Darcy's Highland Fling

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘But she was shocked to discover, after his death, how grossly he had misled her,’ Alison said. ‘Another two years and he’d have gone bankrupt. Unable to support either Elizabeth or her family.’

  ‘Misled is too strong,’ Napier said. ‘We have no reason to allege deception. Thomas was a dreamer. He pushed problems into the future instead of facing them.’

  ‘Yet he taught her much,’ Darcy said.

  ‘Indeed.’ Napier leaned back as Isla approached to remove their plates. ‘I would say Mrs Bailey underwent an education equivalent to a university degree. She read most assiduously, as well as debating with Thomas.’

  The maid raised a finger. ‘Ma’am, Miss Susanna would like a wee word.’

  While Alison raised her eyes to the ceiling, her husband came to the rescue. ‘I can go, dear.’

  Left alone with Mrs Napier, Darcy smiled.

  ‘Another secret?’

  ‘You’ll think me a poor mother, Mr Darcy. Elizabeth was always chiding me for ignoring the girls.’

  ‘She had no right to do so. Children should be ignored, sometimes.’

  Alison met his eye, as if struck by a thought. ‘I hope Elizabeth appreciates your help. She needs someone who can support her, and also stand up to her.’

  He hesitated, searching for the words. ‘I would say her feelings are ambivalent.’

  Alison coloured. ‘If you will pardon my raising such an intimate matter, she did once mention—what had passed between you. In strict confidence.’

  ‘My proposal?’

  ‘Yes, and your subsequent letter.’

  Darcy flinched. ‘Did she describe its contents?’

  ‘No. She said only that she had made accusations that proved unfounded.’

  He relaxed a little. ‘It was not her fault. She had been misinformed.’

  Alison lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Mr Darcy, it is wrong for me to interfere, but I believe that Elizabeth is consumed by regret for her behaviour on that occasion. She sees it as a pivotal moment in her life, where through unthinking prejudice she took a wrong direction.’

  He pressed his lips together. ‘She may regret her accusations, but not, I think, her decision. I can only be thankful that she found happiness elsewhere—at least until Mr Bailey’s tragic death.’

  Alison shook her head. ‘I stayed with Elizabeth on the night before the wedding, and tell you in confidence, she was distraught. In tears. Yes, she and Thomas were good friends. They enjoyed one another’s company. But he was not the husband of her dreams. She accepted his proposal because she saw no alternative.’

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Professor Napier returned. Darcy was left unsure of Alison’s exact meaning. What seemed clear was Elizabeth’s distress at a dilemma that had forced her to marry for convenience. Perhaps in her present circumstances she would compromise again, so as to protect her family …

  But not willingly. Not with delight.

  Was this what he wanted?

  Returning to St Andrew’s Square, Darcy felt his confidence evaporating. He had gambled on the expedition to Edinburgh. It had not worked out. Tomorrow he would confer with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, and urge the case for realism.

  It was time to return to Pemberley.

  25

  Elizabeth rode side-saddle along the path leading upriver from the moor to the village. Behind her, Isobel quizzed Lachlan Kirdy over his ambitions in the military: enlisted as a private, it seemed he might eventually obtain the rank of sergeant-major. Elizabeth had joined them stalking red deer on the moors between Laramore and Forslethen—not that they had seen anything, except a distant stag. She wondered at the friendship between Isobel and Kirdy’s elder son. Was the strapping young man, now recruited to the regiment, Isobel’s type? Perhaps not, given that he was unlikely to become an officer.

  The week had been little more than an interlude while she awaited MacFarlane, the new factor. With Isobel now her friend it had passed pleasantly enough. Elizabeth had taken up riding, of which she had always been wary after witnessing falls as a child. That morning she had trotted to Laramore while Isobel galloped ahead, waiting every so often so that she could catch up.

  In the warm June weather the villagers lived outdoors, using tripods to cook over peat fires. They were working, of course, planting so that they could lay in food for the winter, caring for the lambs and calves born in the spring. Elizabeth was coming to realise what a huge effect the seasons had on their lives: for much of the winter they might be virtually snowed in, sharing their smoky cottages with their precious livestock.

  They arrived at the Kirdys’ house at the end of the village, where Iain sat in the kitchen, waited on by his mother, eating a bowl of broth with barley bread. Always taciturn, he nodded as she entered, muttering something that might have been m’leddie; then lumbered to his feet.

  ‘I’ll be away then. Thank ye, ma.’

  ‘Will ye check on Sibyl?’ Mrs Kirdy asked.

  ‘Aye, I’ll drop by.’

  A mere two weeks after the funeral, the family seemed back to normal, steadied by Mrs Kirdy’s stoical efficiency; she had even taken over some of her husband’s former duties, helped by Mr Gibson.

  ‘Will ye have some food, m’leddie? Miss Isobel?’

  Elizabeth joined Isobel and Lachlan at the kitchen table as their host ladled broth and brought wine—the best in the house, no doubt. She felt a twinge of guilt, for the Kirdys were hardly well off. But Mrs Kirdy took pride in serving her, and was appreciative that Elizabeth had let them keep the house, and retain the factor’s share of rents until MacFarlane arrived.

  Riding back side by side, at walking pace, Elizabeth asked Isobel what she thought of the Kirdy men.

  ‘Ye dinna imagine I’m hoping tae snare Lachlan?’

  ‘You said you liked warriors.’

  ‘Aye, but I’ll set my sights higher than Lachlan Kirdy, thank ye very much.’

  ‘Because he’s not an officer?’

  Isobel waved this away. ‘They’re fine lads in their way, ambitious too, but nae canny enough tae be leaders. For all his defects, a man like my brother Hector has authority. Knows his own mind.’

  Elizabeth fell silent, thinking about Thomas, whose grave she had visited on the way back. The most intelligent man she had ever known, probably, yet hardly canny, and certainly not a leader. But Darcy had authority. Servants and tenants would be wary of him, while respecting him as a fair master.

  ‘Why this interest in Lachlan?’ Isobel continued scornfully. ‘Are ye trying tae marry me off, like the others?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Isobel waggled a finger. ‘Dinna pretend, Sassenach, I see through ye. Anyway, what people want tae know is who ye’ll be marrying, now ye’re a bonnie heiress.’

  ‘I’m still in mourning, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Nae fer long.’ Isobel glanced over, as if to check that her victim was not too offended. She continued, more seriously, ‘Everyone expects ye tae wed yer English gentleman, and Hector in particular is nae happy about it.’

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘Everyone used to think the earth was flat.’

  ‘So ye’re nae set on the Englishman?’

  Elizabeth looked into the distance at the village of Rithgill, next in the chain along the Maran.

  ‘Sorry.’ Isobel spoke gently. ‘I shouldna pry.’

  ‘I suppose I started it.’ Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. All I can say is that I cannot bear the thought of marrying again out of necessity. And yet the necessity exists; indeed, it grows with each passing month.’

  ‘Ye’ll nae wed Hector?’

  Elizabeth shivered. Why, she wondered, had she given Darcy so little encouragement? Would he follow her, as he had once implied? Or would he give up and return to Pemberley? Had she yet again thrown away her best hope of happiness—not to mention security for her family?

  Would she be obliged to accept Hector instead?

  Why h
ad she discouraged Darcy? For her own sake, or for his? Almost, one might say, from …

  Love?

  Tears filled her eyes, and she felt Isobel’s hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Lizzy. We’ll speak of it no more.’

  The horses had stopped. Elizabeth wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I respect your brother, but …’ She sighed, realising that she might have no alternative.

  ‘Dinna worry for Hector. He’ll find another wifie easily enough.’

  They set the horses walking again, as Elizabeth fought a growing sense of dread.

  26

  One week later

  Darcy rode beside MacFarlane over moorland south of Thurso. They had started that morning from Wick with fresh horses, but after twenty miles needed to rest. Soon the coastal path would re-appear, providing a clear run to Strathmaran and the reassurance of a re-union with Elizabeth. But to punish the horses would be folly.

  He had vacillated before opening his heart to Georgiana, now fully recovered from her fever. The visit from Margaret had raised her spirits, and she revealed a vein of stubbornness that he could only admire. She had regained confidence in James’s affection. At the same time she refused to alter her account of Alistair’s impropriety merely to placate Lord Dunbar. She was also spoiling for a lovers’ tiff with James, so that she could tell him exactly what she thought of his irresolution. Retreating to Pemberley was the last thing on her mind.

  ‘I implore you, William. If you want to follow Mrs Bailey, just go. Our cousin will look after me. I have the pianoforte. I can explore the parks and the shops. I want to stay here.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Mrs Bailey needs you. She is alone among people who will press her to sell against her will, or marry into their family.’

  ‘She sees the Mackays as her friends, Georgie. I’ve told you of our history.’

  ‘Give her time. Mrs Bailey is in mourning. Meanwhile, she faces serious difficulties. She needs the support of a friend.’

  Cresting a hill, Darcy smiled, feeling a glow of pride as he recalled his sister’s tenacity. Colonel Fitzwilliam had taken her side: absolutely he must go. And so, learning that the new factor was soon to leave, he had proposed tackling the journey together …

  On MacFarlane’s recommendation they made do with the post-chaise to Inverness, bringing few possessions and no servants, then proceeded on horseback to Wick. Rain and blustery winds slowed their progress along the cliffs, but after a night’s rest in a passable inn the mercurial highland weather turned in their favour, warm sunshine welcoming them inland.

  At a crossroads they met a carter taking fresh salmon, packed in pounded ice, to Wick for shipping. Asked the quickest way to Strathmaran he suggested following the road he had just taken from Larraig, avoiding the town of Thurso. MacFarlane was sceptical: they needed an inn where their horses could be fed and watered. But the laird at Larraig, Lieutenant Alexander Sinclair, was married to Flora Mackay’s daughter Anna and related to Sir John Sinclair (and hence to Lord Dunbar)—surely a sufficient connection.

  ‘What is your plan?’ Darcy asked as they set off on this new path.

  ‘I hope to reach Laramore this evening,’ the factor said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll start an inventory of the village, and examine Mr Kirdy’s records of rents received in the last year, and how they were used.’

  Darcy nodded: Kirdy would have spent much of the income on maintenance, and staffing school and kirk, before transferring the surplus to Elizabeth. ‘And once this assessment is done?’

  ‘I will prepare a plan for Mrs Bailey, assuming she is still reluctant to sell.’

  Larraig House was an attractive new manor set by a meander in the river and flanked by lawns leading to a stand of Scottish pine on one side, and a shrubbery on the other. To Darcy’s relief, the local grapevine worked in their favour. His name was already known to Alexander Sinclair and his wife; so was MacFarlane’s. They were welcomed and offered a wee dram while stable lads tended to their horses. On learning of Darcy’s interest in fishing, Sinclair insisted on showing him the most favourable spots along Larraig Water.

  ‘I would like that, when I have time,’ Darcy said. ‘But I am impatient to complete our journey.’

  ‘Och, ye’ll be tired after such a long ride.’ Anna Sinclair was dark and sturdy, her features redolent of her brother Hector. She glanced at her husband. ‘I’ve an idea. We’ll prepare a carriage, and accompany ye tae Strathmaran. Meanwhile ye’ve plenty of time tae see the river.’

  Darcy raised a palm. ‘I should not presume …’

  ‘Not a problem.’ Lieutenant Sinclair was incisive. ‘We can stay overnight. They have fine fishing along the Maran as well.’

  ‘Remember, I have no claim on the family’s hospitality. I may need to double back to an inn at Thurso.’

  Anna frowned. ‘Did Hector nae offer ye lodging?’

  ‘He was all politeness. However …’

  She waved this away. ‘Hector’s word is guid. Ye’re in the Highlands, sir. We’ve faults aplenty, but never lacked for hospitality.’

  After refreshments, Darcy agreed to a viewing of the river. The long garden led through a wood to a spectacular falls, resembling a flight of steps.

  ‘You should see it in autumn,’ Sinclair said proudly. ‘Salmon leap into the air as they swim upstream, trying over and over again until they pass up to the next level. It’s a miracle. We never tire of watching.’

  It was a beautiful spot, and would be profitable too, Darcy thought. Fresh salmon were in demand at the best London restaurants: he knew now where they came from.

  Their chaise reached Strathmaran in the late afternoon. The Sinclairs, sitting opposite, had brought a maid and groom, intending to stay overnight. Darcy found the landscape austere, surprisingly lacking in trees or hedgerows; for the most part it was rough pasture, with occasional views of the sea, and small coastal villages. After Dounrith a small track off the main path led downhill, flanked by heather and steep banks dense with yellow gorse. Anna Sinclair pointed as the placid River Maran came into view, with an expanse of sand on the far bank.

  ‘Nearly there, gentlemen. Ye’ll see the house round the next corner.’

  He shivered, awed by the grandeur of the location, and wondering what reception awaited him.

  27

  An excited group had formed in the forecourt. Darcy had met Robert Mackay in Edinburgh; the captain was soon joined by his wife Morag, a gaggle of children, and finally Hector, who after a momentary twitch was all affability.

  ‘Mr Darcy! A welcome surprise, sir.’

  ‘My letter did not arrive?’

  ‘It is probably at the depot in Thurso.’

  ‘Then I apologize. I decided to accompany MacFarlane at the last minute.’

  ‘No matter! We have rooms.’ Hector extended an arm as they were joined by a sturdy elderly lady in dark blue. ‘May I present my mother, Mrs Flora Mackay.’

  A pair of acute grey eyes sized him up. ‘Ye’ll be the gentleman from Derbyshire. Elizabeth will be pleased tae see ye, I have nae doot.’

  Darcy looked around. ‘Is Mrs Bailey at home?’

  ‘Oot with Issy, as usual,’ Morag said, her nose wrinkling. ‘They followed the beach towards Portstroma.’

  ‘She’ll ne’er be long.’ Flora went to meet MacFarlane. ‘May I offer ye hospitality for the night, sir? Ye’d be verra welcome tae join us for dinner, and leave for Laramore on the morrow.’

  ‘Is the beach far?’ Darcy asked Hector.

  He pointed. ‘A few hundred yards across the river.’

  From Portstroma to Strathmaran the shore was a vast stretch of sea-washed sand, flat as a billiard table except for pools that collected around rocks. Returning home, Isobel had begun to fill her wicker creel with shellfish, while Elizabeth danced by the sea, challenging the waves. Even on a fine summer afternoon the breeze tugged her bonnet and swirled her skirts. The tail of a huge wave foamed towards her; as she fled up the sand,
she saw children from Portstroma gathering kelp under the dunes.

  ‘Lizzy, look at the partan!’

  She saw Isobel kneeling by a clump of rocks where she had cornered a crab, fully six inches across, with a shell resembling well-done pie crust.

  ‘What a monster!’

  Isobel grinned. ‘Will ye put the wee beastie in my basket, Sassenach?’

  Elizabeth studied the long jointed legs, fronted by two thick pincers. ‘I’ll leave that pleasure to you.’

  ‘Ha! Pathetic!’ Isobel’s hand hovered over the partan, and with a deft swoop grasped the edges of its shell and flipped it into the creel. ‘A fine soup for supper.’

  She closed the basket lid and they rose, to see two men approaching from Strathmaran.

  ‘The shorter is Robert, by the gait.’ Isobel said. ‘Dinna ken the other.’

  Elizabeth squinted at the tall approaching figure. Could it be? Hope swelled, and suddenly she was running. Behind, she heard Isobel’s startled cry. The men stared, and she cursed her traitorous body, aware that she was acting wildly. There could be no doubt now. That tall figure, the dark hair, the frock coat. But why this surge of joyous relief? They must think her demented.

  She regained control, slowed down, and walked the final few paces.

  ‘Pardon me.’ She struggled for breath. ‘I was not expecting …’

  Robert Mackay pointed. ‘I’ll take a look at Issy’s catch.’

  He walked on, leaving them alone, and Darcy smiled. ‘I was intending to ask how you were, but the question is unnecessary. You are plainly in vigorous health.’

  Elizabeth blushed, still shaken at how desperately she had longed for him to come.

  ‘How is your sister?’

  ‘Fully recovered from her fever, but unfortunately still separated from her Inglis friends.’ He frowned. ‘Did you receive my letter describing the incident?’

  ‘Yes. Poor Miss Darcy, it is so unfair. Have there been developments?’

  He offered an arm, and they turned back towards Strathmaran. ‘We’re at an impasse. James supports Georgiana’s account; Miss Margaret trusts their word. Unfortunately Lord Dunbar stands by his elder son. For which I cannot blame him.’