Twixt Two Equal Armies

by Gail McEwen

  “Sometimes defeat has unexpected benefits”, he said smiling.

  She bowed her head and gave a small smile, arranging her shawl around her shoulders against the growing cold and he reflected once more how her unexpected gracefulness and elegance pleased and surprised him. There was most decidedly something about these French women, he reflected, that did not blossom well under stern, frugal Scottish circumstances and with a family like hers, the home she had grown up in surely was more akin to the circles in Town than this part of the world, however much Edinburgh cast its metropolitan light not far away.

  “Tell me, Miss Tournier,” he therefore asked, “I have been curious for long. What was it that made your family settle here after leaving Paris?”

  She gave him a surprised look.

  “Oh, we didn’t. First we were in England for many years. Or it seemed like many years — I was very small, only three, when we left Paris.”

  “Do you remember much of that time?”

  “No,” she shook her head, “Maman will not talk about it, but do I remember living in many different places. Sometimes it was only the three of us, but mostly we stayed with friends. I remember when we stayed at the Pembroke’s townhouse, it seemed so grand to me; I thought it was a palace. I used to sneak into the parlour and climb up on their enormous damask chairs and pretend to be a French princess. La Princesse Royale Holly!” She laughed. “Quite a secret little game of mine in those circumstances, I think you can understand.”

  Baugham smiled and could somehow well picture a stubborn little girl’s refusal to give up her fascination for princesses, despite her family’s outspoken sentiment on the monarchy itself.

  “They are the friends who provided us with Rosefarm Cottage, of course,” Holly continued but not as lightly as before. “They are very kind, and he never used to trouble us if we were late with . . . but now Mr Pembroke has given over his business interests to his son who is not quite so . . . ”

  Silently cursing her stumbling tongue, Holly abruptly stopped herself and glanced over to his lordship to see if she had done so in time. He seemed to be preoccupied with stroking his horse’s muzzle and not to have heard what she almost said, so she turned back to the subject of her family.

  “Papa still believed in the movement and continued to lecture, to write and to do what he could, though he had to be very careful and quiet about it, of course, but over time — as everything became so horrible over there — he lost all faith and hope and became ill. Our friends thought that living here, so far away from the turmoil and memories, would be beneficial . . . but he died anyway . . . ”

  Lord Baugham did not look up, still keeping his attention on the horse, and Holly, too, found herself tentatively reaching out and touching the animal’s side. It was warm and soft, with the feel of surprising strength beneath. Something made her continue speaking where she normally would not.

  “Maman, when she will speak of him, tells me he died of a broken heart,” she said, focusing on the silky feel beneath her fingers. “Is that not a surprisingly romantic notion for her to hold? But, I have often wondered . . . if he had only . . . ”

  Here Holly did break off, turning to stare out at the lingering crowds before them for a moment in order to collect herself. When she looked at his lordship again, it was with a smile on her face.

  “And that is the long and uninteresting story of how the Tournier women ended up in Scotland. Do you have a similar tale to tell of how the Earl of Cumbermere came to be here?”

  For a moment there was no reaction from her companion. Then he looked over at her.

  “Oh, are you referring to me? I am sorry, I do not heed well to that calling.” He gave a grin. “There is no story. I came hunting a few years back and fell in love. With Clyne. In actual fact I was staying north of Melrose in Roxburgh, but then I drifted south and west and here I am. And that is the full, uninspiring history.” He smiled. “I am, however, not in the least bit surprised to hear your mother harbours romantic sentiments. I could not doubt it for a moment, for I cannot help but think her heart is as big as her mind.”

  Holly had fully collected herself by this time. “Well, I must say that is a singularly dull tale. You came hunting, saw it, liked it and bought it! I am disappointed. So you must humour my romantic disposition, passed down so successfully from my mother, and tell me a better story than that!”

  “Miss Tournier, I can assure you that you would not enjoy any story I would attempt to share,” he laughingly said. “I have no patience for well-built up suspense, surely you are the master of tale telling in this particular company. I will confine myself to quick and shallow insults as I have pledged in your case.”

  “Well, I must say you have been very idle on that front lately, too”, she said and sent him a sly look. “You’ve not grown tired of it, I hope. It would be a great disappointment to me, you know.”

  She watched and waited uncertainly, unsure of why she would have said such a thing.

  “Quite right,” he said dryly, not meeting her eyes but smiling. “You are quite right of course — nothing in the world would top my experiences today better than attacking you out in front of all these good villagers, thereby adding poor sportsmanship and boorish behaviour to my list of questionable achievements of the day. I do believe I am much better off to bow out gracefully, if such a thing is still possible, and return home. Still, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to salvage some pride and self-respect. You must allow me to thank you.”

  “I certainly will allow it, sir. But might I ask your reasons for feeling it necessary to offer thanks to me?”

  “For the happy conclusion to this day and for ensuring that it did not end up in the reds after all. It did look like this strange Run would have gone down in history as the most unfortunate excuse for the upholding of country traditions to my mind — and let me confess country traditions certainly were never favourites of mine to begin with. But, thankfully, as a result of these few moments, I find myself regarding this day with both fondness and pleasant surprise now. “

  He smiled. She gave him a delighted smile in return.

  “You are very welcome, sir. And may I return the same thanks to you?”

  “Of course,” Lord Baugham tipped his hat. “If you return the courtesy and tell me why.”

  Holly lowered her voice.

  “I saw you,” she said with a more serious tone. “I saw what you did when your horse . . . And I think you — ”

  She was interrupted by a familiar voice. “My lord! Oh, my lord, you must think I have not a decently grateful bone in my body . . . The prize ceremony . . . Mr McMahon . . . I was delayed . . . ”

  Sir Torquil was wading through the crowd, his eldest daughter very ably keeping up with him as he struggled up the little slope.

  Lord Baugham took a step away from Holly and, in light of what she had just been about to tell him, she felt oddly bereft.

  “The aldermen,” Sir Torquil breathed, “our distinguished Dr. Smellie . . . I must beg to introduce . . . ”

  His lordship threw a hasty look at Miss Tournier, but she was busy looking at her feet and then Primrose Tristam sided up between them so he could never receive the amused look he had hoped to share with her before Sir Torquil hastened him away to a party of small men in somber dress a few feet away.

  Holly watched him walk away. It really was his own fault, she reflected, since he would never deign to venture out into their little provincial circles. Perhaps he found them tedious, perhaps vulgar, but they would catch up with anyone who took to living here for any period of time. These little formalities were important to them and should not be mocked — but, as she watched him being introduced to the local dignitaries, she had to own he did not look mocking at all. Quite the opposite. Which made her wonder why . . .

  “So,” a pointed voice said beside her, “what on earth shall we talk about so exclusively now? You can hardly expect me to talk to you about books as well.”

 
Holly smiled and slowly turned to Primrose Tristam. “No,” she said slowly, “I cannot claim to expect that.”

  “Well, then,” Miss Tristam said.

  “But we didn’t talk about books,” Holly went on. “We talked about — ”

  “Oh?” She was interrupted by a snorting sound from Miss Tristam. “What else could you possibly have to talk about? Really, Holly!”

  Holly frowned. “I’m afraid I do not — ”

  “You’re the hired help,” Primrose Tristam said and leaned into Holly ever so slightly, at the same time as she pretended to share a confidence. “What else could you properly talk about to your employer? Certainly nothing of a personal nature. Holly, dear, such things are . . . unseemly.”

  “I . . . ” But it was a useless beginning to a protest that had no foundation. Primmie was right.

  “Let me give you some advice, my dear,” Primrose said and looked at her with sickly sweet concern. “Because we are such old friends and all that. I know you haven’t had the experience of many servants in your household, and you have no gentlemen about, so you may not be aware of their unfortunate tendencies to trifle with the help. I cannot tell you the stories I have heard, from Mama and my aunts, of how so many sweet young girls are brought to ruin because they mistook the intentions of their masters. Some so foolish as to even think he might marry them.” She paused for a tittering laugh before resuming her mission of mercy.

  “His lordship is all that is charming and affable, but you must be sure not to mistake any . . . interest he may show in you for anything more than what it is. After all, it is obvious that when he marries, he must choose a bride from among his own set. But, no man is past seeking out a little diversion with the hired help in the meanwhile. Books and the weather do not an attachment make!”

  Miss Tristam drew even closer and assumed an air of confidence, despite the fact that Holly remained resolutely silent. “To be truthful, Holly, I don’t understand why you don’t just accept Mr Grant and get it over with. He’s really your best prospect and if I were you I would move quickly before news of your current . . . work is spread too far abroad. He may begin to question the wisdom of wanting to marry a servant girl.”

  DR SMELLIE REALLY WAS A marvellous man, his lordship thought, perhaps because of his unfortunate name, for he was a man of dry and precise humour. The kind of humour that did not lend itself to friendship very well, but served as the perfect antidote to Sir Torquil’s anxious reassurances and interventions. There was an amusing comment about the fate of being smallbuilt when trying to catch the final dash into the Kye and the spilling of the pig’s blood and Lord Baugham laughed with his new acquaintances. His laughter, however, was stopped mid-stream when he happened to catch the eye of Miss Tournier. She was still standing in the spot where he had left her, but there was something about her expression that struck him. Suddenly this play was not so amusing; the attention not as gratifying as it had been just a moment earlier. Having allowed it to go this far, he was now obligated to see it through, but his thoughts were now on quickly extricating himself from this public display.

  After begging various pardons and promising possible future meetings, he was able to take his leave and retreat back to where Miss Tournier was standing motionless with the eldest Tristam daughter chatting to her in perfect cheerfulness.

  “Oh, very good work, my lord,” Primrose twittered as he came up to them. “Those dreary old men, I’m so glad you’re not one of those who find their company invaluable. I know Mama complains about Father being so embarrassingly fond of them that he stops and drags them around where ever he seems to meet them. You’re much better off back here with us.”

  Lord Baugham smiled and said he could hardly argue with that.

  “I must go.”

  He stared at Miss Tournier, but she would not meet his eyes.

  “Of course you must, my dear”, Primrose said and leaned over to catch Holly’s hands and give her a kiss on her cheek. “You dear creature.”

  She had hardly let go of her hands before Holly stepped away.

  “Miss Tournier!”

  She stopped, but seemed reluctant to turn around.

  “I . . . ” What could he say? He struggled with the appropriate words for a moment. “Thank you. Again. For helping me and guiding me through my first Run. I enjoyed it.”

  “You’re welcome, of course,” she muttered before turning away once more.

  “And now you must let me help you a little, my lord,” Primrose interjected, turning his attention back to herself. “A little supper . . . I know Mama and Father are most anxious . . . can’t let your employees carry all the weight . . . not paid . . . my pleasure . . . ”

  Holly could hear Primrose chatter away as she took herself down the slope and away from the last scene of the Ramsey Run. What she heard next should not have come as a surprise, but when Lord Baugham’s cheerful voice carried back to her, proclaiming that although Ned McMahon had won the race, it certainly turned out that he was carrying off the prize himself, accompanied by Miss Tristam’s delighted laughter, it made a great hole in her enjoyment of the day all the same.

  But it’s only to be expected, she rationalised, after all, I am merely an employee, not one of the “prominent” young ladies of the village. Despite herself, she turned and watched him being led away, Primmie clutching his arm comfortably and possessively, smiling and bowing to the accolades of the crowd. Once she thought he briefly caught her eye, but his expression as he swept past her seemed to confirm her own relative unimportance and standing among such company. She turned from the sickening scene before her and began to walk towards Rosefarm Cottage, filled with an unexpected and, she scolded herself, irrational disappointment; she had thought that perhaps she and his lordship were becoming friends . . . now she was corrected. If he was more at home with the false flatteries and simpering attentions of Miss Tristam, then he was welcome to them. She would remember her place and trouble him no longer with any attempt to be anything other than a hired librarian.

  Chapter 22

  On Gentlemanly Behaviour and Justifiable Defeats

  Hamish was gutted. He was no stranger to feelings of shame or disappointment, but the result of the Ramsey Run seemed to him to have offended some higher principle and he had felt compelled to quickly slip away from his family as soon as he saw his lordship rein in his horse and hesitate, giving over the victory. The only satisfaction he could claim was that Duncan’s instant jab in his ribs had prompted his mother to sharply smack her eldest’s head. Now he wandered alone back to the church knoll among the drunks and the giggling girls, past the fortune-tellers and the ale stalls behind the animal enclosures to be alone. He kicked at the heaps of straw in his path and wallowed freely in his misery. His lordship had lost in a humiliating way to Ned McMahon, upsetting Hamish’s newfound world order. Now, Ned was a good man, of course, and a local hero, and it was not really his person that had offended Hamish’s sensibilities. Certainly, his family’s victorious shouts and his neighbours’ gleeful looks had stung him, but the more he thought about it, he really did blame Lord Baugham for his present misery.

  “Ye could hae beaten him!” he muttered angrily. “I know you could’ve. Why didn’t ye make a real effort?”

  To Hamish, his employer’s dignity and success seemed the most important things in the world, but in his eyes, his lordship had simply not taken the competition seriously enough. He had done his part, bravely standing up for him among the locals, despite the opposition, but Lord Baugham had failed him. In conceding defeat so readily, he had not lived up to his promise of a heroic model. That was the wincing and incomprehensible defeat.

  He could not help but think of Captain Bob and how that gallant hero was also destitute on his return to England and how he was determined to overcome his desperate fate. In just a few days he would be there with a true hero again, facing insurmountable obstacles and valiant fights and that thought cheered him. Having no wish to go back and hear the r
est of the jeers and remarks his family had thought up for him since he left, he wandered down the slope and dodged the carts and bands of youths making their way to the grounds for more riotous fun as the evening approached.

  Suddenly he saw a familiar figure walking slowly down the church lane by the wall and he recognised Miss Tournier. Now, it was hard to know whether a gallant and protective spirit was awakened within him upon seeing this lonely figure walking, or whether he thought he had finally spotted someone who could give him the sympathy and reassurance he still felt lacking. Whatever the case, he set out in a trot and breathlessly called her attention to him long before he reached her side.

  “Miss Tournier! Miss! Oh, am I glad to see ye, miss!”

  Miss Tournier turned at the sound of her name and gave a genuine smile of delight. When he reached her, a little short of breath, he greeted her.

  “Good evening, miss. Ye should nae be out here on yer own like this. Where’s his lairdship?”

  Holly was touched by his concern and her expression showed it. “Well Hamish, I am very happy to see you. His lordship has found more appealing company than I am able to provide. But if I might take your arm as I am walking, I would feel much safer indeed.”

  Hamish did not believe that company more appealing than Miss Tournier’s could be found by anyone, but he very proudly held his arm out and beamed as she softly laid her hand upon it and allowed him to lead the way. “Where to, miss?” he questioned shyly.

  “Home, my friend. I should be getting home and so, by the way, should you. It is late.”

  “It’s nae that late, miss,” Hamish protested. “I’m quite used to staying out late. But I’ll go after I’ve seen ye home if you wish.”

  He was obviously happy to be of service and Holly smiled her thanks as he cheerfully guided her onwards.

  “So tell me Hamish, what did you think of this year’s Run? Did you find it exciting?”