The Secret of Isobel Key (11 page)

“Professor MacDonald? I'm Brian, the lad who phoned this morning.” The professor pumped Brian's hand with vigor, and his shriveled face broke into a beaming smile.

“Ah, yes, the lad what's interested in the fey and wee beasties of our land. And the lass is--?”

“Interested in witches.” Lou blurted out without thinking. The professor's eyebrows shot up quizzically, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. Brian looked at her, amused. “I mean,” she fumbled, “I've been doing research all morning about the different witch trials in Scotland, and I'm interested in the people.”

“The victims.” The professor spoke matter-of-factly, and his calm voice put Lou at ease. “Well, come in then, the both of you, and we'll see what information I can be providing.”

“My name is Louisa--Lou.” She hurriedly tried to smooth over her awkward first impression, but the professor simply nodded.

He ushered them through the blue door, which, Lou was surprised to see, did not lead directly into the house, but instead into a small, walled garden, hidden from the street. The walls were taller than a story and from the street gave the illusion of the front of a house, making the garden feel secure and private. She recognized basil, marjoram, and some kind of mint, but there were many other plants that she couldn't name. Everything was small, however, and she assumed that the garden was mostly populated with herbs.

“What a charming garden!” She exclaimed as their host led them to the door of his house. He glanced over his shoulder as if seeing the yard around him for the first time.

“
Aye, that ‘tis. More useful than charming, though, lass. It's a pottage garden, full of herbs for every kind of illness. Folk healing, they call it, but I call it useful!” He banged his gnarled walking stick on the stone path to emphasize his point, and Lou assured him that she often took herbs in her tea when she felt a cold coming on. He looked her up and down, grunted once, then opened the door and led them into his home.

The entryway was narrow, with a low ceiling and dark paneled walls. Brian had to stoop to avoid cracking his head, but Lou and the professor were able to stand comfortably enough in the dim hallway. Their host plunged into the depths of the house, moving fast despite his cane. Lou didn't want to suddenly find herself lost in this strange house, so she hurried to keep up with the professor's surprisingly spry pace. Brian followed behind, and Lou glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes met hers and then flicked away, and Lou wondered if he might have been checking her out. She watched Brian for a moment, and noticed faint red blotches on his neck and face.
Was he blushing?
Self-consciously, she followed the professor.

The hallway opened on a cozy sitting room, and it was there the professor stopped and turned toward his guests. “Have a seat, then, have a seat. Will you take tea with me this e'en?” They nodded, and Lou eyed the small sofa, fantasizing about the chance to sit so close to Brian, but he settled himself into a large red leather chair close to the empty fireplace. Disappointed, Lou took a seat on the worn loveseat, slipped her shoes off, and curled her feet up underneath her. Something about the professor's house put her at ease, but she was still acutely aware of Brian watching her from across the room. Nervous, she tugged on the sleeves of her sweater.

The professor came back into the room, carrying a tray filled with delicate china; he didn't seem like the kind of man who'd have a full tea service, but Lou realized that the professor was full of surprises. He set the tea down on the ottoman in the center of the room and settled himself with a sigh into the twin of the chair Brian was seated in. After a moment, Lou leaned forward to pour her tea from the gold-trimmed pot.

“Dear, would you be kind enough to pour a cup for me and hand it here? No milk or sugar, lass.” The professor's voice broke the stillness that had descended and Lou jumped a bit, rattling the cup against the saucer she was holding. What was wrong with her? One moment she was relaxed and the next she was jumping out of her skin. Luckily, she hadn't spilled anything, and she handed the professor the cup filled to the brim.

Brian helped himself to a cup of tea, and Lou noticed that he was not stingy in his use of both sugar and cream. She smiled into her cup, wondering if Brian realized how cute he was when his large hands gripped the dainty china. He looked like he was a guest at a child's tea party, and for a moment, Lou was captivated by a fantasy of Brian, sitting on a tiny plastic chair across from a little girl with curly red hair as she played with a sparkly wand.
He would probably be great with kids
. He looked up as if he'd heard her thoughts, and Lou quickly looked away.

The three settled back into their seats, contentedly sipping the strong brown liquid, and for a few moments, no one spoke. Finally, Lou broke the silence.

“That's an unusual walking stick, professor. Did you carve it yourself?” Brian looked up, interested, and the professor smiled and shook his head.

“Nah. Found it at a flea market. The man that sold it to me assured me it was hazel wood, and as I fancy myself a bit of a bard, it seemed appropriate.” Lou looked confused, but the professor went on, “Hazel is the wood for saints, poets, and bards. ‘Tis a holy wood, and will protect and aid one who carries it. Now, I'm not sayin' I'm a saint, but I do like to spin a yarn now and again, and if it was good enough for them bard boys, it be good enough for me.” He
smiled
as he spoke, and Lou couldn't help but smile back at him and the odd figure he cut, sitting there swallowed by his chair, holding a staff that came higher than his head while seated.

“Now, then, you wished to know of lore, is that right lad?” He addressed his question to Brian, who nodded and set down his teacup.

“That's right, professor. Specifically any spooky tales to relate to travelers around Halloween time, for the Hamish tours, you know.”

The professor nodded. “I remember what you said on the phone this morning. Now, spooky tales there are in plenty here in Scotland, as I'm sure you well know, but ones that are specific to All Hallow's, now let me think for a moment…” his words faded off and they sat in silence for a brief span of time before the professor snapped his fingers together. “The inn at Dundee!”

Brian leaned forward, and Lou listened eagerly.

“There's an old inn that was the site of a most gruesome murder.” The professor spoke with a wide grin on his face. Lou hoped it was storytelling he enjoyed, not speaking of murder specifically.

“Who was murdered?” Brian asked.

The professor clucked his tongue. “Lad, don't be interrupting the story. Do ye want to hear it, or no?”

Brian nodded, looking chastened. “I'm sorry, professor. Please continue.”

The man settled back in his seat. “As I was sayin', there's an old inn at Dundee that was the site of a most gruesome murder. A peddler man was traveling through many, many years ago, and chanced to stop at that inn on the night of All Hallow's. The innkeeper gave him a room and left him with a candle, and that was the last anyone saw of the poor man in life.”

The professor paused, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Lou felt goose bumps coursing over her arms as she waited for him to go on with his story.

He sighed dramatically. “When the man didn't appear in the morning, the innkeeper was sure he'd skipped out at night, to avoid paying his bill, ye see. But not long after that night, strange things began to happen.

“The innkeeper found he couldna' keep the peddler's room rented for more than a night at a time. Countless guests left looking pale and ill but not speaking a word of their discontent. So finally, the innkeeper decided to investigate.

“He took that room for his own one night.”

Making sure he had his listeners' full attention, the professor smiled and continued. “At first, the innkeeper slept a good bit. But then he was awakened by a horrible stench. The room was filled with it, and it seemed strongest in front of a large cupboard against the far wall. Well, the innkeeper opened the cupboard, and what do you suppose he found?”

“What?” Brian whispered, clearly engaged in the story.

“A severed head!”

Lou let out a little shriek of surprise. The professor smiled at her kindly.

“There, lass, it was naught but a ghost head! The real head was buried under the floorboards, which the innkeeper discovered the next day. It seems,” he paused dramatically, “that the poor peddler was murdered in his sleep on All Hallow's, and his body was broken into bits and hid beneath the floor. And I'm told that if ye are brave enough to request the back room of the old inn in Dundee, chances are good that you'll meet the same stench of decay that alerted the innkeeper all those years ago.”

Lou
grimaced and Brian applauded. “Well done! I can definitely use that story on my tours.” He scribbled some notes in his notebook then set it aside. “Tell us another, professor.”

The old man thought for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “Aha, I have another one. You'll be knowing that that time of year is one with many cracks in it? That is to say, that folks tend to slip through to the otherworld from the land of the living, or vice versa?” Brian nodded at this, but Lou shivered; she didn't like to think of the dead mingling with the living. The professor did not seem to notice her shudder, but continued with his story.

“Well, now, on one Halloween, a long time ago, a man took for himself a second wife. The dark time of the year was generally not used for marriages, but Alexander Nairn was never much of one to believe in the old superstitions. I say he took a second wife, his first bride having died in childbed, and he wedded his second bride on All Hallow's Eve. None knew where she had come from, and there was much whispering about Nairn's foolishness, although the man claimed he put no stock in such superstitions. He flaunted his marriage to the spirits and the fey, neglected to leave out proper gifts to appease those critters, and doomed himself to an unhappy marriage and a brief time among the living.

“It seemed, at first, that he was right, that the old ways were simply superstitious nonsense, but the dead bide their time, patient since they have all of eternity to wait. Now, his second wife was soon pregnant, and when she was brought to the birthing bed, ‘twas a wise woman, some said a witch, in attendance. It was said that this witch had sold her soul to the devil, and was acting out his wishes, but whether the poor woman confessed to such a thing or not is no longer known. It is commonly believed, however, by the folk around here, that the witch was sent to exact the price of arrogance from Mr. Alexander Nairn, and none were shocked when the wife and babe were dead on the morrow. More strange than that, however, was the fact that the husband was also dead, strangled by some great force. The woman, the witch, was immediately blamed, but folks knew the truth of the grisly matter: that Alexander and his bride were as good as dead at his own hand, for the lack of care he had shown the creatures who walk the earth and shift between the worlds.” He ended his tale with a rather spooky chuckle, low and throaty, and both Brian and Lou shivered.

The professor looked first to Brian, then to Lou. “There's a tale for you both, lass, since that one deals with one of St. Andrews' own witches.”

“Do you know the name of the woman they accused, professor? Lou asked, staring at him expectantly.

“Her name was…let me think, now…her name was…ah yes, ‘twas Miss Isobel Key. I shouldn't be forgettin' her name!” He chuckled, not noticing the way Lou started at the name. Brian looked at her, bewildered.

“Here, now, Louisa, isn't that the name of the witch you wrote down this morning in the library?” Lou nodded numbly, and the professor glanced at Brian, before turning back to stare at her with a deep look on his face, his brow furrowed.

“Is that so?” He questioned softly. “Lass, you should be knowin' that we Scots don't hold with coincidence; more often than not, coincidence is the mark of greater forces at work in your life.” He rose abruptly, and turned to the wall behind him. Lou noticed for the first time that the room was lined with countless books, most of them old and worn. The professor was intent on his search for something on the shelf, and it was as if he had forgotten his guests sitting in the room behind him, but his hand suddenly shot out toward a high shelf and pulled down a volume. He turned back toward Lou and Brian, smiling in triumph. “Knew I had it up there, ‘twas just a matter of finding it.” The volume in his hands was leather; the edges looked like
they
had been nibbled by wild animals, but the book itself seemed remarkably intact, despite the impression it gave of immense age.

The professor gallantly handed the book to Lou, and she touched the brittle leather with her fingertips, afraid to do damage to the book, whatever it was.

“That's her herbal, it is.” The professor's words supplied the answer to Lou's unspoken question, and she looked up at him, startled. “The book of spells and secrets of one Isobel Key, lost to the annals of history but for the chance of her kin. Her niece, named Isobel for her, she went to her aunt's cottage and cleared out some of her more prized possessions when her aunt was arrested as a witch, or so the family story goes. The niece was the child of that foolish man, Alexander. Little Isobel Nairn would have been my mother's maternal grandmother's great, great, great--”here he paused, counting on his fingers, pursing his lips in thought, “well, many times removed great, great grandmother.” He finished, smiling slightly. “That book came to me from my own mother, and while family lore has always held it as a spell book, it is nothing but an herbal, a list of recipes for tending every illness with the plants that grow here in Scotland. Isobel Key was a thorough scholar, and I've tested many of her recipes myself, with favorable results.” Lou was staring up at him, shock still written on her face.