Page 23 of Elizabeth in Scotland (Elizabeth and Darcy Abroad #2)
The following day dawned with a light rain falling and turned into a misty afternoon.
Darcy sat in the library, thinking over the riddle.
Many days had passed since Mr Campbell had given them the clue; Mr Bennet must be close to solving it.
Yet the contest was not over yet. Something in the riddle had seemed familiar, and so he had shut himself into the library to scour his books and see if something might help set him on the right path.
If Mr Bennet solved the second riddle before he could, the contest would be over, and Strathalt House would be his.
With a crooked smile, he admitted to himself that it was not altogether an unpleasant idea.
Darcy had more than enough houses, whereas Mr Bennet and his family would benefit from the inheritance much more than he and Georgiana.
Even so, he had to try, for Georgiana’s sake.
She was becoming attached to the place. And even more so to Miss Bennet.
The sentiment was understandable. Darcy himself was more fond of her than he ought to be, and he feared his feelings were growing stronger with every passing day.
But such foolish musings would do nothing to solve the riddle. He would not make a fool of himself. He would concentrate on the task at hand.
As he walked the shelves, he came across a copy of a collection of poems by Sir Walter Scott. His mind suddenly jogged with a memory of a certain poem, “The Lady of the Lake.” He took the volume down from the shelf and fingered through the leaves, searching for the poem.
He found the very lines that Mr Campbell had given in the seventh section of the poem’s first canto.. Darcy held his breath in anticipation, his heart pounding. This must be it. Better still, one line was missing.
“Thus up the margin of the lake…” Darcy read aloud. That changed the image the riddle gave considerably.
∞∞∞
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain,
Thus up the margin of the lake
Between the precipice and brake
O’er stock and rock their race they take.
∞∞∞
He glanced up from the text and out at the loch. Darcy went to the window to look for anything that might match the description that Mr Campbell had given in his riddle, but the view from the library window was covered in a light fog. “I shall have to go out and search for it myself,” he muttered.
Turning, he left the window and went to the double doors that led out onto the terrace.
By following the path through the gardens, it was not a long walk to the shores of the lake — perhaps as much as a quarter hour.
It was a chilly afternoon, but luckily, the rain had stopped, leaving behind the mist. The key was likely hidden between a precipice and a brake, so he searched the shore for a suitable hiding place.
Darcy was glad he had learned a little of Scottish English, for a brake was not a “water break” but rather a thicket of brush.
So, he was looking for an area of dense foliage near the loch’s edge, probably a shallow spot where Mr Campbell could have hidden the key.
He had walked a considerable way around the lake before by the time he saw a likely place.
The brush was thick and overgrown, the branches extending over the water.
Darcy hurried toward the spot and scoured the branches as best he could, surmising that Mr Campbell would have tied the key to one of them as he had tied the key to Bruce’s collar for the first clue. But there was nothing to be found.
Darcy went to the other side of the thicket, where he could see a small dock with a rickety boat tied to it.
Looking curiously into the boat, he wondered if the key could have been hidden there, but there was nothing but a fishing pole resting in the bottom of the boat.
He walked up and down the dock, but the water was much deeper in this part of the loch, and he could see no sign of where the key might be, though he examined everything in minute detail.
He walked back toward the thicket, hands planted on his hips in thought.
The water continued to grow shallower as he walked toward the thicket.
A small section of land cropped out into the lake a short way, so he walked along it until he was at the end and peered into the water.
To his surprise, he saw a small metal chest resting at the bottom of the loch, about four feet down.
He knelt, not caring that the mud would smear his breeches, and peered closer.
There was a loop on top of the lid, which would make it easy to grab, but he would first have to climb into the water.
“Mr Campbell,” he muttered as he took off his jacket, “you have really outdone yourself this time.”
He left his jacket on the shore, then took off his shoes and hose and rolled up his breeches.
He dipped his feet into the water, sucking in a breath as he waded into the frigid loch, mist swirling over its surface.
Taking a deep breath, Darcy dived down and came up with the small, light chest. Almost too excited to feel the cold, he waded out of the water, shaking himself off as though he were a dog.
Though light, the wind nipped at his damp skin, making him shiver.
“How is it even colder than when I was in the lake?” Darcy muttered to himself. He stretched out his arms to place the chest on the little strip of land that came out from the main shore and pulled himself up onto the land.
Ruefully, Darcy looked back up at the house.
He would have a long, cold walk back to his dry clothes, for he had walked a considerable way around the lake.
Indeed, it would likely be quicker to walk back to the main entrance of Strathalt House than to the library doors.
He shivered at the thought, and at the brisk wind that seemed to blow straight through him.
Still, that was nothing compared to the excitement of what lay before him. He then undid the latch and saw the key to the cellar resting inside. A sense of triumph swelled through him.
“Well, I never thought I would see the day where I would witness Nessie washing up on the shore, but here I am!”
Darcy looked up sharply and saw Mr Campbell sitting astride his horse with several brown-paper-wrapped packages under his arms. Bruce stood beside him, for once playing the role of the disciplined hound to perfection.
Mr Campbell dismounted, leaving the packages in a tidy pile and warning his dog away from them in an undertone.
“What are you doing, may I ask, Mr Darcy?” he asked.
“I’ve found the key,” Darcy replied, his face dripping.
But he was happy. He had outsmarted Mr Campbell’s clever riddle, and his honour was restored after Mr Bennet had solved the first one so quickly.
He stood and held out the key, pointing to the chest. “It was quite the wild goose chase you sent us on, but I must congratulate you for your creativity, Mr Campbell.”
Mr Campbell wore a brilliant smile. “Well, I’ve just returned from the town at the most opportune moment.
Your kilt and shirt were ready. Why don’t you change into them so you don’t catch your death from that cold loch, and we’ll walk back to the house together and let the ladies and Mr Bennet know you’ve unravelled my riddle. ”
Mr Campbell went to fetch the package that held his new tartan kilt and white shirt.
Darcy gratefully exchanged his sodden shirt for his new one and accepted Mr Campbell’s assistance in arranging the kilt.
Now considerably less cold, if dressed more strangely than ever before in his life, Darcy retrieved the small metal chest and carried it under his arm.
“You know, I never would have dreamt that one day I would wear a kilt. Please do not take this the wrong way, but I believe my father would roll in his grave if he could see me.”
He looked down at the short kilt that hit just below the knees. He had never gone anywhere with bare legs before, and it felt oddly freeing and extremely vulnerable all at the same time.
“No offence taken. It takes a real man to wear the kilt,” he said, and slapped his back good-naturedly. “Since the tartan ban was lifted in 1782, we’ve been able to express our heritage in a way that hadn’t been allowed for over thirty-five years. It is comfortable, is it not?”
“Extremely,” Darcy replied. Perhaps a little too comfortable for his liking. It would definitely take some getting used to.
“Congratulations on finding that key. I was beginning to think that it was destined to stay locked in the chest for the rest of time. Which would be a pity, since it’s the only key to Mr Sinclair’s impressive wine collection,” Mr Campbell said.
“I was beginning to think so as well. I must confess, I am surprised you put it at the bottom of the lake, shallow as it was in that spot. It seems a little unfair to Mr Bennet. Though strong and hale, he is an older gentleman. Did you really expect him to jump into that freezing loch to retrieve it?”
“No, indeed,” Mr Campbell said with a hearty laugh.
“You took me entirely by surprise, for I was not expecting anyone to jump into the loch. I intended the winner to get it out with the fishing pole I left in the bottom of that boat tied to the dock. That is why I put that big loop on the top of the chest, so the winner could fish it out.”