Was that why she had kept his letter, even after her marriage? A precious reminder of what might have been?
At Strathmaran, Hector Mackay had already taken action. Men from his regiment were searching for McEwan and Reid. Messengers had gone to Rith, Larraig and Callach to alert the neighbouring lairds, and to Thurso to report to the sheriff. A physician was waiting to tend Darcy’s injuries.
Observing these attentions, Elizabeth recalled that only minutes ago in the carriage, they had branded the major a likely culprit. But he might be, she thought. This eagerness to catch the fugitives, this concern for Darcy’s welfare, could be feigned. The uncertainty was deeply upsetting. Isobel she trusted, but the others? Were they friends, as they appeared, or secret foes?
A maid arranged her hair, which had come loose during the wild gallop to the burn. She washed her red eyes, dabbed rosewater around her neck, and went down.
No sign of Darcy, but MacFarlane was waiting for her in the parlour.
‘Mrs Bailey, a man has arrived from Callach, bound for Laramore. I agreed to accompany him, but he wanted to speak to you first.’ He frowned. ‘He has a child with him and they are famished, so the housekeeper took them to the kitchen.’
She found the cook attending a dishevelled young man and a pale chubby girl with red curls. The man jumped up and bowed, while the child remained impassive.
‘Good-day ma’am.’ He spoke educated English. ‘Graham Ross. Until recently schoolmaster at Achness.’
Elizabeth introduced herself and sat down. ‘And your lovely daughter?’
He coloured. ‘Not mine. Her name is Kirstin Keir, and she was recently—’ He whispered. ‘Orphaned.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Elizabeth glanced at the little girl, intent on her broth. ‘Does Kirstin have relatives in Laramore?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m visiting my friend Mr Donald Gibson.’
‘I know the Gibsons.’ Elizabeth paused. ‘May I be of assistance?’
‘I need advice. About Kirstin and—another matter. Mr MacFarlane suggested I waited for the laird to return, but it seems he is urgently occupied.’ He paused nervously. ‘I have witnessed an outrage, perpetrated not by criminals, but in the name of the law. The village where I taught has been destroyed …’
He continued, in a calm recitation of fact, to tell a story of such cruelty that Elizabeth could scarcely believe it. He spoke of a village, similar in size to Laramore, where the residents had been evicted by force, and their cottages burned. Tenants were allotted plots on the coast, twenty miles distant, and had received no help relocating; cottars were simply set adrift.
‘So you accompanied them?’ she asked.
‘Yes, to Bettyhill.’ He glanced at Kirstin, drinking milk and still paying no attention. ‘I asked among the Achness tenants who had left earlier, in case there were friends or kin of Mrs Keir. But no-one could take her. The land they had been given was barely habitable. People were building shelters out of stones and mud, and laying blankets over the top in a vain effort to keep out the rain. I thought of the Poor House, but with the lassie in such shock I could not bear to abandon her.’ He shrugged. ‘So I brought her with me.’
Elizabeth blinked back tears: such misery put her own tribulations into perspective. ‘Have you reported this to anyone in authority along the way?’
‘I could scarcely do that,’ Ross sighed, ‘since all the estates that we passed through are also owned by the Marquis of Stafford. Until Strathmaran.’
‘It would probably be best if you took Kirstin directly to Laramore. I have every confidence in Mr Gibson, who can give you hospitality. Once you have recovered, can you write down your story? In the meantime I will seek advice on how to proceed. As you imply, it’s a delicate matter, since Sellar and the sheriff’s men were acting on behalf of one of the most powerful men in the country.’
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘My thanks, ma’am.’
Ross and the little girl had left with MacFarlane. Dinner had been a subdued affair, the Mackays embarrassed that a visitor had suffered this murderous assault. No sightings of McEwan or Reid, probably fled inland towards the teeming anonymity of Glasgow. In the estuary of the Maran, Elizabeth sat beside Darcy on a grassy bank at the edge of the sand. They had brought a bottle of white wine which they sipped as they watched the sun go down.
The evening was still and peaceful, refreshing as the air cooled. After the trauma of the day it was a relief to speak calmly. They discussed the news of Bingley, and the letter Darcy was drafting to persuade his old friend to rekindle dreams of years past. They talked of Ross, and the violent evictions that had resulted in the death of Kirstin’s mother. Elizabeth could not believe that Hector Mackay would treat her tenants so cruelly; but the enforcer would be his factor, assisted by the sheriff’s men, and Brodie she had never trusted.
After a silence, she asked, ‘Does your head still hurt?’
‘It is swollen at the temple. But the physician saw no grounds for concern.’ He smiled. ‘The experience is not entirely new to me, having taken some hard blows in the boxing ring at Harrow. But my training in the noble art proved insufficient this afternoon.’
‘Only because you had two opponents—one of whom you bested easily enough.’
‘Unfortunately his companion had a fist like a sledgehammer. I fully expected to die, until an angel appeared at my side.’
Elizabeth blushed, recalling the kisses and caresses she had bestowed. ‘A rather dishevelled one.’
‘I didn’t notice. My mind was in a cloud.’ He frowned. ‘I was puzzled when you remarked how foolish you’d been. Were you referring to the risk you ran by leaving Edinburgh and returning to Strathmaran?’
‘That, and my failure to recognise …’ Her voice trembled. ‘How much I care for you.’
He gasped, and there was a long silence.
Eventually he said, ‘Elizabeth, does that mean … what I hope it means?’
She felt a surge of relief, a sense that after the folly and ill fortune that had come between them, a happy outcome was possible. Looking up, she met his eye. ‘I deserve no favours. I have been in turns foolish, headstrong, ungrateful. If despite this your feelings remain as they were two years ago …’ She threw up her hands. ‘Then I might entertain doubts as to your sanity, but otherwise, no doubts at all.’
He extended a hand, which she took. ‘Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, is it possible you will marry me?’
She grinned, feeling a glow spread through her body. ‘I will have to, since it is plain you will never give up. But I beg you, let us keep our engagement between ourselves until I am out of mourning.’
He looked back towards the house, as if to check they were unobserved. Elizabeth moved closer, shivering with anticipation. He seemed hesitant; it occurred to her that he might never have kissed a woman before. She recalled the moment in the carriage when she had gazed into his eyes, moistened her lips, tilted her head. The signals this time had the desired effect. Gently his hands touched her face as he found her mouth, his inhibitions lost as for the first time in her life she responded with intense passion.
‘My dearest …’ His eyes were moist; he could hardly speak.
She smiled. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we returned from John Dowie’s.’
They remained outside a long time. Danger remained; the riddle of Laramore still had to be solved. But Elizabeth felt at peace with herself, for she had admitted at last that the marriage that would save her family was also the outcome that she truly desired.
33
Darcy sat opposite Hector Mackay in the privacy of his study. Beside him, Elizabeth looked pale but determined. Books on military history lined the walls, next to pistols, sabres, and a stag’s head over the desk. They had asked to meet after breakfast, confident now of their proposal.
‘You are recovered?’ Mackay asked.
‘It was merely a punch.’ Darcy pursed his lips: had he not ducked the rock, it would have been a different st
ory.
‘Good man.’ Mackay sighed. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had no success finding the perpetrators. The word has gone out, but they will be far away by now.’ He looked at Elizabeth. ‘I sent an officer to question Sibyl Kirdy. After much prevarication she named McEwan and Reid. No-one else.’
‘So we have no evidence who is behind this,’ Elizabeth said.
Mackay shrugged. ‘Unless it was merely the fugitives.’
‘How could it be?’ Elizabeth leaned forward. ‘Do you not agree, Major, that this incident must be related to my husband’s death? Also predicted by Sibyl, who presumably overheard the plotters?’
He paused uneasily. ‘We’d need better proof before re-opening the case. The Procurator Fiscal cannot proceed on the basis of a soothsayer’s fancy.’
‘Our purpose is not to renew the investigation officially,’ Darcy said. ‘We simply want to find out who ordered these attacks, and why.’
‘I have no idea.’ Mackay looked at Darcy, then Elizabeth. ‘On that you have my word of honour. I can only promise my best efforts to find the guilty parties and assure your safety.’
Darcy looked at Elizabeth, who returned his glance with the hint of a nod. She took a deep breath. ‘Major, I’ve discussed the future of Laramore with Mr MacFarlane and Mr Darcy, and reached a decision. Can we begin by talking it over informally, in confidence?’
He was instantly alert. ‘Of course.’
‘I want to sell to your family, if your offer is still open.’
Mackay exhaled, obviously in deep relief. ‘You accept the valuation of £12,000?’
‘Not exactly. I am requesting certain arrangements to protect the villagers, before the sale takes place.’
He frowned. ‘All of them, or just tenants?’
‘All. It is a lot to ask, I know. And so I am not asking the sum you mentioned, only that you repay the £10,000 you received from Mr Darcy.’
He stared at her. ‘Do I understand you correctly, Mrs Bailey? You will sell at the lower price of £10,000 provided your conditions are met?’
‘Yes. I am hoping that in return, you can find satisfactory plots and cottages for any of my villagers who want to live in Strathmaran.’
He thought awhile. ‘I would have to discuss that with Mr Brodie, since we can take only a limited number. Have you considered emigration? Some tenants evicted from Sutherland have set sail for Canada under a scheme started by the Earl of Selkirk. They are to receive substantial land at the Red River colony.’
Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who nodded. ‘I have heard such reports. It might prove an attractive option for the younger folk.’
‘Excellent.’ Mackay clapped his hands. ‘Let us write to our lawyers and get the agreement drafted!’
Darcy raised a palm. ‘We think the conditions should be established first. We must talk with the villagers. You must ascertain how many you can accommodate.’
‘But I have your word?’ Mackay looked at Elizabeth.
‘Yes. The land should be yours. We will do the right thing—but in the right way.’
Elizabeth faced Isobel in a small boudoir upstairs.
‘Ye’re scared.’ Isobel regarded her contemptuously.
‘That’s part of it,’ she conceded. ‘I’ve also received a report from Mr MacFarlane. He’s done the calculations, Isobel. We can run Laramore only at a loss.’
‘Mr Darcy has deep enough pockets.’
‘I’ve already imposed on him. Be reasonable! He’s paid off Thomas’s debt, come all this way to assess the situation for himself, and now narrowly survived an attempt to murder him.’
Isobel shook her head, and Elizabeth had the feeling that nothing could reach her.
‘I trusted ye, Sassenach, and now I find ye’re just like the others. Money. That’s what ye care about.’ Her voice cracked; she was near to tears. ‘I was a fool tae think any different. Why should ye be bothered what happens tae a band of Highland savages? I gave ye my friendship, something I dinna do easily. Weel, I’ve learned my lesson. Ye can go back tae England and marry yer Mr Darcy and I’ll try tae forget I ever knew ye.’
Elizabeth watched helplessly as the girl glowered at her one more time and ran from the room. She had tried to explain the provisions that would be made for the tenants and cottars. But Isobel could see only that she had given in, cravenly submitted to bullying, sacrificed the village to save her own skin. The hard-won friendship was lost in a second.
Elizabeth went to her own chamber, devastated.
Ten minutes passed. There was a tap on the door.
‘Yes?’
Flora Mackay entered and closed the door behind her.
‘Will ye come, Elizabeth? Issy is in a state.’
‘I doubt I can help.’ Elizabeth’s voice trembled. ‘She hates me.’
The old woman shook her head. ‘Ye’re wrong.’
‘Has Hector told you?’
‘Aye. Dinna worry, it wilna go further.’
‘Have I done the right thing?’
‘Ye’ve done what ye felt ye had tae do. As did I, in my time. Will ye come?’
Inside Flora’s private drawing room they found Isobel sobbing, her head buried in the divan. Elizabeth sat beside her, saying nothing. Minutes passed before Isobel looked up, her face red and blotchy, but still beautiful.
She touched Elizabeth’s arm. ‘It’s nae yer fault.’
‘I wish I didn’t have to do it.’
‘I’m nae angry with ye.’ Isobel covered her face again, overcome. ‘Lizzy, the place I love is dying.’
Elizabeth trembled, moved by such raw despair. She put her arms around the girl’s shoulders. Various replies occurred to her. Highland culture might survive on the coast. One had to adapt, change with the times. But this was not the moment. For some losses no solace was possible. She had found no silver lining for her father’s death, or Thomas’s. Sometimes one had simply to grieve.
‘It’s been dying since Culloden, mo stór,’ Flora Mackay said. ‘Ye’ve witnessed only the last throes. But we’ve had a fine time of it. And who knows what may rise from the ashes.’
‘Ye care.’ Isobel looked at Elizabeth. ‘Ye’ll do yer best for them, I ken that.’
‘You can help me.’
‘Aye. But we’ll nae talk of it noo.’
Emotionally exhausted, Elizabeth took a turn around the walled garden. Darcy was in the library writing to Georgiana; Isobel had remained in her room the whole afternoon. Gardeners picked vegetables and herbs, now abundant as summer had arrived.
On reflection, Elizabeth understood Isobel’s distress. Of course the girl already knew that change was sweeping over the Highlands. But life at Strathmaran had escaped the wave of modernisation: there were villages along the Maran, from Rithgill to Croidale, Laramore, and beyond. Brodie’s dream of a single grand sheep farm had been blocked by Thomas’s typically impractical commitment to his tenants, who wanted to preserve their traditional way of life. And so Isobel saw Strathmaran as a haven, where she could ride over moors carpeted in heather and gorse, stalk the red stags, enjoy the varied wildlife. But now the whole region would be walled in, the heather and gorse burned, the deer driven out, the villages cleared and laid to grass. People and sheep did not mix. There would be only a vast enclosure containing nothing but sheep and pasture, run by a few shepherds and their dogs.
Having loved the same things, Elizabeth found it easy to sympathise. What was more, she had suffered herself a similar loss. She had grown up as a gentleman’s daughter on a small but delightful estate, accustomed to servants, carriages, fine clothes, soirées, balls, and the social status that made them welcome on neighbouring estates such as Netherfield and Lucas Lodge. Then Longbourn was lost, and their way of life too. No more invitations. No young gentlemen courting Mrs Bennet’s daughters. No carriage; no servants bar a maid-of-all-work. She, Elizabeth, had fared better than her sisters. But a way of life once taken for granted had gone forever.
Yes, she could understand Isobel’s
anger, and her despair that modernity was to overwhelm Strathmaran. What was more surprising was how quickly the girl had forgiven her. Theirs had been an odd friendship: it was as if fate had punished her by echoing back her own prejudice against Darcy. In Isobel’s eyes, Elizabeth was an arrogant Englishwoman who dismissed Highlanders as inferiors—just as Darcy had disdained the Bennets. But in both cases pride had softened, so had prejudice, and a bond had formed across the barrier.
Dinner would be served soon, and she was expecting a feast. Probably nothing would be said, but Hector, Robert and Morag were excited, relieved, and eager to show good will. Returning to the forecourt Elizabeth was surprised to see a carriage draw up: there had been no talk of visitors. Two men got out; the first she recognised as an officer from Major Mackay’s regiment.
The second, attired in elegant civilian frockcoat and hat, was Colonel Fitzwilliam.
34
‘Two days?’ Darcy stared at his cousin. ‘How?’
Colonel Fitzwilliam drank more beer. ‘Met the captain of a lugger at the club, about to sail to Wick and Thurso with a cargo of French wine and West Country ale. Not the most comfortable night, but we made excellent time. At Thurso I made a beeline for the barracks, where I met Second Lieutenant Maxwell, bound for Strathmaran to reinforce Major Mackay’s company. I gather you’ve been having trouble with vagrants.’
‘That would be a long story. And Georgiana?’
‘Happily reinstalled in Charlotte Square.’ He smiled. ‘And awaiting, with trepidation, your response to a letter I have brought.’
Darcy sighed: little doubt what that might be about. He surveyed Major Mackay’s study, where they had been left alone for a tête-à-tête. Colonel Fitzwilliam had expected to share quarters with Maxwell, but Hector would not hear of it. For a friend of Mrs Bailey, room could always be found at Strathmaran.
‘Should I read it now?’
Darcy's Highland Fling Page 17
