‘No, sir.’
‘You should. There is going to be war.’
‘You think so too, sir?’ Andrew read the papers every day when they arrived in the servants’ hall, two days old. The Daily Mail had come out flat-footed for Fascism when Hitler marched into the Rhineland. The Scotsman simply reported without opining and the Times had recently carried an advertisement that someone in the house had circled in pencil. It was an invitation to ‘Gentlemen with Yachting Experience’ to apply for commissions in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve.
Sir Gordon answered him gravely. ‘I know so. British and American warships are in the Straits of Gibraltar. Spain is fighting a civil war and Germany is trying out her muscle. War is coming.’
As they drew nearer the rock Andrew saw the great white gannets with their six-foot wing-span diving, plummeting into the water from a great height, dropping too fast for human eyes to follow them. All one could see was the thin water spout that shot upwards as the birds speared long and folded into the blue water. He was uncertain as to how he should answer the Commander, who had become very solemn at the prospect of war. So he said, ‘And you, sir? Will you have to go back into the navy? Aren’t you too old?’
Sir Gordon gave a hearty laugh. ‘I have already been recalled. My orders came this morning. I will be given a command soon. You will be conscripted sooner or later and then you’ll have no choice. Here.’ He reached out for the jib sheets. ‘Take the helm. Keep the tiller steady. You have to learn the values of discipline, order and service, Andrew. I want you to join the Royal Navy.’
9 January 1937
Not a great deal had happened at Ingersley in the six months Gordon had been away. Ruth, dressed for riding in jodhpurs and a green jersey, was seated at the big desk in Gordon’s study, directly above the front entrance, which had a splendid view over the park and driveway. She had spent an hour of her precious time contacting people to make up a small dinner party for Elizabeth’s thirty-third birthday. Gordon would be here, since Elizabeth’s birthday coincided with a five-day maintenance stop at the naval dockyards of Rosyth. He did not get back to Ingersley often, for his ship was based up north, at Invergordon on the Moray Firth. But he had promised to bring a couple of officers with him this evening, and the Misses Stevenson and the rector of the Episcopalian church and his wife had accepted last-minute invitations.
At last it was done and Ruth slammed down the telephone and surveyed the park. The drive curved down to the South Gate, flanked by evergreen ornamental firs and the pleasing monkey-puzzle trees. From here, on a clear day such as this, under a huge, blue-washed sky, you could see for miles beyond the bare oaks and elms that stood like dark guardians over the stiff white grass of the parkland.
Damn, she thought. She wanted it. She wanted it all. She would never leave this place. She stared out into the distance, barely noticing the navy blue of the River Forth, at its widest here on the estuary. Had she looked, every detail could be picked out on the coast of Fife, seven miles across the water, in the crystal-clear morning light. Flashes of sunlight, mirrored like the lighthouse beacon, glanced now and then from windows on the distant shore. Ruth saw none of it. It was Ingersley she wanted, not the view. She turned her attention to the ledgers. There was no longer any pretence of simply helping Elizabeth. In Ruth’s opinion Elizabeth could not focus her mental energies on anything above trivial matters; fretting about the state of the world or Hitler’s oppression of the Jews, as if worrying could do anything about it. She ought to be concerned about matters closer to home, like the figures that held Ruth’s horrified attention. A year at the most, and the estate would be lost to the Campbells for ever.
‘Damn it, why won’t he see what any idiot can?’ she breathed, angry at Gordon’s refusal even to acknowledge the depth of financial trouble the estate was in. He didn’t seem to care that she, Ruth, knew all about his finances when he would not even discuss such matters with his wife. Perhaps both Elizabeth and she were expected to believe that there were big investments elsewhere. Ruth knew it was not so. If he would only take Elizabeth’s money, the generous marriage settlement, there would be no need to penny-pinch, to cut down on servants and maintenance. They could live as they used to do; entertain the grand families the county had by the score. There were ducal estates within spitting distance of Ingersley. There was the Duke of Buccleuch at Dalkeith, the Duke of Hamilton at Lennoxlove and the Earl of Wemyss at Gosforth. These circles might be difficult to break into, of course, but there were any number of landed gentry about the county.
If it were she, Ruth, whom he had married, she would have insisted that Gordon took her money. Since their father’s farm and the mill would go to their four brothers, she and Elizabeth each had an endowment of thirty thousand pounds. Elizabeth’s dowry had gone to her on her marriage. Ruth was living comfortably on the interest from hers. The capital sum would be hers when she married.
Damn again! Elizabeth’s thirty thousand would solve only half of Gordon’s problems. The house, gardens and parkland covered ten acres. The farm, Ingersley Mains, comprised five hundred acres of Grade A arable farmland with farmhouse, cottages and a dairy herd. But the big money was to be made in grain, not in dairying, and this fertile land grew the best wheat and malting barley in the country. If Gordon would only see the wisdom of it, they could get rid of the dairy herd and all the workers that went with it, and go over completely to grain – or tell Mike Hamilton to find £1,500 per annum in rent, which was three times as much as the profit he now showed.
Since she had been doing the books, Mike had never again claimed wages for non-existent workers, but there were a hundred and one ways to hide a profit that should come to the estate. There were forty cottages on and outside the estate and all paying next to nothing in rent. Gordon had given the choicest places to servants. Ivy Lodge, a small mansion house on the farthest reach of the estate, had been given to Nanny for her retirement home. She hardly used it. It could be sold for £3,000. The South Lodge, a fine small house worth at least £700, was occupied by the cook. And at even three shillings a week each, regularly collected, the cottages would be bringing in £300 a year. The way Gordon ran things, the income from them was less than it cost to collect the rents. Ruth knew the rental value of every farm and tenanted holding in East Lothian.
The clashing of the lift gates interrupted her. Elizabeth and Nanny were back from their morning visit to the kitchen and the servants’ hall.
‘Ruth? Are you there?’ Elizabeth opened the door. She was dressed in an ankle-length camel-hair coat and a fetching brown hat, with a cashmere scarf about her slender neck. ‘We have had such a nice walk, Nanny and I.’
‘I’m here. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘We’ll come and talk to you, won’t we, Nanny?’ Elizabeth hopped aside with an embarrassed giggle to let Nanny Taylor into the room.
The feebler Elizabeth grew, the sillier and more indiscreet she became, and this girlish behaviour was an irritation to Ruth, who now said, ‘Put your coat over the back of my chair, darling. Sit down. I’ll ring for coffee and biscuits.’ Then, quickly, ‘Or perhaps Nanny will send for them on her way out?’ and smiled to herself as Nanny left the room.
Ruth could not order Nanny about, for she was loved by Elizabeth and revered and respected by Gordon, who, not remembering his own mother, treated her like a dowager duchess. However, Ruth owed Nanny no favours. A few days of polite skirmishing when Ruth first came to Ingersley had made it clear in whose hands authority lay.
Now Ruth seated herself opposite Elizabeth by the hearth where a log fire blazed. ‘I’ve been doing the books,’ she said.
‘Oh dear! Don’t tell.’ Then, frightened, ‘Sorry. I worry so.’
Worry could trigger an epileptic fit. Gordon demanded that they call the fits ‘little spasms’ and ordered that Elizabeth was not to be worried. Ruth was prepared to risk it. She said coldly, ‘Ruin is staring the estate in the face. It could be spared if Gordon would use your s
ettlement.’
‘He won’t take it. If we had children he’d want them to have an inheritance. Since we don’t, we need leave nothing behind, he says.’ Elizabeth was agitated. Her eyes darted up to the elaborate ceiling, down to the Persian carpet, over to the window and now to the door, which was opening as a maid entered and placed a tray of coffee and biscuits on the desk. ‘Gordon says that war is coming and if anything should happen to him he wants to know that I have the security of my own money.’
Ruth poured coffee and said, ‘Marriage settlements are not a wife’s nest egg. You should insist on helping. Or why don’t you make contacts and use them? Well-chosen friends could introduce you to people of influence and help you make money.’
‘You don’t know Gordon. He’s as straight as a die and as inflexible. Total strength of character.’ Loyalty and love shone from Elizabeth’s unseeing eyes. ‘And he’s knowledgeable, Ruth. He says that all these old estates will have to be broken up and sold.’ She waved an elegant arm around, vaguely. ‘You can see empty ruins all over the place. The world has changed and there is no place now for gentlemen.’
‘Elizabeth!’ Ruth protested. ‘If ever there was a gentleman in this world, it has to be Gordon.’
Elizabeth’s mouth twitched. ‘I meant gentlemen in the old-fashioned sense, dear; gentlemen in the sense of men who do not have to work for a living. I know Gordon is the other kind of gentleman.’ Here Elizabeth gave a sweet smile and added shyly, ‘And no woman ever had a more devoted, loving husband.’
Ruth gritted her teeth and grimaced. It was a blessing Elizabeth could not see. She said sweetly, ‘And you, dear, in spite of all the debt … You have made him happy?’
‘Don’t let’s discuss money,’ Elizabeth said.
Blunt speaking was a waste of time. Talk of love and marriage was the quickest route to encouraging Elizabeth’s indiscretion. Ruth sighed wistfully. ‘When I get married …’
Elizabeth was quick to pick up on this. ‘You said when, not if. Oh, Ruth … have you met someone?’
‘If I had, I should have no idea how to be a wife. I should have to come to you for advice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I’m twenty-nine, not an innocent, but …’
Elizabeth giggled. ‘But we’d never get a husband if we waited for the man to take us by force, would we?’
‘Elizabeth!’ Ruth gave a shocked gasp then, as if becoming bolder, ‘That’s where I’ve gone wrong. I’m waiting. What do I do to entice a man?’
‘So there is someone? Oh darling, I’m so glad. Anyone I know?’ Elizabeth leaned forward, her manicured hands gripping the carved armrests, eager as a young girl to talk and listen. ‘I’m sure you will get him to the altar. Remember Daddy used to say, “Whatever Ruth desires, she shall have”.’
‘Actually what he said was, “What ruthless Ruth wants, she will get.”’ Ruth spoke flippantly, but it incensed her even after all these years that their father had always favoured Elizabeth over her. He had never had a good word to say about his younger daughter. ‘He said it after Mother died. Remember, I was only twenty.’
‘Father doesn’t hold you to blame. That’s a preposterous suggestion. Mother had accidentally taken five times the proper dose of her sedative draught. The coroner gave an open verdict and said a troubled soul like Mother should never have been prescribed that stuff. It contained strychnine.’
Ruth corrected her. ‘It contained the seeds of the nux vomica tree. Strychnine is a derivative. Mother must either have added strychnine to her sedative or drunk several bottles. Remember, she had taken to her bed,’ Ruth reminded Elizabeth, ‘as she always did when she could not cope with the family.’ Ruth had always seen her mother as a pitiful creature who could not face trouble. ‘Mother and I had had words over my riding lessons. She threatened my instructor.’ The recollection of her own fury brought blood rushing to Ruth’s head, flaming her cheeks. She remembered how it was, she standing there, head bowed as if in penitence, while Mother raved, ranted and threatened. As she recalled it, Ruth’s mind had split into two distinct sides: one half miserable and the other plotting revenge and triumph and wanting her mother dead. Now she took a deep breath and continued, ‘Mother threatened him with dismissal, with prison – and, worse, she said she would have to tell Father when he came home next morning.’
‘Why on earth …?’ Elizabeth said.
‘She’d spied on us. She overheard our talk about putting a mare to stud.’
‘Mother knew nothing about horses,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Exactly. She assumed we were talking about – well, you know.’ Ruth’s face suffused with heat now, remembering.
‘Oh my goodness. I didn’t know.’ Elizabeth put both hands to her face in horror. ‘And this was on the very day she took the overdose?’
‘Yes,’ Ruth said. ‘She never had the opportunity to carry out her threat.’
Elizabeth replied, ‘The coroner gave an open verdict. It was not your doing. Anyway, dear, Mother left all her money to you.’
‘Yes. But she felt you were secure, safely married and financially settled. It was when the will was read that Father said it: “Whatever ruthless Ruth wants, she will get.”’
‘But he didn’t mean it in the way you imagine, you chump!’ Elizabeth said. Then, with the assurance and ease with which she could always turn the talk to something more agreeable, ‘I should not have mentioned it.’ She waved an elegant hand towards the desk. ‘Coffee? Will you pour?’ And when she was sipping the coffee, ‘Forgive me for bringing up a painful subject. You want to marry and have children?’
‘God, no! No children for me. I hate them.’
‘Don’t, Ruth …’
‘Sorry.’ Ruth hoped she sounded at least a little contrite. ‘But you could stop trying. You need never go through a miscarriage again.’
Elizabeth was becoming agitated. ‘I would. Gordon won’t … it’s painful.’ This was not the way Ruth had intended things to go. She gave a dry little laugh. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. What I really want to know is, how does a woman let the man know she’s interested?’
‘All men are different, I expect.’ Elizabeth was making an effort to control herself by breathing slowly. ‘But Gordon, he’s very …’
‘Passionate? Demanding?’
‘No. He never demands. Oh dear! I don’t mean to sound disloyal …’ Elizabeth blew her nose delicately.
‘Tell me, dear. Between sisters?’
Elizabeth put away her handkerchief and seemed more at ease. ‘I’m sure some men are demanding. But to tell the truth, I have to let him know I desire him. We have an unspoken code that has evolved. It’s one of those secret messages wives and husbands send all the time.’
Ruth said, ‘What do you do?’
‘I put on a little perfume, wear something clinging. Gordon adores me in ivory silk – and I simply take his hand and slide my fingers against his thumb. Oh, Ruth, I used to love to see the secret smile that came over his face when I did it in public – and then, when we are alone, I still have to make the first move. Gordon is a gentleman. He needs to know that I consent …’
‘So? What do you do?’ Ruth repeated impatiently.
‘I say, “Please, darling. Kiss me. I do so need to love you.” Gordon tells me that a woman who is desperate for a man is irresistible.’ She hesitated, but only for a second or two before her tongue loosened even further and she said, ‘I shouldn’t tell you this but … I need Gordon’s love. I can’t possibly obey the doctor on this.’
‘What?’ Ruth interrupted her.
Elizabeth fumbled again for the handkerchief. ‘The doctor has told me that all marital relations should cease.’
‘And Gordon ignores his advice?’
‘I haven’t told him. If Gordon didn’t love me, I’d want to die.’
‘Don’t upset yourself.’ Ruth touched Elizabeth’s hand to show affection and understanding and felt the grateful return grip of her
sister’s fingers. ‘I am sure the doctor is wrong. Let us go and find Nanny now, shall we? Before she starts on the tonic wine?’
Elizabeth crumpled the handkerchief and reached out for Ruth’s hand again. ‘It fortifies her. And she would hate for any of us to think she needed it, dear.’ She took Ruth’s arm as they left the study and crossed the landing to the drawing room, where Ruth expected to find Nanny nodding off in the corner chair. Elizabeth said, ‘She’s a treasure. Gordon looks upon her as his mother. I couldn’t carry on without her.’
For once Nanny was not asleep. She was standing by the fireplace, waiting for Elizabeth. Ruth kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I’ll leave you now, Elizabeth. I’m going to exercise Heather.’
‘Isn’t the ground too hard?’
‘No. I’ll ride her on the beach. The sands are perfect.’
‘Ask Mike to go with you. I know I’m a fusspot but since my own accident I worry when you are riding alone,’ Elizabeth said.
‘All right. I’ll ask him.’ Ruth spoke carelessly, suppressing a smile. Nanny might be old and a lover of tonic wine, but she had a rare talent for discerning hidden motives.
She went back to the study for her tweed jacket, threw it on and ran down the main, wide marble staircase, sure-footed, skilfully avoiding the carpet’s threadbare edges. She liked to feel her muscles working, feel the adrenaline-induced rush of blood to her vital organs. And the thought of the coming physical delight made her slam the oak door and take the twenty steps in a clattering of leather boots on stone in the frosty air.
Mike’s farmhouse had its own cobbled yard at the back, enclosed with stables, coach house and the now empty grooms’ cottages. Ruth went through the arched stone entrance to where Mike was waiting in front of the loose boxes. The horses were stamping impatiently, and he was scowling and shifting his weight from foot to foot. ‘What kept you?’
Flora's War Page 5
