by CL Skelton
McLeod began serving the meal assisted by the footman. Conversation was scattered and spasmodic; the army and the law had little common ground. And they in their turn had even less with the agricultural Simpsons or the professional spinsterhood of Jean Maclaren. In spite of this, both Andrew and his mother did their best with Sir Godfrey and Lady MacAdam.
Jean Maclaren, dressed in sombre, shapeless, deep brown, with touches of grey creeping into her lacklustre red hair, sat silently through the first two courses, and Richard Simpson on her right, knowing his sister-in-law’s feelings towards any sort of relationship involving men and women, did not risk trying to draw her into conversation.
Over the soup Margaret informed the assembled company that the spring lambing had gone well and that they already had fourteen new calves, nine heifers, and five bullocks. This piece of information was of interest to no one but herself and her husband. Of course, it should have been of interest. Andrew, who now owned the estate, should at least have made an effort to know what was going on. But Andrew was not interested. The estate was well husbanded by the Simpsons and showed a handsome profit each year, and Andrew felt, probably wisely, that for him to interfere would only complicate matters. Andrew spent most of his time either out on the hill with a ghillie, or reading military history and indulging himself as the father figure of the regiment. His mother showed even less interest than Andrew did. Lady Maclaren always maintained that her duties were to be devoted to the memory of her husband, to her children, and to her home, and that was sufficient.
They were halfway through the fish, that fine piece of salmon poached by Frankie Gibson and then poached by their cook, when McLeod came over and whispered something to Andrew.
‘Oh, good,’ said Andrew, ‘bring them right in and tell James to lay an extra two places. We’ll wait for the main course.’ They all looked inquiringly at Andrew.
‘Who is it, dear?’ asked Lady Maclaren.
‘Donald has arrived.’
‘Ah,’ said Willie, rising. ‘Shall I ‒’
‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘they’ve gone up to their rooms for a moment. They’ll be down presently and McLeod’s bringing them straight in.’
‘They?’ said Maud. ‘Is Naomi with him?’
‘No,’ said Andrew, ‘but there is a lady with him.’
‘What lady?’ asked Maud.
‘I’d better let Donald tell you that,’ replied Andrew.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Lady Maclaren, ‘where am I going to put her?’
‘Surely we can sort that out after dinner, can’t we, Mother?’
‘I suppose so, but it’s very confusing.’
Just then the door opened and revealed Donald accompanied by the lady, who was a stranger to everyone present.
She was neither small nor tall, plain nor pretty. Her hair was not dark, nor was it fair. But her eyes were beautiful, large, and brown, and gentle and sincere. She appeared to be possessed of a calm and a maturity far in advance of her obvious youth as she stood there in her grey travelling costume, slowly glancing round the assembled company as if she was deliberately implanting each face in her mind. She was lightly holding Donald’s hand, not seeming, in any sense, to require his protection but rather giving him of her strength for the ordeal of facing his family. Slowly, she allowed the tiniest of smiles to cross her lips. It was a signal, the gentlemen rose.
She looked up at Donald and he, still holding her hand, took her straight over to Maud. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I want you to meet Brenda, my wife.’
‘Good God!’ said Andrew.
‘What?’ said Willie.
‘Thank goodness, I don’t have to worry about a room,’ said Lady Maclaren.
Maud slowly rose to her feet.
‘How do you do, Mrs Bruce,’ said Brenda.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ said Maud, and she kissed Brenda gently on the cheek. ‘Donald, you should have told us.’
‘I know, mother, but we didn’t want any fuss.’
‘Bring your lassie over here and let me have a look at her,’ said Willie from the other end of the table.
He walked around behind Lady Maclaren to meet them. ‘So,’ he said, taking both of Brenda’s hands in his, ‘you’re ma daughter-in-law.’
‘Yes, I am,’ replied Brenda, calmly returning his gaze. ‘So you must be Donald’s father.’
‘Aye,’ said Willie, ‘I suppose it follows.’ He was not a little surprised at the calmness of the young woman before him, and the directness of her tone impressed him. ‘You had better come and sit beside me. I think that you and I should get to know each other and I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.’
‘But ‒’ interposed Lady Maclaren, sensing that her table placings were about to be upset.
‘It’s all right, Mother,’ said Andrew. ‘I’m sure that Willie is right.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she replied disapprovingly. ‘In that case, Donald, you had better sit next to Sir Godfrey. I do not think that you two have met.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ said Donald as he took his place. ‘I believe that I am very much in your debt, sir.’
‘I think not,’ said Sir Godfrey, ‘but it is nice of you to say so.’
There was a long silence interrupted by Lady Maclaren, ever sensitive of the charged atmosphere in the room. ‘McLeod,’ she said, ‘I think you should serve the main course now.’
‘Very good, my lady,’ replied McLeod, and out came the inevitable venison.
They were halfway through the main course before Willie broke the silence again. ‘Donald,’ he said, ‘have you heard from Naomi? She was supposed to be coming up.’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Donald. ‘She’s here.’
‘Here?’ said Lady Maclaren. ‘At Culbrech House?’
‘Oh, no,’ replied Donald. ‘We travelled up together and went straight to Cluny Cottage. That’s why we are so late. We didn’t know that you were all here. Naomi decided that she was tired, so they are staying there for the night. They’ll be in Inverness in plenty of time tomorrow morning.’
‘They?’ said Andrew.
‘Good God,’ said Willie, ‘dinna tell me that she’s brought a husband.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Donald, smiling. ‘He’s a friend.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Lady Maclaren. ‘Donald, did you say “he”?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Oh,’ said Lady Maclaren, and there was the faintest note of disapproval in her voice.
‘Donald,’ said Maud, ‘you had better tell us, what is his name?’
‘John Wilks,’ said Brenda. ‘You may have heard of him.’
‘You don’t mean John Wilks the actor?’ said Andrew.
‘That’s right,’ said Brenda.
‘Good heavens,’ said Lady Maclaren, ‘an actor, whatever next?’
‘He is a very famous actor,’ said Maud, defending her young. ‘I believe that he has even appeared before the Queen at Windsor.’
‘Oh,’ declared Lady Maclaren, indicating that all was therefore well.
‘I am sure that Sir Godfrey and Lady MacAdam have heard of him,’ continued Maud.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Sir Godfrey, ‘wasn’t he that fellow we saw at the Lyceum in Edinburgh playing Richard the Second? Quite brilliant, I recall.’
‘Quite,’ said Lady MacAdam.
‘Is Maggie at Cluny?’ asked Willie, referring to their housekeeper, Maggie Buchannan.
‘Yes,’ replied Donald. ‘Maggie’s looking after them.’
‘Och, weel, I suppose that it will be all right,’ said Willie, glancing at Maud, who was looking a trifle worried. ‘We’ll meet him at the reception tomorrow.’
Again the conversation flagged.
After the ladies had gone into the withdrawing room the atmosphere eased appreciably and the men almost visibly relaxed. The port had been around the table, and the loyal toast had been drunk and cigars lit, when Willie turned to Donald.
‘You ken that you should have let your mother know
,’ he said.
‘I suppose that I should have, really,’ said Donald, ‘but we were in rather a hurry.’
‘Oh,’ said Willie knowingly, but without censure in his tone.
‘No, Father,’ said Donald. ‘You’re wrong. As far as we know, you are not yet destined to be a grandfather.’
‘Sorry,’ said Willie as the rest of them laughed. ‘Well, how long are you going to be with us?’
‘Only a couple of days, Father. I’m sorry that it can’t be longer.’
Willie grunted. ‘And how long have you been married?’
‘Only two weeks.’
‘I still say that you should ha’ let us know.’
‘Your father’s right,’ said Andrew. ‘I think you should tell us a little more.’
‘All right, Uncle Andrew,’ said Donald. ‘It was all rather sudden. I found out quite recently that I shall be leaving the country the week after next. Brenda and I decided to do it rather quickly so that we could go out together as man and wife.’
‘Well, come on, laddie,’ said Willie. ‘Tell us where you’re off tae?’
‘We’re going to South Africa, sir.’
‘And what will you be doing there, might I ask?’
‘There’s been a lot of trouble in South Africa,’ said Richard Simpson, ‘most of it stirred up by bloody politicians.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Donald. ‘But things are quiet now. I don’t think that there’s going to be any risk.’
‘I would not be too sure of that,’ said Andrew. ‘Whereabouts are you going?’
‘Kimberley, sir.’
‘Kimberley?’ said Willie. ‘That’s where the diamonds come from, is it no?’
‘That’s right,’ replied Donald. ‘As you know, I’ve been working the jewellery business for several years now. I spent a lot of time studying diamonds, sort of specializing in them. My father-in-law ‒’
‘Aye, that’s a point,’ said Willie. ‘Who is your father-in-law?’
‘Mr Wilson? Well, he founded the business. I’m a junior partner now. He’s a very fine person, I’m sure that you’ll agree when you meet him. Well, he decided that since the diamond business is booming, we ought to open an office in Kimberley where we could buy our stones much cheaper, direct from the mines. That’s what Brenda and I are going to do.’
‘Well, lad, I wish you every success,’ said Willie. ‘She looks a bonny lassie, and I hope that you’ll tak’ guid care o’ her.’
‘Oh, I shall, Father, I can promise you that. We love each other very much.’
‘That’s capital,’ said Andrew, ‘Come and see me after we get rid of the bride and groom tomorrow. I’ll have a little wedding present for you. Well, gentlemen,’ he continued before Donald was able to protest, ‘shall we join the ladies?’
Chapter Twelve
Inverness Episcopalian Cathedral stands foursquare on the north bank of the river Ness which drains Loch Ness into the Moray Firth. It is built of the same pink Moray sandstone as are the castle standing atop the hill on the other bank, and the home and barracks of the Maclaren Highlanders at Beauly. Twin turrets flank the west door giving it an air of a miniature Notre Dame de Paris.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ said the Bishop, and the deed was done.
Ian had only a hazy recollection of what had preceded those words. He had, he assumed, remembered his part and made the correct responses, and the plain gold band on Victoria’s finger assured him that he was now a married man.
He had arrived at the cathedral nursing a massive headache brought on by the overdose of alcohol with which he had been plied the previous night. The entire officers’ mess had forgathered at the Caledonian Hotel determined that his last night of bachelorhood should be memorable, though Ian doubted if he would ever remember anything beyond the fourth or fifth whisky. Together they had drunk and sung until the small hours, and Ian, after losing all sense of time and happening, had been surprised to find himself lying on his bed, still fully clothed, when Gordon came to collect him and help him dress at half past eight that morning.
He glanced down at his bride with her small, delicate face peering out from the clouds of silk and organza lace, her veil now thrown back to reveal her features, and he smiled. She returned his smile for just a fleeting moment and then glanced demurely down. Together they turned and started the long walk down the nave, Victoria on Ian’s arm. They saw no one; they were conscious only of each other.
The weather had been kind to them. The sun was glinting through the tall elms as they came out through the west door and through the arch of the sparkling blades of the crossed broad-swords of Ian’s brother officers, all of them a mass of scarlet and gold and tartan in their full dress uniforms, and all of them just a little worse for the jollifications of the previous night. Down through the arch of the twenty crossed swords they went to where their open landau, newly polished and sparkling and decked with white ribbon, was waiting.
Ian helped his bride into the carriage and seated himself on her right, and they were off on the short journey across the river Ness, and then up the little hill to the Station Hotel.
The guests hung back respectfully to allow the couple time to get there and be in position to greet them when they themselves arrived for the reception. The landau, drawn by a matched pair of magnificent white hackneys and under their coachman’s expert control, took no more than three minutes to get them to their destination. There the hotel manager, a dapper individual of medium height and sporting a neat black moustache under thinning, well-groomed dark hair, was waiting to greet them.
They went in through the main doors and stood at the foot of the sweep of the staircase which flowed away behind them, arching around until it reached a balcony which led off on either side to the upper floors.
‘We have prepared room 201 which is the first on the right upstairs as a changing room for Mrs Maclaren. Her things are already there and unpacked, and you will find Captain Maclaren’s clothes in the dressing room attached.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Victoria, colouring slightly at being called Mrs Maclaren for the first time.
‘Victoria Maclaren,’ murmured Ian. ‘How do you like the sound of it?’
‘I like it very well,’ she replied softly. ‘But this is going to be the difficult part. I still have not met nearly half the people who are here.’
Of necessity the greater proportion of the guests had filled the bridegroom’s side of the cathedral. Only a couple of dozen of Victoria’s friends and relations had made the long journey north. However there was little time for discussion, as they had barely taken their places when Andrew, accompanied by Gordon Bruce and Lady MacAdam, approached them through the open doors followed by a host of other guests.
Andrew took Victoria’s hand and planted a paternal peck on his new daughter-in-law’s cheek; he felt he ought to say something, so he paused for a moment before grunting and moving on, having said nothing.
Lady MacAdam looked at the pair, blinking prodigiously, and then, as the tears came, shook her head and followed Andrew. Lady Maclaren was made of sterner stuff. She kissed Victoria noisily, then turned to her grandson.
‘You have done very well, Ian,’ she said. ‘You have a most beautiful bride. See that you look after her.’
‘Thank you, Grandmama, I shall,’ replied Ian.
‘Thank you, Lady Maclaren, I know he will,’ said Victoria.
‘Oh, no, no, no, no,’ said Her Ladyship. ‘I am Grandmama now, or Granny, if you prefer it. Never forget that you are family, you are a Maclaren now.’
They smiled at each other as Lady Maclaren moved away. Gordon Bruce claimed the best man’s privilege and kissed the bride full on the lips, and then shook Ian warmly by the hand. ‘You’re a lucky devil,’ he said, and started to move away.
‘Hang on,’ called Ian. ‘I think you are supposed to stay with us, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, am I?’ replied Gordon. ‘Very well, then,’ and he took up a p
osition just behind Ian on his right.
‘I think,’ continued Ian, ‘that the best man has to hang about in case we need anything.’
Led by Sir Godfrey, in they came, in a flood by now, over a hundred of them, to pay their respects to the newly-weds. They crowded in through the doors and waited, a most colourful throng, with a good half of the men in uniform, until it was their turn to shake hands and mutter some trite little pleasantry before passing into the banqueting hall.
There was a lull and it seemed as if the last guest had arrived.
‘Is that everybody, Gordon?’ asked Ian.
‘I don’t know,’ said Gordon, ‘but it looks like it. We might as well go in.’
They were about to move when Gordon continued, ‘Hang on here for a minute. I’ll go ahead and tell them that you’re coming.’ And he left them.
No sooner had Gordon left them than the doors swung open again and a couple entered. Victoria looked up at Ian, surprised.
‘Is she one of the party?’ she asked. ‘How beautiful she is. Like a princess.’
Ian glanced at the approaching couple and recognition flooded his mind. She did indeed look like a princess. She was on the arm of John Wilks, tall and distinguished and just a little flamboyant in an immaculate frock coat with a grey cravat held in place with an enormous diamond pin. But it was the woman that they were looking at.
She was dressed in a purple and brown sari trimmed with gold which flowed across her body revealing the delicate contours of her figure as she gracefully came towards them. Victoria was sure that she was an Indian princess, and yet she did not look quite Indian. Her creamy skin was a little too light, and her carriage more self-assured than you would expect to find in an Eastern lady, no matter how highly born. She was by any standards incredibly beautiful.
