“I was thinking of perhaps turning Muckle Skaill into a hotel and the whole of Hamarray into a resort where visitors could go on a proper British ramble or sail in the Flow if they wanted. We could stock the pond near the mansion with fish, and of course the seashore would be an attraction in and of itself. This could be the perfect escape.”
For the wealthy, entitled nobs who think they own and control everything in their purview.For the crofters, it was their way of life, one that they could never retreat from, even when rich visitors stalked through their lands.
“The hotel would provide jobs for the crofters—”
“You want us all working at the big house!” Sinclair interrupted, trying and failing to keep his tone measured. He was known for his lack of temper, yet Miss Van Etten had a singular ability for trying his latent one.
“Well, no, not everyone, of course, but the younger folks looking for jobs—like Young Thomas Craigie,” Miss Van Etten said, speaking even more rapidly than normal. It seemed as if she’d entirely missed his concern in her excitement. “I haven’t thought all the details through, but I have some ideas of how it could work. The dining room is big enough to set up a small restaurant that would feature dishes produced on Hamarray and Frest—lots of lamb, mutton, fish, handmade cheeses—basically the same as the menu that the children and I are organizing with the crofters for the ceilidh. Maybe a local woman could run the place. And then there would be sales of knit woolen goods to the visitors like there was to the Royal Navy—”
“You’re expecting a bunch of toffs to eat a plain Orkney dinner and wear our simple clothes?” Sinclair probably should have used a less derogative term thantoff, but old and new concerns had forced out all his carefully cultivated niceties.
His rather salient point did not seem to even prick Miss Van Etten’s enthusiasm. “We’re selling a concept—a state of mind. People are tired after years of bloodshed and now an outbreak of a virulent strain of influenza. They’ve seen or read about the horrors of industrial war. Here they can get away from it all.”
“We’re not some bucolic paradise found between the pages of sentimental drivel about an agricultural Eden that never existed.” Sinclair also forgot all about plain speaking. As the past reared up, so did his old purloined education garnered from books his brother would secrete to him.
“Of course not.” A cynical tone suddenly grounded Miss Van Etten’s previous breathy excitement. She no longer sounded like a wealthy heiress about to embark on some grand lark but a businesswoman. She yanked back the throttle of her speedboat, causing the vessel to jerk to a halt as she turned to really look at him. “Buttheywon’t know that.”
“So these adventurers will come here to seek their pleasure, and we crofters will dance to their whims.” The words burned in his mouth like a rotgut whiskey. He’d already witnessed the suffering the cavorting toffs had wreaked on the island before. They’d replaced the sheep with hares, fallow deer, and other nonnative nuisance beasts. While the interlopers had feasted on the game the nobs had “stalked” on a tiny, treeless isle, the crofters had struggled to exist with the bulk of the grazing grounds gone and the new critters eating their remaining crops. The islanders had been forced to send their sons and daughters to work at Muckle Skaill, where they’d served the demands of the bacchanalian earl and his less-than-moral companions.
“You make it sound positively feudal.” Miss Van Etten lifted one hand briefly from the steering wheel to wave it dismissively.
It had been.
“And how do you regard it, Miss Van Etten?”
“As a business venture run by the crofters. It is a moneymaking scheme. Daddy’s hobby is being a hotelier. I know it can be lucrative.”
Sinclair couldn’t imagine being so wealthy as to consider hotel ownership as a mere diversion. “For the owner, perhaps.”
“It will bring paying customers to Frest,” Miss Van Etten contradicted.
“Toffs only take what they want. They don’t give back—at least not in these parts. They expect to get whatever and whomever they want.” Sinclair had seen only too well the price his mother had paid for the presence of the earl on the isle. She’d started working at Muckle Skaill as a girl on the cusp of adulthood dreaming of romance and a happy, contented life as a crofter’s wife. A decade later, she’d escaped the mansion in the middle of the night with only the torn clothes on her back and her injured, fatherless son bleeding in her arms.
“Well, I simply won’t stand for that,” Miss Van Etten said, as if she could magically wave away inequity. “I’ll make sure the dealings are fair. I may not know much about running crofts, but I am a student of hospitality.”
Sinclair did not doubt that Miss Van Etten knew a great deal about hotels and opulence. He had much less faith in her commitment to protect the people of Frest.
“Besides,” Miss Van Etten continued as she pushed the throttle forward again, “I’ve been toying with the idea that maybe we could expand beyond just catering to the wealthy. Myrtle suggested that I build a rustic lodge for middle-class nature enthusiasts and archaeologists. She is planning on excavating the broch and is hoping to convince her university to allow her to bring students here next summer. Who knows what she may uncover? We could bill Hamarray and Frest as the little Pompeii of the Northern Isles.”
“We’re not sitting on the perfect remains of an intact Roman city.” Sinclair rubbed at his scar on his cheek again. The last thing the folks ofFrest needed was a bunch of university lads poking around Fornhowe and the center of their operations. It was dangerous enough with Miss Van Etten’s unholy interest in David Craigie’s windmill.
“Again, it’s all in how we present it. You should have seen how excited Myrtle is about visiting Skara Brae on Mainland, Orkney. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you had houses so well preserved on Frest? Just think of what could be under the mounds on your croft and the one in the center of the island!”
He knew exactly what was under one of them, and he didn’t want Miss Van Etten knowing. “Nothing but dirt and old folktales meant to thrill the bairns. Although perhaps we’ll get lucky, and one of the creatures who supposedly live in them will spirit the university students away. That would be one way to deal with nosy visitors.”
Stromness Harbor was in sight now and dotted with sea traffic, so Miss Van Etten could only shoot him a very short half-amused, half-frustrated expression. Somehow, she managed to both frown and smile at once.
“Youdorealize that people are a requirement for an economy.”
“Aye, but must it be those types of people?” he muttered. At that very same moment, Miss Van Etten began to cut the engine, making his words unfortunately clear.
“You do realize that I am one ofthosetypes of people.” Miss Van Etten thankfully sounded more amused than miffed, but Sinclair thought for a minute that he detected an off note in her voice, as if he’dhurtbut not angered her.
“You’re not.” The words flowed from his mouth before he thought better. But as he spoke, he realized the startling truth. Hedidn’tregard her as one of the earl’s ilk. But was he just allowing himself to be duped by her allure? His mother had found the earl charming before she’d discovered she was meant only as a plaything—easily shelved, easily retrieved, easily broken, easily replaced.
Yet Sinclair wasn’t handing over just his trust and future to Miss Van Etten but that of all the Frest crofters. He could not,mustnot, permit himself to be swayed by the reactions she seemed to elicit from the realm of his subconscious.
Rose had planned their arrival at Stromness to give her time to surreptitiously follow Mr.Sinclair before Mr.White and Mr.Lewis’s ferry pulled into harbor. She was certainly no expert in shadowing a fellow, but Mr.Sinclair wasn’t acting like a man with something to hide. He whistled cheerfully as he boldly strode through the main street that lined the water. Holding a rather massive crate of what she supposed contained produce, he did not spare a glance behind him. It was a good thing that he didn’t, for Stromness was not exactly New York City with its teeming crowds and endless streams of wagons and vehicles. Aside from ducking down a narrow lane or inside the entrance to a house or storefront, she really had no place to hide.
