Jenny Telfer Chaplin (11 page)

Chapter Six

The business partnership with Dr Orr now in its third year was going well. Locals now referred to their GPs as the Old Doctor and the Young Doctor without any need for surnames.

Elenor worked from time to time at Clydeview and also helped her Mother cope with the running of Ivylea which thanks to much painting, papering and general refurbishment was now, if anything, even more elegant.

Mrs Cooper had initially been overwhelmed with the idea of living in ‘the big house’.

“What on earth would we do with all those rooms, Archie?” she said. “We’d be like two peas rattling about in an empty can.”

“Why not a guest house, Mum? You ran the place fine when Miss Patten had her Spooky Weekends, didn’t you? I’m sure many a person would pay good money for a stay in such delightful surroundings.”

“Yes ... we’d need a cook and two, maybe three, girls everyday. Yes, it has possibilities.”

Archie grinned: “Aye, it could do my business a bit of good too. Taking your customers from the ferry to and from the house.”

“We’re not going to call them customers – nothing so common – they’ll be our guests.”

“Call them what you will. One thing to keep in mind: lay down a good wine cellar and keep a plentiful supply of malt – nothing like a good honest whisky to let folk know they’re in Scotland.”

“No doubt you’ll be a regular at the bar, Archie.” Elenor laughed. “And after my years in Africa I’ve been known to indulge in the occasional gin myself.”

Mrs Cooper’s lips tightened. “Yes, I had noticed. Anyway, there will be no bar area, no wine, no gin, and no whisky, malt or otherwise.”

Archie interrupted: “What are you havering on about, woman? What kind of hotel is that supposed to be?”

“I believe it’s called a temperance hotel. Such establishments are not unknown.”

“A temperance hotel!
Have you taken leave of your senses? Granny Mutch with her whisky-doctored tea wouldn’t have liked that.”

“True enough, I suppose, but Miss Patten would approve.”

“As I remember she wasn’t above the odd glass of wine herself,” Archie objected.

“But she never served alcohol at any of her weekend gatherings did
she? No, Ivylea Temperance Hotel it will be.”

Despite Archie’s misgivings the Temperance Hotel very quickly established itself as a fashionable holiday resort for ‘Genteel ladies and gentlemen’.

Archie, when he felt the need, could join his stepdaughter and her husband at Stable Cottage for a drink and the guests would be none-the-wiser. Life continued smoothly for a few years until one morning after most of the guests had left after a very busy Easter weekend.

Elenor was making her way from Stable Cottage to the big house to help in the clean-up when Lizzie, the kitchen maid, ran towards her from the rear of the building.

“Elenor!
Come quickly. Mr Cooper’s ill. Ah’ve been sent for the Doctor.”

“Right, Lizzie. Run to our cottage as fast as you can. You should still be in time to catch the Doctor before he sets out on his rounds.”

The kitchen was in chaos. There was no sign of Elenor’s Mother. The cook was attempting to do half-a-dozen things at the same time. A young waitress had just dropped a tray of breakfast plates. Just pausing long enough to confirm with Mrs Semple, the cook, that she and the waitress could attend to the remaining guests, Elenor hurried upstairs.

“It’s Archie,” her Mother said on seeing Elenor. “He’s been taken bad. He was fine last night, in good form, tired, yes, after a busy weekend but ...”

Rory arrived quickly and after a quick examination said: “He’s had a stroke. I’ll get him into the hospital. It’s early days yet. With any luck he’ll pull through, but he may never be completely right again. He might well be a changed man.”

After his return from the local hospital Archie was indeed a changed man. Previously a robust Scot fully in charge of his business and his life, Archie now resembled a spoiled petted child. His day was ruined if his wife neglected to cut up the meal set before him immediately it was served.

“It’s not only his day that’s a disaster,” Elenor complained to Rory. “He’s got my mother running ragged over him.”

“Yes, dear. Given your Mother’s age, she’ll have to be careful too.”

Elenor tutted with exasperation.
“Tried telling her that have you, Rory?”

He laughed. “You know as well as I do nobody tells your Mother anything in the way of advice.
Least of all where her beloved Archie is concerned.”

“You’re preaching to the converted. She nearly bit my head off when I suggested – on your advice – that instead of concentrating on what he could no longer do, he’d be better to persevere with those tasks he could still do for himself.”

Rory sighed. “Did you mention making a fresh cup of tea?”

Getting to her feet Elenor frowned. “Next time I think I’ll come back as a man. It’s a man’s world.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in all that many-lives-in-one-soul theory.”

“I’m not about to get into any such discussion right now. I’ve a bone to pick with you. You’re maybe not such a competent doctor as you think – early menopause you said? Ever heard of ‘a change of life baby’?”

Rory stared at her. “You saw Doctor Malcolm this afternoon ...”

“Yes, I’m pushing forty – change of life
be damned. After all these years, the disappointments ...”

Rory hugged her then sat her back down in an armchair. “Just you sit there, dear. I’ll get us a fresh pot of tea.”

Elenor giggled. “I think I could get to like this. So, as you often say, ‘While you’re on your feet anyway what about a buttered scone?’”

Rory waved a mock-admonitory finger at her. “Don’t overplay your hand. Anyway, as a doctor I don’t ascribe to the notion of eating for two. Just wait
‘til  our mothers hear this news. They’ve despaired of ever becoming grannies. I tell you now our baby will be the most pampered child in Scotland.”

Chapter Seven

In the event, Elenor made up for her barren years. Twin boys Craig and Ross arrived to the delight of the grandparents.

The years fled past and with Craig off to Glasgow to study medicine and Ross just a year short of becoming a journey-man joiner, Elenor’s thoughts turned to what to do with Ivylea.

Now there was just herself, Rory and Ross living in the big house. Certainly, Rory used two downstairs rooms for his surgery, but the house seemed empty and a bit forlorn. Even approaching sixty, as she was, Elenor still felt the need to utilise her surplus energy.

Clydeview, the residential home for cripple children and city children in need of a holiday to recover from illness was about to close. The fund left so long ago to support it ‘in perpetuity’ had been deemed more than sufficient at the time but rising costs and wages had eroded it badly over the years. Some locals suspected mismanagement of the fund had precipitated the crisis.

Elenor had been brooding over the closure remembering the many happy hours she had spent ‘helping out’ there in the past and raised the subject one evening over dinner.

“Odd you should bring that up right now,” Rory said. “I was going to talk to you about an idea I had, maybe over a glass or two later. But now is as good a time as any.

“We have the house free and clear; you still have Miss Patten’s Trust money that was to be used to set up a home for needy children and in any case even without it we’re not poverty stricken.”

Elenor laughed. “A poor doctor! That would be a first. But I know where you’re going with this. Move Clydeview kids over here.”

“Got it in one,” Rory said. “There’ll be some legal hoops to go through. But I’m the Doctor-of-Record for Clydeview anyway. The house itself can be sold and the proceeds added to what’s left of the Fund and the income from that will help us out with some of the expenses. Stable Cottage is empty right now so I can move my surgery over there and that clears the two big downstairs rooms for use with the children.”

“Yes! Yes, let’s do it.”

The legal procedures seemed to go on forever but finally everything was resolved.

In Ivylea, two large wards were created from four of the smaller bedrooms upstairs, the conservatory overlooking the garden became a children’s playroom, the morning room became a four-bed ward for children using a wheelchair or crutches and furniture from Clydeview was moved in.

Moving day was chaotic but finally everyone was in and settled. Ivylea was full of noise and happy laughter.

Yes, Rory thought, this has been a good decision for all concerned. I’m sure Miss Patten would have approved.

The Halloween Party had been a riotous success with all the traditional elements. Towards the end in an attempt to calm everyone down a little Elenor decreed a ceilidh in which everyone, even ‘old’ Doctor Kennedy, was to do his or her party piece. When only one boy was left who had not performed, Elenor announced: “Right then, Tommy, let’s be having you.”

Tommy got to his feet and moved slowly and purposefully to the centre of the crowded room. He looked round the group and in a surprisingly deep growly voice said: “Ah’m going to tell a story – a true story. One which can only be told once a year in Ivylea on Halloween, the night when ghosties and goulies roam the earth.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence, then some ‘Ohs’ and ‘Ahs’ and nervous giggles from one of the girls. Elenor simply raised her eyebrows. Rory stepped forward as though about to stop Tommy from scaring everyone with his ghost story, but Elenor laid
an hand on his arm and shook her head.

At a nod from Elenor, Tommy cocked his head to one side as though listening to someone standing beside him and cleared his throat.

“It all started when Ah left Glasgow and came to this big old house. Ah’d never saw a ghost before, and Ah was scared oota ma wits the first time she appeared in yon upstairs hall.”

He paused for breath. Rory and Elenor glanced at each other,
then Elenor, smiling at Tommy said: “I’m sure this will be a great story, but please don’t make it too scary. We don’t want Doctor Kennedy up crying all night, now do we?”

There was a roar of laughter at the thought of placid Doctor Kennedy crying for his mammy.

The only one who did not laugh was Tommy. He gave Elenor a patronising look.

“Oh, there’s nothing scary about my friend. She’s a lovely, kind lady. She wears beautiful swishy skirts and she let’s me play with her long strings of beads.”

One of the older children gave a snort of derision. “Is that the whole story? Ah don’t think much of that.”

Tommy glared at him. “No, there’s more. She told me messages, so she did. She said her helper Granny Lutch had helped our cook to make a clootie dumplin that wouldn’t just have buttons and china dolls in it but silver threepennies – one for each of us.”

A cheer greeted this announcement and an even louder cheer followed when the door opened and the kitchen helper appeared bearing a tray on which sat a massive steaming clootie dumpling.

Elenor shouted above the din: “Thank you, Tommy for a lovely story.”

Later as Rory and Elenor prepared for bed Rory said: “Just as well neither of us
believe in the supernatural. And thank God you didn’t ask Tommy for the name of his lovely lady. The name of her helper Granny Lutch was close enough for me.”

Elenor settled back against the pillows. “But even you must admit it is strange. He could not possibly have made it all up – right down to that close approximation of Granny Mutch. Don’t forget how Granny Mutch used to make her dumplins for special occasions.”

Rory laughed. “If it’s any sort of comfort to you, I asked cook, as a wee surprise, to make the clootie dumplin to round off the party. Now then, can we get some sleep?”

“You arranged it? It may have been a pleasant surprise for the children, for me it was more of a shock. And anyway ... what about the supply of hidden silver threepenny pieces – how do you explain that?”

“I am not about to go into the realm of spirit gifts. I don’t know how he knew, but the silver hand-outs came from me. According to young Tommy this is now supposed to be an annual event. Let’s wait ‘til  next Halloween and see what happens. Shall we?”

“But I still can’t believe he had all the facts so right.”

“Elenor, please! Leave it. Let’s get some sleep.”

Part Three

Chapter One.

Ivy Kennedy landed from the CalMac ferry just before noon. It was the first time she’d been back in Argyll since the now but dimly remembered days of her early childhood when on very special occasions she had been taken ‘doon the watter’ to visit Ivylea.

So much had happened in the intervening years. Her Dunoon grandparents had died, Ivylea had been sold and the resulting profit shared between her father and his twin brother Ross.

At the thought of what might lie in store for her today Ivy felt a tremor of excitement as she left the pier and boarded a waiting taxi.

“Ardfyne House, please.”

Without comment the driver drove along the shore-hugging road before turning into a tree-lined driveway. The trees grew together overhead making a dark tunnel which turned twice before the car stopped in full daylight before an oaken brass-studded door.

As she got out, Ivy shivered. The strangest feeling of déjà-vu overwhelmed her. In the most casual voice she could manage, she said: “You’re sure you took the right driveway? You know there was a very similar entrance back a bit, you know.”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, it was Ardfyne House you asked for. This is Ardfyne House.”

Ivy glared at the driver. “This is not Ardfyne House.”

He gave a ‘tut’ of annoyance. “What is it with you, lady? Are you trying to hitch a free ride?”

Ivy bit her lower lip, thinking: I have been here before. I just know it. And that’s not what it’s called.

Before she could speak again, the driver, red in the face, said: “Listen, lady. Are you going to pay the fare or not? Would you rather we drove down to the police station?”

At this ultimatum, Ivy opened her purse and counted out the money. Against her better judgement, and from habit, included a reasonable tip.

Somewhat mollified, the driver, as he made to drive off, said: “If you’re all that bothered about names why not ask the owner what this place was called before he bought it and turned it into a hotel. It’s been Ardfyne House Hotel ever since I was just a wee laddie.”

Ivy turned to the door and thought: I don’t need to ask the owner and look like an idiot. I know its previous name. My father loved the place so much he even called me after it.”

She tugged the bell-pull and the sound echoed through the corridors. When no-one answered her summons, she frowned.

It isn’t as if I’m not expected. I did make an appointment and I’m right on
time.

Ivy tried the bell for a third time.

If no one answers this time – that’s it! I’m not hanging about here all day. I’ll count to five then go.

Secretly, Ivy hoped there would be no response as she was now reviewing the mental image she had created of the man she had come to interview. On her count of four and with Ivy poised for flight, the door opened. There before her, with a welcoming smile on his face, stood not the warlock of her imagination draped in long flowing garments and hanging with amulets, but a handsome man in well-pressed slacks, a polo-neck sweater and expensive-looking, Italian, leather loafers.

“Come in, my dear, come in. Sorry about the delay. I was at the back of the house and my housekeeper was up to the elbows in flour. Welcome to Ardfyne.”

As Ivy stepped into the hall she thought she heard her host murmur something.

Turning to face him she said: “Sorry I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

They stopped in the dimness and his voice chuckling with almost boyish glee, he said: “Perhaps I should have said welcome back to Ivylea. Rather more accurate don’t you think? Not only have you been here before but your name was the name of this lovely old house.”

Ivy gasped. About to turn tail and flee his next words stopped her.

“Do come into the drawing room, Miss Kennedy. There is someone waiting to see you. She’s been here all morning – your paternal grandmother.”

As Ivy allowed herself to be shown into the room she felt as if she had entered a time capsule. The setting was in the style of the Victorian age with rather overblown ornamentation.

“I can’t think what you’re on about, Mr McCaffrey. Both my grandmothers are dead and gone many years ago.”

“I expect you could do with a cup of coffee now – sooner rather than later.” And so saying he turned on his heel.

Left to her own thoughts Ivy reflected: So much for coming to interview this guy – this so-called psychic medium. What a staged performance! Even a trained parrot could be taught to say, ‘Your Granny’s here.’

She relaxed against the velvet cushions at her back then a disturbing thought came to mind. He did tell me I’d been here before, didn’t he? ... No! I’ll not let myself be brainwashed this way. A bit of homework on his part, I suppose, or even he could have heard my dispute with the taxi driver and put two and two together.

Having made the effort to come from Glasgow to interview Mr McCaffrey, Ivy decided she might as well enjoy the experience. There was the luxurious ambience of the house, the novelty of being in the company of a man with such film-star good looks, and she might even enjoy a spot of harmless flirtation – especially with her divorce still being rather raw.

Yes, she thought, I can play him at his own game. Psychic, my foot. Probably all a massive con – good for business. Tell people the hotel is haunted and you’ll have guests queuing up to book in. So far the only thing he has predicted is that he’ll be serving me coffee in this room.

Mr McCaffrey re-entered with a tray which he placed on the table in front of the marble fireplace.

“I’ve asked my housekeeper, Mrs Muir, to join us shortly when I’ll do a spot of trancing.”

Trancing! Ivy thought. Chancing more like. Here we go. No doubt his housekeeper has to be on hand to help with setting the scene – spooky lights, elevating tables.
Weird noises. Oh boy, I’m really going to get one hell of an article out of this. My editor will love it.

But aloud she said: “I’ve never seen trance. It sounds an interesting concept.”

If he had heard her, he totally ignored her comment and said: “Earlier I mentioned your Grandmother is here. She’s telling me ... your divorce was meant to be. He, your ex-husband, Alec, was holding you back ... a burden to you.”

On her journey back to Glasgow Ivy kept reviewing the events of the day in her head. The trancing in broad daylight; the visit with her Grandmother.

Just wait till I tell Dad about that little lot. He, a doctor, even more than most people knows that dead is dead – exactly that. Yet here’s his dear-departed mother floating about her old home in Dunoon delivering messages like some busy local postie.

Ivy frowned. But it was weird. How did that medium know about my divorce? How could he know my husband’s name? Best of all how could he possibly know Alec was a waste of space? Yes, Mr Bill McCaffrey, spirit friend, or whoever or whatever came up with the goods, Alec sure was holding me back. In every way – emotionally, financially, socially. God alone knows how, but they certainly got that right.