Author: Ann Marie Scott
Category: Other
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2
Blair Takes Charge
When Blair brought the children down to break their fast early the next morning, she found her mother still seated at the kitchen table, never having risen from it the previous night.
“Dinnae say that Faither has still nae returned!” Blair exclaimed.
She had never seen her mother look so disheveled and tired. The pretty lace cap she had worn at such a jaunty angle on her hair yesterday had fallen down to one side, and her mother’s ringlets lay bedraggled and limp on her shoulders. At the children’s entrance, all Ainslee Carmichael could do was hunch her back and stare at her teacup, trying to hide the bleak expression on her face.
Blair went to the pantry and rustled up two bannocks she had baked yesterday and handed them out to the younger children.
“Go outside and play, ye little rascals, and count yer blessings. There’ll be no lessons today.”
Uttering loud shouts of joy, Adie and Maggie ran out into the yard.
Blair knew Ruth and the stablehand were courting, and so made the decision to allow them to make their own ways to the kitchen this morning.
She freshened the stove fire, popped a kettle on top to boil, and then went down to the cellars to fetch her mother a small dram of whiskey. It would make her sleep and ease her anxiety.
“Come, Mither,” she said gently, patting her mother on the back in a reassuring way. “Take a sip of this and then get yerself upstairs to bed. Ye’re no good to anyone if ye cannae even stand straight.”
Ainslee let out a shuddering sob. “But Blair! Yer faither hasnae returned from the market. Anything could have waylaid him: robbers, pickpockets, alluring women…if yer faither doesnae come back home, who’s to take care of us? I dinnae even ken where he keeps his savings.”
“Now, now, let’s look on the bright side of things, shall we? Get upstairs with ye, and I’ll send Ruth to yer bedchamber anon with a warm glass o’ milk and some water for ye to wash yer face. We wouldnae want anyone seeing that tear-stained face now, would we?”
“Ye sound just like yer grandmother, Blair,” her mother said as she finished the last of the whiskey and walked out of the kitchen. At the doorway, she turned and looked at her eldest child as she busied herself with the pots and pans, readying herself to make dinner.
Blair had blossomed into a beautiful and becoming maiden over the past two years. The harum-scarum, freckle-faced girl who had ridden her pony bareback over the Highland hills had disappeared. In her place was an intensely attractive young woman, slim at the waist and hips, but with a lusciously full bosom that made men in the village whip their heads around when she walked past. She still had the same clear blue eyes set in a pale, heart-shaped face, and her rosebud of a mouth could smile widely or sweetly pout, depending on her mood. Out of all these comely attributes, the one that made Blair stand out from anyone in the crowd was her hair. It really was her crowning glory, a myriad of red curls that danced and bounced with the slightest movement. It fell past her shoulders and lay untamed around her slender neck. No riband or pins were strong enough to train it.
Ainslee gave a sigh, gave one last look at her preoccupied daughter, and went upstairs to lie down.
Blair saw her mother leave and allowed her face to show the concern she felt inside.
This has never happened before! Faither has gone to market once a sennight, either with some livestock or crops to sell and, regular as clockwork, he would return home before nightfall, come rain or shine! Where could he be? What could have happened?
The list of events and setbacks that might have caused her father to break his routine was endless. As she cleaned and cooked, Blair’s imagination ran riot. Maybe the mare cast a shoe? No, her father would have checked the hooves before setting off, just like he always did. Perhaps the mare was fractious, leaving her colt behind? Again, this was unlikely; Farmer Carmichael was an excellent horseman and well able to control any horse he rode.
Ruth came in, and Blair sent her upstairs to check on Ainslee and tidy the bedchambers. She went outside to complete her round of chores and see if the stablehand was available to help her. It was only when she found him still fast asleep in his loft that Blair realized she needed her father back at the farm as soon as possible. He had not even been gone one day, and his farm helper was already acting like a layabout. Something would have to be done, and fast.
Will, the stablehand, had plenty of excuses as to why she had found him sleeping at such a late hour, but Blair had no way of verifying his whining justifications.
“A likely farradiddle, Will!” she said with her hands on her hips, glaring at him, her curls frothing around her face as she shook her head. “I ken me faither is nae the one bound to wake ye in the mornings. In fact, it’s usually the opposite way ’round. When he comes back and finds ye’ve been idle, he’s likely to tan yer worthless hide. Now, come and help me milk the cows and lead them to pasture. Then ye can help Ruthie with skimming the cream.”
Will rushed to do her bidding. While Blair pressed her face against her milk cow’s side and squirted the fresh milk into her pail, her thoughts turned to practical matters. She knew the farm would soon be in tatters if her father did not return this evening. Not only was he the sole breadwinner, the only one capable of riding to market to sell the farm produce, but he was the main worker on the farm, rising at dawn and finishing at dusk to keep everything running smoothly.
We’re in the soup with Faither gone an’ that’s no lie! I think I should keep watch at me bedchamber window all tonight and let Mither sleep. Maybe Faither is walking home on foot, and if I hear his voice, I can ride out and find him.
This seemed like the most beneficial thing to do, and Blair informed her mother of the plan at supper that evening.
“Are ye sayin’ it’s possible he’s crawling home along the king’s highway, shouting for help all the way? And if ye hear his cries from yer bedchamber window at the back of the house, ye'll run to the stables in the dark and ride down the lane to fetch him?”
When her mother put it that way, Blair realized how silly her suggestion had been, but she was exhausted from a hard day’s work, doing the chores her father would do if he were here. Also, she found it self-defeating for her mother to phrase it so sarcastically in front of the children.
“Has Faither hurt himself?” Maggie whimpered. “Is that why he’s nae come home?”
“Nay, Maggie, dinnae fash,” Blair said in a comforting voice to her little sister. “Go to the parlor and ready yerself for another story about Cu Chulainn, and take yer brither with ye.”
When the children had left, she turned to her mother with an angry look on her face,
“Maybe ye’re right! Maybe me plan was futile and doomed to fail. But ye shouldnae have said as much in front o’ the bairns! I will sit in the kitchen since it faces the lane, and have Pooka saddled and waiting for me. Then ye can set yer mind at ease that if, or when, I hear Faither, I can ride immediately to his aid—that’s even if he needs it.”
“Dinnae take that tone o’ voice with me, young lady!” Ainslee spoke out shrilly, half in worry and half in indignation. “I’m the one who’s stuck with three mouths to feed and no one there to help me do it!”
This statement was untrue, and both women knew it to be so. Blair struggled with her better nature not to lash out and say all the things she wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs.
I wasnae the one to sleep in bed all day and ring the bell for ale whenever I needed it! But Faither would want me to take care of things as best I can. I ken this in me heart.
She realized it would do no good if she bickered with her mother. They would both regret anything said in the heat of emotion and it would not bring her father back any faster.
She went to give her mother a hug, saying, “Let’s both get a good night’s sleep, Mither. Come morn, we’ll have a better idea of what actions to take.”
Ainslee patted Blair’s arm affectionately, and mother and
daughter left the kitchen to get the younger children to bed.
The window casement began to lighten on yet another day with no sign of Farmer Carmichael. Blair jumped straight out of bed when the room started to turn grey. She made sure not to waken Maggie, who was fast asleep on the truckle bed and, stopping only to shrug on an old dressing gown over her shift, ran down to the stables to see if the mare was back. The stall was empty.
She decided what had to be done then and there. The thought of leaving the farmhouse, and everything she knew and loved, and setting out to find her father did not distress her as much as she believed it would, however. There was a very large part of Blair’s heart that wanted to quit the confines of the family farmstead and see if any of her father’s stories about brave men and monsters were true. Calmly, she went back upstairs to her bedchamber and began to dress for a journey. For how long she would be gone, Blair did not know, but her mind was made up to go out into the wide world and do her best with what she had until she found her father.
It was a troublesome time of year for which to pack and dress. The summer months were on the cusp, but it was still possible for the last of the harsh winter weather to make a final stand before allowing the heat to return. The Highland seasons were notoriously difficult for traveling: freezing nights in spring; humid and full of midges in summer; blustery and biting when the time came around again for the leaves to fall.
Blair chose her old woolen riding habit from the lavender-lined chest in the corner of the room. It was threadbare in places, but no one would be able to see that when she covered herself with a traveling cloak. The dark fabric would ride for days without showing dirt, and she could wash out her chemise at every inn stop, dry it by the fire overnight, and wear it again the next day. She folded up a spare chemise and petticoat neatly and placed them into a sack fashioned out of one of her shawls, just in case. It only remained to roll some woolen stockings over her knees and pull on her best pair of visiting boots. When she looked in the ancient polished metal shield that served her as a mirror when tying on her hat, Blair was pleased with what she saw.
I could pass for some fine lady come to Flichity to squander me coins buying a peddler’s goods.
Maggie was still fast asleep when her eldest sister left the room and stepped quietly downstairs to the writing desk in the parlor. Blair went to the fireplace, checked the door to make sure no one was watching, and then removed a brick cleverly concealed in the fireplace step. Underneath it was a small pouch of coins. She removed two gold ones, sat back to think about how long she might be away, and removed four more from the bag. She hid the pouch under the brick and slid it back in place.
She took two coins and placed them in a pocket inside her devantiere. The four remaining gold coins were put on the writing desk. Blair began to compose the letter she had been thinking about writing since her father had not come home.
Dearest Mither, Adie, and Maggie,
I’m off to get to the bottom of why Faither hasnae returned. Mither, try nae to worry too much and take care of the children until we return. I’ve taken some money and am leaving ye a generous portion with which to make do. Dinnae spend it all in one week as I’m nae sure how long this will take.
Trust Ruth to ken what to do around the farm. Her cousins in the village can come to help out if they may, and promise them payment when we come back.
Dinnae fash about me, Mither dear. I’m strong of mind and have taken enough food from the pantry to last me a long time. When I find Faither, I will try and get a message to ye as soon as I may.
Your loving daughter,
Blair Carmichael
Blair signed the letter with a flourish and wrapped the coins inside the parchment before she folded it. She was too uncomfortable telling her mother that Angus had told her where he kept his savings. He had done it because he did not trust his wife to spend it on worthless trinkets and pretty fallals.
She crept upstairs to her mother’s bedchamber, listened at the door for sounds of her sleeping, and pushed the door open a crack. It did not take long to slip the letter under her mother’s feather pillow and go back downstairs.
A feeling of exhilaration came over Blair as she left through the kitchen door after stocking up her saddlebags with food. Her father’s black stallion, Pooka, was saddled, bridled, and mounted in a trice, with Blair using a log to help her climb on top.
Before the sun rays could lighten the Highland mountain shadows, Blair was cantering down the lane away from the farm, toward Flichity and her father.
3
The Two Taverns of Flichity
Blair had sometimes accompanied her father to the market in the past. When she had been old enough to sit on the mare without complaining of saddle soreness after a few hours, it was Angus who suggested she come with him to the large market town of Flichity, especially in the weeks before feast days and holy days.
The road to Flichity headed directly north, deep into the jagged Highland coastal lands. Flichity market was a vibrant hub of foreign and local travelers and traders. They congregated at the market to exchange, bargain, and socialize. Gossip and intrigue flourished in every corner of the bustling town; visitors found it hard to work out what was news and what was muckrake.
After trading his livestock to the highest bidder at the cattle market and guiding Blair to where she could sell her eggs, Angus would take his daughter to the shopkeepers displaying their enticing wares on trays outside their windows. He would kindly allow Blair to keep half a shilling from selling her eggs, then the two of them would spend an enjoyable afternoon inspecting and sampling the tempting goods and buying presents for the family back home.
If the traveling fair was visiting Flichity, father and daughter would hurry to the field where the fair traders had set up and stroll from stall to stall, buying baubles and small toys, watching conjurers fascinate fairgoers, and even attending the occasional stage play. It had been a lovely way to spend the day, and the summer sun would be sinking behind the mountains before Angus and his eldest daughter would come home exhausted, but satisfied.
As Pooka followed the familiar route toward Flichity, Blair had ample time to think about what made this trip different for her father.
Faither said he didnae ken if he would have time for shopping after his transactions at the market were over. This is the part I dinnae understand. When I have gone with him, he sells the goats, sheep, or bullocks in a twinkling of an eye. There is plenty of time left to shop.
Blair rode for miles with a perplexed frown on her face. In all the years her father had been riding to Flichity, his timing had begun to change more and more.
Since she had been old enough to start lessons with her mother, Angus had ridden the ten miles to Flichity in under three hours, sold the farm goods, and been back home in time for tea. Lately—within the last five years or so—he had begun to leave earlier and return later. Why?
If he departed at five hours past midnight in the summertime, even with the slowest of herds or driving his cart at a walk, he would still arrive in Flichity market well before noon. That meant he should have been back within hailing distance of the farm by five hours past noon, even on the days he went to the shops after selling the cattle, eggs, and other farm-made produce. Angus had never yet had to spend the night at an inn or tavern, but lately, he would come home only a few hours before the clock at the nearest church tower struck midnight. He would avoid questions about where he had been and what he had done with a hand outstretched and a dismissive and firm shake of his head.
It was all very puzzling.
Blair knew she was getting closer to Flichity when the road became busier. She passed horses and carts laden with interesting-looking crates and barrels, protected from the weather by heavy hessian sacks. Eager riders would blaze past her on a mettlesome steed, kicking up dust and pebbles as they dashed by. Pooka would snort and kick out his hind hooves at bleating sheep and goats shepherded by weary herdsmen. When she saw the church stee
ple rising into the horizon in front of her, Blair knew she was only fifteen minutes away from Flichity.
The Highland burgh was unwalled, and there were no sentries posted at the main entrance. This was because the townsfolk were too penny pinching to pay for guards and soldiers. If troubles arose, as they sometimes did with so many strangers mingling together, the burghers would hire mercenaries to stamp out the problem and send the malefactors off to Berwick or Stirling for judgment.
Blair guided Pooka right up to the tavern where she and her father used to grab a bite to eat. It was one of the establishments where she could ask questions, being well known to the innkeeper and his wife.
She handed Pooka over to the tavern groom and promised him a penny to feed and water the tired animal. She watched the man tether the horse at the water trough and fill a string bag full of hay before heading inside.
“Greetings, Mister Hardie!” Blair said as she entered the tavern’s taproom and hefted her saddlebags onto one of the long wooden tables. “How are yer fair bairns and lovely wife?”
The innkeeper smiled in delight to see Blair again. “Och, wee Blair Carmichael! And all on yer own. What brings ye here?”
Blair gratefully took the mug of weak ale from the man and drank it halfway down before her mouth felt less dry and dusty. She removed her cloak and gave it a shake, and rested her elbows on the alehouse counter.
“It’s interesting ye say that, Mister Hardie, because Faither’s been missing a good couple o’ days now, and seeing as his last whereabouts was Flichity, I was hoping ye ken someone who could help with me inquiries?”
Mr. Hardie stopped polishing the mug he had in his hand and looked worried.
“Now, now, Blair, ye ken I would be doing yer faither a disservice if I were to introduce ye to some blabbermouth gossip who might tell ye things a young girl has no right to ken.”