Light & Dark

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  10

  ‘… I shall not return even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death. A land of darkness as darkness itself and of the shadow of death, without any order and where the light is as darkness …’

  The servants had gathered in the hall for morning prayers the day after the funeral and stood in silence with heads bowed—except for Janet the scullery-maid, who kept sniffling and noisily blowing her nose, irritating everyone. She was only thirteen and cursed with the affliction of never doing anything right and sniffling at the slightest provocation. Her eyes were constantly bloodshot and her face blotchy with weeping in her scullery dungeon.

  Gavin Blackwood eyed her reprovingly over his pince-nez. Then as Clementina suddenly began to make strange high-pitched animal noises and jerky moans, his face darkened with annoyance. He managed to continue, but had to slightly raise his voice in order to be heard, something he scrupulously avoided as a rule. He liked to keep a tight, smooth rein on himself at all times, just as he liked to be punctual, orderly, organised and tidy.

  ‘Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory? …’

  Clementina had lifted the front of her pinafore and hidden her face in it, but even this failed to completely muffle the shrieking sobs that racked her body.

  Gavin’s eyes hardened with fury. Clementina’s dress had become partly caught up with the pinafore, revealing black woollen stockings and the legs of white knickers.

  However, he managed to keep his voice smooth: ‘Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.’

  The servants waited for the master and mistress and Master Gilbert to disappear as usual into the dining-room. But today, before doing so, the master addressed Alice Tait the nursery-maid.

  ‘How dare you allow your charge to behave in such a disgraceful manner? When is your next day off?’

  ‘This afternoon, sir.’

  ‘You will stay on duty instead and instruct Miss Clementina on how to behave.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Alice could hardly choke out the words. To lose her time off today of all days was like a death knell. Worse in fact, for today she was going to meet the new ploughman. She had never found it easy to get a man although she was always eager and willing, but she wasn’t as pretty as some with her plump face and barrel body. Eck McColl was the ploughman’s name and he had asked her to meet him in the corner of the hayfield at half-past two. It was unthinkable that she should miss the chance; she had thought and dreamed of nothing else all week.

  ‘Take her upstairs just now and see that she washes her face and makes herself respectable. Then after breakfast, bring her to me in the oak room.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Alice waited until he had gone into the dining-room before grabbing Clementina and dragging her up the tower stairs.

  ‘See what you’ve done?’ she said, punching the child’s back all the way. Quite apart from being tragically deprived of probably the only chance she would ever have to get a man, she felt harassed beyond endurance by the unexpected burden of responsibility and extra work involved in having to look after Clementina. As if she hadn’t enough to do, making beds and lighting fires and scrubbing the nursery floors and running up and down the stairs for Miss High and Mighty’s meals and bath water and God knows all what. It was all right for some, wasn’t it? Some had all the luck, with all that blonde hair and those big green eyes. And with somebody to run after them into the bargain!

  Once they were safely in the nursery and all the doors shut, she peered close into Clementina’s face and said, ‘Stop your howling.’ Then she began to violently shake the child while repeating over and over, ‘Stop your howling, stop your howling!’ Suddenly she hustled Clementina over to the basin and, after splashing water into it from the jug, commanded her, ‘Wash your face!’

  Clementina stood helplessly buffeted by her grief, unable to concentrate on any action other than finding enough breath between sobs. She could not accept that Henny had gone forever. It was too terrible to contemplate … impossible to be endured.

  ‘Come on!’ Alice punched her again. ‘You heard what he said.’ But still Clementina did nothing.

  ‘All right, then,’ Alice shouted in exasperation, near to tears herself at the loss of big Eck McColl. ‘I’ll do it for you.’ And forcing Clementina’s head over the basin she dipped the sponge in the water and smacked it over the little girl’s face, holding it hard against her nose and mouth. A moment or two later she threw aside the sponge in horror, for Miss Clementina was choking and making the frightening noises that Alice had heard from babies with whooping cough. And Alice had known babies with whooping cough die. In terror now and filled with remorse, the nursery-maid dragged Clementina over to the open window and held her near to it to get more air.

  ‘Miss Clementina, I’m sorry. Honest to God I am! Miss Clementina, for pity’s sake! Do you want to see me arrested and dragged off to jail and hanged for murder?’ She rubbed energetically at the child’s back. ‘And me just newly sixteen and never laid a finger on a soul in my life.’

  She could see that Clementina was recovering and beginning to breathe normally again, but dregs of horror remained to stir Alice’s already overactive imagination.

  ‘Fancy!’ she said, running to fetch a towel to dry Clementina’s face and a brush to tidy her hair. ‘I nearly murdered you there and that’s the God’s truth. That would have meant another funeral. No, two! A funeral from here for you, with flowers all over your beautiful white coffin and everybody weeping and wailing. And a hanging for me in a prison in Edinburgh and then do you know what they’d do? They’d shove me in any old box, dig a hole in the prison yard and stick me down there with not a soul to shed one tear.’

  Clementina, exhausted now, was staring up at Alice with a pathetic, pleading expression.

  ‘Come on through and have breakfast,’ Alice said. ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a horse, tail and all!’ She took Clementina’s hand and led her along the tiny windowless passageway into the room that served as a day nursery.

  ‘You sit there at the table and I’ll run downstairs and fetch it.’

  Already her fury and frustration had spent itself and she was sure that something could be worked out. One way or another she would manage to keep her tryst with big Eck. By the time she had reached the kitchen she was whistling.

  ‘How is the young mistress?’ Cook asked. ‘Poor wee ruffian, she took it bad, didn’t she? Like two peas in a pod, her and her nanny was. Doted on each other, they did, and she’s bound to miss her.’ She gave a quick furtive glance around. ‘Here’s an extra bit of toast for the wee soul. And now the master wants to see her in his study. Surely he’s not going to give her a beating at a time like this?’

  ‘There’s a devil in him,’ Alice said. ‘Honest to God, there is! Evil spirits gets into some folks and makes them do wicked things and he’s wicked all right. He’s going to thrash poor Miss Clementina to shreds, I just know it.’

  ‘Evil spirits indeed!’ Cook scoffed. ‘The trouble with you, Alice Tait, is you’ve got far too much imagination. It’ll get you into trouble yet, you wait and see—you’d better not let the master hear you say such terrible things about him. He’s a fine Christian gentleman who does his duty as best he thinks fit, although I do think myself that at times he’s a bit too severe with the child. Mind you, she’s wild at times and needs putting right. She’d rather race about kicking a ball with the village lads than sit prim and proper at her sewing as any nice young lady should, and something has to be done about that but not at a time like this. At a time like this she should be left in peace to grieve for her nanny. Here, take another piece of toast up to the poor wee soul.’

  Alice clumped happily back up to the nursery, her sense of drama now fully aroused. The poor mistress, grieving and pining for a favourite servant, was going to be martyred like Joan of Ar
c or Mary Queen of Scots. The master was a wicked, evil tyrant, (hadn’t he stopped her from getting her time off?). Worse, he was a Dracula, thirsty for the blood of a helpless and innocent victim.

  Clementina couldn’t eat any toast, so Alice wolfed it down instead. Then she inspected her charge to make sure she was clean and tidy enough for her visit to the master’s study.

  ‘Oh, you poor innocent young lady!’ she kept saying. ‘Honest to God, he’s going to thrash you to shreds, I just know it. And you grieving for your nanny that’s not yet cold in her grave. It’s wicked, so it is.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially and bent down to peer closer at Clementina’s face. ‘One day he’ll burn in the hellfire and roast like a plucked chicken on a spit.’

  She nodded with satisfaction and straightened up. ‘Like a plucked chicken on a spit, turning and turning over red-hot flames.’

  Downstairs in the dining-room Lorianna broke the normal breakfast silence.

  ‘Gavin, do you think you’re being wise?’

  He lowered his paper and, shocked, stared at her over his pince-nez.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Are you certain you’re doing the right thing in having Clementina brought to you? You’re surely not going to punish her?’

  ‘Why not? She behaved disgracefully.’

  ‘I told you she was very fond of Mrs Henning.’

  ‘That is no excuse for bad behaviour. She was worse than that idiot scullery-maid, instead of setting a good example to the servants.’

  ‘But when you lose someone!’

  ‘Really, my dear, I cannot see what all the fuss is about. Even the best of servants can be easily replaced. And Mrs Henning was not the best; she was a weak, stupid and completely disorganised woman who obviously never was able to exercise sufficient control over our daughter. It is a great pity that you engaged her in the first place and I only hope your regrettable error of judgement has not done Clementina irrevocable harm. I will see to it that Mrs Henning’s replacement is a more suitable person—a governess who can discipline and instruct the child properly. Meantime, I have an added responsibility and I do not intend to shirk it.’

  ‘Gavin, please, surely a little kindness … when she’s so upset … please, for my sake …’ Lorianna trembled with the strength of her feelings, a strength that seemed to outrage her husband.

  ‘I forbid you to say another word on the subject. You are not qualified to express an opinion.’ He folded his newspaper and rose, his eyes twitching behind his pince-nez.

  She could see how angry he was and trembled all the more at the thought that instead of helping Clementina she had made matters infinitely worse for her. Later she could barely concentrate on what Mrs Musgrove was saying, but tried to gain some peace of mind from what Gilbert had whispered to her before he had left for the factory.

  ‘Don’t worry, dear step-mamma. Our little Clementina is tougher than you think.’

  But still she could not banish the memory of the child’s sobbing. It was an added distress with which she felt ill-equipped to cope. Already her emotions were in such a turmoil that her mind dared not consider them and she had been desperately trying to keep herself busy so that she would have no time to feel anything. Her embroidery, her flower pressing, her floral arranging, all these activities failed to stem the frightening tide that was threatening to roar over her and rampage with her to dangerously deep waters from which there could be no return.

  She had gone out to pay calls and had calls returned. She had gone to Bathgate and looked round Hardy’s and McNaughton’s. She had bought a new pair of black stockings with a pattern of red roses going up one side of each leg. And still she felt guilty and afraid. The added worry about Clementina was too much and she paced about the sitting-room wretchedly wringing her hands. Then she hurried through to the drawing-room to try to soothe her distraught emotions at the piano, but even this did not have its usual calming effect. She returned to the sitting-room and suddenly, seized by an irresistible impulse, she lifted the silver sweet dish and—heart pattering at her temerity—hastened across the hall with it and up the tower stairs.

  In the night nursery Clementina was standing staring at Henny’s bed. Then suddenly she flung herself on to it and grabbing fistfuls of Henny’s patchwork quilt, clutched it up against herself, burying her face in it and stuffing lumps of it into her mouth.

  ‘Miss Clementina!’ Alice came bursting excitedly into the room, jerked her from the bed and tugged the quilt free from Clementina’s rigid fingers. ‘You’ll never guess who’s in the day nursery. You’ll never guess who’s come all the way up here to see you. Now you remember to be on your best behaviour and not be getting me into trouble again. Hurry up, come on!’

  When Clementina entered the day nursery she saw, standing by the window, the figure of her mother, vividly out of place in the small starkly furnished, carpetless room. She was wearing a dress of brilliant blue taffeta with pearls looped across it and pearls hanging from her ears.

  This was the woman who had spoken unkindly to Henny!

  ‘How are you, my dear?’ The blue dress loudly rustled forward. ‘See, I’ve brought you some of the sweets you’re so fond of.’ The silver dish was held out.

  With a vicious sweep, Clementina knocked the dish and sweets flying.

  ‘I hate you!’ she said.

  11

  Lorianna was still white and shaken when she emerged from the tower stair and before she could recover, she received another shock. Robert Kelso was standing there, thumbs hooked in the front of his belt, a giant of a man making the hall look cramped. The rows of wool mosaic pictures on every wall, the three Louis XV commodes, the big glass-fronted display cabinet, the two Italian tables, the Chippendale chairs, the chiming clock, the ornaments—everything was reduced to a useless clutter. He was the only beautiful and real thing there with his broad shoulders, muscular brown neck and deep-set, penetrating eyes.

  She stopped abruptly, vaguely aware that the maid, Gemmell, was there too. Immediately she saw her, the maid’s long-nosed face flushed with what looked more like annoyance than embarrassment.

  ‘The master says for Kelso to wait here, madam,’ she said before disappearing away downstairs.

  Kelso said, ‘How are you?’

  ‘Very well thank you, Kelso.’

  ‘You look pale.’ His grey eyes smiled down at her. ‘Perhaps you need some more of my tea?’

  Coming from a servant this was an impertinence. Yet she couldn’t feel angry with him. Neither did she feel able to move away.

  After a second or two he said, ‘Your ankle?’

  ‘Completely recovered, thank goodness. I must be more careful in future.’

  He smiled again. ‘Yes, it’s dangerous to go around chasing bulls.’

  Just then Gavin emerged from the oak room and said, ‘Ah, Kelso. Come in.’

  The difference between the two men was startling and Gavin looked small, almost effeminate next to Robert Kelso. Even the way they walked was different. The grieve had a slow, easy stride, in comparison with which Gavin’s steps were quick and fussy.

  The oak room door shut behind them and Lorianna was left standing in the hall alone. She felt faint and it took all her willpower to reach the sitting-room and sink into a chair at the window. After a few minutes, however, she rose and rustled back across the hall and into the dining-room. Closing the door quietly behind her, she went over to stand near the dining-room window.

  The sitting-room and drawing-room looked out on to the back of the house and the croquet lawn and fields beyond and in the far distance the Firth of Forth. The dining-room, however, like the oak room, was at the front and faced the drive; from there she could see the patches of lawn, the bushes and trees and the shady pool with the chestnut tree dipping over it.

  There were various ways to return to the farm, but the most usual route from the house would be to take the cut-off to the left a few yards down the drive. This was a path fragrant with rhod
odendron bushes and trees and it led to a five-bar gate and a stile which in turn led to a footpath across fields. If he knew of the secret gate, he could of course go round the side of the house through the rhododendron bushes and then away through the trees.

  Time passed slowly as she stood watching. Its slowness stretched her nerves and made her whole body taut. Even her eyes felt tense and strained.

  Then at last she heard his heavy tread on the stairs. She surreptitiously moved nearer to the window and, slightly edging the curtains aside, saw him leave the house and saunter away down the drive. After he had disappeared she turned worriedly back into the room. Every now and again she experienced tremors of fear as if something terrible was about to happen over which she had no control—as if the whole secure and respectable fabric of her life was in danger.

  She kept dismissing these feelings as being foolish figments of a neurotic imagination and tried with an effort of conscious will to calm down and concentrate on thoughts of her lunch guest. Today her best friend Jean Dalgleish was calling and Lorianna was very much looking forward to her visit. She never managed to see enough of Jean, for she was always either pregnant or unwell or both. Often Jean’s husband either took her or sent her away with the children, a couple of nurses and a few maids for long months to the seaside or to the Highlands, so that she could enjoy the benefit of the air.

  ‘But, heavens above,’ Jean always rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘What better air could there be than right here in the Bathgate hills?’

  Jean seemed very knowledgeable about life and Lorianna had always suspected that her friend would welcome confidences about her own intimate problems and even give her some enlightenment, if not provide solutions. But somehow Lorianna could never bring herself to tread such delicate ground. It was one thing to gossip daringly about other people’s predicaments; quite another to reveal one’s own to the mercy of prattling tongues.

  However, on this occasion, tense and worried, she did attempt to confide in her friend, in a careful roundabout way of course. They had settled in the sitting-room with their after-lunch coffee and she had admired Jean’s hat of ostrich feathers and stiffened satin bows.