Across many moments *Murtagh Fitzgibbons

1-the English way

April 1946

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
He's in the army now, a blowin' reveille

 I walked along the streets of Inverness, the doorways slathered in animal blood and the huge may pole being put up ready for Beltane. I passed by a couple leaving their car with suitcases full for their trip, the woman staring at a vase in a shop. Smiling at the two, I entered the building I made my trip for to see the housekeeper Mrs. Baird and Reverend Reginald Wakefield playing with dear Roger. Just a few months ago we broke it to him that his parents had both been killed in the war. Poor boy.

"Hello! Would you mind if I come in? Angus, Maisie and Elsie kicked me out. Can you believe it, Roger?" I leant down to pick him up as Mrs Graham went to make a cup of tea for us all. "Apparently I go too full out for Beltane!"

To this the Reverend laughed and agreed with my cousins. "Well that's quite true my dear, even Roger and the children don't pick as many apples as you do but maybe that's just the English way. Can I take your blazer, Betty?" I passed my jacket over to him to place it on the coatrack and sat down on the sofa with Roger on my lap, thanking Mrs Graham for the tea. 

There was a knock on the door which led Roger of my lap and off to his room, saying goodbye to us all on his way. Mrs Baird placed down the tea tray and looked towards the door. "I'm not sure if anyone has booked here today. Oh, there's a note tucked in the corner. A Mr and Mrs... Randall. Just like that redcoat you found Betty." Referring to my latest research.

Before she could get to the door, a man opened it holding 3 bags and putting them down before the desk. When the woman came in behind, that's when they saw us staring at them. He called out to us, the tall Englishman with dark brown hair and chiselled cheekbones, saying he's sorry to they're late but he and his wife, Claire (a kind looking beautiful woman with very dark brown hair and bright forget-me-not eyes), had booked in here for a honeymoon. Claire specified 'second-honeymoon you mean, Frank'. We laughed, Mrs Baird and I and went through the pleasantries and welcomes before showing them to their room, me helping with the bags telling Claire about the pagan folklore with Frank going into detail on what he knows about the Scottish magic.

Going up the slightly creaky stairs, Claire looked at me "Forgive me, but you're not Scottish. You're English, aren't you. Finch isn't a Scottish surname and that accent-."

I smiled through the weight of the heavy suitcases, "Born in Hertfordshire. I came to stay with my cousins here in Inverness just before the war for a nice little get-away but ended up staying. My home and family got blown-up 1941 so it's nice to stay with what you've got left of family." I passed the suitcases to Frank outside their door. "Perhaps I could come tomorrow and show you and your husband round? It would be very nice indeed to talk to a real historian and maybe you both can help me."

"Me? What could I do?" Claire asked as I opened the curtains for them and puffed up the bedding.

"I was studying to become an archaeologist before the war and you can help me with my findings from around mid-18th century if you want. Frank, you're a historian so hopefully you could help me figure out what I've found. And Claire, you know medicine?"

"She certainly does. She was a nurse in the war, very clever. You're uncle brought you on his excavations didn't he darling? So you know a little about archaeology." Frank pointed out to which Claire nodded.

"I need you to figure out what the names of the bottles in Castle Leoch say and do. I'm hoping they're medicinal and not just fancy wine." 

They agreed to helping out if I would show them around the place but told them since it's the Solstice the day after tomorrow I need to leave early to start the celebrations with my family. "Come to mine for dinner tomorrow. It'll just be me and my cousin Rupert. While cooking, you can tell me what you know.  Walk down past the shops, it's the white house with a front garden and gate; the old blacksmith's next door."