his ser vice, too.
“So it seems that we are infested with fairies as well as banshees, ghosts, boggles, brownies, some nesting doves, and a few mice,” he said, pen in hand.
“The fairy ilk—aye, they’re here, and soon they will ride.”
“Surely you don’t believe that, Mrs. MacKimmie, though it’s a charming local tradition. What did the maid see? A moth flitting from lamp to lamp?”
“She said there was a fairy in the garden today, a beautiful creature that turned and saw her, then vanished among the bushes. Poor Mary was so upset that she could not stay another day. And those Edinburgh lasses that Lady Rankin sent for housemaids have no head for a good fright, being Southron. Begging your pardon, sir.”
“I’m surprised the girl saw anything in the garden with all the rain we’ve had,” James remarked. “Not even the best duck would be out in such a downpour. Not that I believe in such phenomena as phantasms, fairies, and whatnot.” He dipped his pen in the ink again to resume writing.
“Struan House is one of the fairies’ favorite places, sir. Used to belong to them, so it’s said. There is more of the Otherworld in our own world than we know. If I may say.”
“Well, if there is a fairy in the garden, we shouldinvite her inside to dry off and have some tea.” As he spoke, he turned pages in the manuscript, and took a few notes, inked nib whispering over the paper. Fairy riding , he wrote. Local custom .
“I came to tell you, sir, that I would like to leave, just for a day or two.”
He looked up. “I hope the fairies have not frightened you away as well.”
“Oh no. I always leave the house for a few days to allow for the fairy riding. We all do. My daughter has just had another child, and I’d like to visit her.”
“Certainly. As I told you, I am happy to have a few days to myself here.”
“If you feel comfortable, sir. Thank you. One of the grooms will drive me, and then return with the gig. And Mr. MacKimmie will take the landau to drive the housemaids to catch the post chaise in Callander to go back to Edinburgh. We’ll be gone for no more than a day or two. I beg your pardon for leaving you thus.”
“Not at all.” Locals avoid the fairy riding at all costs, he wrote.
“There’s food in the larder, sir, and soup in the kettle today. The groom will be back to see to the cows in the byre, the horses, and the chickens. And I’ve sent word to a local family to ask if their daughter could come round to see to the housekeeping for you until I return.”
“That’s very efficient, Mrs. MacKimmie. Thank you.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she said, entering the room. “The mail arrived just now, very late. The postman said the roads are so muddy that he does not expect to be back for over a week.” She set three letters on the corner of the desk. “I’ll just leave, shall I?”
He took the letters and smiled at her. “Good day, and safe journey.”
“Thank you, sir.” She shut the door.
James sat back to open the letters. One was from the lawyer, Mr. Browne, another from Lady Rankin, the last from his brother Patrick. He scanned each one. His great-aunt wrote to inform him—again—of her travel plans, and again fretted about whether Struan House was acceptable for sophisticated city guests, at which James snorted a little. Patrick reported that he would travel to the area with Sir John Graeme, who was interested in a business venture in the north, but they had frantically declined Lady Rankin’s invitation to join her own party; James laughed softly at that. The lawyer’s terse note made him frown, and he set it aside; it required no response from him at the moment.
Reaching for one of the books stacked haphazardly on the desk, a volume of Scott’s work on ballads and legends, James flipped until he found a section on fairy lore, then picked up his pen to jot more notes.
“Fairies and elves,” James read aloud, “are interchangeable terms in the
“So it seems that we are infested with fairies as well as banshees, ghosts, boggles, brownies, some nesting doves, and a few mice,” he said, pen in hand.
“The fairy ilk—aye, they’re here, and soon they will ride.”
“Surely you don’t believe that, Mrs. MacKimmie, though it’s a charming local tradition. What did the maid see? A moth flitting from lamp to lamp?”
“She said there was a fairy in the garden today, a beautiful creature that turned and saw her, then vanished among the bushes. Poor Mary was so upset that she could not stay another day. And those Edinburgh lasses that Lady Rankin sent for housemaids have no head for a good fright, being Southron. Begging your pardon, sir.”
“I’m surprised the girl saw anything in the garden with all the rain we’ve had,” James remarked. “Not even the best duck would be out in such a downpour. Not that I believe in such phenomena as phantasms, fairies, and whatnot.” He dipped his pen in the ink again to resume writing.
“Struan House is one of the fairies’ favorite places, sir. Used to belong to them, so it’s said. There is more of the Otherworld in our own world than we know. If I may say.”
“Well, if there is a fairy in the garden, we shouldinvite her inside to dry off and have some tea.” As he spoke, he turned pages in the manuscript, and took a few notes, inked nib whispering over the paper. Fairy riding , he wrote. Local custom .
“I came to tell you, sir, that I would like to leave, just for a day or two.”
He looked up. “I hope the fairies have not frightened you away as well.”
“Oh no. I always leave the house for a few days to allow for the fairy riding. We all do. My daughter has just had another child, and I’d like to visit her.”
“Certainly. As I told you, I am happy to have a few days to myself here.”
“If you feel comfortable, sir. Thank you. One of the grooms will drive me, and then return with the gig. And Mr. MacKimmie will take the landau to drive the housemaids to catch the post chaise in Callander to go back to Edinburgh. We’ll be gone for no more than a day or two. I beg your pardon for leaving you thus.”
“Not at all.” Locals avoid the fairy riding at all costs, he wrote.
“There’s food in the larder, sir, and soup in the kettle today. The groom will be back to see to the cows in the byre, the horses, and the chickens. And I’ve sent word to a local family to ask if their daughter could come round to see to the housekeeping for you until I return.”
“That’s very efficient, Mrs. MacKimmie. Thank you.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she said, entering the room. “The mail arrived just now, very late. The postman said the roads are so muddy that he does not expect to be back for over a week.” She set three letters on the corner of the desk. “I’ll just leave, shall I?”
He took the letters and smiled at her. “Good day, and safe journey.”
“Thank you, sir.” She shut the door.
James sat back to open the letters. One was from the lawyer, Mr. Browne, another from Lady Rankin, the last from his brother Patrick. He scanned each one. His great-aunt wrote to inform him—again—of her travel plans, and again fretted about whether Struan House was acceptable for sophisticated city guests, at which James snorted a little. Patrick reported that he would travel to the area with Sir John Graeme, who was interested in a business venture in the north, but they had frantically declined Lady Rankin’s invitation to join her own party; James laughed softly at that. The lawyer’s terse note made him frown, and he set it aside; it required no response from him at the moment.
Reaching for one of the books stacked haphazardly on the desk, a volume of Scott’s work on ballads and legends, James flipped until he found a section on fairy lore, then picked up his pen to jot more notes.
“Fairies and elves,” James read aloud, “are interchangeable terms in the
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