“There have been Strathcarrons at Loch Earn since medieval times,” she reminisced. “Those were war torn days and it seems that now we are facing equal strife. However, this time it is not a hoard of marauders at the door but the proverbial wolf.”
Moira rose and left her mother to her thoughts.
Heading upstairs, she felt a chill wind blowing and shivered.
Was it an omen of events to come?
*
It was with a very heavy heart that Moira began to gather up her clothes to pack into the three trunks that now stood in her room.
As she began to pull her ball dresses out of the wardrobe, she saw them with fresh eyes. Her apricot chiffon now appeared dowdy rather than being the comfortable favourite of old. She had worn it for the last two Seasons in Edinburgh and she suddenly feared that it would look positively old-fashioned compared to the Socialites of London.
‘This will never do,’ she told herself, looking at the too-full skirt and fussy detailing on the yoke. ‘I will look like a simple country girl, rather than a sophisticated young lady of good birth.’
In despair, she threw it onto the bed. But what else was there?
A white linen dress suitable only for summer wear, a lavender silk that resembled half-mourning and a pale blue taffeta that was tailored for a much younger girl.
‘How will I ever find myself a husband wearing these?’
Just then, her mother knocked on the door. Entering, she found a tearful Moira miserably discarding dress after dress.
“Darling, what is wrong?”
“Mother, how will I be able to hold my head up at a London party in any of these? They are so out of date. I cannot possibly embarrass the Cunninghams by attending balls wearing any of them.”
The Countess looked at her sadly,
“But we cannot possibly afford to buy you new ones and there is not time anyway. You are leaving so soon.”
Moira winced at her gentle reproach.
It was true, they were spending money they did not have by visiting London – Ewen had talked of selling a couple of fine horses to pay for the trip. There would certainly be no money left for such luxuries as new gowns.
“Dearest, maybe these will help to take the attention away from the fact that your dresses are not the height of Paris fashion.”
The Countess handed Moira a pale blue box. She opened it and inside glinted a diamond necklace and earrings.
“Mother. I cannot take them!”
“They are just a loan and if you take them to London, I should not be tempted to sell them. They were your grandmother’s and are quite valuable. Be sure to guard them well and ask Lady Cunningham to put them into her safe as soon as you arrive.” Moira hugged her mother close, tears in her eyes.
“Mother, thank you. I will miss you so much.”
“And I you, my dearest. Now dinner will be served in half an hour – I will ask Rankin to sound the gong,”
Her mother slowly left the room, pausing only to throw a glance at her daughter.
‘She is so young and vulnerable,’ thought the Countess, ‘I do hope that Lady Cunningham will protect her from unsavoury advances. Moira may not be such a stunning beauty, but she has a most appealing comeliness that is bound to attract the wrong kind of attention.’
Dinner was indeed a sombre affair.
The Earl took soup and bread in his room, refusing all meat. Ewen ate a little while Moira pushed her rabbit stew around the plate.
“Not hungry?” asked her mother anxiously.
“No, mother,” she replied, not daring to tell her that she detested rabbit stew. She was looking forward to eating decent food again at the Cunninghams. Almost immediately, she chided herself for having such disloyal thoughts.
“I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for Perth,” announced Ewen suddenly.
“I intend to arrange our passage South.”
“Is it Mr. Weston you are seeing?” ventured Moira, her heart beating wildly.
“Aye, it is.”
“Will you say I was asking after him?”
Ewen eyed his sister suspiciously for a moment.
“Ah, I remember. You met him at the hunt when Harwood was here, didn’t you?”
“Yes, he helped me – when Jessie stumbled down a hole near Campbell’s farm – ” stammered Moira feeling embarrassed. It was a lie but she felt it necessary to conceal her true feelings from her brother.
“Aye, he is ever the gentleman is Stuart Weston,” commented Ewen and then appeared to lose interest in the subject, much to Moira’s relief. “Now, mother, if you will excuse me, I should retire to bed now.”
The Countess sighed heavily and folded her napkin.
“He has so much responsibility, it is not right that he has to endure such a burden.”
“Mother, he is more than capable. Do you not think he has shown himself to be a worthy son and heir during all our troubles?”
“Of course, but he should not be so weighed down. Ewen is nearly twenty-three and he should be searching for a bride, not worrying about the future of the estate.”
Moira blushed. If only her mother knew the true reason for their journey to London!
“I will bid you goodnight too, mother.”
In the solitude of her room, Moira made ready for bed. As she brushed her long, dark hair, she regarded herself in the mirror.
‘Will I be pretty enough to attract a rich husband?’ she worried. ‘There will surely be much more beautiful ladies than I in London. Who is to say that I will be lucky enough to make the right kind of match?’
She sighed and put down her silver brush. It bore the crest of the Strathcarrons – a bear and two crossed sabres – and she stroked it lovingly.
‘I must be prepared to marry a man I may not love and because of his riches rather than his charms.’
Looking once more at her reflection in the mirror, a cold fear gripped her heart. She knew that deep down, not marrying for love would be a living death for her.
She could not stop the tears from flowing as she sank down onto the dressing table and sobbed her heart out.
‘Oh, I wish I had never been born to endure these terrible, terrible days. What will become of all of us?’
CHAPTER FOUR
The next day, Ewen was up and out of the house before dawn broke. Outside, there was a layer of frost on the ground and even he found the air rather bracing.
Having slept only lightly, Moira awoke as soon as she heard the sound of hooves resounding on the stones.
It was just gone midday before Ewen arrived back in the family carriage.
Moira ran down to meet him.
“What news, my brother,” she enquired anxiously, “was your business successfully concluded?”
Oh, how she longed to ask him for news of Stuart. But she dare not her brother would not be happy about her harbouring affection for anyone who may not prove to be suitable husband material.
“Aye, it was,” he replied, “we are due to leave this evening for Dundee. We will be sailing on the next available tide.”
“Sailing? I had thought we would be travelling by train.”
“You will find the journey more pleasant and private by sea,” he answered, “and it is cheaper, mind. A friend of mine has been kind enough to offer us passage to Tilbury and then we will travel by carriage on to the Cunninghams. Has her Ladyship acknowledged your telegram yet?”
“Yes, a reply arrived about an hour ago. She is delighted and says she cannot wait to entertain us. We are arriving in the midst of some most enchanting parties apparently.”
“All the better for capturing our quarry!”
“Ewen, do not speak of our mission so, you make it sound so cold-blooded.”
“God willing, it will be a pleasant diversion,” responded Ewen, sitting down and pulling off his boots. “But we must be prepared for it to be a chore. I loathe dancing parties. Give me a fine hunt any day.”
“Tell me more about the ship.
How long will the journey South take?”
“Kelpie says three or four days depending upon the weather. If the going is rough, then it may take a week.”
‘Kelpie?’ thought Moira, her heart sinking with disappointment, ‘so it is not Stuart’s ship we shall be sailing on after all.’
All Moira’s fond dreams of a romantic voyage with Stuart were instantly shattered. And she had so hoped it would be his vessel they would be taking.
“So what kind of ship is it we are taking?”
“It is one powered by steam. Quite new, I understand. They are fast overtaking the old sailing ships of yore, Kelpie tells me. He has a house nearby, but prefers to be on the open sea. You could say it is a hobby of his – he takes any kind of cargo – goods, animals, passengers – ”
“So, we are to share a berth with a herd of cows, are we?” exclaimed Moira.
“No. This trip is for two-legged cargo only.”
“I do not care to remain in Dundee overnight, Ewen. It is such a rough city. We had better not tell mother we intend to stay there overnight as she knows it from her girlhood and has naught but ill to say about the place.”
“It’s not that bad, Moira. When mother lived there, it was a much rougher city. The jute and linen industry has made it far more civilised. And it’s where Mr. Keiller makes his famous jams and marmalade.”
“Even so, are we not able to journey straight to the ship. What is it called?”
“The Victorious. The tide is quite unpredictable in the mouth of the Tay, so we are best advised to stay overnight and wait for word to be sent when it is time to sail.”
As well as being bitterly disappointed that the ship did not belong to Stuart, Moira felt nervous at the prospect of staying in Dundee. In spite of her brother’s reassurances, the thought filled her with dismay.
Ewen stood up, his boots in hand.
“I have asked the stables to make the carriage ready for five o’clock. I do not expect it will take us more than four hours to reach Dundee.”
Moira returned to her room and resumed her packing.
‘I have so many things to take with me,’ she mumbled, having filled two trunks already with an enormous pile of clothes still lying waiting on the bed.
She picked up the blue box that contained her mother’s diamonds and opened it.
The jewels sparkled in the pale afternoon sun that was streaming through the mullion windows.
‘Perhaps they will bring me luck,’ she thought, ‘they will certainly enhance my appearance. If only I was not so sure that I am going to look like a silly Scottish simpleton. I would certainly fade into the background without the addition of these.’
Fastening the necklace around her throat, she regarded her reflection and decided that yes, the diamonds did indeed lend her a most engaging air.
‘They will have to be the bait to land my prize catch.’
But it was Stuart, always Stuart whom she pictured herself with, arm-in-arm at some glittering ball, strolling through Hyde Park or visiting the British Museum.
It was Stuart, who in her mind’s eye accompanied her to the Fountain restaurant in Fortnum and Mason for tea.
‘I must set aside these ridiculous dreams,’ she thought, getting quite cross with herself for fantasising so shamelessly. My duty is to help save father from ruin and if marrying a rich man is the only way, then so be it.’
Throwing the last of her belongings into the third trunk, she carefully hid the jewels in her vanity case that she would carry with her everywhere.
‘I must not let father and mother down,’ she told herself once more as if to convince herself. ‘In this enterprise, my personal wishes count for nothing.’
*
Around four o’clock, the Countess knocked on Moira’s door.
Moira was pleased that her mother had come to her for a private chat before she left. She would miss her terribly.
“Are you quite ready, dearest?” asked the Countess, looking at her daughter affectionately.
“Yes, mother, I am.”
“Your father has requested that you go and see him before you leave.”
“You have told him?”
“Yes, I have. He took the news quietly. He is not a man to show much emotion.”
Moira nodded, her father was quick to anger but slow to display love or affection or concern. Her mother was the complete opposite the Countess wore her heart on her sleeve. Especially where her beloved children were concerned.
“I need not repeat that you must not tell anyone in London of our predicament,” she began hesitantly.
“Of course not, mother.”
“If people hear that we are in trouble, our name will be mud and we will be cut off from polite Society. It will ruin your chances of eventually making a good match”
“Mother!” cried Moira, blushing once more.
Her mother, however, took her embarrassment as a sign of modesty.
“Darling, you will wed one day. But there will be time enough and when the day comes, hopefully we shall find ourselves in better circumstances.”
The Countess hugged her daughter close, stroking her hair.
“You must not worry about what is happening here,” she whispered, “you go with our blessing this might be the last chance you have of enjoying yourself and you must seize it.”
Moira began to weep softly into her mother’s warm bosom. She smelt faintly of lavender and cotton starch – homely comforting smells that she would miss.
“I must hurry to father now,” she said, taking her leave. “I am most anxious to see him before we depart.”
Walking down the corridor to her father’s room, she was filled with dread.
She opened the door and found the room in darkness the heavy curtains were pulled and only the tiniest chink of light was filtering through.
Her father was asleep but she decided to wake him.
“Father, father,” she called gently.
“What is it?” he muttered still half asleep.
“Father, we shall be leaving shortly to go to London. I am here to say goodbye.”
Just then the door opened and her brother strode in.
“Ewen, is that you?”
“Yes, father.”
“You have come to bid me goodbye too?”
“Yes, I promise you I will return and that things will improve.”
“I cannot see how that will be,” he sighed, “but you go with my blessing. God speed and come home soon, son.”
The Earl put out his hand and grasped Ewen’s, gripping it hard. Tears sprung into Ewen’s eyes – this was the nearest his father ever came to affection.
“Farewell, father,” Ewen and Moira cried.
“Farewell.”
Downstairs was a hive of activity. Rankin gave orders to the footmen to take the luggage out to the waiting carriage, while cook thrust a picnic box into Moira’s hands.
“It’s no much,” she said, “just a few oatcakes and some cheese. An apple or two and some dried pork.”
Moira had never travelled beyond Edinburgh before and never on the open seas.
As well as being excited, she was also terrified.
Climbing up into the carriage, Moira tried to record every last detail of Lednock’s walls and turrets in her mind, for she did not know when she would see them again.
“Are you ready, sister?” asked Ewen, gripping the sides of the carriage.
“Yes, I am.”
Slowly the horses pulled forwards and the carriage began to move.
Moira, blind with tears, waved out of the window until they reached the gates.
“Goodbye, mother and father,” she whispered. “The next time we see you, we will have the means to save the estate.”
“Aye, but we must not count our chickens yet,” grunted Ewen grimly. “We have no way of knowing what lies ahead.”
Moira looked at her brother closely – he was quite pale, his gaze fixed firmly on the way ahead.
“Well, we’re on our way.”
“Do you think we shall succeed in our quest?” Moira asked tremulously.
“We have to. That much is certain.”
“How shall we find these spouses?”
“I’ll warrant that the Cunninghams know many people. You mentioned parties, no doubt we will be the novelty at them. The Cunninghams will wish to show us off to their friends. You must be prepared to feel like an exhibit at the zoo, Moira, but we must bear it willingly.”
Moira studied her brother closely. He was handsome enough but not the most sociable of men. He was far happier in the company of his own sex and apart from her thought most women to be silly creatures.
“You will have to learn to make polite conversation, Ewen, and not to be rude to the young ladies you will meet. They will be used to fine London ways and not our rough Highland manners.”
“You make me sound like a bear in a cave. I promise you, I will be on my best behaviour at all times. That much I can guarantee.”
“And you will dance?”
“If I have to.”
Moira could see that her brother was gritting his teeth as he spoke. She thought it wise to change the subject.
“I must confess, Ewen, that I am concerned about sailing on the open seas. The nearest to the sea I have ever been was a pleasure cruise in the Firth of Forth.”
Ewen could not help smiling. His sister was always so brave and strong. Yet she had a vulnerable streak.
“It is the same, but the difference being you will not see the banks of the Forth.”
“Ah, but you have been on Stuart Weston’s ship, have you not?”
“Aye, many a time.”
There was a break in the conversation while Moira deliberately waited to see if Ewen would reveal more about Stuart. But he did not.
‘Ewen does not understand the subtleties of women,’ she told herself smiling.
The carriage rattled on into the night and soon, Moira was rocked to sleep.
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time that they reached the outskirts of Dundee.
“Wake up, Moira. We are almost there.”
The Richness of Love Page 5
