Uncle Freddie would have liked the seagull. He’d liked birds. He’d even looked a bit like one: like a friendly ostrich with tired eyes. Max had sobbed every night for weeks when he was killed. It still hurt to think about him, but it was also strangely comforting.
The seagull lifted up into the sky and flew away, and Max watched in awe. He resolved to look up its name, if he could find the right book. And perhaps if he saw it again, he could give it a piece of seaweed to eat.
He plodded on. He was level with the tithe cottage. Beyond it the rocks were suddenly much nearer. They were grey and strangely humped. Max felt a flicker of fear.
Then one of the rocks moved.
Max’s heart lurched.
In horror he watched its head swing round to look at him. The wind roared in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. What if it came after him?
There was no-one to help him. Miss McAllister was too far away. Besides, she wouldn’t help a ninny.
Slowly, so as not to alert the monster rock, Max turned his head and stared at the tithe cottage. If he could make it up that little stony path, then maybe a kindly cottager would give him sanctuary, like in ‘How They Saved The Pets’.
The monster rock slid into the sea with a splash. Then another and another. A herd of monster rocks. Max’s nerve broke and he raced up the path.
He pounded the door. No-one came. He ran to the window, trying not to step on the heather that grew beneath it in clumps.
A lady stood in the parlour with her back to him. She wore a flowery print gown, and looked very sturdy and strong: like Mrs Shadwell, but with short hair. Surely she would defend him against the rocks?
He tapped on the window.
The lady turned.
Max gave a terrified yelp and fell backwards into the heather.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Come quickly!’ gasped Max, careening into Belle. ‘There’s someone – I think they’re hurt!’
‘What do you mean, hurt?’ she said.
Max gulped and tried to speak at the same time. ‘There’s blood on his mouth.’
Belle glanced from the white-faced boy to the cottage, and then to the distant speck of Cairngowrie House. Now what do I do? she thought. After the long walk over the sand, her knees were trembling; what help could she be? Wretched Miss McAllister was right. She’d walked too far.
‘You stay here,’ she told the boy, ‘I’ll go and see.’
‘Here on my own?’ said Max. ‘But what about the rocks?’
‘What rocks? There aren’t any rocks. Just stay here.’
Dreading what she might find, she went up the garden path and lifted the door latch. ‘Hello?’ she called.
There was no-one in the hall, but she could feel that the house wasn’t empty. The door to her right was ajar – presumably it opened into some sort of front room. From inside came the sound of someone breathing.
‘Are you all right in there?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but the boy said—’
‘I’m fine,’ said a deep, masculine voice. ‘Please go away.’
Belle frowned. Something about the voice was familiar. ‘Hello?’ She put her hand on the door. ‘Are you sure you’re—’
‘No, don’t—’
The door swung open, and there was Drum Talbot hunched on the sofa in an orange flowered tea-gown, with a smear of scarlet lipstick beneath his moustache.
‘Oh God,’ he groaned, and burst into tears.
He cried for ages. Great choking sobs that seemed to tear up his chest.
After the first blank astonishment, Belle went to the sofa and sat down beside him, and put one arm awkwardly round his beefy shoulders.
Eventually the sobs lessened. He pulled a large handkerchief from his flowery sleeve, and blew his nose. Then he wiped off the lipstick. ‘I’m so – dreadfully sorry,’ he said hoarsely.
Belle didn’t know what to say. She’d heard of effeminate men, but she’d never met one; or not knowingly. She felt sorry for him. It must be awful, to be found like this. She couldn’t see why he was apologizing.
‘Such an appalling shock for you,’ he said without meeting her eyes.
She glanced at his tear-ravaged face. He’d missed a bit of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. She repressed the urge to wipe it away. ‘Not a shock,’ she said. ‘Just a surprise.’
He sniffed and tugged at his handkerchief, then ran a hand through his thick fair hair. ‘That poor little tyke. Is he all right?’
‘Max? He’s out in the garden. I’m sure he’s fine.’
He frowned. ‘Good. Good.’
‘Drum – it’s all right, you know. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’
He heaved a ragged sigh. ‘Thanks most awfully. You see, if it ever got out, they’d send me to prison.’
‘Oh, surely not. Not for getting dressed up.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Darling Belle, what a sweet way of putting it! No, not for that. For being – what I am.’
There was an awkward silence.
Then Belle said, ‘I never guessed, you know.’
His lip curled. ‘Oh, I’m good at hiding it. I ought to be, I’ve had enough practice.’ Then his face contracted. ‘Everything about me is a lie. Even my nickname. “Drum”. So hearty and masculine.’ He swallowed. ‘I don’t expect you to believe me, but I’ve never actually done this sort of thing before. I mean, getting dressed up.’
‘I believe you.’
‘You see, out in France, things changed.’ He swallowed. ‘I – I fell in love. It was the real thing. An NCO in my unit. Although of course I never said a word. I couldn’t. He’s a big, rough, masculine man. A real man. If he ever found out what I am, he’d be disgusted.’ He rubbed a shaky hand over his face. ‘I should have been over the moon when I got my blighty, because it prevented me from doing anything foolish. But all I could think was, I’ll never see him again.’
She put her hand over his.
‘And then, like an idiot, I got into trouble. Had to leave Town, as they say. At least, until things quieten down.’
‘How did you fetch up here?’
‘What? Oh, Adam, of course. He’s been an absolute brick. He knows, you see. He’s the only one who does. He lent me this place so that I could sort myself out. And now look at me.’ He shut his eyes. ‘Don’t tell him, will you? I mean, not about this.’ He tugged at his sleeve.
‘Of course not,’ said Belle.
‘The worst of it is, I still can’t forget that NCO.’ He paused. ‘All my life I’ve wanted to be loved by a man like that. And yet I know that that’s an absolute impossibility, because a man like him – a real man – would only ever love a woman.’ With a brawny hand he smoothed the flowered silk over his knee. ‘That’s why I tried on this frock. I wanted – just once – to see what I’d look like as a woman. To see if – in some other life, perhaps – I’d stand a chance of attracting him.’ His face crumpled.
‘Oh, Drum,’ said Belle. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I’m sorry too. Sorry that you had to see this.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’
‘And I didn’t even know you were in Scotland.’
‘I’m staying at the Hall.’
‘With Adam? He didn’t say anything. In fact, I had no idea you were even friends.’
Belle coloured. ‘We’re not. Well, we’re not anything else, either.’ She thought about that. ‘It’s complicated.’
Drum nodded without understanding.
To change the subject, she told him about Osbourne’s being married, and about Sibella, and about falling ill herself.
‘I can’t believe Osbourne would do that,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And then not even to write. To try to make amends.’
Her lip curled. ‘You’re not the only one who isn’t what he seems.’
‘Do you – do you still love him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s very odd. When Adam told me, I was devastated. Or I though
t I was. But then it was like turning off a tap. I’m not even angry. The other day, Adam told me that Osbourne’s going to try to make it up with his wife and child. He’s bringing them over to England. I felt nothing. Except sympathy for her.’
Again Drum nodded. ‘Anyway, Adam’s worth ten of him.’
Belle did not reply.
‘You’re an amazing girl,’ said Drum.
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are. I never thought anyone could be so kind. And I actually feel better, now that you know.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Come up to the Hall for dinner.’
He gave her a watery smile. ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes you can. It’ll do you good.’
‘No. No.’
‘Tomorrow, then. I’ll square it with Adam. And the dreaded Miss McAllister.’
He forced a smile. ‘Perhaps.’
But she knew that he wouldn’t.
He walked her to the door. ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like,’ he said suddenly, ‘to be one person to one’s friends and family, and quite another person underneath. To have to live like that, day in and day out. It’s so bloody exhausting.’
‘Yes,’ said Belle. ‘I know.’
‘I hear you overdid things a bit,’ said Adam.
‘And now I’m back in this ghastly invalid chair,’ said Belle, ‘and I’m sure Miss McAllister had a marvellous time telling you all about it.’
‘She’s not like that, you know.’
‘Oh, really,’ said Belle.
‘Yes, really.’ He stooped to put another log on the fire. ‘Honestly, Belle, what were you thinking? Walking all the way to the Point?’
‘But only part of the way back,’ said Belle, rearranging the rug over her legs. ‘I felt a little tired, and had to send Max for the dog cart.’
‘A little tired’ was an understatement. Her knees had given way and she’d had to sit on the pebbles with her head down, while the black spots darted sickeningly before her eyes. When she’d got back to the Hall, it had been all she could do to climb the stairs. Thank heavens that Adam had still been down at the Home Farm.
‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she lied. In fact she felt frighteningly weak. And annoyed with herself for having proved Miss McAllister right. And hopelessly sad about Drum.
It had been horrible, having to leave him in that lonely little cottage. And Max had given her no time to gather her wits. ‘Will the gentleman be all right?’ he’d asked. He’d been hovering in the porch because of the ‘rocks that moved’. Whatever they were.
Yes, she’d told him, the gentleman was fine. He’d simply put on an overall to clean some windows, then fallen and cut his lip. Only don’t tell anyone, or he’ll be embarrassed.
It was the best she could come up with at such short notice.
‘According to Maud,’ said Adam, ‘you’ve set yourself back. She wanted to call in Dr Ruthven, but I thought you’d prefer not.’
‘Definitely,’ said Belle with feeling. Miss McAllister had threatened her with Dr Ruthven before. He’d been an old friend of Adam’s father, and was widely respected as a sponsor of the Stranraer Temperance Institute. His daughter Felicity was ‘a dear, lovely, innocent young lady who frequently accompanies her father on his rounds,’ and had known Adam ‘for ever’.
‘Then in lieu of Dr Ruthven,’ said Adam, ‘Maud wants you to go to bed, and stay there for at least three days.’ He hesitated. ‘I know you loathe doing what she says, but in this instance I really think—’
‘I know, I know. I’ll do as I’m told.’ Secretly, she was relieved. It dispensed with any question of her returning to London.
Adam sat down in the easy chair opposite her, and crossed his long legs at the ankle. For a while there was silence as they watched the log beginning to crackle.
Then Belle said, ‘Poor Drum. He’s so unhappy.’
Adam raised his head and gave her a guarded look.
‘I saw him at the tithe cottage,’ she explained. ‘He told me about himself.’
‘Ah.’
‘How long have you known?’
‘Celia told me.’
She frowned. ‘Celia told you? Why?’
‘He and I had been friends since school. Perhaps she thought that by telling me, she could change that.’
This was the first time he’d mentioned Celia, and Belle waited for him to go on, but he simply leaned back in his chair and studied the fire, running his thumb slowly across his bottom lip.
‘When Celia told you,’ Belle said carefully, ‘were you surprised? I mean, about Drum.’
‘To begin with. Although in retrospect, it made a lot of sense.’
‘Had you come across that sort of thing before?’
‘Oh, yes.’
She smoothed the rug over her knees. ‘I dare say you saw it all in the trenches.’
He snorted. ‘I saw it all at Winchester.’
She was silent for a moment. He seemed to accept people so readily for what they were. Did he do that out of tolerance, or because they didn’t matter to him any more?
‘But didn’t you mind?’ she said. ‘When Celia told you about Drum. Surely you minded?’
‘Why should I have minded?’
She swallowed. ‘Well. Because someone you knew – a friend – they’d kept something from you. Something important about themselves.’ She was dismayed to find that her voice was shaking. ‘Surely that mattered to you? I mean, not being told. Being kept in the dark. Surely it altered how you thought about them – how you felt . . .’
He was watching her closely, as if he’d guessed that she wasn’t only talking about Drum. ‘Drum had his reasons,’ he said.
She dropped her gaze. How would he feel, she wondered, if he ever found out about me? About Cornelius Traherne. About what I am.
Even thinking of it made her feel sick. Found out, found out.
Adam uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘You’ve gone very pale. I think you’d better lie down.’
‘No. I’m fine. Just a little tired.’
‘I’m sorry, I’ve worn you out.’ But he made no move to go.
She sat staring at her hands. She had the sense that if he didn’t go soon, she would blurt out the truth. Or burst into tears. At last she said, ‘Nothing fazes you, does it?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
She raised her head and met his eyes. ‘Drum. Osbourne. Me. Nothing seems to disconcert you.’
He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Some things do,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The weather closed in again. For three days Belle lay in the big four-poster and listened to the wind soughing in the pines, and the rain battering the windows. To begin with she enjoyed it. Then she became restless, and moved to the invalid chair by the fire. On the fifth day she came downstairs, and had a fight with Miss McAllister.
‘What’s the matter with you both?’ said Adam. They’d just finished breakfast, and Miss McAllister had stormed off to her room. ‘I’ve never known her to be like this. And as for you . . .’
‘You’ve never known me to be anything else,’ supplied Belle.
Adam sighed. ‘I have to go out this morning. I shall be gone all day. Please. Please. Try to get along.’
‘I will if she will,’ said Belle.
‘That’s not good enough.’ He stood up. ‘I know you hate being reminded of this, but I’m going to remind you anyway. In East Street I probably saved your life. The least you can do for me—’
Belle laughed. ‘Goodness, you’re ruthless! I thought you were supposed to humour the invalid.’
‘To hell with that,’ said Adam.
The house seemed very quiet when he’d gone. Belle tried to read, but soon gave up and wandered the empty rooms.
According to Adam, the Hall had been built in the late seventeen hundreds by Finlay Palairet, who�
�d vastly improved the family fortunes by selling his Edinburgh linen-weaving business and moving to Glasgow, where he’d gone into sugar refining and rum distillation. As he’d traded exclusively with the Jamaican Palairets, who were just entering the Golden Age of sugar, he’d prospered mightily. ‘Huguenot savoir faire crossed with Scottish pragmatism,’ was how Adam had drily characterized it.
The combination might have worked well in business, but it made for an odd mix when it came to architecture. Cairngowrie Hall had fine, well-proportioned rooms, and fireplaces that worked – but the plasterwork was slightly too ornate, and it sat uneasily with the whole: like a dress suit on a hoary old sea captain. And clearly, the Hall hadn’t been cared for in years. After the death of his wife, Adam’s father had left it and his four young boys in the hands of a housekeeper, and travelled abroad.
A dead mother and an absent father, thought Belle as she wandered the rooms. No wonder he was close to his brothers. And now they’re all gone . . .
She found Miss McAllister in one of the bedrooms. Wardrobes stood open; chests of drawers spilled clothes; the bed was piled with cricket jumpers, shooting jackets and books. Miss McAllister stood in the middle of the rug, looking oddly lost. But when she saw Belle, her mouth tightened. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Belle. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’
Miss McAllister’s gaze drifted to the chaos around her, and she chewed her lower lip, as people do when they’re trying to hold something back. ‘I’m the one who’s intruding,’ she muttered.
Belle didn’t know what she meant.
‘The boys’ things,’ said the older woman. ‘High time that someone sorted them out.’
‘By the boys, I take it you mean his brothers?’
‘Well of course. Angus. Gordon. Erskine.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I was in here yesterday, looking out some of Erskine’s things for his fiancée. That’s where Adam’s gone, to Castle Garth, to see Annis. She’s been asking for some mementos.’
‘Oh,’ said Belle. ‘Can I help?’
‘No.’
So much for getting along.
‘Adam didn’t want to go,’ said Miss McAllister. She sounded angry, as if it was Belle’s fault. ‘He’s been putting it off.’
The Daughters of Eden Trilogy Page 101
