Miriam Hastings, author

Tea with the Dowager.

Mr. Malcolm Fraser met us at the great front door - which was as well, to tell truth, for neither Miss Mary nor I had the courage to ring or knock, and we would have stood there like gormless limmers until the Dowager sent a servant to the Manse to ask why we’d no arrived.
Mr. Fraser led us up the grand staircase, all carpeted as if it were a parlour - even if the carpet was worn and tatty in places - and into the Dowager's drawingroom.
She looked at me darkly as Mr. Fraser ushered us in to her, “That girl can have some refreshment in the kitchen,” she said.
“Oh, please let her stay,” Miss Mary burst out; I could see she was all of a-tremble.
“It is hardly proper, Miss MacKenzie, for a kitchen maid to take tea with a lady of my standing - and in that lady's drawingroom!”
Mr. Fraser spoke up then, “I believe, my lady, that you invited Miss MacKenzie here to tell you more about the strange sea creature she has seen more than once now, is that not so?  And I believe Kirsty was with her mistress on both occasions.  Am I right, Miss MacKenzie?”
“Aye, that is quite so, my lady, Kirsty will be able to confirm all that I have to say to you,” Miss Mary assured the Dowager, although in truth I had seen nothing of her mermaid this second time.
The Dowager slowly nodded her head, “Oh very well, the girl can stay.  Ring the bell for tea please, Fraser.”
I perched myself upon a stool and Miss Mary sat gingerly upon a sofa, I could tell she was worrying that spiders and beetles, mice or other such vermin, may be lurking in its torn and fraying cushions.
The housemaid Annie, a friend of mine from Strath Kerrow, came in, carrying a heavy lacquered tray holding a casket, a china pot, a cream jug and a bowl of sugar.  She was followed by a footman with a steaming kettle.  She put the tray down before the Dowager and held out a filigree key to her ladyship.
“Oh fiddlesticks!” said the Dowager, “I have no patience with this palaver.  Can't you do it, girl?” 
“The Laird said I was no to touch it, my lady,” said Annie, a sulky expression on her face. 
“Balderdash!” said her ladyship.
“Allow me, ma'am,” said Mr. Fraser, stepping forward and taking the key.  He unlocked the casket, put a scoop of leaves in the teapot and poured water upon them from the kettle.  He gave it a stir and put the lid back on the pot with the gesture of a magician completing a spell.  As I watched this performance, I know my eyes were popping out of my head in astonishment.
“My son sends off for this stuff.  He says it comes from China and costs so much money I must keep it under lock and key,” said the Dowager, “I have no time for it myself but no doubt you like it, Miss MacKenzie,” she went on, addressing Miss Mary who looked startled for she rarely has tea at the Manse; it is far too expensive.
I looked forward to tasting this Chinese tea of the Laird; it would be a wonder to tell my family about.
The Dowager poured out the liquid into cups so delicate I could see my fingers through the china - they reminded me of seashells, those cups.  Seashells or eggshells from a robin’s nest.
“Cream?” Her ladyship asked. 
“Yes, please,” said Miss Mary. 
I was glad to see the Dowager put a dash of cream in mine as well.  I sipped at it cautiously and I did no agree with her ladyship; while I'd no want to drink the tea too often, it had a slightly smoky flavour that I liked.  It reminded me of the liquor from my da's still, rich with the taste of peat.
“Give me whisky any day,” said the Dowager, “this stuff tastes like piss.”
Miss Mary turned scarlet at such coarse talk.
“I will fetch you a glass of whisky and hot water, my lady,” said Annie. 
“And bring us some refreshment,” ordered her ladyship. 
“It is on its way, ma'am,” said the footman. 
Sure enough a second maid came in next with a tray laden with bread-and-butter and shortcake.  This maid was Lizzie, another old friend of mine and a good one; we gave each other secret smiles.  Mr. Fraser passed round the slices of bread-and-butter; they were as thin as a cobweb, so thin I was afeared I would drop mine upon the fine silk carpet.
Suddenly a mouse did indeed run out from between Miss Mary’s feet, it dashed across the floor to a hidingplace beneath her ladyship’s chair.  Poor Miss Mary gave a shriek, pulling her skirts tight about her legs.
The Dowager scowled at her, “You foolish creature, making such a fuss about nothing.”
The mouse crept out and retrieved a wee bit of shortcake lying beside the Dowager’s foot, then, with this prize clutched in its mouth, it ran behind one of the velvet curtains – I reckon there was room in their tattered linings for a dozen mice nests.
“Can I offer you anything else, Miss MacKenzie,” Mr. Fraser asked, “more bread-and-butter perhaps?”
“No thank you, sir,” Miss Mary replied faintly, her cheeks were quite pale.
“Perhaps some mouse pie, Miss?” I said, I could no help it tho’ I shivered at my own boldness.  I glanced warily at the Dowager but she didn't look angry, she looked amazed.
“Surely you don’t eat mice at the Manse, Miss MacKenzie?”
“No no, my lady, Kirsty is only jesting.”
“Jesting?” repeated the Dowager, as if she'd never heard of such a thing.
Mr. Fraser passed us all more bread-and-butter which I accepted gladly; I am always hungry.
“Well, I hope you have taken enough refreshment,” said the Dowager, frowning at me, then she turned to Miss Mary, “You know, I had the strangest dream again last night, Miss MacKenzie, about the Mermaid – the one you claim to have seen.”
Miss Mary looked up all eager, “Did you, my lady?  She haunts my dreams every night.”
“Does she now?  I understand you have seen this creature a second time - or one like it.  Kindly tell me exactly what it looked like.  Describe it in detail, mind!”
Miss Mary sat tongue-tied, I could see she was at a loss where to begin.  The Dowager isn’t a patient lady and she would no wait while Miss Mary collected her thoughts.
“Come, come!  Show me, if you cannot tell me.  You girl!” she turned to me, “You can be the Mermaid . . . where exactly did you see this creature, Miss MacKenzie?”
“On the rocks, madam, in the bay just beyond the dunes.”
“Then that ottoman there can represent the rocks.  Girl, you lie over that and play the Mermaid.  Now, Miss MacKenzie, show me exactly what you saw and how and where.”
I laid myself down upon the ottoman - which is a large cushion, nothing to do with an Eastern gentleman or anything of that kind.
“The Mermaid was not actually on the rocks, my lady, she was beyond the rocks in the sea,” Miss Mary explained, “Kirsty, you must lie upon the carpet on the other side of the ottoman.”
I obeyed her but I felt very foolish and the carpet, tho’ silk, was worn quite threadbare - it smelt of dirt and mildew and dust went up my nose.  It was uncomfortable but I made the best of it.  Miss Mary explained how she had come across the sands, how she had noticed a large bird, and then she described the sea creature.  I played my part the best I could, turning myself about as she described the Mermaid doing, and waving my arms at the herring-gull when she described that too.  Then I saw Mr. Fraser hiding a smile and that set me off, I fell into helpless giggles tho’ I knew it would make them angry - which it did, to be sure!
Even Miss Mary frowned at me, “Don't be such a foolish limmer, Kirsty,” she scolded, just as my Aunt Alice might have done.
Alas, I’d put the Dowager in a wicked temper, “Are you sure it was a mermaid, Miss MacKenzie?  What makes you think so?  Might it not have been a seal, or something of the like?” she cross-examined poor Miss Mary quite harshly, but Miss Mary stood firm.
“I am as certain that it was a mermaid, my lady, as I am that you and I are both human beings, or that Mr. Fraser here is a gentleman; or that my father is a gentleman and a Minister of the Kirk.”
There was no mistaking her honesty.  Miss Mary is always as true as clear spring water - I tell you who knows her better than any.
“What do you think, Kirsty?” Mr. Fraser asked me, “Do you believe it was a mermaid?”
“It is a common enough sight, Mr. Fraser,” I told him, “my granny says that many people see mermaids on this coast.”
The Dowager snorted “Superstitious twaddle!” she exclaimed.
“Did you no see the Mermaid that was in your icehouse, ma’am?” I asked her.
“No, I did not and I don't believe there ever was a mermaid in that icehouse, I think it was an invention made up by common people.  The only mermaid I ever saw was you yourself, girl, and that was not a pretty sight, I can tell you!”
I was offended, I scowled and I tightened my mouth firmly so she could see I would no answer any more of her questions.  I thought her a rude woman and definitely no lady.

Miriam Hastings’ latest novel, The Dowager’s Dream, is available now in paperback from FeedARead Publishing. Also as an e-book on Kindle: The Dowager’s Dream.

In a crumbling mansion on the north coast of Scotland, the Dowager grows old; exiled there by her son, the Laird, she dreams of her girlhood and waits for death, but when the tenants keep talking of a monster in the sea, she becomes obsessed with the strange creature living in the bay beyond her windows.

The people claim the sea monster portends disaster and they are right for the Laird has grand plans to improve the estate. He intends to evict all the tenants from their crofts in order to turn the land over to an army of sheep.

Can the Dowager stand up to her unscrupulous son? If she does, she may have to pay a terrible price.

Walking Shadow, Miriam Hasting’s first historical novel, was published in November 2019 under the name of M W Hastings, and is available direct from FeedaRead Books as well as through Amazon. It is also available as an e-book on Kindle. This is a historical novel with profoundly modern themes: the fear of terrorism, political manipulation of information, and issues of religious fundamentalism and intolerance.

Edmund (aka Rosamund) Shakespeare, younger sibling of William and lead player of female roles with the King’s Men, is the narrator and central protagonist. When the novel opens, it is January 1606 and London is a dangerous place; the gunpowder plot has just been foiled, spies and informers are everywhere, and Edmund is a prisoner in the Tower, charged with treason. 

The Minotaur Hunt.

Miriam’s first novel, winner of the MIND Book of the Year Award, is a present-day story with a legendary model. To the people of Crete, the Minotaur was traditionally a creature of darkness and horror. Locked in a labyrinth where no-one could see him, he became the scapegoat for everyone’s worst imaginable nightmares and terrors.

Chrissie and Rachel are Minotaurs. They meet in Bradley, a rambling Victorian institution for the mentally ill. As the novel unfolds and their respective stories are gradually revealed, their growing relationship becomes a rich source of shared experience and a focus for their deepening knowledge of themselves.

Some reviews of Miriam Hastings’ The Minotaur Hunt:

[An author] “of great talent and wit, the courage to lead us through purgatory and the tenderness to love and understand its inhabitants.” Monica Dickens.

“There are echoes of romantic fiction, but there is also a whiff of grim realism . . . Underlying the narrative is an impressive refusal to attempt glib explanations.” Bernard Ineichen.

“Miriam Hastings’ The Minotaur Hunt is an engrossing novel set in a mental health institution and in the minds of some of its patients. . .The positive portrayal is very well done, yet it does not pull any punches about the difficulties faced by those with serious mental illness”, Mercia McMahon.

“No matter how dark the labyrinthe of emotions, there is always redemption for the human condition, and this sensitivity to lightness, back-to-back with the darkness, is where Hastings’ writing is at its finest. It has the voice of authenticity.” Vine Voice.

“The Minotaur Hunt is beautifully written with an immediacy and urgency that has you turning the pages”, The Bub.

 New Work

Miriam Hastings has recently completed a new novel, The Dowager’s Dream, a surreal fantasy set on the north coast of Scotland at the time of the brutal clearances in the Scottish Highlands.  The novel was inspired by the (largely imagined) lives of Miriam’s great great-grandmothers, Margaret MacKenzie and Christine Patterson, and also by an account written in 1809 by a minister’s daughter, describing a mermaid she had seen in Sandside Bay, Caithness. Although The Dowager’s Dream is set in the early years of the 19th Century, the themes of dispossession and ethnic cleansing will resonate with the contemporary reader.