Page 25 of Death at a Highland Wedding
She means the displacement of tenant farmers. While this was perfectly legal—the tenants didn’t own the land—it violated a very old principle that said clan members had the right to rent land on clan territory. The first round of clearances, in the mid-eighteenth century, had been mostly about profit. The second one, in the middle of this century, had been partly profit-driven but also partly due to overcrowding and famine, as landowners selectively evicted tenants.
Fiona nods. “People still remember being driven from land they had lived on for generations. They lost everything.”
“Including their culture,” I say, taking a quick drink of my whisky and murmuring, “Outlawing tartan, bagpipes, Gaelic. The death of Highland culture after Culloden.”
Fiona grows animated, pleased to find a receptive audience. “I have no idea how much that affected people here. I shall have to find out. But the scars run deep, and now a southerner built a house on land they hunted and told them they cannot even walk across it? That was not Archie, but he needs to understand he is making the situation worse, maintaining the former owner’s rules and bringing in foreign help.” She takes a deep breath. “Enough of that. I will handle it. Back to the sampling. Now this next bottle we shall sample is—”
“Then whenisit the proper time to discuss this?” It’s James Frye’s voice, coming through the wall between us and the men. “Not while you were buying this place. Not while you were planning your wedding. Not while you are here for your nuptials. Not afterward either, I presume, as you will be occupied with taking your bride to France. By the time you are free to discuss this, Cranston, all my money will be gone. Or is that your intention?”
“You are free to withdraw your investment at any time.” Cranston’s voice is pure ice. “I will refund it in full. Down to the pence.”
“Keeping the profits?”
“Good God, man, make up your mind. One minute you accuse me of losing your investment, and the next you accuse me of keeping your profits. Which is it?”
“This house proves there are profits. Whether we investors ever see them is another matter. How exactly did you pay for this?”
“With my share of those profits.” Cranston seems to be speaking through clenched teeth now. “Plus my bride’s dowry, and yes, Fiona knows I used it for this and approved. As for the whisky business, I provided you with a statement last month, which showed that you have indeed made money.”
“Not enough, as I realize after seeing this house.”
“You mean not after Edith saw it,” Cranston shoots back.
“My wife has an excellent head for business.”
“No, she has an excellent head for causing mischief. For sowing seeds of discord. Youhavemade money. You will makemore.If you wish to withdraw your funds and profits, tell me, and I will send a letter to my notary tomorrow. Tonight if you insist. Now, if you wish to discuss this further,might I suggest we go outside. Our friends hardly need to witness our business squabble.”
“Indeed,” Violet murmurs. “This is rather awkward for us as well.” She turns to Fiona. “Please pay no heed to James. The business is doing well, and James will be repaid. This is Edith’s doing.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of it,” Fiona says lightly. “Some people are simply not happy unless they are causing trouble. I have a friend or two like that.”
“Reminds me of my sister,” Isla says.
“Lady Leslie?” Fiona smiles. “I have heard a great deal about her. She sounds like a very interesting person.”
Isla and I snort in unison.
“She sounds like a veryformidableperson,” Violet says. “I would not wish to cross her.”
“True,” Fiona says. “However, I also would not turn down an invitation to one of her soirees. I hear they are perfectly delightful, with all the most scandalous people.” She leans toward Isla. “Yes, I am hinting for an invitation.”
Isla smiles. “Then you shall have one. I suspect she would find you very interesting as well.”
Fiona’s brows rise. “I am not sure that is a compliment.”
“She finds Mallorymostinteresting.”
“Ah.” Fiona reaches her glass to clink with mine. “Then it is indeed a compliment. Now, let us finish these and try the third, and then we will pretend to discuss the merits of each, while needing to sample them all again. Oh, and to liven up the conversation, have you ever heard the story of the women of Coigach and how they resisted the clearances? It was around 1852, I believe.”
Isla has heard the story apparently. Violet has not. I settle in, thinking I am about to hear some tale from the distant past… when I realize it was less than twenty years ago. A reminder that the clearances can be very recent history up here.
Fiona pours us all a third sample and then launches into the story.
By the time we’ve finished the tasting, we’re all a little tipsy. Maybe more than a little. But there’s a sense of silly fun about it that I haven’t had since barhopping in my university years.
Earlier, I’d reflected on how Fiona was a typical Victorian woman, more than most in my life. Maybe it should seem as if my opinion has changed. She clearly knows her own mind and, in some ways, she’s more mature than I was at that age, ready to take on the running of a house when I was barely able to keep up with my coursework. In the makeshift surgery with the kitten, she proved she was capable and intelligent despite a lack of rigid formal education. So does that make her different? “Not like other girls”? I don’t think so. I suspect she really is relatively typical for her age and generation. She knows what is expected of her and chafes against it but has found ways to make her life her own. As women always have.
Once Violet is away from the men, she reveals herself to be more than she seemed as well. She relaxes, and that makes all the difference. I’m reminded of my mother, who’d gone to an all-girls school for a few years, and she’d always said it had changed her. She’d felt freer, more confident, and there, she’d discovered her voice. That’s Violet, between the lack of men and the addition of scotch. Her tongue sharpens with incisive wit and she shows full confidence in her opinions, as her anxieties and self-consciousness ebb.
