Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘I will not calm down. That girl has always been troublesome.’ He frowned, his fingers beating a staccato rhythm on the table. ‘She says she wants more freedom . . . Well, maybe you can forget the disgrace she brought on this family, but I can’t. Mark my words, Ellen – she’s becoming defiant, and it spells trouble.’

  ‘But she’s been really good lately. I’m sure it’s just a little upset,’ Ellen soothed, but her forehead creased with an anxious frown and there was a worried look in her placid, brown eyes.

  ‘You must keep your eye on her,’ Robert warned. ‘We don’t want any repeats.’ He rose from the table. ‘After all, it is not as if we can trust her.’ With that final, damning statement, he strode out of the room.

  Ellen stared after him. She was a quiet woman who abhorred discord in her family, and this argument between Kirsty and Robert puzzled her. She felt she must have missed something and wasn’t sure what. After breakfast, she would have a quiet word with Kirsty and see if she could smooth things out between them.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kirsty clenched her fists, gritted her teeth and fought the urge to scream. She had never experienced a rage like the one surging through her now, and it was a wonder she contained herself until she reached her bedroom. Once inside, she stood with her back pressed hard against the door, gulping air greedily. But that only fuelled the fire. What right did her father have to dictate to her? But she knew the answer. It was because he was her father and she still lived under his roof. She would have no independence of her own until grandmother’s trust fund was hers. And that wouldn’t be for several years; until then, she was trapped.

  Nervous energy coursed through her body in a quivering wave and she paced the room endlessly, faster and faster, but it wasn’t enough to get rid of the three years of repressed feelings which all wanted to burst out of her at once.

  She wasn’t aware of the first thing she threw until the sound of breaking glass pierced her consciousness and she stared, aghast, at the broken mirror. Shock paralysed her. She’d done nothing like this before. But the need to strike out was overwhelming. She struggled to control herself, but it was futile. Her emotions swamped her with an intensity that frightened her, and she couldn’t stop. She wrenched drawers out, upturning and scattering the contents. She stopped only to catch her breath before she started on her wardrobe, tearing dresses from their hangers and hurling them across the room. Wraps followed, until the place resembled a multi-coloured jumble sale.

  Her hands grasped the last dress and, half-crying, half-laughing, she collapsed on the bed in exhaustion. It was several minutes before she realised what she was clutching to her body, and by then it was too late to draw back. It had been years since she had seen this gown, touched it, stroked it, held it. Now, it revolted her.

  She wanted to throw it from her, destroy it, burn it – anything to remove it from her sight and her mind. The dress invoked too many reminders, awful memories, of something that should never have happened.

  It had started after the day Velvet threw her. She’d landed in an embarrassing heap in front of Johnnie Bogue, whose own mount pranced around her. Instead of laughing, as she’d expected, he’d leapt from his horse and helped her to her feet.

  ‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ He’d raised his eyebrows in concern, making her blush because this was Johnnie Bogue, admired by every young girl in Dundee.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she’d mumbled, brushing grass from her skirt.

  They’d said little more than that, but when their paths kept crossing, Kirsty started to think it was more than a coincidence. To begin with, they reined in their horses and passed the time of day before cantering off. Soon, however, when Johnnie saw her on Velvet, he would turn his horse and trot beside her. They became friends, or so she thought.

  She invited him to her fifteenth birthday party and her parents welcomed him. They assumed, in time, Kirsty and Johnnie would make a suitable match, and form a link between two important mill-owning families. Kirsty had laughed at the idea because they were only friends, good friends.

  Her hand tightened on the silky fabric of the gown. The Bogues had held a magnificent ball to celebrate their son’s twenty-first birthday, and Kirsty’s invitation was the envy of her friends. The dress, made especially for the event, was pale green organza, with a yellow rose on the neckline. At fifteen, it was her first grown-up ballgown.

  How proud she had been to wear it on that eventful night. A night which should have been imprinted on her memory as a happy time, something to be remembered with pleasure. Oh, it was imprinted on her memory, all right, despite all her efforts to erase it.

  Even now, the scent of full-blown roses transported her to the summerhouse again. That lovely little summerhouse, which was just far enough away from the Bogue mansion to leave her isolated and alone when Johnnie became overly familiar.

  Aunt Bea, who thought she was safe in Johnnie’s company, sipped wine and chatted to Amelia Bogue in the ballroom. The band played on, but the sound of music drifting over the lawns had seemed to be coming from a great distance. Guests danced and gossiped and drank and ate; but not one of them heard her cries of, ‘No! No!’ as the nice young man, of whom her parents approved, tore at her dress.

  Painful memories sent their icy tentacles probing into her brain.

  ‘Complain all you like,’ Johnnie Bogue had said when he left her crying in the summerhouse. ‘No one will believe you.’ There had been a contemptuous expression in his eyes; he’d looked at her as if she were something dirty. ‘I’ll tell them how you led me on, and I’ll say I wasn’t the first.’ He’d left her then, and she had pulled the fragments of her dress around her before walking the two miles home, thankful no one saw her.

  It was only later she had found out he had a weakness for pretty, young girls. The younger they were, the more he liked them.

  She’d hidden the gown at the back of her wardrobe, hoping her parents need never know. But then, there was Ailsa, and there was no way she could hide that.

  Kirsty’s hands tightened on the dress. It stood for everything in her past she hated. It had spoiled her life, just as Johnnie Bogue had. She had lost her parents’ trust because they hadn’t believed she’d played no part in her downfall. And the daughter she lost became her sister, to maintain the family’s respectability.

  The yellow rose taunted her and she tore it off. Then she ripped the dress down the middle, tearing it into smaller and ever smaller pieces. It was time to rid herself of the past, throw out the memories and start to live again. And if that meant defying her father, then so be it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Meggie?’ Ellen Campbell, normally so calm and collected, looked flustered.

  Meggie sat back on her haunches and looked at her friend and employer hovering at the nursery door.

  ‘Just give me a minute to finish wiping up this mess or someone’ll slip on it.’ She turned her attention back to the pool of porridge on the floor. ‘Our wee Ailsa’s been throwing it about again. She’s a little madam, so she is.’ Pulling herself up, Meggie lifted Ailsa out of her highchair and patted her on the bottom. ‘Off you go and play with the dolls’ house while I talk to your mama.’

  Ellen leaned against the door, her hand on her breast.

  ‘I need you to help me with Kirsty.’

  Meggie’s concern increased as she saw how upset Ellen was and heard the shortness in her breath.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ She crossed the room to Ellen and guided her to the armchair.

  ‘What’s up with our Kirsty?’ she asked, once Ellen was settled.

  ‘Oh, Meggie, she’s had some kind of seizure,’ Ellen wailed, ‘and I don’t know what to do. I spoke to her, but she ignored me. It was as if I wasn’t even there. Oh, Meggie, what are we to do?’

  ‘Start from the beginning,’ Meggie said. ‘You’re confusing me. Where is she? And why’s she in a state?’

  Ellen twisted her hands together.

  ‘She’s been
funny all morning. Arguing with her father, then storming out of the breakfast-room. So, I thought I’d better go and check if she was all right.’ Leaning forward, she grasped Meggie’s hands. ‘She was in her room, sitting on the bed. Tears pouring down her face, but she was laughing. She looked mad. And you should see the room, clothes everywhere, a broken mirror.’ Ellen raised her eyes to Meggie’s. ‘She’d even ripped one of her dresses to pieces. You don’t think she’s gone mad, do you?’

  ‘No, I’m sure she hasn’t. Not our Kirsty.’ Meggie freed her hands from Ellen’s grasp. ‘Why don’t I go and see what it’s all about?’

  ‘Would you?’ Ellen smiled through her tears.

  ‘Of course,’ Meggie said. ‘Will you keep our Ailsa out of mischief until I get back?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Ellen said. ‘This is her time with me, anyway.’

  Meggie hurried through the corridors to Kirsty’s room. Poor Kirsty; she’d thought the girl had been hurting when she was in the nursery this morning. Were things getting too much for her?

  Meggie pushed open the door. Ellen hadn’t exaggerated when she described the mess. If anything, it was worse than she’d portrayed. Meggie closed the door behind her, walked to the bed, sat beside Kirsty and took her in her arms.

  ‘Oh, you poor, poor dear,’ she murmured, rocking the girl the way she would have rocked a baby.

  * * *

  Meggie’s arms were warm and comforting, the way her mother’s arms should have been; but then, Meggie understood her, she always had. Not like her mother, who had never understood the depth of Kirsty’s anguish when she relinquished Ailsa. As far as her mother was concerned, she’d offered Kirsty the perfect solution when she covered up for her during the pregnancy by having a phantom one of her own and claiming the child when she was born.

  ‘This way is best,’ Kirsty remembered her mother saying. ‘You can have Ailsa for a sister instead of not having her at all.’

  But although Kirsty couldn’t have Ailsa as a daughter, this situation was torturous.

  Kirsty shifted in Meggie’s embrace and looked at the woman who had been better than a mother to her.

  ‘Why can’t she understand?’ she whispered. ‘Is she so unfeeling?’

  ‘Hush now,’ Meggie said. ‘She loves you and thinks she’s doing what’s right.’

  Kirsty snorted. ‘She’s doing what she wants to do. She’s taken Ailsa from me and she thinks I’ll accept it. But I won’t.’

  Meggie’s hands tightened around Kirsty’s shoulders.

  ‘You have accepted it. Ailsa’s growing fast – it’s only three months until her third birthday. She believes you’re her sister. You can’t change things now. Who’s to say it’s not for the best?’

  Kirsty buried her head on Meggie’s shoulder.

  ‘But she’s mine,’ she wailed. ‘I can’t stand it any more.’

  ‘Think of Ailsa,’ Meggie said. ‘Think what her life might be like if it became known she was illegitimate.’ Meggie paused, seeming to weigh her words. ‘You wouldn’t want her known as Kirsty’s bastard, would you?’

  Kirsty tried to wriggle free from Meggie’s grasp, but the woman’s arms were strong.

  ‘You’re right, you always are. My feelings don’t matter, what’s more important is Ailsa. I haven’t been very sensible.’

  Meggie’s hands loosened on Kirsty’s shoulders.

  ‘That’s my good girl. Let’s tidy up, shall we?’ Meggie picked up dresses from the floor and heaved them on to the bed. ‘My, you have had a paddy,’ she said as she started to sort them out and hang them back in the wardrobe.

  Shame washed over Kirsty.

  ‘It was childish of me,’ she admitted. ‘But I got so angry because they didn’t trust me. They think if they give me a little bit of freedom, I’ll bring more disgrace to the family.’ She shivered before continuing in a low voice. ‘They never believed it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I know.’ Meggie patted her shoulder before gesturing to some of the pieces of the green dress. ‘I’ll get rid of this,’ she said. ‘It’s not something you should keep.’

  * * *

  Ellen and Ailsa looked like a mother and daughter having fun together as they sat on the floor arranging the furniture in the dolls’ house.

  Meggie hovered in the doorway to the nursery and sighed as she thought of Kirsty, alone in her bedroom.

  Ellen scrambled to her feet.

  ‘Is Kirsty all right?’

  ‘She’s fine now,’ Meggie said. ‘It’s just that she hurts so much. I think it became a bit too much for her this year.’

  ‘I thought she’d got over it a long time ago.’ Ellen frowned. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘The lass doesn’t have enough in her life to keep her mind off things. Maybe if you gave her a wee bit more freedom?’ Meggie let the suggestion hang in the air.

  ‘But her father says she has all the freedom she needs. We provide her with money to spend. And she can come and go as she wants, within limits.’

  ‘Maybe she needs a wee bit more than that.’

  ‘But look what happened last time.’ Ellen’s eyes moved to look at Ailsa. ‘We thought we were being progressive parents, and we were simply being foolish.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault.’ Meggie stared at Ellen until she looked away.

  ‘So Kirsty said.’ Ellen twisted her handkerchief in her hands. ‘But she must have led him on and who’s to say the same might not happen again?’

  ‘That was over three years ago,’ Meggie reminded her. ‘Don’t you think it’s maybe time you trusted her?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Martha woke early, but Ethel had already left for work. She had high hopes of the girl – one of the best they’d recruited in Dundee. It hadn’t taken Ethel long to understand all there was to know about the suffrage cause and she’d already proved her worth at meetings and in some of their more militant activities. Although the Women’s Freedom League wasn’t as violent as the Women’s Social and Political Union, they did their share of fighting for the cause. Ethel was ready and willing. It was just too bad she had to work – that cut the time she was available. As it was, she’d miss the meeting this afternoon at the Kinnaird Hall.

  Martha’s house, like all the others in the Nethergate, formed the upper storeys of the buildings above the shops. The WFL office was situated in one of these shops. It formed part of the building where Martha lived, and it only took seconds for her to reach it after she’d breakfasted.

  ‘Hello, Lila.’ She breezed through the door. ‘Is that a new banner?’

  Lila Clunas looked up.

  ‘Do you like it? I found a dressmaker who can make them in next to no time.’ She held out the flag for Martha’s inspection.

  ‘I like the motto underneath the rampant lion, “Now’s the Day and Now’s the Hour”. Yes, I like it.’ Martha fingered the banner. ‘Good, strong material. It might even survive people trying to tear it out of our hands.’

  ‘How’s Ethel settling in?’ Lila folded the banner and placed it on a shelf.

  ‘She’s at work today. Pity, she will miss the meeting this afternoon.’

  ‘She can join us tonight when we storm the men’s meeting.’ She took some leaflets from the shelf. ‘They have no right to make the meetings exclusively male or female. They think they’re pandering to women, keeping us quiet by giving us our own meeting. We’ll have to change their minds for them. After all, we have to consider our sisters who are working women and can’t attend afternoon meetings. Your Ethel is a good example of that.’

  ‘I thought, through time, Ethel might make an excellent organiser. She has a good grasp of what it’s all about, she’s keen and has the spirit for it. It would get her out of the mill, which would make her more available for the cause.’

  ‘It’s too early, Martha.’ Lila smiled. ‘I know she is your protégé, but you know what they say, before you can become a suffragette, there are three forms of baptism – be thrown out of a cabinet mini
ster’s meeting, go to prison, and fight in a by-election. Ethel hasn’t even passed the first post.’

  ‘I suppose you are right, but don’t forget those are the WSPU forms of baptism, not ours. And some of them might be difficult to achieve in Scotland. Ethel is not in a position to travel to London or go to prison because she works.’ Martha paused. ‘I still think she would make a good organiser.’

  A draught of wind fluttered the papers on the table and the two women made a grab for them.

  ‘I say, ladies. Didn’t mean to send your pamphlets flying.’ The tall, young man placed his silver-topped cane on the shop counter before bending to rescue the fluttering leaflets.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Archie. I assume Constance is still in London?’ Lila stacked the leaflets into bundles on the table. ‘Have you come to help, or are you just here to amuse yourself?’

  ‘Now, now, ladies. You know I take an interest in everything you do. I can just see it now, women wielding the vote. It’d add a bit of spice to some of the dullards we’ve got in parliament. What ho?’

  ‘If you want to help, you could take some of the leaflets and pass them around your friends.’ Lila grinned as she challenged him.

  ‘And get myself lynched?’ Archie shuddered. ‘Tell you what, though. I don’t mind scattering them through Dundee as I pass on my merry way. Anything to help the cause, as you term it.’

  Martha shoved a pile of leaflets into his hands.

  ‘Off you go, then.’ There was something about Archie that unnerved her. It was his eyes – blue and piercing, they always seemed to watch her. She shrugged the feeling away. ‘Will you be at Winston Churchill’s meeting this evening?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, even if only to see what you ladies are up to.’

  ‘It will be an exciting evening, I promise you.’ Lila grinned at him.

  Martha busied herself stacking leaflets into piles for the volunteers to collect, only looking up again when she heard the door close behind him.