After several purchases, Hope and her sisters exited the shop. She saw the swinging wooden sign that spelt out Kilt Hire. She was curious about the piece of cloth she had found in her room. Knowing it belonged to the MacKinnon clan, she wanted to see if it could be restored.
“Shall we try a piece of ginger bread from that vendor over there?” Grace asked hopefully.
“Let’s go find the paint shop first,” Faith suggested.
“I'll meet you over there,” Hope said, walking towards the store.
“Where are you going?” Faith asked.
“I've a question that wants answering,” Hope said as she entered the shop.
A short little man with a lengthy mustache stood behind a table where a long piece of plaid was laid out. He seemed to be measuring the fabric when he glanced up. As soon as he spotted her, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Hello!” he said enthusiastically, dropping his measuring tape as he came around the table. “How may I help you?”
“Hello,” she said. “I was just wondering if—”
“Oh, I don't have any ribbons. That's next door, lassie,” he interrupted, seeming almost offended.
“Yes, but I was wondering if you could—”
“Did ye no hear me?”
“Sir,” Hope said firmly as she reached into her reticule. She extracted the square of plaid and handed it to the little man. “I was wondering if you could repair this.”
He barely gave it a passing glance.
“It's a rag,” he said after a moment. “What do you want with it?”
“I would just like to see it restored and I didn't wish to harm it by cleaning it myself.
The man made a face and took it in hand to inspect it. After a long moment, his forehead puckered as he held it up.
“This is MacKinnon plaid,” he said, peering around it at her. “What do you want with MacKinnon plaid?”
“I simply wish for it to be cleaned, that's all,” she said, attempting to grab it. “If you are unable to do so, simply say as much.”
“No, that’s not it. I can restore it easily enough, though it's such a small piece it wouldn’t be fit to wear. Unless …”
The little man moved around his table and opened a drawer. Hope heard the tinging and clashing of metal when he drew out a sizable locket. He held it up to her, smiling as if she should be happy to see it.
“What is it?” she asked.
The man frowned.
“It's a pin brooch locket,” he said, circling the table to show her. “Usually worn with the fly plaid. But this one is particularly interesting.”
The man held out his hand to show a sizeable silver brooch that fit in his palm. It was in the shape of an intricate knot surrounded by a thistle. With a small tap of his thumb, the brooch popped open, revealing a secret compartment—one large enough to hold the plaid she had brought, if it was folded carefully. Was that what this man had in mind? She’d never heard of a plaid being kept in a brooch, but perhaps that was a common custom here?
“Oh,” Hope said.
He snapped it closed, and Hope glanced up at him.
“Come back in an hour, I'll have it cleaned up for you and put in here.”
“Oh, but that's not necessary,” she said as the front door opened.
“What isn't necessary?” a deep, masculine voice sounded behind her.
