'You're a stubborn, senseless chit!' Aunt Joan complained. She also visited Catriona once a day, accompanied by Samuel, and harangued her about the benefits of the married state.
'He may not be the sort of man you dream of,' she said, exasperated. 'Few women are fortunate to marry such, but William MacNeill is settled, he's established with a reasonable income, and a good house. He's not a flighty young man who'd cause you heartache with his other involvements. And he's the only offer you are likely to receive, situated as you are. What else can you expect?'
Catriona shook her head. 'I'm not a child. I was seventeen in June. I'm aware marriage is usually a matter of convenience.'
'You're old enough to be sensible!' her aunt interrupted.
'I don't look for a prince in shining armour to marry me,' Catriona continued sharply. 'I'm not sure I want to wed, and I certainly have no intention of marrying someone who repels me as much as he does.'
They ignored her objections, and on the fourth day Uncle Colin appeared and ordered her to don her best gown.
'Mr MacNeill is a most generous, understanding man,' he announced. 'He realises he was perhaps a little premature in offering for you, but he is prepared to give you another opportunity. This time, Catriona, you will accept him.'
She argued, but he was adamant.
'I will hear no more excuses. You will accept him. Now dress in your best gown, as is fitting to receive such a distinguished man, and in ten minutes your aunt will come to escort you to him.'
'Lamb to the slaughter,' Catriona muttered.
Should she go as she was, in her old gown, or put on another? Much as she wanted to show her contempt for him, she suspected she would find more courage to withstand his rage or pleadings, whichever occurred, if she were looking her best.
When her Aunt Joan appeared Catriona was sitting meekly in the chair by the window.
'Thank goodness, child! You are going to be sensible. Come with me now, and don't be afraid. Mr MacNeill has asked to speak with you alone, but we will not be far away.'
Listening at the keyhole, Catriona thought. She had no respect or affection left for her aunt and uncle, who could treat her in such a fashion, and could believe anything of them. Holding her head high she followed her aunt to the drawing room where Mr MacNeill was standing looking out of the window.
'Here she is, and willing to be sensible,' Aunt Joan almost gabbled, and hastily backed out of the room.
For a moment Catriona wondered whether the man had any hold over her aunt or uncle, they pandered to him in such a grovelling manner. But the idea was absurd, a nonsense, and she thrust such profitless speculations from her mind and concentrated on how to phrase her rejection of the approaching offer. For reject it she would.
This time there was none of the obsequious flattery he had employed before. Mr MacNeill took a couple of paces from the window and sat down on a hard chair set before a small writing table.
'Sit down, my dear. In this chair,' he said, indicating a low one near his. 'We will be more comfortable for our discussion.'
Warily Catriona complied. It was far enough away to prevent him from touching her. She waited, silent. He would have to speak first, and she had no intention of being forced into pleading with him.
'Have you reconsidered my offer?' he asked eventually, coldly.
'My answer is the same as before, sir.'
He frowned. 'If that is your last word, you must consider the consequences.'
Catriona glanced up at him. What possible consequences could there be apart from the displeasure of her aunt and uncle, and the relief to herself?
'There are certain rumours about you in the village,' he said softly. 'I would not believe them of a woman who was fit to be my wife, but if you persist in denying my offer, you prove yourself unfit, and I have no other course than to believe they are true.'
What rumours, Catriona wondered. And what twisted logic was this he was announcing?
When she made no reply he rose to his feet and strolled back to the window. Catriona, who had tensed, expecting an attempt to take her hands, relaxed.
'You spend time at a ruined bothy up on the mountains?' he suddenly demanded.
'I – I print my fabrics up there,' Catriona replied.
'That's not all you do. It is rumoured that you meet your lover there.'
Startled at the accusation, Catriona laughed. 'What nonsense! I haven't a lover.'
'But you have been seen there with a man.'
She felt furiously angry. Who had been spying on her? 'The place is not private, anyone can walk there!'
'And spend the night? In the same hut as you sleep in?'
She swallowed. Who had discovered this, and who had told this obnoxious little man about it? She stared defiantly at him, knowing it would be useless to protest her innocence. But she was thinking furiously. She rarely saw anyone in that isolated spot. The villagers didn't have the leisure to walk there for pleasure. Only Thomas had seen her and Rory together. Had he been gossiping with his cronies in the village, speculating and sniggering over her supposed activities? Was that how this little worm had gleaned the information?
'There is no truth whatsoever in your despicable accusations,' she said as coolly as she could, while she wanted to fly out at him and scratch his eyes out.
He swung round to face her, and before she could move stalked across and leaned over her, menacingly. 'We'll see whether the Kirk Sessions believe you or my informants,' he hissed at her. 'Be warned, proud Mistress Duncan, if you do not accept my offer, and willingly, I will bring the case before them.'
She gazed up at him, appalled. 'You would not dare! You have no evidence! It would be sheer spite on your behalf if you did!'
'What is your answer? Are you prepared to accept my offer and become my wife?'
Catriona sprang to her feet and pushed him away from her, sending him sprawling over one of her aunt's small tables.
'Never! You can go to hell, and take all your Session friends with you, you nasty, vindictive little toad!'
She whirled around and was almost at the door when it opened, and Uncle Colin came in. He had obviously heard it all, for he grasped Catriona's arm above the elbow and, despite her furious struggles, dragged her up the stairs and flung her into her room.
'You will remain there until I have helped Mr MacNeill,' he snarled, and slammed the door.
The key grated in the lock, and Catriona picked herself up. This was a disaster. She knew the wretched man would prevail, and she shivered in dismay. The Kirk Sessions tried all sorts of offences, and sent the more serious to the civil courts, but they were able to hand down punishments, and were lavish in doing so.
She recalled one man who had been accused of fathering a child out of wedlock, and a woman accused of adultery. Both of these, and the unfortunate girl who had borne the illegitimate child, had been publicly rebuked, and ordered to appear several times and confess before the congregation at the Kirk. That was bad enough, but they had been forced to wear penitential garb, a shapeless garment of sackcloth.
Catriona shivered. Could she endure that? She'd heard tales of girls so shamed by the experience they'd committed the greater sin of suicide, throwing themselves into the river or off steep cliffs.
She began to think urgently. Never would she permit them to heap such humiliation on her. She had to get away.
*****
Rory stood and looked out over the bleaching fields. Most of the few acres which belonged to his uncle were derelict.
'Where are the workers?' he asked the overseer.
'Having their dinner, most like, at the tavern,' the man replied.
'Don't you know? What do I pay you for? It's only 10 o'clock in the morning, and they should be on the second round now.'
Rory began to walk down the rows of fabric laid out on the grass. He bent to touch it, and found it bone dry. It probably hadn't had the water sprinkled over it at all this morning. He looked into the trenches, and instead of fre
ely flowing, clear water, they were choked with weeds. Many were dry because they had been blocked and the flow of water was impeded, and where there was water it was sluggish and dirty.
'There isn't the labour to clear them, Mr Napier,' the man whined. 'I can't perform miracles.'
'This linen takes eight months to bleach,' Rory said slowly, hanging on to his temper by a thread. 'It's September now, in two months we should be taking up the linen, it should be ready for finishing. But none of this is fit for sale. The year has been wasted, despite my many orders to you to put things right. It should have been possible to keep a section of the field open, if you used the labour I pay for in a sensible manner, instead of allowing the people to do little or nothing. If things are not much improved in a month's time, you and all of them will be looking for other employment.'
He ignored the rest of the man's pleadings and excuses and marched back to where he had tethered Samson.
Was it his fault, he wondered as he rode back to Glasgow. Had he been so taken up with his new project he'd neglected the fields? He could have visited them more frequently, but he'd sent Joshua instead, and reliable though the man was, the overseer and his workers clearly took little notice of him.
It was one more thing Uncle Matthew could blame him for. Since he'd been in Glasgow this time he had done nothing but find fault. Perhaps that was why Rory had suddenly decided he needed to escape, and had come this way. He'd be thankful when Matthew went south to visit his friends in Lancashire, and dream of manufacturing cotton.
Why hadn't Matthew bought land in the Vale of Leven, where the Lomond waters were so pure, and the fields never seemed to have problems such as he encountered?
Speculation and regrets were useless. At least Matthew was leaving in the morning, and he would be able to take proper control once more. And there would not be the daily hints, sometimes outright demands, that he stopped shilly-shallying and offered for Susannah.
*****
'Let me go to Holland, to my relatives there. Then he can't do as he threatens, and you'll not have to see it.'
It was the day after Mr MacNeill's threat. For the remainder of that day, and since dawn today, her uncle had shouted and her aunt had wept, both intent on forcing her into marriage.
They had described in nauseous detail the times they had seen penitents begging for forgiveness in the Kirk, and bewailed the very idea that one of their blood should be so mortified. Uncle Colin had stormed from the room a few moments before, and Aunt Joan remained, pleading desperately with Catriona.
'And they'd welcome you, a dowerless girl?' Aunt Joan sobbed. 'Besides, even if you left Mr MacNeill could still denounce you in the Kirk, and the shame would kill your uncle.'
'Not if he believed me and denied the slander. I could at least work for my family in Holland,' Catriona retorted. 'They make fabrics, and taught me what I know about printing. I can design new patterns for them.'
'Your mother would turn in her grave to hear you suggest such a thing! How could you even contemplate hiring yourself out as a mere labourer? How fortunate that Mr MacNeill is willing to make a good settlement on you.'
Catriona frowned. So that was it. Uncle Colin no doubt stood to gain something from this arrangement. It was as good as selling her. She was furious, but it would only make her uncle more determined if she made such an accusation, and she needed his help. She couldn't though, resist the urge to defend her parents.
'Leave my mother and her views out of this, if you please! You can't possibly know them. She was not too proud to marry a man who worked for his living.'
'Your father was captain of a good ship. And look what good that did him.'
'Uncle Colin wants to be rid of me, he resents the small amount I cost to feed and house. Please, Aunt Joan, persuade him to send me to Amsterdam. The sale of some of my mother's jewels would provide for my passage money,' she added. She knew how reluctant her tight-fisted uncle would be to pay even for that.
Aunt Joan pursed her lips. 'That would not serve. He says the jewels do not belong to you.'
'But – they were my mother's! If they do not belong to me, who else can possibly claim them?'
'He will explain. I do not understand the legal niceties of the situation,' Aunt Joan said, and hastened from the room.
Catriona was trying to make sense of this statement. When her uncle had told her to wear jewels, on occasions when Mr MacNeill had been visiting and she had been ordered to wear her best gowns, he had referred to them as 'your mother's baubles'. Apart from the locket, which she had given to her mother, he had handed them to her, and afterwards insisted on locking them away again. Once her mother, worried about the future and their straitened circumstances, and briefly accepting the reality, had mentioned the loss of her father's cargo and with it his entire fortune. Then she had told Catriona the jewels would help to provide for her. They must have more value than Uncle Colin knew, or would admit.
Was it possible her uncle contemplated stealing them? Or did he maintain that he was entitled to them as repayment for what he had spent on her and his own sister during the past months? She hadn't thought him so mean.
Her indignation grew. She had no intention of allowing MacNeill to wreak vengeance on her in such a cruel manner. She was determined to escape, and she would take the jewels with her. The strong box they were in, her mother's strong box, she reminded herself, was kept in her uncle's library. She had to get out of this prison, and make plans to leave.
As she pondered ways and means, she wondered whether it would be possible to maintain a pretence that she had given in and would wed the man. They would have to let her out of her room, then, and surely she would find an opportunity to escape.
She was wondering if she could possibly play this part with any conviction when she saw two horsemen approaching. It was Thomas and one of his Edinburgh friends, Hugh MacDonell, a man he'd brought to his home several times in the past. Seeing her at the window Thomas waved, bowed elaborately, then blew her a kiss.
She waved back, and began to think hard. Surely her uncle would not keep her imprisoned while Thomas and his visitor were in the house? He would be too ashamed, not of the fact he was punishing her, but that she was defying him. He hated being considered in less than total control of his household. Besides, Thomas would surely protest. Little though she liked her cousin, finding him shallow and self-centered, he would want her company. He enjoyed flirting with her, and would want to provide young, female company for his friend. She began to hope, and plot in earnest. With Thomas's help she could certainly escape.
An hour later Uncle Colin appeared.
'We have a guest, and I do not wish my family's disgrace to be spread abroad. Will you give me your word of honour to behave with propriety if I release you?' he asked.
Catriona bowed her head to hide the sudden gleam of triumph in her eyes. Was the disgrace he referred to her refusal to accept MacNeill as a husband, or the threat of her penitential appearance in sackcloth?
'Of course, Uncle Colin,' she said submissively. She might as well adopt a conciliatory tone until she knew more about how much freedom she would be allowed.
'If you are seemly and obedient, I may relax your punishment once they have returned to Edinburgh.'
'Thank you, Uncle Colin.'
He glanced suspiciously at her, but Catriona contrived a grateful smile, and he snorted.
'Tidy yourself, find a pretty gown, and come downstairs.'
It was the following morning before the cousins could talk freely. Thomas found her in the herb garden, where Aunt Joan had sent her to search for some late herbs.
'Catriona, what's happening? Cook says you've been locked in your room, practically on bread and water. I'm aware my father's a bad-tempered miser, but I can't believe that's a punishment for stealing a few apples!'
Catriona laughed. 'No, just for refusing to marry that odious William MacNeill.'
'That prosy old fool!' Thomas gave a shout of laughter. 'He's no juic
e in him, and you'd get no satisfaction from a dried-up old stick like him. You want a real man,' he added, catching her hand and trying to pull her towards him.
She twisted away. 'I don't want any man! Not even my irresistible cousin.'
He frowned. 'You will, if the alternative is MacNeill. What's my father planning?'
'I don't know. I was to be locked in my room until I repented, and agreed to marry the wretch. I'm only released if I behave as an obedient niece should in front of your friend. No doubt when you go back to Edinburgh he'll start pressing me again. I expect he'll lock me up once more. But I won't give way. Thomas, that's not the worst. MacNeill threatens to accuse me before the Sessions.'
'What! One of my family? That's impertinent! Of what offence? Refusing his offer?'
'Having a man at the bothy. Thomas, did you tell anyone about that stranger you saw up there?'
He turned away. 'Not yet,' he said, but the slight hesitation made Catriona suspicious.
'What do you mean? Who do you propose to tell?'
Thomas stroked his chin. 'You won't marry MacNeill, and I don't blame you. Would you accept an offer from me?'
Catriona stared. 'No, I wouldn't. And your father would have an apoplexy if you so much as suggested it!'
He grinned. 'Oh, don't fret about that. I've no intention of disobeying him and being disinherited, or having my allowance cut off. But I could spirit you away, and we could go to Edinburgh together. I'd hide you from him, and we could have a little love nest.'
'Don't be ridiculous!'
'Not so, dear cousin. You can't expect me to marry you, Cat, he'd cut me off if I did, but if it's me or the Sessions, which do you prefer? And I'd have to say what I saw at the bothy if they asked me, wouldn't I? I'll see you're properly looked after.'
Catriona was about to reply, indignant at the very suggestion, and furious at his implied threat to testify against her if she rejected him, then she paused. She would never become Thomas's doxy, and though he was more lively than Mr MacNeill, she didn't like him a great deal better. Surely, though, if he helped her escape from the house, she could give him the slip and make her own way to Holland.
Wild Catriona Page 9
