first big excursion had to be to his favourite place, the loch and the island on it where Mary Queen of Scots had spent some of her childhood holidays.
The two bigger boys rowed; Tom sat in the bow staring round him in awe. The Loch of Menteith, two miles from Cardross House, was peaceful, surrounded by low hills but with the great peak of Ben Lomond off to the west. There was a gentle breeze wafting the sweet smell of grass and heather towards them across the water as they neared the island of Inchmahome.
From the boat they could just see the grey ruins of the ancient priory through the trees, the clouds dappling shadows over the soaring sunlit arches and broken pillars. In the distance they could see someone from the village fishing from the stern of his boat, but he was far away and paid no attention to the boys. As they drew nearer an osprey plunged into the loch alongside the boat and dragged a fish out of the water, flying away towards the west. The island itself was deserted.
Running the boat ashore, the two elder boys scrambled out eagerly. Cousin John’s housekeeper had placed some bottles of ale into the boat for them, and pausing only to put them into the water at the edge of the loch to keep cool, the two elder boys raced ahead. David turned. ‘Come on, Tom!’ he cried impatiently. Tom was still staring through his little telescope, back the way they had come. He stowed it in his bag and climbed out onto the grassy bank. His brothers didn’t wait for him; they were used to him dawdling behind, his attention taken by every new bird and plant and dragonfly. He had a small notebook which went everywhere with him; in it he would make laborious drawings and sketches of everything he saw, drawings which even David had to admit were not bad.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way after David and Harry along the track towards the ruins of the old priory. The stone arches stood out above the trees, beckoning him on as he followed sturdily in his bothers’ wake, pausing to watch the red squirrels chattering angrily in the sweet chestnut trees and a heron standing motionless near the water’s edge. He dropped further and further behind the others as they raced ahead to explore the ruins, climbing over fallen trees, watching the dragon-flies that hovered over the crystal-clear water of the loch.
He was slowly catching up with them at last when he realised they were not alone. A man in a long black woollen robe was walking under the arch where the west door of the great church had been. Tom stopped, half shy, half scared. They had every right to be there, he knew that, but there was something about the man and his intense self-absorption which excluded the outer world absolutely. He was praying, Tom realised, and completely unaware of their presence.
He watched as the figure walked slowly away from them into the shadows and disappeared. Only when he could no longer see him did he call quietly, ‘Was that a monk?’
David had scrambled up onto the wall of the ancient building, sitting in a window embrasure, his back against the warm stone, his eyes closed against the sunlight. It was Harry who stopped in his tracks. ‘Where?’ He swung round.
‘There. He walked up that way.’ Tom was suddenly flustered. ‘We shouldn’t go after him. I think he was praying.’
David sat up and stared round. ‘Where? I can’t see anyone.’
‘Are you sure you saw someone, Tom?’ Harry studied his little brother’s face. All three boys had caught the sun as they rowed across the loch, their hair tousled in the wind, and Harry’s eyes were bright with laughter. ‘It wasn’t one of your ghosts, was it?’ he probed gently.
Tom flushed a deep red. ‘No. He was there.’ He dropped his bag on the ground and ran to the arch where he had seen the man walking away from them along the nave that was no longer there. The place was deserted; long grasses grew amongst the stones. A bird flew up as he approached, calling in alarm.
‘Oh, Tom, for goodness’ sake!’ David, ever scornful, allowed a cruel edge into his voice. ‘You and your ghosts! They’re all in your head, you know. You’ll be sent to an asylum if you go on like this.’ Nevertheless, he looked round with a shiver and it wasn’t very long before he suggested they go and find their food. As he and Harry made their way back towards the beach where they had left the boat, Tom hesitated, hanging behind, and as his brothers’ voices grew fainter, he realised he could hear the monks chanting, the sound rising and falling in the distance above the rustle of the trees and the lapping of the water on the shore. He felt the hair standing up on the nape of his neck and, terrified, he turned and ran after them.
They retrieved the bags of bread and ham and cheese and pulled the bottles of ale out of the water. Tom, still chastened and embarrassed by David’s scorn and unsettled by what he had heard, sat a little apart. He was determined not to cry. He knew his elder brother could be nasty; it was Harry who was kind and patted him almost paternally on the shoulder as he came over and, cutting off a chunk of cheese with his dirk, gave it to him with an apple.
Tom took a deep breath. ‘Why did Papa sell Cardross?’ he asked Harry. He had found himself a nook in the stones of an old wall from where he could watch the jackdaws squabbling on top of the broken arches behind them.
‘He needed the money.’ Harry had already started to share out the rest of the food.
‘Mama is always talking about money,’ Tom followed his train of thought doggedly. ‘Are we very poor?’
‘Have you only just noticed?’ David snapped.
‘Why?’
Harry took pity on his small brother. ‘The earls of Buchan were rich and powerful once, long ago. But they kept making mistakes. They chose the wrong side in politics.’
‘Politics?’ Tom was screwing up his eyes against the sun. He had spotted the osprey again, flying low over the water.
‘Like Uncle James, Mama’s brother. He fought for Prince Charlie. That’s why he has to live abroad. All his estates were confiscated.’
‘He doesn’t know what confiscated means!’ David’s voice was muffled by the hunk of bread he was chewing as he lay back on the grass.
‘I do!’ Tom retorted. ‘It means taken away by the government.’
‘Well, then. You know why we’re poor. They gave some of the land back, but Papa has to live off a measly allowance from trustees who have no idea how an earl should live. That’s why we have to live in a flat in Edinburgh instead of a castle.’
‘Papa and Mama still like Prince Charlie?’ Tom framed it as a question.
‘Yes, but you must never, ever, say so. King George is our king now. Remember that.’ David sat up. ‘If you forget every word I’ve ever said to you, Tom, remember that one. King George is our king and we are loyal to him. Whatever we may think in private, we keep it private. Understand?’
Tom nodded. He was already watching another bird, but somewhere deep inside his head he tucked his brother’s advice away. He would remember it all his life.
It was the most wonderful holiday. They visited the loch and its islands again and again. Tom learnt to row; Harry taught him to swim. They went fishing. David took them outside at night and they lay on their backs in the long grass, staring up at the sky while he told them the names of the stars. They explored the castle and its policies; they made friends with the builders who were constructing a new extension to the castle and with the men working to drain areas of the great moss behind the castle so that it could be turned into rich farmland. Many of the labourers were Highlanders, dispossessed after the Jacobite rebellion
