Far Horizons (12 page)

"Where did you get that?"

"Shall we say I found it?" Riddell raised his eyebrows, but then his jocular expression hardened. "It would do well, Miss Campbell," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "to remember that I can get most anything I want."

"Why did you want a letter meant for me?" Harriet's voice came out in a thread of sound. She felt her heart thud hard in her chest.

"I told you, you have something I want. Something small... for now."

Harriet shook her head. "I don't know what it could be."

"I've heard it told that you are excellent on the pianoforte."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I play," she agreed cautiously.

"My niece, Caroline, is eight years old. I'd very much like her to learn how to play. I thought you could teach her. You'd be compensated, of course."

"You took that letter just so I'd teach the pianoforte?" Harriet’s voice rose in disbelief. It didn't make any sense. If he'd asked her outright, she would have accepted. There was no need for subterfuge or trickery; the extra income would be welcome.

Riddell ignored her question. "Are you agreed, then?"

Harriet knew she didn't really have much choice. She realised then that Riddell hadn't taken the letter so she would teach his niece. That was merely a pretext. He took the letter to show her his power.

She felt its weight with a sickening lurch of fear. There was something else Riddell wanted and she was afraid to even guess what it was.

"Yes," she said at last. "I'd be... delighted to teach Caroline the pianoforte."

"Good." Riddell smiled. "Shall we see you here next Tuesday, at three o'clock?" He extended the letter to her. "Don't forget this."

Harriet took the letter with numb fingers. “Why,” she asked, her voice little more than a croak, “did you ask me here?”

Riddell smiled. “I believe I gave you the reason, my dear.”

“The real reason, then.”

“Ah, Miss Campbell.” He shook his head, his tone still pleasant. “Let us leave it at that, shall we? For now.”

With those ominous words, Harriet knew he indeed had plans she was not aware of. Plans she realised she didn’t want to know.

Perhaps they would never come to pass.

A few minutes later she was let out of the house, the letter still clutched in her hand. The sky was a pale, fragile blue, wispy clouds scudding across.

Harriet closed her eyes briefly, enjoyed the weak warmth of winter sunlight on his face. Allan had written her. He had not forgotten her. He was not faithless.

She opened her eyes. Was he now wondering about her own lack of response, her faithless heart?

"We meet again."

Harriet looked up in surprise to see her Hogmanay visitor. "You!"

"Please, let me introduce myself. Andrew Reid, nephew to Sir James." Although he resembled James Riddell in looks, his face was full of humour rather than shrewdness. He bowed low, with flourish, and Harriet narrowed her eyes.

"You have a flair for the dramatic, Mr. Reid."

Andrew grinned. "It adds a bit of fun. I admit, coming to Achlic Farm on Hogmanay might have been a bit much. I didn't mean to frighten you off." He touched her lightly on her sleeve. "You're not cross now, are you?"

There was a look of gentle whimsy in his eyes that made Harriet angry, though she could not fathom why. Perhaps it was because of her recent interview with Sir James; she was in no mood for banter. "Why should I be cross with a stranger?" she asked, and inclined her head in cold farewell. "Good day to you."

"Now, Miss MacDougall, you must tell me all about yourself."

Seated in Helena Moore's cosy parlour, with tea and scones and Henry Moore sitting across from her, his eyes twinkling, Margaret felt a warm flush of pleasure. It was so very pleasant to be here, with people who found her interesting and worth talking to. It was certainly better than being trapped in a kitchen, slaving over a cook pot or ironing endless sheets. Until she’d come to Achlic, she hadn’t realised how cossetted she’d been at Mingarry, with servants at hand.

"My family has emigrated to Nova Scotia," Margaret explained. "And I've stayed behind with my younger brother, Rupert, so he can finish his lessons."

"And have some lessons of your own?" Henry added with a smile. "You do seem fond of learning."

"And why shouldn't I be?" Margaret flared. "In this modern age, an educated woman should be considered an asset!"

"Oh, my!" Helena clapped her hands together in delight. "You're not a milksop miss, are you now, my dear?" She turned to smile broadly at Henry. "I do enjoy a good debate."

Henry laughed. "You won't get one with me, Aunt Helena. I've nothing against educating women... or anyone who's interested, for that matter, slave or free." His face darkened for a moment before he turned to Margaret and smiled. "Everyone has a right to learning. And you enjoy your reading, Miss MacDougall?"

“I do,” Margaret said, and then felt compelled to confess, “but the books belong to my brother.”

“Does it matter the owner?” Henry asked lightly. “I would have thought the reader was more important.”

“Perhaps.” Margaret found herself blushing under Henry Moore's gaze. There was compassion in his eyes, but there was also too much understanding.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “your brother’s tutor is not as enlightened as we are?” He spoke with easy humor, yet Margaret still stiffened.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Could you not have lessons with your brother?”

Her gaze skittered away. “I fear not.” Not wanting to admit anything more, she broke off and stared into her teacup.

"You must miss your family terribly," Helena said to break the sudden, awkward silence. "Will you and your brother be joining them in Scotia?"

"One day, perhaps in two years' time." It suddenly seemed so far away, and Margaret was seized with a fierce desire to see her family again, especially Mam and Allan, who understood her and made her laugh. How was it possible that a familiar world had become so strange?

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to make you mournful."

"It's all right." Margaret smiled. "I shall see them soon, I know, and in the meantime your company is most pleasant."

“It is lovely to have such young company,” Helena agreed. “I’m thankful I was able to lure Henry away from Boston. Scotland in the winter is hardly a pleasing prospect to one as travelled as he!”

“It is your company, Aunt Helena,” Henry replied with a gallant little bow, his eyes alight with self-deprecating laughter. He turned to Margaret. “My parents emigrated to America when I was but a bairn myself. Aunt Helena stayed, and I promised to stay the winter with her so she wouldn’t get lonely.”

Margaret wasn’t sure how to reply to this rather bald statement till she saw Helena laugh and bat Henry on the arm. “Where are your manners, you oaf! You’re fortunate I took you in.”

Listening to their banter, Margaret realised that her own home had been sadly lacking in that kind of ease and companionship. She and Allan had always rubbed along, and Archie was good for a laugh, and of course there was Rupert... yet somehow when she remembered Mingarry Farm, it was as if a shadow had hung over it, a shadow of something akin to fear.

Fear, Margaret realised, of her father. Sandy was a loving man, a careful father, but he had still been quick to disapprove. They had always to watch their words, their looks even under his sharp eye. And Mother, dear Mother, saw it too. Margaret suddenly realised the burden she must have born, always caught between.

Could they escape that in the new world? Had they? Perhaps in a country as new as Scotia, people could change. Her father could change.

"There seems an obvious solution to your quandary," Henry said suddenly, jolting Margaret out of her reverie. She realised the hour was late and she would have to hurry to meet Rupert and Ian. "Don't you think so, Aunt Helena?"

"Perhaps I would, if I knew what you were on about," Helena replied, her face as puzzled as Margaret's.

Henry leaned back in his chair. "Margaret would like instruction. A tutor. I need something to occupy this long winter, and you could do with some entertainment as well, I'd imagine."

Helena's eyes twinkled with sudden understanding. "Indeed I could."

"I'm sorry, but I've no idea what any of this means," Margaret said, trying not to be cross that they were talking over her head. “And I’m afraid I must take my leave. My brother will be waiting for me.”

Helena smiled up at her. "I think, my dear, Henry is proposing to be your tutor."

Margaret's stunned gaze flew between the pair of them. "My tutor... but..."

"I assure you, he's quite educated," Helena continued, now smiling broadly. "He attended university in America... one of the better ones. What was it again, Henry?"

"Harvard."

Margaret sat back down, her mind whirling. "But..."

"It would be all very proper," Henry added quickly, covering his mouth in a sudden, embarrassed cough. "Aunt Helena could be our chaperone."

Margaret glanced up at him. His eyes were warm, and a bit too knowing. Still, there was honesty there, and genuine friendliness. "I couldn't pay you," she warned, compelled to the truth.

"Money need not come into it," Henry replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let us consider it a matter between friends?" The questioning lilt in his voice made Margaret blush. Her mind spun with new possibilities, doors she thought forever shut now thrown wide open.

"Yes... of course. Friends." Her words came out in a stutter, and she concentrated on finding her reticule, suddenly unable to meet Henry’s gaze.

The silence lengthened, and Margaret caught Helena’s smile of delight from the corner of her eye. Did she imagine she was seeing the beginnings of a courtship?

"It's settled then,” Henry said. “You can come here mornings, when Rupert is having his lessons. And at the end of winter, when I return to sea, you can decide which of you has received the better education!"

Margaret nodded, still unable to believe this turn of events. She fumbled once more with her reticule and it fell to the floor.

With a little smile Henry picked it up and pressed it into her hands. “Who do you think shall have the better education, Miss MacDougall?” he said softly. “I wonder.”

Margaret wondered if he was talking about an education of an entirely different nature. “I just want lessons,” she blurted, and then blushed scarlet.

Henry grinned. “Of course,” he agreed. “Perhaps we should start with Boethius?”

The snows had remained deep on the island throughout the winter, and the first signs of thaw didn't come until late March.

It was warm enough for the MacDougalls to begin building again, although the wet snow and endless mud made it a dismal business.

Allan and Archie stood knee-deep in mud, joining logs together for the south wall. The cabin was made of stripped logs with corner dovetail notches, to reduce the need for nails which could only be had on the mainland. It was a style of building common in the Americas for the last hundred years, but foreign to the Scots. It had been the Dunmores who had shown them the way of it.

In the distance they could hear the loud crack of the ice floes breaking apart on the river. It sounded like gunshots.

"It's looking bonny now, eh, boys?" Sandy called as he waded through the mud to inspect their work.

Allan nodded. Now that the foundations were laid, putting the walls together would take relatively little time. He couldn't suppress a stirring of unease, however, that the cabin was twice as big as most others in the Scots' settlements. Besides the large common room with its stone fireplace, there were three bedrooms and a separate kitchen. What was his father trying to prove?

"We'll have it finished before planting time," Sandy said in satisfaction. "This summer we'll be as any other family on island... living in our own home, enjoying the fruits of our own hands!"

Allan had seen the plans for their acreage, though he’d had no say in designing them. Fields for barley, wheat, potatoes, and hay, as well as a kitchen garden for the family's needs and an orchard for apples and cherries.

Although he’d no place in the decision making, Allan was looking forward to the new challenges. Once finished, the MacDougall farm would be a prosperous place indeed.

"I've heard talk about going across to the mainland," Archie said after Sandy had left. "The ice is breaking up enough to take a boat. Douglas MacPherson said we could go with him, carry the boat across the bigger ice floes."

"Isn't it too early? The Dunmores said no one tried to cross till April." As if to underscore his words, another loud crack of breaking ice echoed through the cold, still air.

"Scared, brother?" Archie raised his eyebrows in light mockery. "I haven't seen naught but the walls of that cabin, and this mud hole, for months. I'd like a bit of adventure."

"It's dangerous, Archie," Allan said in a low voice. "You've heard the tales. Men have been trapped in the ice floes for days... and then found frozen."

"Them, perhaps," he said with a shrug. "Not me."

Allan sighed. Archie had always had a daring side, but this was foolhardy in the extreme. He knew he couldn't let his brother be so reckless, at least not alone.

If anything happened to Archie, Allan would be the one to answer to his father. For all the responsibility he thought he wanted, he didn’t want this one. “What does Douglas MacPherson think of this plan?” he asked, and Archie shrugged.

“He’ll go.”

Allan knew Douglas, three years younger than Archie, looked up to him, envied his charm and careless attitude. No doubt the lad wanted to show Archie how daring he could be.

Allan also knew he would have to accompany them. If anything happened to Archie on his watch, Sandy and Betty would never forgive him. And Allan knew he would never forgive himself.

"All right, then," he said finally. "I'll go."

The sky was flat, grey and unfriendly when they set out the next day to cross the sea. Allan stared at the churning surface, large ice floes strewn across it as if flung by a giant hand. The water rushing past them looked cold and angry, having finally escaped its winter entrapment.