After a few hours of restless sleep, Annabel, with Jessie in tow, made her way to the castle’s entrance. It was here she’d noticed neglect of the castle’s upkeep when first arriving at Finvreck.
She hadn’t met Malcom MacLeod before he’d passed, but had learned from Morag that upon the death of his wife, and with his son’s abrupt departure to England, the castle’s decline had reflected his own.
Annabel saw no reason why it should remain so, and now, having rallied a handful of the castle’s maidservants, she prepared to action her plan to spring-clean Finvreck. The only obstacle standing in her way, literally, was the housekeeper who refused to let Annabel so much as run an oiled rag along the lacklustre oak-panelled walls.
Morag stood as stiff as a board with arms folded in front of her chest. ‘Might I remind ye, lass, that ye be the laird’s wife. ’Tis nae yer place to be doing the work of a servant.’
Annabel took the housekeeper gently by the arm, pulled her aside, and whispered, ‘Actually, the laird does nae acknowledge me as his wife, but rather as his guest.’
‘Nae guest of Finvreck is to do the work of a servant!’ Morag raised her brows. ‘Ye’re sleeping in the master’s chamber and in his bed, arenae ye?’
The candid comeback took Annabel by surprise and heated her cheeks. ‘Aye, but—’
‘Then as far as I’m concerned, ye’re his wife, as does the proxy marriage proclaim.’
In so saying, and with no inclination to argue the point, Annabel decided to exploit that misconception in a way she hoped wouldn’t offend Morag. The late laird might have wanted things left untouched and unclean, but his son deserved better.
‘Then as Roderick’s wife, I want to prove to him that I, like ye, take pride in his home. I wish to assist in seeing it returned to its former cleanliness and comfort.’
Morag shook her head. ‘It disnae seem right that the Lady of Finvreck dirty her hands.’
It wouldn’t be the first time! Annabel cast a quick glance down at her hands. How often had Jessie scrubbed them clean of soil and sand after clambering in around the cliffs and caves?
The housekeeper eyed Annabel with what seemed to be respect, but Annabel was yet to convince her. ‘I’m nae lazy person, Morag, and I cannae bear to sit idle. I dinnae have the patience nor inclination for traditional pastimes like needlework or tapestries, so my time and energy are best invested, for now, in something a little more constructive.
‘Ye and I can lead the servants by example and restore pride to the laird’s heart and home. Let’s spend a few hours cleaning each day, starting right here in the castle’s entrance. We can only hope that the laird himself notices our efforts when he later returns.’
Morag’s gaze darted to the team of servants awaiting instruction, then back at Annabel and Jessie. She unfolded her arms and heaved a sigh. ‘Aye. I’ll agree to that.’
Though it was Annabel’s idea, she thought it wise to let Morag take charge. ‘Good. Then it’s up to ye to delegate who does what.’
Morag threw open the large doors of the keep’s entrance to let in air and light. She turned, back straight, and spouted off a list of chores.
Rugs were lifted from the floors, taken outside and slung over sturdy wooden poles suspended between stone walls. Beaten with sticks and brooms, dust clouds emerged, causing bouts of coughing and sneezing by those assigned to the task.
Tapestries stripped from walls received similar treatment and were beaten free of dust. On hands and knees, servants scrubbed all exposed stone flooring to remove grime and dirt. Maids lugged pail after pail of soapy water to and from the keep’s entrance until Morag decreed the job well done.
Damp cloths tied to long wooden poles were used to clean mounted stag heads and their glass eyes. The process was repeated with vinegar-dampened cloths to help rid the fur of a musty smell.
An array of small to large brushes were effective in removing dust from intricately carved woodwork above the fireplace and framed family portraits.
The hearth was swept clean of old ash and replaced with fresh logs ready to warm the chilly evenings and mornings and welcome anyone entering Finvreck.
Annabel and Jessie polished walls, restoring lustre to the wood. It was a practical and productive undertaking, especially for Annabel, given the amount of free time on her hands. It would be several weeks yet before the ship arrived for Raibeart Ramsay. Aside from future visits to smuggle him food parcels, she’d apportion time each day in rejuvenating Finvreck in the hope that even Roderick’s mother would have been proud of her efforts.
It was a way of expressing her thanks to Roderick, to repay his kindness in allowing her to stay on at Finvreck.
As the morning wore on, Annabel worried about him. What news of his meeting with the English captain? She lived in fear of seeing Redcoats arrive at Finvreck in search of Raibeart Ramsay. They’d find no evidence here to implicate her in hiding Jacobite rebels, but what if Hubert Stokes were to send his men scouring clan land coastline? Annabel prayed that wouldn’t come to pass.
Where once she’d wished for the laird’s speedy return to London, she now drew comfort in his presence and believed his genuine interest in the welfare and livelihood of those who tenanted his land. Was his interest in her just as genuine, or did he seek through his tender touch and kind words to win her over? To learn her treacherous secret?
By all accounts, he’d seemed just as desirous of her as she of him. But the concessions she’d already granted him surprised her. What made her think to allow Roderick MacLeod—whom she’d only known inside a week—to kiss her first on the mouth, and then in the most intimate place a man could touch a woman? Had she been so starved of attention and affection that she took it so quickly from the first man who offered it?
The truth was, she liked the way he looked at her and the way he spoke her name. The way he clasped her hand in his or rested his palm on her cheek. His smile set her at ease and his touch had given her a healthy appetite for intimacy. He’d kissed her and, contrary to her mother’s repeated warnings, Annabel liked it. She held no lingering shame for wanting more; for having enjoyed the touch and taste of Roderick MacLeod’s mouth on hers.
She had the presence of mind now not to shape her own future and experiences based on her mother’s tragic misfortune.
Amidst the flurry of activity going on all around her, something made her look over her shoulder to stare at the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the keep’s entrance. With oiled cloth in hand, she stepped up to it, taking time to admire the tall, detailed wooden case.
‘’Twas a wedding gift for the late laird and his bride.’
Annabel turned to see Angus standing behind her, a wistful gleam in his eye. ‘A gift from whom?’
‘Roderick’s grandparents. On his mother’s side.’
‘The grandfather he speaks of in London?’
‘Aye. Him. I remember the day it arrived. Came in separate parts inside a large box and Roderick’s father pieced it together.’ Angus rolled his eyes and laughed. ‘Ne’er heard him curse so much in all my life!’
Annabel glanced at the clock and then back at Angus. ‘Is it broken?’
He shrugged. ‘Stopped ticking the day Roderick left Finvreck. I have my suspicions that his father may have forced the weights to a standstill.’
Annabel gave the old man an encouraging smile. ‘But now Roderick is returned.’
‘Aye.’
‘I want him to stay.’ The soft-sounding words left her mouth before Annabel gave thought to speak them.
Angus gave her the widest grin. He limped his way around servants replacing rugs on the clean, dry floor and stopped on the keep’s threshold. His gaze swept the entrance and its clean transformation. He nodded his approval and then negotiated the steps down to the outer courtyard, where he mingled among a throng of people.
Annabel turned back to the clock. She knew nothing of its mechanisms or how to fix it, but she did know how to clean its glass face and lovingly restore a polished shine to the oak.
In the moment that she stood back to admire her handiwork, Morag sidled up to her. ‘’Tis a good job ye’ve done, lass. Looks as new as the day it arrived. Such a shame it disnae work. Roderick’s mother used to love those chimes when it struck the hour. I swear they could be heard from one end of the castle to the other.’
‘Maybe I’ll tackle that challenge another day.’
‘Aye, weel, ye just might find a book in the laird’s library what tells ye how to fix it.’
An excellent idea. If only Annabel could read.
Morag clapped her hands several times to gain the attention of the maids. ‘That’s enough for today, and pleased with the outcome I am. Go now! Take the rags to the laundry maids before the midday meal is served.’
A sense of pride and achievement swelled as Annabel cast her gaze over their collective handiwork. ‘’Tis a fine job we’ve done, Morag.’
‘Aye. So we have. Now. If ye’re hungry, ye best wash the filth from yer hands and sit yersel in the great hall.’
When Morag disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, Annabel approached the clock and studied it from all angles.
‘What are ye looking for?’ said Jessie.
‘I dinnae exactly ken.’ Annabel ran her fingers down the back edges of the clock, feeling for loose components. Next, she flattened her palms against the outer sides of the clock’s face and jiggled the hood gently from left to right. Something gave, allowing her to carefully slide the hood forwards. She set it down on the floor and stood to peer inside at the intricate mechanism.
Jessie also peeked inside. ‘Looks to me like the clock’s brains.’
Annabel laughed. ‘Aye. And more complicated than any man I’ll ever understand.’
She bent to pick up the hood and replaced it, then turned her attention to the midsection of the tall case. She turned a brass handle and opened the door. Hanging inside were two iron weights and a pendulum. Something else caught her eye. On the floor of the cupboard-like compartment was a paper booklet and two small bottles of fluid. She reached inside to retrieve the booklet.
Jessie watched with curious eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘Pictures and print.’
‘Of what?’
‘The clock. How it works, I suppose.’
‘Oh. Nothing interesting then. Come on, mistress. ’Tis time ye eat.’
‘Aye.’
Annabel replaced the exciting discovery. Words, she couldn’t read. Pictures, she understood. She closed the clock’s door in anticipation of returning to it after the midday meal.