Georgiana stared at her. ‘What else could I do? He kept following me around, showering me with compliments, and James was nowhere to be seen.’
‘He feared …’ Margaret sighed. ‘He should tell you.’
‘So now you want me to lie, to protect your ill-bred brother’s reputation,’ Georgiana said. ‘What does James think?’
‘He’s in despair. Disgusted with himself and convinced you will never want to see him again. He says your story was accurate and you should not change it one iota.’ Margaret sighed. ‘Which means this will never be resolved, and our families can no longer be friends.’
Georgiana wondered if she were being unreasonable. Was it better to draw a veil over the truth, to avoid humiliating Lord Dunbar’s heir? But she had been brought up by a father and brother who valued honesty above all else. Whatever the consequences, she could not bring herself to conceal the truth merely to appease Alistair.
23
Down late after a disturbed night, Elizabeth found the breakfast room empty. A maid took her order for tea and poached eggs; while waiting she helped herself to oats and cream, rolls, and pickled salmon from the buffet.
‘Where are the others?’ she asked.
The spindly red-faced girl poured tea. ‘Cap’n and Mrs Mackay are away tae Thurso, for the shops. Miss Isobel was up at dawn tae ride. The laird is wi’ the mistress.’
Elizabeth puzzled over the tension in Strathmaran following their return from Edinburgh. She was used to friendliness from Morag, animosity from Isobel, suspicion from the matriarch, Flora. Now Morag ignored her, Isobel seemed to hate everyone, and only Flora and the men were polite.
Hector Mackay looked in, and after a pause took cold mutton from the buffet and joined her.
‘No sign of the new factor,’ he said.
‘I’m expecting Mr MacFarlane by the end of the week.’
‘We were surprised you left Mr Darcy behind in Edinburgh. Are you perhaps having second thoughts?’
She coloured: was this how all the Mackays saw Darcy, as Hector’s rival for her hand? It was tempting to set him straight, but she had no desire to elaborate on an intimate matter that was none of his business.
He leaned closer. ‘I was thinking of the, ah, proposition that I made when we first met. At the time I admit it was a jump in the dark, but I know you better now, and have seen you with the tenants. You’d make a fine laird’s wife for the estate.’
She shivered, wishing he would leave. ‘I thank you for the compliment, major, but my answer is the same.’
‘You’re set on the Englishman then?’
She recoiled, and was preparing a rebuff when she noticed Isobel at the door, her lovely face flushed with exercise. The girl advanced a few steps and faced her brother with contempt.
‘She’ll nae be wanting an ugly brute like yerself, Hector, wi’ a braw English gentleman awaiting her in Derbyshire.’
‘Ye’ll mind yer tongue, lassie, and nae interrupt a private conversation!’ In his anger, Elizabeth noticed, Hector reverted to dialect.
Isobel stood her ground, and with a grunt Hector rose. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Bailey. I’ll be leaving you to the tender charms of my sister.’
Elizabeth expected Isobel to follow him out, but instead she took his chair, looking ill at ease.
‘Will ye walk with me, Mrs Bailey, since it’s a fine day? I’ve a mind tae take the path tae Callach.’
Elizabeth froze in astonishment, for never in their acquaintance had Isobel ever suggested doing anything together. She could not help recalling, moreover, that it was on this very stretch of coast that Thomas had fallen to his death.
She pushed her plate away. ‘Now?’
‘I’ll see ye in the forecourt.’
The girl ran out, leaving Elizabeth perplexed and not a little apprehensive.
The Maran was shallow in summer, driving fishermen inland where salmon collected in deep pools. Isobel hastened over the bridge, hair streaming, dressed in a plain dark blue gown with white plaid shawl. She stopped at a crossroads and pointed.
‘Coastal path or moor?’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Moor, if you’ll guide me.’
‘Afraid I’ll push ye off the cliff?’ Isobel’s grin froze, as if she had suddenly recalled the tragedy of the previous year.
‘No doubt you’d like to.’
‘I didna mean …’ Isobel coloured. ‘Mrs Bailey, I’ve misjudged ye.’
Elizabeth stared at her, divided between amazement at such a reversal, and amusement at the girl’s discomfiture. ‘Am I better than you thought, or worse?’
Isobel laughed, and waggled a finger. ‘I see ye’re nae going tae make this easy for me!’ She moved off, and they walked side by side through a gap in the gorse.
‘What provoked this change of heart?’
‘How ye were with the tenants. At the funeral. I talked wi’ them while ye were visiting folk that couldnae come. They trust ye, tae do the best ye can.’
‘All of which you could have observed before, had you taken the trouble.’
‘I thought it was just show. Another English lady with her fine dresses and gifts and superior accent, pretending tae care for us but really looking for the best way tae line her pockets.’
Elizabeth thought back to her first meeting with the Mackays, when she had brought exotic fabrics from Edinburgh and joked about feuding clans. Had she really appeared superior and proud?
‘You could have sought to know me better, instead of rejecting me merely on account of being English.’
‘Ye reminded me of Morag, a Lowlander that canna wait tae escape tae Edinburgh, or what she would call civilisation. And now pressing Hector tae turn the whole estate into a farm so that we can all go tae the city and live off the proceeds.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘For all I know they might be right. I just hate the way they ignore the villagers.’
‘Aye.’ Isobel touched her arm. ‘Ye’re a guid person, Elizabeth. I’m terrible sorry.’ Suddenly she put a finger to her lips. ‘Doon!’
Alarmed, Elizabeth kneeled beside her on the spongy turf. ‘What is it?’
‘That grunt,’ Isobel whispered. ‘Red stag, I’m guessing. Can ye crawl forward?’
‘Of course. You lead.’
‘Ye’ll muddy yer fine English dress.’
‘Don’t be an idiot. I want to see the stag.’
They clambered over a patch of heather leading to a ridge, where Isobel stopped and pointed. A hundred paces away, antlers protruded over the hilltop. The stag disappeared, perhaps feeding, then came into view again as it crested the slope. A second deer came up and for a moment the two animals froze, as if posing, before descending out of sight.
‘Where’s a shotgun when ye need it?’ Isobel said.
‘To kill such a beautiful beast? Shame on you.’
‘Ye’re soft, Sassenach. We have tae eat.’
Elizabeth rolled into a sitting position, enjoying the springy comfort of the heather. ‘Isobel, was there an understanding between you and Thomas before he met me?’
‘Why would ye think that?’
‘Something Flora said the day I arrived at Strathmaran. She had expected Thomas to marry one of her daughters.’
Isobel laughed. ‘Ye thought I was consumed with jealousy because ye’d stolen my man?’
‘It would have explained your animosity.’
Isobel breathed deeply, becoming serious. ‘We were friends, Thomas and I, I’ll grant ye that. And I was angry that he would marry a Sassenach. But lovers, no, that was just mother’s imagination. Not my type at all.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘What is your type?’
‘Warriors. Men that ken how tae get their way, and can defend their wives and bairns.’
‘I wonder you haven’t been marched to the altar already, with so many Highland regiments in the vicinity.’
‘Och, I can wait, and when I spy the right man, I’ll get him, nae lose him tae some la-di-da Englishwoman.’<
br />
They regained the track, flanked by hillocks carpeted in heather. Isobel had relaxed, perhaps realising that she had been forgiven, but she defiantly seized every chance to vent her disapproval of anything English. Elizabeth was unoffended: what had previously been rudeness had become banter. But she decided eventually to grasp the nettle.
‘Can you not see that this is prejudice, Isobel? No better than the Lowlander who dismisses all Highlanders as savages?’
‘Ye should mind the history.’
‘Thomas told me of the massacres after Culloden. But your family supported the British, against the rebels.’
‘Aye, we did, but nae what followed! Have ye heard of proscription? Twas an act of parliament, just after the rebellion. Ye could talk tae my mother, who grew up under its edicts. A Highlander couldna carry arms, or wear tartan, on penalty of death or transportation. Except for the regiments, of course, which the English needed to fight their wars. We couldnae hold gatherings, which meant that the Games were forbidden. Nor teach Gaelic tae our bairns. Nor play the pipes.’ She faced Elizabeth, indignant. ‘They were trying tae wipe out the Highland culture, ye ken.’
‘Thomas said the act had been repealed.’
‘Aye, after decades had passed and a new generation grown up.’ She snorted. ‘How would ye feel, if Bonaparte invaded yer precious England and ordered ye not tae wear yer bonnet or drink tea or play cricket or attend dances? Not only as a punishment, but as a deliberate attempt tae get rid of these practices forever?’
Elizabeth was quiet, absorbing this. ‘I would feel anger, and yes, hate. As you do.’
They bridged a stream, where a group of travellers had descended to a hollow to drink. Isobel stopped, frowning, as a woman called out and ran towards them.
‘She’s asking for help.’ Isobel left the track, with Elizabeth following, and spoke to the woman in Gaelic.
‘They’re cottars from Strathnaver,’ Isobel translated breathlessly. ‘Inland, fifty miles west. The Staffords’ factor Patrick Sellar is clearing out villages tae make room fer a sheep farm. They’ve been walking five days and have nae bread nor money.’ She sighed in frustration. ‘I didna bring any food, but we can try Portstroma.’
Elizabeth remembered she had brought an apple, and handed it to the woman. Three children approached, and the woman offered the apple to each in turn for a bite. A little girl, the youngest, sat on a mound of grass, revealing bare feet bleeding from scratches.
‘This is terrible,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Let’s take them back to Strathmaran and give them a proper meal.’
Isobel spoke again to the woman, who nodded.
Progress was slow. The boys and their parents had been carrying bundles, one of which Elizabeth held, while Isobel carried the girl. Conversation continued, mostly with the mother.
‘Name is Farr,’ Isobel said. ‘He did carpentry and other odd jobs for the tenants. The laird was a Mackay in th’bygane, but the Staffords bought Strathnaver and have legal authorisation for forced removal. Some have trekked tae the coast, or Glasgow, but Mr Farr is looking for his cousin in Thurso.’
Elizabeth explained her encounter at the ball with the Marchioness of Stafford. ‘She said there would be work fishing or crofting for the people displaced.’
‘Aye, Sellar offered lots of a few acres on the coast for tenants, but cottars and tinkers are nae entitled, so they have tae leave and look for work elsewhere.’ Isobel threw her a sly glance. ‘Still going tae sell her Laramore?’
‘I could have done. My lawyer advised it.’ She paused. ‘Is this what your brother and Mr Brodie were planning?’
‘I hope less heartless.’ Isobel sighed. ‘This wee lassie grows heavier by the minute.’
‘I’ll carry her.’
They swapped loads, and Elizabeth pondered the implications as Isobel continued questioning Mrs Farr. How could she sell to Hector Mackay, let alone the Staffords, when such ruination lay in wait for her tenants? Somehow she had to soldier on—but was the estate viable, and how was she to repay Darcy?
The path never seemed to end, but at last they crested a hill and she saw the river circling Strathmaran. One step at a time. They had to help this family first.
24
Darcy walked from St Andrews’s Square to the Assembly Rooms, where he had agreed to meet the Napiers to attend a Literati debate. The question was disturbingly topical: Should Love or Money have the greater influence in forming the matrimonial connection? He had wondered whether to bring Georgiana, but feared she might be upset by powerful polemics advanced in favour of Money. Sharing this fear, Colonel Fitzwilliam had offered to spend the evening at home.
A further benefit of going alone was the opportunity, later, to discuss Elizabeth with the Napiers—her closest friends in Edinburgh. After Elizabeth’s sudden departure, Darcy was losing hope. He had won her trust, but not her affection; meanwhile, Georgiana’s rift with the Inglis family had reached an impasse.
He joined Professor and Alison Napier outside one of the small assembly rooms which had been used at the ball for supper. At a guess there were chairs for 150 men, along with thirty women seated separately. Each of the gentlemen forfeited sixpence for a ‘mutchkin of rum’; the ladies were served fruit, free of charge.
Each side had nominated a proposer and seconder, after which discussion was opened to the members. Darcy was glad he had left Georgiana behind as the first speaker urged the case for money, on the grounds that love is ephemeral while wealth endures. Not a strong argument, Darcy thought, having observed many a gentleman gambling away his fortune at the table. A hum circled the hall when the case for love was made by a woman—although not in person: her speech, Anonymous sentiments of a Lady, was read out by the club secretary.
The next speaker rambled; soon Darcy stopped listening, and pondered how he should vote. Another speech, some confused discussion from the floor, and paper slips were distributed. Out of the corner of his eye Darcy observed Professor Napier scribble LOVE, and decided to follow his example, partly from inclination, but mostly so that he would not have to dissemble if Georgiana quizzed him later.
‘So you opted for love,’ Alison Napier said.
Darcy nodded to the maid as she served a popular local broth made with meat, barley and peas. It was only his second invitation to dine at Heriot Row, and the contrast was poignant: he recalled vividly the former occasion on which Elizabeth had occupied the seat opposite.
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘although in a way I would have preferred to abstain.’
‘A courageous admission,’ Professor Napier said. ‘May I ask why?’
Darcy sighed. ‘I distrust dichotomies. I have long held that most choices depend on circumstances. War versus peace, risk versus safety, and yes, love versus money: these cannot be settled by general rule. Sometimes one must fight, or take a risk, or submit to practical necessities.’
‘You could have said that in the debate,’ Alison said.
He shook his head. ‘Too complicated.’
She faced him with mock outrage. ‘You think us too dull-witted to appreciate subtleties?’
Francis Napier frowned. ‘Really, dear!’
Alison coloured. ‘Forgive me, Mr Darcy. These debates over-excite me.’
‘No apology needed. By now I am accustomed to such pin-pricks—although usually from another source.’
‘Elizabeth.’ Alison Napier paused. ‘I wish I knew how she was getting on. You said you received a letter?’
‘A note only, to reassure me that she had arrived safely at Strathmaran.’
‘Are you concerned?’
‘I urged her to remain in Edinburgh.’ He spread his palms. ‘To no avail.’
Alison nodded. ‘Elizabeth is a dear friend but so headstrong!’
Professor Napier wrinkled his nose. ‘All you mean by that, dear, is that she sometimes disagrees with you.’
‘But it’s true!’ Alison cried. She turned to Darcy. ‘You should have heard her with Thomas.’
> ‘They lived with us for a while,’ Francis Napier said.
‘Yes, during one of his temporary financial shortages,’ Alison said. ‘Sometimes they would stay up half the night arguing. I had to tap on the door to urge them to calm down.’
‘Quarrelling?’ Darcy asked.
‘No, amicable. Lots of laughter. Like a continuation of the Literati debates. Politics, religion, philosophy, literature, …’
‘Mrs Bailey has a lively mind,’ Darcy said.
‘Yes, and so competitive! Thomas was a highly intelligent man.’ Alison smiled at her husband. ‘He might have been a university professor.’
‘He was certainly more learned than me,’ Francis Napier said. ‘Had more time. No teaching duties.’
‘Yes,’ Alison cried, ‘and of course, Elizabeth wouldn’t have that! She had to beat Thomas at his own game. Read the books, adopt contrary positions, and prove she was as clever as he was.’
‘We wondered …’ Napier looked at Darcy. ‘Were you acquainted with Mr Bennet, Elizabeth’s father?’
‘Briefly.’ Darcy looked away, remembering. ‘A kindly man, immersed in books. Eccentric, whimsical, intelligent. They were close, I believe.’
Alison nodded. ‘When Elizabeth came up for the wedding she was still in mourning, and not just from propriety. She was devastated by her father’s death.’ She looked at her husband. ‘We think she may have found in Thomas a substitute.’
Darcy considered. ‘Yet from what I have heard of Mr Bailey, he was hardly a paternal figure.’
‘Nor was Mr Bennet,’ Alison said. ‘Yes, he cared for his daughters, but he was impractical. Anything to avoid a fuss. All he really wanted was to be left alone with his books or the conversation of people he regarded as worth talking to. Especially Elizabeth.’
‘The two men shared a name,’ Napier said. ‘Mr Bennet was also Thomas.’
Darcy sighed. ‘For whatever reason, Mrs Bailey plainly loved and respected her husband.’
‘He provided refuge at a difficult time,’ Francis Napier said.
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