The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)

by Helen Susan Swift

  'It is Highland,' Father did not sound pleased. 'Ferintosh is another name for whisky, particularly smuggled whisky. This fellow, Charleton or Galloping whatever, pretends to be a gallant captain when in reality he is the leader of one of the most notorious illicit whisky distilling bands I have ever come across.' Father faced me squarely. 'John is correct in all he says, Mary. Charleton is a despicable rogue. I hope we can recapture him before he causes any more mayhem.'

  Father's words removed any trace of levity from me. I had never known him so serious when talking to me. Unable to meet his eyes, I looked away. 'Yes, Father.' Once again I regretted my impulsive actions. I should have let Captain Ferintosh prove his innocence in the court rather than distress my father in this manner.

  I was twenty years old, a young woman rather than a girl, yet I had acted like an irresponsible child. Retreating to the walled garden, I sought solace among the plants and sounds of nature. I had lived a comparatively sheltered life, I admit, but I was no fool. I should not have gone against my father, who always acted with fairness and impartiality. He tempered justice with mercy, veering toward leniency in more cases than he would admit himself.

  Why had I acted as I had? Love of course. I had fallen in love with Captain Ferintosh. I still loved him, despite all I had heard. Father and John Aitken must be mistaken. I nodded as I walked between the neat vegetable beds. That was the only answer. Father had made an honest mistake.

  What if Father was right?

  I could not believe that. I could not allow myself to think that I had released such an evil man. I was quite prepared to accept that Captain Ferintosh was a bit of a rogue, in the stamp of Rob Roy MacGregor or one of the old Border Reivers, a laughing, gallant daredevil who danced on the borders of legitimacy, but I refused to believe that he was an out-and-out villain.

  Ignoring the rain that had oozed from a leaden sky, I continued to pace between the vegetable beds and fruit bushes. Somewhere in my mind, I hoped that Captain Ferintosh would pop up behind me, as he had before. That miracle did not happen. Captain Ferintosh did not come. Instead, it Mr Mitchell arrived, pushing the inevitable wheelbarrow.

  'You had better get yourself inside out of the rain, Miss Mary.' He had watched me grow up and knew me as well as he knew his own children. 'You'll get into bother with your mother else.'

  'Thank you, Mr Mitchell.' I had called him Mr since my infancy. 'I'll just stay out here. I like to think.'

  'Whatever you think best, Miss Mary.' Mr Mitchell disappeared into the potting shed, his personal haven where he smoked his pipe, sipped at his illicit whisky that I pretended to know nothing about, and worked his wizardry on the plants.

  Alone once more, my mind reverted to the problem of Captain Ferintosh. I could think of only one solution: seek him out and persuade him to return to Father's custody.

  To me, that seemed the best way for everybody. Father would have his prisoner back, so would retain his reputation as a safe pair of hands while Captain Ferintosh would help his case by returning voluntarily, and would have the opportunity to clear his name. Most of all, I would lose the guilt that hung like a lead weight around my heart. Once the captain was released and free of any accusation, I could openly declare my affection for him. John Aitken could pack his feelings for me in a small sack and bury them wherever he felt best, for I did not, and could not care a flying fig for him or a hundred more John Aitkens however worthy they may be.

  I sighed, looking up into the refreshing rain. God was in his heaven, and all was bright in the world. All I had to do was turn my theory into practice.

  'Mary!' My mother's carping voice rang through the garden. 'You'll catch your death of fever. I don't want the expense of burying you, next!'

  'Yes, Mother,' I obeyed like the dutiful daughter that I was. I knew what I wanted to do. I was determined to right my wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  I sat at the breakfast table as Father entertained Mr Ormiston, John Aitken and the hard-eyed Mr Elliot. Mother sat opposite Father as the men demolished all the food Cook could provide.

  Once the initial grumbling about the state of farming and the price of grain had been disposed of, Mother steered the conversation away from Captain Ferintosh's mysterious escape to her favourite subject.

  'You are a married man, are you not, Mr Ormiston?'

  'I am, Mrs Hepburn.' Mr Ormiston did not strike me as the marrying type. I thought him sarcastic, unpleasant and nasty.

  'Do you have any family, Mr Ormiston?'

  'I have two sons and one daughter,' Ormiston said. I pitied these little ones under his sneering eye.

  'Mrs Ormiston will be busy with all these children to bring up.' Mother looked sideways at me, doubtless ensuring I was taking notes of how a dutiful wife should act.

  'Poor Hannah works non-stop,' Mr Ormiston said. 'We have employed a nanny to help her.'

  I nodded to him, grudgingly seeing some good in this sardonic man. 'Mrs Ormiston will be grateful for that.'

  'The two of them get along famously,' Ormiston said. 'I've never seen such a pair for laughing together.' Ormiston's eyes altered amazingly when he spoke of his wife. They sparkled with deep affection. I thought I might actually like the man.

  'I am glad to hear that,' Mother said. She turned her attention to Mr Elliot. 'How is Mrs Elliot?'

  'In charge of everything,' Elliot replied at once. 'People who think that men are the head of the house have evidently never met Mrs Elliot.'

  I hid my smile. Mr Elliot was one of the most direct men I had ever met. I could not imagine him taking orders from a woman.

  'I like the sound of her,' Mother glanced at Father, who, thinking I was not looking, pulled a face.

  'Mr Aitken.' At last, Mother came to the real object of her attention. I knew her methods, you see. She had been trying to allay my suspicions by asking all the men present about their wives while waiting to pounce on John Aitken. 'You are without a wife at present, I understand.'

  'You understand correctly, Mrs Hepburn.' Was that a meaningful glance at me? Or was I imagining things? I was sure it was a meaningful glance. I quailed; the formal before-declaration-of-marriage-intent-meeting was meant to be on Saturday week, not today.

  Deciding to say nothing, I clamped shut my mouth and stared fixedly at the picture on the wall as if I had never before seen the landscape of the Forth.

  'I am sure you miss your dear departed Mrs Aitken.' Mother nearly purred the words.

  'I am sure I do not,' John Aitken spoke with some heat. 'She was an old witch. She would put a spell on me like as not, the instant I decided to do anything that met with her disapproval.'

  I smiled, thinking that John Aitken was making a joke.

  'It was no laughing matter, Miss Hepburn,' Grumpy John Aitken snapped. 'I was glad when she decided to die on me. I buried her face- downward so if she tried to crawl out of her grave she will be ever closer to where she belongs.'

  I had a mental image of poor Mrs Aitken exiting through the floor of her coffin and scrabbling down, down, down in the hope of haunting her husband. I did not smile; in my mind, John and Mrs Aitken seemed well suited for each other.

  'I believe that you are searching for another wife?' Mother spoke artlessly as if she had not been leading up to that question since we first sat at the table.

  I felt John Aitken's eyes swivel to me and away again. 'I will be very careful before I commit myself to another marriage.' He spoke slowly. 'I wish for a wife with an even temper next time around.'

  I said nothing, wondering how I could unleash my wicked temper without further upsetting my father.

  'I'm sure you will find the right lady,' Mother spoke soothingly. She looked across at me. 'Every man needs a good wife to look after him.'

  As I prepared to show my temper, Ormiston forestalled me. 'I was saying that to Colligere this morning. A good wife is what you need, I said. Take Mrs Ormiston now, a better wife you could not find.'

  I wondered what Alexander Collig
ere would do with a wife. He would probably label her and place her in a box with his other exhibits. 'Mrs Colligere would have to be a very understanding woman,' I said.

  Ormiston laughed. 'She need not worry about any love rival,' he said. 'Her only jealousy would be reserved for a new type of grass, or weed, or potato, perhaps.'

  We smiled at each other in perfect understanding. I had thought that Ormiston had been cruel with his description of Mr Colligere, now I understood the affection peeping from behind the words. Rather than an unpleasant, unfeeling fellow, Ormiston hid his kindness by a mask of barbed words.

  The rap at the door interrupted our meal. The footman poked his head into the room. 'My apologies for interrupting, Mr Hepburn, but there is a message for you.' He proffered a silver tray on which lay a folded piece of paper, sealed with a wafer.

  Father broke the seal and read the note. 'I am sorry, gentlemen. My apologies, Agnes, I am afraid I must break up this happy gathering.'

  Mother nodded at once. 'I understand, Andrew. What has occurred, pray?'

  'The Revenue cutter has caught a Dutch smuggler off Dunbar.' Father said.

  I could not hide my relief. I had been concerned that Captain Ferintosh might have been involved.

  'I must repair to the courthouse at Haddington,' Father said. 'There is some legal wrangle they wish to clear up.'

  'You other gentlemen are welcome to stay,' Mother said.

  'It would not be right,' Mr Ormiston said. 'We must bid you farewell, Mrs Hepburn.'

  'Gentlemen,' Mother gave a broad smile. 'I would deem it a great favour if you would stay a little longer. An hour or two, while Mr Hepburn is away. I am a little unsettled with these unpleasant rogues around.'

  I looked at mother, aware that she was as unsettled as a lump of granite on a still day. That woman was planning something.

  The men glanced at each other.

  'Only one gentleman will suffice,' Mother said. 'Mr Ormiston and Mr Elliot; you had better return to your wives. They will be as troubled as I am. I do apologise, Mr Aitken for the inconvenience.'

  I was surprised when Mr Aitken gave a polite bow. 'There is no inconvenience, Mrs Hepburn. I am honoured to be of assistance.' He exchanged glances with Father. 'I will ride to Tyneford first, with your permission. I must ensure my men are working.'

  'Thank you, Mr Aitken.' Mother said. 'I am most grateful.'

  When Father rose, the room cleared in seconds, leaving Mother and I staring at each other across the desolate table.

  'That was rather sudden,' Mother said. 'I am glad it is only a legal matter this time.'

  'So am I.' I said. 'I didn't like it at all when Father rode out with his pistol. It's like the old days of the Border Wars.'

  'I agree.' Mother sat back in her chair. 'Who is this Mr Colligere fellow that you and Mr Ormiston were discussing?'

  'Mr Colligere,' the thought of Alexander Colligere made me smile. 'He is the gentleman who ended up on the floor with Mr Aitken.'

  'I remember Mr Aitken falling,' Mother said. 'I cannot for the life of me recall who else was involved. No matter.' Mother shook her head. 'You heard me ask Mr John Aitken to keep us company for a while.'

  'Yes, Mother.' I said. 'I do not understand why.'

  'You will,' Mother was smiling. 'I'm too busy, so this is a good time for you to get to know him better.'

  'Mother!' I stared at her in horror. I honestly felt sick at the thought of even being near the man. I also knew that mother was only making an excuse to push me and John Aitken together.

  'I want you to play the hostess,' Mother continued as if I had consented without demur.

  'I'd rather not,' I said.

  'I know you'd rather not,' Mother's smile did not falter. 'But I would rather that you did.'

  That ended the discussion of course. In my day, it was a foolish woman indeed who dared deny her mother's wishes. I spent the next hour or two waiting in increasing trepidation for Mr Aitken to return. I could not leave the house so fretted at my sewing, pricking my finger more than once. Eventually we heard a knock at the front door.

  Mother looked up with a smile. 'Get the poor fellow a drink, Mary. Show him around the house. Show him the grounds too, if time permits.'

  'You would be far better at that than I, Mother,' I searched for a way out.

  'Oh, don't be silly, Mary.' Mother picked up a closed fan to tap me on the head. 'Just be yourself. Don't let your nerves get the better of you; if I am correct, Mr John Aitken will be family soon.' She leaned closer to me. 'I am always correct, Mary Agnes Hepburn, always correct.' She rapped my somewhat prominent rump with her fan, hard enough to make me jump. 'Now get along with you.' Mother always treated me as if I were ten years old, rather than as a woman fast approaching twenty-one.

  With no choice in the matter, I was not sure whether to deliberately spoil the occasion for Mr Aitken, or impress him. In the event, I decided to take Mother's advice and just be myself. After all, that was the easiest option.

  John Aitken looked surprised when I greeted him in the withdrawing room. 'Good morning again, Miss Hepburn.' He gave a formal bow.

  'Good morning Mr Aitken,' I curtseyed in return. 'I'm afraid Mother is indisposed at present. She asked if I could look after you.'

  'How very thoughtful of her,' John Aitken said.

  'Do you wish a drink, Mr Aitken?'

  'Claret if I may,' Mr Aitken said. 'Will you be joining me? I always feel guilty when the ladies do without.'

  That surprised me. Only a couple of hours previously I had thought this man to be a bit of a boor yet here he was displaying manners and consideration for others. 'I shall also have some claret.' Rather than ring for a servant, I poured two glasses myself.

  'You have a generous hand,' Mr Aitken lifted his glass. 'May I propose a toast, Miss Hepburn? A happy future.'

  'A happy future,' I repeated. But not with you.

  'Mother suggested that I show you around Cauldneb' I said.

  'That was very also thoughtful of her,' Mr Aitken said. 'Lead on MacDuff.'

  So MacDuff led on. Mr Aitken must have been determined to make a good impression on me, for he smiled at my weak attempts at humour, reacted with politeness to my bald statements and tried to appear interested in everything I showed him.

  Rather than the embarrassing time I had anticipated, I found myself quite liking this side of Mr Aitken, despite my wishes to the contrary.

  Mr Aitken listened intently when I gave him a tour of the library. He examined the books I singled out and commented on the number of travel and botanical volumes we had. 'Your father must be interested in such things.'

  'My father's interests lie chiefly in agriculture,' I said. 'These are books he purchased specifically for me.'

  'Oh?' Mr Aitken's bushy eyebrows rose. 'It is unusual to find a young woman with such singular tastes.'

  'You may find that not all young women come out of the same box, sir.' I felt my temper rising. Well then, let him see what manner of tartar he would get if he married me.

  I had anticipated a warm response. I was surprised when Mr Aitken merely smiled. 'Very droll, Miss Hepburn. Very droll. I do like a woman with a sense of wit. My wife had no such pleasant attributes.'

  Mr Aitken strolled to the window. 'You have rather a splendid vista from here.'

  'Yes, Mr Aitken.' My temper cooled as rapidly as it had arisen. 'We can see most of the East Lothian plain.'

  'That house there.' He pointed with the now-empty glass he still carried. 'I do not think I have noticed it before.'

  'No, Mr Aitken,' I said. 'That is the roof and bell tower of Huntlaw House. It hides in the folds of the Garleton Hills.'

  'Ah, Huntlaw.' Mr Aitken nodded. 'I believe I have heard the name. Was there not some tragedy attached to it?'

  'Why yes,' I said. 'Many years ago Lord Hume of Huntlaw died in a hunting accident. He was out shooting wildfowl in Aberlady Bay when his son accidentally shot him. Poor Lord Hume was killed outright. Lady Hume was quit
e distraught.'

  'I can imagine that she was,' Mr Aitken said. 'What happened to the son?'

  'Alas, Mr Aitken, nobody knows. The story goes that he ran away, overcome with grief at what he had done. Poor Lady Hume has become a virtual recluse since then. She only leaves Huntlaw House a few times each week, when she sits in her coach to be driven around her lands, searching for her missing son.'

  'What an unfortunate sequence of events.' Mr Aitken stared toward Huntlaw House. 'What a terrible tragedy for Lady Emily to lose both her husband and her son in such a manner.'

  'Yes.' I patted Mr Aitken's shoulder. The poor old fellow seemed as troubled as Lady Emily had been.

  Mr Aitken took hold of my hand. 'You have a kind heart, Miss Hepburn.' He smiled and released me. 'You will make a fine wife and mother.'

  I avoided that subject.

  'Is that your famous walled garden down there?' Mr Aitken asked.

  'It is my favourite place in the world,' I said, 'save perhaps for the uplands of Lammermuir.'

  'Your father has told me about your love for gardening.' Mr Aitken gave another small smile. 'It often got you into trouble with Mrs Hepburn.'

  'When I was younger,' I said quickly, colouring. I hoped Father had not gone into too much detail about these long-gone incidents.

  Mr Aitken softened his voice. 'Such things happened to us all.' He leaned closer to me. 'Very often to me when I was young.'

  I nodded, surprised that he understood. I could see Mr Aitken in an entirely different light now. He was no ogre, as I had imagined. Rather, he seemed to be a sympathetic sort of man. I hated to admit to myself that I had developed a tolerance for Mr Aitken, perhaps even a faint liking.

  Mother, naturally, saw all and understood everything. I am sure there was something of the witch about that woman.

  'I thought the two of you would get along well enough,' Mother said later when Father claimed Mr Aitken for some business matter.

  'Well enough,' I agreed, cautiously.

  'That is good for both of you.' Mother tapped me with her closed fan once more. 'Any discord within a family leads to a miserable existence for everybody. I won't hear of my daughter being the source of any disharmony.' She strode away, no doubt satisfied that her plans for my wedding were progressing satisfactorily.