“Mr. Dunblane has also gone to Edinburgh,” Mrs. Forse said.
There was something almost triumphant in her tone, as if she was glad that Clola was left behind.
Clola got out of bed, wincing as she did so because her knee was scratched and bruised from climbing the cliff. She had also broken the nails on her fingers and she felt as if the pain of it all added to the unhappiness of her mind.
“You’re stiff,” Mrs. Forse commented, as if it had suddenly struck her that Clola was moving more slowly than usual.
“I’ll awa and fetch you sommat to ease it.”
“Please don’t bother. I shall be all right,” Clola replied. “I think perhaps I have caught a cold.”
“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Forse said and went from the room.
Because she felt so low Clola was almost grateful that the woman who had been so hostile was now being more amenable.
It was unreasonable, but she felt as if the Duke had deserted her in leaving for Edinburgh sooner than she had expected.
She had meant when she could talk to him to tell him how well she knew Edinburgh and all the people in it. She had hoped, when she explained how long she had lived there with her grandmother, he would suggest taking her with him to meet the King.
Now she thought she had been foolish in not explaining how she had only recently come North.
Yet there had been no opportunity at the table when the men were talking sport and the first night she was sure that the Duke had deliberately left her out of the conversation.
Last night had been the time and she had actually thought of telling him a little about her life after dinner. But Lord Hinchley had been there and somehow it seemed egotistical to talk about herself at all intimately with a stranger present.
She had imagined there would be plenty of time, but now it was too late and the Duke had gone.
Although she longed to join him, she knew it would be impossible to travel alone and without Mr. Dunblane’s assistance in making all the arrangements.
Clola was nearly dressed when Mrs. Forse returned. In her hand she carried a tray on which reposed a glass of warm milk.
“I’ve put some herbs in it,” the woman said, “It’ll take awa the stiffness and prevent a cold.”
“It is very kind of you.”
Actually Clola disliked warm milk, but she had no wish to hurt Mrs. Forse’s feelings by refusing the drink she had taken so much trouble to bring her.
She took a sip and found there was honey mixed with the milk and it therefore was not unpleasant.
“You are knowledgeable about herbs?” she asked. “My old nurse used to know a great deal about them and as children we were always given herbs when we were ill.”
“There’s been a herb garden at The Castle for at least two centuries,” Mrs. Forse said, “and the people all come to me with their ailments.”
“You must tell me some time which herbs are efficacious,” Clola smiled.
She finished the milk, thanked Mrs. Forse, and when her gown was buttoned she walked towards the Duchess’s Room.
There was no one about and she guessed because it was already afternoon that the boys would have had their luncheon and gone out into the sunshine.
It was a bright day after the storm of the night and she thought that she would like to walk down and see what undoubtedly would be a spate in the river.
When she appeared, the butler came into the room to ask if she would like anything to eat.
“I have just had some milk, thank you,” Clola said, “and I will wait until teatime. I am sure you have cleared away everything by now.”
“It’d be no trouble to bring Your Grace something fresh,” the butler said. “I wouldn’t like to see Your Grace hungry.”
He seemed a kindly man and Clola replied,
“Thank you, but I will wait until teatime. I suppose Mr. Torquil and Master Jamie have gone out?”
“That’s right, Your Grace.”
Clola walked to the music room.
Whenever she felt perturbed, worried or unhappy, it was always music that could bring her solace and she would forget everything else when she played.
She remembered how the Duke had promised her a pianoforte, but she thought now that he would bring her back nothing but a renewal of his hatred for her and the Kilcraigs.
Because the thought was so depressing, she felt the tears prick her eyes, then fighting her emotions, she sat down at the harp and started to play.
A composition by Mozart came to her mind and her fingers, but after she had played for only a few minutes she suddenly felt very tired.
She was in fact so sleepy that she left the harp to sit down on the sofa –
The next thing she knew was that the butler and the footman were bringing in the tea things and must have been asleep for nearly two hours.
Her head felt heavy and it was hard to open her eyes to see that they had brought her all sorts of delicious scones, girdle cakes and shortbread. But she found it hard to eat more than a mouthful and drank the fragrant tea thirstily.
After she had finished, Clola sat on the sofa feeling it too much of an effort to move and even to think.
She had meant to ask Torquil if he would like to dine with her, but when she went along to her room to change for dinner Mrs. Forse said,
“You’re looking real played oot, Your Grace. Why do you no’ get into bed, and I’ll bring you your dinner?”
“I am sure I must be getting a cold,” Clola said, “and I do feel very tired.”
“Then just you do as I suggest, Your Grace, and I’ll fetch you another drink of my herbs, that’ll soon put you on your feet again.”
Clola leant back against her pillows with her eyes closed thinking it was strange that she should feel so exhausted. It must be due, she thought, to the softness of her life in Edinburgh.
She remembered how before leaving home she could have walked all day on the moors, then stayed up half the night without it having any more effect on her than it had on her brothers.
Mrs. Forse brought her the same honey-sweetened milk and she drank it quickly, ready to take anything which would make her feel better.
“Your dinner’ll be acomin’ in a wee while,” Mrs. Forse informed her.
If it came Clola was not aware of it, for she had fallen asleep while planning that as soon as she was well enough she would ride over to Kilcraig Castle to see her family.
*
The following morning she felt worse and, because she told herself it was sensible to eat, she forced herself to consume some of the breakfast that Mrs. Forse brought to her, but was persuaded to stay in bed.
Luncheon came and with it another glass of milk. Clola drank only a little of it, feeling it was too sweet to take at the same time as the chef’s delicious food.
She felt stronger in the afternoon and decided her illness was passing and tomorrow she would be up again.
“You dinna drink you’re milk at luncheon, Your Grace,” Mrs. Forse complained.
“I know, but there were so many other nice things,” Clola replied in a conciliatory tone, feeling that the woman had taken a lot of trouble.
“Tonight, I’ve ordered some special soup to put strength into you,” Mrs. Forse said, “and there’s chicken with cream sauce which the chef’ll be disappointed if you dinna eat.”
“I will do my best,” Clola promised. “It is ridiculous to feel so weak and lie about when there are so many things I want to do.”
Because she had felt better after luncheon when her dinner came, she made a great effort to eat a little of every dish.
The soup was certainly delicious and so was the chicken with a thick sauce poured over it.
There were other dishes from which she could choose, but she sent them away, thinking that she had had enough. An hour later Mrs. Forse came in with what she called her ‘herbal nightcap’.
“I’ve made it from herbs which I plucked only this mornin’, Your Grace,” she said
. “Fresh and sweet they are, they’d put heart into a dyin’ man!”
“Thank you, but I will drink it later.”
“Drink it the noo, while it’s just the right temperature,” Mrs. Forse insisted. “I must get Your Grace well otherwise what’ll His Grace have to say when he returns?”
Clola thought that she would certainly need her strength to face the Duke again.
Because she felt too weak to argue with Mrs. Forse, she drank the herbal drink finding it a trifle unpleasant, but was too polite to say so.
She went to sleep, then awoke in the darkness to find herself gripped with almost intolerable pains in the stomach.
It was so excruciating that after enduring it for some minutes she rang the bell because she was frightened at the violence of it.
Mrs. Forse came hurrying into the room.
“You rang, Your Grace?”
“Yes, Mrs. Forse. I am in pain. Terrible pain. I cannot think what it is.”
“It’s going too long withoot proper food, Your Grace, and a chill in the stomach often results in the cramps.”
“Yes, of course, that must be it,” Clola agreed. “I must see a doctor in the morning, but is there something you can give me in the meantime to make it more endurable?”
“That’s what I thought you’d ask,” Mrs. Forse said, “and I’ve brought sommat with me.”
She gave Clola a milky white liquid in a small glass.
She drank it all and almost immediately the pain ceased, but once again she felt intolerably sleepy and knew nothing more –
*
She awoke, heard a clock chime and realised that it was twelve o’clock midnight.
She remembered it had been the early hours of the morning when she had rung for Mrs. Forse.
A sudden thought struck her, so extraordinary that she could hardly credit it and yet what other explanation was there?
She had missed a whole day!
With an effort she forced her brain to think back remembering the pain that had gripped her, the milky drink that Mrs. Forse had brought with her and which had sent her to sleep.
Why had Mrs. Forse brought the drink into the room with her?
It was strange, very strange, Clola thought and now suddenly, unaccountably, something else came back to her. She had been aroused from sleep to drink again, but why was it so indistinct, just the memory of something trickling down her throat, not once, but twice. Perhaps more.
She thought she was in a nightmare and perhaps had a fever and she would raise her hand to her forehead. But when she tried to do so it was impossible. Her hands seemed to be made of lead and she could not move them from her sides.
The shock of it seemed to make her think a little more clearly – now she knew what was happening and was possessed by the terror of the knowledge.
Then she became aware that someone was near her she had known before, calming her, protecting her – it was the Grey Lady
She was so real that Clola spoke to her in her mind even though it was impossible for her lips to move.
“What has – happened to – me? Why am I – like this?”
The Grey Lady gave her the answer,
“You are being poisoned!”
Clola gave a little cry.
Poisoned by Mrs. Forse – and she was helpless – unable to move.
She desperately wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep again, but with a superhuman effort she made herself think back.
Now she was certain that not one day but perhaps several had passed while she was unconscious.
“Help me! Help me!” she cried to the Grey Lady.
It was as if she drew nearer and Clola could feel her hand on her forehead, soothing and calming her.
“What can I – do? I don’t – want to die!”
It was a cry in her heart and yet still her lips did not move. She felt her whole body was numb and – paralysed.
“Help will come!”
She could hear the words spoken.
“Help will – come?” she asked. “But how – and from where?”
“You must be brave, you must fight.”
Again the words were in her mind, just as if they had been spoken aloud.
Clola tried to raise her hand and again found it impossible, but it seemed as if the very effort made her breathe more easily.
‘That is what I must do,’ she told herself, ‘breathe deeply. Try and clear my mind so that I can think.’
She breathed and went on breathing steadily in the darkness, until she saw the first streak of light at the sides of the curtains.
It was another day, perhaps a day which would bring her death, the death she could not avoid.
“Help me! Help me!” she cried again to the Grey Lady and thought that she had gone and she was alone.
For a moment sheer panic swept over Clola, but she told herself that she had to fight and being afraid would not help.
She went on breathing deeply and watching the light creeping from between the curtains.
It suddenly struck her that it was coming from only one window instead of three, then as it grew brighter the outline of the four-poster bed in which she had slept in the Duchess’s Room was not there.
Incredulously, as more light came in from the only window, Clola found that she was in a room she had never seen before.
It was small, so very much smaller than the room she had slept in when she came to The Castle.
Then she realised that the room was round and knew where she was – in one of the turrets!
For a moment it seemed so incredible that she thought she must be mad or, as she had thought at first, delirious.
Then she was aware of the furniture.
It was plain, sparse and there was a small hearth in the curve of the wall and a second door which she knew would lead out on to the battlements.
How could she have been brought here without being knowing about it – and for what reason?
It flashed through her mind that she was a prisoner as Torquil had been – but not the prisoner of the Duke, who was away.
No – a prisoner of Mrs. Forse!
Clola remembered the hatred in her! eyes and the way she had spoken on her wedding night.
She knew now that she should have asked Mr. Dunblane that very first evening if he would find another woman to act as her lady’s maid.
But it had seemed impossible to cause trouble the moment she arrived at The Castle.
Yet now she was in Mrs. Forse’s power and it seemed unlikely that she would survive the poison that was being poured into her.
‘I will take no more of the food and drink she brings,’ Clola decided.
Then she knew, as she could not move her hands, it would be impossible to prevent Mrs. Forse from pouring her pernicious herbs down her throat as she must have done when she was too drugged to know what was happening to her.
She would die!
Die by the hand of a woman who hated her because she was a Kilcraig and there was no one to rescue her from this turret where Mrs. Forse must have had her conveyed.
It was all so terrifying that Clola closed her eyes at the sheer horror of it, but, afraid that she might fall once again into a drugged sleep, she forced them open and went on breathing deeply as she had before, trying to get more oxygen to her heart and to her brain.
As the light grew brighter and brighter, she could now see everything in the room clearly and thought it was a condemned cell from which she could never escape!
She tried to move her hands again and this time succeeded in raising them an inch or so off the mattress. But her legs still felt as if they did not belong to her and it was impossible to sit up.
“Help me! Help me!” Clola cried to the Grey Lady, thinking that if she could only move she might open the door and somehow get downstairs to find someone to help her.
Then she heard a sound and stiffened.
It would be Mrs. Forse, she thought, coming with more of her evil herbs.
She wanted to scream, but knew even if she could do so it would be impossible for anyone to hear from the very top of the great castle.
Then as she waited, so frightened that even her breath seemed to have stopped, a door opened slowly and creakily and it was the door onto the battlements.
A small face appeared round it and she saw that it was Jamie.
“Jamie!” Clola called his name but it was only a croak that came from her lips.
He opened the door a little further and came into the room.
“Mrs. Forse said we weren’t to come near you as you had a fever,” he said, “but I came over the roofs to tell you I was sorry.”
Clola forced herself to speak.
“Jamie!” she said in a croaking whisper. “Fetch – Torquil – to – help me – fetch him – quickly!”
“You want Torquil?” Jamie asked. “You look ill, very ill!”
“I am ill – tell – Torquil to come – quickly – very quickly – and don’t – let anyone – hear you – ”
It was terribly hard to say the words, but she saw that Jamie understood.
As if he was frightened by her appearance and her croaking voice, he turned and ran back through the door onto the battlements, shutting it behind him.
Clola closed her eyes.
To speak, she thought, had been the greatest effort she had ever made in her life.
Her mind drifted away for a moment into the darkness and she was sinking, sinking lower and lower until she was aware of someone leaning over her.
She knew who it was before she opened her eyes to look, knew it by the unmistakable sense of evil.
Then she felt Mrs. Forse’s arms go round her.
“Come along, Your Grace,” she said in a voice that was almost mesmeric, “Come for a walk, then you’ll noo longer feel ill.”
She pulled Clola up into a sitting position.
“Leave – me – alone,” Clola tried to scream, but the words did not sound very coherent.
“I’m a-doin’ what’s best for you and best for the McNarns,” Mrs Forse said.
She was speaking in a low voice as if she was talking partly to herself and partly to a child.
“Come along the noo, then you’ll know nothin’ more, nothin’ at all!”
The Chieftain Without a Heart Page 13
