‘The coachman, Robert Wilson, has suffered an injury,’ Patrick explained. ‘He’ll need a bed made up for him just now, Mrs. Riach.’
‘That’s all very fine, but what about your dinner? Will you be wanting it or not, for it’s been ready these past two hours?’
Hippolyta stared at her. Her mother’s housekeeper never spoke like that to her mother: Mrs. Riach must be very angry about the dinner being spoiled.
‘I’m sure we could eat it just as soon as Mr. Wilson is settled, Mrs. Riach. After all, if it has been ready for two hours, perhaps it could keep just a little longer?’
She thought she was being sensible, but the look Mrs. Riach flashed upon her was to say the least dismissive.
‘Mr. Wilson is not well and he needs to lie down, Mrs. Riach. I’m sure you don’t want to keep these good people waiting in the street while we eat our dinner.’
Patrick’s argument seemed to sway her more efficiently. Wilson was brought into the kitchen and propped on a settle until Mrs. Riach and a maid had made up a rough bed in the attic, and the labourers then helped him up the stairs and laid him down on it. One of them even stayed and thoughtfully pulled off the coachman’s boots. Then the labourers were tipped, the coachman settled on his side with a pail for any further vomiting and a cold compress on his head, and with the dust of the road still on her face Hippolyta sat down to dinner at what was intended to be her own table, with her husband at the head. The food was lukewarm, but they could hardly object: at least, so Hippolyta thought.
‘The trouble is,’ said Patrick softly when Mrs. Riach had departed with the maid for the kitchen, ‘I only suggested a time we might arrive. I made her no promises, and she should know that travellers cannot be held to a particular time. I am sorry, my dear.’
‘Oh! I see,’ said Hippolyta. ‘I did wonder how she could have known when we were supposed to eat. Still, the food is delicious, and a hot meal would have been heavy, no doubt, on a warm day like this.’ She smiled at him. ‘The house is charming! I look forward very much to exploring it and the village – oh! Spa town!’
‘Spa town,’ Patrick laughed with her. ‘Well, let us go for a walk after dinner, and see who we see.’
At least, Hippolyta thought, she had the chance to change out of her dusty travelling clothes and into one of her new walking dresses, in her favourite blue floral print and with a deep layered skirt heavy with overstitching around the hem. It swung with gratifying elegance as she examined her appearance in the cheval glass: it was as well she had kept some clothes in the carriage with them, for who knew when the cart might arrive. Patrick smiled as she came downstairs and offered her his arm, and they set off down the little garden path and out on to the sunny green, where there was a surprising number of elegant people promenading.
‘The summer’s visitors,’ said Patrick. ‘We are growing fashionable! Some are ill, some fancy they are ill, and some simply enjoy the clear air. It will clear out quickly enough when the weather changes, but it is bringing quite a little prosperity to the town.’
Almost opposite their cottage was a tall, imposing church – a centrical church for three parishes, Patrick explained, and almost as large as any one might see in Edinburgh. Around it the little rows of houses were arranged just so, as the old laird had dictated. The streets were clean and neatly kept, with none of the middens and ashpits they had seen in the villages along their way.
‘Old Farquharson of Monaltrie had seen to the buildings at the spa,’ Patrick explained, ‘but the place proved too popular.’
‘Where is the spa?’ Hippolyta asked, looking around for some Bath-like structure.
‘Oh, over on the other side of the Dee, and downstream a mile or so, with a hotel which is also full at this time of year. But the land there is steep: he built Pannanich Lodge further upstream to accommodate more visitors, but even that proved insufficient, and so he came here to the nearest flat land and planned his village – spa town – here. Pannanich is the name of the wells, too, but this area was known as Ballater so he kept the name.’
‘And is he still the laird?’
‘No, he died last year. The place belongs to Farquharson of Invercauld, now: we’ll see how things go with an absent landlord.’
‘But you said there are still lots of visitors for the spa?’ Hippolyta had a moment’s anxiety: Patrick’s practice was to be built – was being built – on the visiting patients and those who had taken up longer term residence to be near the healing waters.
‘That’s right: the spa and the fresh air really do seem to make people feel better.’
‘That I can well imagine,’ Hippolyta agreed, taking in a deep breath. She had just puffed it out with a laugh when someone called out from across the street,
‘Dr. Napier! I’m delighted to see you back, sir!’
They both turned, and Patrick smiled and bowed a greeting. The man who had called out hurried across to them, arms out in welcome.
‘Mrs. Napier! Napier, man, introduce me to your new wife at once!’
‘My dear,’ said Patrick, ‘this is Dr. Durward, my mentor here. My wife, Dr. Durward.’
‘Never mind ‘mentor’, Mrs. Napier, your husband is a much valued colleague. I don’t know how I should manage all these people and their illnesses were it not for him. And I don’t know when I was so delighted as when he told me he was to go to Edinburgh and bring back a wife!’
Hippolyta curtseyed very properly and smiled. This was more reassuring. Durward was a broad, florid man, handsome enough, not fat but heavy like a plough horse, with blue eyes of marked intelligence. He felt reliable, if loud.
‘I have heard a great deal about you, Dr. Durward. I believe my husband has been very fortunate to find such a situation and such supportive friends.’
‘Nonsense!’ cried Durward, with a firm gesticulation of disagreement. ‘Napier here is the kind who would find – and deserve – friendship and fortune everywhere he goes.’
Hippolyta decided that anyone who discerned such virtues in her lovely husband had to be a friend, and favoured him with a broader smile.
‘And what do you think of your new home, Mrs. Napier?’ the new friend asked.
‘I think it’s charming, Dr. Durward. I am sure I shall be very happy here.’ She and Patrick exchanged glances in the manner of many newlyweds, which, she tried to remember, tended to have a nauseating effect on those around them. He was so handsome, though, it was difficult to control such glances: she watched him as he assured Dr. Durward of the books he had brought back for him from Edinburgh. He was as tall as Durward, though obviously not so wide, but his shoulders were broad and sat very well in his tailored coat. He was fair haired – so was she, but his was a warmer fair, with hints of reddish brown to it – and his eyes were deep blue of a shade she found particularly pleasing to gaze into. Her heart gave a little bounce as she thought again how lucky she was.
Durward was smiling indulgently at them, and she pulled herself together.
‘Do you live nearby, Dr. Durward?’ she asked.
‘I have a little place next to the inn, by the river,’ he said, with a gesture down the hill. ‘But being a carefree bachelor – or that is not a phrase I should use in front of newlyweds, is it?’ he laughed. ‘Being a lonely bachelor, I spend a good deal of my time preying on others with better run establishments, seeking company, food and entertainment. A shameful existence, is it not?’
It was Hippolyta’s turn to laugh, seeing that Patrick found Durward amusing, too.
‘Perhaps you should find yourself a wife, too!’ she teased.
‘I have often said so, Dr. Durward,’ Patrick supported her.
‘Alas, I am too old for such romances,’ said Durward, with a mock-tragic expression. ‘I must simply make do with friends, and trust that I do not wear out their patience! And now I must go on, and leave you to your walk, I believe: I am off to call on the Strachans, and see if they will feed me a little supper later. Good day to you!’
&
nbsp; ‘I hope I did not say anything out of place,’ said Hippolyta when he was out of earshot. ‘He seems to invite teasing and familiarity.’
‘He does,’ Patrick agreed. ‘And he has been a good friend to me, so I should not want you to be cold to him. I do wonder, though, why he has not married. It cannot be for lack of funds, and he is a handsome man.’
‘Fairly handsome,’ said Hippolyta, her eyes on her husband’s face again.
‘Only fairly?’ he asked, and the conversation subsided into one only really interesting to those taking part - though to them, delightful.
She did admit to a few darker clouds on the horizon, though, when she went to find Mrs. Riach later.
‘Dinner was delicious, Mrs. Riach. I know we shall have to meet daily to plan meals and suchlike, but perhaps you already have intentions for tomorrow?’
The housekeeper muttered something incomprehensible.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Ah sed, how would Ah ken fit you’d be wanting afore you even cam here? Fit wye wud Ah ken a’ that?’
Hippolyta found herself focussing hard on Mrs. Riach’s lips, as if watching the shapes they made could give her a clue to her meaning. She jumped when she realised Mrs. Riach had stopped speaking and was waiting for her response.
‘Well, we’re here now. And you would know what Dr. Napier likes, anyway.’
Mrs. Riach grunted unattractively.
‘When do you like to do your marketing?’ Hippolyta asked, trying to be accommodating.
‘Early on, a’ course.’
‘Of course. Shall we meet at seven tomorrow and discuss the day?’
‘Aye, Ah suppose. Fit wye am Ah supposed to feed thon loon up the stair?’
Loon, thought Hippolyta – what on earth? Up the stair, though: she must mean Robert Wilson.
‘You’d better ask Dr. Napier what he is allowed to eat,’ she said quickly, relieved to pass on some responsibility. ‘He’s had a bang on the head and he’s been sick, so perhaps he should not have anything heavy just yet.’
‘Aye, right,’ said Mrs. Riach. ‘Did you want a’thin’ else? For Ah’d best go and change his bucket the now.’
‘Yes, yes,’ agreed Hippolyta, relieved, ‘off you go and do that, by all means.’
The housekeeper all but shoved past her, and disappeared up the stairs. Hippolyta leaned against the wall and sighed.
‘But, my dear Charlotte,’ she wrote later to her erstwhile bridesmaid back in Aberdeen, ‘I fear that the close friendship I have always admired between my mother and Mrs. Stair will be harder to achieve with Mrs. Riach than I had hoped. But no doubt she had looked forward much to our arrival and to have it spoiled by our lateness and the incumbrance of the injured coachman must have disappointed her greatly. Once he is well and gone, and the slight over the dinner (which was perfectly good, if a little chilled) is forgotten, we shall get along very well, I am sure!’
Chapter Two
The next morning, Patrick Napier announced that he would have to go and see some of his patients, in the village and at the wells. Hippolyta waved him goodbye proudly, conscious of the pleasure she took in being a doctor’s wife, then wondered what she was to do with her time until he reappeared for his dinner. She had already had her morning meeting with Mrs. Riach, during which she was informed in no uncertain terms that her new husband was fond of a piece of roast mutton but could not tolerate ham under any circumstances. Since Hippolyta had seen him tucking into ham with every appearance of enjoyment on several occasions, this puzzled her, but for the moment she let it lie.
It was another sunny morning with a delicate breeze breathing over it, and she was exploring the garden at the rear of the house when Mrs. Riach made her appearance at the kitchen door.
‘Mrs. Strachan and Mrs. Kynoch have called, ma’am,’ she announced with unwonted clarity.
‘Mrs. Who and Mrs. Who?’
‘Mrs. Strachan, she’s the wife of Mr. Strachan that has the shop in the high street. And Mrs. Kynoch, she’s the widow of the old minister. You’d best smarten yourself up,’ she added, smacking her lips sharply together as she saw the damp and the leaves on Hippolyta’s gown. Hippolyta flicked out her shawl and rearranged it, brushed down her skirt and followed Mrs. Riach indoors, trying not to be cross with her housekeeper.
‘Mrs. Napier. Welcome to Ballater.’
Mrs. Kynoch, the widow, was small, fat, and beady-eyed. She wore an assortment of clothing which seemed to have been selected at random, and her voice was irritatingly squeaky, but her smile seemed welcoming enough. Mrs. Strachan, on the other hand, was tall and fair, with a wide bonnet straight from some very fashionable emporium, and a distant, kindly expression on her face. Her gaze hovered somewhere slightly above Hippolyta’s eyebrows. Hippolyta, heart thumping, asked Mrs. Riach to bring in tea, and showed the ladies to seats – well, the lady and Mrs. Kynoch, anyway, she could not resist thinking.
‘Was your journey a good one? I hear your coachman was injured!’ Mrs. Kynoch bent forward eagerly in her chair.
‘Yes, he has a concussion, but we hope he will be quite well soon.’
‘How fortunate for him to be conveying a doctor at the time!’
‘Well, perhaps. If the accident were to happen anyway, I suppose,’ said Hippolyta.
‘I’m sure nothing like that has happened to the regular coach for an age!’ she shrilled.
‘There’s a regular coach?’
‘There are two! The Aberdeen and Ballater Coach – that’s the one that used to be the Telegraph Coach, only now it goes to Anderson’s in the Castlegait, not to Dempster’s – it goes on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays in the evening. The Royal Highlander, it goes to Dempster’s now – Dempster’s is in Union Street - it’s much more convenient for it goes every day at a quarter to three, and you’re into Aberdeen by nine at night. Not that I ever take either of them myself, nowadays … But then you’ll need to know about the carrier, too. He goes on a Wednesday and comes back on a Thursday, and if you need friends to direct anything he lodges at Ross’s in Little Belmont Street. Everything goes through Aberdeen, of course! But of course if you have an urgent message to send at any other time – or not quite urgent, but, you know, not that needs to wait for the carrier, Mr. Strachan frequently has carts going to and fro, doesn’t he, Mrs. Strachan?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. Strachan. ‘I’m sure you would be very welcome to make use of any going in a convenient direction.’ Hippolyta, head spinning with Mrs. Kynoch’s information, had the impression that she and her parlour were a touch too low for the merchant’s wife to connect with, and bridled a little. Was not her father a lawyer in Edinburgh? But Mrs. Strachan was so very elegant.
‘You are very kind, ma’am,’ she said dutifully.
‘Are you settling in well?’ Mrs. Kynoch bounced in again. ‘Is there any other information you need? I know your dear husband is such an established member of the community here already, but gentlemen do not always know quite everything a lady needs to run her household!’
‘I believe I am well enough informed at present, ma’am,’ said Hippolyta.
‘And you have travelled all the way from Edinburgh! We were all very excited when Dr. Napier told us the lovely news! Tell me, were you born in Edinburgh or had you come to stay there?’
‘I was born there, and lived all my life there except for a few trips to England,’ Hippolyta explained. ‘My father is a lawyer. I have two older sisters who are already married with children of their own, and they live in Edinburgh, too.’
‘Then it must be strange for you to come so far north!’
Hippolyta laughed, a little stiffly. She did not want to be thought of as some foreign traveller, anxious at every wild landscape.
‘I believe I shall be very happy here!’
‘I have heard, Mrs. Napier, that you paint exceeding well,’ said Mrs. Strachan suddenly. Both the other ladies stared at her, surprised. Hippolyta cleared her throat.
‘Som
eone has been very kind, ma’am, but it is true that I love to paint.’
‘Are these two works your own, then?’ Mrs. Strachan asked, rising to examine two watercolours on the wall behind Hippolyta. They were of the Hermitage at Braid, near Edinburgh. Hippolyta and Mrs. Kynoch rose, too.
‘They are, ma’am. I have brought a few views with me, to remind me of my childhood home.’
Mrs. Strachan leaned delicately towards them, like a fine reed bending in the wind, the back of her dress with its low waist sitting so perfectly Hippolyta gave a little sigh of envious delight. Mrs. Kynoch eyed the nearer one briefly.
‘I haven’t an artistic bone in my body, Mrs. Napier, but I’ll agree they’re bonny! Mrs. Strachan, now, she has quite the eye, have you no?’
Mrs. Strachan made a small dismissive noise, and continued her close study in silence.
‘Have you visited Edinburgh, Mrs. Kynoch?’
‘Oh, aye, I was down for the General Assembly with my late husband once or twice. It’s a gey noisy place, is it no?’
Hippolyta smiled kindly.
‘It can be, until you grow used to it, I suppose.’
The tea arrived and Mrs. Strachan was persuaded to leave the paintings and return to her seat. Hippolyta noted that Mrs. Riach had produced some rather fine biscuits which she had not seen the previous day, and some good china. Evidently these guests were to be impressed. Mrs. Kynoch was, and chattered about biscuits and baking, and domestic affairs, and Hippolyta began to feel quite grown-up to be taking part in a conversation of this kind, even if she was learning more than talking. Mrs. Kynoch knew every tradesman in the three parishes, and was not slow to offer her opinion on them. Hippolyta wondered how far she was to be trusted in her opinions, with her silly voice and her faintly ridiculous clothes. Mrs. Strachan by contrast said very little, though Hippolyta and Mrs. Kynoch both tried to draw her out. At last they decided that it was time to leave, and both ladies rose.
A Knife in Darkness Page 2
