by Anne Hampson
Andrew lifted his brows at that.
'Probably not-but we aren't in the habit of poaching.' She flushed, but his mood led her to say, 'Not nowadays, but the Scots have a dreadful reputation.' He laughed and Gail caught her breath. Louise had declared him to be the handsomest man she had ever seen, Gail suddenly recalled. 'There was a time in our history when we did exist in a state of tribal warfare, preferring to rob our neighbours-or, even better, the wealthy effete English across the border.'
Gail laughed then.
'That's not very nice!'
'We are speaking of long, long ago,' he reminded her.
'Were you as bad as the historians make out?'
'I'm afraid so,' he admitted. 'You see, Scotland grew under the clan system; we had chieftains who them-selves were barbaric even though they were also honourable and brave, descended as they were from the highest nobility in the land. Feuds brought out the worst in all participants and the bloodthirsty deeds committed have not been exaggerated.' He went on to expand and Gail listened with keen interest. How different he was today, she thought, optimism welling up inside her. If they could remain friendly like this, could chat together and walk out with the children ... this was all she would ever ask; it was all she needed to make her feel secure, and that she really was a wife. For up till now she had been little more than a servant, a nanny to the children even though they addressed her as Mummy. 'Can we go along the burn?' Shena looked expectantly at her father. 'I don't want to go home yet.'
The sun was beginning to slant across the wild and lonely mountains, and the moorlands were taking on a rosy hue. 'We can't stay out much longer,' said Andrew. 'It gets chilly when the sun goes down.' A moment's hesitation and then, 'Very well, we have time to walk a little way along the burn.' The clouds were fast becoming low and the view would soon be misted, but at present the sun was throwing everything into sharp relief and they stopped on a rise looking westwards to the magnificent view of Loch Tummel, and the wooded defile of the glen. To the north-east rose Ben-y-Gloe, with behind it several snowcapped peaks, scarred and fretted by ice action a very long while ago. Across the heather moors the herd of deer could still be seen, beginning to merge now with the landscape as the movement of the sun threw the hills behind them into shadow. Far down below the grey-roofed houses of the tiny village nestled in a hollow, scarcely noticeable, so well did they fit into the rural scene.
'Are the people all your tenants?' asked Gail after remarking on this attractive unity of buildings and landscape. He shook his head.
'Most of the houses are owner-occupied, although a few are mine.' 'Owner-occupied?' She looked puzzled. 'But they're all exactly alike. Don't the owners want to alter them, or paint them different colours?' She herself would want a little individuality, she thought, if she owned one of the houses down there.
'They're not allowed to…'
'Not allowed? But you just said they were owner-occupied.'
'So they are.' He looked down at her and laughed. 'I expect that's another thing you will not agree with. All the tenants are subject to the Feu Charter; an agreement is drawn up when the house is sold and I make certain stipulations which must be observed. I would never allow any external alterations that would detract from the beauty of the village.'
'You mean,' she said in disbelief, 'that a feudal system still exists here?'
'Not in any way resembling the old feudal system,' he told her, clearly amused by her expression. 'But a landowner does still have certain rights which he maintains.' He glanced down at the village. 'You've just remarked on how well the village fits into the landscape. Would you have some of the houses painted white, or the roofs red or green?' She shook her head emphatically. 'I see what you mean. No, I wouldn't, not now I come to think about it.'
'Well then. ...' Andrew merely shrugged and left the rest unsaid, turning to seek the children who were chasing about among the trees above the glen. Having a fair knowledge of the old feudal system Gail laughingly asked if the tenants still paid feudal dues and to her utter amazement he said yes, they did pay him feudal dues. I don't extort money from them.' he assured her. 'Each one pays something like ten shillings or a pound a year-I really wouldn't know. Sinclair looks to such things.'
'Sinclair works very hard.'
'He's an excellent man. I don't know what I'd do without him.'
The little burn frothed and spurned over the falls and rapids, its banks tree-clad and springy underfoot. 'We make our own electricity with it, don't we, Daddy?' Andrew smiled down at his son and nodded. 'The water goes through a pipe Robbie grabbed hold of Gail's hand. 'Come on and I'll show you. You see this pipe going down under the ground?-well, that leads to our hydroelectric station. Daddy built it!' he ended proudly. 'You built it?'
'Not alone; I helped.' He spoke casually as if such work was not in any way out of the ordinary for a man in his position. And as they turned homewards again after walking along the burn for a while, Gail fell to musing on his life, and on the kind of man he was. Married young to a beautiful woman-whose portrait still hung in the gallery; a child seven months later. And then the growing knowledge of his wife's infidelity. His forgiveness when he took her back ... twice he took her back, so he clearly considered the marriage tie as permanent-for better or worse.... If he were a woman-hater it was natural- what with his wife's continued unfaithfulness and his daughter's careless flaunting of all the rules of chastity and honesty. But somehow Gail did not believe he was a woman-hater; she felt he would not be so unjust as to judge all women alike. Shame he had suffered, and disillusionment; those, and the humiliation caused by Morag's behaviour, must inevitably result in bitterness, and Gail felt that this in turn had brought about the harshness which was almost always apparent on the surface. 'Haven't we had a lovely time?' said Robbie enthusiastically as they neared the great grey house, bathed now in crimson and gold and orange as the sun sank lower in the sky. 'Will you come with us another day?'
'Yes, Robbie. I'll come with you next Sunday, if it's fine, of course.' It had been a wonderful day altogether, mused Gail a long while later as, lying in her great white bed with its brass trimmings gleaming in the glow from her amber-shaded table-lamp, she went over it all again.
Church in the morning, and Robbie insisting on wearing his kilt 'just like Daddy'. Then lunch, with no Morag there to stir her father's wrath or send him into moody yet ominous silence. He had talked, and even allowed the children to chatter at the table, which was most unusual, as almost always he sternly ordered them to be quiet. And after that friendly, homely meal he had announced his intention of accompanying them on their customary Sunday afternoon stroll through part of the estate. Unable to conceal her pleasure, Gail had caught him looking oddly at her, examining her features in a new and searching way and automatically she had raised a hand to her temple.
For the first time she really did care about that scar.... Andrew never tolerated anything inferior, Morag had once said. Afternoon tea had followed their walk; again Robbie and Shena were allowed to chatter, with their father sitting back in his chair, relaxed, and interestedly listening to them but glancing often at Gail and giving her a smile whenever she should meet his eyes. If only it were always like this.... Yawning sleepily, she switched off the lamp and turned her head drowsily into the pillow. But of course it was not always like that unforgettable Sunday. Morag returned on the Wednesday from her visit to friends and the more familiar strained atmosphere descended on Dunlochrie House. Even the servants were affected and instead of smiles dour faces were in evidence whenever one of them came into contact with the girl who seemed to cast a blight on everyone in the whole establishment.
On the Friday Gail returned from taking the children to school to find that Morag had risen earlier than usual. It was pouring with rain and a grey mist blotted out almost the entire view. Morag was sitting in a chair in the small room which was referred to as the snug.
She had a glass in her hand and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. 'What
weather! I'd go abroad if only I had some money!'
Gail stood looking down at her, wondering how anyone could drink whisky at this time of the day.
'Whom would you go with?' she inquired, unwilling to snub the girl by walking out the moment she had entered the room. 'You'd like to know, wouldn't you, Mrs. MacNeill?' 'I'm not particularly curious, Morag. I was merely making conversation.'
'You bore me with your goody-goody attitude. I don't expect, if the truth were known, that you're any better than the rest of us!'
'I never consider myself better than other people,' returned Gail gently. 'But I do have standards, and I adhere to them.' Morag uttered an oath, then laughed as Gail shuddered.
'So pious!' Morag drew on her cigarette and inhaled. deeply. 'I don't believe it's any more than a cover.' She leant forward in her chair, regarding Gail through narrowed eyes. 'If a wife doesn't get what she wants from her husband,' she said with slow deliberation, 'she begins to look elsewhere.'
'You appear very interested in my private life, Morag. I wonder why?' The girl looked swiftly at her, then brought her lashes down, masking her expression.
'You'll not deceive my father, I warn you of that,' she said cryptically after a while. 'Would you mind being a little more explicit?'
'He has a very suspicious mind where women are concerned-so beware. Find yourself another man and he'll know immediately-unless you're very prudent, of course. My mother wasn't prudent- stupid woman. I'd be much more careful with my husband.'
Gail went white; she felt physically sick, and yet at the same time sorry for this girl. Was it really her fault that she was so objectionable?-or was it merely a matter of genetics?
'Do you think you'll find a husband, carrying on the way you do?' 'I could marry now were I old enough.' She shrugged her shoulders and, draining her glass, refilled it from the bottle on the table at her side. 'I'm not so sure I want to get married; there's much more fun to be had without it.'
To what depths would she ultimately sink? Gail wondered. To what further shame and disgrace was Andrew to be subjected? Must he carry the cross to his dying day? Gail shivered at the thought- and tried again.
'Morag, why can't we be friends? If you want to go abroad I'll ask your father if we can all go-when Robbie and Shena are on holiday from school. Would you like that?' 'Go away with anyone like you?' A derisive laugh rang out. 'Have to listen to your sanctimonious preachings, and be hampered by those insufferable brats! Not likely. I'm going on my own-at least, with a friend of my own choosing,' she amended.
Gail said more curtly, 'Your father won't give you money for that.'
'He might be glad to, when I've finished with him!'
'You ought to be locked in your room!'
'He's tried that. For four whole days! I wrecked the place. It cost him a small fortune to put it right.' Again her glass was emptied, and again Morag refilled it.
'He has more sense than to make the same mistake again.'
'Do you really believe you can continue defying him like this?'
'What can he do about it?'
'He could cast you off, completely. Have you never thought of that?'
'He never cast my mother off-'
'We'll not bring your mother into it, Morag,' interrupted Gail sharply, and another grating laugh rang out. 'Naturally you won't want to talk about her. She's a shadow blotting out any future for you. Father adored her and her memory will always be with him.' She paused, watching Gail's expression. 'I suppose some-one has told you about her?'
'I'm not discussing your mother. Morag.' Gail moved towards the door and opened it.
'Someone has told you about her, it's plain to see,' jeered Morag, but Gail did not turn her head. 'He took her back twice-twice! Doesn't that prove he adored her? She was beautiful-and flawless!' Gail whipped round. 'What do you mean by that?'
'…just what I say.' Morag looked rather blank and Gail sagged with relief. 'My mother was beautiful, and perfect. Father loved her because of that. I told you he tolerates nothing inferior.' Morag was going on to talk about her mother's portrait, but Gail walked out, her head erect, but a quivering sigh on her lips as she made her way up to the quiet privacy of her room.
The dead Mrs. MacNeill was a shadow blotting out any future for Gail. Andrew loved her . . . had taken her back twice
She had been flawless.... What did it matter? Gail occupied the position she had expected to occupy on accepting Andrew's proposal of marriage. She mothered the children, contributed to the running of the house. On the evenings when Andrew had guests he had treated her as a husband should, subjecting her to no trace of embarrassment or humiliation. His friendly attitude was for the sake of appearances, certainly, but she expected nothing else.
No. the ever-present memory of his dead wife could in no way affect Gail's life ... and yet why was she weighed down by a strange heaviness all at once? Somewhere, away in her subconscious, dwelt the sort of void experienced when one reaches out, groping and floundering, searching for some elusive, nebulous thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANOTHER quarrel was taking place, but this time Gail prudently kept out of it. However, she soon learned what it was about, for Morag came up to the nursery where Gail was going through the children's clothes, seeing what she could send to the local jumble sale. 'All his money, and he won't give me a couple of hundred pounds!' Morag', face was red, her eyes blazing with fury. 'The mean, parsimonious creature. I hate him!' Gail was examining a dress of Shena's; it was almost new and she hesitated. But it would not fit Shena by the time the weather was warm enough to wear it, Gail decided, putting it on top of the pile of clothes already on the chair. 'Perhaps,' she said, turning to the drawer again, 'you would have a better chance of success if you went about it a little differently.'
'Yes?' Morag's fair brows lifted. 'You never appear to be short. Give me some advice.' 'I'm not in the mood to be played with. If you've nothing interesting to 'say then please leave me to get on with my task.' Gail was bending over the drawer; when she straightened up Morag was standing very close, an almost savage expression on her face.
'Who do you think you are.-speaking to me like this? Me, Morag MacNeil! 'No doubt you are somebody,' Gail frankly owned, but added, 'Unfortunately for you I judge people not on their status in the hierarchy of our society but on the way they conduct themselves. You go out of your way to be disagreeable to everyone in general and to me in particular. I've tried t o befriends-I wanted to be friends with you, but you're determined to throw my offers of friendship back at me and, frankly, I've come to the end of my patience.'
'I could slap your face!' 'I don't advise it, Morag.' She held up a blouse and assessed the size. 'I requested you to leave me.'
'I'll leave when it pleases me. This is my father's house and you're nothing more than an interloper-a glorified servant!' Taking a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, Morag lit one, deliberately blowing the smoke in Gail's face and laughing as she stepped back. 'About this money-I asked you for advice.' Gail ignored her and she snapped harshly, 'Answer me! How do you get round him? He showers money on you, but I have nothing!' 'I receive an allowance, as I expect you do. We choose to spend it differently, that's all.' Her nerves were quivering; these arguments with Morag always left her weak, and strangely bereft of hope. Why the future prospect should be dimmed by this girl Gail did not know. She would always be there, to make life uncomfortable, but Gail had accepted that from first admitting defeat. Nowadays she felt drained after a clash with Morag, as if fearing the girl would put a permanent blight on her life.
'I'd like to know how much you get,' Morag was saying. 'Are you feathering your nest in case he throws you out when Robbie and Shena no longer need you?' When they no longer needed her... ? Gail had never thought of that. But had not Andrew stressed the fact of the permanence of the marriage? The arrangement would be binding, he said, very binding. He would never send her away after saying a thing like that. 'Are you feathering your nest?' repeated Morag
when Gail did not speak. 'I save because I'm naturally thrifty.' Closing the drawer, Gail picked up the pile of clothes from the chair and left the room, fully aware of the scowling gaze that followed her.
She dropped the clothes off on her way to pick up Shena and Robbie.
'Thank you very much. These are lovely. Mrs. Stuart was in charge of the sale, which was to be held in aid of charity. I suppose you're off to pick up the wee ones-or have you time for a cup of tea?'
'It's kind of you to ask,' smiled Gail, wishing she had come out a few minutes earlier so that she could have accepted. 'But I shall be only just in time. I've some toys to sort out and I'll stay and have a cup of tea with you when I bring those.'
'Thank you, Mrs. MacNeill. I shall look forward to that.'
Morag was nowhere. to be seen when Gail returned home with the children, and over an hour later, on hearing a car drive on to the forecourt Gail went to the window and saw Morag getting out of the runabout. Gail had known she could drive, often having seen her on the estate, but to take a car on the public road.... True, she looked at least eighteen, but the police here-abouts must know her. Gail actually experienced a fleeting moment of fear lest Morag had been pulled up, but the girl was nonchalantly taking a cardboard box and two parcels from the back of the car. Gail frowned. How could she have been shopping if she had no money? Light, running footsteps were heard on the stairs, and the slamming of Morag's bedroom door. Purpose-fully Gail followed, entering the room without ceremony. Morag, holding a dress against her, twisted and turned before the mirror. 'What do you want?' she demanded, staring at Gail through the mirror. 'How dare you come into my room without being invited?'
'What do you mean by taking a car on the road?' snapped Gail, coming further into the room.
Slowly and disbelievingly Morag turned. Never before had Gail questioned her like this, or interfered in any way at all with her actions.
