And she had not been surprised when Rhona had given one of her mysterious, wicked smiles and said, ‘Of course!’
45
Lorianna, John Stirling, Gilbert, Malcolm, Hilda, Mary Ann and Clementina had been invited to stay at Dumbreggan for a few days as part of a house party. Everyone except Clementina was feverishly excited about the prospect. There was to be a ball and Clementina and Lorianna had spent much time being fitted for suitable gowns—something that Clementina considered a terrible waste of time, but she managed to control her impatience and her tongue for her mother’s sake.
Douglas lived in the house with his widowed father—an eccentric and violent kind of man as it turned out. But it was the house that had an intimidating effect on Clementina at first. It had been visible from a distance and the carriage had travelled some way through parkland and wood before suddenly—as they entered the gates and progressed along a straight driveway flanked by lawns that seemed to stretch for miles—the vista of the house and gardens opened up to them.
On one side of the enormous building, beyond more expansive lawns and a lake, there rose up a huge bank of rhododendrons and azaleas which when in bloom must have been a stunning mountain of colour.
Later they were to discover that on the opposite side of the building and beyond it, past lawns and woodland gardens and easier seen from the upper windows, was the Firth of Forth spanned by the engineering wonder of the Forth Bridge.
Clementina was impressed despite herself and her heart began to play tricks. Her first fleeting moments of intimidation soon vanished, however. She was so angry and embarrassed at the way her family showed how impressed they were by behaving at times almost obsequiously. Even her mother, who at least retained her cool dignity, was affected. This showed during private moments when she was alone with Clementina; then emotion would flare up and she would show by her desperation that it was vitally important to her that Clementina made the most of what she kept calling ‘a marvellous opportunity’ and even ‘this honour’.
There was more in her mother’s attitude than her usual longing to get rid of Clementina. Now there was the added intensity and hope that they might acquire an aristocrat in the family. And not merely an aristocrat, but a titled man who owned Dumbreggan!
Even the pillared hall was magnificent, its floor of inlaid marble typical of the rich materials used throughout the whole of the house. The drawing-room with its white silk curtains bordered with turquoise, the silk brocade on the walls and the exquisite embroidery of the chairs all this made both Mary Ann and Hilda go into breathless eulogies of praise and admiration.
The sumptuous ballroom with panelled ceiling of different painted scenes, walls hung with embossed velvet, curtains woven with gold and silver thread and Louis XVI furniture sent them into more twittering raptures and made Clementina perversely critical of everything.
The intensity of the secret glances her mother flashed at her grew murderous. But Clementina became angry with herself too. She managed to refrain from being critical in Douglas Monteith’s presence, for after all, she and her family were in his home as his guests and enjoying his hospitality. Her irritation with her family, however, kept spilling over to some degree when she was in Douglas’s company. And on each occasion she upbraided herself afterwards for showing herself in such a bad light. Especially in comparison with Lady Alice Cunningham, who was such a sweet and agreeable creature. There was no inner or outer conflict there—at least, none was visible in the serene features. Her mother, the Marchioness of Annonford, was a plump, talkative woman with diamonds and feathers in her hair. Her voice dominated the conversation after the ladies had withdrawn from the dining-room in order to allow the men to enjoy their after-dinner brandy and cigars. Her talk unravelled loudly and carelessly, entangling Clementina in it despite herself. The subject had turned to another house party that the Marchioness and Douglas’s Aunt Elizabeth had attended recently and Lady Elizabeth remarked that house parties were not what they used to be. The Marchioness, with a supercilious glance in Clementina’s direction, said, ‘That’s because they are not so select now. One even finds oneself having to mix with people in trade!’
Clementina, who believed her time would have been far more usefully and interestingly spent in the company of Millicent and her other suffragette friends, including Rhona Lindsay, said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘The country would be a very poor place without trade. Indeed, it would grind to a complete halt. People in trade fulfil a practical and valuable role in the economy.’
The Marchioness’s indifferent stare wafted away. ‘I don’t know about such things,’ she replied carelessly.
‘I believe you,’ Clementina said. ‘I’m sure there are a great many subjects about which you know nothing.’
She groaned to herself the moment the words were uttered. It was quite unforgivable to speak to an older woman in such a manner. She felt sick, especially when Lady Alice intervened immediately and loyally, saying,
‘Oh, on the contrary, Mamma is exceptionally well-informed.’
Mary Ann made a frantic attempt to change the subject with simpering praise of the Marchioness’s mauve silk dress, praise which that lady chose to ignore.
Lady Elizabeth stared disapprovingly down her lorgnette at Clementina, who stared back at her in wide-eyed regret and embarrassment which Lady Elizabeth mistakenly took for defiance.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Clementina Blackwood.’
‘Ah, so you’re the one!’
‘What do you mean, Lady Elizabeth?’ The words arose from spontaneous curiosity, but only served to increase her apparent air of impertinence.
Lorianna’s smouldering dark eyes tried to annihilate her daughter, but she was saved from further explosive emotions by the return of the men and a change in the conversation.
Clementina could not help noticing how different from the rest the Monteith men looked. It was not just the fact that Douglas and his father were resplendent in full Highland dress; they both had an air of self-confidence and authority which made Gilbert and Malcolm seem like mere lackeys. John Stirling had more presence with his cool courteous manner. He was listening intently to the conversation of a small, portly man with steely grey hair and a beard like that of King Edward.
Douglas announced, ‘We have been discussing photography and how it has developed in recent years. Everyone’s albums used to be filled with nothing but stiffly-posed unsmiling figures, bushy-whiskered papas, stern matriarchs, or yeomanry officers posing with their helmets on plaster columns.’
Douglas’s father, a bearded giant of a man, boomed out, ‘Not enough formality around nowadays.’
As if waiting the signal of his voice, two long-legged grey wolfhounds almost as tall as ponies came padding into the room and flopped down at the Earl’s feet.
‘Well, like it or not, Father,’ Douglas grinned, ‘I intend to take a great many informal photographs of these beautiful ladies during the weekend.’
The ladies laughed behind their fans in delight and anticipation. Except Clementina, who was always genuinely interested in anything new.
‘I suppose recent progress in photography,’ she said, ‘has greatly extended the camera’s possibilities?’
A suspicion of a smile clung on in Douglas’s eyes, but his voice became serious. ‘Yes, we are not only able to record each other’s appearance now, but also architecture and scenery.’
‘It could be used as a record of our time. Something useful to pass down to our children.’
Clementina had meant the words in a strictly general sense, but she felt an immediate shock of intimacy at their utterance. The words ‘our children’ seemed to reflect back to her from Douglas Monteith’s eyes as a passionate caress.
‘Fit you better to get in a sight more hunting and shooting,’ his father growled. ‘You’ll be turning soft!’
Lady Alice hastened to bring reassurance. ‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry about Douglas on tha
t score.’
Unlike her mother she was of willowy proportions and gentle-voiced and she had a habit of lowering her eyes when she spoke. She looked, Clementina thought with a bitterness that surprised herself, very biddable, a most properly behaved and obedient young lady.
‘When are you two getting married?’ the Earl suddenly demanded. ‘You have been playing the field for far too long. I want to see a grandson before I die.’
‘And so you shall, father,’ Douglas said. ‘But you don’t look as if you’re going to die for some time yet.’
‘Well, at least get her to play a tune for us. If there’s not going to be any entertainment, I’m going to bed.’
‘Alice!’ her mother commanded and Alice immediately rose and glided away to the grand piano at the far end of the room.
Clementina knew in her bones that the dark-haired beauty would be a wonderfully accomplished pianist and, of course, so she was. Sitting listening to the immaculate rendering of Mendelssohn’s ‘Songs Without Words’ and gazing in despair at Lady Alice’s erect and graceful figure ethereally clad in white chiffon, Clementina struggled not to hate her. After all, the girl had not done her any harm and had in actual fact been unfailingly charming to everyone. The piece completed to perfection and duly applauded, Lady Alice made a little curtsey before returning to her place beside her mother on one of the exquisitely embroidered chairs that lined both walls of the salon.
‘Miss Blackson … Blackstock or whatever you call yourself …’ The lorgnette was aimed at Clementina again and her heart sank. ‘What can you do?’ The additional unsaid words—’Apart from being shockingly impertinent’—hung accusingly in the air for everyone to see.
Before she could steel herself to reply, Douglas said, ‘Clementina has a charming singing voice. I was most impressed with it at the Andersons’ soirée.’
‘Anderson? Anderson?’ his aunt repeated. ‘Who are they? Really Douglas, you ought to be more careful about the company you keep.’
‘Time he was married,’ his father boomed. ‘He has sown enough wild oats for ten men his age.’
Ignoring the older man, Douglas said, ‘Will you accompany yourself, Clementina, or would you prefer Alice to …’
Obediently Alice rose. ‘I should be most pleased to oblige Miss Blackwood.’
‘That will not be necessary, thank you,’ Clementina said firmly. ‘I will not sing, but if you wish I will recite some verses by our national bard, Robert Burns.’
Lorianna closed her eyes as her daughter rose and walked purposefully into the centre of the room. Surely the dreadful girl was not going to repeat that poem she had recited to the family the other day after they had angrily reproached her for her lack of encouragement of Lord Monteith’s advances. ‘You see thon birkie ca’d a Lord,’ she had said, ‘what struts and stares and a’ that. Though hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that.’ Clementina, she remembered, had tossed her head in much the same defiant manner as she was doing now and continued. ‘For a’ that and a’ that, his ribband, star and a’ that, the man (and woman, Mother, she had added) of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a’ that.’
‘If she comes out with that poem now,’ Lorianna thought, ‘I shall die. And if God is not merciful enough to let me die—then I will live to kill Clementina.’
But she was spared ‘For a’ that and a’ that’, because Clementina in a loud determined voice recited:
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.
This was bad enough, as it did nothing to portray any delicate or ladylike sentiments. However, it seemed to appeal to Douglas’s father who, after Clementina had gone through all the verses, applauded with such embarrassing loudness that it disturbed the dogs. They scrambled to their feet barking excitedly and were only quietened by the Earl snarling at them and cuffing them so roughly that Lorianna had to turn away in distress.
Later she accused Clementina of spoiling the evening and letting down not only herself but the whole family. Clementina thought this was only too true, but stubbornly refused to admit it either to her mother or to the rest of the family who also bitterly upbraided her. Alone in the big, four-poster bed with its crimson and gold canopy and hangings, Clementina squirmed with embarrassment and regret as she relived every moment over and over again. She had been so gauche in comparison with Lady Alice. What must Douglas think of her? Yet what did it matter what Douglas thought of her? She had to be honest with herself; she had to be sensible and face facts. It mattered very painfully what Douglas Monteith thought of her.
46
The next day Clementina dressed with care in a beige silk blouse with a high, stiff neck and front fashionably pouched over the waist of her black skirt. She felt self-conscious in the hands of an aloof and silent maid and although she longed to ask if it would be proper and becoming to wear jewellery at this early hour, she decided it would be unwise. After anxious debating with herself she pinned a cameo brooch at her throat. She thought she looked rather nice and that her mother would be pleased with her. But on the contrary Lorianna, meeting her just outside the dining-room, hissed, ‘You could at least have worn a gown. I can’t even trust you to dress attractively.’
Of course, Lady Alice was wearing a gown. The vision of the tall slender figure in the stunning robe of all-over embroidery immediately and profoundly depressed Clementina. Next to Lady Alice, she felt like a prim ‘schoolmam’ or a sturdy working woman in her plain blouse and skirt. It was a truly terrible start to a disastrous day.
Later, Douglas had suggested riding around part of the estate and, still trying her best to be agreeable and pleasing Clementina readily concurred, despite the fact that she had only learned to ride since her father died. Before that she had never been allowed to do so. Lady Alice had owned and ridden a pony since infancy, it seemed. Clementina had never known anyone to sit so gracefully side-saddle; it always felt very awkward to her. She would have long ago ridden astride, had she not known how it would have shocked and distressed her mother.
Lady Alice had even managed to follow Douglas over a high hedge with smooth and effortless ease. Whereas when Clementina had tried to do the same (she groaned inwardly every time she thought of it) she had parted company with her horse and landed in a most unsmooth, undignified fashion in a ditch. Once Douglas had made sure she was all right and no bones broken, he had laughed and shaken his head at her muddy and dishevelled appearance and said, ‘Oh, Clementina!’
‘We should have been more thoughtful, Douglas,’ Lady Alice said. ‘Poor Clementina is not used to the way we live.’
Clementina vowed she would never forgive Douglas for laughing at her, especially in front of Lady Alice. He had even laughingly drawn attention to mud on her face and tried to wipe it off with his handkerchief. She had brushed his hand aside, remounted her horse, cantered back and made another gallop at the hedge, this time successfully clearing it. Douglas clapped and shouted ‘Bravo!’
But that didn’t help and she was bruised and aching all over. Even her heart ached and all she wanted was to be back with her real friends doing things that really mattered. But there was still the ball to get through before she and her family returned to Blackwood House the next day. She dreaded it now; she imagined having to watch Douglas spending most of the evening with Lady Alice in his arms and the prospect acutely distressed her. She kept wishing she could somehow avoid the ordeal by taking ill or by fainting and having to be rushed home early. But apart from being disgustingly healthy she was just not the fainting kind. No doubt Douglas would only laugh at her if she tried.
As it turned out the ball was even worse than she had feared. Sitting beside her mother, energetically fanning herself, Clementina watched Douglas in merry conversation with a stunning redhead in a shockingly low-cut green satin dress. T
he girl’s long diamond earrings swung about and flashed as she laughed and chattered and tossed up coquettish, inviting glances at him. Soon they were dancing so close together that they looked as if they had merged into one body.
‘Clementina.’ Lorianna ventured gentle restraining fingertips on Clementina’s arm. ‘There is surely no need to use your fan with quite so much fury and desperation. You can’t be feeling all that warm. It looks neither dignified nor ladylike. Try to be a little more restrained in everything you do.’
Clementina hardly listened, never even turned round.
Now he was being cornered by another proud mamma, literally cornered, while the matron with the large pearl-buttoned bosom eagerly pushed her daughter towards him. The way the daughter—a shapely girl in coffee-coloured lace and amber choker—almost purred and rubbed herself like a cat against him was too disgraceful for words. It made Clementina feel ashamed of her own sex. But, of course, she realised that this kind of eager desperation was only the result of the moral and social code created by men. Women had to get a husband. According to this code, it was their proper goal in life. If they did not succeed in getting a husband they were condemned as failures. They had no resources and it was looked on as a disgrace, as if they had failed in business.
Lady Alice would not fail, Clementina felt sure. She danced like a dream in Douglas’s arms and she too kept gazing up at him coyly, invitingly. Clementina’s fan flapped more furiously than ever.
The dazzling ballroom with its crystal and gold chandeliers, its gold and silver walls, swirled with colourful gowns like a garden in full bloom. When Clementina, in daffodil yellow satin, danced with Douglas she told him that with so many females chasing after him, it was no wonder he was so conceited and sure of himself. But, she said, he must not make the mistake of thinking that she was in that category of female, because she certainly was not. She had more important things to do with her life than chase after any man. She meant this most sincerely and it was most provoking and infuriating the way his eyes kept showering darts of mockery and amusement down at her. He spoke very little, while at times she lectured him at great length. It was disquieting to sense a purposeful presence about him that seemed to dominate her without resorting to words. Sometimes they danced in complete silence.
Light & Dark Page 35
