Page 78 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

I straightened my back. ‘So, I wondered whether that could be put right now? And it could mean financial help for The Ramblings.’

‘In what way?’ questioned Evan. His brows were even more intimidating than before.

I sat forward, pinning my attention back on his parents as I ran one hand over the top of the journal. ‘I thought that perhaps you could have a tour of The Ramblings – stage it regularly, say, three times a week. You’d welcome in the general public and tell the story of Florence.’

The three of them exchanged glances. Louise’s mouth popped open.

Bennett looked awkward. ‘Forgive me, Daisy, but what happened to Florence Menzies became a stain on our family reputation. Like we just said, it’s not something we tend to brag about.’

‘Exactly,’ I parried back, returning my attention to a thoughtful Alison. ‘This way, you’re acknowledging what happened all those years ago, and you’re also giving a voice to Florence.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Evan, studying me.

‘She wanted to become an actress,’ broke in Louise. ‘I’ve read my father’s notes. But because she didn’t have the right connections, and because of being blamed for that theft, her life took a different and tragic path.’ She hesitated. ‘Turns out, years later, that the damned vase was accidentally broken by one of the gardeners, Ernest Pugh, but he wouldn’t confess to it at the time in case he lost his job. So he concealed the broken pieces, and poor Florence got the blame for stealing it.’ She glanced over at Bennett. ‘Your late great-grandmother noticed Florence with a little extra money, which she’d earned from shining shoes in the market, but she put two and two together and came up with five.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘Did this Ernest Pugh ever admit to it?’

‘Aye. According to Dad’s notes, he did years later in a drunken stupor in the pub, but by then poor Florence had passed away.’ Her expression grew more determined. ‘Maybe some people round here do know about her story and what happened to her. Others won’t.’

I turned to Alison and Bennett again. Every so often, their attention drifted to the journal in my lap.

‘If you were to hold a regular tour of The Ramblings and have someone portray Florence, you’re telling her story and bringing everything out into the open.’

The Lords didn’t look convinced.

Undeterred, Louise picked up the mantle. ‘Florence lived and worked here for a few years before things took an unfortunate turn. The Ramblings was a big part of her life.’

‘That’s right.’ I paused. ‘In a way, this guided tour would be honouring her memory.’

‘And profiting from it,’ murmured Bennett, looking uncomfortable.

‘Like I said, you could also make a donation from the tour profits, towards a charity of your choosing.’ Another idea pinged in my head. ‘Or you could establish a new charity in Florence’s name.’

Evan let out a gruff snort, but there was no denying the sudden sparkle in his Bourneville eyes. His voice carried a hint of admiration. ‘You’ve given this a lot of thought, Daisy. But who would pull her story together? I’m a journalist, not an author.’

I eyed him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be so hard to do. If Louise can supply any more of her dad’s notes, we can pull together a script. I’m not proclaiming to be Hollywood standard, but I did do a course in script writing.’ I gave him a look. ‘And you’re a journalist. Together, we can pull a script together. Then we can start recruiting local actors to play the roles.’

Bravery nipped at me. ‘Don’t worry, Evan. I’ll issue the orders, and you just have to do as you’re told.’

Alison, Bennett and Louise swapped knowing smiles.

Evan angled one brow suggestively at me.

I concentrated again, reminding myself why I was having this conversation.

‘We just have to use a little bit of creative licence if need be.’ My mouth twitched. ‘Like I said, you’re a journalist. Surely you’re used to doing that.’

Evan pulled a sarcastic face. ‘Very funny.’

I knew I was trying to goad him, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Or are you trying to find an excuse not to be involved in making this happen, Evan? Think you aren’t up to it?’

Evan stared me down. ‘If that’s what you think, then you don’t know me very well.’

The steely, hard look in his eyes made me whip my head away.

‘Come on you two,’ cajoled Alison. She steepled her hands together again on top of the desk. ‘So, how would this tour work then, Daisy?’

I flicked Evan a brief look of triumph. ‘I know someone – a teenage girl whom I met the other day when I accompanied you to the high school. She’s an amazing little actor. I saw her perform some Shakespeare.’