Fiona replied with a lavish lick of Signy’s hand. Then she turned her attention to Ramsay, regarding him thoughtfully as if unsure whether to welcome or bite.
Ramsay held out his hand for her to sniff. “Hello, Fiona. Are you willing to let me into your mistress’s house?”
She licked his hand, then moved her head in a way that suggested that ruffling her ears would be welcome. He obliged, attending to both ears. She responded with a lolling tongue. “Are you a former sheepdog, old girl?”
“Fiona the Fluffy was retired early because she hurt her foot and acquired a limp that would make it hard for her to work.” Signy smiled as she placed a dish of food next to a water bowl. “I’m not quite sure how she did it, but one day I realized that she’d moved in and expected me to feed her.”
He chuckled. “She knew who to target.”
Straightening, he saw that the cottage layout was simple, with the kitchen and single bedroom on this back side of the building. The bedroom was the only private space, since the kitchen was open to the wide front room that was a combination sitting room and studio.
The curving coast meant that the cottage faced south and the wide windows provided both light and a stunning view of the waves rolling onto the beach below. The south-facing windows didn’t provide the even northern light considered ideal for artists, but it made her home bright and welcoming, a pleasure this far north. A vase of wildflowers on the kitchen table accented the peaceful loveliness of her home.
“I only visited this cottage a couple of times, but I’ve always felt that it was a happy place,” Ramsay observed. “Sun and sand and sea. Beauty and peace all around you, and no shortage of subjects for painting.”
“That’s why I wanted to live here.” Signy gazed pensively at the rolling waves. “The sound of the sea is soothing. I always sleep well. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, that would be welcome.” He stepped into the front room, then froze when he saw the furniture. Hooded chairs with tops that curved over the occupant were common in Thorsay and Orkney, but the one facing the windows and waves was a rare double chair that allowed two people to sit side by side.
Ramsay had built that double chair for Gisela’s birthday, and Gisela and Signy had together woven the sea grass hood that was anchored to the chair’s frame. They’d used light and dark grasses in a simple pattern. Below the seats was a wide drawer that held a folded knee rug that could be draped over the laps of the two occupants. It was cozy on even the coldest nights.
In the old days, Signy would burrow into another hooded chair so she could watch Ramsay and Gisela as they talked and laughed together. They’d been good times.
Ramsay swallowed hard and looked away. “I didn’t expect to see these chairs, but it makes sense that you’d use the furnishings from the old house. The drop leaf table you use for your art supplies was in the kitchen there, wasn’t it?”
She nodded as she stoked the fire, then moved the water-filled kettle over the flames. “We’re a frugal lot in Thorsay. It would be foolish to throw away good furniture, especially since there isn’t a lot of wood to spare here.”
He glanced down at the muted colors of the time-mellowed rag rug, then to the small loom in the corner. Seeing the direction of his glance, Signy said, “I’m not a brilliant weaver, but I sometimes work the loom on long winter nights. Simple things like this wrap. It’s soothing.”
His gaze moved around the room again, studying both old furniture and new paintings hung on the whitewashed walls. “Do you ever feel your furnishings are haunted by those you’ve loved?”
“If my sister and mother are haunting me, they’re friendly presences. I find them comforting.” She scooped tea leaves from the canister and shook them into her china teapot. “This kitchen table came from the attic of Skellig House and has no particular memories. It’s just a good solid table.”
As she spoke, Fiona finished her meal and ambled into the living area to flop in the widest area of sunshine. She was a dog who appreciated the good things of life.
The water rose to a boil quickly and Signy poured it into the teapot. While the leaves steeped, she opened a tin box containing shortbread and transferred the irregular squares to a small plate. “You’ll have to get used to the presence of past residents if you’re living in Skellig House. Did you feel them when you were a boy?”
He hesitated, a little shy of telling the truth. But this was the wild north of Scotland, where people believed in the second sight and long-legged things that go bump in the night. “As a boy I took everything about the house for granted. But visiting ancient ruins put me in the habit of being still and opening up to whatever might be present. I need to do that here as well.”
“Yes, but slowly. Since this is your home, the spirits and memories might have more power than the ancient ruins of another race.” Signy poured two cups of tea and set them out with a cream pitcher and a small pot of honey.
Ramsay studied the mugs and round teapot with interest. They were stoneware, made of red clay that must have been baked at a high temperature. The pitcher and the small plates matched them in material and style. “As a student of ancient artifacts, I’ve studied my share of old pottery. These pieces aren’t old, but they’re a lovely example of redware. Where are they from?”
“They’re quite new and made locally, on Eastray, so they carry no associations with times past.”
He dug into his memory. “If I recall correctly, Eastray is the island inhabited by a tribe of Jansens. I didn’t know there was a pottery.”
“Jansen Pottery is fairly new,” she explained. “One of the younger members of the clan, Hakon, had worked for a pottery in the English Midlands and he learned a great deal about the trade. When he returned home, he found there was a large deposit of high-quality red clay on his grandmother’s farm, so he built a kiln and started to experiment. Since there aren’t any other potteries in Thorsay, he thought there would be a good market locally, and he was right. Jansen ware is very good quality, and the prices are reasonable because the pieces aren’t imported.”
Ramsay lifted the cream pitcher, admiring the simple, elegant shape. “I definitely want to meet Hakon. He’s the kind of businessman Thorsay needs.”
“Actually, Hakon’s talent is for making pottery. His wife, Inga, is the one who runs the business, and she does it very well. She’s a friend of mine. I trained her as a teacher, but she left teaching after she married Hakon and started to work with him in the business. He was happy to turn the accounts, sales, and shipments over to her.” Signy lifted one of the tall redware mugs. “I had these made specially for me because I like a drinking vessel that holds a serious amount of tea. Dainty little teacups don’t hold much, and they cool off too quickly.”
“I agree.” Ramsay poured milk into his mug, then stirred in a spoonful of honey. “I’ll have to order mugs like these when I visit the Jansens.”
“This style has proved so popular that Inga added it to their regular product line.” Signy chuckled. “Thorsayians are serious about tea.”
“All Britons are.” Ramsay took a bite of shortbread, then washed it down with a swallow of nearly scalding tea. “Ambrosia!”
