“You could hardly expect him to feel like that! As a result he has now become violently antagonistic to all women and has forbidden them to enter The Castle.”
“All women?” the Viscount questioned.
“Anything in petticoats is barred,” Hamish answered. “There are men to sweep the floors, to cook and to look after Uncle Tarbot with a great deal of pomp and ceremony. But no woman may put a foot across the threshold.”
The Viscount leant back in his chair and laughed.
“I have never heard such a thing! It is like something out of a play.”
“It is serious enough, I can tell you,” Hamish said. “He is so bitter about them that, when inadvertently I mentioned my sister to him, he nearly bit my head off!”
“It sounds as if he is slightly nutty!” the Viscount remarked. “How old is he, by the way?”
“He is comparatively young,” Hamish replied, “which makes it all the worse. My grandfather married for the third time when he was an elderly man because, although he had two daughters, there was no heir.”
“Such things happen to the best of people,” the Viscount remarked.
“Uncle Tarbot was born when he was nearly sixty,” Hamish continued as if his friend had not spoken, “and he was, I suppose, spoilt from the moment he was born.”
“You have still not told me how old he is.”
“I think he is just thirty-three.”
The Viscount stared at his friend.
“Then why was your father not the heir to the Earldom and then you?”
Hamish smiled.
“I thought that you were aware, having known me for so long, that my father was only the stepson of the old Earl. He was the son of his second wife by her previous marriage.”
The Viscount looked puzzled, but Hamish went on,
“Because my grandmother had been married to his cousin and our surnames were the same, he more or less adopted me. I think actually he pretended to himself that I was his real son.”
He took a sip of his champagne before he said,
“I was very fond of the old man and, as my father had died when I was only fourteen, I began to think of myself as one day being the Chieftain of the Clan.”
“But your grandmother died,” the Viscount said in a sympathetic voice.
“She died,” Hamish said, “and then my grandfather, as I always called him, married for the third time and produced at what seemed almost his dying gasp the longed-for heir.”
“I have never heard of anything so complicated,” the Viscount exclaimed. “When you talked about your uncle – really step-uncle, I suppose – I always imagined him as being at least fifty!”
“That is what he seems to me,” Hamish answered, “and to tell you the truth, I find him rather frightening!”
He drank a little more champagne.
Then he said,
“At the same time, I am furious with him for being so disagreeable about my scheme for the lobsters and crabs. And I can tell you one thing, I am not going near that gloomy castle again!”
He paused before he added,
“Thank God my mother’s relatives can provide me with all the fishing and shooting I require, only unfortunately they are not on the sea.”
“It’s very annoying, I agree,” the Viscount said.
“I had really set my heart on making some money for a change,” Hamish added, “and it would have been interesting to organise the transport of the lobsters to London so that they came alive and quickly by train. They would certainly be in great demand in Clubs like this one.”
“That is true enough,” the Viscount agreed. “At the same time there is nothing you can do about it.”
“I suppose not,” Hamish said sullenly, “but the Earl – I refuse to call him ‘uncle’ in future – need not have been quite so aggressive about it. Nor need he make what is a very attractive castle into a tomb of gloom!”
The Viscount laughed.
“Are you thinking of taking your revenge on him in true Scottish fashion?”
“I would, if I could!” Hamish replied. “The difficulty is to know what I can do, short of physical violence.”
“I should avoid that,” the Viscount warned. “You know as well as I do that the Clansmen will follow him into battle, even though you do wear the same tartan!”
“He has a fine estate,” Hamish admitted as if he was talking to himself, “one of the best salmon rivers in Scotland and, according to what he said to me, all the money he needs.”
“That must be because he has no women to help him spend it!” the Viscount said cynically. “And it is doubtful, Hamish, if you will be able to afford that pretty little creature from the Gaiety without the money you expected to make from your lobsters and crabs.”
“I have been thinking that all the way down from Scotland,” Hamish said. “Damn the Earl, damn him, for refusing to listen to what was a sound idea!”
“Perhaps you will think of another one,” the Viscount suggested.
“I doubt it,” Hamish replied. “And I am certain that, if we could have made the project work, the whole Clan would have benefitted. Their Chieftain may be rich, but many of them find it difficult to make any money, especially when there are not the number of fishermen there should be on the river.”
“They are employed as gillies,” the Viscount said, “and they are given good tips in the shooting season.”
“They will not get that if there are no shooting parties,” Hamish replied.
“Your uncle is hardly likely to dispense with those,” the Viscount remarked.
“I would not be too sure,” Hamish said. “I think he has gone a bit off his rocker and intends to live the life of a monk or a hermit.”
“As he is so young, I don’t suppose that will last for ever,” the Viscount answered. “Perhaps some woman will drop down on him out of a balloon or swim in from the sea when he is least expecting it!”
There was silence.
Then Hamish turned to look at his friend.
“You have just given me an idea!”
“Not another one!” the Viscount groaned.
“It’s not an idea for making money, but to have my revenge on the man I used to call my uncle.”
The Viscount laughed.
“I thought that you would insist on stabbing him in the back sooner or later.”
“That’s the right word!” Hamish said. “Do you know what I am going to do?”
“I am waiting for you to tell me.”
“I am going to send the mournful Earl a pretty woman with my compliments!”
The Viscount stared at him.
“You cannot do that!”
“Why not? If she just arrives, not from a balloon or from the sea, he will have to speak to her and, as there is only one train a day, he will have to put her up for the night.”
“You are not serious?” the Viscount asked.
“I certainly am!” Hamish replied. “He was pretty rude to me. He scoffed at my idea and said that as long as he was the Chieftain he was not going into trade, however much I might like to lower myself by doing so.”
“I suppose that is the sort of attitude he can afford to take,” the Viscount remarked.
“He may be able to afford it, but I cannot! I need money and I would certainly like to hit back at a Scotsman who has hit me.”
“And how do you propose to set about it?” the Viscount asked.
There was silence for some minutes until Hamish said,
“I suppose I could go to a domestic bureau, although it might be difficult to explain exactly what I wanted.”
“I should think it would be easier to advertise,” the Viscount suggested.
“That is it!” Hamish exclaimed. “You have hit the nail on the head! I will advertise for a young and pretty woman who is willing to go to Scotland.”
“And are you going to tell her what she can expect when she arrives there? If so, she will not be such a fool as to accept your sug
gestion .”
Hamish thought again.
“I shall tell her,” he said slowly, “that I am asking her to be the companion to a man who is deaf, blind and growing old before his time!”
The Viscount laughed.
“It will be very hard on her when she finds out the truth.”
“That is the truth!” Hamish said aggressively. “The Earl is deaf to any sensible ideas, is blind in that he cannot see the advantages that my plan would bring to the Clan and he is certainly behaving like a disillusioned old man rather than one with many years of life ahead of him!”
The Viscount laughed again.
“All right, old boy, you win!” he said. “And, of course, I will help you, as I have helped you before with many of your outrageous ideas!”
“It will give me immense satisfaction to get even with him,” Hamish smiled.
“I am quite certain you are starting a feud,” the Viscount commented, “which will continue for generations and become part of the history of Scotland!”
“I hope you are right! And if nothing else, he will know I have made a fool of him and that is a satisfaction in itself.”
He beckoned the Steward and told him to bring him writing paper, pen and ink.
The two friends composed the advertisement together and addressed the envelope to The Morning Post.
Then Hamish said,
“I have told any applicants to reply here, but I can hardly interview them in my lodgings.”
“No, of course not,” the Viscount agreed. “However, as my father is in the country, Warren House is at your disposal.”
Hamish smiled.
“I hoped you would say that, and any woman would be impressed.”
“Let’s hope that you have somebody to impress!” the Viscount said warningly.
After the advertisement appeared in the newspaper, Hamish waited eagerly for letters to arrive.
To his surprise when he went into White’s Club rather earlier than usual there were only three.
The first two he opened were hopeless.
The first was from a woman who said that she was not as young as the advertisement requested, but she was exceedingly experienced with older people and was prepared, if she was paid enough, to go to Scotland.
The second letter was from a Scotswoman who was living in London and she said that she could only go if she was allowed to take her two children with her, one of whom was four years of age and the other six.
Hamish was feeling anxious by the time he opened the third letter.
It was from a Miss Jacoba Ford and he showed it to the Viscount as soon as he joined him.
“It certainly sounds exactly what you want,” the Viscount remarked.
“We will know if that is so as soon as we have interviewed her,” Hamish said. “I have already written to tell her to come to London on Wednesday, but, of course, there may be some other applicants in the meantime.”
In fact, there were no other letters.
*
While he was waiting in Warren House for Jacoba’s arrival, he was praying that she would be as good as her letter suggested she was.
The Viscount, who had been out to luncheon, helped himself to a brandy from the grog tray.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked as he picked up his glass.
Hamish shook his head.
“I want to have my wits about me when I explain to this woman exactly what she has to do.”
“If you frighten her, she will refuse to go,” the Viscount warned him.
“I am aware of that,” Hamish said, “which is why I intend to choose my words very carefully. I have also thought of something else I intend to do.”
“What can that be?” the Viscount asked warily.
“I shall pay for only a single ticket to Scotland!”
The Viscount stared at him.
“Surely you are being a bit rough on the woman?”
“The Earl will have to pay to be rid of her!” Hamish explained.
“Suppose he refuses to do so?” the Viscount suggested.
“Oh, give him his due,” Hamish protested. “He is a gentleman! He would hardly allow a woman to starve on his doorstep.”
“If you ask me,” the Viscount said, “both you and your uncle are creatures from an outlandish part of the world which is out of touch with modern modes of behaviour!”
“What you are saying is that we are primitive!” Hamish said. “That is true. The Scots have always had to fight for their existence and so there is therefore nothing effete about us. We are positive, forceful and very revengeful!”
The Viscount raised his glass.
“Here’s to your revenge, Hamish, and may it never boomerang on you!”
As he spoke the door opened and the butler in a pontifical voice announced,
“Miss Jacoba Ford, my Lord.”
Jacoba came into the room and both men stared at her.
Hamish was not quite certain what he expected, but certainly no one as lovely as the girl standing in the doorway.
Because Jacoba was frightened her eyes seemed to fill her whole face and she looked very young, nervous and somehow unsubstantial.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Hamish jumped to his feet and held out his hand.
“I am Hamish McMurdock,” he said, “who put the advertisement in the newspaper that you answered. It was very kind of you to come to London so quickly.”
He shook her by the hand and then said,
“May I introduce my friend – the Viscount Warren? His father, the Earl of Warrenton, owns this house.”
Because she felt it was correct, Jacoba bobbed him a little curtsey.
The Viscount thought how graceful she was.
“Will you sit down?” Hamish suggested, indicating the sofa.
“Perhaps you would like some refreshment?” the Viscount came in. “May I offer you a glass of wine, or perhaps some sherry?”
“I would be very grateful for a glass of water,” Jacoba replied.
She was in fact very thirsty and also hungry.
She had watched the lady in the corner of the carriage eat an enormous luncheon of cold chicken, pork pie, cheese and fruit.
Although there was food and fruit left in the basket when she had finished, she had not offered Jacoba so much as a plum.
They had been alone for the last two hours before they reached London and she had turned over and over in her mind whether she should be brave and ask if she could just have one of the biscuits the lady had not eaten with her cheese.
Then she had thought it would be very embarrassing if she said no.
So she had instead gazed out of the window and tried not to think of food.
The Viscount brought her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully.
“Now what we have to discuss,” Hamish said when she put the nearly empty glass down on the small table beside her, “is how soon you can go to Scotland.”
“I-I am ready to – do so – at once,” Jacoba replied.
She saw that Hamish looked surprised and she explained,
“My parents are dead and my home has been sold, so I have – nowhere to go.”
“And you have nowhere to stay in London tonight?” Hamish asked.
“I-I thought,” Jacoba said hesitatingly, “and – perhaps it was – foolish of me – that I would be able to start the journey to Scotland – right away.”
Hamish hesitated.
“I was hoping,” he said, “that you could go tomorrow. There is a train leaving King’s Cross at nine-twenty in the morning which goes direct to Edinburgh. From there it is a short journey by train to Glasgow, where you will have to change onto the West Highland Railway.”
Jacoba drew in her breath.
Both men were aware that she was finding it all rather frightening.
“I am sure that there will not be any difficulty,” Hamish said quickly, “and I will buy you a ticket straight through to Inverglen, which is
the nearest station to The Castle, which is where my uncle lives.”
“It is your – uncle to whom I am to be – companion?” Jacoba asked.
“Yes, my uncle!” Hamish said firmly. “He is the Earl of Kilmurdock and is very much in need of a companion, so I am sure that you will suit him admirably.”
“I-I will do my best,” Jacoba said, “and I have had some experience of dealing with elderly people.”
She was thinking as she spoke of the pensioners in the cottages who were really her uncle’s responsibility, but because Lord Bresford spent so much time in London her mother had looked after them.
When her mother died, she had carried on listening to their complaints, giving them herbs for their ailments just as her mother had done.
“That is all I wanted to know,” Hamish said, “and I am sure that you will find Scotland very interesting, if you have not been there before.”
“I have always longed to visit it,” Jacoba said.
“Then this is your opportunity,” he replied.
There was silence, until the Viscount said unexpectedly,
“I think, Hamish, you should tell Miss Ford what salary she can expect from your uncle.”
“Yes, of course,” Hamish said quickly, knowing that his friend was teasing him.
Looking directly at Jacoba he said,
“I am certain that you will have no difficulty in arranging a reasonable sum with my uncle, who is a wealthy man, and I will give you a First Class ticket and five pounds for tips and any food you may require on the journey.”
“Thank you, thank you very much,” Jacoba answered.
She had counted her money before she left home and only hoped that it would be enough if she had to stay the night.
Mr. Brownlow had been so insistent she must not touch the money her mother had left her, which was invested and she had therefore thought that she could manage on what was left of the housekeeping money.
Her father had given her a larger sum than usual because he had expected to be away for several weeks and actually he had been on his way back sooner than that.
She had, of course, been expected to provide food for the three elderly relatives who had attended his funeral and also feed herself.
Mr. Brownlow had been kind enough to pay what she owed in the village and she had finally been left with two pounds ten shillings in cash.
74. Love Lifts The Curse Page 3
