No Man Knows the Day or the Hour
Mid-September 1866 – Dunleven, Scotland
“Oh. My. Dear. God,” each word was moaned separately by Robert Rensselaer, former captain of the United States Union forces.
In the private dining room of the inn at Brig o’ Turk, Scotland, his wife Elizabeth exclaimed, “Merciful Heavens! What’s the matter?” As the captain of a guerilla company, Robert had lost an arm in the American Civil War so she opened his correspondence for him. She’d known his letter was from America and his father was ill, but his reaction to this unexpected letter was not promising. “Is it your father?”
“No, it’s my mother,” he admitted, his sapphire blue eyes showing both dismay and resignation. “She’s coming.” He dropped the letter on the table so he could rub the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his single hand.
“Oh, dear! I’ve been so careful to balance half a dozen positive things and at least one negative thing in every letter so she wouldn’t think I was painting too positive a picture,” Elizabeth fretted. “When will she arrive?”
“Tuesday,” he announced grimly in his deepest bass, switching from rubbing the bridge of his nose to dragging his hand feverishly through his long golden curls.
“Tuesday!” his wife and her twin exclaimed in eerie unison; the contralto and the tenor sounded nearly alike, their identical hazel eyes showed the same alarm. His wife added, “There is no way you can make Callander in a hurry with that ankle.”
“The ankle isn’t the problem,” her injured spouse informed her. He’d had an accident two days previously as they drove the Estate cattle overland from the summer shielings to Callander en route to Stirling to be sold. In the pouring rain, his horse had slipped and gone down forcing him to jump clear, and he’d come down on his ankle badly. It was only because they wanted a real bed for Elizabeth for better rest than she’d find in a tent that they were even in Brig o’ Turk, but he’d been doubly thankful when they reached the inn. “The problem is how on earth are we to get anyone there to meet her?”
“Let me replace your compress.” His wife rose and bustled around the table.
“I can ride ahead,” her twin, James Stewart, offered. He stroked his auburn beard briefly before running his hands through his auburn hair as if to stimulate his planning faculties. This appeared to work as he decided, “They’ll let me leave my horse without cash.” As the Twenty-ninth Earl of Dunleven, he would be recognized in the free town of Callander on the edge of his Estate. “The family rail carriage should already be there so it will take me to Stirling and then to Glasgow.”
“No one can sell the cattle in Stirling without you,” his brother-in-law reminded him. They’d decided to take more cattle than they had orders for to encourage additional orders for next year. But this meant that the final bill of sale would have to be signed by the owner of the cattle, not his representative since they were selling outside the Falkirk Market.
Elizabeth stirred the cloths in the bowl of cold water from the Finglas. Removing the warm cloths from her husband’s sprained ankle, she sighed. She had been in America for the war and had run a Confederate Hospital with the nursing she’d learned to assist with accidents on the Estate. Since her grandfather had all but bankrupted the Estate, they allowed tourists to hunt and once guns were part of the equation, there were bound to be accidents. She was grateful her husband’s injury would not dredge up any traumatic memories; she didn’t need nightmares to disturb her sleep. As she pressed the icy water out of the padded cloths and wrapped them around her spouse’s swollen joint she found a solution. “Sandy,” she told them decisively.
“Sandy?” Dunleven acted as if he’d never heard of their younger brother Alexander. “He’s already in Glasgow, but I don’t know if he can just run off from university.”
“His tutor will let him take a couple of days to go to Liverpool,” Elizabeth sounded confident. “She is arriving in Liverpool?”
Picking the letter up again and glancing at it Robert answered, “Yes. On the Scotia no less.” He, his wife and his brother-in-law had sailed on the Scotia when they’d traveled to Scotland from America just over a year ago.
With a gentle pat on her husband’s abused ankle, Elizabeth sat back down in her chair tiredly. Six years previously, after a foolish argument with her twin – though it had seemed important at the time – Elizabeth had decided to take copies of her father’s divorce settlement papers to her Uncle Phelps in South Carolina to prove he was responsible for his sister Amelia’s debts. Forced to stay with him by the train schedule, he robbed her of her papers and attempted to coerce her into marrying his son, believing this would not only relieve him of his sister’s debts, it would relieve his own desperate financial situation. Having arrived just before the 1860 election, Elizabeth was trapped when the war began. When her Uncle Phelps was elected to the government of the Confederacy, she’d escaped his plans by volunteering at a Confederate Hospital near the battle lines in Virginia. Captain Robert Rensselaer had appeared in the hospital after the Battle of Cold Harbor and saw that she came to Washington D.C. with his men when the hospital was abandoned by the Confederates. They both hoped the Embassy there would help her get home. When the Embassy failed to acknowledge her, four years of the horrors of nursing on the battle lines, where food was scarce, caught up with her; her nerves gave out and she’d collapsed. Robert and his men nursed her as she’d nursed them before Robert had taken her to his parents in New York City. From there, with the aid of his father the Harbor Master, she was at last able to contact her twin through her father’s brother’s Royal Steward Shipping line.
She hated to admit it, but she’d found traveling with the cattle exhausting. She’d thought that after more than a year at home, she was well enough to make the trip, but it had been more of a strain than she anticipated. Feeling no more equal to a mad ride cross-country to meet her mother-in-law than her spouse was, she pressed her point by announcing, “In the morning, we can send Conor to Glasgow by way of Callander to tell Sandy.” The groom needed a night to rest since he had just brought letters all the way from the house sent by the estate manager Mr. Hume.
“If Conor goes to Callander, he can’t take the Captain’s injured horse home,” Dunleven pointed out. “And where, pray tell, can he stow the horse he rode up here on? I’ve barely enough cash to purchase his ticket!” her brother insisted.
“Robert and I have some cash to cover Conor and his horse. He’ll need the horse to get home from Balloch since this information is urgent. We must send help to Uncle Sean’s house,” Elizabeth pointed out. “When we get to Callander, Robert and I can use your presence to get tickets to Glasgow. It will mean leaving you with the cattle, but there’s no doubt Mrs. Rensselaer will be happier in Glasgow at Uncle Sean’s than…”
“That won’t work,” Robert informed her flatly. “She’ll insist on seeing the house where we live.”
There was a long thoughtful silence. “Ride into Aberfoyle,” Dunleven suggested. “Then into Balmaha and around the loch to tell Mama…”
“That’s awfully far to ride when we’ll have an injured horse,” Elizabeth reminded him. “And we can’t leave her here…”
“Ah! I have it,” Dunleven interrupted. “I will ask the innkeeper to keep the horse for a few days. That way I can return to the cattle rather than head straight to Callander. I’ll send Ian Groom down here to nurse her and lead her home.” Seeing how tired his beloved twin was, he suggested, “You and the Captain can journey in stages. Over the Trossachs first, then take the ferry to Stronachlachar. The Trossachs will be a trying day, but you can rest a day before and after taking the ferry. The inns at Katrine and the ferry won’t demand money from you.” The people on Katrine – part of the Estate just as Brig o’ Turk was – would certainly recognize her as the earl’s twin; they’d been able to convincingly change places with one another until they were twelve. Even today, at nearly twenty-seven, they looked nearly exactly alike, differing only in height, length and style of their auburn hair. And Elizabeth, of course, didn’t have a beard.
“Then it’s only about five miles into Inversnaid on horseback.” Elizabeth nodded. “That should work. At Inversnaid, the MacFarlane’s will house us since we always stay there for Harvest.”
“Conor should be home by the time you reach Inversnaid and can send the ship for you,” Dunleven finished the plan.
“Tomorrow is Friday so that puts us home on Wednesday at the earliest, with Mother arriving on Tuesday. I’m sure Sandy can get her to stay at least one night in Liverpool,” Robert said, stroking his golden beard thoughtfully.
“No.” Dunleven shook his head. “Mrs. Rensselaer can stay with Sandy until he comes home on Saturday. You’ll need time to be sure things are ready at home since Mama won’t know exactly how to prepare for the arrival of your mother.”
“If Mrs. Rensselaer is staying in Glasgow for a few days, we’ll need to send at least two servants, a footman and a maid. There’s only the caretaker and his wife at Uncle Sean’s since only Sandy lives there.” Elizabeth looked thoughtful before she suggested, “Rob Footman and Deidre?”
“Excellent. Conor should be home in time to send them to Sandy no later than Monday so they can accompany him to Liverpool,” Dunleven was pleased.
“Deidre will need to stay at Sean’s to help prepare for Robert’s mother,” Elizabeth pointed out. “But Rob Footman can help Sandy in Liverpool.”
“On your way home, be sure to make a list of things your mother will enjoy eating for Mrs. Molly,” Dunleven suggested, remembering that the Captain had mentioned his mother was not fond of some Irish dishes that were a staple at his home with an Irish cook. Mention of cooking and Irish led to sudden concern, so he asked, “She came with Mrs. O’Neil didn’t she?”
Robert returned to the letter. “Yes, Mrs. O’Neil is with her,” he sounded pleased. Mrs. O’Neil had been the family cook-housekeeper nearly all of Robert’s life. After returning home from the war, he realized how much she’d done for him through the years. He looked forward to seeing her.
“I’ll look forward to seeing Mrs. O’Neil,” Elizabeth echoed his pleasure, knowing how close her husband had become to this long-time family retainer; she was a second mother to him.
“Let’s finish eating. I’ll write a note for Mother that Conor can leave with Sandy while Dunleven writes one for Conor to take to Mama and you write and explain this mess to Sandy,” Robert was pleased with this plan.
As with all the plans the trio produced, this one went well.
Up to a point.
Pleased to note he was much more confident since he’d been working with his uncle and his brother-in-law on his social skills, the twenty-year-old Master Sandy chatted to the harbor pilot as they chugged out to the Scotia. The pilot had agreed to take him out to the ship, having taken a liking to the Honorable Mr. Stewart, who knew about ships and engineering. This made the young man feel himself capable of the task before him.
Once aboard, he was taken directly to the Captain. “Good evening, Captain Judkins! I’m the Honorable Alexander Stewart,” he smiled infectiously but got no response out of the captain, who was notorious for being gruff and uncongenial. Thank goodness his sister had warned him! “I need just two things from you, Captain. One is the cabin of Mrs. Frederick Rensselaer, the other is someone to show me your engine. I’ve designed a propeller shaft to improve steering for the Royal Steward Line, and I’m wondering if I can adapt it for use with a paddlewheel. If I could possibly trouble a member of your crew…”
“I’m your man, Mr. Stewart.” One of the crew stepped forward. “Haviland White, Chief Engineer. I’ll introduce you to the passenger steward. He’ll find Mrs. Rensselaer’s cabin for you.”
Thanking the captain, Sandy followed Mr. White off the bridge. The steward was easily located, but long before they found him the engineer was quite impressed; this young sprig of the nobility knew what he was talking about and asked intelligent questions. Having located Mr. Stewart’s passenger, the Chief Engineer escorted him to the cabin.
A knock opened the door to reveal a plump, grey-haired woman. Seeing the two men, she raised her brows. Both doffed their hats. The exceeding tall, auburn-haired one explained in a happy tenor, “Hello, Mrs. Rensselaer! I’m Alexander Stewart, Dunleven’s brother.”
“Kathleen O’Neil,” the woman told him as she gave him a nod.
From behind her, a matronly woman with greying-blond hair rushed toward the doorway and thrust Mrs. O’Neil aside. “Robert’s ill isn’t he? I knew it!” she cried tragically.
“Oh, no!” Sandy reached out and took both her hands in his. “He’s with my sister and brother in some pretty remote country on the Estate.” The Captain’s letter burnt a hole in his pocket, but he decided instantly to suppress it in case it mentioned the sprained ankle. “He rides well enough, but he didn’t want to risk accident to be here in time. The groom told me he received your letter at dinner Thursday so…”
“He’s not here at all?” Her blue, tear-filled eyes overflowed.
Sandy released her hands to give her his handkerchief. He tried to soothe her, “The groom is used to very rough riding. The Captain didn’t want to exhaust Lady Elizabeth and risk hurting himself. We’ll stay here tonight and head to my uncle’s house in Glasgow tomorrow as I’ve got to return to university. I’ll escort you to the house when I go home for the weekend. I’m sure they’ll be there by then,” he sounded cheerful but didn’t feel it.
“Tomorrow is his b-b-b-birthday!” Mrs. Rensselaer wept copiously. No amount of patting, reassurance or apology eased her crying. Unable to stem the tide, Sandy found himself wishing the woman at the bottom of the harbor.
“I told you and told you Master Robert would be much too busy,” Mrs. O’Neil interjected tartly. “Now you’ve made him abandon his job to cross dangerous country and taken a young man out of university because you wouldn’t believe their letters!” she snapped in disgust.
“We’ll leave you to pack,” Sandy hoped he didn’t sound as anxious to get away as he felt. “I’ll meet you on deck.” He withdrew, closing the door behind himself. “That went worse than I expected. I hope her companion can soothe her,” he offered over his embarrassment. Looking at Mr. White, he asked, “Will we see a porter on the way to the engine room?”
“We’ll send a message from there,” the chief engineer assured him.
Sandy rubbed his hands together. “Lead on, Mr. White. Lead on.”
The engineer continued to be impressed with the Honorable Mr. Stewart. They chatted together quite happily until the whistle blew, announcing they were at last docked and ready for disembarkation. The pair strolled casually topside and out onto the deck. “Thank you for your time, Engineer White.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Stewart.” The engineer gave a brief bow.
It was only moments before Sandy found Mrs. Rensselaer looking subdued. Mrs. O’Neil appeared very noncommittal, but it looked as though it took effort to do so. He stifled a sigh. “Ah, the ladies. Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Rensselaer told him dully.
“Sorry, Mrs. Rensselaer! Not such an exalted personage. I’m only an Honorable. Please, just call me Sandy. Let’s find Rob Footman. Whatever protocol there is I’m sure he’ll have wriggled out of someone, and he’ll set us right.”
“Why is he called Rob Footman?” Mrs. O’Neil wondered. “Why not just Rob?”
“With the Captain being named Robert and one of the grooms being Rob already, we need to be able to tell everyone apart. So now we have Robert, Rob Groom, Rob Footman and Robbie Boots. They’re getting to be as bad as the Ians,” Sandy smiled at Mrs. O’Neil who couldn’t help smiling back at him. He offered an arm to Mrs. Rensselaer, then to Mrs. O’Neil’s surprise, he offered the other to her.
Sandy escorted the women off the deck and down the gangplank. Not three paces from the bottom, the auburn-haired Rob Footman stepped forward with a bow. “This way, Master Sandy.”
The footman led them to a small almost shack-like building. While inside, Mrs. Rensselaer wept silently and Rob Footman noticed her puffy eyes betrayed this wasn’t the first time she’d cried recently. The formalities were handled smoothly and they emerged again. Rob Footman informed them, “I took the liberty of sending the luggage to the hotel, Master Sandy, but there wasn’t a spare cab at that time. Please watch over the ladies while I ascertain conveyance for you.”
“Ascertain conveyance?” Sandy laughed. “Remind me to commend you to Munro.”
“As you wish, Master Sandy.” But Rob Footman did look pleased. “Excuse me.”
“I hope you don’t mind a light dinner ending with tea cakes. I’ve already ordered it for our return. I thought you might be hungry and it’s too late for one and too early for the other,” Sandy offered conversationally.
Mrs. Rensselaer stood there in woebegone silence, so Mrs. O’Neil took charge, “Anything you arrange is perfect, Master Sandy.”
“There should be a maid to help you change when we arrive at the hotel,” Sandy assured her.
Efficiently, Rob Footman produced a cab for them. Sandy helped the women into the carriage – Mrs. Rensselaer occasionally dabbing at her still-flowing eyes – then got in himself. When Rob climbed up with the driver, they rolled along the docks and out into Liverpool proper. At the Adelphi Hotel, the footman disappeared as per Master Sandy’s previous orders. Meanwhile, Sandy led the women up one flight of the sweeping stairs and about halfway down the corridor before unlocking and opening a door and ushering them inside. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a room. This is the suite my uncle Sean Stewart recommended. I’ve had them bring in a proper bed for you, Mrs. O’Neil, so you won’t need to share or sleep like a maid on a cot.”
“Very thoughtful, Master Sandy. Thank you.”
“Dinner should be here soon, but don’t feel rushed. I don’t think we need to be formal as I’m sure you don’t have your land legs yet. Make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll see you back here in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Master Sandy,” Mrs. O’Neil hustled the despondent Mrs. Rensselaer from the sitting room.
Sandy escaped to his room on the other side of the sitting room where he found Rob Footman. “Dinner on the way?”
“Yes, Master Sandy,” Rob assured him.
“The Ladyship mentioned disappointment, but I hope we aren’t in for three days of weeping or silence!”
There was no polite response to this so Rob Footman merely grunted in agreement.
“Once we sit down to dinner, nip down to the train station. Find out when the first train leaves and change our tickets to that one. I’m pretty sure a sightseeing carriage through Liverpool and tea on the train isn’t the thing for our guests. While you’re there, send a telegram to Deidre and the Ruthvens about us arriving early.”
“Yes, Master Sandy.”
“While the ladies are changing, I’m writing to the Ladyship. You’ll need to post it at the station so it arrives at the house no later than tomorrow.”
“Very good, Master Sandy.”
After dismissing the footman back to the sitting room to await delivery of the meal, Sandy took the Captain’s letter out of his jacket pocket and burned it. When there was nothing but ashes, he broke them up with the poker, finding himself worried that somehow Mrs. Rensselaer would find out about it and things would get worse. Then he wrote to his sister about coming home a day earlier than planned.