Winter's End (6 page)

“No, I didn’t,” Lisa
said. “I walked. Bill’s going to pick me up when I call him. He’s babysitting
the children. Told him I needed to do a ladies chat with you.”

“A ladies chat?” Emma
asked, lifting up a brow. She handed over a cup of steaming tea to Lisa and
motioned for her to continue at the settee. “What sort of ladies chat?”

Lisa placed her cup
down on the glass coffee table and plopped down into a couch. “You know, the
one we had this morning. About old Mrs. Kinnaird.”

Emma watched her
mystified and baffled. Wasn’t Lisa hesitant earlier to speak of the woman? And
now here she was, more than willing to reveal all that Emma wanted to know of
the mysterious Mrs. Kinnaird over a cup of tea.

Lisa took a sip of
her tea. “Oh this is delightful,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” Emma
said impatiently, almost demanding her to stop with the chat on tea. “What
about Mrs. Kinnaird?” she asked carefully, trying not to sound too anxious.

“Well,” Lisa
answered, tucking her legs under her. “It happened a long, long time ago. Mrs.
Kinnaird’s eldest daughter had just got married. The newly married wife and
husband moved to London where they settled.

Their second
daughter, Mary went visiting her aunt in Glasgow. There she met a young man who
fell deeply in love with her. Mary loved him too but not enough to go against
the wishes of her family. You see, the young man was a poor factory worker. Mr.
and Mrs. Kinnaird did not think much of the boy and refused Mary to continue
with the courtship. The boy was so distraught, he died of heart-ache. However
the boy’s mother had gypsy ancestry. Rumour has it, she cursed the Kinnaird
family. That they would never be able to retain a marriage and that Mary would
never be anyone else’s. Of course the
Kinnairds
dismissed it as ludicrous, pagan beliefs, never giving it a second thought.

There was no reason
to. It was the late 1960s and business was booming in America. Mr. Kinnaird was
a shrewd business man and invested heavily into all sorts of business there,
basking in its profits and rewards. Unfortunately, their only son, George was also
lured by the alluring, glamorous life of America. Now having tasted the nectars
of fame and fortune in America, George made it quite well-known that he had no
wish to return to dull, mundane Skye. Instead he revelled in drunkenness and
debauchery. His parents were utterly disappointed. They threatened to cut him
off his inheritance if he didn’t return. But George called their bluff and
remained in America much to the disdain of his parents.

But that was only the
start of the Kinnaird downfall.

Anne Kinnaird, now Mrs.
Cameron, gave birth to a healthy baby boy two years after the marriage. The
Kinnaird’s were absolutely elated with this new addition to the family.
Actually so much so that they gifted the young parents with a trip to Europe. I
heard Mrs. Cameron refused to leave her newborn and wanted to take her baby
with her. But after much coaxing and convincing by both her husband and her
family, she ultimately decided to leave the child with her parents and set off
on a journey to Europe with her husband. Only two days into their trip and not
having yet even left the shores of London, the young couple died in a car
crash. It was rumoured they had a terrible argument while Mr. Cameron was
driving. Apparently they were arguing over the control of finances over their
trip. It appeared Mrs. Cameron had snubbed it in her husband’s face and the
fact that his family did not support them as much in their financial endeavours
as did her own family. In anger, Mr. Cameron
 
sped to overtake a truck before him in an oncoming bend but lost control,
veering off the road and tumbling down a cliff. They both died that awful
night.

The
Kinnairds
were terribly distraught over the death of their
daughter. Mr. Kinnaird took the blame of their death upon himself. He had been aware
of their marital problems and assumed that a three month trip to Europe would
save the young couple’s marriage. Instead it had only surfaced Mr. Cameron’s
insecurities to provide the luxuries his wife was so used to having. Mr.
Kinnaird locked himself up in his bedroom for seven days, refusing to talk to
anyone. Well, he did come out at the end of it, but the atmosphere of the
entire household had now become sombre. There was no laughter or playful teasing
ringing through its empty halls. No, all that was gone. Mr. Kinnaird withered
away, eating very little but strangely determined more than ever to build an
empire stronger than he had before.

However it was the
early 1970s now and economic situations had vastly altered. The market crashed
and Mr. Kinnaird lost a lot on his shares and investments. There was nothing
poor Mr. Kinnaird could do but wallow in his sorrow.

Not long after George
Kinnaird took an interest in a native Indian girl. Despite being warned and
threatened again by his parents, George eloped with her causing quite a stir
amongst both the elite American socialites and the Indian tribe she belonged
to. It brought the Kinnaird’s into much disrepute within the social classes in
both England and America. A week on the run from the girl’s family, George was
found dead in the lobby of a run-down motel. Apparently the girl’s brother had
caught up with the run-away couple. George got into a fight with the brother.
He received a fatal blow to his head and died immediately. There was nothing
anyone could do to save him.

Unfortunately, this
was the final straw that put poor
Mr.Kinnaird
into
his grave. He suffered a heart attack and died a day after he received news of
his son’s passing.

The blow was so severe
on Mrs. Kinnaird, now that she had lost almost her entire family. It changed
her dramatically. She became cynical, harsh with life. She hated joyous
occasions like Christmases. I remember she carried a ghastly scowl whenever she
visited the stores. We were so afraid of her that we crossed the streets a good
distance if we ever saw her in our path.

But Mrs. Kinnaird was
no less shrewd than her husband. In fact she had a greater knack for business
than her husband ever did. It was how she got herself out of the hundred pounds
of debt that her husband and son owed. She began buying out properties in Skye,
London and America. She bought shares and made better investments. Currently, she
is the primary landlord on most of the businesses in Skye and a major
contributor to local charities. It is the sole reason why everyone keeps a
tight-lip on saying anything about Mrs. Kinnaird. I think she was smart to
figure that it was the one way to prevent people talking about the ill-luck
that had fallen onto the family. The world outside of course soon forgot about
the Kinnaird curse and moved on with other gossip.”

The two women fell
silent. Outside the sky had darkened. A blanket of snow covered the
ground.
  

Emma fiddled with her
empty cup in her palm, thinking of all that Lisa had told her. “What happened
to Mary?” she asked.

Lisa sighed. “Mary
died an old maid about five years ago. She never married.”

“And Anne’s child?
What became of him?”

Lisa bit her lip.

“What is it
Lisa?”
 
asked Emma, curiously. “There is
more to the Kinnaird curse, right?”

“Well,” Lisa started,
nervously. “According to former employees of the Kinnaird household, it was
whispered that the gypsy witch rendered that the only way in which the curse
could be broken was if…”

Emma waited
impatiently for her to finish. “If…” she offered.

Lisa swallowed. “If a
Kinnaird would manage to retain the bond of marriage for three consecutive years.
Of course it would have to be a direct descendant of the current Kinnaird
bloodline and the union of marriage has to be a formal one, sworn and
sanctified by a priest.”

“Well, has there been
one since?” asked Emma.

“How can there be?”
said Lisa, shaking her head dolefully. “The last of the children, Mary died
without any issue. The only one that is left to break the curse is Anne’s son, Christopher
Cameron. And no girl in her right frame of mind will touch him with a ten foot
pole. At least when it comes to marriage,” she corrected.

“They’re afraid of
the curse falling upon them?” said Emma.

“Yes, that of course.
But also because he’s Chris Cameron,”
 
said Lisa.

“I don’t understand,”
said Emma, shaking her head.

“He is Chris
Cameron,” repeated Lisa tiredly. “The actor celebrity. Hollywood. He acted as John
Mascot in
Matchstick Soldiers
.”

A cloud of recognition
fell upon Emma as she began to remember pieces of his media profile. Mousy
brown hair, tall, steely grey eyes, one of the top one hundred sexiest men of
the year, highly influential actor celebrity and award winning actor of the
movie
Matchstick Soldiers.
 
She
loved that movie, she remembered. But she also remembered him as being
notorious for changing the women on his arm by the month.

“Emma, Emma,” said
Lisa, shaking her out of her trance. “Stay away from Mrs. Kinnaird,” she
warned.

*****

“Stay away from Mrs.
Kinnaird.”
Lisa’s word rang through her mind as she breathed in the cold, balmy
air of the early morning.

She gave a small
chuckle. Why should she? However, was little old Mrs. Kinnaird ever going to be
a threat to her? And as for her famous grandson, he would be far from interested
in a widow with two children in the lonely Isle of Skye.

“Mrs. Winston,” said
a stern voice, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Mrs. Kinnaird,” Emma
answered, surprised on seeing the older woman walking towards her. Not too far
strolling behind her was her trusted butler, Theodore.

“I see you have taken
advantage of my offer,” said Mrs. Kinnaird.

“Huh,” Emma said,
blushing guiltily from her thoughts of the woman’s
 
handsome grandson.

“I’m glad you decided
to walk through my pastures,” said
Mr.s
. Kinnaird.
“You had me worried for a moment when I saw you walking up the highway.” She
stepped forward, indicating for Emma to walk with her. “There haven’t been any
gruesome incidences yet for walking on our lonely highways. But it does pay to
be careful. Besides the air in these pastures is different. You can almost feel
it’s purity as you take it into your lungs.” She took a deep breath in and held
it for a while before releasing it. And when she did, the aura around her changed,
exuding a warmth in the cold winter air. She had a smile on her face that lit
up her greying eyes, rising it at the corners. “If you stay still long enough,
you might even spot some of our handsome red stags come down from the
mountains.”

“Red deer?” Emma
repeated, a tinge of wonder filling her eyes. “Here?”

Mrs. Kinnaird smiled.
“We let them breed in the hills. And then… we shoot them.”

Emma stood back
stunned by the abruptness of her final words. “You kill them?”

Mrs. Kinnaird let out
a small inward chuckle. “Oh, you sure are a city girl, aren’t you? A lass from
Skye wouldn’t have given a second thought to it.”

She gave Emma her
hand. Emma took it and the old woman wrapped her arm around Emma’s elbow.
Leaning slightly onto the younger woman, they walked together towards the huge
trunk of a leaf-barren tree. Their boots squelched into the ankle deep snow the
night fall left behind in the morning.

“We don’t call them
killing here, lass. It’s called culling. It is an essential part of the deer
management program. You can say that we’re being cruel to be kind.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Kinnaird dusted
off the white crystals of snow gathered on her white hair. “Deer are like
rabbits. They can breed quickly into high densities. The trouble is this can lead
to a lack of food for them to survive on. If we don’t help control the herds,
they will slowly starve to death. They will even gnaw and chew at shed antlers
if they can’t find enough food. In Skye, we don’t have very many predators to
help cull the deer density. We have eagles and foxes but they’re not enough to
keep the numbers down. So what is best left to do is sport culling.”

“Sport culling?”
asked Emma.

“What you may have
heard of as deer stalking,” Mrs. Kinnaird explained. She saw Theodore retreating
towards a rock and nudged at Emma’s elbow to do the same. “Let’s get behind
this tree,” she whispered.

Emma was startled
slightly but obediently followed without protest.

“There,” the older
woman said softly, pointing towards a shrub of trees.

And there Emma
noticed, among the bare brown trunk of trees was a red deer stag. It was
chewing on the stems and buds of blaeberry that stood a little taller than the
snow. It seemed to have heard their voices because it peeked up, its ears and
eyes alert for predators. It was a magnificent animal. It’s dark brown coat was
effectively camouflaged against the bark of the trees.