Page 14 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Ruth made her way down the stairs, unhurried and outwardly serene, though inside she was seething. As she opened the kitchen door she was hit in the face with a rush of damp, scented air, the delicious smell of bacon lingering so sweetly that her stomach clenched in anticipation. Only now did she remember she’d been too nervous to eat dinner, and that she was ravenously hungry.

“Ah, Sheenagh, there you are,” she said, her voice placid as she regarded the girl sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes and staring up at her with a sullen expression. “Let us not insult my intelligence by pretending that you and everyone else in the kitchen did not hear the bell. I expected hot water and breakfast to be brought to my room, alongside yourself. I did not receive any of the above.”

Silence.

Ruth took a deep breath. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Now, I know you don’t want me here. No doubt the arrival of an English wife for the laird is the last thing you had expected or wanted. I understand, I do really. However, I intend to make Wildsyde my home. I would like it to be a place that we can all take pleasure in, a comfortable home and a good place to work.” She paused, looking around at four belligerent faces, none of which had softened a whit. Trying not to feel daunted she ploughed on. “There is a lot of work to be done, both inside and out to make Wildsyde into that comfortable home and to achieve it, I need your help. Please. I’m sure if we all work together…”

“Flora, did ye da hear about Willy MacTavish?”

“Aye, Sheenagh,” Flora replied, darting anxious glances between the other women. “That I did. Did you hear poor Willy died, Mrs MacLeod?”

Ruth’s cheeks flamed as they carried on their conversation around her, as if she had never spoken. As if she wasn’t there at all.

Fine.

Ruth turned to Mrs MacLeod. “Who looks after the pigs?” she asked, her voice loud enough to cut through their conversation.

“Eh?” Mrs MacLeod wrinkled her nose in confusion at the shift in the conversation.

“The pigs, Mrs MacLeod,” Ruth repeated patiently. “I assume the castle keeps pigs?”

“Aye?” the woman confirmed, though was obviously none the wiser.

“Who takes care of them?”

“Oh, that’d be ol’ Jock.”

“Old Jock, excellent.” Ruth beamed at her. “Thank you, Mrs MacLeod.” She turned her attention back to Sheenagh, aware that Jessie was watching her with suspicious intensity and Flora was peering around the door from the scullery with eyes like saucers. “Sheenagh, you may go and work with Jock,” she said, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

“What?” the girl exclaimed, throwing down the potato she’d been peeling so it splashed into the pot with a loud plop.

Ruth turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “The pigs, Sheenagh. You may go and work with the pigs, or,” she said, smiling a little. “You may go and work elsewhere. In fact, that goes for all of you.”

Ruth turned and walked out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to her room. Her stomach was clamouring, and she felt sick with hunger but she was damned if she’d spoil her grand exit by asking for a plate of the mouth-watering bacon on the way out. Besides, if she’d judged things correctly, she’d get her breakfast soon.

Sure enough, twenty minutes after she’d sat back down to her list, the door opened and Sheenagh came in bearing a tray with tea and, heaven be praised, a plate of eggs and bacon. The girl had a face like thunder, but Ruth didn’t care. Victory was sweet, and the eggs and bacon were utterly delicious. She sat and devoured every scrap, even wiping up the grease with a slice of bread as Sheenagh went away and came back with a steaming jug of hot water.

“You may lay out my green dress, Sheenagh, the one with the pink trim,” she said as she poured herself out a second cup of tea.

“Aye, missus,” Sheenagh said, sulky as a bear but without complaint.

Ruth hid a smile.

She spent the rest of the day investigating the castle, and Ruth’s spirits sank as she discovered leaks in the roof, an infestation of mice, blocked chimneys and broken glass in the windows. There were rooms which had been closed and allowed to fester as the repairs were way beyond a good clean and tidy, and there had been no funds to do anything to save them. Even the kitchen, which Ruth had to admit was pristine enough to eat off the floor, looked no different than it must have done four hundred years earlier.

By dinner time, Ruth had a mile long list of things that needed repairing or replacing, and a blinding headache at the scale of the task before her. That she had to accomplish it all with a belligerent staff of five made her feel nauseous. That Gordy had been absent all day did not help her mood. He did not appear for dinner, and when she put beat down her pride hard enough to face asking the staff where he was she was answered with a shrug and, “I dinnae know, missus.” As this little nugget was spoken with a slight curl of their lips, it was obvious they knew full well that her husband didn’t want her there any more than they did.

By eleven o’clock that night, Ruth had to accept the truth. Gordy had gone. She did not believe that he had gone for good. He’d hardly up and leave his home the moment he had the funds to set it to rights. He was making a point, though, and she’d be a fool not to see it. That he’d abandoned her the morning after they’d wed, showing the staff clear enough that she was unwelcome, undermined any progress she might have made that morning by threatening to dismiss Sheenagh or set her to work with the pigs. They now believed their laird would save them from whatever decision Ruth made, and she knew whatever she hoped to achieve at Wildsyde would take her a ten times as long and a great deal more energy than she felt she had at that moment.

There was still the possibility Gordy might be back the next morning and set them all in their place, she assured herself, praying she was just tired and dispirited and hoping for the best.

Three days later, things were clear enough. Gordy still had not returned, the staff all but laughed in her face, and Ruth was alone, abandoned by her husband and sneered at by those who ought to respect her. All the hopes that had been born on her wedding night withered and died, and it was the hardest thing to keep her composure and act as though she was not the least bit troubled in front of the servants. It was also impossible to use any of the advice her aunt had sent her when her blasted husband was not around to use it on. Humiliation burned as she realised that the wonderful night they’d shared clearly hadn’t been anything special for him. What she’d believed to be the sharing of an extraordinary connection was obviously nothing of the sort. Perhaps it was like that with every woman he bedded? Fury and misery battled for a place in her heart, but she refused to give in to either. Well, her husband had abandoned her to her fate, so what? If he thought that was enough to send her fleeing back to England, he was far and wide of the mark. It only required a little time to rethink her strategy.

She needed reinforcements, staff who respected her and showed the others up for the belligerent, thankless, misbegotten lot which currently inhabited the castle. It had taken her many years and a lot of heartache before she’d managed to create such a staff for her father’s many properties and she simply didn’t have the time or the energy to battle both the snobbery at her not being blue-blooded, suspicion of her English blood, and try and get her husband on side all at the same time. No, she need help in the form of a handful of willing staff. Happily, she knew just where to get them.

***

Gordy stared at the list of bills he’d paid over the past two weeks. His head spun. Yet, when he’d checked with the bank, the astonishing sum that his wife had brought him was there in full. In comparison, the amount he’d just spent was a drop in a considerable ocean. Even now, carts loaded with tools and materials were making their way back to Wildsyde, alongside an army of local men ready and willing to do his bidding. He’d spent his first week away making the rounds of his tenants and informing them of his change of fortunes and his need for able-bodied men. As much of the work he had in mind was improvements to the tenants’ own properties, they’d practically bitten his hand off. From there he’d gone to Wick to order supplies and then onto Fort William, which was a far larger town. Money had been pouring from him like water, so quickly he felt sick and anxious despite knowing he’d could spend fifty times the amount and barely dent his bank balance. He was too used to frugality, too used to making every shilling stretch as far as it would go and then a bit farther still. Even though none of his purchases had been the least bit frivolous, he still felt an odd sensation in the pit of his belly every time they presented a new bill to him.