Page 77 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Chapter Sixteen

Evan had dropped by the study and was talking to his mother and father. Louise had also appeared by the time I drew up in the open doorway.

After a moment, the four of them sensed me loitering there, and their conversation screeched to a halt.

I was determined to ignore Evan’s muscles straining under his lemon T-shirt.

I drilled my attention on Alison, who was seated behind the desk, and Bennett, who was standing on her right. I pushed out a courteous but rather anxious smile.

Oh God. Was this idea crazy? Maybe it was. But surely it was worth a shot? I clutched the journal to my chest.

Louise spotted it, and her brows shot up.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’

‘No, it’s fine, Daisy,’ replied Alison.

I was aware of Evan’s gaze on me.

‘What can we do for you?’ asked Bennett.

I took a couple of faltering steps into the study. ‘I’ve been thinking about ways that you might be able to drum up some more financial support for The Ramblings.’

Evan’s brows arched, but I carried on. ‘Look, please tell me if this is none of my business, but this is such a gorgeous old house, and you might be able to draw on its history to your advantage.’

Bennett looked intrigued. ‘In what way?’

‘Well, have you heard the name Florence Menzies?’

Bennett’s jaw grew tight. He looked like someone had just trodden over his grave. ‘Someone’s been busy with their research.’

‘Who’s Florence Menzies?’ asked Evan, confused.

Alison and Bennett exchanged glances. ‘This isn’t something my family’s proud of,’ stated Bennett after a few moments. ‘Even after all these years. What happened to poor Florence. We don’t talk about it. Cowardly I know, but the shame of what happened never left us.’

Evan’s expression darkened. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Dad.’

Louise interjected. ‘She was a young woman who worked here in the early 1900s and was blamed for stealing a vase. Poor girl was sacked, but she was innocent. She died just a few years later, aged just eighteen.’

Alison pushed some ash-coloured hair back behind one ear and swivelled her attention back on me. ‘What happened to that poor young woman was tragic and avoidable, but the people round here don’t seem to remember what happened, because the Menzies family left Forrest Bank not long after Florence passed away.’

‘Well, can you blame them?’ ground out Bennett. ‘They’d lost one of their own at a tragically young age, and she’d been blamed by my great-grandparents for stealing something when she hadn’t.’ He puffed out some air. ‘The law wouldn’t have been on her side, no matter what. All that mattered in those times was how much money you had and who you were related to.’

Alison chewed her lip. ‘She was a hard-working, innocent, young soul but she wasn’t allowed her own voice.’

Bennett swung round to Louise. ‘And you knew about Florence’s story, but you never said anything?’

Louise coloured. ‘I didn’t think it was my place to. My father was a keen amateur historian and found out about it years ago.’

I eyed everyone. ‘And that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about.’ I raised the journal. ‘This is part of Louise’s dad’s research.’

A puzzled look settled on Alison’s face. ‘Oh?’ She gestured to me. ‘Please. Sit down.’

Evan and his father adopted similar poses either side of Alison and Louise as I settled myself in the chair. I kept the journal on my lap.

I flicked Evan a brief glance. Didn’t he have some pressing article he had to write? Or a dodgy businessman to expose? It was rather off-putting, him looming there.

I took a little breath and returned my gaze to his parents. ‘It sounds tragic what happened to Florence and the circumstances surrounding her.’ I hesitated. I had to choose my words carefully, as this was a delicate subject for the family. ‘And you said just now, Alison, about Florence not having her own voice.’