When I mentioned that to Jack, he said to wait – he didn’t want her having nightmares. I thought that for all its doubtless violent past, the Tower felt safe enough with the comfortable reassurance that had there been any spirits lurking, then Thane would have let us know. He would have been aware of them and reacted as all animals did to supernatural presences.
The approach to Braemar Castle was all that visitors could wish for and certainly a more romantic prospect at first sight than Balmoral. It was almost miniature by comparison but much more ancient, dating from the seventeenth century and replacing the original eleventh-century Kindrochit Castle, stronghold of the Clan Farquharson when castles were built for defence. Indications of its past turbulent history lay in the grim gun loops still visible on the walls. The once protective moat had long since disappeared, but inside the castle remained the grim bottle dungeon which had awaited luckless prisoners.
The girls were shy with their new companions but that soon wore off as we heard their trills of laughter, being escorted round the dark corners and scampering up the spiral staircase.
Persuaded to stay for supper, since the four were now quite devoted companions and the grown-ups were getting along splendidly, we travelled back in the glowing twilight when all the trees seemed asleep, according to Meg, who had been placated in her appeal for ghosts. There was a spectral piper and a clash of steel could sometimes be heard on the battlements, as well as a baby crying.
As the girls had explored the castle with their new-found friends our hosts had given us a guided tour at a more leisurely pace. Suddenly I was face to face with the portrait of a young man in eighteenth-century dress. That black hair and white skin I found so attractive, a compelling rather than merely handsome face, full-lipped with a quizzical almost familiar smile, oddly like the ghillie I had seen at Balmoral.
Our hostess saw me looking at him. ‘A sad story, his bride is one of our ghosts. A younger son, they had not long returned from honeymoon and she woke up – alone. She couldn’t find him anywhere in the castle and, certain that he had abandoned her – it was well known that he had a mistress pre-marriage – she believed that he had returned to her. Well, the silly girl, broken-hearted, feeling betrayed, committed suicide. Of course, he was distraught when he did return home, not guilty on this occasion – perhaps. But he soon married again, an heiress this time.’ She smiled. ‘We are lucky to live now. Marriages were not for love in those days, it was a matter of dynasty, providing an heir,’ she laughed, looking out of the window at her own daughters playing a noisy game together.
After the castle the cottage seemed remote and unassuming. Thane greeted us wildly as if we had been absent for days rather than hours. He seemed relieved at our presence as Mabel, seated by the fire, informed us that she had returned some time ago.
‘Returned from where?’ I asked, as she had declined the invitation to accompany us for afternoon tea, claiming she had one of her rare headaches and needed extra rest to be fit for the Aberdeen meeting. The malady which had apparently been shadowing her for several days certainly accounted for her odd reclusive behaviour.
‘In your absence I decided to attend that informal suffrage meeting in Ballater after all.’
This was the first I had heard about any meeting and felt somewhat slighted. She might have mentioned it, knowing that I would have wanted to be there too. She must have seen my look of disappointment and added hastily: ‘The local ladies were simply anxious to set the stage, so to speak, for the meeting with the Pankhursts. As a matter of fact, they approached me some time ago, when they knew I intended coming to Scotland. They wished me to be included, as a special friend of dear Emmeline and Christabel.’
She sighed and eyeing me almost apologetically, added, ‘It would appear they believed that the expertise of an English lady would keep them on the right lines.’
So that was, according to her, how they had expressed it as she went on: ‘I must confess that I had dismissed the time as inconvenient and it was a last-minute decision to go. I decided on the pony trap, my favourite means of travel from childhood days, known then as a governess cart.’ Pausing, she smiled. ‘I was, of course, offered a carriage when I approached the stable boys with my request.’
I was wondering about that headache so suddenly relieved, as she continued: ‘I assured them that was out of the question. I had no desire to appear “grand”, so to speak, arriving by carriage. I wished my attendance to be as simple as possible and wished to put the good ladies at their ease right from the start.’
She added: ‘I made sure That Dog was carefully secured in the cottage and decided to take Lily with me, that she might be of some use on the journey.’
Doing what? I wondered, failing completely to see her in the role of an ideal travelling companion. I was curious to know how she had responded to making the long drive, twice in one day, doubtless left outside to sit in the pony trap until her mistress re-emerged.
Mabel stared at me when I asked her. ‘Oh, she didn’t come after all, complaining about a sore stomach, something she had eaten over at the stables. I wasn’t very sympathetic, I’m afraid, and just left her here.’
Poor Lily. ‘How is she now?’
Mabel shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I needed a new petticoat trimmed with the lace she brought back from Ballater. When she’d finished that, I expect she was well enough to wander over to the stables, ungrateful girl.’ She sounded bitter.
I was not to be put off. Remembering the Ballater encounter I said: ‘Has she got a young man over there?’
Mabel’s expression of amazement suggested had I asked if she had grown wings. She laughed shortly. ‘I have absolutely no idea about her personal life, nor have I the slightest interest in her comings and goings. She is merely a servant and as long as she attends to her duties efficiently that is all that concerns me.’ The look she gave me suggested that she found my interest in Lily quite extraordinary.
‘Will you be well enough to go to Aberdeen?’ A blunt ‘yes’ was the response to Olivia’s question and her anxious attempts to offer Mabel advice and medicaments for the headache were ignored.
Olivia always roused the best in everyone but when later I asked Mabel if she was feeling better, she shook her head, sighed deeply and seemed at pains to distance herself from our chatter. Perhaps because that headache which she had dismissed had returned. I observed that she seemed particularly on edge.
My curiosity about the day’s events went unappeased. I had expected an enthusiastic account of the informal meeting, but apart from the hour we were to meet the ladies, she replied to our polite questions with a mere yes or no.
But I was certain that something had happened in our absence at Braemar to upset her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
And so we departed for Aberdeen the following morning, Mabel, who seemed to have recovered, in moderately good spirits. There was an air of excitement about attending a women’s suffrage meeting with the famous Pankhursts.
We couldn’t all go and Olivia, despite being sympathetic to the cause, elected to remain with the children in the cottage. She would have loved the chance of a visit to Aberdeen and waved us off wistfully when the motor car arrived to take us to Ballater. From there we would proceed with the local suffrage ladies in a large automobile, the envied property of the wealthy husband of one of them, which must have put Mabel’s patronising attitude of being considered ‘grand’ slightly out of countenance.
After being politely introduced, I let their conversation drift over me, happy to enjoy those next few hours. The weather promised to be kind, calm and sunny as we approached the city, driving through the leafy twisting roads towards the growing suburbs of Banchory, Peterculter, Culter, Bieldside, Cults and the more modest streets of Mannofield. Then Queen’s Road, with its handsome mansions for merchants made rich from shipbuilding, fisheries and the like during the late Queen’s reign. Mansions architecturally turreted had sprung up like miniatures of Balmoral Castle, with a nationa
l desire for a lifestyle in imitation of their Queen. For less well-off or aspiring citizens, the suburbs owed their properties and prosperity to the railway trains carrying holidaymakers to fashionable Royal Deeside, and an ever-growing demand for guest houses en route.
As we approached our destination at Cowdray Hall in Union Terrace, I wondered at the choice of venue since a meeting with the Pankhursts sounded important enough to qualify for the Assembly Rooms on Union Street.
As we alighted from the automobile, a few ladies were carrying banners with suffrage slogans and a small crowd had gathered, presumably from the national press’s account of Pankhurst notoriety. But at second glance, the choice of venue became obvious.
Trouble was expected. I knew enough from Jack’s experience of political meetings in Edinburgh to understand that a decision had been made on high that the main street should be avoided as a potential danger spot. To put it plainly, police were everywhere, outnumbering the onlookers, mostly mounted on their splendid, glossy well-trained horses who knew exactly what was needed to control and deal with unruly mobs and potential rioters.
I looked around apprehensively. I did not like those police horses that began stamping a little, great horses that by merely nudging could crack a rib or severely injure anyone in their path. And mingling with the small crowd some better-dressed men suggested policemen in plain clothes ready to move in smartly on any emergency.
As we trooped up to the entrance, the crowd’s murmurs intensified with growing hostility. I was aware of rude catcalls from the flat-capped workingmen who formed the majority of the onlookers surging forward. Obviously they did not believe in votes for their women and wished to remain the absolute rulers of their households, however poor they might be.
I was glad to get inside with the door closed.
The first surprise was that there were no Pankhursts in evidence. No dear Emmeline or Christabel on the platform and it soon became obvious from a few tentative enquiries that Mabel had made an error. But she stood her ground, saying she had been misinformed. She had been told definitely to expect them.
I felt bitterly disappointed, and as I listened I wondered – had they ever intended being present? The meeting was opened by the chairman of the local group and though absent in body, Emmeline Pankhurst was certainly present in spirit.
Two dedicated ladies, passionate to the cause, mounted the platform among cheers from the audience and the atmosphere was thick with Pankhurst messages and quotations.
‘We are here not because we are lawbreakers, we are here in our efforts to become lawmakers. The argument of the broken window pane is the most valuable argument in modern politics, for there is something that governments care for more than human life and that is the security of property, so it is through property that we shall strike the enemy. We urge you all to be militant each in your own way …’
I was well acquainted with their sentiments, knew them by heart from my addiction to the extensive suffrage literature, and so on and on for a very stirring hour, ending with questions from the audience. I felt delighted to be with so many women, sisters in spirit, who shared my belief in the fight for our future and the certainty that we must win in the end, yet unable to shake off the feeling of being let down somehow by the Pankhursts’ absence, and the feeling that this meeting was something of an anticlimax. I looked round the tightly packed audience mostly composed of women, as one might expect, with a few men looking sheepish as if they had been dragged along unwillingly by wife or sister, their distressed expressions saying they would rather be anywhere but sitting in Cowdray Hall at this moment.
A depressing sight, indeed, and I realised we had a long way to go before men could be persuaded that we women were their equals and had the right to vote for who should govern our country.
The speakers brought the meeting to a close with a blessing, one of Emmeline’s: ‘Trust in God – She will provide!’ That brought a laugh and plenty of cheering.
I nudged Mabel encouragingly, certain she would have something to say but she merely shook her head.
‘What about your speech, your vote of thanks?’ I queried.
‘Not appropriate, Rose,’ she whispered.
Feeling that someone should say something, I stood up and introducing myself as chairman of the Edinburgh branch, I thanked the ladies for their well-informed and excellent talk, how inspiring it was to all of us, and so forth. I ended by asking that the good wishes and firm resolve of all Scottish women who believed in the importance of our movement be conveyed to Mrs Pankhurst.
As we were leaving, it soon became obvious that despite her claims to be a dear friend of Emmeline and Christabel, no one knew or had even heard of Mabel Penby Worth. They regarded her with polite but vague smiles.
I was glad to leave the meeting and, waiting for our motor car outside, where police and crowds had thankfully vanished, Emily Dickson, a quite gentle-seeming woman despite her platform performance as a passionate speaker, came over to hold out her hand and thank me for my vote of thanks.
‘Mrs McQuinn,’ she said using my professional name which I still used despite my second marriage, ‘I have heard of you and the excellent work being done by our sisters in Edinburgh.’ Flattered indeed, I was aware of Mabel at my side, edging forward and longing to get in something about Balmoral Castle and our stay there.
I felt sorry for her, so sadly deflated. After all her boasts about her friends the Pankhursts, not even a chance to read that prepared vote of thanks she had worked on so assiduously since our arrival at the cottage.
As Emily Dickson left us, we adjourned with our Ballater companions. We all felt we deserved a break and decided to take tea at the hotel across the road. After a delicious but brief afternoon tea, as we were discussing our share of the bill, a waiter came forward, touched my shoulder. ‘Mrs Macmerry?’ he whispered. How did he know my name, I wondered? ‘A gentleman wishes to speak to you in reception. If you will follow me.’
Mabel, who was deep in conversation with one of the ladies, hadn’t noticed any of this and I whispered: ‘Won’t be a moment.’ She nodded, presuming I was excusing myself to go to the lavatory.
Completely mystified, I followed the waiter. And there leaning on the counter—
‘Jack! What on earth?’
He kissed me and grinned. ‘I told you I might be in Aberdeen and here we are.’ He pointed to a nearby table and the unmistakable presence of my old antagonist, Inspector Harvill Gray, late of Edinburgh City Police and, much to my relief, recently promoted to Grampian as chief inspector.
‘Is this a reunion of some sort?’
‘Not quite, just a bit of police business.’ And his lips closed firmly, a remembered gesture. Whatever his reason, he wasn’t going to tell me. ‘I guessed you would be here at the meeting.’
‘Are you coming to Balmoral?’
He shrugged and said cautiously. ‘Maybe, but not today.’ A glance towards Gray who saw us and acknowledged me with a brief nod.
Apparently we weren’t going to join him. Jack took my arm and was ushering me back in the direction of the restaurant.
‘How’s Meg – and Thane?’
‘In splendid form, they’re loving Balmoral.’
Jack nodded. ‘That’s great. Take care of her.’ I wanted to know more, but Mabel and the ladies had come into reception. Our automobile was waiting.
Jack led me to the step, kissed me again. ‘See you soon – hope to have a day or two up there on the strength of this visit.’
‘What visit?’
He bowed a farewell to the ladies and Mabel asked: ‘Isn’t he coming with us?’
I shook my head and realised I didn’t even know whether he was heading back home or pushing on elsewhere. It was all very frustrating but one thing was obvious. The meeting between Jack and Gray was no accident.
Suffragettes? Or something to do with the ‘rumour’ I remembered Jack mentioning before we left Solomon’s Tower?
At my side, Mabel said: �
��I must write to dear Emmeline, tell her how we missed them both.’ I nodded absently, my tangled thoughts still on that brief meeting with Jack. ‘You would have so loved meeting dear Christabel,’ she added with a sigh. ‘A truly wonderful young woman, a noble creature …’
And so on and on. It had been a long and oddly frustrating day, not quite the return journey I had imagined, full of eager, excited talk about meeting the esteemed Pankhursts. Instead the ladies were silent, obviously very weary as we travelled back through the growing dusk. We were all relieved to reach Ballater where we left the automobile and bid our companions goodnight. Dave was sitting patiently at the wheel of the motor Vince had sent to collect us.
I was glad to be back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next day Olivia had decided that the girls might enjoy visiting Vince’s quarters in the castle. Meg immediately asked if I could go with them.
Olivia laughed. ‘Of course she can, dear. Your mam is always included and Miss Penby too.’ (The agreed form of address from the girls – she was Mabel to the rest of us.)
I shared their excitement. This would be the first time I had been inside the castle since our arrival. There was only one problem – Thane. For obvious reasons he could not come with us and we were being very careful at keeping his presence unknown to the King, which meant restriction to discreet walks in the woods near the cottage well out of range of the castle.
Meg was disappointed, so was I. There seemed only one solution. ‘It’s only for a few hours,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay with Thane. I can visit it with Uncle Vince some other time.’
Mabel, overhearing this conversation, said firmly: ‘You must go, Rose. That Dog will be quite safe with me.’
This generous offer was quite unexpected knowing how Mabel felt about Thane, but before Olivia and I could protest it was greeted by the girls as a great idea and a great relief to Meg in particular. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she spent a lot less time talking to Thane now that she had Faith as her dearest friend and the two girls were inseparable.
The Balmoral Incident Page 7
