But Clementina had seen it, and just could not understand it. Even to this day.
Would her mother want to sit at the same table and eat with her? She very much doubted it. The problem was, should she insist on her rights by just going downstairs, taking her place and refusing to budge? After all, she was not a child any more. What could her mother do to her?
The question of ‘rights’ was much on her mind these days. Ever since, in fact, she had read A Vindication of the Rights of Women by Mary Wollstonecraft. Millicent had read it too and been much excited by its contents which they discussed endlessly and with boundless enthusiasm. Now they had found Harriet Taylor Mill’s The Enfranchisement of Women and John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women and all three publications had been passed around their other friends in Bathgate. It had become a regular habit that they all met together in each other’s houses to discuss the startling and revolutionary ideas expressed in the writings and to explore how these could be applied to their own lives.
Clementina felt on the verge of an important phase in her existence, filled with many new, exciting and dangerous challenges.
Perhaps this auspicious day was presenting her with the very first one.
She decided to speak to her mother without further delay and with one last glance at her comforting grown-up image, she swished from the room.
34
Mrs Musgrove adjusted the cushions behind Lorianna’s back and while the shadow of the housekeeper lay over her and the silver chatelaine fingered a path across her lap, time was an agony to Lorianna. Like an animal in danger, she became absolutely still.
‘Is that more comfortable, madam?’
Lorianna gazed up wide-eyed, ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Musgrove.’
The keys at the housekeeper’s waist gently jingled as she straightened. She remained standing close to Lorianna, the heavy black material of her skirt forming a startling contrast against Lorianna’s froth of pink sprigged chiffon.
‘Don’t work too long at that embroidery. Your eyes are beginning to look strained.’
Occasionally, when they were alone like this, Mrs Musgrove crossed the line that divided servant and mistress and they both knew there was nothing Lorianna could do about it. Not that she really wanted to. She needed someone to look after her, someone she could depend on, and there could be no doubt that the housekeeper was devoted to her and attended not only to the running of the house but to her every need and comfort. Lizzie, Lorianna’s personal maid, seemed almost redundant; Mrs Musgrove was so often either hovering in the bedroom watching that the girl was attending to her mistress’s toilette correctly, or else taking over from the maid herself. It was strange, Lorianna often thought, how despite all that Mrs Musgrove had done and continued to do for her, she could never feel comfortable in the housekeeper’s presence—far less acquire any liking for the woman.
‘I shall just finish the blue,’ she said, lowering her gaze once more to her sewing.
Just then the sitting-room door opened and Lorianna looked up in surprise when Clementina entered. Her daughter seldom took advantage of their customary half-hour together before dinner and for this Lorianna was intensely grateful. The mere sight of Clementina never failed to plunge her back to the terrible night of Gavin’s death; it was something immediate and involuntary, over which she had no control.
A thousand times of course she had tried to tell herself that Clementina was in no way responsible for the tragic sequence of events. Clementina had been wickedly sinned against and was completely innocent of sin herself. But still the girl continued to act as a catalyst and a passion of distress surged over Lorianna every time she saw her. Never had she felt towards anyone what she felt for Clementina, against which the emotion she had once nursed against Gavin paled into insignificance. At the same time she was appalled at herself and overcome with compassion for her daughter, yet her body nevertheless refused to allow her to make any loving advances. It was as much as she could bring herself to do to speak civilly; to speak kindly cost her so much effort that it drained her both emotionally and physically. More and more she longed to be at peace with herself and free of this exhausting conflict. Sometimes, in the most secret and guilty place in her heart, she wished that Clementina would die. Immediately the wish was banished of course and a tide of love for her daughter would cleanse it away. She would remember Clementina as an infant in her arms; feel the tiny moist mouth enclosing her nipple and then sucking with an astonishing determination and strength that tugged down every nerve from breast to womb. It had been an ecstasy with which she had thought at the time that no man could compete.
‘Yes, dear?’ she asked.
‘May I speak to you on an important matter, Mother?’
‘Certainly, darling. Do sit down.’
Clementina stared defiantly, questioningly at the housekeeper and Lorianna hastily said, ‘That will be all, Mrs Musgrove.’ Then she indicated a seat over by the fireplace for Clementina, not beside her at the window. How prim and earnest and straight-backed the girl looked!
Lorianna returned her attention to the embroidery, helped by the light from the candelabra on the table at her side. Gavin had been prim and oh, so serious. All the years she had known him he’d …
‘You never even noticed, Mother!’
‘Noticed what, dear?’ she murmured without looking up.
‘My hair and my skirt!’
‘You look very smart, darling.’
‘I have had my hair put up and I am wearing a long skirt.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Lorianna smiled across at her. ‘How nice.’
‘Do you realise what this means, Mother?’
‘That you are quite grown-up and I shall have to start introducing you to some eligible young men.’
‘I don’t want anything to do with men!’
‘Nonsense, dear.’
‘Mother, the reason I came downstairs was to ask your permission to have dinner with you from now on.’
‘That’s impossible!’ The words rushed out before she could stop them and kept on echoing and re-echoing in her brain: ‘Impossible, impossible.’
‘Why is it impossible?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Clementina.’
Conscious of her piled-up hair and the adult status it brought her, Clementina held herself with dignity. ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to sound impertinent, Mother. But I do feel it is only fair that I should be allowed to dine with you downstairs now that I am older. Millicent Price-Gordon has been eating downstairs for ages.’
‘That girl is having far too much influence on you, Clementina. I am well aware of all the so-called progressive ideas she dabbles in.’
‘We believe in justice for women. I can see nothing wrong in that.’
‘You have never seen anything wrong in anything, Clementina. That has been your trouble. Right from when you were a small child you have caused nothing but problems. You were caught fighting with the boys—actually fighting …’
‘The village children sometimes used to tease me, Mother. I had to stand up for myself. Being a girl didn’t protect me, nor would I have wanted it to.’
‘You should never have been near the village in the first place. Nor should you have indulged in any of the other disgraceful behaviour that was continually reported to me over the years.’
‘It was just normal, childish—’
‘It certainly was not normal, Clementina. Jamie is not causing me a moment’s worry. He is such a good child. Why couldn’t you have been like him?’
‘Is it just because I am a girl, then?’ Clementina said. ‘Is that why you don’t care about me?’
‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ Lorianna pricked her finger and dropped her embroidery in her fluster. ‘Now look what you have made me do! Go away! Get back upstairs to the nursery where you belong.’
‘I have been in the schoolroom quarters for years now, Mother.’
Any guilty feelings that Lorianna suffered were crushed by th
e weight of her resentment. ‘I meant the tower house—and you know perfectly well that I did.’
‘If you cared about me, Mother, you would want me to be with you more often. Then I wouldn’t need to ask!’
Lorianna’s animosity began to lose ground as she stared at her daughter’s pale stiff face. The girl’s eyes were large and strained as if tears were being desperately held in check to remain a mere shimmering film of bright green misery. Lorianna sighed, her gaze retreating to the warm glow of the coal fire.
It was early evening and the heavy tasselled curtains had been drawn to keep out the cold March winds. The flames of the fire, the candles, the oil-lamps all pushed back the shadows. They reflected in the polished mirror of the furniture and tinted the air with a ruby glow. But for the moment the comfort of the room was lost on her. She longed for the help and support of her stepsons, Gilbert and Malcolm. Although what could they say on this issue? There was no obvious reason why Clementina should not eat at least one of her meals downstairs. They could and did advise against Clementina’s interest in the Woman’s Suffrage Movement and there were plenty of valid reasons to back up an argument against Clementina getting involved in that. But on this issue?
‘It is not that I don’t care about you, Clementina.’ The words were squeezed out from a face contorted as if in pain. ‘Merely that I value privacy at mealtimes whenever I can achieve it. One has to be civilised and retain a certain number of social contacts, but as you know, since your father’s death and my nervous breakdown I have entertained hardly at all.’
‘But this isn’t a question of social contacts or entertaining. I’m supposed to be one of the family.’
‘Yes, of course you are, dear.’
‘Well?’
‘Oh, here’s Nanny and little Jamie!’ Lorianna’s face radiated relief as well as joy. Come and say “Good evening” to Mamma and Clementina, my precious.’
Nanny Hawthorne, her big square body firmly tied like a parcel in a crackling white apron, beamed at her small charge.
‘Who’s been a good boy the whole long day, then?’
Jamie ignored the question. ‘Mamma,’ he said, ‘when can I have a pony?’
Already Lorianna felt soothed. Jamie seemed to have such a still calm centre. Always she became more relaxed in his company and love washed over her like a benediction.
‘A pony, darling?’ she echoed smiling, indulgently. ‘What made you suddenly think of a pony?’
Nanny Hawthorne said, ‘Who’s remembered that story his Mamma read to him the other day?’ She winked knowingly at Lorianna. ‘Mr Snowymane and his Farmyard Friends! Somebody never forgets a thing.’
Lorianna laughed. ‘If Mamma gets a big hug and a kiss, she might be persuaded.’
The little boy marched across to her and climbed on to her knee and gratefully Lorianna kissed and caressed the child. Clementina could hardly bear to look as Jamie clung round Lorianna’s neck. There was something almost indecent about the way that the beringed fingers eagerly explored his head and neck and spine, the way the tawny eyes closed in rapture.
Lorianna had never touched her in any way at all in her whole life, Clementina thought bitterly. She managed to retain a dignified and smiling expression but in her mind she was scowling.
No, to be perfectly accurate there had been one or perhaps two occasions when those slim fingers had fleetingly brushed her cheek. It had been in front of guests and she remembered her mother asking, ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ The gesture had been made with a hasty, guilty look in her husband’s direction. Lorianna had always been dependent on male approval. She had taken it for granted that what the males in the family said must be right, and her husband had said that Clementina should not be petted.
Gavin had also said she was not to have a pony. He would have been different with Jamie though, thought Clementina.
‘Can I have a pony, Mamma?’ Jamie disentangled himself from his mother’s embrace. ‘I would very much like one.’
‘Ahem!’ Nanny Hawthorne meaningfully cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t quite hear you, dear.’ This was Nanny’s usual reminder that he hadn’t said ‘please’.
‘Please?’ Jamie responded.
‘Give Mamma another little kiss and then I promise to ask Jacobs’ advice first thing tomorrow.’
‘About getting a pony?’
To see the child’s face light up with such wonder and delight, Lorianna would have agreed to anything.
‘Yes, my precious. I expect Jacobs will know how we can get a lovely little pony just for Mamma’s good little boy.’
Clementina’s mental scowl darkened. Oh, how she had once longed and prayed and begged for a pony. And all she had received was the dictum: ‘Children should be seen and not heard’, and eventually a beating. Girls especially, she had been led to understand, should know their place and keep quiet. They should learn to be modest, industrious and obedient, and busy themselves with their samplers. She had hated her samplers—her stitches had always turned out knotty and grubby and squint and sent her into fidgets of impatience. And she had hated every boy for miles around who trotted free and proud on a pony.
But she didn’t hate Jamie and when he came skipping towards her delightedly, crying out, ‘Clementina, Clementina, I’m going to get a pony. Aren’t you pleased?’ she kissed him and said ‘Yes, of course’, and wasn’t he a lucky boy and think of all the fun he would have once he had learned to ride it. And it would be a good friend for him too, wouldn’t it?
She was deeply wounded when Lorianna interrupted with, ‘Clementina, didn’t you say you were going out somewhere?’
It was always the same. Her mother didn’t want her to be one of the family and was always trying to shut her out. Even when she had tried to visit Jamie upstairs in the nursery, and on one occasion taken him out to play in the garden, her mother had been outraged that she had dared to interfere with Nanny Hawthorne and Jamie’s routine and had forbidden her to set foot in the nursery again.
‘Yes, Mother,’ she said, adding with defiant determination, ‘but you haven’t answered my question.’
Her mother’s eyes were melting over Jamie, her hands fondling him. ‘What question?’
‘Starting tomorrow, may I have dinner in the dining-room with you every evening?’
Lorianna turned impatiently towards her. ‘I told you …’
‘No, you didn’t, Mother.’
‘Well …’ she flapped a hand vaguely in Clementina’s direction ‘… if you must, but only when I am dining alone. Not when I am having guests. Tomorrow my solicitor, Mr Stirling is coming to dinner. We have business to discuss.’
‘The day after tomorrow, then?’ Clementina persisted.
‘Oh, very well.’
‘Thank you. Good night, Mother. Good night, Jamie.’
For a few seconds the joy went out of Lorianna’s eyes. Then she looked at her son and immediately forgot her unease. Here was Robert’s flesh and blood as well as her own, the flower of their love and passion—her only reason for living.
‘Come to Mamma, darling,’ she said, ‘and tell me all about the kind of pony you would like and what you’re going to call it.’
And as the child came towards her with love in his eyes, she thought, ‘Oh Robert, Robert …’
Later, while Nanny Hawthorne was having dinner, Clementina went up to the nursery to have a proper talk with Jamie. He always seemed far more natural and unrestrained when alone with her. Sometimes she wrestled with him until tears of hilarity came to his eyes. Sometimes they had a pillow fight with her bouncing up and down on the bed along with him. His strength and fierce energy always surprised. He was a real tough little tyke.
‘Right,’ Clementina said to him now, ‘what’s the pony to be called then?’
‘If it’s a white one I’ll call it Snowball,’ he announced. ‘If it’s a black one I’ll call it Darky.’
Clementina made a face. ‘Not very original.’
He frowned at her.
‘That’s what I want.’
‘Yes, and you always know how to get what you want, don’t you?’ she teased. ‘Yes, mamma. No, mamma. Kiss, kiss. Sook, sook.’
He lunged at her in mock fury, fists clenched and they tumbled about the bed giggling and breathless with their exertions. Until suddenly Nanny Hawthorne came bustling into the room and hauled Clementina away.
‘This simply will not do, young lady. Although you’re not fit to be graced with the title. I’ve never seen any young lady behave in such a wild and rough manner in my life. Master Jamie will never settle to sleep now. I shall have to report this to your mamma and you know what she said. Any more of your carry-on and you wouldn’t be allowed to set foot in the nursery again.’
‘We were only having fun,’ Clementina protested. But as usual it didn’t do any good. She was forced marched from the nursery and banished downstairs on her own again to the long silent night.
35
‘Excuse me, madam.’
Lorianna turned to face Ella Baxter, the head housemaid, stiff as a doll in long black dress and crisp white apron and cap.
‘What is it?’
‘Mr Stirling has arrived, madam.’
‘Oh yes, show him in at once.’ She had met John’s mother and sisters socially but, because he was away so often in Edinburgh, she had only got to know John some time after Robert’s trial. She had made sure that she was also invited when she heard that he was to be a guest at one of Jean Dalgliesh’s many dinner parties.
She somehow felt that Robert made a secret bond between her and the man who had tried to defend him. She persuaded him to speak about the trial. She felt compelled to keep drawing assurance from him that everything humanly possible had been done in Robert’s defence.
‘John!’ She stretched out her hands in greeting, trembling with relief and pleasure at the familiar sight of his tall figure, immaculately dressed in evening suit with white piqué shirt and white tie. ‘I am so glad you have come.’ She held up her cheek for his customary kiss, and still holding her hands he surveyed her.
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