‘And to think folk call us sleekit, you spoilt wee galoot of a schoolgirl!’ exclaimed Ellen. ‘But say, can you take me to see the Murray Collection?’
‘Well, of course!’ I’d have thrown myself under a bus to get her to thaw a little. But I should have guessed the Murray Hoard might interest her. Euan had said she’d gone to the library to borrow the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries annual in which Sandy had published that article about the log boat.
‘Our Nell worked on the drawings for Strathfearn’s collection two years ago, when it got so hard for him to see,’ Jean McEwen explained.
‘I measured and drew all his spear tips,’ said Ellen, not without pride. ‘Could we go and look at it now? I want to see the Reliquary again.’
‘Now? Why not?’ I said. ‘The library’s open …’
All unexpectedly, with quick and efficient hands, Ellen untied the shawl that held the sleeping baby cuddled against her chest. The small person opened her eyes and yawned and blinked and crinkled up her face, and I could see the little fists opening and closing. Jean McEwen reached out welcoming arms and Ellen gave her the baby.
Jamie bounded to his feet to offer Ellen a gallant hand to help her get up. He really was layering it on. I suppose I was too.
‘What’s the Reliquary?’ Jamie asked.
‘A reliquary’s a wee pot you keep a saint’s finger bone in, or something,’ said Ellen. ‘Your grandad’s one looks like a cup.’
‘Black wood?’ I asked. ‘Set in silver, spiralling around it like the fish on the Salmon Stane? That is my favourite thing in the collection.’
‘Aye, and it’s special to Strathfearn,’ Ellen told us. ‘We gave it to the Murrays to pay for the willow bank.’ She made it sound as though the transaction had happened yesterday, not four hundred years ago or whatever it had been. ‘Your grandad was worried it would be sold when he died, and one of the things I did for him was to write to the National Museum of Antiquities about it. He wanted them to be able to bid on it first.’
‘Oh!’ I gasped. I realised that here was someone who might actually know, who might remember. ‘Were there pearls in it?’
Ellen dropped Jamie’s hand. For a moment she stood staring at me strangely.
‘No.’
She held my gaze, just as she’d done when I’d first seen her in the hospital. She fixed me in the disintegrator-ray of her stony blue eyes. ‘There weren’t any pearls in it that I’ve ever seen. But there were pearls in it when we gave it to the Murrays. That was part of the price for the land. It was a long time ago.’
‘That’s the way the tale is told,’ said Alan McEwen gently.
And then I wondered if maybe I’d just imagined the pearls. I wondered if Grandad had told me the same tale, and in my head I’d been so taken with the wonderful image of the immeasurably ancient black and silver cup filled to the brim with pearls, that I’d put them there myself without ever having really seen them.
It made sense. In the past two weeks I’d learned that memory is a strange and unreliable thing.
And yet … I thought I could still remember playing with those pearls.
Ellen reached down to pick up her creel basket and sling it over her shoulder. ‘I didn’t think I’d get to see the Reliquary again,’ she said. ‘You come too, Euan. You’ve never seen it. You should see it before it’s sold.’
The library was officially open, with a card posted in the window to let you know, and the great oak door was propped wide, welcoming. Pinkie, still damp from her swim, was too enthusiastic about coming in with us.
‘Euan spoilt her when she was a pup,’ Ellen said. ‘Bitches are useless anyway, but he had to go and carry her about in a bucket everywhere we went.’
Ellen paused, waiting, as if something in what she’d said had been a test.
Jamie figured her out ahead of me. ‘So that’s why she’s called Pinkie,’ he laughed. ‘Pinkie’s your word for bucket, aye?’
I felt that I’d not passed. I was a bit meanly glad that it was me the enthusiastic dog didn’t want to leave. We finally had to shut the door on her. We could hear her mourning sadly outside, presumably lying pressed against the doorstep.
I led the way through the library. We crossed the downstairs room with the glass cases, Euan silently following the rest of us in a heightened state of reluctant stealth.
‘Hallo the library!’ I yelled.
Mary didn’t hear me. We made our way up the spiral stair to the Upper Reading Room. It was empty; Mary must have been in her study downstairs. Ellen looked around the room with an odd expression, for the first few seconds not taking in the collection spread across the tables, but just taking in the library: the smell of ink and foxy paper and old wood, the green view of the river beyond the leaded casement window propped open just an inch. As if she loved it, but was a little scared to be there.
And then her gaze swept over the Murray Hoard. Her lips parted as if she were inhaling it like smoke.
‘We’re not supposed to touch anything on the central table,’ I felt obliged to point out. ‘Jamie.’
‘I shall put it back exactly where I picked it up,’ he said, reaching for the Reliquary.
He held it out to Ellen.
She hesitated for a moment, then took it gingerly, using both hands to cup it on the tips of her fingers. Just the way she held it made it seem more special.
‘It’s smaller than the one the National Museum have already,’ she told us. ‘So your grandad said. But maybe even older.’
‘Beautiful Celtic craftsmanship,’ said Jamie. ‘Were they interested?’
‘I don’t know. Strathfearn had a secretary read his correspondence, not me. Also, he’d crack away on the ’phone and make folk confirm what they’d said to him in writing, but then he’d often not bother to open the letter when it came! The Reliquary’s still here, anyway. Euan, you have a shot. You’ve never held it.’
She passed the cup reverently to her brother.
And then Mary popped up the stairs behind us.
She and Euan found themselves gazing into each other’s faces over my shoulder.
‘God pity us all,’ I heard Euan mutter.
‘Oh!’ Mary cried. She stamped her foot. ‘Put that down this instant! How dare you come in here!’
I had not ever seen her angry before.
There wasn’t any space between the crowded folding tables and the big permanent chestnut one for Euan to back away. He gave the cup to Jamie, who put it back down hastily, in exactly the spot where it had been when we came in. Nothing else was disturbed in the least.
‘We brought the McEwens.’ I tried to make an excuse for them. ‘Please don’t be angry with Euan. He came with me and Jamie.’
I didn’t say any of it loudly enough and Mary wasn’t looking at me to see my mouth move. I bawled at her good ear, ‘He’s with us! Euan and Ellen came with us!’
Mary hesitated, watching my face and waiting for me to elaborate.