In the kitchen Mrs Ward had just arrived and was sitting down to a cup of tea, croaking, her voice heavy with cold. Between bouts of sneezing she told Jess that Dave had taken to his bed. He was much worse than she was.
I hastily declined their invitation to stay and chat about the wedding arrangements.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I started off for Verney Castle, with Thane trotting at my side without his rope as I couldn’t manage that as well as clutching Jess’s birthday cake. I wanted to give Alexander a present of my own from the village shop. Ten minutes later we were walking down the drive armed with cake, a handsome box of paints and a colouring book.
The sun had clouded over and a dark sky threatened rain. Perhaps it was the change in the weather and the drive that twisted and turned and seemed to close in on us, heavy with massive shrubbery, that gave me the odd feeling that we were being watched. The rhododendrons had bloomed early this year and now their petals were falling in the breeze, a sinister mass of scarlet petals scattering in our path like drops of blood.
Thane’s behaviour too affected me in that walk. He seemed uneasy and as if aware that something was amiss, he would stop suddenly, a paw raised, alert and listening.
‘What is it?’ I whispered, my hand on his quivering shoulder.
Shaking himself, as if danger had passed, we set off again. A few yards further on, the procedure was repeated. It was all faintly unnerving, with the rumble of thunder far-off and heavy clouds leaning over the treetops.
We were within sight of the castle, however, when I had my first real cause for alarm. A black shape bounded up the drive towards us.
Billy, the savage dog. It was my turn to stop, to freeze in my tracks. I was near enough now to glimpse that open jaw, the yellow fangs.
Then something extraordinary happened. Within a few feet of us the dog slithered to a halt so suddenly that he did a backward somersault and rolled over. I stared in amazement, for it was as if he had hurtled into an invisible glass barrier.
At that moment, his master appeared through the shrubbery, shaking a stick at us and shouting, ‘Where do you think you’re going, miss! No dogs allowed here.’
Grinning now, he pointed sternly at Billy as if to tell the dog to get on with it and see us off the premises. But Billy made no move. He cringed, belly down and whining, and ran to his master, his tail between his legs.
The gamekeeper was clearly taken aback and I seized the opportunity to step forward boldly and say, ‘You are mistaken. We have been invited to Master Alexander’s party.’
His eyes still on his dog, wondering what had come over the normally savage beast, so reliable about scaring trespassers, he shook his head ‘You, miss. Not your dog.’
‘You are mistaken,’ I repeated. ‘Ask Master Alexander, if you like. He especially invited my deerhound.’
‘He did, did he. Well, we’ll see about that, miss.’ And calling Billy, who gave us a scared backward glance, he hurried ahead.
We followed at a leisurely pace past the marquee I had observed some days ago and the stands erected for the Jubilee celebrations. Anxiously I regarded the sky where the first drops of a fine drizzle were falling. So much for the birthday party which presumably would have been held out of doors.
At the steps leading to the front door, Billy was waiting for his master. A very docile dog, all fierce bravado vanished, he stared at us resentfully.
The door opened and his master emerged once more. Tight-lipped, calling Billy to heel, he walked past us towards the gardens, his head in the air, without a word or a glance. He had been defeated.
Expecting a footman, the man who invited us to enter was rather stockily built, balding and in his early forties. He was well-dressed enough to be an upper servant.
‘If you’ll just wait here a moment, miss. You’re early and the other guests aren’t here yet. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived.’
A thick Irish brogue gave a clue to his identity. This must be Dr Finbar Blayney, Lord Verney’s new secretary.
I handed him the cake with a hasty explanation. Nodding, he leaned forward confidentially, a whiff of medicaments suggested the remains of some of Vince’s administrations.
‘There is a deal of trouble up there,’ he whispered, indicating the great oak staircase which occupied the centre of the vast marble-floored hall. ‘Her ladyship is having great difficulty in persuading the young master into a fine velvet suit which she considers, quite rightly, the most suitable garment for a birthday party. Master Alexander doesn’t care for that idea at all, or for receiving his guests indoors – he had a fancy for the marquee out there.’
As he disappeared into a room on the right I had a chance to take in my surroundings. Verney Castle was a disappointment. I reckoned that castles worthy of the name should be ancient, majestic and romantic but this edifice was more in the nature of a vast, square and rather ugly modern mansion house.
I felt a sense of pride that it was considerably less attractive in every way than my own Solomon’s Tower, which could have been swallowed up entirely by the ballroom of Verney Castle.
A sound of excited children’s voices, footsteps on the gravel outside. A ring at the doorbell and Dr Blayney appeared again, smiled at me apologetically and opened the door to the newcomers who scrambled across the threshold.
A bevy of youngsters, these were Alexander’s guests, girls and boys, some tall, some small, but all around eight to nine years old, obviously hand-picked by Father Boyle who shepherded them into the hall, his commands to silence completely ignored as Dr Blayney said, ‘Master Alexander will see you now,’ and led us across the floor, along a handsome corridor and into an immense room, its panelled walls heavy with portraits of long-gone Verneys, interspersed with rather gloomy landscapes.
This then was the ballroom as indicated by that concession to antiquity, a minstrel’s gallery. Under its vast canopy on a padded chair, as if he was Royalty, sat the unhappy Alexander.
My heart bled for him, for I have seldom seen a sadder lonelier little figure, his face red with embarrassment and blotched with tears, looking angry and frustrated by a blue velvet suit, a lace collar and cuffs from which his thin wrists protruded. Just a mite too small for him, it obviously belonged to last year’s celebration and had been hastily produced when the weather was considered too inclement to wear outdoor clothes.
That decision, I feared, had been made with little imagination, for the velvet suit was a most unfair choice for Alexander’s spirited nature and conjured up immediate visions of ‘And When Did You Last See Your Father?’ with King Charles the First’s unhappy small prince being interrogated by the Roundheads. Painted by W F Yeams in 1878 it had proved enormously popular. There were cheap reproductions of it in every art shop and in homes throughout the land. I suspected its immediate success also accounted for the discomfiture suffered by many small boys whose parents saw the velvet suit with its Royal connections as de rigueur for parties. However, looking round the portraits in the ballroom I felt that the Verneys should have known better and could have shown considerably more ingenuity by a careful scrutiny of their own family portraits.
At Alexander’s side, standing bolt upright, her hands neatly folded, was Annette, in a pretty muslin dress with a blue sash. She looked completely happy, her eyes bright with excitement as she recognised me. Excitement, I was later to learn, which had little to do with her young charge’s birthday party as she leaned over and told Alexander to shake hands with his guests.
At this signal they broke ranks from the regimental straight line commanded by the priest and swarmed forward, the shy ones given a little push by Father Boyle who introduced them one by one, although he had clearly some difficulty in remembering all their names.
But Alexander remembered the inborn manners of his class, as he inclined his head to the boys and bowed slightly to the little girls.
As Thane and I waited in the rear, I looked at the little group of children, the boys in their Sunday be
st suits with white collars and well scrubbed faces, their father’s or big brother’s hair oil slicking down unruly locks. The girls in stiffly starched party frocks with unsteady large ribbon bows like unhappy butterflies tottering atop of their curls. Nervous and overawed by such unusual surroundings, the high ceilings and highly polished floors, they would have all been a great deal happier, I suspected, rushing about out of doors.
All had one bond in common. They were not Alexander’s friends, indeed some of them had never shaken hands with him or met him in person before. Their only remote contact a distant glimpse as he rode past in his parents’ carriage or in the governess cart, driving with Annette past their doors on the estate.
The sad truth of the matter, I realised at that moment, was that Alexander had no friends of his own age, or of any age. This group of children had been chosen from amongst the tenantry as having the right qualification of a similar age to match the Master of Verney’s birthday party.
It was awful. Who was responsible for dreaming up such a dreadful scheme, I wondered indignantly, not surely by his parents or anyone who knew him at all.
At that moment he spotted us, his face transformed by an expression of pure joy and excitement, he swept forward and bowing over my hand, threw his arms around Thane’s neck, welcomed by having his face licked.
He wasn’t really interested in my present which I put on a side table and watching this scene betwixt boy and dog, I don’t know exactly why, because I am not made that way, but I found that I was blinking back tears.
Introductions over, Father Boyle was regimenting the children once again, commanding them to stand in line and behave themselves as the doors opened once again to admit Alexander’s parents.
Like some royal presence they walked arm in arm down the line. Boys bowed, girls curtseyed and as they were inspected, an occasional noble hand reached out to pat a golden curl, or touch a boyish shoulder. At the end of the inspection Alexander’s parents stood back and his lordship thanked these unlikely guests for coming to the young Master’s birthday party.
It was Lady Verney’s turn. Putting forward her best maternal smile she told the little group that as well as getting nice things to eat very, very soon, they would each be given a little present of their own as they left. Now wasn’t that lovely?
Faces brightened at the prospect and Father Boyle commanded three cheers for his lordship and her ladyship.
As they were moving on, Lady Verney spotted Thane.
She froze and asked in an alarmed voice, ‘Who let that dog in, pray?’
Annette stepped forward, whispered something and the two noble heads swivelled sternly in my direction.
I had no intention of curtseying but before I could even open my mouth, Alexander said, ‘If you please, Mamma, he is my guest. Thane belongs to Miss Rose and he is very well-behaved.’
Polite introductions followed but Lady Verney continued to look doubtful. As far as she was concerned this was a large fierce dog and she perhaps trembled at the possible fate of her own small lapdogs should an unfortunate encounter take place.
I was introduced by Annette as Miss Rose Faro and realised that today Lord Verney looked less like my first impression of a medieval knight and more like an overfed red-faced country squire. A disappointment indeed as he smiled and said:
‘Ah, yes, we have had the pleasure of a visit from – from –’
Frowning, having difficulty with the name he turned to Lady Verney who obliged with: ‘Dr Vincent Beaumarcher Laurie, my dear. He is Miss Faro’s stepbrother.’
‘Indeed?’ His lordship brightened considerably at that.
‘Miss Faro is to marry Jack Macmerry – at the end of this week, is it not?’
I nodded and Lord Verney said, ‘Macmerry, eh. One of our tenants.’ And grasping my hand, ‘Felicitations, Miss Faro. I trust you will be happy in your new abode on the estate. Like Eildon, do you?’
‘Very much,’ I replied as was expected of me. I hardly felt it pertinent to bring in Edinburgh as our place of residence.
‘Excellent, excellent.’ A slight inclination of the head and they departed once more regally progressing arm-in-arm and leaving Alexander to his fate with his room full of strange children.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Verney Castle had been a disappointment and so too were its noble owners. I was very unimpressed by Alexander’s parents. They were a typical product of the aristocracy my suffragette impulses had taught me to despise as a vanishing breed.
For one thing, they had not the slightest idea what to do with children. After bringing them into the world, they considered that their work was done. Begetting an heir was all that concerned them, a son to hand down the title and keep the ancient line afloat. Their dealings with children in those early years were like those of the Royal family who, I gathered from conversations with Vince, seemed unable to dissociate heirs with property and failed to regard this valuable commodity as flesh and blood.
My heart ached for Alexander, a little boy who wanted warmth and tenderness – and friends who were not just background characters invited to his party to make him feel that he was popular.
Now I saw how important it was for him to have found Thane, who was to sit by his side, respectful and quietly accepting the occasional darting movements of the bolder children in his direction.
These children of poor folk in Eildon who were his tenants had no cause to envy the Master of Verney. I guessed that he would have exchanged places with the meanest of them any day of the week to have a loving father and mother and caring siblings of his own. Thinking further afield even the poorest children in those teeming squalid Edinburgh closes had better lives.
‘No wonder Lord Verney was so desperate to have more children, especially looking at his noble wife, pale and thin, a figure like spun glass, she looked as if the wind might blow her away,’ I told Jack’s mother later when she eagerly waited to hear all about my visit to the castle.
Fortunately the party had time restrictions. The guests came at half past two and were expected to leave at four o’clock prompt, after a few children’s games like Musical Chairs, Blind Man’s Buff and the Noble Duke of York which were the limits of Father Boyle’s imagination.
Having become self-appointed master of revels, his ingenuity began to fail and the sight of the doors opening to admit house-maids carrying trays of lemonade and cake raised drooping spirits and fraying tempers among the small guests.
It was painfully obvious that Alexander soon wearied of party games. All he wanted was to be with Thane, and prevailed upon by Annette in whispered asides to ‘join in,’ he did so reluctantly, craftily missing the last vacant seat in Musical Chairs and being the first caught and ‘out’ in Blind Man’s Buff.
Dr Blayney looked in more often than was necessary, perhaps on his lordship’s instructions to keep an eye on things. As I observed him lingering by the piano where Annette was providing music for the games, I made a discovery. The don from Dublin who had failed to impress Vince, alas, was also failing to impress the pianist although he was doing his best, offering to turn sheets of music which she rather impatiently said were not needed. I would have found this amusing had it not been so pathetic to observe this plain unprepossessing man with his shiny bald head and large bright red ears so completely obsessed by Annette. As she played his eyes never left her and it is doubtful whether he saw anyone else in the room through that haze of devotion.
As for Annette she did not even know he existed, except as a rather persistent irritation. He had all the impact on her that would have been aroused by a troublesome insect and she dismissed him in much the same abrasive fashion.
She had her own reasons for being oblivious of Dr Blayney’s attention. During the interval, while the children were engrossed in lemonade and cake, Blayney had been cornered by the priest, but his eyes remained constantly seeking Annette.
She drew me aside and we walked to the window. ‘I have heard from my husband. He will be he
re from Edinburgh tomorrow. Isn’t that the most wonderful thing in the whole world,’ she added, eyes shining in happiness. ‘We are to meet as man and wife – at last. I can hardly believe it. It is like a dream come true at last.’
Feeling that a word of caution would not come amiss I said: ‘Does Lord Verney know he is coming?’
‘Oh yes, yes and I have to tell you that despite all my misgivings, Cousin Quentin has been very understanding. Of course, he realises that as I am now of age he can do nothing about it. Perhaps he is resigned to the fact and both he and Amelia have decided to accept the situation, give in with good grace.’
‘And Alexander, how will he take your departure?’
She looked at me, clasped her hands. ‘I won’t be departing, I have agreed to stay here for a few weeks as governess meantime.’
‘And how will your husband take that?’
She laughed. ‘Cousin Quentin has been magnificent. He has promised us a little cottage on the estate, one of his new model houses – it has gas and a bathroom. So up to date. We are to have that until we find a suitable house in Edinburgh. Meanwhile as this will be our very first home, we want to spend time planning how it shall be decorated and furnished – Amelia has promised us a few things, some of the antique tables and paintings she no longer has room for, but naturally we will want to choose our own.’
I was delighted for Annette that she was to have her happy ending after all.
‘I do want you to see our little cottage,’ she added. ‘As soon as my husband arrives, we shall invite you over.’
Now I realised I was to meet the man in person and could make my own assessment. I hoped that he came up to expectations and that I had been mistaken, eager to be proved wrong regarding those grave doubts about fortune hunters.
‘I shall be away on Saturday – after my wedding,’ I reminded her.
‘Oh, you must forgive me. I had forgotten. So many things happening. I did so hope you two could meet. I want you to like each other,’ she added wistfully.
Ghost Walk Page 18
