‘That old besom has a lot to answer for,’ Ruth said bitterly.
His heart went out to this woman who had clearly had a hard life right from the time of her birth, and who was dressed in well-worn clothes which told of ongoing financial struggles. She had not let herself go, however. Her chestnut hair, bobbed quite short, was gleaming with cleanliness, her face had been lightly powdered or whatever women did to take the shine off their skin, and her lips were not nearly as garish as some he had seen, just a little touch of lipstick. Her face was a perfect oval, but there was a sadness in her dark eyes.
Graham became aware that she was waiting for him to say something else, and said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Why did you want to get in touch with your mother, Mrs Laverton? Were you planning to ask her for –’
‘I want nothing from any of them!’ she burst out. ‘I just want to know the truth about myself, Mr Dalgarno, to see what my parents look like and what kind of people they are, and why they allowed other people to bring me up. I’m not out for revenge for being abandoned, don’t think that, but I would like to make them feel a wee bit guilty. Can you understand that?’
‘Indeed I can.’ Graham seemed to make up his mind about something now. ‘I hope you are not in a hurry, because I have some good news for you, something that will prevent the dowager from thinking you are after her money.’ Noticing her bemusement, he smiled benignly. ‘You are in for a wonderful surprise, Mrs Laverton, but perhaps you would prefer me to wait until your brother can be with you?’
‘You’ve made me curious, so you might as well tell me now.’
It did not take him long to tell her of the legacy from Andrew Rennie, but it took some time for her to take in the extent of the wealth she and her as yet unknown brother had inherited. And he could see that he would have to make her understand Andrew Rennie’s motive; that would be the only way she would feel free to accept such a large windfall.
‘But why would he leave anything to Samuel and me?’ she asked for the third time. ‘Maybe he’d been given the job of making sure we had decent food and clothes, but his obligation was over when we started working.’
‘Andrew was a very kind-hearted man,’ Graham said patiently, ‘and I think he wanted to make up to you for … and I’m nearly sure he had loved Marianne Glendarril since he was a young man, which was why he did everything she asked of him, but what she did to you when you went to Castle Lyall must have made him see her as she really was – a wicked schemer. I can’t pretend to fathom out what happened ten days ago. I do not like to think that she was responsible for his death, Mrs Laverton, yet I have the nastiest feeling that she was.’
‘Oh, surely not, Mr Dalgarno! It was an accident! But I’d like to know why Mr Rennie left his money to my brother and me. He had never met us when he drew up his will.’
‘He knew you would get nothing from your grandmother, and I expect he felt sorry for you, Mrs Laverton.’
‘Call me Ruth, please,’ she begged. ‘I don’t know who I am or what’s happening to me, but whatever my last name was, is, or will be, I’ll always be Ruth.’
‘And you must call me Graham; this Mr and Mrs business is far too formal. Well, Ruth, I advise you to go home now and I will do what I can to make Lady Glendarril agree to see you. I shall also go through Andrew’s papers again with a fine-tooth comb, and pray that I find the answer to your brother’s whereabouts.’
After she had left, Graham leaned back with a satisfied sigh. He hadn’t solved all the mystery, but he knew now how fairy godmothers felt. It wasn’t the first time he had sprung an inheritance on an unsuspecting beneficiary, but it was usually a distant relative or someone who had worked for the deceased, and never on this scale. Andrew Rennie had been a bachelor all his life, had lived frugally and invested his savings wisely, and Graham had already learned, from some tentative enquiries he had made, that the sum involved would be well into six figures. Ruth and Samuel would receive an amount far in excess of anything their grandmother could have left them.
His next task was to plan the meeting. He admired Ruth Laverton. However poor she was, however much in need, she would never grovel for help to her new-found family. His opinion of Esmerelda Glendarril, on the other hand, had been badly dented. He had met her only occasionally over the years and did not know her well, but on the day of Andrew’s funeral she had given the impression of being a gentle, caring person – very similar to Ruth, in fact.
It would be interesting to arrange for all parties concerned to meet, he mused, and to watch their reactions, but it would not be ethical. For one thing, Esmerelda may not have told her husband about the twins, and had she the guts to tell him after all this time? If she did, would Ruairidh believe her – would he even want to believe her? It would be upsetting for him, galling, to learn that the girl he loved had concealed the existence of their love children from him for so many years. He would doubt that they were his, and imagine that she’d had other lovers while he had been away fighting for his country, which would turn him against Ruth and Samuel.
Recognizing that a large confrontation was out of the question, Graham decided to stick to his original plan and talk to Lady Glendarril alone first. The outcome of that would decide what his next move should be.
Chapter Thirty-two
Melda couldn’t think why Graham Dalgarno wanted to see her, or why he had insisted that she came to him. He could say all he wanted to say in front of her husband, surely?
Joe Gilchrist, the chauffeur/handyman who had often taken Marianne to see her solicitor, drew the Bentley to a smooth halt at the steps up to his office. ‘When do you want to be picked up, your Ladyship?’ he asked. ‘When old Lady Glendarril used to come here, she always told me to come back for her in an hour, but if you want longer …?’
Despite her misgivings, Melda managed a smile. ‘No, an hour’s long enough – maybe too long,’ she grimaced wryly
‘Should I just wait outside, then?’
The tightness in her chest eased a little. She had a feeling that the coming meeting was to be somewhat uncomfortable and it was good to know she could make her escape at any time. ‘That might be best.’
Waiting until he came round to open the car door for her – he would be insulted if she didn’t – she glanced around in admiration at the raised garden laid out between the two rows of tall granite buildings, because Bon Accord Square belied its name, and was, in fact, a long rectangle. The grass looked as well kept as the lawns at Castle Lyall, and whoever had been given the job of laying out the flowering shrubs had a good eye for colour. Reading her thoughts, Gilchrist grinned as he helped her on to the pavement. ‘Me and Lady Marianne always said this was one of the bonniest streets in the town. Will you manage now, or will I …?’
‘I’ll manage, thanks.’ Taking a deep breath, she went slowly up the outside steps without holding on to the handrail.
With her usual abhorrence of being late for any appointments, she took a quick look at her watch, and her heart sank. Not quite ten to twelve. Her mother-in-law would have said it was just as bad mannered to catch people on the hop by being early as it was to keep them waiting. When she reached the top step, however, she was glad that she wasn’t late, because Graham Dalgarno himself opened the glass door for her. He must have been watching for her.
‘Good morning, Lady Glendarril,’ he smiled, taking her hand in a tight grip and shaking it vigorously.
‘Good morning, Mr Dalgarno,’ she replied, trying to discover from his expression whether he had good or bad news to impart.
Shepherding her up a carpeted flight of stairs, he ushered her into his private office and gestured to the high-backed armchair he had drawn in for her. ‘You’ll be wondering why I asked you here?’
‘I’ve been a bit curious,’ she admitted, his obvious unease making her more apprehensive than ever.
‘This is very difficult … perhaps we should have coffee … No, I think something stronger is called for.’
> She watched him crossing to a tall filing cabinet and taking out a gill of whisky. Back at his desk, he produced two glasses big enough to hold a generous dram, not the little tot she had expected. ‘Oh, just a mouthful for me,’ she protested, as the amber liquid gurgled out of the small bottle. ‘I’m not a drinker.’
‘You’re going to need it,’ he warned.
Deciding to leave the whisky until she did need it, if at all, she looked at him searchingly. ‘Why did you bring me here? What is so secret that you can’t tell me in front of Ruairidh?’
Graham fortified himself before saying, ‘I wasn’t sure if he knew.’
Her brows came down, yet her eyes remained clear. ‘Knew what?’
‘I may be wrong in doing this, but I thought he should know about your two children.’
Her whole face closed now. ‘I am afraid you have made a mistake, Mr Dalgarno. My only daughter died some years ago.’
Seeking the nerve to carry on, he took another sip. ‘It was not … er … it was Ruth and Samuel I meant.’
If he had hoped to see signs of shame or guilt, he would have been disappointed. Her eyes showed only perplexity. ‘Ruth and Samuel? I don’t understand.’
Bracing himself, Graham said, as calmly as he could, ‘I have in my desk, Lady Glendarril, two birth certificates which name you as the mother.’
Her cheeks blanched but she did not look away. ‘Oh, my God. How did you find out about that?’ Before he could answer, she burst out, ‘But I only had one baby, a boy who died hours after he was born!’ The grief she had thought she had mastered for ever surfaced without warning, and she bent her head to hide her distress.
‘I knew it!’ Graham erupted, making her raise her streaming eyes. ‘I knew your mother-in-law had told you that your babies were dead. It was her, wasn’t it, and you never saw the bodies?’
She shook her head and lifted the glass of spirits to her lips. Its fiery content burned its way down her gullet and enabled her to accept what she realized he was telling her. ‘They gave me something to knock me out, and when I came round, she said the baby had died and it was best all round. She pretended to be sorry, but before the birth, she’d forced me to agree to having it adopted … and I never got to see him. Nobody told me I’d had twins. What did she do with them?’
‘As far as I can make out,’ Graham said gently, ‘she asked Andrew Rennie to do the dirty work for her. I do not know the full story, but it seems your son was adopted, but your daughter was just fostered. When I first learned of the money which had been paid out over a period of years for maintenance, I gave Lady Marianne full credit for providing for them, but it had likely been Andrew’s idea, not hers.’
Draining her glass, Melda said, her voice low and quivering, ‘I can’t believe there were twins and they’re still alive, and you talk as if you know what had happened to them …’
He lifted the whisky bottle again and poured what was left into her glass. ‘Drink it!’ he ordered, as she gripped her lips to show she didn’t want it. ‘I do know what happened to them, in fact …’ He hesitated, then said softly, ‘I kept searching through all Andrew’s papers looking for information about Samuel, and I could find nothing until I took out the newspaper which I thought was lining the bottom drawer. It was an Edinburgh Evening Citizen dated October 1943, and I was about to dispose of it when it dawned on me that it must have some significance for Andrew to have kept it. It had! A small announcement inside stated that Samuel Fernie, only son of John and Margaret Fernie of Clermiston, had been posted as missing.’
Her gasp of dismay made him shake his head ruefully. ‘I’m sorry, your Ladyship, I should not have come out with it like that.’
‘It’s quite all right. It’s better that I know –’
‘No, no, he is still alive! I looked up the Edinburgh telephone directory to see if there were any Fernies listed in Clermiston – on the outskirts of the city – and struck lucky with my second call. Samuel, or Sam as they call him, had been taken prisoner at Salerno, was transferred to Stalag 77 in Germany when the Italians gave up, and repatriated after the war ended.’
‘Oh, thank God he wasn’t killed,’ Melda said, in a small voice. ‘I don’t think I could have borne to hear of his death a second time. Does he still live in Edinburgh, or does he work somewhere else?’
‘With the money provided for his further education, Sam had gone to university in order to get a degree in medicine, but the war started before he graduated. Being a red-blooded Bruce-Lyall, although he was not aware of it, he gave up his studies and joined the Army Medical Corps. After the war, what he had seen in the prison camps – the helplessness and hopelessness of the captured Allied servicemen – made him vow to become a preacher if God spared him, so when he came home he went back to university and eventually gained his MD. He is now touring the Army of Occupation in Berlin, but Mrs Fernie, his adoptive mother, promised to write to him straight away, so it should not be long until we hear from him.’
It crossed Melda’s mind that, in view of the calling of her real and adoptive fathers, it was strange that her son should have been drawn towards both medicine and the ministry, but it would probably send her mother-in-law over the edge into the madness she had wrongly attributed to all men of the cloth. But that was a bridge to be crossed later …
‘And now, Mr Dalgarno, what about … Ruth?’
‘She has only recently learned that she was fostered, your Ladyship.’
‘If she’s angry at me for giving her up, you’ll have to –’
‘Andrew had told her what happened, and she’s a very understanding person. I think … I know that you won’t be disappointed in how she has turned out … and she is desperate to meet you.’
‘As I am to meet her.’
‘Good! Shall I take her to Castle Lyall tomorrow?’
The alarm which flooded her face made him say, ‘No, I shall have to give you time to adjust, and I can see you are still suffering from the shock I gave you. Get that Scotch down, it should help.’ While she obeyed, grimacing at each sip, he wondered why she had suddenly changed her mind about an early meeting.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to see Ruth,’ Melda muttered, as if she knew what he was thinking, ‘but I have to prepare someone first.’
‘Does Lord Glendarril not know …?’
‘No, I’m sorry to say, he doesn’t. His mother threatened to tell him. I’d been going with soldiers from the camp if I ever said anything to him.’
‘But surely, if he loved you, he’d have known they were his?’
‘I was frightened to risk it. I was very young, and I couldn’t stand up to her. To tell the truth, I was grateful to her at first for whisking me off before anybody in the glen noticed I’d been a bad girl. I wouldn’t have been allowed to marry Ruairidh if it had come out we’d had …’
‘Didn’t you ever feel like telling him after the war, the second war, that is? It’s not such a crime nowadays.’
‘It’s still a disgrace, even yet, but it’s not telling Ruairidh I’m worried about, it’s my father. He knows nothing about this, and he’ll be very hurt that I didn’t tell him.’
‘And your mother?’ Graham prompted.
‘My mother died about three years ago – she didn’t know, either – and Ruairidh managed to get Dad to give up the house they moved to when he retired and come to live with us. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother-in-law had told him the whole thing any of the times Ruairidh and I were in London. She had always liked to make trouble, and she was acting really strangely for days before we left.’
She took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry to get upset like this, Mr Dalgarno. I loved Uncle Andrew as much as my husband did, but – you’ll find this hard to believe – it’s Marianne I feel sorry for. In spite of all she did to me, all the nasty things she said over the years, I couldn’t help but admire her, because she stuck to her guns, no matter what. If she got something into her head, nothing would sh
ift it.’
Melda decided not to tell the solicitor about Marianne’s obsession about ministers, not yet. She would, one day, if only to help him to understand why her mother-in-law had not let her keep her first two children.
Gathering up her gloves and handbag, she said, ‘I’d better go home now, but I’ll let you know when to bring … Ruth to the castle.’
After shaking her hand, the solicitor saw her down to her car, and stood until it went round the corner into Bon Accord Street and out of sight.
Contrary to her usual habit of sitting in front with Gilchrist when they were going home, Melda sat in the back, unable to make any small talk, unable to think of anything other than the momentous news which Graham Dalgarno had sprung on her. If it hadn’t been for her father, she would have been overjoyed at finding another daughter to replace Dorrie. Her death had sent Melda into the lowest trough of her entire life, when she had sobbed for days, and kept thinking that it was terrible that she’d given birth to two children and not one was left alive – she hadn’t known then that she had actually given birth to three. She’d been too distraught to speak to her mother-in-law, in case she attacked the woman in her misery. Marianne, of course, had also been at a low ebb, with Hamish having died so recently.
And now? Was she to be the cause of her father’s death? He was quite frail these days – he hadn’t been properly well since her mother’s fatal heart attack, and she suspected that he would never get over the most recent shock he’d had. Apparently he had been away for the weekend visiting a friend in Montrose, and had returned on the Sunday evening about seven. Not finding Marianne anywhere in the west wing, he had gone to the rose garden, where she often took a stroll on a Sunday afternoon or early evening, and had been appalled, when he rounded the wall, to see two bodies lying half on the path and half in the pond. That would have been enough to give him a heart attack without him hurrying to see if he could do anything. Fortunately, Marianne had been able to raise her head out of the water before she lost consciousness – so she told them later – and, apart from being unable to get up off the ground, had suffered only superficial injuries, and shock.
The House of Lyall Page 43
