Page 11 of Christmas Wore Plaid

“It was a long time ago,” he grumbled. “Things have changed.”

“Considering you’re still standing here like a bloody fencepost, I’d say things haven’t changed as much as you think.”

Brady shook his head and pushed past the man, ducking beneath the lintel into the tavern. Clearly the man was in his cups already. And the day was barely past noon.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

The thought flitted to mind as he leaned upon the counter and requested a mug of liquid courage. He bloody-well needed courage right about now. He’d jested that verse in simpler times at Emerson’s window after he’d dared to steal a kiss. For weeks he’d dwelled on her lips. Each time they’d passed each other at school, or practiced for the play, they’d share a gaze meant only for each other, as if they were both constantly remembering that night. He’d never told a soul about kissing her for fear it would bring concern down upon her. Given the fact that Clara had never gossiped about it, it would seem Emerson had kept that moment beneath her bonnet, too.

Parting had been nothing but sorrow. The first in a string of sorrows. He’d had a few other kisses over the years; none that meant a damn. But before life had turned grim, when she’d said yes to his proposal, his heart had soared, and he’d been certain he’d need not sample any other’s lips to know happiness. Sweet Emerson, who always touched others with her kindness, had made him the happiest he could be.

He’d caught her on purpose at that Christmas party while playing that ridiculous game, knowing he didn’t dare kiss her beneath the mistletoe in front of the others. But his parents had approved of her and her family’s wealth—now that Brady knew of his sire’s debts, he knew why Emerson’s wealth had been so important. Emerson’s family money was stable and vast, coming from inheritances, business profits and law from her uncle in Oxford whereas his family’s money had always been riskier, based on agriculture. Potatoes had become far too risky in recent years. Crops were unreliable given Scotland’s shortage of lush soil. But wool always sold, as did mutton and beef, just not always for high profit margins. These days, he had to sell for cheap if he wished to outcompete his competitors.

He pulled out a fistful of coins from his traveling purse to give the barman his dues, when his fingers pricked on a different object. Emerson’s hairpin. Scowling, he ignored it and tossed his coins upon the counter. He knocked back his drink, departing without begging another.

Shortly after, he arrived at the constable’s office.

“Ah, Laird MacInnes,” the man said, pushing up from his desk. “Ought you to be at home? Why, it’s the Lord’s day.”

Brady closed the door against the winter breeze, ruffling a stack of parchment.

“Constable,” he acknowledged. “There’s no day of rest at Aberfeldy Manor, as you know.”

The official nodded solemnly. “How did those records fare for you? Did you find your tenant’s grandson?”

Brady pulled the portfolio from his belt and held it out, shaking his head. “A dead end, unfortunately. No lad lived at the house anymore. They’d passed him off to a relative to accompany them to the mainland, and he was too old to have been my tenant’s grandson. Did the rest of the records come in?”

The constable nodded and walked around his desk. “It wasn’t easy to retrieve them, mind, but I did acquire the orphanage’s main files. They’re stacked in those boxes over there. Just delivered yesterday. You’re certain it was a lad?”

“Aye. The prostitute that worked with Colleen mentioned a lad. Colleen’s mother is elderly and distraught. She doesn’t have much time left. I wish to put her mind at ease as soon as possible.”

“Do you know the lad’s age?” the man asked.

“About five years.”

The constable jerked the hem of his waistcoat over his portly belly to tug out the wrinkles, then clopped across the floor to the boxes.

“I mean not to sound callous, Laird MacInnes,” the constable sighed. “But what are your plans if you find the child? Are you certain Aberfeldy Manor needs another mouth that cannot be fed?”

Brady shook his head. He understood the rationale of the man. Brady was already stretching his purse strings. Adding another person to the tenancy would only make it that much harder for the Widow Thomson to make rents.

“Of course it will burden Colleen’s mother, but she’s desperate to know what became of the child.”

The constable ran his hand over his mouth, thinking. “Ah, who am I to tell a man what to do.” He shook his head and returned to his desk. “Take whatever information you need, my laird.”

Brady nodded and began searching through the boxes for any folder that bore the surname of Thomson. There were only a few. None of them were any relation to Colleen. He sat back in his chair as the metronome of the clock pendulum ticked steadily, filling the silence. An hour had passed, when he spoke again and interrupted the constable’s tea.

“You say most of the bairns were sent to Edinburgh when the orphanage shuttered?”

The constable looked up and cleared his throat after having sat in silence. “Between you and me, some went to Glasgow, too, but many didn’t go anywhere at all. They were just tossed out onto the street, though they were older and deemed fit enough for work.”

Brady’s brow furrowed. “Why tell the town that they were sent to Edinburgh if that isn’t the case?”

The constable cleared his throat again, although this time, Brady could tell it was to buy a moment’s time to form his response.

“The situation was a delicate one,” the constable replied. “Many frowned on the idea of turning them out onto the streets, but the proprietress of the orphanage had her hands bound. The crown ordered the orphanage shut due to inadequate living conditions, though wouldn’t help to finance the repairs they needed. Edinburgh and Glasgow could only take a portion, but had no more vacancies and refused the rest of the children. The town coffers were too slim to pay the fare for them to go south to Carlisle, Newcastle, or York. There was no place for them to go, except to be turned out.”

So the town of Crieff had lied to everyone, telling them one thing, while doing another.