The Handfasters

by Helen Susan Swift

  “Alison? What are you doing here?” And then we both began to cry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I had nightmares about that night for years afterward. I often woke up, staring into the darkness of the bedroom, shouting the name of Willie Kemp until my husband, your dear, dear great grandfather, would stir, mutter softly and usually tell me to go back to sleep. Sometimes, though, he would sit up beside me and hold me tight and offer comfort and a friendly ear as I remembered the terrors of that night.

  But to continue with my tale…

  Crying did not help, of course, and I soon had to leave Louise lying a blonde heap on the deck and run around at the orders of the tyrannical Mr Kemp. I did not like to neglect my troublesome cousin, but what would you? If I continued to caress her, Mary would have run afoul of Fidra, or turned turtle, or blown up, or met some other nautical fate, so I am afraid Louise had to attend to her herself while I did the needful with the boat.

  Luckily, with the wind astern of us, the voyage back to Leith took no time at all, although we were nearly out of coal when we arrived and Mr Kemp was quite fatigued, what with pulling all the levers and other fiddly things, keeping the furnace bright and looking after all the survivors that he had brought on board. I just played the dutiful handfasted wife and obeyed orders. At times I was tempted to tug my wet forelock and say: “Aye, aye, sir” but I refrained and stuck to my task of steering and getting wet.

  There were five survivors, all waterlogged and bedraggled but alive. The most important was Louise, of course looking sheepish and forlorn, but very glad to be rescued from the grasp of the French officer, who had proved to be much less than a gentleman once he had got what he wanted, which was a free passage to France. There was the American owner of the vessel, who was Louise's mysterious friend and a notable landowner and merchant in his home country. There was the Frenchman himself, now safely back in custody, and an anonymous but quite handsome seaman named Joe. He hailed from Baltimore; he was very tall and muscular and helped willingly with the steering, much to my relief. I had hoped that Mr Kemp would be jealous of the attention Joe paid me, but he seemed quite unconscious of the man from Baltimore. Perhaps the fact that Joe was married helped.

  It was only when we arrived back that my adventures began to make sense, and my life took the twists that led to me being here, and my picture sitting on the wall. But don't let me rush, for that might spoil everything and you deserve to have it unfold as I did, piece by piece. Once you have heard the whole thing, then you will understand why I think that Willie Kemp was the worst, most black hearted schemer alive, damn him for the most handsome and amiable villain I have ever met.

  A translucent pink dawn was already easing over the Forth and spreading tentacles of greyish light on to the dark buildings of Leith as we chugged dirtily in. By then I was the most appalling mess of course, with soot smuts all over me, my hair a fright and my clothes just a sodden shambles, but I was awake and I was truly alive for I had been useful and achieved what I had intended, which is always a good feeling. The first thing I noted was the crowd that waited for us on the Shore. I had thought that Aunt Elspeth might have been there, but she had brought the whole clan with her, and scores of people that I did not know, as well as some familiar faces. I must admit to some trepidation, for however successful we had been, I had yet to face Aunt Elspeth about my week's absence and I had not forgotten her previous threats of birchings and the like. I felt certain parts of me quiver, but hoped attention would be diverted to Louise.

  “How did the news spread?” I wondered, but Mr Kemp merely smiled.

  “News of a ship wreck always travels fast.”

  I steered Mary alongside the Shore and a score of willing hands were ready with ropes and help for the survivors. It was then that fatigue gripped me and I sagged at the wheel and felt my head swirl. I did not swoon though. Some inner strength kept me upright. You remember that my dears; however weak and tired you may be, there are always some reserves of strength within you when they are needed.

  “William!” Mrs Cairnsmuir was first to greet us, clasping Mr Kemp in both arms and embracing him, with no regard to his soaking wet clothes or the coal dust that smeared him from head to boots. I was shocked at the impropriety of her behaviour to a mere mechanic, and more than a little jealous, for that should have been me holding him so close.

  Aunt Elspeth hurried to Louise, who had managed to drag herself to her feet and was trying to make sense of the blonde shambles on top of her head. She looked up as her mother approached and stood slightly shamefaced.

  Aunt Elspeth touched her lightly on the shoulder but there was no doubting the mingled anger and relied in her voice. “Now you've had your little adventure, girlie, have you found even a modicum of sense?”

  Louise nodded emphatically and Aunt Elspeth pulled her into a tight hug that lasted for a good two minutes as they sobbed together as only two women can.

  I released my grip on the wooden spokes of the wheel and stepped unsteadily onto the Shore. I stood alone, wondering how I had survived and where I should go and what I should do while Lieutenant John Forres, looking surprisingly efficient and quite dapper in those splendid white breeches, ordered a detachment of his regiment to take control of the French prisoner. He smiled and bowed to me, and I curtseyed back, quite taken with this new side to him. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps there was something behind the dandy appearance, but I killed that thought, for he would certainly not want to know me now, after my misadventures with Willie Kemp.

  I knew I was beyond the pale of respectable society. I had pushed myself into a dark corner and there I would stay. I continued to stand alone while seemingly half the gentlefolk of Edinburgh fussed around Mr Kemp and Louise, and the rugged and handsome Joe winked at me.

  “You did well,” he said and held out his hand. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  I took his hand, which was hard and horny and honest. “It was a great pleasure,” I lied, and then I burst into tears once more.

  It may have been reaction after the excitement, or possibly sheer exhaustion, but whatever the reason, I sank to the ground, trembling. The American seaman and ship-owner were crouched down at my side speaking with those lovely transatlantic accents Willie Kemp arrived.

  “Miss Lamont! Alison?” There was genuine concern in his voice as he stood over me. “My God, are you hurt?” I saw him tower above me, head and shoulders taller than everybody in that heterogeneous crowd, and I heard him shout.

  “Bring a coach! Quickly!”

  I was no longer surprised that people rushed to obey Mr Kemp, but I was astonished when he lifted me in those strong arms and placed me on one seat of Mrs Cairnsmuir's own carriage. I lay there, dazed, admiring the coat of arms on the panel above Mr Kemp's head and wondering where I had seen that device of a crown and crossed swords before. I did not care, especially not when Mr Kemp leaned over me and kissed me as gently as I have ever been kissed in my life.

  “It's all right now,” he said. “Everything will be all right now.” Then he smiled and everything in the world was golden. “Let's get those wet clothes off you and get you into something dry.”

  I tried to protest, to say that it was hardly decent, but he only laughed. “I've seen you before, remember, and anyway, last night was our wedding night.”

  Last night? That handfasting ceremony seemed a year ago and a million miles away. I stared at him as through a long dark tunnel but before I knew it he had slipped dry things on me, although I have no idea from where they came, and when I woke he was carrying me, huddled in a coach blanket, right through the front door of Cairnsmuir House.

  “We can't come here,” I said, more than slightly dazed. “Mrs Cairnsmuir won't like it. Take me to our cottage in the hills.”

  “Mrs Cairnsmuir will be pleased to have you,” Mr Kemp told me, smiling softly.

  I looked around, seeing Mrs Cairnsmuir herself, with Aunt Elspeth by her side and Louise with dark shadows around her eyes and her
shoulders drooping. I braced myself for a torrent of accusation and abuse, but instead all I saw was concern.

  “You sleep easy, Miss Lamont,” Mrs Cairnsmuir said softly. “You're safe now.”

  “I'm always safe with Willie Kemp,” I told her. “He's a real gentleman.” I dropped my voice to a whisper as I boasted of the man that I loved. “Do you know that he walked in on me naked and did not take any advantage at all?”

  Mrs Cairnsmuir shook her head. “I did not hear that,” but her face seemed to float away as Mr Kemp carried me into the largest and softest bed that I have ever seen.

  “I must leave you now,” he was smiling but I clung to his neck, protesting that he could not leave me alone again. “It's only for a short while,” he said, and prised free my hands.

  The door closed softly but a trio of maids, supervised by Aunt Elspeth, were there to ease me out of my clothes and into a silk nightgown that floated over me, caressing all my curves. There were silk sheets too, and a pillow so soft that it seemed ethereal, and then I was dreaming, with a host of images of the past two weeks cascading through my mind so I moaned and twisted and called for Willie Kemp.

  “I'm here,” he said, and he was, sitting by my bed with his hand on mine. “I'll always be here.”

  Or was that a dream?

  I remembered, then, where I had seen that device of a crown and crossed swords that had decorated the coach. The same symbols had been on the cutlery in Willie Kemp's hut. “You are a thief,” I told him, as I drifted away again. “You stole from Cairnsmuir House.” But Willie Kemp did not look in the least abashed as he smiled upon me, and gently tucked me in.

  When I awoke again it was full daylight and there was a warm fire in the grate. Mr Kemp was dozing in his chair but he jerked awake when I softly called his name.

  “Mr Kemp?” I could feel the soot from Mary combating the salt to scrape the lining of my throat.

  “Alison? Miss Lamont?”

  I nodded, luxuriating in the comfortable warmth of that splendid room. “I am pleased to see you there, Mr Kemp.” I reached for him, but he stood a finger's length out of reach.

  Mr Kemp looked as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him. “Miss Lamont. There are things that you should know about me.”

  I smiled, for, as I have already said, I was very young and still naïve, but I was about to learn the duplicity of that man that I trusted more than anybody else on earth. The scheming Willie Kemp!

  “I know enough,” I stopped his words by half rising from the bed and pressing a finger to his lips. “I know that I love you, and that we are handfasted.”

  He removed my finger, rather roughly, I thought, and eased me back under the covers. The touch of his hands thrilled me. “There are other people involved, Miss Lamont, so things are not quite as simple as you would wish.”

  “I only wish you,” I said.

  Mr Kemp sighed, shook his head and gave me the saddest of all smiles. He rose abruptly and left the room, reappearing a few minutes later with a whole host at his tail. There was Aunt Elspeth, and Louise of course, you could never keep her away from anything with even a hint of scandal. Then there was Mrs Cairnsmuir with her severe face. When I wondered what she thought about me soiling her best silk sheets I shrugged, and cried a little, and then forgot about her as I looked at the rest of the company. There was that auburn haired woman who I had met once before, when she stood with her back to the wall, saying nothing; and there was John Forres, once more the dandy, but now I had seen the man behind the facade and all was not as it was. He looked on me and smiled, and I smiled back, quite ready to forgive him any perceived transgressions.

  “Good evening,” I said to the assembled company, and tried to curtsey from my bed. I failed of course, and succeeded only in unsettling myself as my pillow slid to the floor. Mr Kemp and John Forres both made a lunge to rescue it, collided before they reached my bed and glared at each other for a second until Mrs Cairnsmuir said a single short word that separated them.

  After that little incident they all clustered around, some standing, some smiling and the more impertinent even sitting on my bed. Louise came closer, and pretended to be concerned over my welfare even as she looked sidelong into the dressing table mirror to admire her profile.

  “As this is my house,” Mrs Cairnsmuir said to me, “I shall speak first and you shall listen.”

  I nodded meekly. What else could I do? I saw my aunt's grim face and wondered once more what penalties she would inflict upon me. “Yes Mrs Cairnsmuir,” I said.

  “For a start you can drop that pretence at timidity, Miss Lamont. It takes a strong woman to live alone in a cottage in the wilds, and a strong woman to steer a boat in a Forth squall. There is a time and place for pretence and a time and place for truth, and this is the latter. Do you understand?”

  I felt myself colouring up to the roots of my tangled black hair. “Of course,” I retorted, quite sharply. “I do not tell lies, Mrs Cairnsmuir!”

  “That's better! There has been enough play acting here, and it will stop right now.” Her tone moderated a little so it was less like a file and more like a cheese grater. “I believe that you know all these people present?”

  I ran my eyes over them again. You have no idea how vulnerable you can feel lying in an unfamiliar bed when a collection of relatives and strangers are staring down at you. Especially when you feel as guilty as I did. “I know everybody except the lady with red hair.”

  “I thought not.” Mrs Cairnsmuir said firmly. “That is Elizabeth Kemp.”

  I might have given a small scream. I certainly felt faint as I looked at the tall, handsome and eminently capable looking Elizabeth Kemp. She looked back at me, faintly amused, and I wondered if she was about to launch some attack on my person, or was just enjoying my humiliation. I closed my eyes to hide the sudden tears as everything began to make sense.

  Of course Mr Kemp was married, he was tall, handsome and always knew just what to say to a woman. Who else but a married man would know that? And that explained his long absence while I was in the cottage; he was with his wife, where he ought to be. It also explained why he had not wished to marry me; he could not of course, if he already had a wife.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lamont,” Elizabeth Kemp was mocking me now, holding out her hand in pretence at friendship while she hid her distaste behind that false smile. She was shapely too, taller than me and with a nice figure behind those flimsy clothes. She did not have my plumpness, but had that correct proportion of curves and swells that men seem to prefer above all other womanly shape. I hated her all the more. “William has told me all about you.”

  “What?” I stared at her, and swivelled my eyes to her blackguard, deceiving husband. “He told you about me?”

  “Of course he did.” The wronged wife's laughter was as appealing as everything else about her. I felt terribly, frustratingly and pointlessly jealous. “He always tells me about his doings.”

  He would, I reasoned. He was a gentleman in every respect. Suddenly I remembered his politeness but lack of shock, or passion, when he saw me naked. There was small wonder at that now; he had probably seen the curvaceous Elizabeth naked a thousand times; indeed he had probably just come from their marriage bed. I wondered, savagely, if he had shared that experience with the lovely Elizabeth as well.

  I took her hand of course. Mother always emphasised that one must always appear polite, even when one is filled with hatred and fear and bitter, bitter disappointment. John Forres was watching, smiling and nodding. He would make some woman a fine catch.

  “So now you do know everybody.” Mrs Cairnsmuir said. “And it is time for explanations.”

  I nodded. How could I explain that I loved this woman's husband, or that I had run away from home to be with a married man? I swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”

  Mrs Cairnsmuir smiled. “Oh we don't want you to say anything, Miss Lamont. We know everything there is to know about you. William does not
keep us in the dark.” I was surprised when she showed a little hesitation. “Or should I say, I thought he told us all, but he had not mentioned that small episode in the cottage that you just revealed to me.”

  I blushed anew as I recalled telling Mrs Cairnsmuir about Mr Kemp finding me naked. I cursed my wayward mouth.

  “What was that?” Elizabeth Kemp arched her eyebrows in enquiry “If it concerns William, then I must know about it.”

  “Not this time, Elizabeth,” Mr Kemp said, firmly, and I knew that there were some things my Willie Kemp did not share. I thanked him with my eyes, even as I wished the bed would sink into the floor, taking me with it.

  “No, Miss Lamont, it is we who owe you an explanation. Is that not right, William Kemp?” Mrs Cairnsmuir looked sternly at Mr Kemp, who had the decency to look humble, if not subdued.

  “Yes, mother.”

  It took me a small while to register what Mr Kemp had said, but to judge by the silence in the room, everybody else already knew. “Mother?” I repeated in a voice so soft that even I barely heard it.

  “Indeed.” Willie Kemp knelt down beside the bed and rested his elbows a few inches from my head. “Mrs Cairnsmuir is my mother. My full name is William Kemp Cairnsmuir.”

  I do not think that I have ever been more surprised, or humbled, in my life. “But you are a mechanic, an artisan. You are…” I stopped as the full implications hit me. Mr Kemp had never pretended to be anything but a humble mechanic, but on the other hand, he had never denied that he was a gentleman and a landowner, because I had never asked him. I had merely assumed that he was what he appeared to be. In fact, I had judged by appearances, and those few moments of casual conversation when Louise had made such disparaging comments about Mr Kemp and his steamboat.

  “I am William Kemp Cairnsmuir,” Mr Kemp told me. “My other title, which I rarely use, is the Earl of Cairnsmuir.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Rather than Mr Kemp being of a lower social status than me, it was I who was far lower down the scale. But that hardly mattered, as he was married to Elizabeth. I paused for a second. Elizabeth Kemp? If William was surnamed Cairnsmuir, then why had she not taken his name? Perhaps Kemp was the family name and Cairnsmuir merely the title: I always found these things confusing.