Page 9 of Highlander’s Sloth

4

Plus Ça Change, Plus C’est La Même Chose

Brock entered his master’s bedchamber at the inn to rouse him, but he was surprised to find Callum already up and standing in front of the shaving stand in the corner of the room, wearing only his breeches.

When he saw his valet enter, he beckoned the man over. “Brock, ye’ve arrived just in time. Be so good as to cut back the left side o’ me hair.”

On saying these words, Callum turned to face the valet, which gave the servant the chance to see he had cut the right side of his long brown hair off.

“I cannae get the shears to work on the left side of me head, for some reason,” Callum explained.

Brock blanched. “Sir! That is the same implement they use to cut back the horse tails in the stables!”

Callum looked at the shears in his hands. “I ken well, man, that’s where I got these. Come now, are ye going to help me or nae?”

With shaking fingers, Brock removed the shears from Callum’s hands, saying, “’Tis too late for me to dissuade ye, sir, but at least let me use a better tool.” He went to his trunk to take out the sharp-edged knife he used to keep his master’s stubble in check. The knife was still finely honed, as Callum had not bothered shaving on the sea voyage back to Aberdeen, instead preferring to grow out a light beard and trim back his mustache to be the same length.

“I cannae understand why ye would do this, sir,” Brock said glumly as he sat his master down on a stool and began to even out the other side of his hair with the razor. “Yer hair was one of the attributes the ladies admired most about ye. Do ye realize how blessed ye are to have never had to resort to wearing a peruque in order to meet the fashionable standards of the day? I heard some French courtiers say they had not seen such a fine display of natural waving dark brown locks since the days when Louis Quatorze was young.”

“Aye,” Callum grunted, unrepentant of the pain he was causing his faithful servant, “but I have the feeling me auld friends from ten years back will have some cutting things to say to me if I prance back to Macanroy Lodge with me curls around me shoulders. If I’m wrong, I can always grow it out again, but for now, cut it to about one-inch length all round, if ye will be so kind. And when ye’re done with that, fetch me plaid.”

And so it was that when Callum rode up to the lodge gates and presented himself to the man in charge of opening and closing it for guests, he looked as much a Highlander as to cause no remark. The man simply yawned and ambled out to push the gate open for him.

When he strode into the great hall, it was deserted, an occurrence in which he found nothing untoward. The weather was warm, and dinner must have recently been eaten; therefore, Callum judged everyone to be asleep for the rest of the afternoon.

He climbed the stairs up to his mother’s tower bedchambers. After tapping and being asked to enter, he did so.

His mother was indeed lying down on the divan next to the hearth, but when she saw her son, her sleepy eyes flew open, and she let out a small scream.

“Callum! How now! Ye made such good time. We did nae hope to see ye here for at least another week.”

She continued to lay on the divan, only signifying she wanted to hug her son by holding her arms up in the air and waiting for him to bend down to greet her.

“How’s Faither?” Callum wanted to know after his mother had released him from her embrace.

Lady Elspeth sighed. “As well as we can expect, Cal. The physician recommends he travel south and take a course of waters at the hot springs. But yer faither will nae hear of it. Ye ken how he hates putting himself out. Dinnae mention it, but...yer poor faither has put on an awful amount of weight around his middle. ‘Tis no’ that his appetites are excessive, ye understand, but only that he dislikes making the smallest exertion.”

Callum took a seat beside his mother and replied, “One would think he would be encouraged to do so under the recommendation of his leech.”

Lady Elspeth shooed his suggestion away as though it was an errant fly. “Dinnae talk like that, Callum.”

Her son continued to look at her with his eyelids drooping over half-shut blue eyes, twirling his riding crop slowly between two fingers. “Like what? Here I have traveled halfway across the northern seas on the news me faither is doin’ poorly, and when I arrive, it is to find he is no’ making the slightest push to better his prognosis.”

“Nae that,” Lady Elspeth complained. “I meant for ye no’ to talk as though ye were a high-minded society gentleman. It will put people’s backs up if they believe ye to be so changed by yer Paris sojourn.”

She had her eyes closed as though trying to fall back to sleep and so did not see when her son rolled his eyes toward the ornately plastered ceiling.

“If they expect me to have remained unchanged with over ten years in France, I cannae help their prejudices, Mither,” Callum remarked. “I’m having a hard enough time as it is, trying to speak Gaelic well enough.”

He gave the side of his boot one last slap with the riding crop and stood up, saying, “Och, well, I’m off to see Faither. Remind me again, how angry does he get when he’s awoken afore the bell for supper rings?”

Lady Elspeth gave a soft grunt, and without opening her eyes, pointed to the door. Callum took this to mean he should present himself to Laird Macanroy and not worry whether he was awake or asleep.

Perhaps he’ll be a wee bit o’ both when I make my entrance—in bed but not asleep, or asleep, but sitting up in a chair. Truth be told, I don’ ken how anyone at Macanroy Lodge can tell if they are hail and hearty or close to death because everyone acts as though lying abed is perfectly natural.

He walked out of his mother’s chamber and made his way over to his father’s rooms in the west arm of the lodge.

Callum was used to seeing drowsy valets and maids waiting in antechambers outside their masters and ladies' boudoirs, ready to be summoned at a moment’s notice. With the more important members of the French court, there were often sentries posted outside doors, standing rigorously to attention, pole axes held at the ready. But the only sign Callum could observe that signified he was approaching his father’s chambers was a pile of dirty plates stacked on a tray on the floor next to the door frame.