Wild Catriona

by Oliver, Marina

  'Why not all over Europe?' Catriona asked, struggling to suppress her indignation. She assumed the wretched little man was attempting to make her an offer, and was annoyed at his importunity, but she was at a loss to know whether she was more amused than offended at the prospect he was opening up. Who else but this pompous fool would consider an offer to train a wife into his ways would be sufficient inducement for her to suffer his other attentions?

  'Indeed, why not?' he said eagerly. 'I am sure, with a few judicious articles in some of the new journals that are being published, my methods, my success, will be admired all over the globe.'

  'Who will write the articles? Your wife?' Catriona could not resist the idea and smiled involuntarily.

  Mr MacNeill took this as encouragement and stepped forward. Catriona hurriedly retreated behind a chair and held out her hands to ward him off.

  'Don't be shy of me, my child. I realise it is not normal for me to offer you my hand so soon after your sad bereavement, but you are alone now, you have no alternative, and so I have overcome my natural reluctance, and I offer you my all. Will you do me the honour, dear young lady, of becoming my wife?'

  Catriona shook her head. 'Sir, you do me great honour,' she said slowly, and thought how well she was responding to her first offer of marriage. The writers of the books on etiquette, which Aunt Joan was always suggesting she read, and which she had occasionally perused on cold wet days when she had nothing more amusing to do, would have been proud of her. 'But as you so rightly remark, it is very soon after the deaths of my parents, and I could not possibly contemplate a change in my state for many months to come.'

  Or ever, if you are the only man to offer for me, she added to herself. How dare the obnoxious little man persist in attentions which were quite inappropriate, and which she welcomed not at all?

  'I understand,' he intoned, and Catriona knew that he didn't. He was so self-satisfied he could see only his own point of view, and it would take some energetic persuasion to change it. She would have to make sure that he received this persuasion, or never again had the opportunity to repeat his offer.

  'Thank you,' she simpered, hoping she was not overdoing the role she had adopted, of meek, helpless female. A sudden notion of how Thomas would regard her performance made her choke on a laugh, and she hurriedly buried her face in a handkerchief.

  'Dear young lady, are you unwell?'

  'I – I feel rather faint,' she said, grasping at this chance of rescue. 'I would like to retire to my room, to lie down, you know. Please excuse me, sir.'

  'Allow me to summon your aunt. I will desist for now. I am sensitive of your feelings, my dear, but you give me hope that in time you will welcome my offer. You are such a sensible young lady.'

  Too sensible to ever allow myself to be alone with you again, to subject myself to another such performance, Catriona vowed as she waved away his proffered hand and escaped from the room.

  Her aunt and uncle must have been privy to this, she thought angrily as she fled up the stairs. How could they let her endure it? Then she realised, with a shock, that they must have been promoting the idea. Why else had they encouraged the wretched little man to visit so often, even before her mother was dead?

  Catriona stifled a sob. She would not weep again! She had mourned her mother enough. She had been prepared, and though the double blow of confirmation of her father's death, and her mother's final collapse, had been devastating, there was nothing she could do about it. Her parents would not want her to waste her life in pointless regrets. Nor, she vowed angrily as she reached the sanctuary of her room, would they for one moment have considered the pretensions of Mr MacNeill.

  The sobs came despite her efforts to stem them. Throwing herself on the bed Catriona wept for a few moments, and then the violence of her outburst subsided. She scrubbed the tears from her eyes, rose and went to the washstand and dashed some cold water across her face. Then she sat down near the window to contemplate the situation.

  Her aunt and uncle would be of no help. They had clearly encouraged Mr MacNeill, and she could not imagine they would change their minds about his suitability as a bridegroom. She was trapped, and had nowhere else to turn. She had no other kinsfolk in Scotland, but she did have cousins in Holland. If only she could go to them she would be safe from the impertinence of despicable coxcombs, and there, perhaps, she could make a new life for herself.

  *****

  Catriona was pale but composed when she went down to dinner that evening. While the servants were in the room her aunt and uncle carried on an innocuous conversation, discussing the weather, what must be done around the garden and the estate before the winter snows came, and some plans they were making for extending the orchard by planting new apple trees in the spring.

  They spoke to Catriona, and she did her best to reply normally. Uncle Colin, though, had a fierce gleam in his eyes, and a tight look about his mouth, which boded ill for her when they were alone. No doubt Mr MacNeill had reported his failure to her uncle.

  Catriona saw Anne, the young parlourmaid who helped Samuel, their butler, serve the meal, look at her sympathetically, and she wondered just how much the servants knew. Had they guessed the purpose of Mr MacNeill's visit? Had they overheard something said by her aunt or uncle?

  Catriona had often been intrigued by the way nothing could be concealed from the servants. It was not deliberate prying, but while going about their normal duties they inevitably gathered scraps of information, and no doubt in the servants' hall they chattered about their employer and his family, putting together these scraps until they had a tolerably accurate knowledge of the true state of affairs.

  They, it seemed, or at least Anne, shared her opinion of Mr MacNeill's offer. Suddenly Catriona desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, confide in a friend. Betsy and her family had gone to Edinburgh for a few weeks, and she had no other close friend in the village. Mentally she shrugged. She would have to endure whatever unpleasantness ensued on her own.

  Much as she was dreading the confrontation which must come, Catriona found the meal intolerably protracted. It finally ended, though. Anne and Samuel cleared the covers, and placed a decanter of port before Uncle Colin. Instead of rising to leave, Aunt Joan waved Catriona back into her seat.

  'We have something to say to you, and here is more private than the drawing room,' Aunt Joan explained.

  Her uncle slowly poured out a glass of port, then rose and stepped across to the heavy oak door, making sure it was firmly latched. Instead of resuming his seat, he picked up his drink and took up a position before the fire, so that Catriona was forced to twist in her seat to face him.

  He was waiting, perhaps for her to burst into explanations or apologies, but Catriona knew that if she did he would have an excuse for chastising her as intemperate and ill-mannered. She had decided she would say as little as possible. She stared at the floor, trying to make her expression meek, and waited for him to begin.

  He coughed, took a deep breath, and spoke.

  'I understand you had the impertinence and stupidity to refuse an offer of marriage from Mr MacNeill this afternoon,' he said, his voice quivering with suppressed emotion.

  'I did not think it appropriate for any man to make such an offer so soon after my mother's death. She has only been in her grave for a week,' Catriona said softly. If she could encourage her uncle to believe that was her reason, he might delay trying to enforce his will, and she would have more time to make her arrangements.

  The ploy did not, however, soften his fury.

  'You did not think? Pray, what has that to do with the matter? Chits of girls have not the competence to judge such things. It is for their families to decide what is best for them. You are now an orphan, and left to my care and guardianship. I have the right to dispose of you as I see fit.'

  Uncle Colin her guardian? Catriona hadn't thought of this, or much about her future, what she could do, but there was no one else, and her mother would naturally have favoured h
er own family rather than her daughter's Dutch relatives, if she had indeed made any such arrangements for Catriona.

  'You have no dowry, Cat, your father left you no fortune. It's fortunate there is a man of breeding and independent means who is prepared to take you on,' Aunt Joan said, more softly.

  'I have the jewels, and the money which was left for our maintenance, both of which you keep,' Catriona said, looking at her aunt, trying to prevent the pleading from showing in either her voice or her expression.

  She still had the locket, which her mother had, almost with her last breath, pressed into her hand and told her to wear for her sake. Uncle Colin had been present and heard this, and had not yet attempted to order her to hand it over to him. Catriona did not trust his continued forbearance, though, if she irritated him too much.

  Now he snorted. 'A few paltry baubles, and no more than a few coins? It's not enough to tempt any man but a crofter, and besides, how long do you think that will last?'

  'Since I don't know how much the jewels are worth, or how much money is there, how can I say?' Catriona asked, striving to keep her voice calm. It was the contempt with which he described her mother's possessions which infuriated her. The jewels, apart from a gold locket and a pearl ring, which had come from her mother, had all been precious because her husband had given them to her.

  'There's no need for you to know more than the plain fact they are insufficient to maintain you anywhere for more than a few weeks. They will not repay me for what I have spent on you and your mother these past months.'

  At this Catriona completely forgot her good intentions and thoroughly lost her temper. Leaping to her feet she faced her uncle, and he, startled, stepped back a pace before her furious onslaught.

  'So that's it? You begrudge giving your own sister and niece a home for a short while, when she was ill, desperately worried about my father, and had no one else to turn to? I knew you were a hard man, quite different in nature to her, but I never knew you were a miser, and a miserable, grasping hypocrite who demands payment for the very food provided for your only sister!'

  Aunt Joan had risen to her feet and was bleating helplessly, clasping Catriona's sleeve, which she jerked impatiently away, tearing the lace ruffles. 'Cat, my dear! Oh dear, look what you've done! Your pretty gown! They will have to be replaced, I don't think they can be repaired. And you mustn't talk to your uncle like that, indeed you must not,' she gabbled, and Catriona, gasping for breath, turned on her.

  'You planned this, didn't you? You encouraged that slimy, evil-stinking, prosy old fool to come here! You were planning this even before my mother died. You want to get rid of me, any way you can, and you don't care a jot for what I want, whether I'd be happy being trained by that – that pompous idiot to be the sort of wife he wants! He wants another servant, one he can bed at will, that is if he's capable of it – '

  'Catriona! You should not have such lewd thoughts, let alone speak such calumnies against so devout a man,' her uncle shouted, taking a step towards her, his hand raised to strike.

  Catriona ignored him. 'And beat whenever he feels like more vigorous exercise,' she gasped, then fell back into her chair as her uncle's hand connected with her face.

  'Go to your room!' he panted, and through the pain of the blow Catriona felt a small glow of triumph as she saw him wince and nurse his hand against his chest. 'At once! You will be locked in there until you beg forgiveness for your sins! Until you agree to marry the man I have chosen for you. Samuel!' he suddenly bellowed, and Aunt Joan hastily went to the bellpull and tugged it jerkily.

  'You need not force Samuel to carry me there, bound!' Catriona managed to say, as the door opened and a frightened-looking butler appeared. Pushing past him, she stalked up the stairs, ignoring her uncle who followed close behind, issuing incoherent instructions to the butler, the cook and Anne who, with two other maids, cowered just inside the baize door leading to the kitchens.

  Reaching the haven of her room Catriona slammed the door shut, and leaned against it. She heard a slight commotion outside as a key was found, and then it grated in the lock, and footsteps receded. She gave a sigh of relief, and moved away, holding her cheek where her uncle had hit her. It hurt, but she ignored that. Never before had he struck her, and she vowed he never would again. Somehow, she would contrive to escape.

  *****

  Chapter 7

  Susannah was attired in a new gown of lemon watered silk, with a lower neckline and wider panniers than Rory had ever seen her wearing before. She greeted him with a shy, rather wistful little smile, and without uttering a word of reproach contrived to make him feel an utter brute for rejecting her father's proposal. Somehow, he determined, he would have to find a way of reassuring her that it was not her person he objected to, but the conditions her father wished to impose too, conditions he had no intention of accepting.

  Silas had recently acquired a large new house just off Argyle Street, to the west of the city, in an area where many rich merchants were building houses in plots which allowed for large gardens, even orchards. None of the distinguished aristocrats of the Tobacco Lords had built there, though, they had gone further afield, to areas Silas could not yet aspire to. He was only in the second rank of wealth and influence in the city.

  There were several people in the large parlour, furnished with elegant pieces which had, Susannah had informed Rory some time ago, been sent for specially from London. As though Scottish craftsmen did not have the skills to provide the best, Rory thought. He was soon drawn into a discussion with two older men about the new Sankey Navigation in Lancashire.

  'We need such artificial help too,' one fellow manufacturer declared. 'It isn't enough to deepen the harbours, or widen the Clyde. Ships are getting bigger, and if they can't reach Glasgow, our trade will go elsewhere.'

  'We've the new turnpike roads,' another protested. 'Why do we want canals too? This is a bad precedent. The roads have stolen enough land from some big estates, and you can at least divert the roads to avoid houses. You can't do that with canals, they have to go straight and on the level.'

  'It would help trade,' the first responded. 'One barge, I understand, can carry many times the load a waggon can take, and only one or two men to drive it. That would reduce our costs.'

  'Aye, and help us fight the workers who try to demand more money from us.'

  The talk passed on to the cost of wages, and the problems with their workers. Rory allowed his attention to wander. He knew all about such problems, but he did not wish these men to learn what a difficult time he was having meeting his own costs.

  Susannah's Aunt Elizabeth, who was Mr MacNab's hostess this evening, kept glancing at the clock, and shook her head at the butler when he came to the door, raising his eyebrows slightly. Some guest was clearly late and delaying the proceedings. Rory, who had forgotten to eat any dinner at midday, hoped the supper would not be ruined.

  The dilatory guest arrived almost before he could formulate these thoughts, and rather to Rory's surprise, Matthew Ogilvie was ushered into the room. Though knowing Matthew was coming to Glasgow, Rory had not expected his uncle, who had taken his son's death hard, to go about in society.

  'Matthew, welcome,' Mr MacNab said cheerfully, surging forward to clap Matthew heartily on the shoulder. 'Was the journey difficult?'

  'Slow and tedious, as usual. But I think I've kept you waiting? My apologies, everyone, and especially to you, Ma'am.'

  They went into supper almost immediately, and Rory was seated next to Susannah. She looked rather more cheerful, and entertained him with amusing anecdotes about the Assemblies and balls he had missed while he was out of Glasgow.

  'You will come to one soon, Mr Napier?' she asked, and he promised he would.

  'Remind me of the next, closer to the time, and if business permits I promise I will be there.'

  She smiled brightly and turned to her other neighbour. For the moment Rory had no one to talk to, and he reflected that Susannah was really a most delightful
girl. She had been brought up well, was confident and complaisant, quiet and charmingly restful, and would make an excellent wife. When he was ready to wed, he hastily reminded himself.

  After the ladies retired the men drew together and the talk turned to business matters. A few comments were made about the sale of Mr Mackenzie's horses, and a couple of the men, both cotton manufacturers, cast Rory curious glances. Silas MacNab swiftly changed the subject and deflected attention away from him. News of Mackenzie's offer had clearly reached some of the businessmen of the town, the ones whose interests were closest to his own, Rory concluded. It would be impossible to suppress it, especially now his uncle was so clearly in Glasgow for a specific purpose.

  From the friendly attitude of MacNab, plus the man's knowledge of Matthew's time of arrival, Rory was sure he knew what this purpose could be. MacNab had most probably complained about Rory's intransigence, and Matthew would be adding his own pressure on Rory to accept MacNab's money along with his daughter.

  As they were taking their leave, Matthew drew Rory aside. 'I'm going south for a while, to talk to some cotton manufacturers in Lancashire. I've a feeling cotton's the best way forward, and Silas agrees. When I return I'll talk with you.'

  *****

  Catriona sat by her window and stared across the garden. It was the end of September, and already the leaves were beginning to turn yellow, and some were drifting down as a strong wind shook the trees. She had been imprisoned in her room for three days. Uncle Colin had not gone so far as to starve her, but she was allowed only the plainest food, oatcakes for breakfast, and chicken broth with some bread and cheese later in the day. There was nothing but water to drink.

  She didn't mind the lack of variety, she wasn't hungry. Once a day her uncle came up and demanded to know if she had changed her mind, and would accept Mr MacNeill's offer. Once a day Catriona firmly shook her head.