Heather Song (29 page)

“Those were twa o’ the charges broucht agin’ him—bein’ the Son o’ God an bein’ the King o’ the Jews—an’ though he didna exactly defend himsel’, he answered those twa. But there were ither charges as weel. In Mark’s Gospel, Pilate spiers anither twa questions,
‘Hae ye no answer tae mak? Dinna ye see hoo many charges they bring agin’ ye?’
But tae that question, listen tae what Mark says—
‘But Jesus made nae further answer.’
In ither words, he wud answer wi’ a statement o’ trowth, but he wadna refute the charges agin’ himsel’. Matthew says it wi’ e’en mair force. Whan Pilate spiers,
‘Hae ye nae answer to mak? What is it that these men testify agin’ ye?’
Matthew says,
‘But Jesus was silent.’

“Div ye hear, lass?
Jesus was silent.
So there’s yer twa examples—speik for the trowth, an’ remain silent in the face o’ accusation. Isna always easy tae ken which tae obey, an’ my ain feelin’ in the matter is that we’re mair likely tae be called tae the defense o’ anither nor oursel’s. Defendin’ oorsel’s is a dangerous sort o’ thing in the speeritual realm. Defendin’ anither for the sake o’ trowth—that may be required o’ us. It has aye been my experience that in maitters where trowth itsel’ is at stake, we may speik oot, though we are nae compelled tae du so. But in maitters where we are personally bein’ attacked, we maun be very wary o’ makin’ defense. Gien Alasdair’s guid name be attacked, ye may be called on tae speik oot for him. Gien yer
ain
guid name an’ reputation be attacked, ye may be called on tae be silent as was oor Lord, an’ let the Father o’ lichts be yer defender an’ witness. A body will almost ne’er gae wrang tae be silent in the face o’ accusation, an’ alloo God tae be oor shield. Beyond that, I canna tell ye what ye oucht tae du. But I haena doobt the Lord’ll show ye weel enouch.”

I thanked Ranald and left.

What I would do in court, I could not yet know. It was what he had said about Jesus’ words about
pre
court negotiations that weighed most heavily on my mind.

T
he very day Olivia returned from London, I again sought her out.

“Olivia,” I said, “we need to talk. I promise, I will listen to whatever you have to say and will not argue. I just want to talk to you. Would you like me to come in, or would you prefer to come down to the Music Room and talk to me there?”

“I will be down in ten minutes,” she replied.

I turned and walked back down the corridor the way I had come. I went straight to my studio and sat down at my harp to calm myself as I waited.

I played and sang along softly:

Olivia walked in, slowly, calmly, her steps, her whole demeanor measured. I rose from my harp and went over to the sitting area and sat down. She took a chair opposite me.

“Thank you for coming,” I began.

She nodded without expression.

“Obviously I know about your new affidavit,” I went on. “I’m sure you knew that Mr. Crathie would share it with me immediately.”

Again the slight nod of acknowledgment.

“You also knew of Alasdair’s affidavit and the document I showed to you and Mr. Warmington. So we both have documents which, if this thing proceeds, the court will consider in trying to resolve the issues before us.”

I paused, drew in a breath, and tried to collect my thoughts.

“But we are both Christians,” I resumed. “We see one another in church, we have listened to the same sermons. It doesn’t seem right that we should be adversaries in court. Jesus said that we should try to agree with our adversaries
before
going to court. So I would like to see if we cannot do that—discuss this, including our differences, and try to reach a resolution between ourselves as mature and reasonable women…as Jesus said Christians ought to be able to do.”

“What kind of
resolution
do you have in mind, Marie?” asked Olivia, her voice soft.

“Something that can be good for us both,” I answered. “Why could we not both continue to live here, perhaps even share in the administration of the affairs of the estate? You were Alasdair’s sister; I was his wife. We both have legitimate legal claims. Why not put the rancor behind us and seek common ground?”

“Forgive and forget is what you are suggesting?”

“I don’t know, maybe not exactly, but something like that. I suppose it cannot be helped that we will always have our differences over what happened in the past, with Gwendolyn and other things. But why could we not accept the fact that those things are behind us, and move forward? We both probably made mistakes. I will admit that I have. I was not always as gracious to you as my sister-in-law as I might have been. I am sorry. But I would like to move on. I would like to have a relationship with you, Olivia. I would like to be able to work together. I am willing to reassess what Alasdair left you in his will. Perhaps that amount should be increased. I see no reason why we cannot find some way to comanage the estate, as partners rather than adversaries.”

I stopped and drew in a deep breath. It was silent a moment or two.

“You are
willing
, you say, to reassess what Alasdair left me?” said Olivia at length.

“I am.”

“That is an interesting way of putting it, Marie. It implies that the estate is already in your control. If I win in court, I will have everything, and you will be left with nothing. Are you not getting ahead of yourself?”

“But that is exactly my point—why should we go to court at all?”

“Because I
will
win. Why should I settle with you when I can have it all?”

Her words, though softly spoken, were blunt. They brought me up short.

“I guess,” I said hesitantly, “because it is the right thing to do.”

Olivia smiled a condescending smile, as if she were talking to a child.

“Do you remember when we first met, Marie?” she said, her voice enchanting, hypnotic, numbing. “When you asked me about Alasdair and about much that had taken place in the past, before you knew him, and I told you that there was much you did not understand, that you could not understand?”

“I remember,” I replied.

“Yet you chose not to take my advice. You chose to believe the lies he told you—some of them lies about me.”

“If I have believed wrong things of you, Olivia,” I said, “I am sorry. Please forgive me. But about Alasdair, I chose to believe in his character rather than what others told me—not you alone but others, too. Everything was too confusing, so I decided that I had to know him, as a person, as a man, and judge him by the character of his manhood, judge him for nothing more than just who he was
himself
.”

“But what if you were reading him wrongly? What if all along he was deceiving you about who he really was?”

“I do not think he did. I do not think he
could
deceive me. He was too honest and real and humble for that.”

The word
humble
must have grated on her sensibilities like fingernails on a chalkboard. I saw her almost visibly wince as I said it. A momentary flash of anger followed, but she contained it. I wonder if humility is the
last
possible attribute of character human nature is capable of recognizing in one with whom they have a difference.

“There is still much you do not understand, Marie,” she said, calm again. “His power to deceive and manipulate the truth was greater than you were able to perceive—greater than you are
still
able to perceive. Because you did not choose to believe me, and chose to believe his lies, I have no choice now but to rescue the estate from his clutches, and now from yours as well. It is your own stubbornness and pride, Marie, that have forced matters to this end. You have never been out for anything but your own gain. You thought only of yourself. It is for the good of our family name, for the good of the community, certainly not for any thought of gain to myself, that I have undertaken this action. Indeed, I am sacrificing much for the sake of the estate and the community. I could take what Alasdair designated for me—small sum though it is—and travel and live in luxury. But no, Marie, instead I knew that it was my duty to take my rightful place, as Alasdair’s sister, as the duchess, and do my duty to the people of this area.”

“Then you would be willing to work with me and lay aside our disputes,” I said, “for the good of the community?”

“I don’t know that I could do that, Marie.”

“Why not?”

“You have believed too many lies. You are deceived. Don’t you see—how could I work alongside one who was incapable of recognizing the truth? I tried to help you understand, Marie. I told you that I could help you understand. But you rejected my help. You even insist on calling
yourself
the duchess. Now, unfortunately, you have left me no choice.”

“I am willing to let the court decide that,” I said. “If the court determines that you are the rightful heir to the title, I would never dream of contesting it.”

“Ah, but you see it is too late for that. The wheels are already set in motion. It must be seen through.”

“But, Olivia, you know as well as I do that nearly everything claimed in your affidavit is untrue. You know I had no affair with Iain Barclay. You know Alasdair and I did not kidnap Gwendolyn. You are fully aware that I knew no one here before coming to Scotland. I had never even heard of the Duke of Buchan, much less had my eye on him. You
know
all that. Yet you told your solicitors otherwise.”

A subtle smile crept over her lips.

“But only you and I know it, Marie,” she said. “My solicitors and barristers believe every word of the affidavit. I have made them believe it. I have shed tears of grief in their presence for my poor brother being taken in by the opportunist from Canada. They feel so sorry for me, for the way I have been taken advantage of by you. They will fight tooth and nail on my behalf, they feel so badly for me. I will make the judge believe it, too. I can make
anyone
believe me, Marie. So you see, there is really nothing left for you if you hope to save face but to return to Canada. You cannot possibly win against me.”

I was stunned by such an open confession of deceit.

While I still sat gaping in shock, trying to think how to reply to such a thing, she rose and left the room.

T
ime went on.

The wheels of justice ground slowly forward toward my date with destiny.

All the while I dragged my feet about a response to Olivia’s charges, and the humiliating and damning affidavit she had filed in London. Despite Mr. Crathie’s persistent urgings, I could not summon the wherewithal to refute each of them. He wanted to prepare an extensive brief answering in scrupulous detail every point, explaining all the circumstances of Gwendolyn’s yacht trip and her subsequent move to the castle to live out her final days with Alasdair. Yet knowing Olivia’s uncannily persuasive ability and that, as she said, her solicitors and barristers believed every word she told them, I questioned whether it would do any good. All I could do was give him names of others he could talk to. The more time that passed, the more settled I became in my decision not to offer up a defense. If I could not follow Jesus’ example for something as difficult as this, how much would it mean to try to follow it for something easy?

Word obviously spread through the community about the lawsuit. To what extent its details became part and parcel of the rumor mill of local gossip, I didn’t know. I cringed at the thought of what might be being said. It was difficult to keep my head held high. Mr. Crathie’s words were ever with me—
“She will be able to seriously damage, if not completely ruin, your reputation throughout Scotland.”
I imagined suspicious looks coming my way. Whether they were real or based on my own fancies, I don’t know. Going to church with regularity was painful. Having been informed that Olivia had taken to sitting in the laird’s loft herself, and not wanting to create a scene, I crept in a few times right on the dot at 10:30 and sat in a pew toward the back. But it was intolerable knowing that Olivia was there above us all, now and then descending to help take the offering or read one of the morning’s passages of Scripture. She never once glanced my way or displayed the least hint of recognition.

Mr. Crathie was beside himself at my hesitation to mount a defense. More legal documents continued to arrive from Olivia’s London barristers. Two months went by, then three. I spent a great deal of time up on the hill in Ranald Bain’s cottage. Ranald’s reaction to the whole thing was a little odd. He often became strangely quiet, in a way that wasn’t like him. He seemed to be turning things over in his mind in a way he could not share with me.

Finally a court date was set. Mr. Crathie insisted that there was nothing he could do if I did not take steps to defend myself. By then, however, answering the charges with silence had become a matter of principle.

Like all long-anticipated days that seem as if they will never come, the day of reckoning came at last.

I walked into court accompanied by Mr. Crathie and Mr. Murdoch. We sat down at our places. The spectators’ gallery was full. I glanced around and saw Alicia, Fia, Cora, Tavia, Mr. McDermott, Mrs. Gauld, Adela Cruickshank…before the sea of faces faded into a blur. Olivia walked in with Mr. Warmington and their legal team of four London solicitors and barristers. They looked imposing. Mr. Crathie was fidgety and, I thought, a little nervous.

The judge came in with his white wig and robe, and after preliminaries reviewed the charges. He looked at Mr. Crathie and asked how the defendant pled. Mr. Crathie opened his mouth, but before he could begin the door at the back of the courtroom opened. A few heads turned toward the sound, including mine.

Ranald
…There was Ranald walking through the door!

Though his beard and unruly crop of hair could never be made to look entirely civilized, in all other respects no one would have taken him for a lowly shepherd. He wore a perfectly groomed dark blue suit and waistcoat, set off with a bright red tie and leather dress shoes. The sight took my breath away. That he carried no briefcase no doubt alerted the judge to the fact that he was not a late-arriving solicitor. Otherwise, he had no idea who the man was.

Ranald walked forward down the center aisle. He glanced toward Olivia, who had also turned around to look. Their eyes met but for an instant. I thought I saw Ranald’s lips silently form a single word. A look of horror crossed Olivia’s features and her face went ashen.

“I am sorry to come into the proceedings late, Your Worship,” said Ranald, turning to face the judge, shocking me with the perfection of his English. “If I might be permitted a word of—”

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” barked the judge. “Who are you?”

Olivia quickly leaned over to Mr. Warmington. He jumped up the next instant to voice his protest and objection.

At the same time, Mr. Crathie leaned toward me. “Do you know that fellow?”

“Yes, he’s one of my closest friends,” I whispered. “I’m sure he is here to help.”

“What can he do?”

“I don’t know, though it would not surprise me if he intended to expose Olivia as a liar.”

“What kind of information would he have?”

“I don’t know, but he has known her all her life.”

“That’s good enough for me. Please, Your Worship,” said Mr. Crathie. “This man is known to my client and may have key information pertaining to the veracity of Mrs. Urquhart’s allegations. We can vouch for his credentials. He will be called as one of our witnesses.”

“Then call him when his time comes,” said the judge, “and tell him to sit down and keep silent. I will tolerate no more interruptions of this kind.”

During this brief exchange, however, a hubbub had been mounting in intensity at the other table. Olivia was growing heated and her solicitors were trying to calm her.

“…out of here, I tell you. He must be…Throw him out…no right to be here!”

“Mr. Bygraves,” said the judge. “Now I will have to remind you to keep
your
client quiet.”

Suddenly Olivia jumped to her feet and pointed a long arm at Ranald where he was making his way toward one of the few empty chairs of the gallery.

“That man is a fraud and a liar!” she cried. “I demand that he be removed. He has no right to be here!”

“Mr. Warmington, please, I must insist that you control your client!” said the judge angrily.

“But, Your Worship, you do not understand!” cried Olivia toward the judge. “There is a curse on him…a curse, I tell you. A curse of madness over the house of Bain!” she shrieked. “Nothing he says can be trusted.”

The gavel pounded loudly and repeatedly, at last silencing the court.

“This court is in recess!” said the judge angrily. “I will see all counsel in my chambers immediately!”

He rose and left the courtroom. Slowly the attorneys also rose. Mr. Crathie, Mr. Murdoch, and three of Olivia’s team followed the judge, while the fourth escorted Olivia, nearly hysterical, outside to wait in the corridor.

I didn’t dare turn around and look at anyone in the gallery.

A few minutes later, a court official reentered the court. He nodded to one of the officers, who went out into the corridor and returned a minute later with Olivia and her solicitor. “Mr. Ranald Bain,” he said, “you are instructed to follow me.”

Behind me I heard Ranald stand and walk forward. Olivia looked daggers at him as they both followed the official and Olivia’s solicitor from the courtroom in the same direction the judge and the others had gone.

Again the courtroom was silent. I could not imagine what might be going on.

Six or eight minutes later, a door opened. Olivia’s solicitors returned to their table and sat down. Olivia was not with them. Mr. Crathie, Mr. Murdoch, and Ranald were behind them. The two lawyers came and sat down again beside me. Ranald returned to the gallery.

Finally the judge walked in and resumed his seat. He pounded once with his gavel on his desk.

“This case contesting the disposition of the estate of Alasdair Reidhaven, Duke of Buchan, has been dropped, and the accompanying affidavit withdrawn,” he said.

He turned to the desk where Olivia was no longer present. “Gentlemen, you may inform your client that charges will be brought by Her Majesty’s Crown Court against her in the amount of all costs incurred by this court, which is hereby adjourned.”

Mr. Crathie turned to me and rose with a smile. I couldn’t believe it. Before I knew what I was doing I had given both him and Mr. Murdoch great hugs.

I jumped to my feet and turned around. But all I managed to catch was a glimpse of Ranald’s back disappearing through the door.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Reidhaven,” said Mr. Murdoch. “It would appear that at last you are the uncontested Duchess of Buchan.”

“I have you to thank,” I said, “for taking such care to be deliberate in your investigations and procedures before anyone knew anything about Alasdair’s Edinburgh affidavit.”

“Including me!” Mr. Crathie laughed. “I understand now why it was best it remained silent until it was settled. I believe we would have won even had this case of Mrs. Urquhart’s gone forward. Which, by the way, Mrs. Reidhaven, you were right about what you whispered to me—that fellow Bain had something on your sister-in-law, something extremely persuasive. Have you no idea what it is?”

“No, none. What happened when you were alone with the judge?”

“The man Bain said he had information he could not make public but that he was certain would result in the suit being dropped. He asked for a moment alone with Mrs. Urquhart. The judge, very annoyed by this time, was barking at us all. But he granted the request. The two of them were shown to an adjoining room and left alone. They were not together more than a minute. When they came out the woman’s face was white as a sheet. She whispered amongst her solicitors a moment, then they informed the judge that her contest of her brother’s will was being dropped. It was a remarkable turnaround.”

“I can see I must pay a visit to Ranald Bain!” I said. “Though knowing him, if it is something he feels his conscience requires him to keep secret, nothing I say or do will induce him to tell me.” I couldn’t help remembering Iain’s private exchange with Olivia about Gwendolyn, and wondered if that had any connection to what had just happened in the courtroom.

“I still maintain what I said to you before—I think there is every likelihood that the woman is clinically mad. I’ve never seen anything like her wild performance in there. I would be extremely careful of her, Mrs. Reidhaven, and get her out of the castle without delay.”

“Don’t you think it would be better for her to leave on her own?” I said.

“I suppose so. With such types, it is always best not to rouse their anger. Just keep me apprised of the situation. If she doesn’t leave cooperatively, you let us handle it.”

“I promise, I will.”

“Oh, and by the way,” added Mr. Crathie. “You asked about the minister Barclay. I managed to turn up some information. It just came through yesterday. He is no longer with the church.”

“What— I can’t believe it. What is he doing, then?”

“I cannot say. All I have been able to learn beyond that is that two months ago he was in London.”