Light & Dark

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘Yes,’ Gilbert agreed. ‘No one else could keep the men working at the pace he does. They must surely hate him.’

  Lorianna walked back to the house with her nerve ends still tingling, her mind a whirlpool of confusion and uncertainty.

  Mrs Musgrove noticed her agitation immediately. Under her watchful eyes a tight-faced Gemmell helped Lorianna out of her corset and into a tea-gown with a long plain fourreau of maize satin and a little bodice of maize chiffon crossed at the breast and held by two satin bands. The full chiffon sleeves were simply tied at the elbow with maize velvet ribbon. Over the satin robe went a long sleeveless coat of coarse filet net, edged all round with a band of mink fur and embroidered all over with a large pattern of conventional roses of every shade of brown and copper that enriched the dark colours of her hair.

  Mrs Musgrove adjusted the neckline of the coat and plucked at the skirt of it to show its graceful lines. Then she said, ‘That will be all, Gemmell.’

  The maid’s face was dark with barely repressed fury as she flounced from the room. Later she was to ask all and sundry in the servants hall, ‘What’s that old devil up to? That’s what I’d like to know. And what’s the mistress thinking about, letting her get away with it? It’s no skin off my nose, of course,’ Gemmell assured everybody, bulbous eyes bulging with emotion, ‘I couldn’t care bloody less!’

  The tea-gown was loose and comfortable and Lorianna was able to lie on top of the bed in a relaxed manner for the half-hour which Mrs Musgrove insisted was the minimum requirement needed to recover her composure. Lying there, far from composed, Lorianna was tempted for a rash moment to confide in the housekeeper about Robert Kelso, but as soon as the idea entered her head a rush of fear banished it. She suddenly imagined Mrs Musgrove’s horror—not because of her hatred of men, not because of any moral reason, although her reaction would include these things. But the worst horror would undoubtedly be the fact that Robert Kelso was a servant. It would be bad enough having a liaison with a gentleman—any gentleman—but with a servant! That was unthinkable, too shocking for words. It occurred to Lorianna that this reaction would be shared by all her friends, even her best friend Jean.

  She warned herself that she must never put herself in such an invidious position. But her body kept betraying her, opening up to delicious new sensations, crying out, thirsting for more.

  17

  For Clementina it had been a frightening day right from the start. First of all she had awakened too early and the wind had been howling and moaning round the tower. It was dark in the night nursery, but unexpectedly every now and again a shaft of moonlight would beam in straight and cool. Then suddenly it would melt and waver like a candle flame, sending a flurry of strange shapes across the opposite wall.

  It might be the tall trees outside throwing shadows. But then again it might, as Alice would say, be witches and warlocks flying about on their brooms.

  She was too afraid to get up out of bed and go through to Alice’s room. For one thing, Alice didn’t like her to do that; she had tried before and Alice had got such a fright when she had awakened to see a white-gowned figure climbing into bed beside her that she had screamed in the most alarming way. Then when she had discovered it was not a ghost and only Clementina, she had given the child a good punching and told her that if she ever did such a thing again, she would throw her out the tower window.

  They had gone out early for their walk and while she was lying on her stomach waiting for Alice to go and make the way ahead safe from the cannibal man, a giant spider had dropped from its dew-laden web and skittered across her hair. She jerked up, making the bushes shower her with dewdrops which left her uncomfortably damp.

  Later, when she and Alice had been trying to steal turnips in the turnip field, they were shouted at by the grieve a giant of a man with a shock of raven-black hair who was striding along some distance away, but near enough for them to see that he was carrying his gun. For a fat girl, Alice could cover the ground at remarkable speed and Clementina was often hard put to it to keep up with her. However, they both managed to escape into a wooded area, but turnip-less.

  Then Alice had another idea: they would steal eggs from the henhouse. The grieve was walking in the opposite direction from the farm buildings, so there should be no danger from him. There was another danger, though, one which they had encountered before when merely walking past the henhouses; there were about twenty hens and a fierce cockerel and it was the cockerel that was the trouble. He always rushed at them as they approached, running at full tilt, neck stretched forward, feathers ruffled to make him look bigger, spurs sharpened for all the world, Alice said, like a knight in armour. There were tall wild rhubarb plants near the hen’s hut and sometimes she and Alice broke off a piece and hit out at their cockerel enemy with the large umbrella-like leaf. Sometimes quite a noisy fight ensued, with the cockerel squawking, Alice shouting, ‘You bloody rotten bastard! I’ll hang for you, so I will!’ and Clementina doing her best with her rhubarb leaf, but at the same time sobbing in absolute terror.

  ‘Steal eggs from the henhouse?’ She was appalled at Alice’s suggestion, not because of the stealing but because of the cockerel. ‘How could we?’

  ‘I’ll fight him off,’ Alice said, obviously reading her mind, ‘if you creep in and take the eggs.’

  ‘But what if the hens won’t let me?’

  ‘They will, unless they’re all broody.’

  ‘What’s broody?’

  ‘When they sit on the eggs all day and won’t budge; then they get bad-tempered and peck at anyone who tries to reach under them to collect the eggs.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Clementina.

  ‘Are you hungry or are you not?’ Alice wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Well, then.’

  Clementina took up her stubborn stance, chin stuck forward, eyes glowering, fists clenched.

  ‘I’m not going to go in there and put my hand under any broody old bad-tempered hen.’

  ‘There’s a knack to it if you’d give me a chance to explain.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I’ve stolen thousands of eggs in my time. It’s easy. Hens are stupid—all you need to do is put your hat over it and it won’t know where it is. It will just sit there confused and wondering and won’t think about pecking you any more.’

  The thought of a hen wearing her straw hat with the blue ribbons stunned Clementina into speechlessness for a minute. Then, recovering a little, she echoed incredulously, ‘My hat?’

  ‘No, mine would cover it better.’

  As usual, Alice was wearing her frilly cotton mob-cap pulled well down and covering all her hair. It bulged up as If it contained a big plum pudding and admittedly looked adequate to house a hen.

  ‘But what if you can’t keep the cockerel away?’ persisted Clementina.

  ‘Don’t you worry!’ Alice’s round face grimaced fiercely and she began tugging up her sleeves in readiness for battle. ‘I’ll soon make short work of that rotten old feathery freak!’

  However, when it came to the point, it looked as if neither Alice’s weapon nor her hat were going to be necessary because as they tiptoed into the cockerel’s territory, holding their breath, neither he nor his wives were to be seen. Then suddenly he came racing wildly out from the bushes.

  ‘Quick!’ yelled Alice, looking like a wild creature herself with her hair sticking up on end and flying about.

  Clementina, sobbing in terror, dived into the henhouse and flung Alice’s cap over the nearest hen, which just had time to jerk its head up in astonishment before it disappeared under white cotton and frills. Its underside felt fat and soft and hot to Clementina’s trembling hand, but she managed to retrieve a couple of eggs and the cap and scramble back outside to where Alice was almost invisible in a mad whirl of feathers and rhubarb.

  ‘I’ve got them!’ Clementina shouted, running like the wind past Alice and away down the path.

  But even th
is episode ended in disaster, because she didn’t manage to suck her egg as successfully as Alice. All she got for her trouble was a big yellow stain down the front of her pinafore. She had to wash her face and put on a clean pinny as soon as she got back to the house and then let Alice tug at her hair with the brush so that she would, as Alice said, ‘look the part’. She had always to ‘look the part’ for ‘that mother’, as Clementina called her now, and ‘that mother’ was nothing but a nuisance. But as it turned out she was to wish that it had only been her mother whom she had to see. She found, however, that the governess her father had threatened had finally arrived and that evening in the sitting-room he introduced her to a tall, skinny woman with grey-streaked side-braids and a sickly white face. The woman gave her a sugary smile, patted her head and murmured, ‘So this is the dear little lady.’

  Clementina pushed her chin into her pinafore and refused to respond with a smile. She had no wish for a governess, nor for the lessons that the woman’s arrival would inevitably involve.

  Her father was annoyed. ‘Where are you manners? Say “how do you do” to Miss Viners.’

  Miss Viners gave a light little laugh and plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve with a whiff of mothballs to dab at the corner of her mouth with it.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Blackwood. Young missy and I will get along splendidly once we get to know one another. These things take time, as I am sure a wise gentleman like yourself will appreciate.’ Then to Clementina: ‘And is my young lady going to show me to the nursery quarters?’

  ‘Well, go on then,’ her father urged impatiently. ‘Show Miss Viners the nursery.’

  As soon as the sitting-room door shut behind them, Miss Viners’ smile disappeared. ‘Your head will drop off,’ she warned, ‘if you keep it hanging down like that all the time. Walk properly. Shoulders back!’

  As they climbed the tower stairs her voice acquired a note of interest. ‘This place is surely very old?’

  ‘It’s the sixteenth-century tower house,’ Clementina informed her, proud of her knowledge of the subject. ‘And it has a secret room on a secret floor above father’s study.’

  ‘Yes, I sense a very powerful atmosphere.’

  Clementina pointed along the first passageway they came to. ‘The schoolroom’s along there, but I’ll show it to you afterwards. I know you’d like to meet Alice first and she’s upstairs in the nursery.’

  As soon as they reached the day-nursery Clementina made the necessary introductions, but Miss Viners did not seem much interested in Alice. She just kept looking around and repeating, ‘Amazing, amazing! I have never tuned into a place so quickly before. Everywhere I feel the past reaching out to me … beckoning me.’

  She moved back towards the door, dropping her handkerchief as she went. ‘And those other doors off the passageway, I take it, are the night-nursery and the nursery-maid’s bedrooms. Amazing! Amazing!’

  Alice and Clementina stole a look at each other from behind Miss Viners’ back and began giggling into their palms.

  ‘Yes, Miss Viners,’ Clementina managed after a struggle with her facial muscles. ‘You’ve dropped your hanky, Miss Viners.’

  But the governess was too intent on looking around.

  Clementina nudged Alice. ‘Is this your handkerchief, Miss Viners?’

  ‘Oh, oh yes, thank you. Oh, even in the passageway I feel it. How fascinating!’ She dabbed at her mouth. ‘I can hardly wait.’

  Alice nearly exploded in her efforts to suppress her giggles. Sometimes she could be taken with such painful fits of the giggles that they brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘Wait for what, Miss Viners?’ Clementina enquired.

  ‘That is none of your concern.’ Miss Viners patted the plaited hair over her ears. ‘You can show me my apartments now, Miss Clementina.’ Then she said to Alice, who was moving forward with Clementina as if they were Siamese twins, ‘You can fetch the nursery tea and set the table.’

  Alice was obviously relieved to go racing away down the stairs so that she could explode in private and Clementina was left to make her frustrated way to the schoolroom with the governess. This room was similar to the day-nursery, with painted stone walls and a ceiling-high cupboard, but the schoolroom had an upright piano with brown candle-stands that hung out from its front. There were several cane chairs and a table on which lay pens and pencils, an inkstand and a large blotter. A blackboard—balanced on an easel with pegs stuck in holes—stood in one corner and in another there was a stand of rolled-up maps. A damp, fusty smell of disuse hung about the place.

  Miss Viners looked round. ‘Yes,’ she said enigmatically. ‘Even here.’

  Clementina sighed with exasperation. ‘Do you want to see your sitting-room and bedroom now?’

  But the governess was walking about, apparently in such raptures about something that she failed to hear the question.

  ‘Miss Viners?’

  ‘Mmh? Yes?’

  ‘Your bedroom and sitting-room are off this passageway.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ With an obvious effort of will, Miss Viners sharpened her attitude. ‘At nine o’clock we start lessons Miss Clementina. From 9am until 4pm—those are the hours I am on duty. After that my evenings are sacrosanct; you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Viners.’

  ‘Do straighten up. Good deportment is such an important requisite for a lady.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Viners.’

  In the sitting-room Miss Viners stood with her thin hands on her thin chest, looking at nothing in particular, it seemed, for such a long time that Clementina grew restless.

  ‘Can we go upstairs for tea now, Miss Viners?’

  ‘Please,’ said Miss Viners with another sudden switch in concentration.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You should have said: “May we please go upstairs for tea now, Miss Viners?” ‘

  ‘May we please go upstairs for tea now, Miss Viners?’ Clementina repeated dutifully.

  ‘And ladies do not say “What?” They say, “I beg your pardon?” ‘ With that she hurried from the room and upstairs with Clementina hastening at her back.

  As soon as Clementina’s eyes met Alice’s again, merriment bubbled to the surface and nearly spilled over when Miss Viners said, ‘You have set the table for three.’

  ‘Yes, miss, that’s right. One, two, three.’ Alice cheerfully pointed to Miss Viners, Clementina and herself in turn.

  ‘You cannot eat with us,’ Miss Viners said. ‘You are only a servant and you must sit over there until we are finished. After we have left the table, you may eat.’

  The merriment drained from Alice’s eyes and she seemed to deflate back to the chair in the corner rather than walk. There she sat, with even the frill round her cap drooping as she watched, first in hurt and then in anguish and hunger as Clementina guiltily drank cocoa and ate bread and butter and Miss Viners sipped tea, every now and again rapping out, ‘Elbows off the table!’, ‘Sit up straight!’, ‘Shoulders back!’ or ‘Deportment!’

  Clementina was furious with Miss Viners for hurting Alice and after the governess had retired downstairs to her sitting-room she said, ‘I hate everything about her. I hate her silly plaited hair and her flat chest and her stinky black mothballs dress.’

  ‘She’s stupid, isn’t she?’ Alice said.

  ‘I’ve never met anyone so stupid,’ Clementina agreed.

  ‘If you ask me, too much book-learning never did anybody any good.’

  ‘I hope the Green Lady and the Black Slave and the Burning Man all go into her room tonight and frighten the living daylights out of her,’ said Clementina. ‘She even spoiled us from getting out this afternoon.’ Clementina was glowering now.

  ‘Never mind,’ Alice cheered up. ‘We’re free now and we can go out wherever we like.’

  ‘But it’s nearly my bedtime. She surely wouldn’t let me go out if she knew?’

  ‘She won’t know if we tiptoe quietly downstairs.’

  So it was agreed and after Alic
e, as usual, had made sure that the coast was clear in the reception hall, they slipped out of the house.

  It was not a very nice evening, however. The wind was rushing through the trees and drawing strange sounds from them, sometimes like groans, sometimes almost a shrieking. Clementina didn’t like the wind—at least, not at night.

  ‘Don’t go away and leave me alone, Alice. Please don’t!’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  By the time they had reached the edge of the woods where a stream splashed over a line of stepping-stones, the wind seemed to have dropped. Hardly a leaf rustled. Alice was just about to do her usual balancing act over the stream when she spied a figure approaching. It was Wattie McLeod, the poacher. Tonight, as well as his hat with the tall feather, he was wearing a long overcoat that came down over his legs. Alice said it had secret pockets where hares and pheasants could be hidden. He was walking with a slight limp, but Alice said this was not because he had any injury but simply because he was carrying a sawn-off rifle down his trouser leg.

  ‘What’s the likes of you doing out at this hour?’ he asked in a gruff voice and then spat to one side.

  ‘Walking,’ Alice said. ‘And we’ve more right to be here than you.’

  ‘You’ll have the right to a kick up your cheeky arse in a minute.’

  ‘Honest to God!’ Alice said, rolling her eyes and deciding to keep to the path instead of risking the river in the dark. ‘The nerve of some people!’

  They had not gone much further, however, when they were forced to turn and start running as fast as they could for home, with Wattie McLeod’s derisive laughter ringing in their ears. The storm had come with a crackle of thunder, bringing a deluge of rain like liquid pellets that cut through to their skin within a few minutes.

  They had left the side door unlocked and were able to creep into the shadowy corridor. The candles were getting low and barely gave them enough light to grope towards the stairs, feel their way up to the hall and then into the tower stair. They had just reached Miss Viners’ floor when they thought they heard a faint moan coming from the direction of her sitting-room.