“I am more optimistic in that regard than the duke. I believe Killin is still willing to consider—and I emphasise consider—the possibility of taking you as his wife. That demonstrates great generosity of spirit on his part.”
“Or a good deal of ambition. Not,” Margaret amended hastily, recalling Lochiel’s thoughts on the subject, “that there is anything wrong with a man wishing to better himself.”
“Or with a daughter wishing to help augment her family’s fortunes,” her mother replied tartly. “It is because both of these aims can be satisfied that this match is such an advantageous one. All you have to do is apply yourself diligently, as Victoria did, when she married Kerr. The proof of the pudding, so to speak, is that she is now expecting an interesting event. If you put your mind to it, I am sure that you could come to care for Killin as a wife ought.”
“If Victoria can do it, so can I.”
Her mother studied her silently for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Once these allegations have been shown to be vindictive mischief-making I am confident that between us, you and I can bring Killin round. Provided, of course, that they can be demonstrated to be arrant nonsense.” The duchess got to her feet and made her way to the window, which faced out onto Whitehall. “I am obliged to obtain your assurance on that.”
“Mama, really! You shouldn’t need to ask.”
“Spare me the indignation and tell me in plain terms what happened. One cannot blame that blasted footman for drawing the conclusions he did. Anyone who saw you that night would have thought the same.”
“My gown was torn when I hid in the bushes.”
“Why did you feel obliged to hide in the bushes?”
Damn and blast! I can’t betray Lochiel. “There were two sailors,” Margaret said, grasping at this partial truth. “They were singing. I thought they sounded drunk, so I hid.”
“Good heavens.”
Mama continued to look out of the window. The urge to blurt out the whole truth was strong, she longed to wipe the slate clean, but trying to imagine her mother’s reaction when she heard that Margaret had been exchanging confidences with Fraser Scott and was escorted home by another male guest at the ball—no. The Morning Post had made something vile out of the scant details it had obtained; what anyone would make of the real truth didn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, she wouldn’t embroil Lochiel in the debacle, not when he’d acted so nobly and gone to such lengths. . . .
“Oh my goodness, I completely forgot!” With a mental apology to the man who had gone to the trouble of retrieving the bracelet and sending it express to Dalkeith, Margaret took the item from her pocket. “It was when I was hiding that I must have lost this. I took the opportunity to look for it the other day while I was awaiting your arrival. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found it.” She offered a silent prayer of contrition for this necessary white lie.
“My bracelet! My goodness, I thought I had lost it forever.”
“The catch . . .”
“Oh, it is faulty, I know. I should have told you when I lent it to you. Thank you, Margaret. It is not a particularly valuable piece, but it is of great sentimental value to me.” Tucking the bracelet into a pocket, her mother resumed her seat. “Now,” she said briskly, “let us to business. First and most importantly, I must ask you to retain a dignified silence regarding the events of that evening.”
“I am more than happy never to have to discuss that evening ever again.”
“Good. Officially, it remains the case that you were taken suddenly ill and have been recuperating at Dalkeith. You are now fully restored to health. The first and most immediate priority is to put an end to any speculation that your innocence has been compromised. Therefore we need to show you off in public. There are not many opportunities until the Season starts, of course, but we will accept every invitation and I shall make a point of hosting a soirée myself. You will naturally be the focus of attention. Stand up and let me take a look at you.”
Studying her closely, the duchess’s expression lightened. “I do not have my measuring tape to hand, but it looks to me as if you have finally managed to refine both your appetite and your figure into a form more befitting a lady. However, it would do no harm to lose another inch or two. Fortunately, we have a few weeks before Parliament resumes at the start of February for you to go on a strict reducing diet as of now. In the meantime, Molly must spare no effort in lacing you up as tightly as can be managed. The next few months are critical. You may leave it up to me to make the overtures to Killin. I beg of you, Margaret, don’t let us down again. A cat, however endearing, has only so many lives.”
Chapter Ten
London, February 1866 (Six Weeks Later)
Donald took Lady Margaret’s arm as they set off from Montagu House.
“Thank you for being so obliging as to come to my assistance once again, Lochiel,” she said. “In fact I am doubly grateful to you, not only for arranging this meeting with Mr. Scott on my behalf but for acting as my escort.”
“Would an additional female chaperone not be considered appropriate?”
“Normally, yes, but on balance I decided that having Molly trail in our wake where we are going would attract unnecessary attention, which I definitely wish to avoid at all costs.”
“That is a good point.”
“And beside, you are all the chaperone I need,” she added. “A respected diplomat and a friend of my father’s to boot.”
Donald grimaced. “I am younger than your father by some decades.”
“Really? Perhaps it is the beard.”
“You don’t approve of it, then?”
Lady Margaret wrinkled her nose, making her feelings quite plain, before recovering herself. “I know that the style is the height of fashion. It certainly makes you look very dignified, which is a blessing today. I mean, not even the gutter press could put a scandalous slant on our being seen together, could they? If they saw us, which they won’t, surely—we’re not likely to run into a reporter from the Morning Post where we are going, are we?”
“I doubt it very much, but if you are at all worried . . .”
“I am permanently terrified of attracting adverse press comment, I would be a fool not to be, after what they wrote about me. Did you see it?”
“It was scurrilous. I’m sure no-one believed a word of it.”
“I have become so adept at sticking to the tale of my sudden illness that I almost believe it myself. If people are still speculating, they do so out of my hearing.”
She spoke lightly, but Donald, having witnessed her stoically endure the covert looks and furious whispering at various social gatherings over the last few weeks, knew that the farrago of lies and innuendo had taken a toll. “If you felt it would improve your standing with your parents, I would be more than happy to divulge the true story.”
“Oh no! One of the few consolations I have is that I managed to keep you out of it. I am very glad to have the opportunity, now that we are finally alone, to thank you in person for all that you have done.”
“There is absolutely no need. I am simply glad to have been of service.”
“Then you are a most singular man, considering how I treated you that night. To be so obliging as to track down Mr. Scott too, which, despite your making light of it, I know must have been a most burdensome task.” Lady Margaret smiled up at him. “You have my heartfelt thanks and undying gratitude.”
To his horror, Donald felt his cheeks colouring. “It is Mr. Scott who is the true hero, for keeping your mother’s bracelet in safe hands.”
“Which is to his enormous credit, don’t you think? The temptation must have been strong to sell or pawn it, for the sum raised would have been considerable, especially for a man in his situation, with a wife and family to keep. I have been thinking about our extraordinary encounter a great deal. Do you know, Lochiel, I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say that meeting Mr. Scott has made me view the world in a very different light.”
“Really? In what way?”
“Well, he made me see that the world I live in and the one he inhabits are vastly different, even though they exist cheek by jowl. I have been trying to remedy my ignorance through reading, but though Mr. Mayhew’s descriptions of London are extremely evocative, it’s not the same as experiencing it first hand, is it?”
Donald listened, bemused, as she launched into an enthusiastic summary of her research, giving him a glimpse, for the first time since her return to London, of the vibrant young woman who had taken last Season by storm. It would not do to condemn outright the actions of any parents regarding their daughter, but in his opinion, Lady Margaret had been treated harshly. Her retreat from society had been necessary, but her total estrangement from her family he thought unduly cruel. Were the duke and duchess gratified by the outcome, a now very correct young lady who made polite if guarded conversation? Certainly Killin seemed to approve. Hovering over her at every gathering, the earl had unsurprisingly decided to sacrifice pride in the pursuit of advancement.
Donald had steered them onto Parliament Street when they left Montagu House, avoiding Downing Street and next to it, on King Charles Street, the palatial new Foreign Office. Though the building was by no means complete, it was already occupied by diplomats and their staff. He had been spending a large proportion of his time there, during this sojourn from his Berlin posting, and had no desire to bump into anyone he knew, given his present company. Lady Margaret might consider him well beyond the age of acting the gallant, but his colleagues would see matters very differently. Good-natured teasing about belatedly settling into domesticity he was accustomed to, but she was the charming daughter of a very influential duke who happened to be one of the richest men in the country. He had no wish to be accused of pursuing an advantageous match, especially when the lady in question considered him a benign old gentleman.
Lady Margaret interrupted this rather depressing train of thought by tugging on his sleeve. “I meant to ask, is my outfit suitably nondescript? I am wearing my very plainest bonnet and cloak.”
“The bonnet alone would be worth a week’s wages in a second-hand clothing emporium.”
“It is known as a slop-shop,” she informed him, looking smug. “I learned that from Mr. Mayhew’s book, but it was Mr. Scott who taught me my first cant words. A gonoph is a young pickpocket, you know.”
“I did not, but it is a timely reminder for us to keep our wits about us.”
“It’s hard to believe that there is a den of iniquity nearby,” Lady Margaret said, looking around her.
“You mean apart from the Houses of Parliament! When they built Victoria Street and the train station, they cleared some of the worst of the slums but, astonishing as it may sound, this area around Parliament and the Abbey is one of the most notorious in the city.”
“What about the people who lived there? Where have they ended up? I shall ask Mr. Scott—he is bound to know.”
Mr. Scott, the font of all knowledge, Donald thought dryly. They were in Broad Sanctuary now, and ahead of them at the start of Victoria Street loomed the Westminster Palace Hotel. “That is Lord Raglan’s statue over there,” he said. “What does your Mr. Scott make of him, I wonder?”
“Not much,” she replied. “He said that the Charge of the Light Brigade was sheer stupidity and needless slaughter dressed up as heroism. His words stuck in my head, and they were so very contrary to what Mr. Tennyson wrote in his poem. Since Mr. Scott was there, and Lord Tennyson was not, I know who I believe. It should be Mr. Scott, or one of his comrades, up on that plinth, not Lord Raglan.”
“A radical idea.”
“Ironically, Mr. Scott would agree with you. He doesn’t consider himself a hero. Genuine heroes never do, do they? Mr. Scott lost both his legs fighting for our country, but instead of bemoaning his fate he got on with his life. I want to be more like Mr. Scott: roll my sleeves up and do something useful.” Her face fell. “Though I have no idea what.”
She seemed quite unaware that marriage would in all probability put paid to any ambitions she had. Killin wouldn’t tolerate a wife who thought for herself, never mind made her own decisions. Besides, once she was married, with all the responsibilities of her husband’s various households to run, and the social obligations which accompanied her new status, she would have very little time to call her own. The thought was strangely depressing, so he banished it.
Margaret eyed Lochiel doubtfully. “What have I said to make you look so sad?”
“Nothing at all.” To her surprise he pressed her hand. “Stay close now; once we turn into Dean Street we are quite literally entering another world.”
He was not exaggerating. As he steered her into a much narrower byway, the cobbles underfoot gave way to a mixture of mud, slime, straw, and an array of rotting vegetation. A ditch filled with sluggish grey water ran down one side, containing bobbing bits of flotsam she decided it would be prudent not to examine too closely. The air seemed to thicken, the stench from the Thames playing second fiddle to the sweet, sickly smell of decay and the stale, musty reek of unwashed bodies. Margaret tightened her grip on her escort’s arm as the grimy, soot-blackened buildings on either side of them closed in. Now she understood Lochiel’s initial reluctance to bring her here.
“We can turn back at any point, you know,” he said, slowing, but she shook her head.
“Absolutely not. Mr. Scott is expecting me.”
If Lochiel thought there was a genuine risk of harm befalling her, nothing she said would have persuaded him to bring her here. Buoyed by this, and trusting that the boots she had thankfully had the presence of mind to put on would protect her feet from the worst of what she was treading in, she sneaked incredulous glances at her surroundings.
It was as if they were walking a tight-rope strung between two worlds. On her left she could still see the clock tower of the Palace of Westminster peeking up over the Abbey. A large rectangle of green, followed by some sort of public edifice, perhaps another government department, occupied the left hand side of the thoroughfare. On the right, a warren of much lower, more-primitive buildings huddled together, as if seeking warmth and safety in numbers. Ladders and terrifyingly flimsy bridges were suspended between the roofs. The alleys between were so narrow that virtually no sunlight penetrated the gloom. Brown and grey were the predominant colours, from the sky to the buildings, the pallor of the people, and the contents of the carts that fought for space. Silent figures stood wide-eyed and staring in doorways, their clothes not much more than rags, their bare feet filthy. Though no-one approached them, almost everyone gazed with a kind of blank curiosity that Margaret found unsettling. Despite the air being filled with the calls of the costers pushing their barrows, with men hailing each other across the narrow street, coupled with raucous laughter blaring from what she assumed, from the smell, to be a gin shop, she had the strangest feeling that she and Lochiel were walking in a bubble of silence.
The next turning, away from the worst of the deprivation and what she belatedly realised must have been the rookery known as Devil’s Acre, surprised her again, for the alley opened out onto a church square, and she could once again see the warehouses and wharves of the river. The houses here were terraced, small but built with something resembling a plan. On the other side of the square, the shouts and screams were of children at play in a yard in front of what she surmised was a school.
“Here we are,” Lochiel said, indicating one of the tiny cottages.
“Would you mind terribly if I saw Mr. Scott on my own?” Margaret asked impulsively. “I know Mama would say it is improper, but . . .”
“I think we’ve gone well beyond the bounds of propriety already, don’t you?” Lochiel touched her arm. “I’ll wait here for you. Take as long as you need.”
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you for your forbearance. I didn’t mean to be so long, but Mr. Scott’s wife insisted I take tea, and I had so many questions, and . . .”
Lochiel shook h
is head. “I can tell from the smile on your face that it went well.”
“I feel so much better.” Margaret beamed. “I know you made things right with him, but it has been weighing on my mind, how much I owe him. It mattered a great deal to be able to thank him in person. And now I owe you for helping me to do so. I am extremely grateful.”
Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm, but he didn’t seem to mind at all, pressing her fingers and smiling down at her. “Was he able to enlighten you regarding the displaced tenants?”
“Why, yes, and it was shocking to hear. It seems that no provision was made for them at all. How could that have been permitted?”
“The demand for new roads and railways is insatiable. Even your father could not prevent the building of the new embankment in front of Montagu House. He was heavily criticised in the press for putting his personal wishes before public need.”
“Ha! Then I am not after all the first member of our family to bring the Buccleuch name into disrepute!”
“To be fair, the duke later claimed that his position had been misunderstood.”
“My position has been misunderstood,” Margaret said indignantly. “However,” she continued, taking a deep breath, “that is in the past. I must remember that my father knows best. What have I said to make you smile?”
“You said it as if you were swallowing a particularly unpalatable spoonful of medicine. Your determination to be a dutiful daughter is laudable.”
“I wish my father were more like Mr. Scott. No, don’t laugh. I mean that he has a very enlightened attitude to female education. His little girl, Heather, is particularly bright, much more able than his two boys—his words, not mine. He has set aside the reward money you gave him to enrol her in a decent school. I have arranged to meet little Heather at a future date; I am keen to make her acquaintance. What do you say to that, Lochiel?”
Her Heart for a Compass Page 9
