The House of Lyall

by Doris Davidson

  The shocked Flora now burst out, ‘I don’t know how you can sit there and take God’s name in vain like that, and you married to a man of the Church.’

  ‘Not only am I married to one,’ Grace nodded, winking mischievously at Marianne who was hard-pressed to keep a straight face, ‘I am also the daughter of one – my father was minister of quite a large parish in the wilds of Aberdeenshire – but what I’m saying is, it might be worth my while to pray a lot more, don’t you think? To get in His good books, if you see what I mean.’

  Rather belatedly, it dawned on the doctor’s wife that her friend was joking. ‘Grace Peat, I never know when to take you seriously.’

  Grace grinned at her. ‘You should know me by this time.’

  She stood up to fetch the tray she had made ready earlier, and when she went out, Flora leaned across and whispered, ‘There’s something not quite right about Duncan, I always think. Grace told me once that when he’s in one of his black moods, she’s scared to speak to him.’

  It was Marianne’s turn to gasp in shock. ‘She’s actually scared of him?’

  ‘Oh, don’t ever tell anybody I said that,’ Flora pleaded, ‘but I’ve seen bruises on her arms when she’s wearing short sleeves and I’m sure he hits her. She’s never admitted it, mind. Says she banged into a door, or knocked against something, but –’ She jumped back at the sound of footsteps coming along the little passageway between the sitting room and the kitchen, shaking her head in warning.

  Marianne couldn’t put it out of her head, and later, on her way home, she tried to remember if she had ever seen bruises on Grace’s arms but she didn’t think she had. Going inside, she came to the conclusion that Flora had been imagining things. Duncan was a man of God, for goodness’ sake. He maybe had moods, all men did, but he wouldn’t strike his wife, and there was no sense in mentioning it to Hamish or Hector. It would only lead to trouble where, more than likely, there had been no trouble at all.

  * * *

  Life below stairs in the castle was light-hearted now. ‘Mrs Hamish has fair made a big change here,’ Mrs Carnie remarked to her husband before they went to bed one night. ‘There’s no’ the fear like there was when Lady Glendarril got on her high horse.’ She shook her head and corrected her statement. ‘No, to be honest, it wasna fear exactly, but we were aye worried aboot what she’d say, for she’d a wicked tongue on her when she got goin’.’

  Carnie drew hard on the pipe he was lighting with one of the tapers the chamber maid supplied him with – from the vase in the master’s study. ‘She were a good mistress, though,’ he observed, snibbing the flame between his thumb and forefinger and laying the taper inside the fender.

  ‘Are you tellin’ me Mrs Hamish is no’ a good mistress?’ his wife demanded, ready to be outraged if he even thought such a thing.

  ‘That’s no’ what I said. She’s no’ as strict as Lady Glendarril, an’ she’s mebbe a wee bit ower friendly wi’ the young maids …’

  ‘She’s tryin’ to put them at their ease! Some o’ they lassies used to be scared stiff at Lady Glendarril. You get better work oot o’ them if you treat them right and dinna shout, that’s what I aye say.’

  Her husband eyed her with scepticism. ‘Is that a fact? I’ve heard you roarin’ at them like a ragin’ bull … mony’s the time.’

  ‘Just when they needed it,’ she defended herself, then got back to her original topic. ‘Ony road, Mrs Hamish didna come o’ the gentry. You can tell by the way she speaks she was workin’ class, but my faith, she’s learned a lot since she come here.’

  ‘Roberta Glover learned her the maist o’ it.’

  ‘Na, na, Miss Glover just learned her some o’ it, for she wasna ower proud to ask, and she’s took her ain road for a good while now.’

  Tired of baiting her, though she should be used to it after near twenty years of marriage, Carnie nodded amicably. ‘She’s shaped up fine. She’s a good heid on her shooders.’

  Pleased that he was agreeing with her at last, his wife said, ‘You look real tired the nicht, Tam. I’ll put a drappie brandy in your hot milk afore we go to oor bed.’

  He grinned roguishly. ‘I dinna need brandy to kittle me up, as fine you ken.’

  She turned a coquettish smile on him. ‘Ach you. Behave yoursel’!’

  When Marianne went into the dining room one morning in early winter, her husband and father-in-law had finished breakfast, and after Hector went out, Hamish said, ‘We were discussing you.’

  ‘And what conclusion did you come to?’ The frosty edge to her voice showed her annoyance at being talked about behind her back.

  ‘We think it’s time you visited Strawberry Bank. It is almost a year and a half since the wedding, and I am sure the Rennies would be delighted to see you. In fact, Father was astonished that they had not come here again.’

  ‘I’ve invited them in every letter I write, but Miss Edith says they don’t feel easy in the castle.’

  ‘I see, well, all the more reason for you to go to Aberdeen and you had better do it before winter sets in. If you wait much longer, there is a possibility that the journey could endanger your health and the child’s, according to Father. You do want to see them?’

  Her little spurt of anger evaporated. ‘Of course I do! I’ll write today and ask which Sunday would be best for them. It has to be a Sunday, you see, it’s the only day the shop’s shut.’

  ‘In that case,’ Hamish said gently, ‘you will also see Andrew, will you not?’

  There was no sarcasm or jealousy in his voice, so she felt free to answer honestly. ‘Yes, so I will. I’m quite pleased about that, for I’ve always … liked him.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, and he has always loved you.’

  She could detect a touch of sadness in his eyes now. ‘I can’t help how he feels about me!’ she protested, hoping her husband would admit at last that he loved her, too, but she was disappointed yet again.

  ‘As I have said before, I would not object to your … seeing Andrew, but as for anything more than that, you will have to wait until you have recovered from the birth of … our child.’

  She stamped her foot angrily. ‘And as I’ve said before, and all, Hamish High-and-Mighty Bruce-Lyall, I don’t want anything more from Andrew. Yes, I like him, maybe I love him in a funny sort of way, but I could never break my marriage vows. Us working-class folks were brought up to believe a husband and wife should mean everything to one another, not like you out-of-the-top-drawer folk that have fancy women and fancy men whenever the fancy takes them.’ She was unaware of her pun, she was working herself up to such a pitch. ‘Or maybe you want me to take up with Andrew so you can have intercourse with somebody else, and all?’

  Hamish’s face was livid by the time she stopped, even his lips white as he whipped round without saying a word and slammed out, leaving Marianne still shaking.

  After a time, recovered slightly, she lifted the silver teapot and poured herself a cup of the now luke-warm liquid, strong as tar with the standing, and braced herself to face whichever maid came in to clear the table. No one appeared, however, which made her feel worse. All the servants must have heard her shouting, and for the life of her she could hardly remember what had started it. They had been speaking about her going to Aberdeen, about the Rennies, about Andrew. Yes, that was where it had gone wrong, and maybe it had been her fault. She had been too quick to take offence. Hamish had just been letting her know he wasn’t jealous of Andrew, that was all.

  Was that why she had exploded? Did she want him to be jealous? Yes, dammit, she did, and saying he wouldn’t mind her carrying on with Andrew had been like a slap in the face to her. She didn’t love Andrew, not in that way, but she always enjoyed his company and he had taught her so much. If it hadn’t been for him, she could never have fitted in at Castle Lyall.

  Why could Hamish not understand? Why couldn’t he love her … as she …? Good gracious, how long had she been in love with her husband? It was something she hadn�
�t foreseen when she agreed to marry him – and what could she do about it?

  Recalling Hamish urging her to go to Aberdeen before winter set in – he’d hinted that, if she didn’t go soon, she wouldn’t be allowed to go till after her confinement – she went upstairs to write to Miss Edith. She couldn’t tell the sisters what had happened this morning, of course, but maybe Andrew could advise her.

  Strangely, it did not occur to Marianne that it might stretch the bonds of friendship to breaking point and beyond if she asked the man who loved her what she could do to make her husband love her. In fact, she very seldom thought of Andrew as a man who loved her. She preferred to look on him purely as a friend, her best friend.

  It was easier for her that way.

  The effusive welcome from Miss Esther and Miss Emily the next Sunday – arms flung round her and lips pressed against her cheek – brought tears to Marianne’s eyes, and she was glad of Miss Edith’s brusque, ‘Come, come, no tears today.’ A crushingly firm handclasp, however, revealed that the eldest sister was equally pleased to see her.

  After Hamish had been given his share of the greetings, Miss Esther said, ‘Sit down, for goodness’ sake, otherwise lunch will be ruined, and afterwards, Marianne, you can tell us how you are coping with your new role in life.’

  The girl glanced at her husband uncertainly. Since that dreadful day, he had not referred to their quarrel, yet their relationship was no longer what it had been. There was a constraint between them, not enough to make other people wonder, perhaps, but certainly enough to make her feel ashamed of having lost her temper. Unfortunately, she’d had no chance to apologize, there was always somebody else around – an older man and woman had even followed them into the first-class carriage when they joined the London train at Laurencekirk. She hadn’t wanted Hamish to come with her, but he had refused to allow her to travel unaccompanied, and how could she talk honestly about his home, his servants, his father, with him listening to every word?

  But he was smiling and shaking his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Esther, for your kind hospitality, but I am sure that you did not count on my being here.’

  ‘It is all right,’ she protested. ‘I always make more than enough food on Sundays. My sisters will tell you …’

  ‘It is true, Hamish,’ Miss Edith beamed. ‘Even after having a meal on Mondays from the left-overs, we often have to feed the remains to the dog next door.’

  ‘If you are sure …?’ He sat down now.

  Not only had the long-deceased Mr and Mrs Rennie forbidden their daughters to waste good food, they had also taught them that it was extremely bad manners to talk while they were eating, so little was said during the meal, which gave Marianne further space to think. She had hoped to confide her troubles to Andrew later, in the hope that he could advise her on what she might do – Miss Edith shouldn’t think it strange if they went for a walk together as they had been in the habit of doing before – but with Hamish here as well …?

  No matter how hard she tried, she could think of no way she could get her old friend alone, and finally accepted that she would just have to make the best of her life with no advice from anybody. In any case, maybe Andrew had stopped coming to Strawberry Bank on Sunday afternoons, which would be a relief in the circumstances.

  Miss Esther and Miss Emily refused to allow Marianne to help with the clearing up, which provided her with another short respite before giving an account of her time at Castle Lyall, even making her hope, for one brief moment, that they would forget their curiosity, but she knew perfectly well that they wouldn’t – not Miss Esther, anyway; she was like a dog worrying a bone when she wanted to know something.

  To Marianne’s amazement, just as the two younger sisters sat down, Hamish stood up. ‘I am sure you ladies would enjoy your talk much better without a man here, so, if you do not think me rude, I will leave you to it.’

  ‘Why don’t you wait till Andrew comes?’ Miss Esther suggested. ‘He always takes a walk on Sunday afternoons, and I am sure he would be glad of your company. He has had to go alone since … since …’ She came to a faltering halt, looking to her eldest sister for help.

  Trying to set her at ease, Hamish smiled, ‘Ah yes, I had forgotten about Andrew and I have promised to visit a friend for an hour or two. Please give him my apologies and tell him I shall see him when I come back.’

  Then, for Marianne, came the biggest stroke of good luck, a virtual miracle, and from the most unexpected source. ‘I do not think Andrew will mind,’ Miss Emily said, shyly because it was not often that she took part in any discussion. ‘He can take Marianne with him, like he always used to do.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ exclaimed Hamish, smiling at his wife, who was regarding him doubtfully but nevertheless with a touch of hope. ‘It will be like old times for both of you.’

  When he went out, Miss Esther said, ‘Doesn’t he mind?’

  Miss Edith saved Marianne’s face. ‘Why should he mind? Andrew was her friend long before she met Hamish.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Miss Esther leaned back, satisfied that all was as it should be. ‘Come on, then, Marianne. We want to hear what the mistress of the castle has been doing, before Andrew arrives.’

  Once started, she did not find it difficult, and Miss Esther made it easier by asking about the kitchens, which she had never described in her letters.

  ‘When I went to find out what happened below stairs, I got my eyes opened,’ she admitted. ‘I’d no idea there were so many rooms or so many staff. I thought there would be one chamber maid and one parlour maid, with maybe a couple of young girls to help the cook. I knew there were two footmen, because I’d seen them, and Lord Glendarril has a valet he calls Dick. I thought it was his Christian name, but it turned out to be his last name.’

  ‘And how many staff are there?’ Miss Esther prompted.

  ‘There’s four chamber maids, three parlour maids, and two still-room maids (who make the tea and coffee and snacks for the servants); they all think they’re better than the scullery maids, kitchen maids and laundry maids, two of each, and the poor tweeny who’s at everybody’s beck and call. Mrs Carnie, the cook, and Dick, the valet, consider themselves above the rest and, of course, Miss Glover, the housekeeper, believes she’s superior to the lot of them.’

  ‘You get on all right with her, though?’ Miss Esther again.

  ‘We get on fine, in fact, she’s been quite a help to me. It was her that told me what all the different rooms down there were for.’

  While Miss Esther tried to count the number of servants, with Miss Emily’s help when she forgot one, Miss Edith leaned towards Marianne and said softly, ‘Are things all right between Hamish and you?’

  ‘What makes you think they’re not?’

  Her defensive retort confirmed Miss Edith’s suspicions, but she did not pry. If the girl wanted to tell her, she would, in time.

  Miss Esther asked about the outside staff next, and Marianne told her about the grooms, the stable lads, Carnie, who was Jack of all trades, from driving the family about to doing any odd jobs in the buildings. ‘Then there’s Dargie, the head gardener,’ she went on. He’s got three men under him and two young lads.’

  On being asked how many of the staff lived in, she told them who lived in the servants’ quarters or over the stables. ‘But a lot of them go home every night. You see, the whole glen belongs to the Bruce-Lyalls, and Lord Glendarril’s grandfather or great-grandfather built good solid cottages for the workers on the estate and in the mill, and it’s their sons and daughters who get all the jobs that’s going.’

  She was still holding forth about her dealings with those of the staff she saw every day when Andrew walked in, his somewhat solemn face being transformed by a smile the minute he saw her. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here today, Marianne,’ he gasped. ‘Nobody told me last Sunday.’

  ‘Nobody knew last Sunday,’ Miss Edith remarked drily.

  ‘I only wrote on Tuesday,’ the girl said, embarrassed by the
naked love blazing from his eyes.

  Realizing himself that he was being indiscreet, Andrew looked away from her and sat down to accept a cup of tea from his Aunt Esther. ‘How is Hamish?’ he enquired in a moment.

  ‘He’s very well, thank you,’ Marianne replied. ‘He did come with me, but he’d promised to visit a friend. He said to tell you he’s sorry and he’ll see you when he comes back.’

  For the second time that day, Miss Emily took the bit between her teeth. ‘He doesn’t mind if you take Marianne with you on your walk this afternoon, Andrew, and she has plenty to tell you.’

  His guard slipping again, he said, his voice practically begging, ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to come with me, Marianne?’

  She couldn’t tell him that she was desperate to be on her own with him, so she murmured, ‘Of course I am, Andrew.’

  ‘Don’t go too far, then,’ cautioned Miss Edith.

  Barely able to contain her curiosity, Miss Esther pounced as soon as the young couple left. ‘Why did you not want them to go far?’

  Her sister smiled enigmatically. ‘Don’t say you didn’t notice?’

  ‘Notice what?’ A short pause, then, ‘You mean … she’s …?’

  ‘I am almost sure that she will be a mother in a few months.’

  While the Rennie sisters were excitedly discussing this possibility, Marianne and Andrew were walking silently towards the River Dee, he longing to reassure her of his undying love but knowing it was not permissible, and she acutely aware of what he was trying so hard not to say. Although it was into December, it was a bright day and not nearly as cold as it might have been, so Marianne ventured to propose that they find somewhere to sit for a while, and within five minutes they were seated on a fallen tree trunk, sheltered from the strong breeze which had suddenly sprung up.

  ‘Marianne,’ Andrew said before she could utter a word, ‘I know you want to tell me something, but please … nothing personal. I really could not bear to hear –’