A Darkening of the Heart

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Robert was enthusiastic in his congratulations. He sounded a bit wistful too. ‘Remember how we used to talk and plan about marrying a good woman and settling down with our own fireside, Alexander?’

  To make a happy fireside clime to weans and wife

  That is the true pattern, and sublime of human life.

  ‘You are a lucky man, Alexander.’

  Susanna never failed to be amazed at how poetry came so spontaneously to Robert’s lips. Alexander had once remarked, rather dismissively, she’d thought at the time, how Burns had spouted at the Crochallan Fencibles Club what he’d called ‘An Address to the Haggis’. Since then, to Alexander’s disgust, it was now always recited at every Crochallan dinner as if it was a kind of holy writ. Susanna had asked Robert about that and he’d laughed and said,

  ‘Oh that? I just made it up on the spot as a bit of fun.’

  And he’d recited the poem with mock seriousness and great panache. Then he’d laughed again. ‘It was just a bit of nonsense.’

  Still Alexander didn’t laugh. He looked so colourless, compared with Robert, with his white powdered hair and pale, lean face. He seemed restless, as if already half way from the house. What was the matter with the man?, Susanna thought in exasperation. Then it occurred to her that probably Alexander was impatient to hurry on his way to be with his lady love. She sighed. Well, she could understand that. She was being selfish, keeping him in Edinburgh. Nevertheless, she could not tear herself away. She kept chatting to Robert until Alexander said,

  ‘Susanna, you’re tiring Robert. He needs to rest. Come, it’s time we left him in peace.’

  Robert protested that, far from being tired, he was enjoying their visit and was mighty glad of their company. But Alexander was already on his feet and handing Susanna her cloak.

  Susanna said, ‘We’ll see you again tomorrow, Robert.’ Then to Alexander, ‘We can stay another day, can’t we?’

  ‘It depends on the rest of the business that I have to do and how long it takes. We’d better not make any promises.’ He smiled at Robert. ‘Continue to rest for a few weeks yet, Robert, and we’ll see you on our way back.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be a married man by then?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Then you must bring your new bride to meet me and I’ll write a poem for her.’

  Alexander gave a slight bow. ‘Goodbye, Robert.’

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then shake my hand.’

  Alexander went forward then and took Robert’s proffered hand. ‘It’s just that I have rather a lot on my mind at the moment.’

  Robert pumped Alexander’s hand up and down in both of his. ‘It’s good of you to make time for me, my dear friend, and I do appreciate it.’

  Susanna shyly put out her hand and Robert took it, and raised it to his lips.

  ‘My dear friend,’ he said gently. She could have fainted with pleasure and gratitude but managed to smile and walk from the room along with her brother. Once outside, she asked him,

  ‘Are we going to stay for another day, Alexander? I do hope we are.’

  ‘We will leave first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Must we?’ She could not hide the intensity of her disappointment. ‘Oh, Alexander, you said …’

  ‘Never mind what I said. Listen to what I’m saying now. We leave tomorrow. Apart from anything else, it will save you making any more of a fool of yourself than you’ve done already.’

  Susanna could not believe that he was being so hurtful towards her. She had never before heard such a nasty tone in his voice.

  ‘What do you mean? I was only trying to be kind and helpful.’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean. You are a fool with men. I would have thought you should have learned your lesson by now.’

  ‘But, you know as well as I do, that Robert is nothing like Neil.’

  ‘Oh yes, Robert is charming, isn’t he? But don’t you remember how charming Neil was? You were always telling me how charming Neil was.’

  ‘But … but Robert loves and respects women. Neil despised them. He hid that fact well at first, I’ll give you that. But think of the tender love poems and songs Robert has written, Alexander. They come from his heart and as he says in one of his poems,

  The heart aye’s the part aye,

  That makes us right or wrang.

  ‘Don’t you dare quote his poetry to me!’

  Susanna stared at her brother in astonishment. His pale face was flushed, his mouth contorted.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’

  She could see he was now struggling for control. Eventually he said in his usual calm, self-contained doctor’s voice, ‘Nothing, my dear. I’m perfectly all right. Just a bit of a headache. Don’t worry. It’ll pass.’

  He even managed to smile.

  28

  Alexander could have killed Susanna. Almost the first thing she said when they arrived at the McKenzie estate was, ‘Did you know that you and Robert Burns are going to be neighbours?’

  Isobel was astonished, ecstatic. ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, he’s taking the lease of a farm at Ellisland.’

  ‘Mother, did you hear that? Robert Burns is coming to live in Dumfriesshire.’

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful news, dear. Absolutely wonderful. Robert Burns as our neighbour!’

  There it was again. Robert Burns. Robert Burns. Would he never hear the end of it? Without even the man being here in person, he was completely overshadowing him. Alexander felt sick with anger. It was only with the greatest difficulty that he clung to a polite, smiling front. How could he prise Isobel away from her excited chatter with Susanna?

  He had planned quiet walks in the beautiful countryside, romantic strolls along the banks of the Nith with the gentle lapping of the water and the fragrant breeze refreshing them. He’d dreamt of relaxed evenings in the library or drawing room, alone with Isobel. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself broach the subject of the future and her quiet pleasure in hearing of his plans. He heard himself propose to her and felt the warm glow of her acceptance. Then the sharing of this happy news with her parents. The congratulations. The toasts to their health. All the talk of when the wedding would take place. The women, no doubt, would chat about what they’d wear.

  Now all the attention and the talk was of Robert Burns. Robert Burns. How he’d grown to hate the very name. There were still times, of course, when he was in Robert’s company and experienced the warmth of the man’s friendship and trust. Then he felt ashamed and made every effort to control his negative feelings. He’d tell himself that it wasn’t really Robert’s fault that there was such a hysterical fuss about him. Robert was still exactly the same young man he’d known in Ayrshire. He had not changed at all.

  He’d tell himself that Robert couldn’t help having such a facility for rhyme. He obviously had been born with it. Despite bouts of ill health, despite hard physical labour, his continuing energy for spontaneity in writing and especially for creating poetry and song was amazing.

  Alexander had seen him at a dinner in Selkirk get up and say a grace that he’d composed on the spot.

  Some hae meat and cannae eat,

  And some wad eat that want it;

  But we hae meat, and we can eat,

  And sae the Lord be thanket.

  It must be something he’d been born with. He’d once scribbled a verse on the back of a bank note at the time when he was thinking about emigration:

  Wae worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!

  Fell source of a’ my woe and grief;

  For lack o’ thee I’ve lost my lass,

  For lack o’ thee I scrimp my glass;

  I see the children of affliction,

  Unaided through thy curs’d restriction;

  I’ve seen th’ oppressor’s cruel smile,

  Amid his hapless victim’s spoil,

  And for thy potence vainly
wisht,

  To crush the villain in the dust!

  For lack o’ thee, I leave this much loved shore,

  Never perhaps to greet old Scotland more.

  Scribbled spontaneously on the back of a bank note! Alexander groaned to himself. There was no stopping the creative flow – no circumstances could divert it. Only death itself, Alexander suspected, would silence the man.

  Unexpectedly, he experienced a tiny lift of hope and desire. For just a moment he understood how the seed of murder could take root. Hastily he crushed it. What was he thinking? He was a doctor, dedicated to saving life. He was a man of conscience.

  Burns could not even help his good looks or his charm, any more than his muse. But no, he could help the way he behaved, especially towards women. That was something he purposely planned and indulged in because, for one thing, it fed his muse. He knew it, and Burns knew it. He’d once said, ‘The joy of my heart is to study men, their manners and their ways.’ Like a cannibal, he fed on people, especially women. And he enjoyed doing it. He revelled in his social life and all the people he met socially, especially women. He was a people predator, especially with women.

  Alexander’s soul caved in with anxiety at the thought of Burns meeting and charming and stealing Isobel from him. His mind darted desperately about.

  What could he do?

  He had not been born with the vivid good looks of Burns. He gazed at his reflection and despaired of his pale, thin face and rather long nose. He had not the easy charm and ready wit of Burns. He did not possess that cruel edge that enabled Burns to write his wicked satires.

  What could he do?

  And all the time the voices in the McKenzie drawing room echoed in his head.

  ‘Robert Burns. Robert Burns.’

  He tried to divert the conversation. He tried to bring up the subject of plans for Isobel and himself. He even tried to play on Susanna’s supposed grief and mourning. He suggested a walk by the river and his heart lifted when Isobel agreed. Then Susanna joined them despite his cold look of disapproval.

  She had the cheek to ask him later, ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  She was always asking him that now.

  ‘What do you think?’ he hissed angrily. ‘I wanted to get Isobel on her own so that I could make a formal proposal and talk about our future. You are unbelievably selfish and thoughtless, Susanna. I wish now I’d never brought you here.’

  ‘Oh, Alexander, I’m so sorry. You are right. I have been selfish and thoughtless. I’ll be more careful in future. I promise. It was just Isobel and I were wrapped up in our conversation about Robert.’

  ‘I know,’ Alexander managed in a low voice. ‘Oh, I know. I’m heartily sick of hearing about the man!’

  ‘But … but … I thought he was your friend. I thought you were as much taken up with admiration of him as we all are.’

  Alexander took a deep breath before speaking again.

  ‘Yes, I am. Of course I am. But you do go to such extremes in everything, Susanna, and today I was so looking forward to speaking to Isobel about other things.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alexander. I really am. It won’t happen again. At least, I won’t be the one to introduce Robert’s name into the conversation. I cannot see how I can stop everyone else.’

  Nor could he. It was something he would have to suffer yet again. And again. And again …

  ‘But surely,’ Susanna said tentatively, ‘you didn’t need to rush your proposal right away today. You have plenty of time.’

  Plenty of time he had not.

  The only thing he could think of was to make it clear to the McKenzies that Robert would be weeks confined to his room because of his injury and then he had to go home to his family in Ayrshire to settle things. It would be some months before he came to Dumfriesshire. So it would be better not to get so excited about the poet and put all thoughts of an inevitable meeting with him out of their minds at present.

  ‘But never fear,’ he added, ‘I will arrange a meeting when the time comes.’

  It worked to some degree. The excitement and talk eventually settled down and was directed into other channels. Alexander managed his quiet walk alone with Isobel and made his proposal.

  To his surprise and chagrin, she did not immediately accept. She would think about it, she told him kindly. They hadn’t, after all, known each other for very long. At least to get to know each other personally, rather than first by correspondence. She had given him quite a different impression in her letters, he felt sure. He had made his feelings and his intentions perfectly clear in his letters and she had warmly responded.

  This change of attitude – for he was sure it was a change of attitude – could only be explained by the news of Burns coming to Dumfriesshire and her intense desire to meet him. She preferred even the idea of Burns to him. She would be completely swept off her feet by him when they did meet.

  He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t allow it to happen. He sank into a secret black cauldron of emotion.

  Susanna said, ‘What on earth’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Will you stop asking me that, Susanna? You are driving me mad with your silly nagging.’

  Susanna looked astonished and upset but she fell silent. She took to watching him, though, casting curious glances in his direction.

  Eventually, she said sympathetically, ‘Isobel must have refused you! Oh, I am sorry, Alexander. And I can’t understand it. You are a good man and you love her. And I thought she had such a high regard for you too.’

  ‘She has not refused me.’ Alexander pushed the words out. ‘She just needs a little time to think about my proposal. I was rushing things too much, just as you suspected. Everything is going to be all right,’ he added, as much to reassure himself as his sister.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Susanna looked relieved. She even laughed. ‘And you accuse me of being a rash and hasty extremist. It must be a family failing.’

  He favoured her with a cold, calm smile. ‘Indeed. Indeed. We both need to acquire some patience, it seems.’

  But he felt far from patient. He felt murderous when the conversation about Burns and the plans to entertain him still went on and on. They planned to invite everyone for miles around, it seemed. Only Isobel tried to suggest that it would be so much nicer to have him to themselves for as much time as possible – rather than share him with all the gentry of Dumfriesshire.

  Alexander could see it all even now. He knew exactly what was in her mind. He was going to lose her to Burns. He did not stand a chance. He was going to lose the only woman he had ever loved. He was going to lose the chance of one day being the owner of this huge house with its many glistening chandeliers, beautiful furnishings and original paintings, worth in themselves a fortune. He was going to lose the chance of one day living at ease as the inheritor of this huge estate.

  All because of that aimless failure in life, Robert Burns. He might have some talent as a poet and song writer. But he was a farmer born and bred. Always had been, like his father before him. And he was a failure as a farmer. Every farm he’d had so far had failed, and no doubt he’d fail at Ellisland. He was also stupid and careless with money. Not a penny had he bothered to take from his song publisher. And he’d blithely spent most of what he earned from his books on holidaying all over Scotland, fornicating wherever he could in the process.

  He’d come here, enjoy being fêted and entertained, and have Isobel immediately eating out of his hand. There would be no question of him taking his time and not rushing things. He believed in always going for intimacy with a woman as quickly as possible. Hadn’t he admitted that?

  Something had to be done. Alexander was not going to lose Isobel. He was not going to give up his chance of a good life here. Not for anyone. But certainly not for an irreligious profligate like Robert Burns.

  No, something had to be done.

  29

  Susanna knew she was being reckless and unwise. As usual. But oh, she didn’t care. She couldn’t help it
. She lied to Alexander and to everyone. She said she felt she ought to pay a visit to Tarbolton and see her poor parents who had not been in good health for some time. Isobel pressed her to return as soon as possible.

  ‘Already you have become my dearest friend, Susanna. I shall miss you.’

  ‘Thank you, Isobel.’ Susanna embraced the girl. ‘I will, of course, be very happy to return.’

  Alexander helped her into the coach. A family of father and mother and daughter were also travelling that day and Susanna was thankful when the daughter sat next to her and not the big, scarlet-faced, sweating father. She couldn’t bear a man’s body to be next to hers. She was still far from conquering her terror and revulsion of any close contact with any man. Burns lightly kissing her hand had been a tentative, indeed delightful step in her so longed-for release from past terrors. They were past. She knew that. Her brain told her that her ordeal was definitely over. It was over and done with. She was free.

  Only she didn’t feel that it was over. She didn’t feel free. At least not of her terror of any intimate contact with men. Even with Robert Burns. Yet, oh how she longed for intimacy with him.

  She wanted him for his gentle, loving, yet manly personality, for his glossy raven hair, his dark hypnotic eyes, his unique and wonderful talent. But most of all, she longed to be loved by him, to lie in his arms and be gentled by him.

  She had to, she must, overcome her foolish, illogical terrors.

  ‘I’m perfectly all right now,’ she kept repeating to herself in time to the thundering of the horses’ hooves. ‘I’ve nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all. Nothing at all. Nothing at all …’