Chapter Thirty-six
On the ninth day, I began to wonder if something had happened to Ellis and Hank, and if so, would anyone know how to find me. On the eleventh day, it dawned on me that they might not be planning to return.
It started out as magical thinking, but I soon convinced myself it wasn’t that outlandish: Ellis had no home or money to return to, whereas Hank had all the money in the world, and would continue to have it wherever he was. They could change their identities, go somewhere exotic, find an opium den by the sea, leave the whole mess behind. I knew I was part of that mess, but if they really had run off together, never to return, why would they care what happened to me? Maybe they’d found some fondness for me after all, and had decided to set me free.
Of course, I wouldn’t really be free until I managed to make it legal, but the idea shone as brightly as a sliver of light beneath a prison door. I was sure Angus would let me stay on until the end of the war—I worked as hard as anyone—but it was more than that. I felt at home at the inn, even welcome.
I couldn’t bring myself to think beyond the war, when the proprietor came back. My dearest hope, my deepest desire, was the one thing I couldn’t let myself think about at all, in case I started to believe it was possible, because I knew it wasn’t.
On the twelfth night of my husband’s absence, I moved back into my room.
—
It was mid-afternoon, and Anna and I were up in Meg’s room. We were making ourselves scarce because Rhona was concocting yet another soup, this one with a base of mutton shanks and barley. Between them, Rhona and Mhàthair appeared to have laid out an exact plan for Meg’s recovery based on soup and tea. There were now four big pots simmering on the range, and they filled the entire building with an irresistible aroma.
Apparently it was not irresistible to Meg.
The three of us were sprawled on her bed playing Hearts when she wrinkled her nose and asked what the stink was. I told her about the new soup.
“Not Scotch broth!” she wailed. “I haven’t had real food in two weeks!”
Anna and I glanced at each other. This was the first time Meg had shown an interest in any food since her injury—real or otherwise.
“I’ll be right back,” said Anna, leaping into action.
She returned shortly with a bowl of porridge and a coddled egg, both of them swimming in butter.
“I hope you enjoy it,” she said, handing the egg to Meg and putting the other bowl on the table. “Because when Rhona tells Mhàthair, I’m done for.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because their prescription of the day is cock-a-leekie, and no doubt I’ve undone all their good work.”
“This is marvelous,” said Meg, her mouth full of egg. “I don’t suppose there’s another?”
“I’m afraid not, but I’ll bring an egg a day from now on.”
“And if the hens don’t cooperate?” I asked.
“I’ll pick them up and squeeze until an egg pops out,” Anna said, making strangulation gestures with her hands. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll remind them what happened to Jenny.”
“Who’s Jenny?” I said.
“The hen in the soup. She stopped laying. Do you want to know the name of the sheep in t’other?”
“No! I most certainly do not!” I said.
“Elsie,” said Anna. “She was a fine ewe. She’ll also show up in potted hough, mutton hot pot, and haggis. Oh, we’ll be seeing Elsie for quite some time.”
“Stop!” I said, holding my hands over my ears. “I’ll never be able to eat again!”
“City folks,” Anna said, shaking her head. “You never even met Elsie…I can see your cards, you know, when you tip them like that.”
“Behave yourselves, the both of you!” Meg said, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. “My ribs—remember?”
“Sorry,” Anna said in a singsong voice. “It’s not my fault if some people can’t—”
There was a knocking on the door downstairs, a solemn, familiar rhythm.
The three of us froze.
My mind began to race. Meg had already lost everyone, Angus had already lost everyone—
“Robbie,” Anna gasped, leaping from the bed. I scrambled after her, and had just caught up when she yanked the front door open.
Willie the Postie was on the doorstep, holding his hat along with a telegram.
Anna slid silently to the floor. I dropped down beside her, wrapping my arms around her.
“Anna!” Willie said quickly. “It’s not for you.”
“What?” she said, looking up at him with shocked eyes.
“It’s not Robbie,” said Willie. “The telegram is not for you.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Mrs. Hyde,” said Willie, “I’m afraid it’s for you.”
I climbed to my feet, confused.
“My deepest condolences,” said Willie, handing me the telegram.
Anna got up and closed the door, even though Willie was still standing there. I walked to the couch and sat down. Anna sat next to me.
The telegram was from a lawyer. My father had choked to death on a piece of steak fourteen days earlier. The lawyer was sorry the notification was so late, but my whereabouts had been somewhat difficult to discern. I was to confirm whether this was indeed my current location, and if this was where I wished details to be sent.
I set the piece of paper in my lap and looked blankly across the room.
My father had died on the night Ellis tried to beat down my door, the night Rory nearly killed Meg—
It was also the anniversary of Màiri receiving the telegram that turned out to be the end of her.
“Maddie?” Anna said in a hushed voice.
I handed it to her.
“Oh, Maddie,” she said after reading it. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry. Is there anything at all I can do?”
“I think I need to be alone for a while.”
“Of course. Whatever you want.”
As I stood, she laid her hand on my arm.
“That was Valentine’s Day,” she said, her eyes opening wide.
“I know,” I said. “It must be cursed.”