Page 27 of Doing No Harm
“Who owns this house?” he asked.
She pointed across the river to the mansion just below the castle ruins. “Lady Telford.” She glanced back at her tearoom. “Matters are well enough in hand there. I like to give Maeve more responsibility. Let us pay a visit on Lady Telford.”
“We will walk slowly, because I want to you explain to me what is wrong with Edgar,” he said, flattered by her concern and knowing her well enough in their brief acquaintance to know that idle moments with Olive Grant were few indeed.
She nodded, and he saw the trouble return to her eyes. She pointed to a stone bench on the other side of the bridge. “We can’t walk that slow, sir. I have such a story for you.”
Chapter 12
What do you know of Scotland?” she asked, after he had wiped wet leaves off the bench and she seated herself.
“A broad question,” he began, smiling a little, until he saw how serious she was. “Not much. I am from East Anglia—Norfolk—and my father was a cooper. I went to sea at twelve years, and my life has been taken up with war ever since.”
She gave him a look of great compassion, which made him wonder if Olive Grant’s role in life was to do battle with all the evil in the world. He knew that was impossible, but something in her expression assured him that she was going to spend her life trying.
“Olive, I am fine,” he assured her.
“No, you are not,” she said just as promptly. “Are you even aware that I have been in your room every night since you arrived and put my hand on your shoulder until you are quiet again?”
He felt his face go hot. “I remember the first night. I do apologize.”
“No need,” she said. “What control can you possiblyhave over your mind when you sleep? Don’t tell me tales, Douglas Bowden. Don’t ever do that.”
He nodded, sufficiently chastened. All the more reason for him to find his own dwelling quickly, no matter how temporary. To his relief, she plunged immediately into the story he wanted.
“Have you at least heard of the Clearance?” she asked, turning slightly on the bench to give him her entire attention.
“Vaguely,” he began, not a little embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. “Something about landowners far to the north of your country changing from cattle to raising to sheep? It sounds simple enough.”
“Who tended those cattle?” she questioned.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, chagrined at his ignorance. “I obviously know more about splinting legs than I do about Scotland.”
“For centuries, the Highland clan chiefs parceled out land, small holdings their people rented, to raise cattle and paltry crops. Somehow, through the years, the chiefs came to control the land and kept their own people in near bondage.”
“I didn’t know,” Douglas said.
“No one pays much attention to the poor,” she said. He saw a militant look in her eyes, which told him worlds about her father and his ministry in the Church of Scotland. “Yes, the Highlands were overpopulated, and yes the people were more ignorant than we are here in the Lowlands, but nothing can excuse what happened next. It is still going on, even as we sit here.”
A seagull swooped close to the bridge and screamed. Douglas jumped.
“I’ve watched you around sudden noises,” Olive said.
He knew better than to comment. She had him. Between sudden noises and nightmares, she had him.
“It all comes down to power and land,” she continued,not giving him the chance to feel embarrassed. “People in power passed the Enclosure Acts, which drove the crofters off their little holdings entirely. Let us add money to that unholy brew. Sheep make more money than cattle and require only a few shepherds and some dogs to control them.”
She frowned down at her hands then. When she spoke, he heard the tremble in her voice. Whether it was anger or tears he could not tell.
“Some were given a mere week’s notice to vacate their homes. If the people objected or dragged their feet, the houses were burned down, some with people still inside. Or so I have heard.”
Silence. She swallowed a few times. Her voice became so soft that he had to lean closer to hear her.
“The poor folk of the Highland clans were rounded up like their cattle, stuffed into ships, and dumped here in Lowland Scotland. Some were sent to Canada and Australia, whether they wanted to go or not.”
Shocked, he thought through the matter, looking with new eyes on the hovels at the other end of town where no one tended roses or had a cow that gave excellent cream and butter. He thought of the Tavishes and Mrs. Cameron, and the others that flitted around like wraiths, not even seeking his medical help for anything because they had no hope. He had ignored them too.
How to phrase this? Olive obviously belonged to the tending-roses faction of Edgar, the people who had lived here for a century or likely more, modest but comfortable. “I gather that the good people of Edgar were not eager to see their own Scottish brethren from the north dropped on their doorstep,” he commented. “Pardon me, but in Edgar you do have a small pie to divide amongst your own.”
