‘Oh, pray use my carriage to take her home,’ said Murray, ‘I had almost forgotten to offer.’
‘Thank you. She will be very grateful.’
Blair shambled out from under the stairs.
‘Will she be all right, little Anna?’ he asked warily.
Mr. George looked at Murray.
‘I think so,’ he said, ‘now that she is at home and settled. Mrs. Helliwell says there is no need to call for Dr. Feilden, anyway. And good day to you, Mr. Blair.’ They bowed to each other, smiling.
There were footsteps upstairs, and Mr. Helliwell appeared on the landing.
‘My wife has changed her mind, and could someone please go for the doctor? My boys are out, and the maid is here, and –’
‘I shall go at once, sir,’ said Murray, and ran out.
‘And the medicine chest, in the study. Oh, please!’ added Mr. Helliwell, and ran back into the bedroom. Blair, nearest to the study door, shrugged at Mr. George and went inside.
The medicine chest on the desk was clearly not much moved about, for there were four heavy books and two smaller ones on top of it. In his hurry, Blair tried to lift them all at once and spilled the top book on to the floor, dropping a couple of papers out of it. He stuffed them into his pocket and picked up the medicine chest, carrying it with care up the uneven stairs and into the same room where they had come to inspect the corpse of the mysterious woman. The similarity of the scene, busy as it was, was a shock, and he passed the case almost absently to Miss George who at once opened it and began to search through the contents. The maid was trying to bring the fire to life, and Mrs. Helliwell was holding her daughter upright in her arms, keeping her neck clear and calming her, willing her to breathe more easily. The fear in Mr. Helliwell’s eyes was terrible to see, as he looked on helpless. Blair, just as useless, left the room and went back downstairs just as the doctor arrived: Murray had fortuitously met him in the street and brought him swiftly back. Now, with Mr. George still waiting calmly in the hall, Blair’s and Murray’s presence seemed superfluous, and they left quietly, and took the footpath home to Letho House.
IX
‘Minutes of the Kirk Session meeting held at Letho Parish Church on the 19th. June, 1808. Meeting opened with prayer.
‘Today the minister preached on the text of the Gospel of St. Luke, Chapter Three, being concerned with the baptism of Our Lord.
‘Nan Watson, maiden of this parish, having been summoned to appear before the Session accused of a trilapse of fornication, being with child out of wedlock, failed to compear. Her name is therefore to be sent up to the Presbytery.’
No one commented on this to Watson at the Kirk Session meeting: the man was grey with worry, and between the meeting and the service had been seen anxiously conversing with Nan’s eldest sister still at home. Nan’s mother, his sister-in-law, was still in Perth and knew nothing of her daughter’s disappearance.
‘Amongst those mentioned in the prayers for the sick this day was the minister’s own daughter, ill of a chest ailment these four days. May the Lord in his grace protect her.’
‘What’s the matter with the Kirk girl?’ asked Melville generally.
‘Miss Parnell Kirk? When wee Anna was taken sick in the sea, the story goes that Miss Parnell was the one who pulled her out,’ explained Ninian Jack.
‘Brave girl,’ said Melville, approvingly. ‘But how is she ill?’
‘The over-exertion in the heat brought on a fever,’ said the minister briefly, anxious to be at home.
‘That’s not what I heard,’ remarked Kenny.
‘You shouldna listen to rumours, man,’ said Jack.
Kenny became pensive.
‘Why are gentlefolk never called to compear before us?’ he asked, as if it were purely an academic matter.
‘Well, then,’ said Jack, ‘she shall be remarked upon.’
‘Amongst those mentioned in the prayers for the sick were –’ he corrected his draft, ‘the minister’s daughter ... four days, and Miss – how do you spell Parnell?’
‘It’s short for Petronella,’ said the minister, and spelled it.
‘My,’ remarked Jack. ‘Miss Petronella Kirk, ill of a fever these four days. May the Lord ... protect them.’
‘Right,’ said Melville. ‘I hope it is not infectious.’
‘Ach, away with you, man,’ retorted Kenny. ‘When were you ever near enough to her to get infected?’
‘Ssh,’ said Ninian Jack.
‘The poors’ funds were counted and distributed.
‘Closed with prayer,
‘Ninian Jack,
‘Session Clerk.’
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the minister, and left the church.
Chapter Six
I
The Fairlies returned in triumph to Letho on Monday evening after another of their single-day journeys, tired and crumpled but full of eagerness to tell all to everyone who came near them. They were a little put out to find that events in their absence had overshadowed the glorious reason for that absence, as the village seemed to wear a preoccupied and secretive air on their return. Dr. Feilden, hurrying past their door as they alighted from their carriage, called a friendly but peremptory greeting and carried on towards Kirk Hill, and Mrs. Helliwell, who had said that she might well be there to meet them, was not, which was not like her. Mr. Murray and Mr. Blair did appear, however, and meandered towards them from the direction of Dures House, where they said they had just been to supper. Struggling to overcome her distress that social events should continue without the Fairlie family, Mrs. Fairlie asked them kindly to come into the narrow stuccoed house and take a glass of wine to ease them on their walk, as there was no guarantee of hot water for a cup of tea so soon after their arrival, particularly as their wretched kitchenmaid was still vanished. Reluctant to impose or intrude, but seeing that Mrs. Fairlie was just dying to tell someone about their week in Edinburgh, Blair and Murray agreed to stay a little while Mr. Fairlie begged leave to retire and the young people to change, and they were left to sit in the parlour alone with Mrs. Fairlie.
The wedding had apparently gone as well as any other ordinary wedding between two decent families of some prosperity. There had been the requisite number of smiles, tears, panics, disasters, fine waistcoats and elegant gowns, anxieties about the weather and the food and inappropriate groups of magpies settling in adjacent trees at significant moments. Mrs. Fairlie had been, it appeared, very distressed at the approach of a funeral procession as Hugh had neared the bride’s house, but on the whole the favourable omens, even in Mrs. Fairlie’s mind, outweighed this grossly unfavourable one. Mrs. Fairlie had been impressed by Miss Lyall’s near relations and their various homes: she demonstrated this by describing them in a way intended to convey her own very high expectations as well as how they had just about been matched, so that Blair and Murray would not only remember how good was the Fairlies’ social standing but also realise how well Hugh had married on the family’s behalf. Miss Lyall had dressed quite fashionably, particularly on the day itself, and had been the recipient of some very good family jewellery from her mother which Mrs. Fairlie was pleased to accept on behalf of her unborn granddaughters. Miss Lyall might not have seen the gift in quite that light, but must have been tactful enough not to make this clear, for Mrs. Fairlie spoke of her new daughter-in-law still with a degree of pride, and affection might yet grow from familiarity. After all, the high standards that she always encouraged her sons to expect from those around them must imply her approval of Mrs. Hugh Fairlie. The dinner after the wedding had been attended by some of the best and pleasantest of Edinburgh society, and here Mrs. Fairlie was pleased to mention a Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong who were, she believed, among the acquaintance of her current guests, were both well, and sent their kindest regards to Mr. Blair and Mr. Murray. The bride and groom were now touring the Lake District in England, and would be back at Letho in the middle of July.
‘That is well,’ said Murray, taking adva
ntage of Mrs. Fairlie’s pause which had seemed to demand applause for a tale well told, ‘for I had thought to hold a ball around the middle of July. Mr. Blair’s sister Mrs. Freeman and his daughter are to arrive with us next week, we hope, and I had planned it as a diversion partly for them. I should be honoured if the couple would attend it, along with the rest of your family, of course.’
Mrs. Fairlie clapped her hands with delight.
‘A ball for Hugh and his wife? How lovely! And how very good of you, Mr. Murray. And it is so much more convenient for you than for us, for we have scarcely room for six couples to stand up together, as you know, in the drawing room, and no way of opening it out.’
‘I shall quite understand,’ said Murray blandly, ‘if they are unable to attend, for a bride’s social engagements can be very onerous.’ That the ball should be specifically for the couple had not been his intention, but this was not the moment to stress that to Mrs. Fairlie.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘That is, I am sure Mrs. Hugh Fairlie will be extremely busy, for a very great number of people will wish to welcome my son’s wife, but on this matter I believe I can answer for her.’
Murray wondered how long Mrs. Hugh Fairlie would welcome this kindly representation, and smiled inwardly.
‘Miss Blair is out, then, in society?’ asked Mrs. Fairlie.
Blair nodded slightly but uncertainly, fidgeting with the stem of his wine glass.
‘She is but seventeen,’ he said, after a quick calculation, ‘but I believe my dear sister was finding life a little dull, and she has not older sisters to wait for.’
‘Oh, there is no point in holding them back!’ said Mrs. Fairlie. Her daughter Mary was but seventeen and out, as company, perhaps, for her older sister. ‘She will be married soon enough, and then your sister will be dull again!’
‘Heavens, no!’ said Blair in genuine alarm. ‘She is far too young to marry!’ But Mrs. Fairlie was trying to remember what Isobel Blair had been like the last time she had met her, and whether she would be a suitable match for her second son, John. Isobel would be rich, no doubt, and there was a fine house in George Square in Edinburgh which would be hers, and if Mrs. Fairlie caught her early enough Isobel might not develop some of the more outlandish eccentricities of her father. Mrs. Fairlie vaguely remembered having been told that Blair’s wife had been a society beauty – perhaps the daughter would not be too bad. She would be bound to like John, anyway.
Murray, who had forgotten that Isobel was now out, was reminding himself to recalculate his plans for the ball which had been based on the assumption that Mrs. Freeman would be at liberty to act as hostess. He decided to change the subject.
‘There has been some bad news in your absence, though fortunately not fatal,’ he began, wondering belatedly how much to say. Parnell’s condition was close to being common knowledge. ‘Both Anna Helliwell and Miss Parnell Kirk are ill.’
‘It is not the cholera, is it?’ asked Mrs. Fairlie in a panic.
‘No, no, it is nothing contagious in either case, ma’am,’ Murray hastened to reassure her. He explained about Anna Helliwell’s attack and Parnell’s valiant rescue, adding that the overexertion had made Parnell ill, too. He left it at that for the moment. ‘In the case of Anna, Mr. Feilden has diagnosed asthma.’
‘Oh, the poor wee girl!’ exclaimed Mrs. Fairlie. ‘I believe I have some syrup of violets about the house. I shall take it up to the manse first thing tomorrow.’
‘The doctor has been purging her, I gather,’ said Blair, taking an interest. ‘He says he has a book by Robert Cullen of Edinburgh – which he has promised to show me – who says that asthma is a nervous condition, brought on by conditions of excitability. From what I hear – and I was not, you know, at the incident at the bathing machines – that fits Anna’s case exactly.’
‘No, no,’ argued Mrs. Fairlie, ‘I had an aunt with asthma, and it is not that at all. It is undoubtedly, as her physician told her, the result of too much phlegm in the body, brought on by living in such a damp house. My aunt took sulphur pills every day, and chewed tobacco for a quarter of an hour every morning, and that kept the fits away. When she had a fit she took a special infusion of saffron, irises and hyssop. And with that she was perfectly healthy. She is dead now, of course,’ she finished reasonably.
‘Well, Anna is said to be recovering, but I am sure that Mrs. Helliwell will be pleased to see you. She has hardly dared to leave the house since we returned from St. Andrews, and your company will be very welcome.’ Murray tried to believe this would be true, and with avowals that Mrs. Fairlie must be fresh for her visit in the morning, he and Blair took their leave and walked back to Letho House.
II
There were several facts Murray had not seen fit to pass on to Mrs. Fairlie. Apart from an inexplicable desire to show Parnell in a good light for as long as possible, even in the face of such opposing circumstances, he also felt a degree of embarrassment in trying to explain how it was that his own houseguest, Mr. Kennedy, had gone straight from St. Andrews to Cullessie and had been there ever since. A brief note had arrived from Kennedy on Friday morning to say that while Miss Parnell Kirk was so ill he felt his presence at Cullessie was necessary, and could his luggage therefore be handed over to the Cullessie servant who had brought the note. Robbins, who did not like Mr. Kennedy much but who did have his standards, took one look at the Cullessie man and his ancient cart and forthwith sent Daniel to escort the luggage, too. Daniel also carried a note from his master to the Misses Kirk and their aunt, offering any assistance they might need – when the story of Parnell’s condition came out they could be very much in need of friends. Daniel, returning on foot, brought a hurriedly-written reply from Virginia Kirk expressing her gratitude for Murray’s kind offer but saying that they were in need of nothing at present: her sister had had a shock from the exertion in the cold water, and required nothing more than warmth and rest for a few days. There was, of course, no mention of the baby.
Murray daily expected more news, but nothing came directly from Cullessie. Instead by degrees – and almost certainly by Cullessie servants – the news of Parnell’s real cause for anxiety and illness became known round the village. Mrs. Helliwell, hearing from the minister that it had been a subject of gossip before and after the service, was glad at last that she was compelled to be with Anna for much of the time and could not carry out her usual duties – what she, as the minister’s wife, should say about a clear sinner who had bravely saved the life of her own daughter was, at present, beyond her. Miss George, hearing the rumour from her maid, was satisfied that she herself had not been the source of it: Mrs. Fairlie on Tuesday, eager to be back at once in the centre of village life, instead regretted that she had not been the source of it.
On the Tuesday morning, which was as fine as ever, Murray completed his estate work early and decided to go himself to Cullessie and see how matters stood. In particular, he felt he owed it to his servants to find out whether or not Mr. Kennedy was coming back to Letho – though he had no wish to meet Kennedy himself - but there was also the question of ordinary human curiosity, which placed its limits on the patience of any normal person. Accordingly he fetched his hat and stick and set off happily to where, on the other side of the river, a path slid off from the main village one towards the rear of the woodland around Cullessie House.
After the stile in the wall that divided Letho pasture from Cullessie woodland, the path deteriorated badly, disappearing from time to time beneath fallen branches or where a winter rivulet had worn a channel in it. Murray was glad that he had sturdy boots, despite the weather, and used his stick to slice at some of the snagging branches. At one point these had tangled together completely, and he was forced to bring out his pocket knife. It was a cleverly-designed, long-bladed folding one that was a contrivance of Ninian Jack’s – he had had it since he was a boy - and he cut away with it till he could shift the obstruction. He felt quite sorry for the Kirks’ brother Leopold: he would have a vast
task ahead of him to make this estate workable again when his aunt finally died, if he was the least interested. Murray wondered if, when the time came again, it might be worth his while to put a bid in for the land. He had no great longing for empire, but he did not like to see good land going to waste. He would see how things stood at the time.
He came on the back of the house when the trees briefly developed into a small neglected orchard, and the path flung him out beside the kitchen garden. A couple of old straw bee skeps mouldered in a corner, and a lad from the village, who had been born an idiot, stared at him blankly from a weedy bed of onions.
He made his way around the side of the house to the front. While it was a bleak-looking building now, it must have been pretty enough when freshly whitewashed, though its windows were too small, the trees too close, and the ogee gables swollen slightly out of proportion. His knock on the door was met with sullen silence, but at last what seemed to be a kitchen maid, with flour all over the front of her gown, opened the door halfway and stood in the opening, staring at him.
‘I have come to enquire after Miss Parnell Kirk,’ said Murray, slowly and clearly. ‘Is she at all better?’
The maid did not reply, but bit a fingernail contemplatively.
‘My name is Murray of Letho,’ Murray went on. ‘May I see Mr. Kennedy or Miss Kirk?’
He was half beginning to persuade himself that he had come to the wrong house, so lacking was the maid in any response, when she turned, leaving Murray standing at the open door, and ran up the stairs he could see at one side of the hallway. He waited, more in hope than in expectation, but after a moment or two Virginia Kirk appeared at the head of the staircase, and hurried down towards him.
‘I hate to think how long you must have been there, Mr. Murray,’ she said, after a brief word of greeting. ‘I regret that my aunt’s servants are not always what they ought to be. It is good of you to come, in spite of that. Please, come into the parlour.’
An Abandoned Woman (Murray of Letho Book 4) Page 17
