The Lochmore Legacy

‘What the devil are you talking about?’

‘I am talking about a four-year-old boy trapped for days on end in a carriage with three adults, all in various states of ill humour. Jamie’s only sin is that, unlike some of us, he has not yet learnt to mask his ill humour. Having often travelled with a herd of ill-behaved children in carriages, I can assure you Jamie’s brand of tantrums would have gone utterly unnoticed in the Uxmore carriage over a mere hour’s journey. So perhaps if we filled the carriage with other children, Jamie’s behaviour might not appear so offensive to you. Goodnight, Your Grace.’

She didn’t wait for him to respond, but left the parlour. Running away before he could counter-attack was cowardly, but she, too, was tired and blue-devilled, and her arm was still pulsing from the warmth of his hand.

* * *

Benneit remained at the table, his mind searching for an appropriate response to Mrs Langdale’s lecture. He should at least have told her that it was inconceivably annoying how people who had no children always held such firm opinions about how to raise them.

Devil take the woman.

The silence from Jamie’s room was deafening and for a moment Benneit was struck with the horrid thought that Jamie had climbed out the window and disappeared. His heart squeezed and kicked as he stood and went to the door. It was ridiculous. Jamie was only four years old and, though he did sometimes wander off, he had never done anything truly dangerous.

Four years old. Almost five now.

Still only a whisper away from a babe, but already with a mind as sharp as a boy’s. He could see sometimes how confused that made Jamie, that internal struggle to place himself on either side. He thought himself a little man, ready to explore the world.

Jamie did need children about him to remind him he was only a boy.

Not hired children, blast and double-blast Joane Langdale. She had the uncanny ability to confound, embarrass and surprise him, all within the passing of an hour. She had surprised and touched him with that show of childlike passion about the mountains and he had felt quite in charity with her despite the difficult dinner. Perhaps that was why he had forgotten himself and... What had he been thinking to grab her arm like that? Certainly he should not have sat there holding her as if it was quite normal. It had been far too...intimate. Strangely, it had felt right. As if they truly were facing the conundrum of Jamie together.

It was not smart to depend on her on that front. Jamie was his to raise and soon Tessa McCrieff would be standing by his side, to help and to support.

Benneit tried to impose Tessa McCrieff’s image over that of Joane Langdale’s slim pixie figure but his mind was probably tired because the image remained stubbornly elusive. He shoved those empty thoughts away and entered the small room, sitting cautiously on the bed next to the mound under the blanket.

‘I didn’t mean to break it.’ The words were hardly audible through the wool.

‘I know, Jamie.’

‘Will they be cross with us?’

‘Maybe a little, but if we tell them we are sorry, I think they will forgive us. Do you know, I read somewhere that in Ancient Greece breaking plates was a good thing?’

The blanket eased back a little.

‘It is?’

‘That was how people showed they were wealthy—by breaking plates after a banquet.’

Jamie looked around the small room with its low roof.

‘I don’t think the people here are wealthy like those Greeks.’

‘Probably not. Which is why we will pay for that plate.’

Jamie turned over towards Benneit.

‘I have the coin I found on the beach. I can give them that.’

‘I think you should keep that. You might need it for when you break something really large.’

Jamie giggled, but then the smile dimmed again.

‘I wish we were home already, Papa.’

‘I know, Jamie. Just a few more days. You’ve been a brave lad.’

‘You’re not angry?’

‘No, Son. We’re all tired and we do foolish things when we are.’

‘You growl when you’re tired.’

‘So I do. I’m sorry I growled at you.’

‘I’m sorry, too, Papa. I promise I won’t throw things again. Or growl.’

‘Don’t promise, Jamie. We might need you to growl at a monster to send him running. If you promise, then where will we be?’

‘In a monster’s belly.’ Jamie’s chuckle became a yawn and he turned over with a sigh. Benneit looked at the soft rise of his son’s cheek, the dark feathering of his eyelashes. He looked more like a grown boy with each day. He could hardly remember the baby Jamie. Would this image, too, fade in a few years? It was hard to believe that possible, but it probably would. He didn’t want that to happen. Peculiarly enough, he wanted to remain precisely at this moment. There was a clarity to it. His father was gone, Bella was gone. It was only Jamie and him now. He could live with that.

‘Sleep well, Son.’

Nurse Moody was waiting in the parlour and he stood aside to allow her entry to Jamie’s room. The door leading to the other small bedroom where Mrs Langdale was to stay was still open and the room empty.

‘Where is Mrs Langdale?’ he asked Moody as she passed and she stopped.

‘Outside. Said something about putting the mountains to bed.’

‘To what?’

‘To bed. Angus went after her. Goodnight, Your Grace.’

She closed the door and Benneit remained immobile for a moment. One door away there was a lovely fire crackling in his bedroom and a well-aired bed.

Blast the woman.

It was dark outside and he frowned, trying to make out the shapes across the courtyard. The distinctive scent of Angus’s pipe guided him towards a row of trees that lined the stream and Angus turned at his approach, removed his pipe and raised his finger to his lips before pointing it in the direction of the water. On a large boulder by the water’s edge, Benneit made out the line of a hooded figure, the sliver of a moon giving its contours a faint glow.

‘I’ll see she comes inside safe and all,’ Angus murmured, his voice a low grumble beneath the sound of the water.

‘What the devil is she doing?’

‘Come to see the mountains, she said.’

Benneit shook his head and followed the path down to the stream. With all due respect to Angus, he was not comfortable with a woman under his protection standing outside in the pitch black. It was not precisely the proper behaviour of a dowdy widow or even the temporary companion to a future Duke. He stopped at the foot of the boulder.

‘What are you doing? Come inside.’

She shook her head, but he was not certain she had heard him.

‘The mountains are even more amazing at night. No wonder people imagine they are populated by all manner of beasts.’

‘Not just imagine. Now come down from there before you go headlong into the water. It is freezing and I am da—dashed if I’m going to fish you out.’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’

The reply was calm and matter of fact and devastating. It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact.

I wouldn’t expect you to.

He suppressed the spurt of sympathy and held out his hand.

‘Come down, Mrs Langdale.’

She looked down at him, a slim column, the moon catching her eyes. She looked like something out of the tales she conjured for Jamie.

‘Please,’ he added.

She untucked her hand from her cloak and he clasped it. It was almost as freezing as the water rushing by and without thought he closed his other hand around it.

‘Little fool. You’re frozen through.’

She gave a little tug, but he held her hand and raised it to blow on it as he did on Jamie’s hands when he returned from his explorations with his cheeks red and the rest of him a block of ice. The warmth of his breath carried back her scent, the same elusive rose that lingered in the carriage. It did not suit her; it was too lush a scent for someone so slight, unfurling and warming the air as he breathed it in. He turned her hand over without thought, seeking the source of that anomaly, but she stepped forward and nimbly jumped down from her rock.

He followed her up the narrow path towards the inn. Angus and his pipe were gone, but inside the landlord hovered in the hallway and Benneit sent him to prepare tea and punch. Inside the empty parlour he looked at the drab brown cloak she was untying.

‘Have you nothing warmer to wear?’

She shook her head and walked to the fire, holding out her hands.

‘I honestly did not think Lady Theale would succeed in convincing you to take me along.’

‘I see. Well, we shall have to find you something more suitable. You won’t be much use if you fall ill.’

‘Or drown.’

‘Lady Theale would definitely hold that against me. She appears quite fond of you.’

‘Most peculiar, I know.’

‘Do you take me for a fool, Mrs Langdale?’

She looked up from the fire, her eyes wide and a little worried.

‘No. Why?’

‘Why? Because you insist on speaking to me as if I were several steps below Jamie on the scale of human understanding. These snide little darts might have worked well with the marvellously thick-skinned Uxmores, but the only effect they have on me is to make me wish I had shown more fortitude in the face of Lady Theale’s demands. If you wish to say something to me, then say it and be done with it.’

Blast, he had gone too far. Her eyes widened even further, showing a ring of dark blue around the grey and her mouth wavered out of its prim line. What the devil was wrong with him? First Jamie and now her. Now she would cry and he would have to comfort her. He had sunk low indeed to be taking out his ill humour on children and widows.

A sudden spurt of laughter escaped her.

‘You are quite right, Your Grace. I have developed some dreadful habits over the years. I am not accustomed to people showing concern for my well-being. I know that sounds dreadfully self-pitying, but it is merely to explain that I was not quite certain how to react and so, to use Alfred’s description, I prickled.’

‘I see.’

The door opened and the landlord entered with a tray. Benneit hesitated, but poured her a glass of the steaming punch.

‘To help with the prickles,’ he explained and she smiled—a full, wide and wholly surprising smile.

‘It had best be strong then,’ she answered and sipped. He watched her face, the dip of her eyelashes, as long and thick as Jamie’s and a shade lighter, which was strange with hair her colour. She was strange. A magical mouse who sometimes looked distinctly like a cat. As she did now, her eyelids a smiling curve as she savoured the hot punch. No, neither a mouse nor a cat but a pixie—it was there in the slight slant of the large eyes, the finely drawn brows and the little indentations at the corners of her mouth. It was a much more generous mouth when she smiled than when she wore her prim and proper expression.

The Uxmore women were renowned for their perfect mouths—lush and of a deep coral pink that drew the eye. Bella had made good use of her mouth, drawing attention to it with every trick in the book—a gentle tap of her fan, a little pouting sigh... No doubt in an earlier time she would have delighted in wearing a patch beside it. Mrs Langdale hadn’t inherited the Uxmore mouth, or height, or beauty, but now that he looked he realised how perfectly drawn her own mouth was. It reminded him of the petals of one of his mother’s favourite pink Centifolias, the petals in the centre curving in on themselves, the pale pink ending in a shade of warmer blush and their texture was softer than silk, warm to the touch...

She sighed and opened her eyes. ‘Perfect.’

He went to sit on the far side of the table and turned his eyes to the fire.

‘Jamie tells me I growl when I am tired. I apologise for growling at you.’

‘I think anyone would be growling after a week cooped up in a carriage.’

‘You aren’t.’

‘You just told me I did precisely that. You growl, I become snide. I do hate that word. The image it conjures is very weaselly.’

‘Like Celia the weasel in your wondrous tree tale?’

‘Oh, dear, was it that obvious? I do hope Jamie did not make the connection, I would not wish for him to repeat that in her presence.’

‘I do not think he did. He is not accustomed to deciphering romans à clef. I gathered you were the little girl taken captive by the kindly mole. I could not tell if Uxmore was the mole or the bear until you mentioned the quizzing glass and remembered Uxmore was forever misplacing his. Was that one of your tasks at the Hall?’

‘It was my chief task as far as he was concerned and I think the main reason he was not happy with Lady Theale’s plans.’

‘So who was the bear? He received a very kindly treatment, but I could not place him. It was certainly not Celia’s husband, George. There was too much strength of character.’

‘No, George was the owl. The bear was Alfred, my husband.’

‘I see. I am sorry.’

She shrugged and sipped her punch.

‘I was lucky to have had him in my life, however briefly.’

He concentrated on his punch. He should really go to his room; it would be another long and tiring day on the morrow.

‘Out of curiosity, what animal would I be?’ He kept his voice light, feeling rather foolish that he was even asking. She frowned, her eyes meeting his. His skin tingled and he had to actively resist the urge to look away.

‘You and Jamie. A wolf and cub.’

‘That sounds ominous. And lonely.’

‘Not at all. I read once that wolves are pack animals and very loyal and intelligent. Unlike many other animals, the cubs remain for many years with their pack before striking out on their own.’

Her voice was pedantic and impersonal, but he felt her words keenly, like a verdict. He thought of Jamie curled up in the small trestle bed in the adjoining room, his arms tucked around the blanket, probably wishing it was Flops. A wave of mixed fear and love surged through him. His cub.

The chair scraped as she stood.

‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’

Once again she was gone before he could even gather himself to answer her.

Chapter Six

‘Do you think it will be a huge ship like last time, Papa?’ Jamie asked enthusiastically as he devoured a third scone in the luxurious parlour at the Tontine Hotel. Jo considered hiding the rest of the scones before they suffered the same fate. The less that went down, the less that would come up in the carriage as they covered the last leg from Glasgow to Lochmore. She wished they could spend more time in this fascinating city. They had not seen much as they drove in last night, but enough to wake her curiosity.

The Tontine Hotel itself was as fine as any London house she had ever visited, with lush carpets and furniture, and her bed, in one of the four rooms leading off the palatial private parlour they dined in, was enormous and as soft as a cloud. She would happily spend a week here, exploring. She remembered reading that there were lovely gardens and theatres in Glasgow. What would it be like to explore—not in London where everything was overlaid with memories of that agonising Season and her life with the Uxmores—but in a whole new city, where she could invent herself anew...?

Joane Langdale, independent widow...

‘I don’t know, Jamie,’ the Duke answered absently, turning the pages of a newspaper. ‘Angus made the arrangements. We will ask him when we depart for the port.’

‘For the port?’ Jo asked, finally registering the import of their discussion.

‘Did I not tell you? We will proceed by water from here. It is faster than going overland and Jamie enjoys it. The carriage will join us a day or so later at Lochmore. Next time we travel to London I think we will sail the whole way, what do you say, Jamie?’

‘Oh, yes, please, sir! Do you like ships, Jo?’ Jamie asked, his whole body quivering with excitement.

‘I don’t know, Jamie. I have never been on one.’

Jamie stared at her, aghast.

‘Never? Not ever?’

‘It is a dreadful fault in me, I know. I have been on a rowboat once, if that helps.’

Jamie looked disgusted.

‘Everyone has been on a rowboat. This is a ship! A real ship with sails and rigging and funny smells and funny people who speak funny and gulls and waves and...things.’

‘Well, there is a first time for everything.’

‘I was on a ship before I was even me,’ Jamie insisted. ‘Papa told me I tried to crawl to the crow’s nest when I was not even a year old.’

‘That is impressive. Why are there crows on a ship?’

Jamie rolled his eyes.

‘There aren’t crows. It is where you climb so you can see far, far away before anyone else on board and then you yell “land ho” so everyone knows you are close just like in the stories.’

‘Then why are they called crow’s nests?’

Jamie frowned and turned to his father.

‘I don’t know. Why are they called that, Papa?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know either, Jamie.’

Jamie’s face fell and Jo watched with a little amusement the shift of expressions on the Duke’s face. It was touchingly obvious he did not like disappointing Jamie. Before he could concoct some answer merely to counter his son’s disappointment at his ignorance she folded her napkin and spoke.

‘I shall add that to the Great Big List, Jamie.’

‘The what?’

‘The Great Big List of Things I Did Not Know I Did Not Know, But Now I Know I Don’t. I think everyone has such a list, don’t they?’

Jamie’s frown deepened as he followed her nonsense, making him look even more like the Duke.

‘What else don’t you know?’

‘A great many things. One of them is where you ride on a camel. From the illustrations of camels I have seen, I can’t imagine riding on the hump is very comfortable, but there does not seem to be much room elsewhere, unless you are left clinging to his neck which strikes me as rather awkward.’

‘In the Desert Boy book Papa bought he rides on a saddle on the hump,’ Jamie announced categorically.

‘On it. Well, now I know. That is one less item on my list. Thank you, Lord Glenarris.’

Jamie’s eyes widened at her use of his title and then crinkled in laughter and he gave a little bow, glancing at his father.

‘I like this game. Tell me something on your list, Papa.’

‘I do not know what it will take for you to make a pair of shoes survive longer than a fortnight, Lord Glenarris.’

Jamie laughed.

‘That’s not a real thing you don’t know.’

‘It feels real enough in the morning when we are late to get underway.’

Jamie raised his feet.

‘I found them, didn’t I, sir?

‘Mrs Langdale found them, despite your best efforts, boy.’

Jamie turned his grin on her.

‘You’re like the mole girl, Jo.’

‘Mrs Langdale, Jamie,’ the Duke corrected.

‘I gave him leave to call me Jo, Your Grace.’

He finally looked at her, his grey-green eyes reflecting a mixture of annoyance and resignation. Despite the significantly more comfortable accommodations of the past night, he still looked tired and she realised it was not merely the long trip that was taking its toll on him. The closer they came to their destination, the stonier he became, as if gathering himself against an incoming blow. She waited for him to insist on formality, but he merely shrugged and stood.

‘I must speak to Angus. I will send him to find you when we are ready to depart.’

The silence that followed his departure was disturbed only by the thud-thud of Jamie’s foot kicking the table leg. She breathed in to calm herself.

‘Why doesn’t Papa like you?’

Jo straightened, surprise and hurt pinching at her insides. It was one thing to know it; it was quite another to hear the truth from the mouth of babes.

‘I think perhaps he likes having you to himself, Jamie.’

Jamie’s kicking stopped.

‘Will he like you better if I call you Mrs Langdale?’

‘I don’t know, Jamie. I do not think that is the problem. Come, we should find your coat if we are to be ready to leave. Will you show me the crow’s nest when we arrive at the boat?’

Jamie nodded, but half-heartedly, and jumped off his chair.

* * *

It was not quite the great ship she had been imagining. It had only two sails and, according to Jamie, no crow’s nest.

‘Why can’t we sail on that ship, Papa?’ Jamie pointed to a much larger three-masted ship anchored further out on the swelling waves.

‘Because that ship is not sailing close to our home, Jamie.’

Jamie’s eyes lit.

‘Where is it going, Papa?’

The Duke looked down at his son and the stern look gentled a little.

‘I’m afraid that is on my Great Big List of Things I Don’t Know. Where would you like it to sail?’

‘Zanzibar!’

‘Why Zanzibar?’

‘It has a pretty name. There are dragons there, too.’

‘Dragons?’

‘Yes, remember? You showed me Zanzibar in the Map Room and there was a green and yellow dragon sitting on the waves, poking it with its tail.’

Whatever answer the Duke was contemplating was interrupted as Angus beckoned them towards the ship. Jo approached the vessel with a little trepidation. The wind had picked up and the clouds were moving along the horizon, shifting as they went like rising smoke. The ship itself was rocking and she wished she could cling to something or someone as they made their way across the damp deck towards a doorway set into a raised platform in the rear of the ship.

‘Jamie and I will stay above deck, Mrs Langdale, but Angus will take you to a cabin where you may rest. It will not be a long voyage to Crinan, but it might be a little rough with the north wind so stay close to something you can hang on to.’

‘Wouldn’t you prefer to leave Jamie with me?’

‘Jamie fares better in the fresh air.’ The answer was curt and he turned away, holding Jamie’s hand.

Jo had no choice but to follow Angus down what was more ladder than steps into the dark and narrow passageway and into an equally narrow cabin. It had no window, a narrow cot and a small table and chair with a chamber pot attached to the wall with a chain. She nearly told Angus she, too, preferred to face the elements above decks than in the coffin-like space, but years of practice made her keep her peace and she smiled and thanked him and went to sit on the chair and took off her bonnet and prepared herself for a very boring few hours.

Chapter Seven

Benneit braced his leg against the coil of rope and wrapped his boat cloak more securely around Jamie’s body so that only his dark hair and eyes were visible above the thick fabric.

‘Here comes another!’ Jamie’s words were muffled, but the excitement was evident in the tension of his quivering body.

The wave rose, the water pulling out from under them, causing the ship to pitch to the side a moment before the wall of water struck, sending a fine cold mist over them, pearling on Jamie’s curls. Jamie bounced and crowed with pleasure, almost cracking Benneit’s chin as he bent to press a kiss to his son’s damp head.

‘Did you see that, Papa? Did you? It was enormous!’

Benneit laughed. He was stiff, cold, wet, tired and every mile they closed on Lochmore added what felt like a year to his life, but Jamie’s joy was winning against all the rest. It was so pure and simple. Just joy.

Had he been like this as a boy? He must have been, at least a little, but for the life of him he could not remember. He certainly had no memory of his father holding him. His mother, yes. In the garden of The House as she read to him, or on the sofa in the Map Room as she showed him her latest addition to the wall. He hoped Jamie would remember this. He should do more to give him moments such as these to balance against all he could not give him.