Winter's End Part 4

"Mrs. Boyd's been well, Madam," Theodore replied. Despite his love for his mistress, he hated being caught in the Kinnaird family dispute. As much as he'd like, he would prefer to stay as far from it as possible. The Kinnairds could get nasty and dirty if they wanted to. He was a living testament to that.

He adjusted the ends of his jacket and continued, "In fact, she called up this morning to ask for your health. I reported you were doing excellently in spite of the small cold you suffered earlier on in the winter. I naturally didn't put her through to you as you had advised. I said that you were still asleep and did not wish to be disturbed."

"Asking for my health, indeed!" she spat out. "The woman is concerned with nothing but the date on my funeral headstone! Argh!" She reclined into her chair, quiet and thinking. "Do you remember, Theodore, how once these rooms were filled with laughter and people. Beautiful people. Arthur, the children, George, Mary, Anne."

She looked at the red decorative wall paper and its green and gold tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, the memories of their debate entwined within it.

"Blue, mother," George had said. "That red is just horrendous." He let out a disgusting sound.

"Oh, stop exaggerating, George," Ethel Kinnaird said. "I think it's really pretty."

"You only say that, mother, because Anne chose it," Mary replied, poking out her tongue in a tease and moving to sit on her father's arm chair. She put her arm around her father's neck endearingly "What do you think, Pa?"

Her father looked up from the book he was reading. "This is where a man should learn to keep his opinion to himself. Unfortunately, George doesn't seem he will learn it soon enough. Not until he gets his own bevy of beauties he would want to keep happy."

George scowled. He was after all only fifteen years old and the youngest in the family.

"I am not going to have us host my fiance's family in that officious blue, mother!" Anne argued.

"Mother!" George protested.

Ethel gave him a disapproving glance. "You do protest too much, George. And it's not a horrendous shade at all. I think it is warm, friendly and quite elegant."

Arthur lifted a questioning eyebrow. Mary rolled up her eyes and George huffed.

The only one that did look pleased was the bride-to-be, Anne Felicity Kinnaird.

Mrs. Kinnaird smiled. The wallpaper was horrendous.

CHAPTER 5.

The light had begun to fade outside, accompanied by a drizzle of light snow that sparkled its crystals as it showered gently all around her house. The children were occupied with their favourite television program. From the sounds of their laughter, Emma could tell they were far too engrossed to spend the afternoon with her in her conservatory.

She lay back on her settee, watching the snow patter against her gla.s.s roof. She almost fell hypnotised by its rhythmic shower when she heard a tap against her conservatory. She peered over the top of her settee and managed to spot Lisa through her windows again. She hunched back and winced.

Reluctantly, she rose and opened the door.

"Hi there," said Lisa, pushing past her yet again, inviting herself into Emma's house. "d.a.m.n it's cold out there." She vigorously rubbed her palms together. "I'll take that tea," she said, smiling. "G.o.d, this place looks even greater in the evening. I should get Bill to see this. I would so love one of my own."

Emma stared at her blankly. The invitation of tea had expired long ago that morning and which she distinctly remembered Lisa had turned down. Despite that, she found herself walking over to the little kitchen cabinet and making themselves a small pot of tea. She shook her head in disbelief. Six months ago, she would never have tolerated such insolence in her London mansion. She must be growing soft and tolerant to the impertinent cultures of her neighbours.

"How did Big Jim do at his practice?" she asked trying to decipher why Lisa was back again, twice in a day at her house. She prayed silently that this was not an inkling of a habit she might have to endure in the near future.

"Oh, he did well. It was just a friendly match the boys had set up amongst themselves. Gives an excuse to make most of a good and sunny day in the winter," she rambled. "It was good too with the sudden change in weather."

Emma smiled. "Skye weather is quite unpredictable." And so are its residents, she added silently. "Did you drive here? I didn't see your car."

"No, I didn't," Lisa said. "I walked. Bill's going to pick me up when I call him. He's babysitting the children. Told him I needed to do a ladies chat with you."

"A ladies chat?" Emma asked, lifting up a brow. She handed over a cup of steaming tea to Lisa and motioned for her to continue at the settee. "What sort of ladies chat?"

Lisa placed her cup down on the gla.s.s coffee table and plopped down into a couch. "You know, the one we had this morning. About old Mrs. Kinnaird."

Emma watched her mystified and baffled. Wasn't Lisa hesitant earlier to speak of the woman? And now here she was, more than willing to reveal all that Emma wanted to know of the mysterious Mrs. Kinnaird over a cup of tea.

Lisa took a sip of her tea. "Oh this is delightful," she said.

"Yes, it is," Emma said impatiently, almost demanding her to stop with the chat on tea. "What about Mrs. Kinnaird?" she asked carefully, trying not to sound too anxious.

"Well," Lisa answered, tucking her legs under her. "It happened a long, long time ago. Mrs. Kinnaird's eldest daughter had just got married. The newly married wife and husband moved to London where they settled.

Their second daughter, Mary went visiting her aunt in Glasgow. There she met a young man who fell deeply in love with her. Mary loved him too but not enough to go against the wishes of her family. You see, the young man was a poor factory worker. Mr. and Mrs. Kinnaird did not think much of the boy and refused Mary to continue with the courtship. The boy was so distraught, he died of heart-ache. However the boy's mother had gypsy ancestry. Rumour has it, she cursed the Kinnaird family. That they would never be able to retain a marriage and that Mary would never be anyone else's. Of course the Kinnairds dismissed it as ludicrous, pagan beliefs, never giving it a second thought.

There was no reason to. It was the late 1960s and business was booming in America. Mr. Kinnaird was a shrewd business man and invested heavily into all sorts of business there, basking in its profits and rewards. Unfortunately, their only son, George was also lured by the alluring, glamorous life of America. Now having tasted the nectars of fame and fortune in America, George made it quite well-known that he had no wish to return to dull, mundane Skye. Instead he revelled in drunkenness and debauchery. His parents were utterly disappointed. They threatened to cut him off his inheritance if he didn't return. But George called their bluff and remained in America much to the disdain of his parents.

But that was only the start of the Kinnaird downfall.

Anne Kinnaird, now Mrs. Cameron, gave birth to a healthy baby boy two years after the marriage. The Kinnaird's were absolutely elated with this new addition to the family. Actually so much so that they gifted the young parents with a trip to Europe. I heard Mrs. Cameron refused to leave her newborn and wanted to take her baby with her. But after much coaxing and convincing by both her husband and her family, she ultimately decided to leave the child with her parents and set off on a journey to Europe with her husband. Only two days into their trip and not having yet even left the sh.o.r.es of London, the young couple died in a car crash. It was rumoured they had a terrible argument while Mr. Cameron was driving. Apparently they were arguing over the control of finances over their trip. It appeared Mrs. Cameron had snubbed it in her husband's face and the fact that his family did not support them as much in their financial endeavours as did her own family. In anger, Mr. Cameron sped to overtake a truck before him in an oncoming bend but lost control, veering off the road and tumbling down a cliff. They both died that awful night.

The Kinnairds were terribly distraught over the death of their daughter. Mr. Kinnaird took the blame of their death upon himself. He had been aware of their marital problems and a.s.sumed that a three month trip to Europe would save the young couple's marriage. Instead it had only surfaced Mr. Cameron's insecurities to provide the luxuries his wife was so used to having. Mr. Kinnaird locked himself up in his bedroom for seven days, refusing to talk to anyone. Well, he did come out at the end of it, but the atmosphere of the entire household had now become sombre. There was no laughter or playful teasing ringing through its empty halls. No, all that was gone. Mr. Kinnaird withered away, eating very little but strangely determined more than ever to build an empire stronger than he had before.

However it was the early 1970s now and economic situations had vastly altered. The market crashed and Mr. Kinnaird lost a lot on his shares and investments. There was nothing poor Mr. Kinnaird could do but wallow in his sorrow.

Not long after George Kinnaird took an interest in a native Indian girl. Despite being warned and threatened again by his parents, George eloped with her causing quite a stir amongst both the elite American socialites and the Indian tribe she belonged to. It brought the Kinnaird's into much disrepute within the social cla.s.ses in both England and America. A week on the run from the girl's family, George was found dead in the lobby of a run-down motel. Apparently the girl's brother had caught up with the run-away couple. George got into a fight with the brother. He received a fatal blow to his head and died immediately. There was nothing anyone could do to save him.

Unfortunately, this was the final straw that put poor Mr.Kinnaird into his grave. He suffered a heart attack and died a day after he received news of his son's pa.s.sing.

The blow was so severe on Mrs. Kinnaird, now that she had lost almost her entire family. It changed her dramatically. She became cynical, harsh with life. She hated joyous occasions like Christmases. I remember she carried a ghastly scowl whenever she visited the stores. We were so afraid of her that we crossed the streets a good distance if we ever saw her in our path.

But Mrs. Kinnaird was no less shrewd than her husband. In fact she had a greater knack for business than her husband ever did. It was how she got herself out of the hundred pounds of debt that her husband and son owed. She began buying out properties in Skye, London and America. She bought shares and made better investments. Currently, she is the primary landlord on most of the businesses in Skye and a major contributor to local charities. It is the sole reason why everyone keeps a tight-lip on saying anything about Mrs. Kinnaird. I think she was smart to figure that it was the one way to prevent people talking about the ill-luck that had fallen onto the family. The world outside of course soon forgot about the Kinnaird curse and moved on with other gossip."

The two women fell silent. Outside the sky had darkened. A blanket of snow covered the ground.

Emma fiddled with her empty cup in her palm, thinking of all that Lisa had told her. "What happened to Mary?" she asked.

Lisa sighed. "Mary died an old maid about five years ago. She never married."

"And Anne's child? What became of him?"

Lisa bit her lip.

"What is it Lisa?" asked Emma, curiously. "There is more to the Kinnaird curse, right?"

"Well," Lisa started, nervously. "According to former employees of the Kinnaird household, it was whispered that the gypsy witch rendered that the only way in which the curse could be broken was if..."

Emma waited impatiently for her to finish. "If..." she offered.

Lisa swallowed. "If a Kinnaird would manage to retain the bond of marriage for three consecutive years. Of course it would have to be a direct descendant of the current Kinnaird bloodline and the union of marriage has to be a formal one, sworn and sanctified by a priest."

"Well, has there been one since?" asked Emma.

"How can there be?" said Lisa, shaking her head dolefully. "The last of the children, Mary died without any issue. The only one that is left to break the curse is Anne's son, Christopher Cameron. And no girl in her right frame of mind will touch him with a ten foot pole. At least when it comes to marriage," she corrected.

"They're afraid of the curse falling upon them?" said Emma.

"Yes, that of course. But also because he's Chris Cameron," said Lisa.

"I don't understand," said Emma, shaking her head.

"He is Chris Cameron," repeated Lisa tiredly. "The actor celebrity. Hollywood. He acted as John Mascot in Matchstick Soldiers."

A cloud of recognition fell upon Emma as she began to remember pieces of his media profile. Mousy brown hair, tall, steely grey eyes, one of the top one hundred s.e.xiest men of the year, highly influential actor celebrity and award winning actor of the movie Matchstick Soldiers. She loved that movie, she remembered. But she also remembered him as being notorious for changing the women on his arm by the month.

"Emma, Emma," said Lisa, shaking her out of her trance. "Stay away from Mrs. Kinnaird," she warned.

"Stay away from Mrs. Kinnaird." Lisa's word rang through her mind as she breathed in the cold, balmy air of the early morning.

She gave a small chuckle. Why should she? However, was little old Mrs. Kinnaird ever going to be a threat to her? And as for her famous grandson, he would be far from interested in a widow with two children in the lonely Isle of Skye.

"Mrs. Winston," said a stern voice, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Mrs. Kinnaird," Emma answered, surprised on seeing the older woman walking towards her. Not too far strolling behind her was her trusted butler, Theodore.

"I see you have taken advantage of my offer," said Mrs. Kinnaird.

"Huh," Emma said, blushing guiltily from her thoughts of the woman's handsome grandson.

"I'm glad you decided to walk through my pastures," said Mr.s. Kinnaird. "You had me worried for a moment when I saw you walking up the highway." She stepped forward, indicating for Emma to walk with her. "There haven't been any gruesome incidences yet for walking on our lonely highways. But it does pay to be careful. Besides the air in these pastures is different. You can almost feel it's purity as you take it into your lungs." She took a deep breath in and held it for a while before releasing it. And when she did, the aura around her changed, exuding a warmth in the cold winter air. She had a smile on her face that lit up her greying eyes, rising it at the corners. "If you stay still long enough, you might even spot some of our handsome red stags come down from the mountains."

"Red deer?" Emma repeated, a tinge of wonder filling her eyes. "Here?"

Mrs. Kinnaird smiled. "We let them breed in the hills. And then... we shoot them."

Emma stood back stunned by the abruptness of her final words. "You kill them?"

Mrs. Kinnaird let out a small inward chuckle. "Oh, you sure are a city girl, aren't you? A la.s.s from Skye wouldn't have given a second thought to it."

She gave Emma her hand. Emma took it and the old woman wrapped her arm around Emma's elbow. Leaning slightly onto the younger woman, they walked together towards the huge trunk of a leaf-barren tree. Their boots squelched into the ankle deep snow the night fall left behind in the morning.

"We don't call them killing here, la.s.s. It's called culling. It is an essential part of the deer management program. You can say that we're being cruel to be kind."

"I don't understand."

Mrs. Kinnaird dusted off the white crystals of snow gathered on her white hair. "Deer are like rabbits. They can breed quickly into high densities. The trouble is this can lead to a lack of food for them to survive on. If we don't help control the herds, they will slowly starve to death. They will even gnaw and chew at shed antlers if they can't find enough food. In Skye, we don't have very many predators to help cull the deer density. We have eagles and foxes but they're not enough to keep the numbers down. So what is best left to do is sport culling."

"Sport culling?" asked Emma.

"What you may have heard of as deer stalking," Mrs. Kinnaird explained. She saw Theodore retreating towards a rock and nudged at Emma's elbow to do the same. "Let's get behind this tree," she whispered.

Emma was startled slightly but obediently followed without protest.

"There," the older woman said softly, pointing towards a shrub of trees.

And there Emma noticed, among the bare brown trunk of trees was a red deer stag. It was chewing on the stems and buds of blaeberry that stood a little taller than the snow. It seemed to have heard their voices because it peeked up, its ears and eyes alert for predators. It was a magnificent animal. It's dark brown coat was effectively camouflaged against the bark of the trees.

"It's a royal," Mrs. Kinnaird whispered again. "See it's antlers? It has about twelve tines. In March or April, it'll shed those beauties and in the summer, it's brown coat will change to a charming red. Shame that someone will have to hunt it sooner or later."

Emma watched the stag. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of it being hunted through the wild moors. "You won't kill it now, will you?" she asked, worriedly.

"Well, the season is still open for stalking," Mrs. Kinnaird said. "But we won't kill it today. It lives another day." She gave an a.s.suring smile. "Theodore is the head stalker for the estate but he hasn't brought his gun with him."

Emma glanced over at the loyal butler. He was still hidden behind the rock, observing the stag closely. She gave a small relieving sigh when she saw that he indeed didn't carry a hunting rifle.

Mrs. Kinnaird gave another small chuckle. "Oh, you have so much to learn if you want to live in Skye. Don't worry. We are not as cruel as you think we are, Mrs. Winston. Sometimes we also love to watch and admire these magnificent creatures at a distance."

It was then the stag retreated a step, its eyes startled by a noise. A second later, it turned and dashed back into the winter woods.

Emma watched keenly after it, it's short tail bobbing in the distance.

"It'll come back," said Mrs. Kinnaird, examining her carefully. "They come down from the hills to forage for shrubs below, especially after a heavy snow fall like the ones we've been having these last couple of nights."

A pang of guilt hit Emma again. Two nights ago she had been sitting with Lisa Johnston engaged in gossip about this seemingly harmless but lonely neighbour. So why should she stay away from her? Why, indeed.

The deer was long gone now, probably foraging for food in some other secluded moor on Mrs. Kinnaird's estate.

Emma stepped out from behind the tree. There was a thin drizzle of snow showering about her.

Mrs. Kinnaird struggled to step forward towards her but the heaviness of the snow hindered her posture. Emma immediately leant and steadied her with her arm.

"You shouldn't have been walking in all this snow, Mrs. Kinnaird, " Emma said a little concernedly. "You could hurt yourself."

"Please call me Ethel," said the older woman, letting out a small, croaky cough. "We are well past the pomp and formalities, don't you think?"

Emma smiled. "Only if you call me Emma."

"I think I could settle with that," Ethel Kinnaird answered, once more wrapping her hand around Emma's elbow. "How about getting out of this dampness and toasting to that with a hot cup of black tea?"

Emma smiled, allowing her new friend to lean onto her as they walked towards the large stone mansion, its walls embroidered with bare ivy vines.