Page 79 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

“Three years, but I left in April. That’s why I opened the crockery shop.” When Ophelia raised her brows in an enquiring manner, I smiled. “It’s a bit of a long story. Remind me to tell you about it next time.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will!”

It was only when Ophelia turned a few more of the pages that we both stopped.

We stared down at Annabel’s capital-lettered heading before scanning the scribbled paragraphs that followed.

We swapped wide-eyed stares and read on.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

This particular section was headed LIST OF STAFF EMPLOYED AT CASTLE MARRIAN.

I pointed to the entries and both Ophelia and I began to read her late sister’s account, the notebook flipped open between us, under the cosy flicker of her sitting-room lamps.

From what I have read during my initial research, the Gray family seemed to have a revolving door policy when it came to employing staff.

These are just a selection of the names I have encountered, having been employed at the Grays’ residence:

Oliver Barmwell – Stable Hand – July 1899 – December 1899

Angus Cairns – Head Gardener – June 1899 – September 1899

Charlotte Evans – Kitchen Maid – June 1899 – February 1900

Briar Forsyth – Scullery Maid – July 1899 – March 1900

My finger began to jab at that entry. “Oh my God! Ophelia! Look!”

Ophelia reached towards her white spectacle case on the table beside her. “Hang on a second. Annabel’s writing is a little scribbled here. Let me put on my reading glasses.”

She slipped on a pair of fetching gold and white spectacles and followed my excited finger. “Oh, my goodness! Briar Forsyth. There can’t have been many ladies around here with a name like that.”

“And look at the month Annabel has listed for Briar Forsyth ending her employment at Castle Marrian: March 1900.” I recalled the date Briar had written that letter to Jonathan Gray was 31st March 1900.

Ophelia swiped off her reading glasses and waggled them. “That’s if that cretin Jonathan Gray didn’t have a hand in ending her employment for her.” She let out a long, slow breath. “Goodness. I think we finally might be getting somewhere with all of this.” Then she frowned down at her late sister’s handwritten scribbles. “From what Annabel has documented here, Briar Forsyth was only employed with them for a matter of months as a scullery maid.”

As if pre-empting what she was about to say, I nodded. “And that was a very familiar and impassioned tone Briar Forsyth used when writing to the son of her employers.”

Ophelia set down her reading glasses on the table and gave a decisive clap of her freckled, long-fingered hands. “Exactly. So now we just need to know what the connection is between Jonathan Gray and Briar Forsyth and where that tea set comes in.”

She pulled a relieved face. “Thank goodness my great-aunt had the good sense to leave that man.”

She gestured to the few more notebooks nestled at the bottom of the cardboard box. “Tomorrow, I can continue…” Her expressive face collapsed as a thought came to her. “Oh bugger! I was going to say I could do some more reading of this lot, but I’d forgotten my son, daughter-in-law and my two little grandsons are coming up from the Lakes for a few days.”

I held up one hand, halting her concern. “Don’t worry about that. Would you have any objections to me taking these home with me? I can continue to look through them over the next few evenings.”

Ophelia shone with appreciation. “Oh, Sophie, are you sure? I love Jamie and Logan to bits, but they are only six and four and, going by previous experience, I’ll be lucky if I have time to go to the bathroom, let alone sit for a few minutes to look anywhere near any of this.”

I laughed and dismissed her apology. “No need to explain. I will take good care of these and providing tomorrow isn’t a hectic Saturday in the shop and I have the energy, I’ll continue looking through more of Annabel’s research tomorrow night.”

I slapped my hands down on my summery white trousers. “Right. I had better call a taxi now, otherwise I’ll be nodding off on your sofa.”

As it turned out, Saturday evolved from a steady morning at The Cup That Cheers into a hectic afternoon. There were a couple of local families bringing in friends to see the shop straight after lunch, which resulted in a few sales, followed by a coach load of Italian tourists.

They meandered around in awe, advancing on the shelves and flitting from one teapot to another, one tea set to another, deliberating and agonising over what they would buy. A few of them then darted back outside the shop, to take pictures of the shop window.

Once we had waved them all off with an effusive “Grazie” and “Ciao”, Cass and I slumped into our chairs behind the counter.