Chapter 55
1980
I looked up to the belfry above the clock at the entrance to Fyvie Church. There were two bells there and I knew that Alexander Seton had gifted one of them in 1610, the other was from 200 years later. Of course, much of the church had been rebuilt in the early 1800s, but the Flanders bell, as it was called, was still in use. I was about to open the church door, but it was ajar, so I pushed it open and walked in.
There was a ladder leaning against the wall at the entrance and I heard a voice.
“Careful you don’t knock me over, lass. Hang on, I’m just coming down.”
An elderly man, wearing a tattered tweed jacket and a bonnet, climbed slowly down the steps.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Please carry on.”
“It’s fine, I’m just finished.”
I looked up to a tiny cupboard above the entrance, between the two doors. “Is that where the electric meter is?” He laughed. “No, I’ve been winding the clock. The clock weights are in that wee cabinet up there and once a week I put myself in mortal danger to climb this shoogly ladder to keep the time right.”
“Oh. What do the weights do?”
“They keep the clock going, but they gradually lower on the unwinding cable, so I’ve to wind it back up again. Every single week I have to do that, imperil my life on behalf of the congregation.”
He was chuckling. 263
“Are you the minister?”
“No, just the lowly beadle. I’m the one who keeps things ticking over.” He winked. “Literally.”
I smiled at him. He was the first person I’d spoken to outside the castle since I arrived six weeks ago.
“Are you here to see the window?”
“Window?”
“Yes, the Tiffany window. Come and I’ll show you.”
I followed him down the aisle and we stood at the front of the church with the organ pipes and the pulpit to our left. He pointed at the stunning stained-glass window behind the communion table.
“Best time of day to look at it is first thing in the morning as it faces east and you can see the sun behind it. Made by Tiffany of New York, it’s a memorial to the laird’s son.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, staring at the saintly figure depicted, resplendent in armour and with his wings extended behind him.
“He died in the Boer War in 1900. Percy Forbes-Leith was his name, he was only nineteen, such a shame.” He glanced at me. “At least when I was in Libya for three years in the war, I was in my late twenties; I’d seen a bit of life.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got to lock up now, anything else you want to see?”
“I was reading about a communion cup that Alexander Seton had given to the church in the early seventeenth century.”
“Yes, we still use that,” he said, ambling back down the aisle towards the door.
“Is it here? Could I see it?” I couldn’t help sounding excited, which was pathetic. I really must get out of my history books more.
He beckoned for me to follow him and we stood at the foot of the ladder. “Remember I said that’s where the clock weights are? 264 Well, at the top of that small cupboard is a hatch and up there is a wee hidey hole. You can only access it from the Lairds’ Loft. That’s where it was always kept.”
My eyes opened wide.
“Obviously not now, lass, it’s far too precious. It’s in the vaults of the bank and whenever we have communion the minister or the session clerk goes there to get it out for the Sunday service. Then it’s kept at the manse all weekend till the bank reopens on the Monday. The last minister said he never left the manse all weekend when it was Communion, he was so scared of being burgled. It’s the second oldest cup like that in Scotland. Worth a fair bob or two.”
“Priceless, I imagine. So when’s it likely to be out of the bank again?”
“Communion’s a week on Sunday, come along if you’re free. You’re from the castle aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Fyvie’s a small village, everyone knows everybody’s business.” He shook my hand. “I’m Bert Blair, by the way.”
“Maggie Hay,” I said, smiling.
“How’re you finding everyone at the castle?”
“Well…”
“Never been the friendliest bunch since Mr David took over as factor. Mr Charles, the laird, and Mrs Arabella are splendid people though; he’s a gentleman in the true sense of the word.” He drew closer, conspiratorial. “There’s folk around here say Mr David wants someone to open the secret chamber so his cousin’ll die and he’ll inherit.” He raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“All daft rumours, of course, but you know the family believes in a curse?”
I nodded and was about to tell him what I’d been asked to do 265 but thought better of it. “Is Mrs Arabella the laird’s wife?”
“Yes, Mr Charles’s wife, they live in Italy somewhere now. But she pops into Fyvie now and again. I’m sure my wife said she was around at the moment, maybe not.”
“I’ve certainly not met her yet. What’s she like, then?” Bert Blair obviously enjoyed a gossip.
“Sweet as anything, kind, like the laird – not at all stuffy like Mr David. She got on really well with her mother-in-law, Ethel, too. She was heartbroken when she died, poor soul, her dementia was bad at the end.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Unless I’m home by one, my soup’ll be cold. And my wife’s broth is a thing of beauty, bulging with kale and peas and barley.” Bert smiled then ushered me out.
As I walked through the entrance gates and along the path towards the castle, I thought back to the first time I’d walked here, dragging my heavy bags along. At least I wouldn’t have to lug those back by hand. Mum had written to say she was coming to collect me with Auntie Liz on my last day. And though it would be nice to see my aunt, it was Mum I really missed. But Mum of course didn’t drive.
I’d just spent six weeks almost on my own, apart from the occasional chats with Silvia and Andrew – and talking at rather than with the visitors. But I’d never felt either lonely or solitary. I knew that was because at last I felt safe; I wasn’t always looking over my shoulder. Len was now at the other side of the world and I need never fear his grip again. I shivered as I remembered that weekend, when I’d tried to break up with him just before we were leaving on the Sunday morning. When I told him I wanted to 266 enjoy life at university and felt I couldn’t, given our relationship, he stood perfectly still for a second. And then he hit me. The slap was so hard, I fell backwards against the chair and collapsed into it, hands up at my face, cowering into the comfort of the cushion.
He raised his hand again and through my fingers I saw his eyes blaze with anger. But he turned and strode to the door, slamming it shut. I went to the bathroom and gazed at the livid red mark on one side of my face. I ran the tap and scooped up handfuls of cold water to try to cool down the heat. I looked up again and knew it was going to bruise. Just then, I wanted out, at once.
I rammed all my clothes into my bag and ran downstairs where I saw Len laughing and chatting to the receptionist as he paid our bill. They both looked around at me and he smiled, as if everything was normal.
“I was just saying to – Sandra, isn’t it? – what a lovely stay we’ve had.”
He turned back to sign the bill and I glanced at Sandra who was giving me a strange look. My face must have looked as dreadful as it felt. It was now throbbing.
I went to sit at the door while Len ran up to get his things. I tried to position myself so that my sore cheek was away from her, but out of the corner of my eye I saw her leave her desk and come towards me.
“Are you all right?” she said, leaning over.
Just as I was about to reply, Len bounded down the stairs.
“Right, let’s drive!” he announced, far too cheerily.
I stood up and walked steadily after him, knowing that Sandra would be watching. But I couldn’t look around.
After a journey in complete silence, we arrived at the campus in Dundee. I leant round to get my bag from the back seat and he grabbed my wrist. I froze and looked up at him.
“Don’t think I am letting this go. I’ll be in touch again very 267 soon,” he hissed, his menacing look boring into me.
I leapt out of the car and dragged my bag along towards my halls of residence, not daring to look as I heard the car drive away behind me.
Before I reached my halls, I passed the entrance to the library where someone was emerging. My first thought was, the library’s shut on a Sunday. My second thought was to try to hide my cheek. But it was too late. It was Dr Birkett and of course she came across to speak to me; but then she saw my face. Her look of horror and sympathy made me break down and that was the start of the end. Though I told her she absolutely must not phone my parents – certainly not my dad – she waited till the next morning when Dad was at work, and spoke to Mum. Then Dr Birkett came to see me in my room in halls on the Monday afternoon and told me. I was livid, but she said it was the only solution.
When both my parents came to take me home that evening for a week, Dad said nothing in the car, not a word. Once I was home, I stayed in bed all week, with hot water bottles and soups as if I was an invalid. But I could see the hurt in Mum’s face. Dad never came to see me at all.
The morning before I was due to go back to Dundee, Mum came into my room and handed me a mug of tea. “You know, Allison used to sometimes have bruises on her wrists. I asked her once about them and she said she’d been lifting furniture while she was spring cleaning. It sounded odd at the time, but I’d never thought to query her.”
I nodded and patted my cheek. “It’s getting better, isn’t it?” I tried to smile.
She nodded then turned to look out of the window. “Dad’s going out to the pub with Len after work.”
“What?” I was horrified.
“It’s fine, he’s got a plan. You won’t be bothered by that man ever 268 again, sweetheart.” She swept my hair off my forehead and planted a kiss, just like she used to do when I was a child. I was still her child; how on earth could I have hurt her so much?
Fyvie Loch was now on my right and so I wandered down to the edge and sat on the grass. I took a deep breath and looked over towards the boathouse where a swan was gliding over the water. I felt so safe here, calm, not only with this beautiful view but knowing he could and would never reach me again.
I watched as the swan landed then began to paddle over the loch towards me, and as it approached I thought of the car journey back to Dundee with Dad after my week at home. Dad continued to look straight ahead at the road as he told me that Len had decided it would be a good idea, now he was a widower, to move to New Zealand to be near his son who worked on a sheep farm on South Island. His house was going on the market and he would be leaving in the next few weeks. He’d be getting a job over there; tennis coaches were needed everywhere.
I couldn’t look at Dad and I couldn’t ask him what he had said to Len. But of course Mum told me sometime later that Dad had threatened to expose him as a sexual predator and rapist to his childhood friend who happened to be Chief Constable of Lothian and Borders Police, unless he left the country as soon as possible. That was over a year ago, but Dad had not really forgiven me. He still left the room when I entered and refused to eat at the same time as Mum and I did. Mum keeps saying, “He’ll come round, it just takes time.”
The swan was now directly in front of me, in the water. I know they’re meant to be scary, but I didn’t want to move. I just stared at its beauty, took a deep breath and thought how lucky I was to be free from harm. I watched as the swan lifted its head high, began to flap its wings, paddled with its feet then lowered the long neck and set off into the air, skimming the water at first and then 269 gliding high. I now understood where the expression “free as a bird” came from. I walked back up to the path and soon came upon the view of Fyvie Castle which, even after all these weeks, took my breath away.