‘She sacked Melda for nothing,’ Ruby reminded her.
‘Aye, that was a funny business. In fact, if you ask me, there’s been a lot mair funny business lately, and I was tell’t on good authority, no names mind, that Master Ruairidh was seen in the woods wi’ Melda on Saturday …’
This was another eye-opener for Mrs Burr’s underlings, who were drinking in her every word. Nodding knowingly, she went on, ‘… so that could be the reason she got the sack. Her Ladyship couldna let her son take’ up wi’ the lass that was her maid.’
Ruby felt obliged to stick up for the girl who had been her friend. ‘You ken, I never understood why Melda took on being a lady’s maid, for she was well educated, bein’ the doctor’s daughter.’
‘That’s another thing,’ Mrs Burr said triumphantly. ‘I’ve the idea there was more to that than met the eye.’
The scullery maid, a fair-haired thirteen-year-old normally as timid as a rabbit, could contain her curiosity no longer. ‘What d’you mean, Cook?’ she burst out, then turned crimson at having been so bold.
Mrs Burr was too taken up with what she was thinking to give more than a cursory glance of reprimand at this lowliest member of the household. ‘Of course I might be wrong,’ she began, her set face denying even the possibility of such an event, ‘but –’ She halted, shaking her head. ‘No! It’s no’ my place to say onything, and I’m saying no more.’
In spite of the chorus of voices begging, ‘Oh please, Cook,’ she was true to her word, and would only remind them that they had duties to carry out.
Robert Mowatt was rather wary of speaking to Marianne when he called three days later, but unless he made her see sense, as Hamish had requested him to do, there was bound to be trouble of some kind.
He was relieved at her welcome, however. ‘I suppose you’ve been called in to talk me round.’
He nodded. ‘You’ll have to accept things, my dear. I can assure you that Duncan Peat only suffered from temporary insanity. I know how you must feel about him, but …’ He stopped and started again. ‘There is no tainted blood in Melda’s veins. You must believe that, because your prejudice is breaking two young hearts, and you could lose Ruairidh if you don’t give in.’
She turned her head away, and he couldn’t help thinking, not for the first time, what a handsome woman she had become. Her hair, still a lustrous copper, was piled high on her head in loose waves, her nose was as straight as any of the Greek statues in her rose garden, giving her a strong profile. She had kept her figure, too, her corset nipping in her waist and pushing up her bosom and her hips still boyishly slim, even at the age of … she must be forty if she was a day. His eyes travelled down to the shapely ankles which were all he could see below the narrow skirt. She looked every inch the true aristocrat, though she could lay no claim to being of noble birth.
‘Robert.’
The soft voice stopping his appraisal of her, he lifted his head and met the full power of her lovely brown eyes. ‘Robert,’ she murmured again, ‘I can’t help admiring your nerve, coming to tell me I’m a wicked mother.’
‘That’s not what …’ He inhaled deeply, then said quietly, ‘I’m going to tell you something I never meant to tell anyone, but I hope it will help you to understand why I took the infant from the manse that night. Duncan said he wasn’t her father, and I was afraid he would try to harm her in some way.’
Marianne was taken aback by this information. ‘If he wasn’t her father, then who …?’
‘He thought it was the gardener – you know, the tinker. The man came back for a few years on his way to and from the fruit-picking, to tend the manse garden after that first summer when Duncan had a broken leg.’
Even more shocked at this, Marianne exclaimed, ‘But Grace would never have –’
‘It was just in his imagination,’ Robert pointed out.
Something she had forgotten for many years now made its way to the surface of Marianne’s mind. ‘Oh, God! That’s what he meant! He said it was my fault, and I thought he was blaming me for leading him on, which I never did, but he’d meant –’ She broke off, looking at the doctor imploringly. ‘Don’t you see, Robert? I was the one who told Jamie MacPhee they were needing a gardener at the manse. That’s what he’d been blaming me for.’
‘More than likely, but don’t forget that he was not responsible for his thoughts at that time. I can only assure you, however, as I have done before, that his condition would have been purely temporary.’ He regarded her now with his eyebrows raised.
She smiled wryly. ‘You haven’t changed my mind about the man, Robert, but you have made me realize I’m fighting a losing battle. I’ve done all I could to prevent his daughter from being the mother of the son Ruairidh needs as the next heir, yet why should I bother when Hamish doesn’t seem to care about decent breeding any more? So I’m going to climb down. They can be married in St Giles and I’ll take her to Edinburgh before then to let her choose her trousseau, like Hamish’s mother did with me.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘I only hope I don’t die before the wedding, like she did.’
Robert stood up now. ‘You won’t die,’ he grinned. ‘You’ve a constitution like a horse. I’d better go, though. There could be urgent calls waiting for me.’
She rose to her feet and clasped his hand for a moment. ‘Thank you for coming, Robert.’
‘Thank you for not being too proud to give in. You’ll not regret it, Marianne.’
‘I hope not. I do like Melda, you know, as a person.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I was a bit worried you would –’
‘Take my spite out on her? No, no, I’d never do that.’
He saw himself out and had a new spring in his step as he walked smartly down the avenue. He felt like sprinting as fast as he could to tell Melda the good news and watch the sadness leave her eyes, but he was too easily puffed these days. He’d have to tell Flora to stop making suet puddings, otherwise he’d soon be as round as a ball.
Marianne sat staring into the fire for some time after her visitor left. She felt drained and little wonder. For over a year she’d had a deep fear in her, a fear that she had tried to banish in the only way she knew, yet she had just made it possible for it to flourish and become reality. Plus … a new fear had reared its ugly head, a smidgen of fear that could grow into something big if she didn’t face it now and stamp it out.
Grace had been quite a delicate woman, shy with strangers despite her outgoing manner, genteel as befitted one who was the daughter of one minister and wife of another, so it was impossible to imagine her breaking any of the ten commandments. So why had Duncan said that? He must have had some reason for … but he was beyond all reason that day. Possibly he’d been jealous of the tinker because of his good looks, and that jealousy could have been building up every time Jamie MacPhee was there. He had been left on his own after the funeral, brooding about it, and finally gone over the edge and taken it out on her, the first woman who’d gone into the manse. Whatever Robert Mowatt said, the man had definitely been insane, and that kind of insanity wasn’t temporary. It had been there from the day he was born, lying in wait for something to trigger it off.
Marianne gave her head a small shake of resignation. No one, not Robert nor Hamish nor anyone else, would ever convince her otherwise, yet she had committed herself to agreeing to a union that was absolutely abhorrent to her, and she would have to abide by that.
When Hamish came home, he strode straight across to her. ‘You look worn out, Marianne. Why don’t you go to bed, and I shall arrange for your meal to be sent up?’ Getting no answer, he said, ‘Robert’s been to see you, hasn’t he? I asked him to call to –’
‘To get me to climb down about the wedding?’
‘To try to make you see sense. I am sorry to have to say it, my darling, but you were being most unreasonable, and I thought that perhaps he could –’
‘He didn’t get me to change my mind about Duncan Peat – I’ll never do that – but I said I
would agree to Ruairidh marrying Melda.’
Hamish bent and kissed her cheek. ‘I am so pleased to hear it, and I am sure that you will never regret it.’
‘I’m glad your mother gave in,’ Melda sighed.
Ruairidh ran his finger gently down her cheek. ‘I’d have married you even if she hadn’t.’
‘I couldn’t have gone against her. I’d never have felt easy in the house with her.’
‘I’d have taken you away, my darling. I still could, if you wanted me to. We’d be happier on our own somewhere.’
‘I know we would, but you’re the heir. You can’t just go away when you feel like it. Your father would probably disown you and cut you off without a shilling.’
He grinned. ‘I’d give it all up for you.’ His face sobered. ‘I mean that, you know.’
‘I wouldn’t let you. You’ve a duty, a role to fulfil and you can’t let your father down.’
‘I suppose not. He’s desperate for us to give him a grandson.’
‘Must it be a grandson? Wouldn’t a granddaughter please him?’
‘A female can’t inherit.’
With a twinkle in her eyes, Melda murmured, ‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do.’
Forced to succumb to pressure, Marianne was now planning a lavish wedding. Unfortunately for her, both bride and groom were adamant that they would rather be married in the glen kirk than in the big cathedral in Edinburgh. Furthermore, Melda insisted that she wanted a plain, inexpensive gown and that her mother would help her to make one, which did not go down at all well.
Adding fuel to the fire, Hamish laughed off his wife’s moans that people would think they were short of money giving the future laird a tuppenny-ha’penny do. ‘If you’re speaking about all those horsy-faced uppity old frumps who used to be friends of my mother’s,’ he grinned, ‘or the huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ pals of my father’s, let them think what they like. Our son’s taking a daughter of the glen for a wife and it’s glen folk we want to celebrate with us.’
Marianne’s pained sigh made him slide his arm round her waist. ‘Why can’t you be happy for them, my dear? Surely you can see how much they love each other?’
‘I do see, Hamish, and I am happy for them, it’s just … well, we were married in the glen, as well, and …’ She stopped, drawing back from the memory of the man who had joined them in holy matrimony.
Her husband swung her round and kissed her tenderly. ‘I had not forgotten, my darling, and the only thing I regret is that it took me so long to tell you I love you.’
She looked at his dear face and summoned a smile. ‘I’m sure Ruairidh and Melda won’t regret it, either.’ She felt the coldness coming back into her heart, the coldness she had been trying to dispel for days because she truly did not want to hold the girl’s parentage against her.
The wedding was everything that Ruairidh and Melda had wanted. The Reverend Stephen Drummond – the incumbent there for seventeen years now – conducted an impressive ceremony, and it was not only the two mothers who were moved to tears. When the lovely young bride lifted her veil to let her handsome groom kiss her, the ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahs’ echoing from every corner of the kirk were followed by sniffs and the flourish of handkerchiefs, men’s as well as women’s.
Then the whole congregation was transported to the castle in the Bruce-Lyalls’ carriages adorned with the family crest, and though several journeys had to be made, those who were left until last did not complain; they didn’t mind waiting.
Extra staff had been engaged to ensure the smooth operation of providing and serving the banquet, all the best china and silver cutlery were on show, and once the guests had eaten as much as they possibly could, the tables were cleared and placed round the walls of the dining room to be set out with the bottles of spirits. All the inhabitants of Glendarril took full advantage of the filled glasses handed round, and with whisky available almost on tap, it was not surprising that many a man thought he was kissing his own wife in the ballroom when it was somebody else’s he was dancing with; an honest mistake … or so he professed. The women didn’t seem to mind, not even Marianne. It had taken one brave soul to give her a swift kiss during a waltz, then she had a steady stream of partners, most of whom gave her a proper smacker on the lips.
‘I’m glad she’s entering into the spirit of things,’ Robert Mowatt murmured to Hamish. ‘I was a wee bit afraid she’d –’
‘She’s got over all that,’ Hamish said, watching his wife fondly. ‘Your little lecture did the trick, thank goodness.’
The doctor deemed it best not to say that he hadn’t convinced her of anything. She had promised that she wouldn’t take her spite out on Melda, but even if she fully meant to keep that promise, there was always the possibility that something the girl would say or do might trigger off the paranoia again.
Marianne’s thoughts at that moment, however, as she sat down and let her eyes follow the radiant pair, were not on Duncan Peat; she was recalling the two sweet infants she had thought of suffocating. She thanked God that she hadn’t, but she didn’t regret instructing Andrew Rennie to put them up for adoption. She had safeguarded herself by telling him to keep her identity secret – to prevent them turning up at some time in the future to claim their inheritance. She had also forbidden him to tell her where they had been placed or anything about them, but to salve her conscience had ordered him to send a sizeable allowance to the adoptive parents each month until they came of age – to provide for the twins’ maintenance and education.
She glanced at Andrew, standing on the other side of the room, and catching her eye, he came across to ask her to dance. When they got into the rhythm of the Scottish waltz, he said, ‘You’re looking very serious, Marianne. I hope nothing’s wrong.’
‘Nothing you can do anything about, Andrew. It’s all in the past.’
The slight squeeze he gave her let her know he understood, so she rewarded him with an affectionate smile. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Andrew. You’ve always been there for me.’
‘And I always shall be, my dear.’
‘But I shouldn’t have asked you to … I don’t know what you must have thought of me.’
His love for her was evident as he regarded her earnestly. ‘You know what I think of you, Marianne, what I’ve always thought of you. Nothing will ever change that.’
A lump came in her throat – he was such a good man. She sometimes wondered … To cover the embarrassment of her thoughts, she said, ‘Why don’t you find yourself a wife? I’m sure you must meet some eligible young women in the course of your work.’
He shrugged wryly. ‘I seldom meet young women. My female clients are generally widows – middle-aged matrons or ancient matriarchs who control their families by threatening to disinherit them. Besides, I’m happy the way I am. What about you? Are you happy with Hamish?’
‘Yes, Andrew, I am. He’s a loving husband.’ Even now, after all this time, she saw the pain surfacing in Andrew’s eyes, but it was too late to unsay it.
She wished that Miss Edith had been here for him, but his last aunt had passed away some time before, protesting right up to the last moment, according to the nurse he had paid to check on her every day, that she didn’t need a doctor. Poor old dear, Marianne reflected, she was always so independent.
Because the glen folk had not had a celebration like this in the memories of many, they made the most of it, not only the men who clamoured for a dance with the laird’s wife or the wife of the future laird, but the women who, their courage also bolstered by the free alcohol – claimed the young Master for a dance, and even the laird himself.
Not until the beer and whisky had almost run out did they show any sign of leaving, and the Bruce-Lyall family, now extended by one, stood outside to wave them off. When they went inside, Ruairidh, with his arm still round his bride, said, somewhat bashfully, ‘If you’ll excuse us, we’ll go up to bed now. It’s been a long day.’
Andrew,
who had been asked to stay the night, got to his feet a little unsteadily when Marianne and her husband entered the sitting room. ‘I had better get to bed, too.’
Hamish grabbed his sleeve. ‘No, no, you’ll take one last dram with me, surely?’
Marianne left them to their nightcap.
Chapter Twenty-four
When the young couple returned from their three-month honeymoon in France, Ruairidh joyfully announced that Melda was pregnant and, the Mowatts having been asked to the castle to welcome them home, there followed a round of cheek-kissing and back-slapping in which Marianne had to steel herself to take part. Fortunately for her, with so much commotion going on, no one noticed her hesitation … except Melda, who concluded that her mother-in-law, like herself, was remembering the boy infant who had died.
To banish this from both their minds, she said, turning rather pink, ‘The doctor in Paris said my accouchement was due in six months.’
Showing none of her embarrassment, Ruairidh boasted, ‘He said I must have planted the enfant on our wedding night.’
The two fathers glanced at their wives to see how they had reacted to this indiscretion, a breach of good manners especially in mixed company, then caught each other’s eye and bellowed with laughter.
‘Good for you, son!’ boomed Hamish, and Robert added, ‘Well done!’
Marianne tried not to show how nauseated she felt, and when Flora leaned over and murmured, ‘Well, it was only to be expected, wasn’t it?’ she nodded stonily.
When Ruairidh attempted to take Melda in his arms that night, she pleaded exhaustion from the travelling and turned away. If he had been too blind to notice that his mother wasn’t pleased about the baby, it wasn’t up to her to tell him. Not that the woman had said anything, it was a look in her eyes at one point, as if she hated her son’s wife. But why? She couldn’t still believe that the minister had been afflicted with an insanity which could skip a generation and be passed on to his grandchildren? Yet it had taken her, Melda, some time to believe her father – she would always look on Robert Mowatt as her father – when he swore to her that the man would have recovered from his temporary madness if he hadn’t killed himself.
The House of Lyall Page 33
