‘Indeed, sir, when the warm weather comes I hope to enjoy our stay very much.’ She cast a glance over to her sister, and Murray thought that just for a second he read in it anxiety. She turned back to him.
‘And your friends Mr. Blair and Mr. Kennedy, are they here today?’ she asked, with a little effort at brightness. Murray wondered if she were trying to emulate her sister.
‘Mr. Blair you may see in the next window, Miss Kirk, if you but step clear of the curtain,’ said Mr. George. ‘But I have not seen Mr. Kennedy, Murray, is he not to come?’
‘He was to come indeed,’ said Murray, his eyes still curious on Miss Kirk’s face, ‘but unfortunately he has a summer cold or some such slight infection, and did not wish to bring it to a house where a wedding is imminent.’
‘I see,’ said Miss Kirk, and her thoughts appeared to wander for a moment. ‘Perhaps,’ she went on absently, ‘it is the same thing that has affected the parson – I mean, the minister. I hope they are both quite well soon.’
Murray wondered what to say. There was little doubt that what had caused Mr. Helliwell’s absence was in fact Mr. George’s presence. Mr. George smiled without embarrassment.
‘I fear, Miss Kirk, that Mr. Helliwell’s illness is of longer duration than Mr. Kennedy’s. His, you see, is not so much physical as political.’
There was a little gasp from Miss Kirk, but Mr. George did not notice as he turned at the sound of Mrs. Fairlie’s voice, gathering them to go down to dinner. Miss Kirk hurried to her sister, leaving Murray alone in the window as Mr. George moved off to the door. Murray turned to find that Blair, with a kindly air, was preparing to escort Miss George, and he followed them down the narrow stair.
II
Miss George was quickly taken from Blair and placed on Mr. Fairlie’s left near the foot of the table – an unwelcome reminder that though still a maid, she was the most senior female guest after Mrs. Helliwell. Blair went to the other end. Murray himself was about the middle, not unpleasantly situated between Mary Fairlie and Parnell Kirk. Parnell, of course, attracted more attention, but the Fairlie girls continued to be admiring, rather than resentful. Mr. Blair and Mr. George, each beside a Fairlie sister, did their best to make them feel attended to, but in this Blair was probably more successful than Mr. George. Murray reflected with some amusement that this was probably because Blair was a harmless old piece of buckram, whereas Mr. George, though very handsome and not too old to be eligible, had something of a dangerous reputation not so much with the ladies as with the females of lower classes. Letho society contrived not to hold this against him, for it was his one vice and a discreet one at that. Mr. Helliwell, who would have had Mr. George up before the Kirk Session if he possibly could, could only fume with unsubstantiated suspicions.
When Murray turned to ask Mary Fairlie how she did now that she was out, Blair had a moment to spare to listen to Mrs. Fairlie on his left. The curling feather from her hair decoration bounced in agitation.
‘Indeed, I vow I have had no time to turn round this week,’ she said, enjoying her own complaint, ‘for I was that concerned to see that Hugh’s waistcoat was finished for the wedding – Miss Lyall is a sweet girl, but she cannot lift a needle without making some dreadful mistake and the buttonholes were simply – and Hugh of course said he could not wear it – but then I heard she had been seen at kirk in Edinburgh and you know that is so unlucky when the proclamations are being read, it really will not do. And Hugh and John have been up and down to Edinburgh so often that I swear anyone would think they ran the post, and then with no kitchen maid, just to go off without notice like that. Never employ a girl of bad character, Mr. Blair, for though it may seem like Christian charity at the time, it is no blessing to the household. And then for the cook to spill the curry sauce all over the kitchen floor and it will stain the stones, I know it will, for it always stains the pots. And it is no time at all until we have to leave for Edinburgh ourselves, and there is the marriage flag to find and clean, and Mary’s gown is still to be fitted, and –’
‘Have you tried beef lard?’ asked Blair helpfully.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Mrs. Fairlie, breathless.
‘On the pots. Or on the floor, though it might well be dangerous there. Unless you moved the table to cover the place so that no one would slip.’
Mrs. Fairlie’s face was a study in bewilderment, and she remained in confused silence until it was time for her to lead her female guests upstairs to the drawing room. Mr. George nodded along the table as he resumed his seat.
‘All ready for Saturday, then, Hugh?’
Hugh Fairlie grinned.
‘Last few days of freedom,’ his brother John mocked him across the table.
‘But she is a lovely girl,’ said his father, encouragingly, ‘and obliging enough to let you go your own way.’
‘She is,’ said Hugh with resolve, ‘She’s an angel in both looks and temper. I am the luckiest man on earth.’
‘And a nice little fortune, too,’ said Mr. Fairlie, comfortably. ‘A faultless match, in my opinion. And, happily, in Mrs. Fairlie’s opinion too.’
Hugh looked very content. He smiled down at his wine glass, turning it gently on the walnut table, while a little silence fell over the company, each man perhaps reflecting on his experience of marriage, or lack of it. Gilbert Helliwell glanced shyly at the chair where Mary Fairlie had been sitting. When Mr. George changed the subject and an intelligent discussion began on the situation in the Peninsula, Gilbert did not rouse himself to participate.
III
Upstairs, Mrs. Helliwell was trying to find some subject of common interest to discuss with Miss George. It was always difficult. Mrs. Helliwell had no interest in fashion or the latest mode of trim for a spencer, and while her own children were not her obsession they would at least have formed some basis of shared experience to discuss with another mother. Miss George appreciated gardens only as a form of exterior décor, and neither took much interest in politics or the state of the war. There was also the difficulty of skirting round the dispute between Mr. Helliwell and Mr. George, in which neither woman was really eager to take sides, but at the same time did not wish to embarrass the other. A stilted conversation therefore continued on the safe subjects of the weather, speculations on the murder now almost three weeks old, and a sharing of information on the various needy people they visited – not together – in the parish. Miss George longed for the gentlemen to join them, and Mrs. Helliwell prayed that her son Gilbert was not drinking more than he could manage.
Mrs. Fairlie was describing her son Hugh’s wedding waistcoat to Miss Kirk, in laborious detail. Miss Parnell was caught in conversation, almost as passively as her sister, with Mary and Louisa who could enthuse at any length on romantic novels and were privately puzzled at Parnell’s failure to participate much in the conversation. In their minds, the Kirks were from Bath, therefore were fashionable, therefore were romantically sensible and had read the right novels and poetry. Mrs. Helliwell noted Parnell out of the corner of her eye, and saw without surprise how Parnell sparkled, like a struck flint, when the gentlemen at last appeared. She was persuaded without much difficulty to show off at the box piano, and Murray was flattered to be selected to turn the pages for her. She sang very prettily, with perhaps more life than accuracy, but as the songs she chose were light and quick and the audience not generally particular, it mattered little.
Mr. George went to sit with Miss Kirk, who, huddled on a low sofa, had expressed herself too fagged to perform for the company in any way. Mr. Fairlie was nearby, and, as Miss Kirk seemed disinclined to talk, the two gentlemen fell into conversation about the manse. Blair, approaching to ascertain that Miss Kirk was not being left out unwillingly, joined them.
‘The Court of Session have agreed to hear the case in the autumn,’ Mr. George was explaining. ‘I am very sorry that it has gone thus far, but you know my opinions on the subject.’
‘You believe, I think, or so I have heard,�
�� said Blair carefully, ‘that the manse would benefit from a simple rebuilding, while the minister wants a new manse constructed?’
‘Oh, not a simple rebuilding, Mr. Blair,’ Mr. George smiled. ‘There are very many faults with the present building, the chief of which is that the kitchen apartments appear to have been built over an underground stream. But the wonders of modern engineering can undoubtedly overcome such an obstacle, and then it remains only to strengthen the structure of the central hall and carry out repairs to the plasterwork and woodwork.’
‘Unfortunately, Mr. Helliwell misunderstood the approach of the man he thinks is our architect, who is in fact simply a friend with some building experience brought in to give his opinion,’ said Mr. Fairlie, nodding at Mr. George. ‘He brought in that real architect, who of course was terribly expensive, quite beyond the parish means. This is not St. Giles High Kirk, and the heritors are not – if you will excuse it, sir – wealthy and powerful men by national standards. I think the Court will find in our favour,’ he finished, glancing carefully across the room at Mrs. Helliwell. Mr. George and Mr. Blair followed the line of his gaze.
‘And as I understand it,’ added Mr. George very quietly, ‘a Court verdict against the husband might find favour with the wife, for a new manse would destroy her garden entirely.’
‘That would cause great injury indeed, I do believe,’ Blair agreed.
‘Lord, when will Parnell ever stop playing?’ demanded Virginia Kirk, making them all jump. Her expression was languid, but Blair was interested to surprise a look of unexpected intelligence in her eyes. ‘I am sure we have heard quite enough of you, sister!’
‘Oh, it is true, Virginia, I am quite exhausted!’ Parnell bounced up from her seat and made Murray a curtsey as thanks, then abandoned him for the Fairlie sons. Murray found the grace to smile.
‘Miss Kirk, you are sure that you will not delight us?’ asked Mrs. Fairlie. ‘Then Mary, perhaps, you should play that song with the nice tenor part, and perhaps, Gilbert, you would help her with it?’
Mrs. Helliwell nearly laughed out loud at the confusion of expressions contorting her son’s face at this proposal. Not witty enough to extract himself in time, he slouched over to the piano where Mary was fidgeting. Mrs. Fairlie’s eyes gleamed at her daughter, who obediently gave Gilbert his note and began to play.
The result, even for an audience of generally limited taste, was not pleasant: after a confident start Gilbert tried accidently to move from the tenor line to the soprano and lost himself entirely, and as his stabs at harmony grew less and less harmonious, so Mary more and more lost her own line to waves of uncontrollable giggles. Both were whisked off quickly by their respective mothers and Miss George, with the air of saving the day, threw herself into a technically impressive aria, the quality of which was lost on almost all of them. They all knew, however, that they ought to appreciate it, so the applause was healthy.
IV
Blair and Murray escorted Mrs. Helliwell and her son home after supper, wary, even though they were all together, of potential attackers on the edge of the village. They waited at the gate until the minister’s wife and son were safely into the manse, and cautiously turned the corner into the lane to Letho House. Nothing stirred in the trees about them, but still Blair waited until they had walked well clear of the little wood before he remarked, carefully,
‘Mrs. Fairlie says that their kitchen maid has disappeared.’
Murray looked round at him, puzzled.
‘Disappeared? Given her notice, do you mean?’
‘Apparently not. She has simply disappeared. Mrs. Fairlie seems more annoyed than concerned.’
‘I suppose her mind is mostly occupied with Hugh’s wedding,’ said Murray. ‘Actually, yes, her mind is completely occupied with Hugh’s wedding. But still, for a girl to disappear – oh, of course!’ he said suddenly, stopped on the path by a thought. ‘Her kitchen maid is Nan Watson. You know, she’s been summoned to appear before the Kirk Session on Sunday for fornication again.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Blair. ‘I had forgotten it was she who worked at the Fairlies’. Mrs. Fairlie did say something about bad character, but of course I was thinking about the floor.’
‘The floor,’ repeated Murray, ‘yes, of course.’
‘But anyway, it would make sense, would it not, or am I assuming too much, as we thought the clearing looked as if two people had lain there together, and that would be something that Nan Watson has been known to do.’
‘But we concluded,’ argued Murray, ‘that whoever it had been had made her escape when they were disturbed by Effy.’
‘But they need not have done,’ Blair objected. ‘He might already have killed her and hidden the body. Or she might indeed have escaped, but he found her again before she could tell anyone of him.’
‘Or it might not be Nan at all. She might have decided to avoid the Kirk Session’s interrogation.’
‘Perhaps she might,’ Blair admitted. ‘But we should consider that there is at least one person who might well have good reason to stop Nan Watson compearing before the Kirk Session, for the principal question they will ask her will be the identity of the child’s father.’
V
‘Shall I ring for some tea?’ asked Mrs. Fairlie. In the emptied drawing room the family were gathered, making use of the built-up warmth and lit candles from their entertaining. Mary and Louisa were frantically stitching from each end of the same hem, trying to finish Mary’s dress for the wedding. Mrs. Fairlie had Hugh’s waistcoat on her lap.
‘Some brandy would be better appreciated,’ said Mr. Fairlie.
‘John, ring the bell, would you?’ said Hugh. ‘Mamma has little enough time to fix my waistcoat without drinking tea.’ He smiled at her.
John obliged.
‘That Miss Parnell Kirk is a lively one, indeed,’ he remarked.
‘A very pretty girl,’ Mr. Fairlie agreed. ‘Mary, will you not read to us?’
‘What do you wish to hear, Father?’ asked Mary, her fingers flying at the hem.
‘Some Milton, I think,’ said Mr. Fairlie, making himself more comfortable. The maid arrived with brandy and he secured a large glass for himself. Mary, with a look at her sister, finished off her thread and fetched the book from a side table. Her father was often partial to asking for some Milton to be read. She settled herself in a straight-backed chair and turned to his favourite poem.
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
she began,
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born
In hideous cave forlorn ...
‘A very suitable mood for a wedding,’ remarked Mr. Fairlie, talking over his daughter’s recitation. She continued, knowing from experience that he would expect her to do so. ‘Tell me, Hugh, does Miss Lyall read poetry?’
‘She does indeed, sir, and quite beautifully,’ Hugh replied. ‘But I have not yet had her read Milton. I must do so.’
‘You must indeed, Hugh. It may not be fashionable, but it will do her good.’
During the conversational pause that followed, Mary could be heard reading stoically on.
‘Lou,’ said John to Louisa, ‘I’ve burst a seam in my best green breeches, and I wanted to wear them tomorrow. If I bring them down now, will you fix them?’
Louisa stopped sewing, and looked over at Mary. Mary broke off halfway through a line.
‘Come now,’ said her father, rousing himself, ‘you’ve spoilt that now. Go back to the start of that bit, and read it again.’ He sipped his brandy. Hugh made himself more comfortable around his brandy glass. John left the room and returned shortly with the breeches. Louisa put down Mary’s new gown, and began to pin the burst seam.
VI
‘I regret to have to tell you this, sir, but it has happened again.’
‘What has?’ asked Murray, whose mind was chiefly on the plans for the servants’ wing. He looked up at Robbins. ‘Oh, not another attack?’ he asked suddenly.
‘No, sir.’ Robbins loo
ked apologetic, but determined.
‘Then what? The rain held off last night: surely the kitchen cannot be flooded today.’
‘Not flooding either, sir. No, Mr. Kennedy again sent William off for two hours without warning, and has forbidden him to say where he has been.’
Murray managed to stop himself from swearing.
‘When did this happen?’
‘Yesterday afternoon, sir, while you were out at the Fairlies’. Mr. Kennedy remained in bed for the day, sir.’
‘Well, he has gone out this morning. I shall have to speak to him later. Again, Robbins, I am sorry that he has inconvenienced you.’
Robbins bowed and turned to go.
‘Oh, Robbins!’
He turned back.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Have you ... did you by any chance ... talk to Daniel about Nan Watson?’
Robbins crossed his hands behind his back.
‘I did, sir. I thought it proper to be warned if we were to have any trouble in that quarter.’
‘Quite right, Robbins. And what did he say?’
‘He said that the child is not his, sir. He claims not to have associated with Nan Watson in that manner. I questioned him first in front of the other servants, sir, but it occurred to me afterwards that he might have found it difficult to talk in front of them, so I asked him once again later when there was no one else there. He told me that he was quite sure that the baby is not his, because when he last attempted to associate with the girl, several months ago, she said that she had no time for him any more.’
‘Did he say that she had said who her new man was?’
Robbins looked rather awkward.
‘In a manner of speaking, sir. When I expressed surprise that the girl turned him down – she’s not known for turning down many offers, sir, as you may have heard – he said that she told him she had two men on the go at present, and she had no use for him as she had her choice of real gentlemen. Those were the words he used, sir.’
An Abandoned Woman (Murray of Letho Book 4) Page 11
