of doing a far, far better thing than they had ever done.
My job sanctioned curiosity and compassion and these enabled me to sublimate my own personality and take on temporarily the personality and voice of someone else, someone quite unlike me. Curiosity and compassion took me to Cauldstane and kept me there long after any sane person would have left.
~
When I returned, Sholto established a work routine that suited us both. We would talk in the morning, then he liked to lunch alone. In the afternoon he took a nap and then attended to estate business. At six o’clock I was invited for a drink and more talk in the library, then we dined at seven with any members of the family who were at home. So my afternoons and evenings were largely free for me to read, write, research and walk around the estate.
One day Sholto and I were sitting on a bench in the walled garden, sheltered from a cool autumnal breeze. He preferred to be outdoors whenever possible and liked to walk while talking, but he often needed to resort to one of the many strategically-placed benches in the grounds. The tools of my trade were just a small dictaphone and a notebook in which I would record questions that occurred to me while Sholto talked, so we could work anywhere. Today he’d chosen a favourite spot on a south-facing wall and as we rested, I could feel the warmth radiating from the stones behind me. I was enjoying the play of sunlight on the last of the roses and the fluttering dance of Painted Ladies on a white buddleia when Sholto said, ‘Our family’s cursed, of course.’ He saw my look of astonishment and treated me to one of his roguish smiles. ‘All good Scots families are.’
‘Cursed?’
‘Oh, yes. There’s a MacNab curse. Hundreds of years old. As old as the castle. Older possibly.’
‘Do people believe in it?’
‘It’s quite hard not to.’
‘Why?’
‘Our women keep dying.’
I felt a chill crawl down my back and looked at the little tape recorder I’d placed beside him. I wondered if I should stop it, but Sholto seemed unperturbed as he stared into the distance, his fingers clasping the handle of the carved rowan walking stick Alec had made for him from a dead tree on the estate. There was no indication from Sholto’s demeanour that we’d strayed into dangerous personal territory. As I studied his handsome, craggy profile, I saw no clue as to how I should proceed, so I decided to leave the tape running and said gently, ‘Do you believe in the MacNab curse?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t believe in any kind of hocus-pocus. Ghosts, spirits, witchcraft, what have you.’ He turned to me and smiled again. ‘That’s quite unusual for a Scot my age. Did you know the last witch was burned in Scotland? And not that long ago. 1727. We’ve clung to our old superstitions. Some still won’t let them go.’
‘So the family actually believe in this curse?’
‘W e’ve never really discussed it. But I’ve come to my own conclusions. Wilma believes, of course.’
‘Mrs Guthrie?’
‘Yes. But she’s the fourth generation to be in service here. The MacNab curse would have been dinned into her along with the Lord’s Prayer and the nine times table. But generally the women don’t believe in the curse. I’m sure Zelda doesn’t. But it would never affect her, you see. She can afford to be sceptical.’
‘But I thought you said it was the women who… who were affected?’
‘That’s correct. They di e or they’re infertile. Or both. Like poor Coral.’ Sholto shook his head. ‘She let the curse get to her, but she was… a depressive. Well, that’s perhaps unfair. She seemed cheerful enough when Alec first introduced her to us. Meredith never took to her, but I liked her. She was a quiet girl. A bit deep, but so’s Alec. We thought she’d be good for him. But the marriage got off to a bad start. It began with a death and ended five years later with another death.’
‘So you’re saying some
My job sanctioned curiosity and compassion and these enabled me to sublimate my own personality and take on temporarily the personality and voice of someone else, someone quite unlike me. Curiosity and compassion took me to Cauldstane and kept me there long after any sane person would have left.
~
When I returned, Sholto established a work routine that suited us both. We would talk in the morning, then he liked to lunch alone. In the afternoon he took a nap and then attended to estate business. At six o’clock I was invited for a drink and more talk in the library, then we dined at seven with any members of the family who were at home. So my afternoons and evenings were largely free for me to read, write, research and walk around the estate.
One day Sholto and I were sitting on a bench in the walled garden, sheltered from a cool autumnal breeze. He preferred to be outdoors whenever possible and liked to walk while talking, but he often needed to resort to one of the many strategically-placed benches in the grounds. The tools of my trade were just a small dictaphone and a notebook in which I would record questions that occurred to me while Sholto talked, so we could work anywhere. Today he’d chosen a favourite spot on a south-facing wall and as we rested, I could feel the warmth radiating from the stones behind me. I was enjoying the play of sunlight on the last of the roses and the fluttering dance of Painted Ladies on a white buddleia when Sholto said, ‘Our family’s cursed, of course.’ He saw my look of astonishment and treated me to one of his roguish smiles. ‘All good Scots families are.’
‘Cursed?’
‘Oh, yes. There’s a MacNab curse. Hundreds of years old. As old as the castle. Older possibly.’
‘Do people believe in it?’
‘It’s quite hard not to.’
‘Why?’
‘Our women keep dying.’
I felt a chill crawl down my back and looked at the little tape recorder I’d placed beside him. I wondered if I should stop it, but Sholto seemed unperturbed as he stared into the distance, his fingers clasping the handle of the carved rowan walking stick Alec had made for him from a dead tree on the estate. There was no indication from Sholto’s demeanour that we’d strayed into dangerous personal territory. As I studied his handsome, craggy profile, I saw no clue as to how I should proceed, so I decided to leave the tape running and said gently, ‘Do you believe in the MacNab curse?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t believe in any kind of hocus-pocus. Ghosts, spirits, witchcraft, what have you.’ He turned to me and smiled again. ‘That’s quite unusual for a Scot my age. Did you know the last witch was burned in Scotland? And not that long ago. 1727. We’ve clung to our old superstitions. Some still won’t let them go.’
‘So the family actually believe in this curse?’
‘W e’ve never really discussed it. But I’ve come to my own conclusions. Wilma believes, of course.’
‘Mrs Guthrie?’
‘Yes. But she’s the fourth generation to be in service here. The MacNab curse would have been dinned into her along with the Lord’s Prayer and the nine times table. But generally the women don’t believe in the curse. I’m sure Zelda doesn’t. But it would never affect her, you see. She can afford to be sceptical.’
‘But I thought you said it was the women who… who were affected?’
‘That’s correct. They di e or they’re infertile. Or both. Like poor Coral.’ Sholto shook his head. ‘She let the curse get to her, but she was… a depressive. Well, that’s perhaps unfair. She seemed cheerful enough when Alec first introduced her to us. Meredith never took to her, but I liked her. She was a quiet girl. A bit deep, but so’s Alec. We thought she’d be good for him. But the marriage got off to a bad start. It began with a death and ended five years later with another death.’
‘So you’re saying some
Similar Books
