The House of Lyall

by Doris Davidson

  She wished she knew exactly when he would arrive – she wanted to look her best for him – but he’d likely be so glad to see her again he wouldn’t care how she looked. A softly ecstatic sigh escaped her as she pictured how he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her in full view of whoever else was there … even his mother? She wasn’t too sure about that, but surely to goodness, when Lady Glendarril saw how much they loved each other, she would understand why her personal maid had turned down ‘the chance of a lifetime’, as she had called it, but it wasn’t that as far as she was concerned, Melda told herself. The only ‘chance of a lifetime’ she wanted was to become Ruairidh’s wife.

  A soft tap at the door of her room at the castle made her sit up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Her Ladyship wants you.’

  ‘Thanks, Ruby. I’ll be right down.’

  Her heart had speeded up almost out of control. The only reason she’d be summoned at this time in an evening would be if Ruairidh had arrived, so she took a hasty glance in the mirror to make sure that her hair was tidy before running downstairs. She knocked on the drawing-room door as she always did and waited until she was asked to come in, but her spirits sank as her eyes swept the room and found only Lady Marianne there, grim and clearly uneasy.

  ‘M’Lady?’

  ‘Sit down, Melda. I do not relish what I am about to do, but do it I must. You have refused the opportunity I gave you – thrown my goodwill back in my face – so … I will have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘I admit I have no fault to find with the way you carried out your duties, but there are other things to consider. My son will be here shortly, and bearing in mind what happened last time he was home, I think it would be best if you were not in the house to lead him into temptation again.’

  Melda was outraged at this. ‘Oh, m’Lady, that’s a horrible thing to say. I told you before, I didn’t lead him –’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t, but the temptation will always be there, and will magnify if he sees you every day.’

  ‘But he’s going to marry me.’

  A peculiar sound, almost a sneering snort, escaped Marianne. ‘You cannot for one moment imagine that I will let my son marry the daughter of a madman?’

  Melda gasped. ‘How dare you say that? My father is a doctor, a well-liked member of this community. It’s you that’s mad!’

  ‘Robert Mowatt is not …’ Marianne hesitated, bracing herself before going on, ‘Your father was minister in the glen at one time. He was never a stable man, too easily aroused … in more ways than one, and when his wife died giving birth to you it was enough to tip him over the edge into insanity. I had been away and didn’t hear about your mother’s death until I came back, and when I went to tell … Duncan how sorry I was, he … attacked me. I did not mean to tell you this, but he was committed to a mental institution where he … hanged himself a day or so later.’

  Melda’s round eyes regarded her in disbelief. ‘You’ve invented these lies to keep me away from Ruairidh, but it’s no use. He loves me, and he’ll marry me whatever you say.’

  ‘Not when I tell him you were pregnant to one of the Seaforths and didn’t even know which, you’d been with so many.’

  Her stomach churning with disgusted horror, Melda cried, ‘But you made that story up as well, and Ruairidh’ll believe me before he –’

  Marianne gave an unpleasant smile. ‘He will not believe that his mother wanted you to have his child adopted, because I will deny it emphatically, and if you persist with your nonsense, I’ll tell him you begged me to pay for an abortion. You are breaking the promise you made me, so why shouldn’t I break my part of the bargain? As for the facts of your birth, ask Robert Mowatt. He will confirm what I’ve said.’

  Tottering to her feet, Melda made for the door, making no sign that she heard Marianne saying that her wages would be ready in the morning. Nevertheless, when she reached her room on the second floor, she did not, as might be expected, throw herself down on the bed to cry. She was beyond weeping. To have been so near achieving her heart’s desire and then have the woman she had thought was her friend tell her something that couldn’t, couldn’t possibly, be true … The other thing, the threat about the Seaforth Highlanders, that wasn’t so bad; Ruairidh would have seen it for the lie it was, but she had a strong suspicion that he would be appalled if she really was the daughter of a mentally defective man. However much he loved her, he wouldn’t risk the taint of insanity in any children he may have.

  She sat for some minutes, torturing herself, unable to lay the blame for her troubles on any one person. She could fully understand now why Lady Glendarril had suggested aborting the baby, why she was so against a marriage, why she was willing to tell lies to prevent it … if her story was true. Melda’s head jerked up. As the woman had said, there was one sure way to prove it, or preferably, disprove it. She would pack and go home right away – she couldn’t stay here any longer – and she would demand to be told the truth.

  In less than fifteen minutes, she was carrying her case down the back stairs on her way to tell the other servants – who usually congregated in the kitchen in the evenings – that she was leaving. ‘Don’t tell her ladyship till morning,’ she warned Ruby and rushed out before the astonished women could ask any questions.

  Robert Mowatt was sitting alone by the fire. He quite liked when Flora was out at one of her WRI meetings; it gave him peace to think, because he was growing increasingly uneasy. Ruairidh Bruce-Lyall would be home any day now and Robert had a sneaking feeling that the boy would ask him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The thing was, while he would be happy to give his consent, Marianne, knowing the truth of Melda’s birth and having that unhealthy obsession about Duncan Peat, would do her best to talk her son out of it.

  The doctor heaved a noisy sigh. It was such a delicate situation. On one hand, he could easily convince Ruairidh that Peat’s madness was not hereditary, just a consequence of losing his wife and … as he thought, his child. On the other hand, if he encouraged young Bruce-Lyall to defy his mother, he would be putting his own job in danger. Marianne would not stand idly by and let him make a fool of her. She would get Hamish to send him away from the glen and in all probability ruin his career for ever. Was Melda’s happiness worth such a sacrifice? She was a beautiful girl, she would find another man to love … but how would she meet any other men when she was tied to the castle? Should he try to persuade her to make use of her education and work for a degree in Medicine? It would likely take some doing to prise her away from Ruairidh, but it would be the best thing all round.

  Getting to his feet, Robert took a glass and a bottle of whisky from the sideboard to toast his decision, which he knew would anger most of the people concerned. Flora was pleased at the idea of her ‘daughter’ being wed to the laird’s son, so she would go mad at her husband for interfering, and the boy and girl themselves would feel hard done by … but they were young, resilient. They wouldn’t take long to get over it. The only person who would thank him, mentally at any rate, would be Marianne.

  He was enjoying his third whisky when Melda burst in, her drawn face grey. He jumped up in alarm when he saw her suitcase. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Flinging the case from her, she ran into his arms. ‘Oh, Dad, Lady Glendarril says my real father was a mad minister,’ she cried, the tears she had been holding back flooding out.

  Wishing that he had full control of his senses, Robert stroked her back, kissed her hair and searched frantically for an answer which would pacify her, yet let her see what the consequences to him might be if she and Ruairidh took their own way.

  When he said nothing, she looked at him hopelessly, tears still coursing down her cheeks. ‘Obviously, since you haven’t denied it, the minister was my father. Why did you never tell me?’

  Her misery tore at his heart. ‘Melda, my darling girl –’

  ‘You won’t get round me that way!’ she cried derisively. ‘Tell me! Was my father
mad?’

  Gathering that she was resigned to being the minister’s daughter, Robert felt able to make a definite statement. ‘No, Duncan Peat was not mad.’

  ‘How do you know? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Sit down, my dear, and I’ll tell you what happened.’

  Sitting warily on the edge of a seat, she listened as he told her of the infant left motherless by Grace Peat’s death, of Duncan’s total disinterest in the child, of his own wife’s inability to bear live children.

  ‘Flora was devastated by losing her third baby,’ Robert continued, ‘and no one knew the Peat baby was still alive, and … oh, I know it was wrong, but I didn’t think there would be any harm in it. In fact, at the time I thought it was the only thing to do. I carried it here and told Flora she might have to give it back if Duncan …’

  ‘But he didn’t want it back?’

  It was as if they were talking about a doll, not a living child, the doctor thought before he went on to explain why he had committed the man to Hillside – not naming the girl he had raped.

  Melda gasped at this. ‘You committed him … and yet you still say he wasn’t mad?’

  ‘I was sure he’d recover once he got over … He was crazed with grief over his wife’s death.’

  ‘But he didn’t?’

  ‘He hanged himself.’

  After a short meditative silence, Melda asked quietly, ‘If he hadn’t … taken his own life, if he’d got back his senses, would you have told him his child was still alive?’

  ‘That’s an academic question.’

  ‘Would you?’ she persisted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘He killed himself …’

  ‘Because he couldn’t get over losing his wife …’ The girl paused and looked at him with her eyebrows raised. ‘… and his child?’

  Robert looked away. ‘Possibly. I’ve tormented myself about that ever since.’

  After a moment, Melda said, ‘If everybody thought the baby had died, who told Ruairidh’s mother?’

  ‘Flora felt guilty about it, too, so she told Marianne. That’s why –’

  Melda straightened up. ‘I see now! That’s why she tried to keep them from seeing me in their school holidays?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Robert leaned over to pat the girl’s hand. ‘I’ll try to make Ruairidh understand. I’ll tell him everything and maybe it’ll turn out all right in the end, my dear.’

  In view of what she knew of Lady Glendarril, Melda wasn’t at all sure of that, and not really having come to terms with what she had just been told, she went to bed even before Flora returned from her WRI meeting.

  Ruairidh arrived in the middle of Saturday forenoon, throwing down his kitbag to hug his mother, then shaking hands with his father.

  ‘The first thing I’m going to do is to ask Melda to marry me,’ he grinned, not even unbuttoning his greatcoat.

  Realizing that he had not seen the girl since he came back from Edinburgh the previous morning, Hamish demanded, ‘Where is she? What have you done, Marianne?’

  His wife’s face turned scarlet, but her voice was quite steady. ‘She left on Thursday night.’

  ‘Left? But why?’

  ‘She wasn’t really suitable as a lady’s maid-cum-companion.’

  Hamish frowned. ‘Not suitable? Ridiculous! She was the most suitable you were ever likely to find.’

  Marianne couldn’t hide her agitation, and Ruairidh regarded her quizzically. ‘You never said in any of your letters that she was your lady’s maid, Mother, but you’ll have to find a new one in any case. Like I said, I’m going to marry her as soon as I can.’

  His father beamed. ‘You couldn’t do better, son.’

  ‘He couldn’t do any worse!’ Marianne screamed.

  The two bewildered men glanced at each other, but with no further explanation, she went on, ‘I won’t allow you to marry her, Ruairidh, and that’s that!’

  ‘I’m going to marry her whatever you say, whatever you think you have against her!’ His voice had risen, and turning, he strode out.

  Hamish rounded on his wife. ‘What is all this? What has she done that’s so bad?’

  ‘It’s not what she’s done, it’s who she is!’

  ‘Who she is? She is Duncan Peat’s daughter, isn’t she? She had a good background – father a minister of this parish, mother also the daughter of a minister.’

  ‘Her father may have been minister of this parish, but that didn’t make him good. He was as mad as they come.’

  ‘But that was his wife’s death –’

  ‘That’s what brought it to the surface, but it must have been there … since he was born. And when I remember your father’s insistence on good blood in the family, I can’t believe you’d be willing to let Duncan Peat’s blood contaminate your son’s children.’

  With a sinking of his heart, Hamish realized that Marianne was unusually desperate. Her obsession with Peat’s lapse, although understandable to a certain degree, was getting beyond what was acceptable, and it would have to be stamped out, faced up to, head on. ‘You are being unreasonable,’ he said, quietly but firmly.

  Before he could say what he had intended to say, however, she burst out, angrily, ‘I wish you’d try to understand, Hamish! He was mad, raving mad. Robert had to have him certified –’

  ‘Granted, but Robert was also under the impression that Duncan would return to normal once he got over Grace’s death, and I say we should bow to his superior knowledge. You must banish all your mistaken, unhealthy certainties from your mind, Marianne, because I am going to agree to our son marrying his daughter.’ With that, he turned and walked out.

  His wife realized that, for once, her husband was not going to stand for any argument, but wished she could make him understand how she felt. Every time she went to church, or even passed the manse, her stomach churned wildly, her heart beat faster, her mouth went dry, for it wasn’t only Peat she hated, but all ministers, everywhere. They were all the same – hypocrites who thought only of their own pleasure. Look at that boy in Aberdeen – he’d been studying for the ministry. Even Mr Drummond, the present incumbent of the glen kirk, looked at all the young girls’ legs as they went past. What was worse, as far as she was concerned, was his habit of squeezing past her when it was her turn to arrange the church flowers, and no doubt he did the same to other members of the ‘Rural’ when their turns came. He possibly got a thrill out of it, but it sickened her, and proved her point.

  Melda blanched when she opened the door to Ruairidh, and recoiled when he tried to take her in his arms.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’ he asked. ‘My mother says I shouldn’t marry you …’

  ‘Neither you should,’ she muttered.

  His eyes showed the hurt he felt. ‘I don’t understand, but we can’t talk here.’

  Although she was doubtful as to whether or not she could hold out against him if they were alone together, she put on her coat and followed him outside. They had to thresh this out.

  Once they reached the woods and she realized where he was heading, she muttered, ‘Not the hut, Ruairidh.’

  ‘Why not? That’s where we –’

  She couldn’t tell him the result of their previous visit. She couldn’t risk breaking the promise she had made to his mother. ‘Not the hut,’ she said again.

  ‘I thought you loved me as much as I love you.’

  ‘Things change,’ she prevaricated. ‘You’ve been away for such a long time.’

  He took her elbow in a vicelike grip and propelled her forward. ‘I wish I knew what’s going on, but I know you can’t have stopped loving me.’

  He pushed her through the doorway and, with his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. ‘You haven’t stopped, have you?’

  With his blue eyes entreating her, she could only shake her head, and he said exultantly, ‘I knew it! Oh, my darling, please tell me what’s wrong. If it’s something you’ve done to offend my mother it d
oesn’t matter to me.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she gulped, ‘it’s …’

  His kiss stopped her, and the love for him that flooded from her eyes, from her mouth, from the closeness of her body, told him all he wanted to know. ‘Oh, my darling, darling, Melda,’ he whispered, ‘I knew you hadn’t changed. I knew you still loved me.’

  ‘Yes, I still love you,’ she admitted, ‘but I can’t marry you.’ She jerked away from him and ran through the open door, but, pounding after her, he soon caught up and yanked her to a halt.

  ‘You’d better tell me why,’ he said harshly.

  Unable to stop the tears, she sobbed, ‘Ask your mother. She’ll be pleased to tell you.’

  ‘I want you to tell me.’

  ‘Let me go! I can’t marry you! I can’t!’

  Letting her go, he watched her speeding away from him.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Tempers were frayed in the castle during dinner, the dark moods of the laird’s wife and son passing below stairs via those who came in contact with them.

  ‘God kens what’s going on,’ Ruby sighed, having had to climb up and down to the kitchen several times for unusual items requested. ‘The only pleasant face is the laird himsel’, and I think it’s his smile that’s annoyin’ her.’

  The cook, Mrs Burr, red-faced and sweating with the heat from the vast range, tutted in disgust. ‘Fancy her getting angry at him for smiling … of course, we need to mind she wasna born into the gentry like him.’

  ‘True enough,’ agreed one of the chamber maids. ‘I’d forgot about that, for she’s aye so …’

  Mrs Burr had already regretted the reminder. ‘She’s no’ a bad mistress, though – a bittie short in the trot sometimes, but aye fair. She never raged a soul that wasna needing to be put in their place.’