. Please?’

‘Well, if Mrs Anderson disnae mind, then that’s fine. It’d gie me more time for my work. Thanks Elspeth.’

‘Ma, why d’you call Cookie Elspeth?’

‘Because that’s her name, Elizabeth. And you shouldnae be calling her Cookie. It’s Mrs Anderson to you.’

‘Leave her alone, Margaret, I’m fine wi’ Cookie. Besides, Miss Charlotte used to call me that when she was a bairn. She still does sometimes, I like it.’

Margaret scowled then said to the child, ‘Just dinnae call her that when the Minister’s around.’

‘Nae chance o’ that, Margaret, he never comes into my kitchen.’ Cookie wiped her hands on her apron and retied the knot round her ample waist.

‘Just as well.’ Margaret sidled up to the Cookie and whispered, ‘I saw him last week glaring oot the windae as the bairn came to meet me at the gate. He looked like the
devil himself standing there in his black. You’d no let her oot o’ yer sight, would ye?’

‘Dinnae be daft, Margaret, he’s…’

The door at the far end of the kitchen swung open. A slim young woman, wearing a long, cornflower-blue dress and matching ribbon in her wispy blonde hair stood at the entrance.

She nodded at both women then turned towards the large table. ‘So, Elizabeth, how are you today? Are you helping Mrs Anderson prepare my lunch?’

‘Aye, am podding the peas frae the garden and…’

‘Elizabeth, get doon from there and greet Miss Charlotte properly, like I telt ye,’ Margaret scolded.

The child hopped down from the stool and bobbed in front of Charlotte, who laughed and said, ‘My, you make me feel like Her Majesty the Queen herself.’

Charlotte picked up a couple of peas from the bowl and popped them into her mouth. ‘There is nothing like fresh peas, is there. A quintessential taste of summer, don’t you think, ladies?’ They hesitated then nodded in unison as she continued, ‘So Margaret, is it convenient if I keep Elizabeth after lunch and play her some music?’

‘Aye, Miss, I suppose that’ll be fine. She’ll put her shoes on, she willnae bring any dirt into the house.’

‘Good.’ Charlotte straightened her back and looked out the window to the garden. ‘Why doesn’t Grieve walk her home once he has finished in the garden?’

‘If Grieve disnae mind.’ Margaret stood at the door, sullen.

Since Charlotte didn’t say anything further, Margaret picked up her bonnet, knotted the ties under her chin, and opened the back door. ‘See you later, Elizabeth. Mind an’
behave!’

After the door had closed behind Margaret, Charlotte turned to Cookie and clasped her hands together at her waist. ‘You know Margaret rather well, I believe. It is not something I can ask her myself, but do you think she would mind if I started teaching Elizabeth the basic elements of proper speech? I already try to correct her when we are alone together, simply trying to eliminate all these ungainly ayes and dinnaes from her vocabulary.’

‘I’m sure that will be fine, Miss. Oh, look at the time, your father wanted lunch at a quarter to one today as he has a funeral at two o’clock. I should be getting on.’

‘Well, I shall see you after lunch then,’ Charlotte said to Elizabeth, leaning down to stroke her cheek gently with the back of her fingers. ‘Such soft skin.’

Elizabeth’s eyes looked larger than ever as she gazed up at Charlotte. ‘Thank you, Miss Charlotte,’ she said, clambering back up onto the stool. ‘Will you learn me the piano too?’

‘Will I
teach
you the piano, Elizabeth?’ Charlotte’s eyebrows arched. ‘Yes, indeed I shall. It would give me great pleasure.’

Elizabeth stared as Charlotte swept out of the door, her dress swishing against the wooden frame, before turning back to the trug full of peas on the table.

Chapter Twenty-two

2014

Lottie sat at the kitchen table watching her mother kneading bread. Mags pressed down the dough with the heel of her hands, turned and lifted it, then slapped it back on the table to begin again.

‘I don’t see why you bake your own when that new baker just down the road’s got the best bread in town. Even you said so, Mum.’

‘I know, their sourdough’s awesome, but your dad’s always loved my homemade bread and I thought I’d try to be nice to him. He’s so stressed at the moment, I don’t know if it’s that extra batch of NHS patients on his list or what.’

‘Well, it’s what he’s paid for, Mum. And bloody well paid compared to lots of other people.’ Lottie went over to the kettle and flicked it on. ‘Cup of tea?’

Mags nodded and plopped the dough into a large bowl. She covered it with a tea towel and took it to the airing cupboard.

‘True,’ she said, shutting the cupboard door, ‘and thank God. I mean, the little I get for my cakes and things, I could hardly support anyone.’

‘Exactly. And I’ve only got about twenty pounds left till the end of the month.’

‘Darling, I can give you some.’

Lottie filled the mugs from the kettle. ‘No, it’s fine, I should get my cheque from Mrs Hardy tomorrow, she’s owed me for Dan’s lessons for about three weeks now.’

Mags removed a plaster from a fingertip and stared at a small cut. ‘That’s healed up nicely, but I’m always terrified blood gets into my cakes.’

‘Mum, that’s gross.’

Mags folded her plaster over and flung it into the bin. ‘Speaking of which, do you know of any reason why I might find blood on the piano, Lotts?’

‘Where on the piano?’

‘I found a long streak of blood all down the white keys the other night. Didn’t like to ask Dad in case he got even more stroppy with me.’

‘Show me?’

In the dining room Lottie sat down on the piano stool and raised her hands over the keys. ‘Which notes?’

Mags pointed at Middle C then ran her fingers up the white notes a couple of octaves. ‘Somewhere about here?’