Her brows pulled together. “What is wrong with the local Scots?”
“Lowlanders,” he muttered. “They’re as good as English.”
Higher powers approved of his ad hoc plan. The weather was unpredictable in the mountains, but the sky was blue and the breeze mild and dry when they arrived at Braemar rail station. A hackney stood in the coach area, and the driver knew an inn that had spare rooms and promptly took them there. The inn was located at the outskirts of the small town, and it was rustic but tidy, and the thick wall-to-wall tartan carpets at last coaxed a sign of interest out of Harriet. She had been silent during the train ride, lost in her own head.
“They recommend we take the pony wagon to the main trail in Glenmuick,” he informed her after discussing it with the inn’s receptionist. “The trail begins sixteen miles from here, and we can take a pony along on the walk, in case you feel tired.”
Hattie eyed the two shaggy ponies skeptically when the wagon pulled up in front of the inn’s entrance steps. “They are rather small.”
The booted, bearded Scotsman holding the bridle patted the brow of the animal closest to him. “Each one of them can carry a whole big stag down a mountain,” he told Lucian in Gaelic. He assessed Harriet with a practiced glance. “They should carry her.”
Lucian translated, and his wife cut him a dry look. “I’m so relieved.”
They ate a late lunch during the ride, sitting in the back of the wagon and helping themselves from the basket Mhairi Burns had packed before they had dashed to Auchtermuchty. There were apples and fresh hunks of bread with thick slabs of cheddar cheese, and the tea was strong and sweet, but despite that and the open views, Harriet was still quiet. It grated on him. He wasn’t used to her being silent anymore, not with the pillow talk they now shared and the conversations they had over their meals.
“Remember our conversation about fairness a few nights ago?” he said.
She granted him a distracted glance. “I do.”
“I had mentioned reading learned men’s thoughts on the matter.”
“Yes.”
“I came across a theory by Locke that I thought made sense.” The wagon wheels bumped over a rough patch, and he caught the apple that rolled from her lap and handed it back to her. His gloved fingertips grazed hers, and the fleeting contact immediately swelled to need, as though he hadn’t just felt her around him this morning. He gave a small shake.
“Locke,” he said. “Locke says a man has a right to appropriating and owning the land or a resource once he has mixed his own sweat and labor with it. I liked that. I thought no one had given me anything and I had sweated and bled a whole bloody lot to own what I own.”
“No one did give you anything,” she said quietly.
“Perhaps not,” he said, though there had been lucky opportunities. Graham and the antiques shop, for one. “But I had also worked underground. And it occurred to me that miners literally mix their sweat with the coal seams, but they don’t own them—men who never step into a tunnel do. Where, then, does Locke take me?”
Now he had her full attention. “What do you mean to do?”
“I’ve been thinking about giving Drummuir to the miners.”
She considered this while nibbling on her apple, and he felt strangely tense while awaiting her verdict.
“A communally owned mine?” she finally said.
He nodded. “There have been experiments of the kind—Robert Owen tried it both in the States and here in Britain, in Hampshire. I’d have to do all necessary investments first, though, else they’ll be bankrupt in a week.” He shook his head. “Probably the worst mine I ever bought.”
“Hmm,” she said. “What happened to the man who fills his rooms with priceless trinkets just because he can?”
He showed her his teeth. “Can’t I be both?”
“I’d say you could,” she said after a pause. “But I’m the wrong person to ask such a thing; there is little linearity to my thinking. What were the results of Robert Owen’s experiments?”
“They failed. Dismally. Apparently, the communities lacked discipline or the interest to organize any effective management. Then there was too much infighting among the workers—many felt they worked harder than the rest and resented that everyone still gained the same benefits.”
“Oh dear.”
“Every child knows that a common enemy is the easiest way to keep men united.”