Page 31 of Heirs and Graces at Highland Hall
‘Photos? Of what?’ Eilidh said, the lilt of her voice indicating she was clearly keen to know more, although the question made Bex nervous. There was no way she could tell her the truth. Not without giving away the issue with the will. So maybe it was better that she hadn’t brought the photos at all.
‘Oh, just of her. I think. When she was younger,’ Bex said, both grateful and embarrassed at how easily the lie had slipped from her lips. ‘I was going to ask her if she wanted them.’
‘That’s so sweet of you, Bex.’ Lorna reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate them whenever you can drop them over.’
‘Right. Yes, of course. You’re right.’ Bex forced a smile to her lips. At some point, when all this came out, her friends would have to learn about everything she’d been keeping from them. Then again, if Kieron did turn out to be the direct heir, maybe none of it would come out at all.
Wanting to change conversation as quickly as possible, she raised her hand to knock on the door, though it swung open before her knuckles had even hit the wood.
‘Come away in. Y’ll freeze tae death out there.’
Bex had only ever seen Moira sitting down before. Always in the corner of the pub, and always with a knitting needle or crochet hook in hand. She didn’t even get up to go to the bar – Bex was fairly sure that she never bought her own drinks anyway – and as such, the sight of her standing upright caused a jolt of surprise. Bex had never assumed she was a big woman, but she also hadn’t realised she was quite so tiny. The old woman, with her grey hair and thick woollen clothes, couldn’t have even reached five feet, yet that didn’t stop the force behind her words. ‘Quick, will ye? I dinnae want the cauld rushin’ in. And tak your shoon off. I dinnae want you draggin’ dirt in.’
Bex did as she was asked, hurriedly removing her shoes and coat, before following the others further into the house.
‘Right, find yourself a seat,’ Moira said in her thick, lilting accent. ‘I’ll be a tick.’
‘This is insane,’ Bex said, wide-eyed, as she took in their surroundings, suddenly understanding why Moira needed so much room. It wasn’t a house. It was a haberdashery. A craftshop. A shrine to all forms of arts, crafts and knitworks. From where Bex was standing, she could see three different types of sewing machine, along with another large white machine with several metal prongs that could have been a torture device, but which she assumed was for knitting or sewing or something similar. There was even enough room to hold classes.
‘I know,’ Eilidh replied, her voice dripping with envy. ‘Look at all these fabrics, threads and laces. And this is only half of it – it all goes upstairs too.’
To the left of the window was a large cabinet filled with different types of yarn, the kind Bex had seen Moira knitting with in the pub, while various half-finished projects were draped over the back of chairs.
‘When my mum realised I liked sewing, she got Moira to give me lessons,’ Eilidh said. ‘Before her arthritis, that woman could whip up a full ballgown in the blink of an eye. Incredible.’
‘But we’re not planning on wearing ballgowns to Burns Night, are we?’ Bex asked. Since sending Lorna the message about her size, she’d not even thought about her dress. Surely Eilidh hadn’t made her a ballgown?
‘No. No ballgowns,’ Eilidh said. ‘I’ve got your dress in my bag. Bear in mind, it definitely needs some work doing on it. Alterations and things. You should probably try it on before we go looking at tartans.’
‘Okay,’ Bex replied, happy to do whatever her friends told her.
‘You can get changed next door,’ Eilidh said, with an authority that told Bex she had been here plenty of times before. ‘Just yell if you need help.’
The room Eilidh had sent her to had a full-length mirror in, and even though the dress was a bit baggy, and the sleeves weren’t finished, Bex could already tell it was going to look fabulous.
Back in the main living area, Moira nodded her approval. ‘Grand, so it is,’ she said with a wrinkled smile. ‘Right then. Let’s find a tartan tae go wi’ it. What colours dae ye like?’
‘Maybe something red?’ Eilidh suggested.
‘I’m more of a blue person,’ Bex said.
‘Blue? Well, there’s a nice one from Glen Orchy. Oh, or the Fife tartan has a lovely blue.’ Moira shuffled around and headed over to a large blanket box beneath one of the sewing machines.
‘You do know all the tartans are from different districts, don’t you?’ Lorna said as she fingered through a pile of silk fabrics.
Bex raised an eyebrow. ‘Are they? I never really thought about it.’
‘Folk usually wear the tartan of their district,’ Moira explained. ‘But nae one’s gonna mind if you wear something different.’
Moira rummaged through a stack and pulled out a vibrant red tartan. ‘This is the Fife. What do you think?’
Bex slung it over her shoulder, but hesitated. It wasn’t that it wasn’t pretty. It just wasn’t quite right. ‘Do you have something purple?’ she asked, suddenly keen to see another colour.
‘Purple?’ Moira’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, the Longniddry tartan. Nowthat’sspecial. Real special. Let me dig it out for ye.’
After a quick search, she brought out a beautiful tartan in shades of purple and light blue.
‘That’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Bex said, running her fingers over the fabric.
