The Fairbairn Girls

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘She’s probably shocked by what’s happened to Rory and she can see how distraught Laura is.’

  Diana frowned as she pulled her fur collar tighter around her neck. ‘I think it’s something else. She looks more worried than sad. I asked her recently what was wrong but she turned scarlet and said nothing. Then she scuttled out of the room. I think she was scared I was going to probe.’

  ‘She’s never been outgoing like the rest of us.’

  ‘I know, but this is different. Watch her, Beattie. See if you can get anything out of her.’

  ‘Are we going to the top?’ Beattie asked, rising to her feet.

  They looked up at Ben Lossie, with its peaks dusted with snow.

  ‘Not today,’ Diana replied.

  ‘You always say that.’

  ‘It’s too cold.’

  ‘You always say that, too. Even when it’s summer.’

  Laughing and jostling each other, they started walking back to the castle which stood strong and proud, its great stone walls and ramparts gleaming like polished marble in the winter sunlight. Once a mighty fortress, it had been tamed into being a domestic abode, filled with children and dogs. Surrounded by vast open areas of grass and heather and a history of belonging to the Fairbairn family for the past five hundred years, it struck Diana that anyone seeing it for the first time would think it was like something out of a fairy-tale book. Her father might adore living in his ancestral home, but to Diana and her siblings it was always cold and dark, even during the brightest day, and one had to walk what seemed like miles to get to the bedrooms, along acres of draughty corridors and passages with walls hung with gloomy tapestries and family portraits. The misery didn’t end there. They had to bathe in tin baths which the servants and the watermen brought up to the bedrooms and filled with hot water. The water always chilled quickly and drying oneself in front of a log fire still didn’t prevent one from getting chilled.

  ‘I can see why Laura’s so heartbroken, apart from losing Rory,’ Diana said thoughtfully as they made their way back up the drive.

  ‘Because she’s stuck here, you mean?’ Beattie replied knowingly.

  ‘We all are unless we get married. Only Freddie and Henry can leave to do something interesting.’

  ‘I wish there was something interesting we could do. I’d like a proper career.’

  Diana looked at her in surprise. ‘What could we do, though? We’re completely unemployable, unless we got jobs as maids in someone else’s house. Actually, I don’t think I even know how to clean a house. Isn’t that dreadful?’

  Beattie laughed. ‘I bet we’d miss Lochlee if we ever had to leave.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen in a thousand years! Even when we’re all married with dozens of children we’ll always come back home for Christmas.’

  Eleanor knew she’d aroused her sister’s suspicions by keeping a watch, but she wanted to make sure that the horrible man with the low, menacing voice who had threatened Papa and who had come back to cast a terrible curse on them all by the Rowan tree hadn’t returned.

  Wracking her brains, she tried to think of something she could pretend was worrying her if Diana questioned her again. What about her fear of burglars? Or poachers? Maybe even ghosts?

  Instinctively she knew that if she told anyone what she’d really seen that night then something terrible would happen. Then it struck her with a fearsome blow that two terrible things had already happened. Could a curse work so quickly, though? Or was it just coincidence?

  Sick with worry that more terrible calamities were going to befall them all, she tried to keep watch. Maybe if the man returned again she could throw something heavy from her bedroom window and frighten him off?

  There had been no sign of him since that evening but she couldn’t sleep for thinking about it, and she kept getting out of bed in the night to make sure he wasn’t lurking below her window casting his evil spells. At dawn she’d fall into a heavy sleep, exhausted by her vigil, and then Mama would be cross because she was late for breakfast.

  At times, feeling quite desperate with anxiety, she’d slip into their private chapel, which was down a spooky corridor leading off the great hall. There she’d kneel and pray, and if anyone came along and found her she’d decided to say she was praying for Rory’s soul. They’d believe that, wouldn’t they?

  Most of the time she also felt too worried to eat. Then she was struck by an idea. Maybe she could break the spell he’d cast? It would require her to be tremendously brave, but after another night thinking about it she decided it was the only way to prevent the family being for ever cursed.

  Laura was up and about again but a strange state of calm had enveloped her in the past few days. She longed to cry to wash away her pain, but she couldn’t. She wanted to rage at the Almighty for taking the rest of her life away from her, but not even the mildest anger came to the surface. It was as if all her emotions had been locked in an ice box and nothing was ever going to make them thaw again.

  ‘It’s shock, dear girl,’ her mother told her. ‘I was the same when my father died. I didn’t feel sad but I didn’t feel remotely happy either. I just went about my business in a sort of limbo.’

  ‘How long did it last for, Mama? It’s a terrible thing to say and I can’t believe I feel like this, but it’s, well, it’s sort of a relief to feel absolutely nothing,’ Laura admitted, almost ashamed by her lack of open sorrow.

  ‘It’s nature’s way of helping you cope. Your grief is still intense but your brain is saying enough is enough for the moment.’

  ‘How long will I feel like this?’

  Lady Rothbury smiled gently. ‘The deeper your feelings are for someone the longer you’ll feel numb, my dear.’

  The tragedy had brought mother and daughter closer together than they’d been since Laura was a child, and she in turn was glad because she hadn’t felt this close to her mother for years; partly because there were so many of them.

  ‘How long did you feel numb when Grandpapa died?’

  ‘About six months. I loved him dearly.’

  ‘Six months? Goodness! Will I really feel like this for six months? It’s better than feeling the other way, I suppose.’

  ‘When I was myself again,’ Lady Rothbury continued, ‘I’d come to terms with what had happened. I remember your papa saying to me, “Welcome back; you’ve been away a long time”. In a way I suppose I had, and thank God for it.’

  She reached out to take Laura’s hand. ‘I’ll still be here to welcome you back when it happens to you.’

  ‘The skirt is too tight,’ complained Georgie as she tried to pull down the long, dark green woollen dress which Mrs Armitage had made for her on her last visit. ‘Why does she always make everything so tight?’

  ‘She doesn’t. It’s you who’s putting on weight,’ Lizzie pointed out, amused.

  ‘I haven’t put on weight. I eat like a bird,’ Georgie retorted angrily.

  ‘Yes, a little fat hen that pecks away all day long,’ joked Beattie. ‘You know you do, Georgie.’

  Georgie turned scarlet. ‘I don’t peck all day long. I’m bigger boned than the rest of you but I’m not fat.’ Tears of vexation sprang to her eyes. ‘Why are you always so mean to me?’

  ‘Give it to me – I can probably alter it for you,’ Laura suggested, putting down the newspaper she was trying to read while her sisters squabbled around her. It was February and there was a blizzard blowing, so they sat clustered around a log fire in the morning room which spat and sizzled but gave out little heat.

  ‘Could you really?’ Georgie looked doubtful. ‘You might spoil it and then I wouldn’t be able to wear it at all.’

  ‘You forget that Mrs Armitage taught me how to sew,’ Laura pointed out. Six months after Rory’s death, she seemed impervious to snubs and criticism. The strange numbness that had frozen her feelings shortly his death still shut her off from the rest of the world.

  ‘Well, I suppose you could try,’ Georgie replied ungrac
iously.

  The room Mrs Armitage always used still had a chest of drawers full of leftover sewing things, different coloured threads and a spare packet of needles.

  ‘I’ll have to do the alterations by hand as we don’t have one of those marvellous sewing machines, but that’s all right,’ Laura said as Georgie struggled out of the skirt and handed it to her. ‘At least Mrs Armitage has left some pins and a measuring tape. I wonder if there’s any green thread?’ She opened another drawer.

  Then Georgie heard a howl of pain. ‘What is it?’ she asked but Laura couldn’t speak. She stood with her hand clapped to her mouth and her body wracked with sobs. Carefully folded in the drawer was the wedding dress she’d made for herself.

  The ivory damask satin gleamed in the cold light from the window and the crystal beads encrusting the lace glistened like frost. Someone had put it away knowing it was no longer needed and most likely would never be worn.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Beattie asked anxiously, putting her arms around Laura, who had crumpled to her knees, leaning over the drawer so her face almost touched the dress while her tears melted into the lace, adding to the glitter of the crystal beads. A nerve had been touched and in a second the comforting numbness that had spared her for the past months had vanished, exposing her to uncontrollable emotional pain.

  The door opened at that moment and Lady Rothbury came hurrying into the room. ‘I’ll look after her,’ she whispered to Beattie and Georgie. Then she guided Laura to a nearby sofa and made her comfortable with cushions while she murmured sympathetically and with great understanding. After a while the storm passed and Laura looked up, her expression bewildered.

  ‘When I saw the dress . . .’ she whispered brokenly.

  ‘I know, my dear. I know. You’ve been away for a long time. Welcome back,’ she added softly.

  Eleanor was in a state of growing agitation, fearful that Laura would have a complete breakdown and never recover. Her elder sisters insisted her grief was normal under the circumstances and she would eventually get over it – something they themselves weren’t sure of in spite of their mother’s assurances, but Eleanor was not convinced.

  One of her father’s dogs had recently died in its sleep, causing him profound grief and, although the Labrador was twelve years old, Eleanor was certain he’d been cursed. Otherwise, why would he seem perfectly fine one day and dead the next?

  The following morning she walked round to the stables, and while the grooms were busy she stole a long length of rope. She’d seen it being used for breaking-in foals. One end was attached to a light harness while the groom held the other, letting it out slowly until the foal was trotting around in ever-widening circles. Gathering it up in her arms, she smuggled it into the castle without anyone seeing. Then she hid it under her bed. There was one more thing she had to get before she could put her plan into action.

  After lunch, when her father had gone out, her mother was reading aloud to the younger girls and there was no noise from the nursery or the schoolrooms, she slipped into the private chapel. Two candles always burned on the altar, kept alight by McEwan the butler night and morning. Between them stood a big brass crucifix. There was also a cross by the font where they’d all been Christened. It was very old and carved in dark wood. She slipped it into her pocket and, unseen, tore up to her bedroom where she placed it carefully under the rope. No one would know it was missing, and afterwards she’d return it to the chapel. Satisfied, she set about planning what she was going to say.

  ‘I shall never marry now,’ Laura said pragmatically during one of her calm spells that came between bouts of grief and despair. ‘I could never find another Rory. Not in a million years.’

  ‘Won’t you miss having children?’ Lizzie asked carefully. She never knew when her sister was to be overcome by grief again and the slightest thing could set her off.

  ‘Frankly, no,’ Laura replied candidly. ‘Rory and I had never planned a big family. There are far too many of us. Mama does her best but how can she stretch herself to spend lots of time with eleven children?’

  Lizzie looked shocked. ‘Everyone has big families, though. Of course, you’ve got to marry a rich man so you can afford lots of nannies and nursery maids and . . .’

  ‘And never have time to look after them yourself,’ Laura cut in. ‘That’s my point. I’d want to spend every minute with my child. Teach it things. Watch it grow. Be a part of its life.’

  Lizzie grinned. ‘It? You sound as if you’re talking about a plant, not a boy or a girl.’

  ‘You know what I mean. What’s the point of having masses of children if you barely have time to see them all?’

  ‘A large family ensures there will be plenty of people to look after you in your old age,’ Lizzie protested.

  ‘Well, it’s not going to happen to me,’ Laura said lightly.

  Lizzie looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose in some ways you’re right. I spoke to Mama about Eleanor yesterday. I told her we were all concerned because she’s been behaving strangely and Mama agreed to talk to her, but then Cook wanted her to look at a menu for tonight’s dinner party and I just know that Mama’s forgotten all about Eleanor.’

  ‘There’s no use asking Papa, either.’

  ‘Oh, he’s hopeless with children. Now, if one of the dogs had a problem he’d be frantic!’

  Laura smiled wryly. ‘I’ll never have any of those either.’

  Lying in bed that night, Eleanor recited to herself what she was going to say while pressing the crucifix against the trunk of the Rowan tree. She’d composed a special prayer and written it down so that she could memorize it.

  Please, dear God, it began, tell the Rowan tree not to curse us any more. I know it can prevent bad things happening to the family but a wicked man has told it to do bad things to us, and only you, dear Lord, can change its mind.

  Was that going to be enough? Should she say the Lord’s Prayer as well? Just to make certain God understood? It would be awful to go to all this trouble and find God didn’t know what she was talking about. So she decided to say the Lord’s Prayer too, to be on the safe side.

  Eleanor knew she couldn’t do this in broad daylight. There were too many servants and gardeners and too many of them in the family to do anything private during the day. She was going to have to exorcize the Rowan tree under cover of darkness, but her plans were all in place and tonight was the night she was going to lift the curse.

  Every now and again she crept out of her room on to the landing, waiting for her parents’ dinner guests to depart. Then McEwan would make sure the house was locked up and bolted for the night and all the candles blown out except for the two in the chapel.

  At last, and it was after midnight by the chimes of the church bells, Eleanor knew everyone in the castle had gone to bed. For security reasons they were all safely locked in, and would remain so until the castle was opened up at six the next morning.

  Climbing out of her bed, she groped under it for the rope, uncoiling it until it stretched across the room. Then she wound one end of it around the carved post of her bed and tied it in a double knot. Pulling on it with all her strength until she’d made sure it would hold her weight, she then opened her window and silently dropped the other end. It uncoiled and slid like a snake down the castle wall. Leaning out as far as she could, Eleanor waited until there was a gap between the clouds as they scudded across the moon. Suddenly the terrace below was bathed in faint light, confirming that the rope was long enough to reach the ground.

  Now she just had to collect the little wooden crucifix from under her bed. How hard and strong it felt in her hand, she thought, as she jammed it into the pocket of her dressing gown.

  Eleanor’s heart was racing now with part excitement and part terror. She gave a final glance at her prayer, which she’d left on the dressing table, and then she decided the best way to climb down the rope was to sit on the window sill with her legs dangling while she got a good grip by wrapping it around one of her wrists
before gripping it with both hands.

  At that moment the moon disappeared behind another cloud and she looked down into the pitch darkness with alarm. Beneath her was nothing but blackness. She couldn’t even see the Rowan tree, although it was only a few feet away from the castle wall. She sat still, breathless and frightened. She couldn’t back out now, though. The curse had to be broken before anything else dreadful happened in the family. If she gave up now she’d never forgive herself if someone else died. Supposing it was Papa or Mama?

  Galvanized into action and petrified of the consequences if she didn’t act quickly, Eleanor got a tighter grip of the rope and then eased her body out of the window. Her bare feet found the rope beneath her and she held it between them to steady it. Inch by inch, hand over hand, she began to descend, although her shoulders became agonized by the strain and her wrists and hands burned as if they were on fire. Biting her bottom lip, she edged a few more inches down but it was taking much longer than she’d expected and it was far more terrifying than she’d realized.

  ‘Please, God . . . help me do this,’ she prayed. ‘Oh, please, God . . . help me . . .’

  Suddenly she was bathed in a pale light as the moon momentarily slid out from behind a cloud. Encouraged, she lowered herself a few more inches. Then she glanced down again. The terrace must still be thirty feet away and she didn’t know how much longer her thin arms could take the strain of her weight.

  ‘Oh, God, I must do this,’ she whispered in desperation.

  At that moment she was plunged into darkness, followed a moment later by a vivid flash of lightning which illuminated the land all around, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Startled, she gave a loud scream and lost her grip on the rope.

  Laura sat up with a start. The violent storm must have awakened her, she reflected sleepily. Through her curtains flashes of lightning kept penetrating the room and she turned over in bed, wondering vaguely how long it would last. She thought she’d been awakened by the sound of a scream but that must have been part of the dream she was having. Listening to the rain and hailstones which sounded as if someone was flinging gravel at her window, she could tell the storm was right over the castle by the speed with which the thunder followed.