of Luck?” I asked.
“The first dance of the night,” said Ingrid. “Traditionally, it’s supposed to bring good luck to any courting couples in the room, and—”
“It goes back many, many years to the great Sir Ewart McAndrew,” Janet began, as if Ingrid hadn’t spoken. “He founded the ball in order to find wives for his seven sons. Traditionally—correct me if I’m wrong, Duncan!—the favored girl of the McAndrew heir was invited to dance this first reel in front of all the assembled McAndrews, alongside his family.”
Duncan opened his mouth to agree, but Janet swept on regardless.
“The story goes …” Her voice hushed, and her catlike face assumed a distant expression, the type you see tour guides adopt when they’re trying to convey the solemnity of Westminster Abbey to a group of non–English speakers. “Wild Cullen McAndrew was the heir to the estate, and his partner was the most beautiful girl in the Border counties, Louisa Bell, incidentally a distant relation of mine. They danced upstairs in the great ballroom of Kettlesheer, without a single step out of place. And when they were done, the bold Cullen was so smitten with Louisa’s fine footwork, he gave up his gambling and mistresses and called for the local priest to marry them on the spot. And they were wed in the chapel on the grounds that very night.”
I was spellbound. I could totally imagine the whole thing: pipes, reels, flaming torches, discarded mistresses, the lot. “How romantic!”
“And since then—” Ingrid began.
“And since then, there’s never been a ball that hasn’t resulted in a proposal,” Janet carried on as if she hadn’t heard Ingrid. “So long as the reel is performed without a hitch.”
“And Robert and Catriona dance this on their own?” I asked Ingrid. It only seemed polite to direct one question to her, as the hostess.
But Janet leaped in. “Oh,
no
! No, dear, you need eight people for a reel. Four couples. Everyone else watches while this reel opens the ball.”
“No pressure for the others, then!” I joked.
Janet let out a little laugh, while Duncan and Ingrid turned ashen. “Did you hear that, Ingrid? No pressure for you and Duncan at all!” Her voice took on a metallic note. “I hope you’ve been doing the practices I gave you?”
“Yes, Janet.” Ingrid nodded.
“And have you—”
“Robert!” Duncan suddenly shot out a hand and pointed at Robert, catching him in the act of sidling out. His teacher’s eyes in the back of his head clearly still worked. Reluctantly, Robert came over.
“Your mother tells me you’ve said no to a kilt! For God’s sake, lad! You can’t turn up in those jeans of yours! It isn’t a nightclub, it’s a big occasion!”
Robert’s eyes slid toward me, then returned to Janet, who was pretending to be embarrassed at Duncan’s mentioning it. “I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not,” he said. “I’m not Scottish. I was born in Merton.”
“That doesn’t matter!” said Janet. “You’re part of Kettlesheer now! Catriona will be wearing
her
clan tartan. Everyone will be expecting you there in your full regalia.”
“We’ll see,” he said politely. “Would you excuse me? I’ve got to take a call back at the lodge. Work. Sorry.”
“Always working, that boy,” said Duncan as Robert weaved his way through the furniture to the door. I couldn’t tell whether he sounded frustrated or disappointed, or both.
“Still no date fixed to move up here properly?” asked Janet.
“Soon, I should think, Janet.” Duncan winked. “Depending on how this reel goes, eh?”
I was so overwhelmed by the Jane Austen nature of this exchange that I took a theatrical sip from my glass, and nearly choked.
It was like drinking petrol flavored with carrots. Suddenly I understood why no one had been touching theirs.
Just to compound my embarrassment, an old lady suddenly thrust a butter dish into my hands, and I had to spend the next
“The first dance of the night,” said Ingrid. “Traditionally, it’s supposed to bring good luck to any courting couples in the room, and—”
“It goes back many, many years to the great Sir Ewart McAndrew,” Janet began, as if Ingrid hadn’t spoken. “He founded the ball in order to find wives for his seven sons. Traditionally—correct me if I’m wrong, Duncan!—the favored girl of the McAndrew heir was invited to dance this first reel in front of all the assembled McAndrews, alongside his family.”
Duncan opened his mouth to agree, but Janet swept on regardless.
“The story goes …” Her voice hushed, and her catlike face assumed a distant expression, the type you see tour guides adopt when they’re trying to convey the solemnity of Westminster Abbey to a group of non–English speakers. “Wild Cullen McAndrew was the heir to the estate, and his partner was the most beautiful girl in the Border counties, Louisa Bell, incidentally a distant relation of mine. They danced upstairs in the great ballroom of Kettlesheer, without a single step out of place. And when they were done, the bold Cullen was so smitten with Louisa’s fine footwork, he gave up his gambling and mistresses and called for the local priest to marry them on the spot. And they were wed in the chapel on the grounds that very night.”
I was spellbound. I could totally imagine the whole thing: pipes, reels, flaming torches, discarded mistresses, the lot. “How romantic!”
“And since then—” Ingrid began.
“And since then, there’s never been a ball that hasn’t resulted in a proposal,” Janet carried on as if she hadn’t heard Ingrid. “So long as the reel is performed without a hitch.”
“And Robert and Catriona dance this on their own?” I asked Ingrid. It only seemed polite to direct one question to her, as the hostess.
But Janet leaped in. “Oh,
no
! No, dear, you need eight people for a reel. Four couples. Everyone else watches while this reel opens the ball.”
“No pressure for the others, then!” I joked.
Janet let out a little laugh, while Duncan and Ingrid turned ashen. “Did you hear that, Ingrid? No pressure for you and Duncan at all!” Her voice took on a metallic note. “I hope you’ve been doing the practices I gave you?”
“Yes, Janet.” Ingrid nodded.
“And have you—”
“Robert!” Duncan suddenly shot out a hand and pointed at Robert, catching him in the act of sidling out. His teacher’s eyes in the back of his head clearly still worked. Reluctantly, Robert came over.
“Your mother tells me you’ve said no to a kilt! For God’s sake, lad! You can’t turn up in those jeans of yours! It isn’t a nightclub, it’s a big occasion!”
Robert’s eyes slid toward me, then returned to Janet, who was pretending to be embarrassed at Duncan’s mentioning it. “I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not,” he said. “I’m not Scottish. I was born in Merton.”
“That doesn’t matter!” said Janet. “You’re part of Kettlesheer now! Catriona will be wearing
her
clan tartan. Everyone will be expecting you there in your full regalia.”
“We’ll see,” he said politely. “Would you excuse me? I’ve got to take a call back at the lodge. Work. Sorry.”
“Always working, that boy,” said Duncan as Robert weaved his way through the furniture to the door. I couldn’t tell whether he sounded frustrated or disappointed, or both.
“Still no date fixed to move up here properly?” asked Janet.
“Soon, I should think, Janet.” Duncan winked. “Depending on how this reel goes, eh?”
I was so overwhelmed by the Jane Austen nature of this exchange that I took a theatrical sip from my glass, and nearly choked.
It was like drinking petrol flavored with carrots. Suddenly I understood why no one had been touching theirs.
Just to compound my embarrassment, an old lady suddenly thrust a butter dish into my hands, and I had to spend the next
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