The Fairbairn Girls

by Una-Mary Parker

  Knowing what she was thinking, Diana flung her arm around Laura’s shoulders in silent sympathy.

  To lighten the moment Laura said jokingly, ‘We’ll never speak to you again if you don’t invite us all to be bridesmaids.’

  ‘Mrs Armitage is going to have her work cut out this year and Mama is going to want a special outfit for the wedding, too.’

  The girls all started babbling merrily, knowing their parents would lay on a splendid wedding for their eldest daughter, each of them wondering who would marry next. Except for Laura. For she knew it would never happen now.

  The loud tock of the mallet hitting the wooden ball through the iron hoop in the grass until it hit the peg was followed by a cheer from Henry, while the girls clapped in approval. Croquet had become the rage in the Fairbairn family that spring ever since Sir Humphrey Gardin had presented Lord and Lady Rothbury with the game as a thank-you present for inviting him to stay most weekends at Lochlee since his engagement to Lizzie had been announced.

  ‘Let’s have another match, old feller,’ Henry exclaimed excitedly.

  ‘We could play against Lizzie and Laura this time.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of being beaten?’ Laura asked spiritedly.

  ‘We don’t mind allowing you girls to win occasionally,’ Humphrey teased.

  ‘Allow?’ Lizzie mocked. ‘Such cheek!’

  The two girls threw off their capes and picked up the mallets.

  ‘We’ll slaughter you,’ Laura challenged.

  ‘This I’ve got to see,’ Beattie chortled from the iron bench where she and her mother were watching.

  Lady Rothbury laughed indulgently. After the horror of the past year and still no sight or news of Freddie’s whereabouts, it was a relief to sit in the sunshine again and watch her family playing happily together, especially with her future son-in-law.

  Diana and Georgie came out of the castle a few minutes later, glad to see their mother joining in the family activities once more.

  ‘We should get the tennis court mowed so we can start playing again,’ Diana suggested.

  ‘We don’t usually have such lovely weather in April,’ Lady Rothbury pointed out. ‘I do hope it doesn’t mean we’ll have a wet summer.’

  ‘Why should we?’ Georgie said. ‘The weather in Scotland is sometimes better than it is in England.’

  ‘Not often.’

  ‘Oh, Mama! Don’t always look on the dark side. What we really have to hope for is a fine October for Lizzie’s wedding. I love it best in the autumn when everything turns gold,’ exclaimed Laura.

  Lady Rothbury smiled serenely for once. ‘I’m sure it will be a golden autumn.’

  McEwan came hurrying across the lawn towards them looking flustered. ‘M’Lady,’ he said breathlessly. ‘His Lordship has had an accident. A bad one, I’m afraid.’

  Everything stopped at that moment. They all looked at him and Lady Rothbury started trembling. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘His Lordship has been thrown from his horse. They’re bringing him home on a stretcher.’

  Before he’d finished speaking Henry and Humphrey had dropped their mallets and were racing towards the castle entrance, followed by the girls.

  Lady Rothbury got to her feet with difficulty and nearly stumbled, but McEwan managed to catch her by the arm.

  ‘Allow me, M’Lady. Someone has gone to fetch Doctor Andrews. I’m sure he’ll come as fast as he can.’

  As soon as she saw his face and the strange angle of his body as he was laid carefully on their bed her worst fears were realized.

  ‘William,’ she whispered brokenly.

  ‘I’m done for,’ he whispered, his eyes closed.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’

  There was a long pause between his words. ‘Nowhere. Nothing.’

  ‘I think he’s broken his neck,’ Sir Humphrey whispered, leaning forward. Henry was holding his father’s hand while Laura and Lizzie with Beattie, Georgie and Diana clustered around the bed, their faces white and drawn with concern. The Earl, normally so strong and domineering, so powerful and formidable, lay broken as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  When Dr Andrews arrived he quickly examined Lord Rothbury and confirmed their worst fears. Drawing Lady Rothbury to one side, he spoke in a low voice. ‘I think the wee girls should be brought down from the nursery to say their goodbyes,’ he suggested.

  Lady Rothbury nodded, unable to speak. Of all the horrors she’d had to face in the past, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. ‘Get Nanny to bring down Alice, Flora and Catriona,’ she whispered to Lizzie, whose eyes flew wide open with shock.

  ‘Is it as bad as that?’ she asked hoarsely.

  Her mother nodded, unable to speak before returning to her husband’s side again.

  As if he’d sensed her presence, he opened his eyes and tried to speak.

  ‘I’m here, William,’ she whispered.

  ‘Alone.’ His voice was faint but urgent.

  ‘Do you want to speak to me alone?’ she asked.

  He made an effort to move his head but then his face screwed up in agony and he let out a groan.

  Sir Humphrey stood on the other side of the bed. ‘Would you like us all to wait outside for a few minutes?’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t want . . .’ Lizzie began.

  He put his arm around her and said softly, ‘I think your parents would like a few minutes alone, darling. Then you can all come back.’

  She nodded and the family trooped out on to the landing while Henry quietly closed their bedroom door. Then he turned to Sir Humphrey.

  ‘He’s not going to make it, is he?’ His voice shook but he did his best to be brave in front of all his sisters, who were now openly weeping.

  Sir Humphrey whispered, ‘I fear not.’

  Alone with William in their big bedroom where she’d conceived and given birth to eleven of their children, Margaret Rothbury lay down beside him for the last time. Looking into his face, she laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re alone now, William.’

  His eyes opened again and he spoke slowly and with obvious effort. ‘I have a son, Margaret. He was born a month before Freddie.’

  Her eyes widened and she frowned. ‘You have two sons, William. Freddie and Henry.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ He sounded agitated now. ‘I have another son born out of wedlock. You mustn’t let him seize Lochlee. D’you understand? His mother is Dolly Kirkbride from the village. I was drunk one night and she . . .’

  Margaret felt cold and sick, not wanting to believe it was true and that William was confused.

  ‘Don’t worry . . .’

  He rallied angrily. ‘Listen!’ His voice was harsh and guttural as he made a desperate attempt to speak again. ‘He cursed us all, Margaret, when he was here a few years ago. That’s why we’re doomed. Everything has gone wrong ever since.’ His voice faded to a whisper. ‘You must stop him when I’m gone.’

  Her throat was dry and the beating of her heart was suffocating her. ‘Where is he?’ she managed to ask.

  ‘He lives in a bothy on the banks of Loch Lorne. His name is Douglas Kirkbride and I fathered the Devil himself.’

  There was silence. William’s eyes were closed again and he lay still now, deathly pale.

  ‘I’ve always loved you,’ she murmured, with her lips close to his. There was no answer. Struggling to get off the bed, she called out urgently, ‘Lizzie! Laura!’

  They came rushing back into the room with the others, followed by Henry and Sir Humphrey.

  ‘Is Papa . . .?’ Laura asked fearfully.

  ‘No,’ Lizzie replied, bending closely over him to feel a faint breath on her cheek. ‘Fetch all the others. They ought to be here.’

  The family clustered around the bed and the older girls held Catriona and Flora in their arms while Alice, who was ten, sat on her mother’s lap. Lying by Lord Rothbury’s feet, faithful to the end, was his favourite dog, Megan.

  No one sp
oke as they kept watch until the local church bell chimed four on this spring afternoon in 1895, when William Angus Henry Fairbairn, seventh Earl of Rothbury, finally slipped silently away into the next world.

  ‘It has to be said,’ Georgie remarked in her usual blunt way, ‘that it’s a pity Papa didn’t die two years ago. Then we wouldn’t have had to pay all these ruinous death duties.’

  It may have been what a lot of people were thinking in the tumultuous weeks that followed Lord Rothbury’s funeral, but in front of his grieving family it was met with horror and cries of ‘How can you say such a thing!’

  Although Freddie had now officially succeeded his father as the eighth Earl, Henry, in his brother’s absence, had taken over the complications of dealing with lawyers and accountants, helped and guided by Sir Humphrey who, being older, was more experienced in such matters, while Lady Rothbury retired once more to her room, unable to face the difficulties that lay ahead.

  ‘Once probate has been granted, and as your late husband’s will is very straightforward, there are no problems there,’ Sir Humphrey assured her. ‘Now it is a matter of valuing his assets; that is the castle and its contents, the land and the houses on it, the grouse moors, the home farm – everything your family possesses, in other words. Only then will we know how much you will owe to the Inland Revenue.’

  ‘Will it be many hundreds of pounds?’ she asked fearfully.

  He looked startled, realizing she knew nothing of the value of either the land or the works of art that were hung on the walls of Lochlee Castle.

  ‘It will,’ he replied carefully, ‘be in the region of many thousands of pounds.’

  ‘We’re ruined then!’ she exclaimed in distress. ‘How can I pay for your and Lizzie’s wedding? Oh, this is the most terrible calamity!’ She covered her face with her hands, wracked with the horror of her position.

  Sir Humphrey laid a calming hand on her shoulder. ‘My dear Lady Rothbury, please don’t upset yourself. It would give me the greatest delight to provide the wherewithal so that Lizzie and I can be married in style.’

  ‘That would never do,’ she said, scandalized. ‘What would people think?’

  ‘No one will know. Not even Lizzie,’ he replied swiftly. ‘Remember, it’s going to be months, if not years, before the tax actually has to be paid, so please don’t worry about it now.’

  Once he’d placated his future mother-in-law he told the lawyer in charge of the Fairbairn affairs that whilst he should advise the family to cut back on their usual extravagant expenditure when it came to entertaining and clothes for the eight sisters, he should not worry the widowed Countess with all the details until they were a fait accompli.

  ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t have Mrs Armitage as usual for three months, does it? What about my wedding dress?’ Lizzie asked when she was told about the cutbacks.

  ‘Mrs Armitage will be the first person to go,’ Georgie said with a touch of spite. ‘Mama can’t afford her any more so we’ll all have to wear last season’s clothes.’

  Lizzie’s eyes brimmed with tears of disappointment. ‘But my wedding . . .?’ she exclaimed. ‘I have to have a wedding dress.’

  ‘Have you forgotten that Mrs Armitage taught me how to make dresses?’ Laura said. ‘Remember the beautiful wedding dress I made for myself?’ she added poignantly.

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Lizzie began, then stopped. ‘I’d forgotten that. Could you really make one for me, too?’

  ‘If we can buy the new Singer sewing machine that has been written about in the newspapers, which can apparently do everything from piping to pin-tucking, then of course I can make your wedding dress. In fact, I’ll be able to make clothes for all of us, even Mama, and it’s something I’d really enjoy doing.’

  Georgie frowned doubtfully. ‘There’s a lot more to dressmaking than just having a machine to do the stitching for you,’ she pointed out. ‘Who’s going to do the designing? And cutting? Not to mention fitting? Remember how Mrs Armitage used to take all our measurements? And then make a toile in plain cotton before she cut out the actual dress out?’

  Laura nodded, not in the least put out by her sister’s doubts about her capability. ‘I know it’s not straightforward,’ she replied, ‘but who sat watching her hour after hour, taking in everything she did? Asking her questions all the time? Asking if I could help?’

  ‘We must let Laura have a go,’ Diana insisted. ‘She knows theoretically about dressmaking and I’m sure she’s clever enough and artistic enough to put it into practice. I’d certainly love for you to make me a dress, Laura,’ she added warmly.

  ‘Me too,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘And I’d like my wedding dress to be made of white taffeta edged with lace and decorated with white satin bows.’

  Beattie was also quick to give her approval to the plan. ‘We can concoct original designs,’ she said enthusiastically.

  As Laura sat listening it struck her with sudden force that she’d unwittingly created more than just an economical solution for them all to have new clothes for the season; there was also a future for herself that could one day make her financially independent. She’d never marry. Rory could never be replaced, so was she going to remain at Lochlee for the rest of her life? A spinster looking after her widowed mother while all her sisters married and had their own families? Was she condemned to living off the estate and never having her own money to spend as she liked?

  Deep inside her was a longing and a need for independence. It was one thing to be financially cared for by a loving husband and quite another to be ‘looked after’ by her parents’ money. This way, perfecting her skills as she went along, she’d be able to carve out her own business, in much the same way as Mrs Armitage had done. She rose to her feet, an exultant expression on her face. ‘I’ll do it!’ she told the others, but whilst they were thinking about next season’s clothes, she felt charged with ambition as she thought about what she could do with the rest of her life.

  Nine

  Lasswade Hall, 1910

  Laura had arranged vases of flowers in every room and she had made sure the cook bought the best beef to roast for dinner that night to go with the freshly gathered vegetables from the garden. ‘I want everything to be perfect,’ she told Hobbs.

  The butler nodded and automatically curled his fingers tightly around the only key to the wine cellar, which hung with other keys from a chain at his waist. ‘Yes, M’Lady. Everything is in order. At what time is Mr Leighton-Harvey expected to return, M’Lady?’

  ‘About four o’clock. We’ll have tea in the garden. You did order the scones he particularly likes, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes indeed, M’Lady. We’ve also got a Dundee cake.’

  ‘That’s splendid. Thank you, Hobbs.’

  He could tell she was nervous by the strain in her voice and the way her hands were tightly clasped. Lady Laura’s face also looked drawn, the result of losing a lot of weight during the five months the master had been incarcerated in a special nursing home in Edinburgh, although his absence was referred to as him ‘being away’ to suggest he might have been cruising on the Mediterranean or some such place. This had fooled no one in the neighbourhood and especially not the rest of the staff, but Lady Laura had her pride and he didn’t blame her. Recently she’d referred to ‘new beginnings’ and ‘turning over a new leaf’ – it was obvious she desperately wanted everything to be perfect in future.

  Hobbs was a realist, though. You couldn’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, as his old mother used to say, nor could you hope Mr Leighton-Harvey would never touch another drop of alcohol. People were people.

  At two o’clock Laura went up to her room to change into a white lawn dress with frills around her wrists and a long full skirt hemmed with a broderie anglaise flounce that swirled around her slim ankles. Then she tied a black velvet sash around her waist and added a stylish black velvet choker to which she pinned a diamond brooch. Her hair was already swept up into an elegant chignon, but as a last touch she tore
from a small pad a little page of paper, already impregnated with face powder, with which she dabbed her nose and cheeks.

  Today, she assured herself, was the first day of a new life for both her and Walter. The doctor had said he had high hopes that Walter would never drink again and, as long as he was in a stress-free setting, he should be fine. He’d learned his lesson, the doctor added.

  ‘I’ve told him that if he drinks again he will die this time,’ Dr Allen said with conviction. ‘His liver cannot take any more abuse.’

  Laura had thanked him, wanting to believe more than anything that she need never fear Walter drinking again. Now it was up to her to make sure he wouldn’t slip back. She decided that peace and calm would pervade in the household, with little entertaining and no alcohol at all. In future Caroline and Neil would be the centre of their lives and, for their sakes if nothing else, Walter must never have another drink.

  When she was ready, Laura went up to the nursery to fetch Caroline, who had just returned from her dancing class.

  ‘Mama, I’ve just learned how to do the Highland Fling,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘Can I show you?’

  ‘Why don’t you change first, darling? Put on that cream dress I made for you, the one with the blue smocking round the waist?’

  ‘La-La, La-Le!’ the child sang as she twirled around and around on her tip-toes. ‘Shall I be a fairy?’

  Laura smiled. She loved her daughter with every fibre of her being and was so proud of her. Caroline was pretty and vivacious, with Walter’s dark sparkling eyes, and she was always smiling and chattering happily.

  ‘I have a better idea!’ Laura exclaimed teasingly.

  ‘What is it?’ Little hands tugged at her skirt.

  ‘Dada is coming home today and he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you put on your dress and dance for him?’

  ‘The Highland Fling?’

  ‘Any dance you like, darling.’