Winter's End (7 page)

“It’s a royal,” Mrs. Kinnaird
whispered again. “See it’s antlers? It has about twelve tines. In March or
April, it'll shed those beauties and in the summer, it’s brown coat will change
to a charming red. Shame that someone will have to hunt it sooner or later.”

Emma watched the
stag. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of it being hunted through the
wild moors. “You won’t kill it now, will you?” she asked, worriedly.

 
“Well, the season
is
still open for
stalking,” Mrs. Kinnaird said. “But we won’t kill it today. It lives another
day.” She gave an assuring smile. “Theodore is the head stalker for the estate
but he hasn’t brought his gun with him.”

Emma glanced over at
the loyal butler. He was still hidden behind the rock, observing the stag
closely.
 
She gave a small relieving sigh
when she saw that he indeed didn’t carry a hunting rifle.

Mrs. Kinnaird gave
another small chuckle. “Oh, you have so much to learn if you want to live in
Skye. Don’t worry. We are not as cruel as you think we are, Mrs. Winston.
Sometimes we also love to watch and admire these magnificent creatures at a
distance.”

It was then the stag
retreated a step, its eyes startled by a noise. A second later, it turned and
dashed back into the winter woods.

Emma watched keenly
after it, it’s short tail bobbing in the distance.

“It’ll come back,”
said Mrs. Kinnaird, examining her carefully. “They come down from the hills to forage
for shrubs below, especially after a heavy snow fall like the ones we’ve been
having these last couple of nights.”

A pang of guilt hit
Emma again. Two nights ago she had been sitting with Lisa Johnston engaged in
gossip about this seemingly harmless but lonely neighbour. So why should she
stay away from her? Why, indeed.

The deer was long
gone now, probably foraging for food in some other secluded moor on Mrs.
Kinnaird’s estate.

Emma stepped out from
behind the tree. There was a thin drizzle of snow showering about her.

Mrs. Kinnaird
struggled to step forward towards her but the heaviness of the snow hindered
her posture. Emma immediately leant and steadied her with her arm.

“You shouldn’t have
been walking in all this snow, Mrs. Kinnaird, ” Emma said a little concernedly.
“You could hurt yourself.”

“Please call me
Ethel,” said the older woman, letting out a small, croaky cough. “We are well
past the pomp and formalities, don’t you think?”

Emma smiled. “Only if
you call me Emma.”

“I think I could
settle with that,” Ethel Kinnaird answered, once more wrapping her hand around
Emma’s elbow. “How about getting out of this dampness and toasting to that with
a hot cup of black tea?”

Emma smiled, allowing
her new friend to lean onto her as they walked towards the large stone mansion,
its walls embroidered with bare ivy vines.

Nancy fired up the
hearth in the parlour. The twigs spat in the fiery tongues of the fire,1 immersing
the small room with the warmth from its flames. She sped down to the kitchen to
prepare tea for her mistress and her young guest.

It was not always that
people came calling to the old house, and it was not always that Mrs. Kinnaird
welcomed them as she did Mrs. Winston.

A sudden thought
occurred to her and she stood still wondering if she could make any sense of
it. Could it possibly be that her elderly mistress…?

She shook her head from
the
ludicrosity
of such an idea and carried on with
the task of making some delicious black tea. She reached for some delicate
china tea cups and placed them onto a silver tray.

A rustle at the door
caught her attention. It was Theodore stumbling through the doorway.

“You might want to
add an extra cup to that tray, Nancy,” he said.

“You’re having tea
with Mrs. Kinnaird?” she asked.

“No,” he replied,
opening the kitchen cupboards. “I’d rather have a swig of brandy.” He put the
bottle to his mouth and gulped down a mouthful of the burnt wine.

“That’s quite early
for the morning, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. And so is Mrs.
Deanna Boyd.” He sat heavily into a chair.

“Oh,” said Nancy
speechless. “She’s staying for breakfast?”

“Yeah,” he said
quietly. “And a whole lot more.”

She arranged the tea and
sweet nibbles onto her tray and then studied the small ensemble of what would
have been a beautiful, delicious breakfast.

“Do you want to take
it up?” she asked hopefully.

Theodore rose to his
feet and straightened his tie. He then picked up the tray, giving Nancy a
woeful look. “Well, she’s here now,” he said and walked out of the kitchen with
it.

******

The earlier light
drizzle of snow had stopped and the rays of sunlight was now peeking over the
low cumulus clouds. Emma would have found it pretty, had Ethel’s scowl not kept
her from enjoying it.
 

It was strange
thinking of Mrs. Kinnaird as Ethel. It made her young all over again. Emma
could see past the crows feet at the ends of her eyes and the wrinkles that
spread randomly over her face. The Ethel she now saw was young and beautiful
and the scowl she carried was beginning to charm her.

It didn’t take much
for Emma to discern that Ethel’s sudden foul disposition was due to the other
woman’s
 
presence in the room.

“Oh, cousin
Ethel,”
 
the woman said. “We’re still not
over the winter yet. It is far too dangerous for you to go walking out in all
that snow. You’ve just recovered from that cold earlier on in the season.”

“Well,” Ethel
harrumphed. “You for one have impeccable timing. You know exactly when to call
in during those days. One must think you must be praying for it.”

“Oh Ethel,” Mrs. Boyd
groaned as she daintily placed her tea cup on the coffee table. “You are such a
tease. I do of course pray for you. In fact I made a special visit to church
last week to ask for the reverend’s blessings for you.”

“Why?” said Ethel,
rolling up her eyes. “Has he made some sort of dealing with you?”

“Ethel,” Mrs. Boyd
said, her voice slightly startled. “Well, in fact, I prayed for your long life
and good health.”

“What is the name of
the reverend?”

“Why?” Mrs. Boyd
asked nervously.

“I have a complain to
lodge. His prayers aren't working well enough. My health seemed to have
declined since.”

“Oh, Ethel,” Mrs.
Boyd groaned. “It isn't the poor reverend’s fault. You are walking about in the
early hours of the morning when you should have been warm in bed.”

“Just give me the name
of the reverend, Deanna. I have a special request to make,” Ethel said,
silently wishing that her husband’s second cousin would be slapped with a bite
of amnesia and forget her way to the Kinnaird mansion ever again. “I also want
to have a word with him about why your prayers are failing to reach the ears of
God. He’s not Reverend Clive, is he? Because the man can’t pray a darned worth.
And I refuse to comply to his blessings.”

Mrs. Boyd shocked
beyond belief, waved her hands dismissively. “No, of course it wasn’t Reverend Clive.
He is a much younger reverend,” and she added quickly. “Whom you’ve never met.
But really, Ethel, do you have to be so blasphemous. The reverend is a man of
God. At least give him the deserved respect.”

“Deanna,” Ethel said
firmly, leaning forward. “The man is a close-minded, opinionated piece of human
twaddle. An entire sack worth of baloney.”

Mrs. Boyd gasped.
Ethel smiled. She loved that she could evoke that in the meddlesome, imposing Mrs.
Boyd.

Emma shifted
uncomfortably in her chair. She tried to keep her attention on the icicles
frozen onto the branches of the fir tree, glimmering outside the parlour
window.

“Mrs. Winston, you’ve
just moved next door to the Kinnaird Mansion, have you?” Mrs. Boyd said,
turning her attention to Emma.

“Yes, yes I have,”
Emma stammered.

“I’m so sorry about
your husband. I heard. It must be such a tremendous task bringing up young
children all on your own,” Mrs. Boyd shook her head sorrowfully.

Emma flushed.

Ethel lifted an
eyebrow curiously. “Tell me, how
did
you hear, Deanna? As far as I know,
you crossed The Minch not a couple of hours ago.”

“I have friends
Ethel, that are happy to keep an eye on you,” Mrs. Boyd said firmly.

“And that includes my
neighbours as well?”

“You could at least
be grateful that I care for you, Ethel,” Mrs. Boyd exclaimed.

“I don’t need people
prying in my business, Deanna,” Ethel growled. “And if I do find who they are,
you can very well convey it to them that they will be very sorry they ever
did.”

“If that is your wish,
I shall certainly not ask of you again,” Mrs. Boyd said. Her voice quivered
from holding back the tears in her eyes.

Emma pulled out a
tissue from the little wicker tissue box on the table and handed it to her.

Mrs. Boyd thanked her
and dabbed her eyes gently with it.

Ethel huffed angrily.

“So Mrs. Winston,” Mrs.
Boyd said between sniffles. “Have you met Chris?”

“Um, no, I haven’t,”
Emma answered.

“Chris is in LA,”
said Ethel, heaving out a tired sigh. “He has been all winter. Is that why
you’re here, Deanna?”

Emma hurriedly put
her cup onto the coffee table.

“Ethel, I really do
need to get on my way home,” she said standing up. “The children have been left
far too long alone.”

“Of course you must,”
Ethel said, nodding her head. “Theodore will make sure you get home safely.”

Emma paid her leave
to Mrs. Boyd and rushed out of the cosy parlour and into the cold hallway.

“Miss,” she heard
Theodore call out to her as she reached the bottom landing of the staircase.

“Mrs. Winston,” said
Theodore catching up to her. “Please let me drop you off in the car.”

“That’s okay,
Theodore. The snow has eased and the sun will do me the world of good.”

“The lady would want
it, Miss.”

“Um, okay,” she
replied hesitantly.

The loud
argumentative voices above them caught their attention.

“I had better check
up on them one more time,” said Theodore, his right eyebrow arched up. “Give me
a minute.”

She watched him skip
up the staircase and towards the parlour. She now stood alone in the expansive
sitting room. Her eyes wandered up the white walls and tall arched windows.

A large painting took
prominence on the wall across her. She recognised it to be a Baroque painting
of Odysseus and Calypso in a cave. As she stepped forward to take a closer
look, she heard the clutter of dishes coming from the door closest to where the
painting hung.

She pushed forward
the double action doors that opened into a narrow corridor. She followed the
sounds, walking soon into a large kitchen.

A woman was fishing
for something in her cupboards, her back towards Emma, unaware at all that she
was there. As she turned, she almost let out a startled gasp.

“Mrs. Winston,” she
said. “What are you doing here?!” and then corrected the tone in her voice.
“Sorry,
maám
. You got me
startled
a bit there. Is there something you need Mrs. Winston?”

“I’m …sorry,” Emma
stammered embarrassingly.

“Was there something
I can help you with, Miss?”

“No, I’m fine,” Emma
said. “I was simply waiting for Theodore in the living room when I heard you
back here. I thought I might stop by and give you my thanks for the delightful
tea.”

Nancy chuckled.
“You’re welcome, Miss. I’m only doing my job, following the mistress’s orders
and all. Was the company as delightful, though?”

Emma blushed.

Nancy chuckled again.
“No, you needn’t answer that. I can imagine.”

“Will Ethel be
alright?”

“Ethel? You mean Mrs.
Kinnaird? Golly, she must like you a lot to let her call her by her first
name,” she frowned. “Yes, yes, she will be fine. But after the showdown with Mrs.
Boyd, she will certainly carry a tantrum for the next couple of days after Mrs.
Boyd’s gone. Takes her a while to ease off on the anger. But other than that,
there is really no cause to be worried about her. She’s fit as a fiddle, Mrs.
Kinnaird is. Although her age will never reveal it so.”

Emma gave a small
smile. She was glad to see Ethel was being served by good and loyal staff.

“There you are,”
Theodore said from behind her. “I didn’t see you and thought you had left
without me.”