by Bianca Bloom
“What about the house?” Frances wailed. “Will we be turned out, and made to live in the streets?”
It was a ridiculous proposition, but for Grace’s sake I tried to hold back my sharp tongue. “We will never have any need to live in the streets, Frances, good gracious. Do remember that there are those on this island who have very little money. We are not going to fall into that category.”
It was said with great conviction, but I knew never to be sure. Indeed, though I had spent a good ten years shoring up the estate that the soft and spoiled Gilbert was not willing to run himself, the thought of poverty still gnawed at me. I avoided the western bay so that I could avoid any reminder of the cold cottage where I had grown up, or the fisherman’s shack where I had lived after my first marriage. “There but for the grace of God go I” was a phrase that I tried to keep out of my head, believing myself superior to most of the other islanders. But in my heart, I knew that I was not any better than that terrified young bride in the fisherman’s shack. My luck had taken a turn for the better, that was all.
And now it had taken a turn for the worse.
I saw Grace starting to cry. She was the only one who had lost a father, after all, and I knew that she would feel it. Frances took Grace’s hand and kissed it, then wrapped both her arms around the little girl. It was a dramatic gesture, but seemed a comfort to Grace.
Meanwhile, Flora was contemplating her reflection in the mirror. “What will we wear, mama? Will we have to be in dreadful mourning clothes for a whole year?”
Frances snorted. “And that’s the first thing you think of! Our stepfather gone, and all of us needing to move out of our home at a moment’s notice, and you’re only worried because black doesn’t become you?”
Flora whipped around with fire in her eyes, and I leapt up to put a hand on her shoulder. “Flora, you are right. Clothes will have to be found for all of you, and yes, the household will be in mourning.”
Frances looked as if she were about to speak, so I cut her off. “Frances, take your sisters and go find Esther. She will see about mourning dresses. After all, that is the first thing we should do to honor Gilbert.”
I tried to kiss Grace as she walked out, still holding Frances’ hand, but she pulled away. After the sad little trio had gone into the hall, I heard Esther’s voice. “Right then, young ladies. You remember that we were all in mourning for your grandpapa five years ago, so we will go straight to the trunks to find the right thing to wear.”
4
Adam was still naked when I crept back into my room, only this time he was on top of the covers, stroking himself with a practiced hand. “I had nearly given you up, darling,” he said, his back arching with anticipation. “Come here.”
I only sat on the end of the bed, rigid with shock. “My husband is dead.”
He gave half a laugh. “You cannot be serious. How?”
I hardly knew how, myself, but I thought back to the message contained in the express. “Some fever. The doctors all thought he would recover, but he died.”
My breathing was growing more ragged. “I have ruined us. A son would inherit, but now this house will go to a stranger.”
“You might be able to buy it back, though,” said Adam. “I know not how you come by your gift with money, but you are a rich woman.”
Adam spoke the truth. He did not have a gift with money, and sometimes when he lost at cards or ran low on cash, I supplied him with funds. It gave me great joy – there could be no public expression of our love while I was married, but I was happy to see him get some of the wealth that should have been his, had he been born a first son.
“If only that were true,” I breathed, rows of numbers flashing before my eyes. I had always been gifted at doing sums in my head, and I knew that I could not quite afford to buy back the whole estate. But I would be quite close, if I could only get a loan. But who would give a loan to a widow? I had no brothers or uncles living, only distant male cousins who were very poor, and unlikely to want to help me secure one.
“Yes,” I said, running through the arithmetic once more as I closed my eyes. “If the man who inherits will sell, Gilbert’s death need not change everything.”
“His death will change how things are between us, though, my darling,” said Adam, reaching for my hand.
For a moment, the tension that had been crimping my whole body eased. Adam had often spoken of how our life would be if we married, saying that my husband (and by extension my family’s honor) were the only things that barred him from spending the rest of his life with me.
But he did not say this aloud. In fact, what he said could not have been more different from a marriage proposal. “You’ll be busy with mourning,” he said. “But after some weeks, I’ll come console you, love.”
He reached to kiss me, but tears marred my feelings.
The thought of weeks spent without Adam’s scorching company would once have brought me to tears. But now I knew that there was a much greater reason for my grief.
I was a widow, and if I did not play my hand very carefully, I would be just as pathetic as any penniless widow in a cautionary tale. I might have learned how to speak the Queen’s English during my marriage with Gilbert, but if I were not very careful, that would be all I had to take with me when I lost my home.
5
The household was already stirring, so I left Adam to make his escape and went straight to Esther. No pretense was needed – I could not think of any dress that I owned that would be fit for mourning. If I knew Esther, though, she’d have thought of something for me while she was going through the trunks with the girls.
I was waylaid by Grace, who looked much the same, except that she was now wearing a spotless black dress that fitted her perfectly. For a moment, I marveled at it. Flora and Frances had always been tall, so I knew it couldn’t have been one of their old ones. Where had Esther found this perfect dress, and at only a moment’s notice?
Then I realized that the dress wasn’t quite perfect. It seemed to be made of crepe, which was a material that Grace herself loved, but not one that would be practical for her outdoors jaunts.
“Your dress is crepe,” I told the pale girl. “Couldn’t Esther find one in cotton? Or is she making one?”
“Flora says that the fashion journals from London all say that ladies wear crepe,” explained Grace. “Apparently it’s now considered the only proper material.”
I gave a great sigh. “Well, I hope Esther can manage to find them for your sisters, at least. London fashions take a year or two to reach the Isle of Skye, as I am always trying to tell Flora.”
Grace tugged at my hand. “Mama, can I go down to the stables?”
“May I,” I said to her.
“May I go to the stables? Esther says no, but Frances says we shouldn’t be under house arrest just because we’re in mourning.”
“House arrest?!” I exclaimed. “You leave Frances to me. And you’ll stay indoors, Grace, out of respect.”
At this, I saw a couple of tears trickle down her face and onto the newly made dress. It was not a familiar sight. Grace was never one to cry when she skinned her knee, or when I asked her to do something.
But the poor girl’s father had just died, so it was no wonder she was prone to tears.
I took a deep breath. Our lands, or the lands which were about to belong to some strange male heir, were extensive. If Grace went down to the stables, nobody would be able to see her from the road. And I reflected that my youngest daughter, who loved to be outside all day, would do worse with this “house arrest” than either of her sisters.
“Very well, Gracie,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “We can go down to look at the ponies, but you can’t go out riding, they’re to stay in the yard.”
She began walking, almost running for the door, and I had to shout so she would hear me. “Mind you wear a bonnet, then!”
6
As I walked down toward the stable, I surveyed our property – or rat
her, what one could see of our property. The great house was on a hill, and we could see the bay to the north of us on a clear day, and even to the southwest from the top floor of the house. To the east lay the road over to the ferry, and to our west were some of the mountains that gave Skye its beauty.
I had never been one to boast about the beauty of our place, though. It was always the only thing that interested Gilbert, apart from hunting. Whenever guests came, he was always taking them from hillside to hillside, boasting about the “fine prospect.”
My aim had been to make the land profitable, and I believed that in that I had done well. Every “beautiful prospect” was for me a good perch from which to survey the health of our farms. Our farmers were given good rates and an attentive landowner in exchange for swift and efficient production.
I knew that I had not endeared myself to the locals since my rise. Indeed, all of my brothers and sisters but one had moved away, probably in part to avoid being in competition with their newly rich little sister. A sister who married an Englishman, no less. Even though Gilbert’s family was originally part of a Highland clan, he had grown up largely in London, and thus pushed English social customs onto all members of his house and family. Since he married me, Flora and Frances had turned into right little English madams, which did not always go over well with our more thoroughly Highland neighbors.
Many of the farmers I had pushed out hated me, and the local merchants generally resented my expectations. That said, all of the cloth and machines that I purchased were paid for on time, which meant that I would never be tarred and feathered. And the neighborhood ladies who wished for invitations to tea at the Great House were never openly rude to me.
My perch may have been a lonely one, but it was safe one. Or it had been, until now.
As I approached the stable, I wondered what to tell Grace about our futures. I myself had never predicted this eventuality. Gilbert had always been healthier than I, and quite apart from that he was five years younger. Dead at thirty, without an heir. It was a sad business.
Though I could not help but reflect that it was much more sad for the survivors. When Gilbert was alive, he had managed to escape his dislike of me and boredom in Skye by getting a posting in India. Divorce was unthinkable, but both he and I had believed that his rare visits home, with their obligatory moments in my boudoir, rushed and awkward, would result in an heir. And after that, a spare or two.
For Gilbert, this was a characteristically stupid belief. For me, it was an uncharacteristically stupid one.
Grace was already up and over the rail, petting the ponies, the tears on her face quite dry, and for a moment I was not quite so worried for her.
“Mummy,” she said, burying her face in the mane of one of the grey ones. “The foals this year are so wonderful!”
“Are they,” I asked, wondering what had become of my groom. Old Toby was the best on the island, and I had managed to poach him from Adam’s family by promising that he would be able to run the stables as he liked, provided he brought in a healthy profit.
“This one is Rowan, and this one is Willy, and this girl is Phineas,” said Grace, fairly dancing about.
“Phineas is a rather strange name for a girl,” I muttered, squinting at the dark little filly.
Grace frowned. “Mama! She looks like a Phineas.”
The filly had a stocky, stubborn look about her, as if she were unimpressed with the view and with the grass.
I smiled. “Maybe you’re right about that one. Phineas, then.”
Grace put her arms around the filly. “She would be perfect for going about the island. Toby said that he’s made sure none of this new crop tires easily,” she said, clucking at the horse.
I leaned on the rail, knowing that Grace was good at avoiding kicks but still worried that this Phineas might be a bit of a loose cannon. I hadn’t grown up with ponies, and had no great love for them. “This new crop is meant to be sold, Grace,” I said. “And Phineas along with the rest of them.”
She clung to the pony, stubborn and still a little sad, I saw. “You can’t let me keep her, mummy? Just one!”
“Gracie, you’re keeping all of the dams, and little Ajax besides,” I said. “The young ones are for sale.”
“You never let me keep any,” she yelled, “It’s not fair!”
And she was off like a shot toward the far corner of the pasture.
With a great sigh, I turned back toward the house. It was true that I never let Grace keep any of her favorite ponies, and I thought she ought to learn early that we did not raise them for our own amusement. If we went about keeping every animal that struck our fancy, we’d be living in rags.
And now, with my husband gone, we had even more reason to sell every single one.
But my daughter was too far away to listen to this explanation, and I was now deep in the world of figures and investments.
I might as well go down to the village and face the gossip, I reasoned. Women were supposed to stay inside after a death, avoiding even the funeral, but I was not going to follow that nonsense custom. Indeed, all of my businesses still needed to be run, and if I completely neglected them then I would put us all at risk not only of wagging tongues, but of the shame of penury.
7
I was getting my own bonnet on, ready to go check on the inn that I owned in the village, when Esther came running up to me.
“Lady Bell,” she said. “You’ll not go out in that dress, surely? I have one ready for you in your room.”
I took that to mean that Adam had left, and was sad at the same time as I gave a silent prayer of thanks that today was not going to be the day that I was caught out in scandal.
Looking down at my dress, I realized that it was green, not at all an appropriate shade for mourning. If I were to run around the village in this dress, I could forget Adam – there would be enough scandal to occupy the island for years anyway.
“I suppose you’re right, Esther. Well, I will change quickly.”
Esther had laid out an entire mourning outfit for me. The dress that she had found was indeed crepe, and I recognized it as one that I had worn for my father-in-law five years ago. At that time, Gilbert and I still thought we had hope of a son, and we had not yet grown to resent each other.
So it appeared that I had been much plumper then. I had not noticed my waist shrinking, but the gown was baggy on me.
Esther clucked. “This won’t do, ma’am. I knew I would have to take it in, but I did not realize that it would look like a sack on you.”
My eyes narrowed. “I suppose the village expects me to be wailing and gnashing my teeth. I may as well go about in sackcloth.”
Esther gave only a grunt to that. “It had better be more becoming sackcloth than this, ma’am. I can do something temporary with it if you’ll hold still, but I can’t let you be seen like this.”
At once, the same petulance that had afflicted Grace took hold of me. “I’ll choose how I’m seen, thank you,” I said, snatching my skirt back from her. “You have no need to mind my reputation.”
Esther’s brow remained smooth, but the look she gave me was full of her strength of character. “Yes, ma’am, but I have a need to mind my own. If you were to go about in that thing, people would say I was worth nothing as a lady’s maid.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Esther. Of course you may take it in a bit. But I want to leave as soon as I can for the village.”
8
And so it was in a crepe gown that I went down to the village. After the first part of the walk, my stays began to feel wickedly uncomfortable, and I rather wondered whether Esther had got me into them quite right. But I could not deny that after a few minutes under her skilled hands, the dress looked like a little bit less of a bag.
My first stop was at the inn. I knew better than to go in the front door, where I would surely be greeted with stares, silence, and a great deal of men who were trying to figure out how to tug their forelocks to the newly bereaved land
lady.
Instead, I found Ron, a great man who was still a boy inside his head. He always smiled, and was always honest.
In fact, he was probably one of the only people in the village who was not going to be offended by my outfit.
As soon as he saw me, he stood tall and recited the lines that his mother had carefully taught him to use with mourners. “Please accept my condolences,” he said, frowning. It seemed as if he did not really wish to frown, but his mother must have told him that it didn’t do to say such things with a great smile on one’s face.
“Thank you, Ronald,” I said. “Where is Mrs. Climpson?”
He smiled, slouching again, seeming relieved that he had got through the complicated social process of acknowledging a lady in black. “Well, she were upstairs, but she just went down to the bar.”
I smiled back at him, though he probably saw little of it through the veil. “Could you have her come into the study, please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, walking off into the bar area. Ron was bound to tell the exact truth, so I knew that soon the whole village would be well aware that my first act on learning of my husband’s death had been to check on one of my enterprises. Then again, they already called me “the Roman” and “Shylock”, so my reputation as an evil and ruthless money-maker was unlikely to be worsened by the news.
Besides, even if I had snuck in through the back door and seen only Mrs. Climpson, who was a picture of discretion, the whole village would still know of my visit. Even if neither of us breathed a word, the village would know. It was one of the peculiarities of country living.
When Mrs. Climpson approached, she looked as if she were about to comment on my garb, so I took steps to forestall her. “I would like to see the ledgers,” I said, gesturing to the desk where they were kept.
