Fields of Blue Flax
Read Fields of Blue Flax Online
Authors: Sue Lawrence
Fields of
Blue Flax
Sue Lawrence
First published 2015
Freight Books
49-53 Virginia Street
Glasgow, G1 1TS
Copyright © Sue Lawrence 2015
The moral right of Sue Lawrence to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without either prior permission in writing from the publisher or by licence, permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1P 0LP.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-910449-10-3
eISBN 978-1-910449-11-0
Typeset by Freight
Printed and bound by Bell and Bain, Glasgow
Sue Lawrence was born in Dundee but lived and went to school in Edinburgh, before returning to Dundee to study French at university. She then trained as a journalist with DC Thomson.
Having taken time off her career when, with her pilot husband, they lived in many different places – and her three children were small – she took up writing again after winning BBC Masterchef in 1991. She was cookery columnist for
the Sunday Times
then
Scotland on Sunday
and also wrote for several magazines and appeared regularly on TV and radio.
She won a Glenfiddich Food and Drink Award in 2003 and two Guild of Food Writers Awards, in 1998 and 2001. She was President of the Guild of Food Writers from 2004 – 2008.
She is author of 14 cook books, including Sue Lawrence’s
Book of Baking
,
Scots Cooking
and
A Cook’s Tour of Scotland
.
For my family, with love
Contents
Prologue
She strode over the bed of wet greenery towards the glade, pausing to bend down and rub a leaf between her fingers. Wrinkling her nose at the distinct smell of wild garlic, she straightened up and made for the gap between the trees. There, she stopped to look around. All was still and calm; not even the chirrup of birds disturbed the air. Perhaps they too were hiding in the spring mist.
She glanced at the blanket of white ramson flowers all around, their beauty belying their pungent aroma. Though their leaves strongly resembled lily of the valley, the vital difference between the two was life and death, one deadlier than arsenic.
Then she heard him approach, his footsteps soft on the damp vegetation. He checked he was alone then came to stand before her. Smiling, he looked at her, then extended his hand in front of him, showing the way. Together they walked, her skirt swishing against the wet shrubs, towards the cottage. He took the key from his pocket and looked at her again, his head tilted to one side. She nodded as he pushed open the door and they both stepped inside.
As he pulled the door shut, another figure emerged from the wood into the clearing. Tall, lean and dressed in black, he picked his way nimbly over the moist weeds and clambered over the gnarled roots of the hazel trees. He took out a large handkerchief to mask a sneeze then pushed the cloth back, deep into his pocket. Standing still, he merged
with the dark, knotted trunks all around. He cupped his hand round his ear, listening. But the only sound was the rustle of leaves on the trees, their lofty branches swaying in the breeze.
A couple of hours later, the door creaked open. She looked out, then darted back inside, leaving the door ajar. A curtain was tugged open in the front room then she stepped once more onto the doorstep. As she closed the door quietly behind her, her expression changed. Once sombre, her eyes were now keen and a smile played on her lips. She hurried away from the cottage as if with a new sense of purpose.
Chapter 1
2014
‘That a new ring, Mags?’
‘This? No, it was Granny’s.’
Christine snatched at her cousin’s hand and stared at the garnet and gold ring. ‘So how come you’ve got it?’
Mags pulled the ring off her finger. ‘Here, you can have it if you want.’
‘Don’t be daft, I was just asking why you’ve got it.’
‘Mum can’t get it on her finger any more, her arthritis is playing up.’
‘Poor Auntie Peggy,’ said Christine, still staring at the ring in Mags’s palm.
‘It’ll go eventually to one of our girls, don’t worry, Chris.’ Mags grinned and put it back on.
Christine bristled. ‘Of course it will, sorry, that makes me seem grabbing.’
‘It’s not exactly a family heirloom, garnets aren’t worth that much, but I really like it.’ Mags smiled as she held it up to the light.
‘Talking of family, I’ve got a favour to ask.’ Christine took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘You know I’ve been wanting to do this for ages, but I just thought, while Dad and your mum are still with us, we ought to ask them stuff about the family history.’
‘Why?’ Mags scooped the foam from the top of her mug and sucked it from the spoon.
‘I thought it might be interesting. If we knew a bit more about their parents, our grandparents, we could go into
Register House and research even further back.’
‘You been teaching family trees at school, Chris?’
Christine grinned. ‘You know me too well. Yes. So what do you reckon?’
‘Sounds as dull as dishwater to me but I can always chum you. As long as there’s plenty stops for coffee and chat.’
‘Of course there will.’
‘Have you got the death certificate?’ asked Christine.
Aunt Peggy nodded and heaved herself up from her armchair. Once upright she looked down at her knees, as if willing them to work. She fumbled for the spectacles dangling round her neck on a chain and shuffled towards the table.
She peered down. ‘Here it is, sweetheart.’ Her hand, dappled with liver spots, rested on a large brown envelope. On the front, scrawled in black marker pen in large capital letters was, “Duncan – Death”.
‘It’s in here. I’ve got Grandpa’s too but you just want Granny Duncan’s, do you?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Auntie Peggy.’
Christine had taken her father, Charlie, to see his sister in her house in Leith so she could ask them both about the family. The death certificate Auntie Peggy had just handed over was that of Christine’s great-grandmother, known as Granny Duncan.
‘I don’t know why you’re interested in the Duncans, Christine,’ said Auntie Peggy, settling herself back into the pile of cushions in her armchair. ‘I don’t think there’s anything other than mundane about them all. As far as I know, they’re all from Dundee and…’
‘No, Peggy, some of them were from a farming place to
the north, can you not remember?’ Charlie interrupted.
‘Well, Mum had a McLauchlin cousin who lived in Kirriemuir but we know her other relatives were all from Dundee. The Duncan family shop goes back to the late nineteenth century, they were all involved in that, remember?’ Auntie Peggy looked at her niece. ‘The Duncans have been Dundonians for generations, I’m absolutely sure of it.’
‘Thanks, that’ll make it easy for me when I start looking them up.’ Christine eased the envelope into her handbag. ‘So, can you remember your Duncan grandparents?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Auntie Peggy, her weathered face wrinkling into a smile. ‘Grandpa Duncan was a gentle, kind man. I used to love sitting on his lap when I was little – he always smelled of pipe tobacco, he was forever puffing away on it.’ She laughed. ‘Can you imagine nowadays, a child being allowed to inhale pipe smoke like that?’
Christine smiled and turned to her father, sitting beside her on the well-worn sofa, his scrawny frame hunched into the curves of the cushions. He seemed lost in thought and she momentarily felt a pang of sadness as she gazed at the strong jaw and rheumy eyes; his lack of interaction and forgetfulness was becoming a worry, she really ought to take him to the GP for those dementia tests.
‘But Granny Duncan, she was the opposite. We were scared of her as wee ones.’ Peggy continued. ‘I seem to remember she never hugged us, yet Grandpa was always one for a cuddle, strange really.’
‘Well, if there’s anything else you can tell me, it’s useful to have as much information as possible before I go to Register House,’ said Christine. ‘I’ve persuaded Mags to join me.’
‘Well, good luck with that, sweetheart. She’ll be more interested in the coffee breaks than the research. Your cousin’s never been one to dwell on the past, she’s more of a now girl, isn’t she?’
Charlie opened his mouth then shut it again. He scratched his chin, frowned, and turned to his sister. ‘Peggy, can you not remember something about a family secret. It came to me just now while Christine was talking, but I can’t quite remember.’
‘I think I’d have remembered if there was anything vaguely juicy about anyone in our family. No, you’re imagining things, Charlie.’