House of Strangers

by Forsyth, Anne

  ‘Are you still one of these suffragettes?’ he asked abruptly.

  She shook her head. ‘Suffragist. That means I support the campaign for votes for women. Suffragettes are the ones who take action and I’m afraid I…’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘So you won’t go burning down buildings and breaking windows?’

  She said a little sadly, ‘No, I won’t. But the battle isn’t won.’

  ‘You’ve still to convert me,’ he said firmly. ‘I see you and I have a lot to talk about—and a lot to argue over.’

  She picked up the newspaper. ‘Thank you for the paper.’

  ‘You are welcome to it.’ He paused. ‘Miss Craig, as you teach history, I wonder. I am in fact writing a history of the Picts. It is, I may say, a labour of love. I wonder… that is, would you be interested in looking at a few chapters?’

  ‘I would like to—very much,’ she said.

  He held open the door for her. ‘Goodnight then, Miss Craig.’

  Chapter 16

  It was a Hogmanay to remember.

  Cousin Chris wore her diamond brooch, and Arabella looked even more dramatic than usual in flowing scarlet and gold draperies with a turban in a matching gold silk studded with diamante brooches on her head. ‘My dear!’ she clutched Flora’s hand. ‘I have wonderful news. The call has come!’

  ‘How wonderful!’

  ‘It is indeed. Someone—a producer—saw me at the Exhibition; you remember, I asked you not to speak of it. But he has asked if I would like to take part in a ceilidh singing old Scots songs.’

  ‘That’s very good news,’ said Flora solemnly.

  ‘Of course,’ Arabella went on, ‘it is not my usual field, which is opera, but it is an entrée into the musical world. He did not mention payment,’ she added, becoming practical, ‘but even if it is to be on a voluntary basis, it is an engagement.’ She beamed on Flora.

  ‘I am so pleased for you,’ Flora said.

  ‘I beg you, don’t mention it to anyone just yet,’ said Arabella.

  Flora shook her head. ‘Of course not. And will you sing for us this evening?’

  ‘I shall be delighted.’ It was then that Nelly entered with a tray of sausage rolls, followed by plates of shortbread and her famous black bun.

  ‘Now this is something!’ said Mr Turnbull. Will, who had offered to pour out drinks, took round glasses of ginger wine for the ladies.

  ‘We must wait!’ said Chris. ‘Wait till the first foot arrives. And open the windows, Flora dear, so that we can let the old year out.’

  There was a slightly subdued air in the room. Arabella was abstracted, Mr Turnbull was humming ‘A Good New Year’ to himself. Margery Craig sat quietly on her own, accepting a glass of wine and smiling rather absently. There were one or two other visitors: a pale, silent couple from the house next door, an elderly neighbour from across the way. Her excitement made up for the silent couple.

  ‘Dear me, Miss Dunbar, I must say this is a real treat. It’s years since we had a Hogmanay party. And the young folk too…’ She beamed on Flora and giggled as Will pressed her to take another glass of ginger wine. ‘Oh, you naughty man, I could get quite tiddly.’

  ‘Listen!’ said Will suddenly, ‘it’s the bells.’ Everyone was silent as they counted the chimes.

  There was a loud knock at the door and Flora rushed to open it.

  ‘A good New Year,’ said the tall man with a mop of dark hair. He was carrying a lump of coal and a bottle.

  ‘Good luck to the company.’

  Flora led him in and he shook hands solemnly with Cousin Chris.

  ‘A happy New Year! Listen!’ Will leant out of the window, Flora craning over his shoulder. She began to laugh.

  ‘Where on earth did he come from?’

  ‘He’s a friend of mine.’

  People flung open their windows as the piper in full Highland dress marched up and down the road.

  ‘Now this is something!’ Cousin Chris laughed. ‘I might have known it was your doing.’

  ‘He’s Jock, a friend from the digs,’ Will said. ‘It sounds a lot better in the open air, I must say, than when he’s practising.’

  ‘Call him in!’ Cousin Chris commanded. ‘The piper always gets a dram; it’s his reward.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am.’ Jock the piper laid down his pipes carefully and raised his glass. ‘May I wish you, ma’am, and the company too, a good New Year.’ Everyone raised their glasses. ‘Here’s to 1913.’

  ‘And now, you’re not going to waste all this good food I’ve made,’ said Nelly, whose round face was pink with excitement. ‘Come on—eat up.’

  Afterwards. Arabella sang a mournful Scots ballad, clasping her hands in front of her and looking soulfully up at the ceiling. There was a silence and polite applause after she had finished until Mr Turnbull offered, ‘Would the company care for a recitation?’ To Flora’s surprise Mr Turnbull cheered things up with ‘When Pa Papered the Parlour.’

  ‘There was paper here and paper there, and paper, paper everywhere…’

  She caught Will’s eye and giggled. Who would have thought it of Mr Turnbull?

  Then Will said, ‘There’s space to dance in the hall.’ He turned to Cousin Chris, ‘With your permission, Miss Dunbar.’

  ‘Of course.’ Cousin Chris laughed and Will took Flora by the hand as the piper struck up a tune and they galloped up and down in the Gay Gordons.

  ‘Miss Craig, would you care to dance?’ Mr Turnbull solemnly offered his hand to Margery, who suddenly began to smile. They birled and swung and skipped up and down the hallway. Margery could hardly believe that her partner was the grumpy, normally silent Mr Turnbull who was now whirling her expertly in a polka. She was almost breathless, and her hair that was pinned up in a bun was coming down, but what did it matter? Time enough to be Miss Craig, suffragist, on 2 January. For now it was Hogmanay and she hadn’t danced for years.

  Later, Will persuaded Nellie to take off her apron. ‘Come on, Nellie. It’s the Pride of Erin waltz.’ She beamed on him, for she had a soft spot for this young man. He swung her into the dance and they waltzed up and down the hall.

  Cousin Chris laughed and clapped her hands. ‘My, this is some Hogmanay!’

  Chapter 17

  Cousin Chris had thoroughly enjoyed the festivities. For the next few days, she talked about nothing else but the Hogmanay party. ‘We have never held a party like that,’ she said. ‘ Not in all the years I have lived here.’

  Now that the New Year had begun, Flora was determined to try and trace Dougal. ‘Can you tell me anything more about him?’ she asked one day, hesitating a little in case she awoke unhappy memories. ‘Did he have plans for the future?’

  Cousin Chris looked thoughtful as if she was dreaming of long ago. ‘He spoke a lot about Nova Scotia,’ she said. ‘He had a cousin there who tried to persuade him to go out and join him on the farm.’

  Flora did not press her further, for in fact she was becoming a little anxious about Cousin Chris. Nelly had noticed too and tried to send up dishes that would tempt Chris—a coddled egg, a lightly poached piece of fish, an orange custard. She would shake her head when these were returned almost untouched.

  ‘You’ll need to eat,’ said Nelly firmly, standing over Chris.

  ‘They’re delicious, but I’ve no appetite,’ Chris sighed. Flora called in Dr Black. Chris had faith in him, she knew. ‘It isn’t necessary,’ said Chris crossly.

  After he had examined Chris, he drew Flora into the dining room. ‘A word, Miss?’

  Flora sank down on to a chair. ‘Is she very ill?’

  ‘She’s not young,’ said the doctor, folding away his stethoscope, ‘and she’s very weak. If she gets her strength back...’ He let the sentence fall in the air. ‘If not, I know your aunt—your cousin, isn’t it?’ The doctor went on, ‘has pushed on for years. I wonder,’ he paused, ‘if there is perhaps something preying on her mind. It’s as if she was troubled—not about her health, she’s ne
ver been one to worry about that—but it’s as if there’s something that needs to be resolved. Could you maybe talk to her? Settle her a bit? I’ll leave a prescription, but frankly pills won’t do much good while she’s in this restless state. And of course her appetite is poor. She needs building up.’

  ‘She’s refused to eat,’ said Flora, ‘even though Nelly, our cook, has made all kinds of things to tempt her.’

  ‘I know she’s well looked after,’ said the doctor as he was leaving, ‘but see if you can put her mind at rest.’

  Later, Flora talked to Will. ‘I can’t help thinking it might just be something in her past,’ she said. ‘Those old letters and photos I found—she’s been poring over them. It seems as if she isn’t taking an interest in anything that happens today. She used to read the paper every day, keep up with the news, but now… Well, she isn’t much interested.’

  Will took Flora’s hand. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he said. ‘I’m fond of her. I’d be very glad to help.’

  ‘I know.’ Flora smiled at him. ‘But for now I think we must just go on as we are. I’ll try to find out what’s worrying her.’ It was some time later before she found out what it was.

  Chris spent a great deal of time reading and re-reading old letters, and poring over old photographs. Sometimes she would sigh, and glancing up, found Flora’s gaze on her and changed the sigh to a smile.

  ‘You have a great many photographs,’ said Flora one evening, looking up from her book.

  ‘And a lot of memories,’ said Chris, still with that abstracted look. ‘These letters and photos might as well be thrown out. There is no one now to care about the past.’

  Flora was alarmed to see her cousin reach for a handkerchief and wipe her eyes. She jumped up and went over to kneel beside Cousin Chris and take her hand. ‘Can’t you tell me what is worrying you?’ she said gently.

  ‘I haven’t long to go,’ said Cousin Chris in a matter of fact way. ‘Oh, that doesn’t worry me.’

  Flora protested. ‘But if you will eat , I know you will get your strength back. There is something worrying you. I wish I could help.’

  ‘It is nothing much,’ Chris said. ‘But, well yes, I think you might be able to help me. I know how observant you are, how clever at ferreting out information.’ Flora was about to interrupt. ‘No,’ said Chris. ‘It’s quite true. Look how you discovered the shepherdess—that was clever of you.’ She glanced at the mantelpiece, where the shepherdess, now repaired, stood alongside the French clock.

  ‘Do you think,’ Chris went on slowly, ‘that you could possibly find out any about Dougal? What happened to him? Perhaps he went overseas and married and raised a family. He will be an elderly man now, but perhaps, just perhaps, if I could look him in the face, just once… It’s for my father’s sake and for my peace of mind.’

  Flora got up briskly. ‘I will do my best to find out anything about him,’ she said. ‘Now you must give me his name and the name of the farm, and I will write some letters and see what happens.’

  ‘You are a good girl,’ said Chris, and Flora was upset, though she tried to hide her feelings, when she saw how frail Cousin Chris had become.

  ‘But you must start to eat again,’ she said. ‘Promise.’ Flora looked at the address.

  ‘I’m sure you can find him,’ Chris said to Flora. ‘You are so observant and clever at finding things out. I’m certain Mr Sherlock Holmes would have welcomed you as an assistant, like Dr Watson. Women are, I think, much more observant than men.’ She sighed. ‘I stood by and never did anything to help—to try to find him. I wish I had done more for my father.’

  ‘I’m not at all hopeful,’ Flora said to Will one day, and her first confidence was beginning to ebb. ‘After all, he could be dead, or have moved.’

  ‘If I can help in any way,’ said Will diffidently.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Flora. ‘Let’s see. It’s as if she was tidying things up, and she speaks often about her father. I will do my best to find Dougal.’

  Chapter 18

  Flora was anxious about Cousin Chris’s request. She didn’t know where she could begin her search for Dougal. The address Chris had given her was a little vague. Surely after all these years, Dougal would not be there. But then help came unexpectedly.

  ‘My aunt is having a soiree next week,’ said Will one day. ‘She’d like to meet you.’

  Flora hesitated. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘She’ll send you a proper invitation,’ said Will. ‘In any case, I want her to meet you.’

  Flora was rather at a loss. Will hardly ever mentioned his aunt, and she had got the impression of a formidable matron, very much part of the social round.

  ‘If you think she wouldn’t mind…’ she said.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Will and went off, whistling cheerfully.

  The invitation was printed on deckle-edged card, and requested the pleasure of the company of Miss Flora Douglas. Flora showed it to Cousin Chris. ‘It all sounds rather grand,’ she said doubtfully. Already she had begun to regret accepting the invitation that Will had tossed out so casually.

  ‘Mm...’ Cousin Chris looked at the invitation. ‘I know the area. I suppose this is one of the Halliday clan.’

  ‘They sound very grand,‘ said Flora. ‘And I haven’t anything suitable to wear to something like that.’

  ‘Then you must buy a dress,’ said Cousin Chris decisively.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Flora. ‘ I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a look in the trunks upstairs?’ suggested Chris. ‘I seem to remember a very pretty cream lace dress that might fit you; anyway, Nelly is good with a needle and she could probably alter it to fit you.’

  It was, thought Flora as she drew the garment out from the tissue paper, a very pretty dress and thankfully untouched by moth. The dress had bands of lace down the front, tiny pearl buttons, and lace edging the leg of mutton sleeves. Flora smoothed the pleated skirt with her fingers. She couldn’t wait to show it to Chris and to Nelly.

  Flora couldn’t help being a little excited and rather apprehensive about the party. When Will called for her in a cab, she invited him in. ‘I hope you have a lovely evening,’ said Cousin Chris. ‘That dress is a great success.’

  Will looked admiringly at Flora. ‘It certainly is,‘ he said. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Flora laughed, embarrassed. ‘Not beautiful,’ she said. ‘But thanks to Nelly, I hope I’ll pass.’

  Will helped her on with her coat, and as the cab drew away from the house, she began to feel slightly nervous. What if it was a very grand affair? What if everyone was very smart in dresses from the fashion departments of the big stores? She hardly listened as Will pointed out places on the way.

  The house itself was a tall, imposing stone house, up a long flight of steps. Will caught Flora’s elbow as she almost stumbled. ‘Sorry, I was looking at the lights.’

  ‘It was one of the first houses in the road to put in electric light,’ said Will.

  Flora would have liked to linger in the hall, with its heavy oak furniture and prints of old Edinburgh, but as soon as the maid had taken her coat, she and Will were ushered into the drawing room. ‘How will I know which one is Will’s aunt?’ Flora thought in a panic, but then she reassured herself, ‘You’re with Will. He’ll introduce you,’ and she scolded herself for being so silly.

  ‘Dear Will!’ A large lady in dark blue silk encrusted with pearls removed herself from a small group and sailed across the room to greet Will. ‘Will! My dear, where have you been hiding? I never see you these days.’ She wagged a reproachful finger at her nephew.

  ‘Busy, as always.’ Will was fairly curt. ‘May I introduce Miss Flora Douglas.’

  ‘Ah, your little friend,’ Will‘s aunt said, extending a hand to Flora. ‘How nice to meet you. Now do make yourself at home.’ Flora, looking round the huge drawing room with its huge porcelain vases and sombre paintings, wondered just what she meant.

 
If she really means I am to make myself at home, I could lie down on that spindly sofa covered in brocade, she thought, or, she decided, the floor would be even better, on that very expensive carpet. She could take off her shoes and sink into it. Now that really would be making herself at home. She gave a giggle then swallowed it hastily and put on a suitably respectful expression.

  But Will’s aunt did not have much time to waste on Flora. ‘We must have a long talk,’ she said vaguely. ‘Later on, perhaps. Will,’ she turned to her nephew, ‘Miss Gertie Gilchrist is here. I have promised that you and she will meet.’

  ‘I have already met her,’ said Will.

  ‘Ah, but she is very charming. You and she will have lots in common. You won’t object, Miss… er… if I steal him away—just for a little.’

  Will shrugged. ‘I must look after Flora; she knows no one here.’

  ‘Oh, she will soon get to know people. Mr Chambers!’ she called to a passing guest who turned with a hunted sort of look, ‘will you look after this young lady—my nephew’s friend—just for a few minutes. Miss Flora… er… Mr Leonard Chambers.’

  ‘Delighted,’ said the young man with a scowl that contradicted his words.

  She swept off, dragging Will. ‘You’ll be all right?’ he mouthed at Flora.

  She nodded and turned to the young man. ‘You don’t need to look after me. I’ll be quite happy, wandering around looking at the pictures and the furniture.’ He hesitated. ‘Besides,’ said Flora, ‘you were just about to escape.’

  ‘Oh dear, how did you guess? You must be a mind reader.’

  ‘It was the hunted look,’ said Flora, and they both laughed.

  ‘Well, tell me,’ he said, ‘now that we’ve been introduced, what are you doing here? You don’t look at all like Rhoda Philp’s circle. She’s more inclined to invite grand people than…’