A Strange Scottish Shore Page 6

  THE BOOK OF TIME, A. M. HAYWOOD (1921)

  Three

  At the sound of the strange word selkie, I startled back from the table, striking the duke’s shoulder with my head, and turned to the doorway of the library. A man stood there, somewhere in that fresh, exuberant age between twenty and twenty-five, clean-shaven and elegant of build. His hair, oiled back from his face, seemed to be light brown.

  “Ah! There you are, Magnusson,” said Max. “I have just flummoxed Miss Truelove with our mysterious find.”

  “So I perceive.” The man walked forward, smiling, and held out his hand to me. “I understand flummoxing Miss Truelove is not an easy thing to do.”

  “Indeed not.” I shook his hand and cast a quizzical glance to the duke.

  “James Magnusson,” said the stranger, before Max could speak. “Owner of said chest.”

  “Owner? But I thought the chest belonged to the castle.”

  Mr. Magnusson angled his gaze to Max. “Haven’t you told her the story, sir?”

  “Not yet. I’m afraid we had another matter that required our attention.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

  Max leaned back against the edge of the table and folded his arms. He had kept on the previous duke’s valet, having no man of his own, and his dress was so immaculate he nearly blinded me. To be perfectly honest, I thought he looked more himself in his worn tweeds, but the crisp black-and-white formality of dinner dress perhaps suited him better, from a purely aesthetic standpoint. He looked almost handsome, there in the golden drip of the oil lamp.

  “Nothing that won’t resolve itself, I believe,” he said, looking at me. “It was Mr. Magnusson who brought the chest to my attention, a few days ago. He has been conducting a thorough program of refurbishment at one of the family’s properties in the Orkney Islands—”

  “A castle even more ancient than this one,” said Mr. Magnusson, grinning widely, as if he relished the challenge, “and fallen into the most shocking disrepair.”

  “My goodness. Would it not be better to allow nature to take its course, and build something new?”

  “Ah, well. This particular property has special significance for the family, you see, and though my father bestowed the estate on me a year ago, he wouldn’t countenance my tearing it down, not for a minute. And truth to tell—”

  “I beg your pardon. Your father gave you the property?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I looked at Max, who shrugged and said, “Lord Thurso.”

  “Lord Thurso! Then you’re—”

  “The natural son,” said Mr. Magnusson. His smile grew wider still. “Magnusson is my mother’s surname. Rather too indiscreet to raise a litter of Sinclairs on the castle doorstep, you see.”

  “I see. And Thurso’s bequeathed you a castle?”

  “Indeed he has, though it’s not so generous a gesture as it sounds, I’m afraid. The pile came with no money attached at all, not a brass farthing, so I’ve gone round to all the banks, who are lending me a frightful sum of money to fix it all up as a grand hotel, in the American style. By next summer, I hope to have flocks of tourists and holidaymakers filling the place from dungeon to rafters, enjoying all the natural beauty and health-giving advantages of the Orkney Islands.”

  “Which are?”

  “Why, innumerable, Miss Truelove! Just imagine! Fresh air, brisk salt water, an abundant, nutritious diet, the opportunity for vigorous exercise. Combine all that with the luxurious facilities to be found in a modern hotel, and I daresay we’ll be beating them from our door, come June.”

  “Except that the hotel has yet to be built.”

  “Strictly speaking,” said Mr. Magnusson, “renovated.”

  “Which is where we come to the matter of the chest,” Max interjected, faintly impatient.

  “Oh, yes. The chest. Extraordinary find. I was on the island last week, supervising the work, and my foreman came to me with that.” He nodded to the chest on the table, and the strange black suit laid out next to it. “Of course, I knew right away what it meant.”

  “I don’t quite understand. What does it mean?”

  “Why, haven’t you heard the legend of the Thurso selkie, Miss Truelove?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t. I’ve heard of selkies, of course, but you can’t possibly think that this garment . . .” I paused and glanced at Max, who was staring intently at my face. “It’s all just a myth.”

  “Aye, but not to the Magnussons, ye ken. It’s part of our history.” He spoke these words in a teasing Scottish brogue and settled himself on the edge of the table, one leg upon the floor and one leg raised, his hands gathered companionably in the middle. “Goes back to ancient times. Nobody can tell you the precise year, of course, but the family owes its fortunes to a selkie bride who came out of the waters one day and married my ancestor.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  Mr. Magnusson unclasped his hands to spread them out before me. “I believe something happened. People don’t make up stories out of thin air, certainly not stories so important as that. Origin stories, you know, they’re terribly important to us. I don’t mean the Magnussons especially; I mean human beings in general.”

  “You sound as if you’ve given the matter considerable thought, Mr. Magnusson.”

  “I read the ancients at Oxford. Bloody useless, from a practical point of view, but fascinating stuff.” He seemed not to notice his unsuitable language; altogether he exuded the kind of feckless, childlike attractiveness of a young dog. He was not large—his shoulders were puny next to those of the nearby duke—but he was well fashioned, neatly proportional, eager and flawless. His hair, now that I saw it closely, contained reddish tints amid the gold, or perhaps it was a trick of the light; his eyes were so colorless a blue as to be nearly gray. “Like any myth,” he continued, “the selkie story must have had its beginning in something real. Something that actually happened.”

  “There are several theories, of course,” the duke said, sounding even graver, even more deliberate than usual, next to Mr. Magnusson’s rapid tenor, “which I will not trouble to enumerate at present. But the tale of the Magnusson selkie is instructive, in light of this discovery.” He nodded to the rubber suit.

  I looked at Mr. Magnusson. “Can you perhaps tell me more?”

  “Certainly. My ancestor was a fisherman, so the story goes, plying his trade on the island of Hoy, not far from the present-day castle I’m attempting to restore to its former glory. A solitary, virtuous chap, and learned, too: taught himself to read and to decipher ancient texts and that sort of thing. One morning, he discovers a beautiful seal maiden frolicking naked on the beach, and he falls instantly in love with her. He spots her sealskin on the rocks nearby and hides it in a chest, so she can’t ever swim away and leave him, and he takes her into his hut and makes her his bride. She stays by his side for seven years, bearing two children, but at the end of the seventh year she discovers the sealskin and disappears back into the sea.”

  “But then how—”

  Mr. Magnusson held up his finger. “Before she leaves, she gives him a pearl of enormous value, and with this fortune he builds a great castle and lands, and eventually becomes laird. His daughter marries the heir to the Earl of Thurso, and unites the two estates. But all the while he longs for his selkie bride, remaining chaste throughout the rest of his life, and indeed not one of the Magnussons has ever since been happy in love and marriage, though our earthly fortunes have risen and fallen through the centuries. And it’s said that when the laird’s own selkie bride returns to Hoy, his heirs will find true love at last.”

  His eyes met mine as he pronounced this last sentence, quite warm and familiar, as if we had known each other for years. Beneath them, his smile grew bashfully.

  “I—I see,” I said.

  The duke coughed. “An interesting story, Mr
. Magnusson, but we are left to ponder how this particular object on the table ended up in this particular chest.”

  I roused myself. “Yes. If the laird’s selkie swam away with it, into the North Sea, the suit would have been lost forever, and not locked away in a chest.”

  “Ah. But that’s why I brought the entire matter to the duke’s attention. I am hardly an expert in this field, as is His Grace, but I instantly perceived that this suit”—here he half turned and lifted one leg of the garment between his thumb and forefinger—“did not belong in a chest of such antiquity.”

  “May I examine it again?” I asked.

  “Certainly.” He moved aside.

  The table was broad, and the suit lay perfectly shaped across it. The duke reached for the lamp and brought it closer. I lifted my head. “Is it possible to light another?”

  “Of course.”

  Max vanished from my left side, and I placed my palms on the table and leaned closer, while Mr. Magnusson peered from his perch on my right. With one finger I touched the material, which was softer than I expected, almost silky in its otherworldly smoothness, and yet thick. Spongy, I thought. “It’s not rubber, after all,” I said. “It’s something else.”

  Max returned with another oil lamp, burning steadily inside its glass dome. “But what, then? I’m afraid I don’t recognize the substance at all.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you, Mr. Magnusson?”

  “No. The strangest thing I ever saw.”

  I straightened to face him. “And you found it inside that chest?”

  “Yes. My foreman brought it to me, as I said. Although the suit was not inside that main cavity, when I found it.”

  “Where, then?”

  Mr. Magnusson walked around me and grasped the sides of the chest. “When I first looked inside, I saw that the main cavity contained a quantity of old silver, which delighted me, as you can imagine. And then it struck me, once we had emptied it, that the bottom isn’t quite where it should be. Do you see what I mean?” He tilted the chest. “It’s a few inches higher than it looks on the outside.”

  “A hidden compartment.”

  “Exactly. Look for yourself.” He stood aside, and I peered into the chest. Sure enough, as I looked inside, the bottom was too shallow. “One of those things you don’t notice, until suddenly you do,” said Mr. Magnusson. “And then you can’t imagine not seeing it. Here, there’s a little ribbon at the edge. Give it a pull.”

  I did, and the bottom panel lifted easily away, revealing the space beneath. I traced the true surface with my fingers. The wood was old and hard, almost calcified. “Just large enough for a suit, folded up.”

  “Yes.”

  “But when you examine the suit, there are no wrinkles at all. No sign of its having been folded.”

  “Another mystery,” said the duke.

  I looked at him. “What do you think? Can you make any guess as to its provenance?”

  “None whatsoever, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But those are the most interesting cases of all, I’ve found. The ones that confound me at first.”

  Max’s face appeared utterly benign as he said this; as benign, at least, as his stern looks would allow. But while his expression was blank, his eyes fixed upon mine with a peculiar sharpness, which I recognized from our long hours of labor together. The fingers of his left hand played with the signet ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, in a manner most uncommon to a man so still and studied as the duke.

  “Perhaps something will occur to you later,” I said.

  “It always does, I find. Usually about midnight, when everyone else is asleep.”

  “Asleep? At midnight?” Mr. Magnusson laughed. “I expect we must keep different company.”

  The duke straightened to his feet and looked down gravely at the younger man. I believe his mouth twitched at the corner. “I am sure we do, Mr. Magnusson, and I will keep you from it no longer. We will continue this discussion tomorrow morning after breakfast, when we have all had time to reflect on the facts of the case. Miss Truelove? Are you joining the guests in the drawing room, or do you retire?”

  “Certainly I retire. My mind is now far too perturbed for intercourse. I doubt I shall sleep at all.”

  “Do try, Miss Truelove. Your good health is essential.”

  Mr. Magnusson reached for the chest and replaced the false bottom, then the lid. “Do you remember the way upstairs, Miss Truelove? I shall be glad to show you, if you need me.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I remember the direction perfectly. Good night, gentlemen.”

  As I left the room, leaving the two men side by side in front of the large table, I remember thinking how abruptly this little council had ended, and how adroitly the duke had forced its conclusion.

  I also remembered wondering whether this was because Max had just seen the same curious object I saw, hidden inside the false bottom of the old wooden chest.

  • • •

  Now, you’ve likely already guessed that I was not strictly truthful when I told Mr. Magnusson that I remembered the way back to my room. Luck, however, was with me. At the end of the corridor, I turned right on instinct, and saw a wooden door hanging ajar about halfway down the hall. This proved to be a staircase, spiraling up one of the castle’s lesser turrets, floor by floor, until I reached the one on which I knew my chamber lay. Sure enough, when I emerged, I recognized my surroundings, and reached my room in half a minute.

  I was not, however, alone.

  A woman rose from the armchair next to the fire. She was dressed in a quilted dressing gown of forest-green satin, somewhat worn, and her hair lay in a red-gold braid over her left shoulder.

  “Why, Lady Annis!” I said.

  “I’m awfully sorry to intrude. Am I intruding?”

  “Not at all.”

  She gestured to the desk by the window. “I’ve brought tea. Or rather, I had someone bring tea.” A small, nervous laugh. “I’m sure I should have dropped the tray if I attempted it myself.”

  I closed the door behind me and regarded her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes almost maniacally bright. I wondered if she had perhaps had something to drink. I sniffed the air, but could detect nothing out of the ordinary, beyond the damp, musty smell of the chamber itself, on which lay a faint odor of dried flowers, in a late, ineffectual attempt to freshen the atmosphere.

  “Is it still hot?” I asked.

  “I believe so.” Lady Annis turned and moved swiftly to the tray, as if eager to find some occupation for her restlessness. She asked my preference, and though I usually took my tea with lemon only, I said cream and just a touch of sugar, because I thought the cream might perhaps settle my nerves.

  While she poured, I asked her why she had come.

  “Why, I couldn’t wait any longer! I was hoping to see you at dinner, but I suppose you were too fatigued from your travels?” The end of the sentence tended upward, like a question.

  “In truth, I rarely dine in company.”

  “Whyever not?”

  I hesitated. She was still turned away, fussing with the tea, and the light from the oil lamp caressed the back of her neck. I thought she was perhaps average height, or an inch above it, though she was made along such delicate lines, she appeared smaller. Her waist, cinched almost into nonexistence by the sash of her dressing gown, was immaculate. “Because I am not, by nature, a social creature.”

  “Oh!” Another squeak of laughter. “I’m afraid I am. Terribly. I can’t bear to be alone; I feel as if the walls are moving to crush me. Here you are.”

  She turned at last, holding two cups in their saucers, and I stepped forward to relieve her of mine. The scent of roses caught my attention, rising from her warm, pale skin. She returned to the armchair in its favored position by the fire, taking her place thoughtlessly,
by divine right, so that I was left to drag the ancient, rushed-seated chair from the desk and place it nearby, and then to add coals from the scuttle, for the fire had begun to die away. While I performed these maneuvers, she sipped her tea and gazed into the fire. Gathering, presumably, what thoughts she possessed.

  I settled myself gingerly—the seat was frayed almost beyond purpose—and asked her if I might be of any use.

  “How kind of you,” she said. “Indeed, I was hoping . . .”

  “Yes, your ladyship?”

  “Oh, don’t bother with that, really. You know, I’ve always had a tremendous admiration for you, Miss Truelove.”

  “Have you? I’m afraid I never noticed.”

  “Oh, yes. To be so independent and brave. To accomplish things, things that actually matter. Why, I can scarcely even pour a proper cup of tea!” She waved at the tray behind her. “But you. You’ve broken free. Everybody admires you, though they don’t all dare admit it.”

  “Surely not.”

  “You caused such a flutter among us when His Grace went off to fetch you at the railway station. We were all quite jealous.”

  “There was no need for jealousy. The duke is only my employer; or rather, he was my employer until a few months ago, when I assumed the directorship of the Haywood Institute. We are now colleagues, I suppose.”

  “Colleagues!” She sighed and set her cup in her saucer. “Such a fascinating word. I don’t think I shall ever be anyone’s colleague.”

  I hardly knew what to say to this. I knew she was working her way toward something, and I had some idea what it must be. But I felt she should arrive there herself. If she had something to say to me on the subject of the Duke of Olympia, and the nature of my relationship toward him, I wasn’t going to act as her midwife. I sipped my tea and cast my gaze to the old pink rug spread atop the wooden floor, and to Lady Annis’s embroidered slippers that peered out in two triangles from beneath the hem of her dressing gown.