‘What is it, Nanny?’ Laura noticed the nurse’s hands were shaking and she was visibly upset.
‘I hardly like to tell you, M’Lady.’
Laura’s heart gave a painful lurch. Had the nightmare started again? It was more than a year since the last occasion but she would never forget the night when she’d hidden in the gardener’s hut and seen, in the darkness, a hand holding a lit candle as he searched the house, with an axe in the other hand.
‘Please, Nanny, tell me,’ she said faintly.
‘On the way to the night nursery I passed Neil’s room. The door was open and I saw something sticking out from under his bed.’
‘And . . .?’ Laura frowned. ‘What was under his bed?’
‘I found a bottle of methylated spirit.’ She paused painfully. ‘And a box of matches that was almost empty.’
Laura looked stunned. Her first emotion was one of relief; the nightmare hadn’t started again. Then she was flooded with anger.
This was worse in many ways. It was Walter’s son who had put all their lives in danger, and somehow she’d always known it.
Walter put his head in his hands and groaned when Laura told him. Diana and Robert had returned to their home that morning and he was trying to make sense of what had happened.
‘Is it my fault?’ he asked in a choked voice. He raised his head to look into Laura’s face as if searching for something. ‘Is it because . . .?’
‘That may be part of the problem but I think you should take him to see the doctor.’ Laura spoke carefully but earnestly. ‘We can’t go on like this, Walter. Neil needs to be watched all the time now but supposing he starts a fire in the middle of the night when we’re all asleep?’
Walter suddenly looked enraged. ‘I’m not having him sent to some institution or mental home. That really would unbalance him and make him feel we’d rejected him, which is the last thing I want.’
‘Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean that. I was thinking of a child specialist, who might be able to prescribe something that would calm him down. I’ve heard Bromide is very good. There’s also the problem of . . . when you’re not here. You know, when . . .’
‘I might have known you’d bring that up sooner or later,’ he snapped. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise you.’
Laura looked hard at him. ‘You always say that but it’s no good. You’re unable to keep a promise. Neil is also angry with you because you married me. I really try not to behave as if I was his own mother but he does resent me being here and he won’t do anything I ask.’
Walter seemed to crumble and she realized for the first time how old he looked, although he was only fifty-two.
‘Why don’t we get a nice tutor for him? A young man he can trust and who can keep an eye on him at the same time. A tutor who could take Neil on educational trips and they could go and see things like Edinburgh Castle and have fun climbing Arthur’s Seat, for instance. I don’t believe he’s happy at school anyway. Isn’t that a good idea, Walter?’
He nodded. ‘Neil may just have been larking around, you know. It was probably only a bit of fun and he didn’t mean any harm. He’s lost his mother and I think he must be shown a degree of leniency. One has to remember he’s still only a child,’ he added, ‘and too young to think things through.’
‘A very dangerous child,’ Laura replied tightly.
Six
Lochlee Castle, 1894
‘Your father has been a broken man since Eleanor’s death,’ Lady Rothbury told Laura sadly. ‘I’m at my wits’ end trying to cheer him up but nothing works. It’s nearly two years now and life has to go on for the sake of the younger children, but he doesn’t seem capable of putting his grief behind him. For some reason he seems to think the accident was all his fault, although I can’t think why.’
Laura remained silent. There were moments when she felt tempted to tell her mother about her father’s fight with some man who’d been unwelcome, but instinctively she felt it might make things worse. Her father must have had good reason for keeping quiet about it and a lot of other things, too. The question was, who was the stranger and what was the fight about?
‘Papa has this crazy notion that we’re all doomed,’ her mother continued. ‘He now says Rowan trees bring bad luck. Why should he think that?’
‘I know Papa’s superstitious but so are a lot of people,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Any crofter will tell you that you need to treat a Rowan tree with respect.’
‘Ignorant people believe such rubbish but not people of our standing, my dear. Ignorant and uneducated lower-class people also tend to believe in witches and spells.’ Then she looked thoughtfully out of the window. ‘I’ve a good mind to get that tree cut down. Then your father might come to his senses.’
Laura looked at her in alarm. ‘Don’t do that, Mama. It would upset a lot of people.’
It was true that her father, usually so ebullient, had become silent and withdrawn. When he wasn’t out riding with the ghillie he locked himself in his study these days, surrounded by all his dogs lying in a close pack around his desk, as if they sensed something and were protecting him. And at night he slept in his dressing room with the ever-faithful Megan slumped at his feet.
Sometimes his wife heard him shout abuse during the night at some phantom figure in his nightmares and he’d yell, ‘Go away! Leave me alone.’ But the next morning he denied even having dreams.
‘I’m at my wits’ end,’ Lady Rothbury repeated, ‘I’ve spoken to Doctor Andrews and he says Papa is just depressed and it’s nothing to worry about, but I am worried. How can we entertain when he refuses to meet anyone? He won’t even come to the table when it’s just the family dining.’
Laura thought back to when Eleanor had died. The verdict at the inquest had declared her death was accidental and her mother had accepted it, because Lord Rothbury had destroyed the prayer Eleanor had written begging the Rowan tree to lift the curse, and he’d also removed the rope from her bedroom window before Dr Andrews and the police had arrived. It was Dr Andrews who strongly put forward the suggestion that Eleanor had been sleepwalking when she fell from her window and Papa had agreed with him at once. Then he’d turned and glared at Laura and her siblings. ‘That explains everything, doesn’t it?’ he’d demanded with chilling ferocity. ‘Eleanor was a somnambulist.’
None of them had the courage to argue, not even when they were questioned. They all stuck to the same sad little story.
‘I’m sure,’ Lizzie said later, ‘that he’s saying that to avoid a scandal.’
They all nodded. The alternatives were either to say she’d tried to get rid of the curse placed on the Fairbairns or that she had committed suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed. This way everyone would have compassion for a family who had tragically lost a daughter while she was sleepwalking.
‘I don’t think it’s right, though,’ Beattie said robustly when they were all out walking in the grounds where no one could overhear them. ‘She was a brave little girl even if her efforts to save us from being cursed were foolhardy and unwise. It was a gallant thing to do.’
‘I agree,’ Diana said at once. ‘I feel with this silly sleepwalking story she’s being denied the glory of her endeavour.’
‘But she was crazy,’ Georgie said, her voice heavy with criticism. ‘Why didn’t she just walk up to the tree and recite her prayer in broad daylight? Who would have seen her? And as long as they didn’t know what she was saying, who would have cared? She was always so dramatic. I think she was trying to be the centre of attention, myself.’
Laura turned on her angrily. ‘What a nasty thing to say! You’re just jealous because everyone is talking about Eleanor and not about you.’
Georgie’s face flushed scarlet. ‘That’s not true. I wouldn’t be so stupid as to try and climb down a rope in the middle of the night. There are plenty of other ways of getting attention, if that was what she wanted.’
‘You really are horrid, Georgie,’ Lizzie exclaimed
coldly. ‘You think you’re so superior to everyone else and we should all worship at the shrine of Georgina Fairbairn. Well, let me tell you something: you’re jealous and spiteful and if you say one more obnoxious word about poor little Eleanor we’ll all refuse to talk to you for one week.’ She turned to Laura, Beattie and Diana. ‘Do you all agree?’
There was a chorus of agreement.
Georgie tossed her head defiantly. ‘You’ll regret being so foul to me! Just you wait until I’m a duchess with a husband who’s a millionaire and we live in a palace while the rest of you stay old maids.’ Then she strode off back to Lochlee as the gales of laughter from the others carried on the wind.
Laura smiled with amusement. ‘She’s quite childish for seventeen, isn’t she?’ she murmured.
Lizzie was laughing but her eyes looked suddenly worried. ‘We should get a move on, though,’ she said with sudden seriousness. ‘None of us are married yet and I’m already twenty-one.’
Laura’s smile faded and a shadow crossed her face. ‘I’m twenty but I’m never going to get married. How could I? I’ll never find anyone like Rory,’ she added quietly.
‘You will, dearest,’ Beattie said, giving her a hug. ‘You’re such a lovely person lots of men will want to marry you.’
‘I might not want to marry them.’
‘Well, I needn’t start worrying yet,’ Diana remarked smugly. ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to get married when you’re fifteen, are you?’
‘Don’t worry, Di. We’ll leave a few Earls and Viscounts for you to marry once we’ve taken our pick,’ Lizzie teased.
April arrived in a flurry of rain with brief snatches of sunshine and the promise that 1894 was going to have a good summer with bumper harvests. For the Earl of Rothbury, however, it spelled the doom and disaster he’d told everyone was blighting his family.
A loud roar from his study startled the family as they came out of the breakfast room.
‘What on earth . . .?’ exclaimed Lady Rothbury. The strangulated bellows continued and Lizzie rushed forward and flung open the study door. Her father was standing at his desk, holding an open copy of The Times.
‘William! What on earth is the matter?’ his wife scolded, sounding shocked. ‘The servants will hear you.’
‘Damn and blast the servants,’ he raged, purple in the face.
‘What on earth has happened?’
‘Have you seen this?’ He shook the newspaper at her. ‘Have you seen what’s going to happen? Then will you believe we’re doomed?’
‘William, please,’ she remonstrated. ‘Compose yourself!’
Laura watched her father’s face crumple like an overtired child.
‘Let’s sit down quietly and you can tell us, Papa,’ she coaxed.
He flashed a look of contempt in her direction. ‘It doesn’t bloody matter whether we’re standing or sitting – this is going to ruin us,’ he said. Then he looked at the newspaper again, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d read.
Lady Rothbury seated herself by the fireplace while the five elder sisters sank into the chairs around her. The atmosphere bristled with tension as Lord Rothbury paced up and down.
‘Tell us what the paper says, Papa,’ Laura said softly.
He cleared his throat. ‘This is a total calamity,’ he began. ‘In the House of Commons yesterday Sir William Harcourt delivered the budget and he’s introduced a new tax, dammit! In fact, it’s five new taxes. Death duties, they’re called, and you’ll find out all about them when I die, because the government is going to demand thousands of pounds from you.’
Lady Rothbury froze. ‘From me?’ she repeated as if she’d been personally insulted.
‘From the estate,’ he retorted impatiently. Looking down at the newspaper he read aloud, ‘“The five duties present an extraordinary specimen of tessellated legislation. The Probate duty, which began life as a stamp duty in 1694 . . .”’ He flung the paper down in disgust. ‘It goes on and on,’ he continued, ‘and by the look of it, you’ll have to sell most of our land to pay these new death duties. Have you ever heard of anything so outrageous?’
‘Has the government passed this bill?’ Laura asked.
‘They will if they haven’t already. They are a bloody lot of scroungers.’
Lady Rothbury looked dazed and vacant. ‘What exactly will it mean?’
‘It means,’ he replied with a vengeful glance in her direction, ‘that when Freddie inherits Lochlee Castle and its valuable contents plus one-hundred-and-forty-five-thousand acres, a huge amount of money will have to be raised in order to pay this tax.’
‘That’s so unfair,’ Diana exclaimed. ‘Why should they pick on us?’
‘Dear God.’ Her father groaned at her stupidity.
Laura stepped in quickly. ‘Not just us, Di. Tax will be based on a percentage of the total value of a property and its contents. Every landowner in the country will be affected. The Duke of Atholl, the Duke of Northumberland, the Duke of Westminster, the Earl of Fife. They’ll all have to pay up when the head of the family dies,’ she added as her eyes skimmed the newspaper.
‘Then it’s got nothing to do with our family being cursed?’ Georgie asked.
Lady Rothbury looked stern. ‘I’ve told you, that’s a lot of nonsense. Of course we haven’t been cursed.’
Her husband started pacing around the room again. ‘For five hundred years my family has owned Lochlee and we’ve spent our hard-earned money filling it with beautiful furniture and paintings and a mass of silver, and we’ve farmed the land and provided employment for hundreds of people and now, when I’m gone, some snivelling little Inland Revenue clerk is going to go around valuing every bloody thing. It’s criminal! It’s the beginning of the end for landowners like us. Farming will be ruined, especially small holdings.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘By the time my great-grandchildren inherit this place there’ll be nothing left for them except a few sticks and stones.’
Lady Rothbury looked at him in distress. ‘You mean each time the head of the family dies, the tax man comes back for more?’
‘What do you think it means?’ he demanded with renewed anger. ‘All the grand estates will eventually be whittled down to next to nothing.’
‘Stop, William! It’s too depressing. It will be years before you die so there’s no point in worrying about it now. Freddie will look after everything when the time comes.’
‘We shouldn’t grumble,’ Beattie said earnestly. ‘We’ll never be poor like some people. I read that in the East End of London most children go barefoot and sometimes only have a crust of bread to eat. Can you imagine it? We’re fretting about having to sell some of our land one day while those families are sleeping six in a bed, in rat-infested hovels.’
Her mother glanced at her frostily. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of getting involved in good works?’
‘It would make a change from husband-hunting,’ Lord Rothbury remarked scathingly. ‘Now that Freddie is sixteen it’s time he learned how to run this place. I’ll talk to his tutor tomorrow. He must be taught exactly what to do when I die. He’ll have to have his wits about him then.’
Freddie, bored by his studies, sauntered over to the stables while his father was out riding. ‘Hamish?’ he called out.
The stable lad came running; his red hair was ruffled and his freckled face had a wary expression. ‘Aye, M’Lud?’ he replied in a broad Scottish accent.
Freddie nodded. As Viscount Fairbairn, heir to the Earl of Rothbury, he tried to insist that all the staff both inside the castle and out address him properly, although his parents had countermanded his order.
‘Get me some more whisky,’ he demanded, flicking a sovereign into Hamish’s grubby hand. ‘I want tobacco, too.’
‘Aye, M’Lud.’ Hamish did not dare object to being treated like a messenger because refusal to oblige in the past had led to a beating and the threat of dismissal. ‘I’ll tell my father you’re a thief and not to be trusted,’ Freddie had warne
d.
‘Shall I be leaving it hidden in the usual place, M’Lud?’
‘Where else?’ Freddie turned and swaggered off arrogantly. ‘And don’t be long about it.’
Hamish didn’t reply but raised two fingers and grimaced angrily at Freddie’s receding figure. ‘Scum,’ he muttered under his breath. He swore he’d swing for him one day if his young lordship kept pushing him for favours – and they weren’t always just for whisky and baccy. He recalled with a shudder how he’d realized some time ago that the young master was never going to be interested in girls. More than once he’d tried to grab Hamish, making the lad blush scarlet with fury and embarrassment. At the time Hamish had pretended that he didn’t know what Freddie wanted, but if it happened again he swore he’d teach him a lesson.
‘What have you done to your face, Freddie?’ Lady Rothbury asked as they sat down to dinner two nights later.
He touched the deep graze on his cheek and his speech was slightly slurred. ‘I tripped over one of Papa’s damned dogs. It was wandering about on the drive,’ he growled angrily.
‘Don’t swear, dear,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Are you all right? You sound funny.’
‘I think I accidentally bit the inside of my cheek,’ he replied swiftly.
‘How could you be so clumsy?’ Georgie protested.
‘Was Papa with you?’ Lizzie inquired.
‘No. Why should he be?’ Freddie’s brow glistened with sweat and his hands shook slightly as he took a gulp of water.
‘Because the dogs never leave Papa’s side,’ Laura explained in a reasonable voice. ‘I’ve never seen any of them wandering around on their own.’
He shrugged extravagantly. ‘What the hell does it matter?’
‘Kindly stop swearing.’ His mother spoke severely this time. ‘Where are your manners?’
Lord Rothbury charged into the dining room at that moment.
His wife looked critically at him. ‘You’re late for dinner, William.’
‘Something dreadful has happened.’ He sounded distressed as he took his place at the head of the table. ‘They’ve just found Hamish, the stable lad, dead in one of the stalls.’
The Fairbairn Girls Page 8
