Chapter Thirty-three
The next day, I stopped long enough to gather some clothes off the floor and get dressed before rushing to Meg’s room. I was still trying to smooth the wrinkles from my skirt when I got there.
“Sorry I’m so late,” I said, batting at the creased material. “I guess I really did have some sleep to catch up on, but with any—”
I glanced up, expecting to see Anna. Instead, I found an old woman with peppery hair sitting in the chair. She was knitting up a storm: clickity-clickity-click went her needles, which were fed by an endless strand of yarn that coiled out from a carpetbag beside her. A sock was forming beneath them.
She peered at me over the top of her wire-framed spectacles. “I suppose you’ll be the one from America, the one Anna’s been talking about. Maddie Hyde, is it?”
“Yes. That’s me.”
“I’m Mrs. McKenzie, Anna’s mother, but the folk around here call me Mhàthair. You might as well too. When it comes right down to it, we’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns.”
I moved closer to Meg. “How is she?”
“Taking a bit of soup when she’s awake, and also sipping tea.”
“One of your teas?”
“Aye. I’ve left some more with Rhona. Try to get as much of it down her as you can. It’s for the bruising and swelling, and will only work for the first couple of days. Then I’ll bring another.”
Mhàthair’s needles never stopped moving, even when she was looking at me. I stared in fascination at the partial sock.
“Where’s Anna?”
“At the croft. She’ll be back later. Angus said you’d had a rough night, so I stayed on a wee bit to let you rest.”
“Thank you.”
“And now you’re to get yourself down to the table. You’ve nowt on your bones at all. I’ve seen bigger kneecaps on a sparrow.”
—
It seemed Angus had told everyone about my fainting spell, because minutes after I sat down, Rhona shuffled out of the kitchen with a plate of scrambled eggs, a large slice of ham, and a heap of fried potatoes. She set the plate down, pointed at it, and then pointed at me.
She had just gone back into the kitchen when Hank and Ellis breezed through the front door. They were smiling, freshly shaven, and enveloped in a cloud of cologne. Ellis looked preternaturally pink and healthy—it didn’t seem possible given what he’d looked like the day before.
When they headed toward me, my heart began to pound. I felt like my mother-in-law’s canary, trapped in its ever-shrinking cage.
“Good morning, darling girl,” said Hank, plopping himself onto a chair. “Did you miss us?”
“Morning, sweetie,” said Ellis, kissing my cheek.
Bile rose in the back of my throat. I couldn’t believe he thought we could go back to pretending nothing was wrong. Even Hank should have realized that things were too far gone, but he barreled on with whatever silly game he was playing.
“So did you?” Hank asked.
“Did I what?”
“Miss us? You know—because you love us and we spent the night at the Clansman? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” He blinked at me expectantly, then dropped his jaw in outrage. “Oh my God. You didn’t notice. Ellis, your wife didn’t even notice we were missing.”
“I did notice.”
“But you didn’t miss us?”
“I’m sorry. I was a little busy,” I said.
“Busy sleeping is what we heard,” Ellis said with a grin. “We swung by to collect you in the afternoon, but the girl—not the injured one, the slow one from the kitchen—said you were having a nap. Apparently you needed it. You still look a bit peaked.”
I’m sure I did—I hadn’t done my hair and face in two days. He, on the other hand, looked like the picture of health. I didn’t understand how that was possible. Had he come across someone with nerve pills at the Clansman? Certainly something had happened to restore the apples to my husband’s cheeks.
“You didn’t miss much,” Hank said, lighting a cigarette. “Its only advantage over this dump was that it was open and we were starving. But wait—what’s this?” He looked at my plate in wide-eyed amazement. “Ellis, maybe we should have stayed here after all. I haven’t seen a breakfast like this since we were on the right side of the pond.”
“Looks good,” said Ellis, reaching over and helping himself. “Anyway, darling, go pack a few things and slap on some war paint. We’re going on a road trip.”
“We’re what?” I said.
Hank also snagged some potatoes, popping them in his mouth.
“Oh, wow,” he said. “These are really good.” He licked his fingers and reached for more.
“Anyway,” Ellis continued, “we’re going to Fort Augustus. One of the old farts at the Clansman last night told us the abbey there has manuscripts that describe the very earliest sightings of the monster. Apparently one of Cromwell’s men saw it around 1650—he recorded seeing ‘floating islands’ in his log, but since there are no islands on the loch, the only possible thing he could have been seeing was the monster—maybe even several of them, which is interesting for all kinds of reasons. There are also Pictish carvings of the beast, which probably contain clues as well. There’s obviously some pattern we haven’t figured out yet, and it could be something as simple as migratory—it’s a bit like code breaking, very complicated, but we’re definitely circling it. In fact, we’re so close I can practically taste it.”
I stared, unable to believe he’d just compared what they were doing to code breaking, or anything else related to the war.
“I can’t go,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I have to look after Meg.”
Ellis leaned back and sighed. “Darling, you can’t look after Meg. But if it makes you feel any better, we can hire a nurse.”
“But I promised Angus—”
Outrage flashed across his face. “Angus? And when, exactly, did Blackbeard become Angus to you? Good Lord, Maddie. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve warned you about getting friendly with the help.”
“Fine. I promised Captain Grant that I would help look after Meg.”
Ellis’s expression switched from indignation to painfully aggrieved. He tore his eyes away. “That was uncalled for.”
“How was that uncalled for?” I went on. “He is a captain. Which means he’s a commissioned officer—hardly ‘the help.’ ”
“Regardless of rank, he’s a poacher and a common criminal, and I don’t understand why everyone around here, including, apparently, my own wife, seems to think he’s such a hero,” he said.
“Because he is a hero. You know nothing about him.”
“And you do?” he asked.
I stared straight ahead, at the far wall.
Ellis leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table, donning the insufferable face he always did when he decided my opinions were a result of mental frailty.
“I understand that you care about Meg and want to make sure she recovers,” he said patiently, “but there’s absolutely no reason you have to do it personally.”
“But I do. She’s my friend.”
“She’s not your friend. She’s a barmaid.”
“Who happens to be my friend.”
Ellis hung his head and sighed. After several seconds, he looked back up.
“I know you’re in a delicate state right now, but I wish you could see what is really happening.”
“I’m not in a delicate state. I’m fine.”