There was a full moon that illuminated the countryside with silvery brilliance and she was eventually persuaded to take a walk with him outside to look at the formal gardens. He explained that some distance from the other side of the house there was a lake and, across a footbridge beyond the bank of rhododendrons, a woodland garden. He would show her all that during daylight hours next day, but meantime he thought she would find that the formal garden looked very pretty by moonlight. The walled garden with its central fountain, gleaming white statues and heady perfume was an enchanted spot. Trees towered high all around creating another wall, dark green above ghostly grey, making the place secluded, secretive. For a time as they walked only the whispering and creaking of the trees broke the silence. It was cold and she was wearing a sable evening cloak loaned to her by her mother. She was glad of its coverage of the daring décoletée of her yellow gown with the figure-flattering draped bodice and skirt on which her mother had insisted. The skirt was caught at the sides with pearl embroidery motifs and tassels which bounced and swung about in a most titillating manner when she danced or walked.
‘Wait!’ His unexpected command surprised her on her way to examine one of the statues at closer range.
She turned with eyebrow raised and was about to question his tone of voice when to her astonishment and dismay she found herself suddenly swept into his arms. His mouth came down over hers and the surprise and the delicious tremors awakened by it chased away any thoughts of resistance. Then his arms slid inside her cape and she felt the heat of his body pressed against hers. In sudden panic she struggled from him and brought her palm stinging across his face.
For a frightening moment she thought he was about to strike her back. His expression hardened and his eyes narrowed and flashed with temper. But the moment passed and coolly he moved away from her, saying, ‘I’m sorry. I should not have done that. Shall we go back inside?’
As they strolled along together towards the ballroom he glanced down at her and asked, ‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, feeling inexplicably miserable. Somehow everything had gone wrong again. With other gentlemen at the ball she was extremely popular and in much demand for dances as soon as Douglas had taken her back to her mother and politely excused himself to go and partner Lady Alice. But she didn’t care about any other man in the room.
‘What have you done now?’ Lorianna wanted to know and Clementina was grateful to a handsome young Guards officer who whisked her away in a polka and saved her from having to answer. She managed to smile at the officer and appear interested in what he was saying, but her attention kept straying in desperate attempts to keep track of Douglas. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely with Lady Alice who, with her dark crown of hair and rose-pink confection of a ball-gown, looked not only startlingly beautiful but absolutely delicious.
Douglas did not ask Clementina to dance again, although sometimes while they were dancing with other people their eyes would meet and he would smile at her. She would smile in return and then smile just as brightly at her partner. The more deeply she suffered, in fact, the more she appeared not to care a fig.
47
Coldness seeped into Blackwood House. Clementina was no longer invited down from the tower to share afternoon tea or any other meal when Gilbert and Malcolm and their wives came to visit. Nor was she included in any invitations to their homes. She had spoiled her big chance, the family bitterly accused. She ought to have captured Lord Monteith once and for all during that weekend at Dumbreggan. Lady Alice and her mother were lifelong friends of the Monteiths; they probably visited Dumbreggan every other day, but she would never get such an opportunity again.
Even the fact that Douglas included her in several invitations to tea-parties, tennis matches and picnics with his friends, and to go riding with them, did nothing to comfort and cheer her family. He was only behaving like the gentleman that he was, they said. As far as any romantic inclinations were concerned, he couldn’t possibly retain any for a girl who had no idea how to behave like a lady.
‘Lord Monteith has eyes only for Lady Alice now,’ wailed Mary Ann. ‘And to think we could have had such an important and influential man in the family.’
‘She’s never going to do anything right anywhere with anybody!’ Hilda told Lorianna in front of Clementina.
Lorianna leaned back against the cushions of her chair, shaded her eyes with her hand and said, ‘Yes, it’s not just Lord Monteith. She has spurned every man who has shown the slightest interest in her, and she will go on doing it—I know she will.’
Clementina was more upset than she cared to admit, especially about disappointing her mother. Alone at the dinner-table with Lorianna, she had tried to explain that she had not meant to spoil everything. She even managed a miserable apology and was rewarded by a visible struggle on Lorianna’s part to be patient and kind.
It was perfectly true what Clementina had said—she had not meant to spurn Douglas. Her attack on him had been so sudden and spontaneous she hardly knew why she had acted in the way she did. Sometimes, trying to think back and relive the scene, her mind would go blank and she would experience spasms of fear. Eventually she managed to face the fear and to some degree even analyse why she suffered it. Her father had sexually attacked her. Sometimes the awful truth threatened to destroy her, undermine her whole existence. She had to take herself very firmly in hand and tell herself—’It is in the dim and distant past. It is not happening now!’ Still she was glad to retreat into the safety of other pursuits like her suffrage interests with her women friends and not to complicate her life with any man. She couldn’t stand Mrs Musgrove, indeed had hated her since childhood, but it was true what the housekeeper said about men. They caused nothing but trouble. Another part of her still hopefully, trustfully clung to Douglas. When she entered a crowded room she found herself looking around, eager that he should be there and if he was not, then the crowded room seemed empty and without interest. Yet if he was, she quite often made a point of concentrating on someone else. Sometimes when their eyes met he smiled and came over to talk to her. She always meant to be pleasant and friendly—surely it wasn’t always her fault when the conversation turned to controversial matters and he became angry with her. He had, she discovered, a temper that could flash like lightning across his face. She had never seen anyone whose expression could change so quickly and violently.
Secretly she dreaded his finding out about her latest activities. She and the girls had got themselves better organised now and had held quite a number of successful suffragette meetings. But, and this was the cause of her secret dread, they had also established a pattern of regular visits to the homes of working-class women in Blackwood village during which they passed on information they had gathered about contraception.
It was an ordeal having to go to the village every few weeks. The oppressive shadow of the mill, the claustrophobic crush of houses with their tiny, damp and overcrowded rooms, and the ragged and emaciated state of the people they were trying to help—all this depressed the girls. But they had decided that if improving the lot of women was their basic aim, then it was their duty to help these poor wretches because they needed help more than most.
Sometimes Rhona turned up at the houses and would sit by the fire nonchalantly warming herself, like a cat whose only interest is in its own comfort. But in many ways, subtle and otherwise, she laid proud claim to Clementina’s friendship. Where the other working-class women would be grateful to the point of obsequiousness, Rhona would address her in an impudent way. While Clementina was talking to the women Rhona would interrupt with things like ‘Good for you, Clemmy!’ And when the meeting was finished and they were leaving, Rhona would grab Clementina’s arm and say, ‘Come on, Clemmy.’ This was something she never did when they were alone. On the contrary, when they were alone Rhona behaved for the most part as if Clementina were contagious. Nevertheless, Clementina had come to the conclusion that Rhona secretly admired her for her particip
ation in the birth control activities.
The trouble was what Douglas would think of her participation in such ‘goings-on’. Even some of the village women’s husbands had been shocked at their wives getting to know about ‘such things’. To speak about contraception was ten times worse than committing murder, it seemed.
She wanted Douglas to think well of her and gradually they were building up some kind of a relationship despite their fiery arguments. There was no use pinning her hopes on anything permanent though. She seemed destined never to remain close to anyone for long. Her family were like cold strangers; her mother, despite her struggles, barely managed to be polite. The people who had looked after her when she had been a child had come and gone. Even the girls, although dear friends, had close family circles of which she was not a part. And eventually, despite their enthusiastic suffragette beliefs and activities, they would settle down, get married and have homes and families of their own. Already all sorts of little flirtations were starting up at dances, where amid much hilarity they raced up and down shiny parquet floors to ‘Strip the Willow’, ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’, eightsome reels, ‘The Duke of Perth’ and ‘Petronella’. Soirées were more dignified, but much fun and camaraderie was found at cycling clubs, and skating on the pond in the garden of Blackwood House by moonlight had nearly caused them all to lose their hearts.
Agnes and Clementina had worn fur hats and muffs on that occasion. Betsy had sported a very chic green jacket with black buttons and black braiding on the skirt which daringly revealed not only her ankles but the tops of her boots. Eva’s peaky face was barely visible between a wide-brimmed hat and a blue muffler. Millicent and Kitty were like twins in brown costumes with yellow mufflers and gloves. A crowd of young men from the surrounding area had come to share the fun and help the ladies fix on their skates and were soon gliding along the ice with arms around the ladies’ waists.
Douglas had held Clementina close to him all evening and it had seemed to her as she swooped and swirled around with him in the moonlight that she had never been so blissfully happy in her life. Safely held in Douglas’s strong arm and with the frosty air tingling their cheeks as they flew round the ice in perfect unison, she wished they could always be in such harmony and smooth accord. In her heart of hearts, though, she knew this was impossible. Her suffragette beliefs and activities were a sufficiently large bone of contention between them, but she shuddered to think how he would react when he discovered about her interests in birth control and contraception. She suspected that it would be too much for him to put up with; he would lose his temper with her completely and that would be the end—at least of any closeness between them.
On that magic night on the pond, however, she had forgotten about such dangers and they had continued to glide around together in a dream long after all the others had gone home. Then at last when she had been sitting on the seat and he had been kneeling at her feet removing her skates, she had been overcome with such tenderness for him that she put her hand out and wistfully caressed his cheek.
‘Oh, Clementina,’ he had whispered and kissed deeply into her palm. Then he sat on the bench beside her and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her gently at first and then more and more urgently, his mouth hardening against hers and forcing her lips open. She was gladly surrendering when suddenly the panic returned and with fast fluttering pulse she tried to push the weight of him away from her. Her body seemed to have taken over of its own accord and was violently trembling.
‘Darling, darling,’ Douglas soothed. ‘Don’t! It’s all right.’
She was sobbing now because it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all.
48
Clementina was lying pinioned on the floor, unable to breathe for the weight on top of her. Her legs were torn apart and the Cannibal Man was coming howling towards her, bringing terror beyond all terrors and pain thumping and stabbing into her most vulnerable parts.
She jerked awake to the sound of her own screams. Sweat was pouring from her and making the sheets clammy. She clutched them up against her mouth, wide-eyed in the dark. A creaking sound from outside on the landing squeezed high-pitched moans into the sheet; she dug her heels into the mattress and slid stiffly up against the pillows. The creaking was repeated every now and again, a ghostly echo in the silence of the tower. Never before had Clementina felt so isolated and alone. A heavy door on the nursery landing upstairs cut off the top floor; two doors and the spiral stairs separated the schoolroom quarters from the main part of the house.
The emptiness of the schoolroom and the adjoining apartments echoed back to her. She could be alone in the universe. As she became more wide awake she realised that the creaking was probably the landing door—maybe she had not shut it properly when she came in. The wind was howling outside and the door was moving spasmodically in the draught. She ought to get up and shut it. Forcing herself to release the bunched-up sheets, she tentatively fumbled on the bedside table for a candle and the matches. The puny flame made the darkness crowd menacingly in on her, but she told herself not to be foolish. Everyone had nightmares at some time or other. But she didn’t get up, telling herself that she would get so cold that she would be unable to get back to sleep. Then it occurred to her that she was too afraid to go back to sleep in case she would be at the mercy of the nightmare again. And somehow, lying with eyes straining to fight the weight of sleep, she became prey to all the frightening memories of her childhood. The awful desolation of losing Henny. The horror after Alice had been dismissed when she had been absolutely alone for the first time in the nursery quarters, knowing that Miss Viners was downstairs talking to the spirits of the dead.
Then memories of punishments came rushing at her from the dark tunnel of the past—the sharp pain of beatings, the agony of invading hands and, more than anything else, the anguish of love betrayed. She had loved her father and taken it for granted that he had loved her. But how could there ever have been love when he had behaved in such a bestial way towards her? When she’d heard about his death, she’d been glad to be free of her ordeal of pain and humiliation. Yet she’d felt guilty and heartbroken too.
She tried to be firm with herself. Everything always seemed worse in the middle of the night. She must be sensible; she was a woman now, not a child. ‘It’s in the dim and distant past,’ she kept repeating with growing desperation. ‘It is not happening now.’
Douglas loved her. Last night he had assured her over and over again that he did. And he said that he wanted to marry her. Nevertheless she had been unable to contain her panic. All she wanted to do was to rush away from him and escape into the house.
‘I don’t want to marry you, do you hear?’ she had cried out eventually. ‘I don’t want to marry anybody. We can be friends if you like, but that’s all.’
The nightmare still clung around her like a shroud and she had to give herself a cold sponge-down and take a determined trudge around the crisp white garden before she could face the day.
By the time she cycled to meet Millicent, Kitty, Agnes and Eva she had her unruly emotions firmly under control. They met just outside Littlegate village on the edge of the woods and, after parking their bicycles against a tree, they ate their lunch sandwiches while they stood chatting to one another. Betsy couldn’t come because her father insisted that it was her duty to keep him company at mealtimes and to see to his needs. This was despite the fact, as Betsy said, that he never addressed one word to her at table, never even answered her when she spoke to him and of course had a houseful of servants to see to his needs.
‘Well, what have we decided?’ Clementina wanted to know. ‘We have only a couple of weeks to go.’
She was referring to the big suffragette march and meeting in Edinburgh that they planned to attend.
‘I think we should all just go on the train,’ Millicent said. ‘By travelling by rail we shall each have a return ticket and if we lose touch with each other it won’t matter. We can make our own way home.’
Agnes said, ‘I should prefer to go by carriage and you would be welcome to share with me. Mamma said I could have it. Papa doesn’t use the brougham during the day and we would be back before he got home.’
‘It would be a bit of a crush with six of us in a carriage,’ Clementina said. ‘Anyway, all the others are going by train as far as we know. And it’s much faster and more convenient.’
It was decided eventually that the train it would be. Then they discussed for a while what they would wear on the big day. And they eulogised about their banner; they had taken much trouble in making it and were proud of its design of gold scales of justice and the colourful green lettering which proclaimed the name of their group.
The West Lothian Justice for Women Group had now no fewer than 170 paid-up members and there would be other banners carried by some of that number. Rhona and other women from Blackwood village, for instance, had a banner with ‘A Good Cause Makes a Strong Arm’ emblazoned on it.
‘I do hope Betsy manages to join us.’ Agnes sounded worried. ‘It would break her heart if we had to go without her.’
‘She will be all right,’ Clementina said. ‘Her father’s to be away in Glasgow that day, so she’ll be free until evening.’
‘Will you be all right, Clementina?’ Agnes asked.
‘Oh yes, nobody at home cares about me,’ Clementina answered matter-of-factly.
Eventually, all their plans completed, the girls cycled away, leaving Clementina behind because she wanted to have a stroll round Littlegate before returning to Blackwood House. After her friends had left she remained resting against a tree for a few minutes, vowing that tonight she must make sure she had a better sleep. It was unlike her to feel so drained and exhausted. She breathed in the pungent smell of greenery and listened to sounds in the distance—the barking of a dog, the bleating of sheep and the measured clip-clop of horses’ hooves. She could have slept there in the shelter of the tree with the autumn leaves rustling and gathering around her. Then suddenly she shivered. Wasn’t it in this very wood that her father had been found murdered? She had been warned by Mrs Musgrove never under any circumstances to talk of the tragedy to anyone, but especially never ever to mention the subject to her mother. Apparently Lorianna had suffered a severe nervous breakdown afterwards and couldn’t bear even yet to think about that terrible time.
Light & Dark Page 36
