by Fiona Monroe
"Why, Mrs Farquhar, I might have thought you would understand."
Flora looked with greater interest at Miss Buccleuch as she linked hands with Mr Ross to begin the next set, and wondered if she wished that the gentleman would pay his addresses, and felt sorrow that her brother's evil reputation was indeed casting a shadow over her matrimonial prospects. Perhaps that was the real reason for Miss Buccleuch's melancholy and coldness, after all.
Before she could think of an appropriate reply, or a way to encourage him to continue the subject without seeming curious, they were separated by the demands of the dance.
When they came back together he said, "What do you think of Lochlannan? Is the vicarage very near?"
"We call it a manse in Scotland, sir. It is three miles around the loch, in the village of Scourie."
"And you not long married, I'm told?"
"Only three months, sir."
"Must be a deuce of a difference from life in Edinburgh."
Feeling that she ought to contribute something, Flora asked tentatively, "Is your lordship familiar with Edinburgh?"
"Well enough. I've stayed there with friends of Buccleuch's now and then. They've certainly been digging the place up these past few years."
"Oh yes, there have been many changes even since I was a little girl."
"That cannot have been very long ago," he said, and looked at her with a warm smile, and actually squeezed the tips of her fingers as he led her into the next dance.
It was delightful to dance, to move freely in time to the music, and Lord Daventry's manners, though his speech was a little forward, were so easy and gentleman-like that Flora soon forgot her unease. The second dance was a cotillion, more challenging and more energetic, but she felt she acquitted herself well and her partner was an excellent, practised dancer. It was impossible not to feel that other ladies watched her enviously, with a gentleman so charming and so handsome and known to be the heir to an earldom; and Flora entertained a small fantasy that some of those onlookers did not know that she was the wife of the minister, but an unmarried young lady whom the Viscount might look upon with favour.
But she soon had reason to remember that she was indeed the minister's wife. When she had bowed farewell to Lord Daventry and left the floor, out of breath and giddy, she sought refreshment at the sideboard where great bowls of punch were laid out. She was gratefully gulping down sharp, sweet lemonade laced with shards of real ice, when Mr Farquhar appeared suddenly at her side.
"Mrs Farquhar, I would speak with you privately."
She had a qualm of apprehension, and followed him from the loud brilliance of the drawing room into the upper hallway that was between the ancient and modern part of the castle. It was silent and gloomy by comparison, and there was no-one around.
He had steered her out with a firm hand on her arm, and now he dropped it and glared at her. "What do you mean by dancing with Viscount Daventry, when I expressly forbid you to make his further acquaintance?"
"But - " She was at a loss. "Sir Duncan came to me specially, and urged me to accept Lord Daventry as a partner for the first two dances! I could not disoblige our host!"
"Better to disoblige your host, Flora, than to disoblige your husband," he said grimly.
"And - and if I had refused to dance the first two, I would have been unable to dance at all! I have been looking forward to dancing so much!" She felt tears start into her eyes unexpectedly. "Sir! Lord Daventry asked me very courteously. He was nothing but courteous to me and not in the least inappropriate, all the time we were dancing!" She knew this was not entirely true, but she was overwhelmed by a feeling of injustice.
The door opened, and two gentlemen came out laughing into the hall, perhaps seeking the way to the privies. Mr Farquhar said coldly, "We will discuss this when we get home," and took her arm to take her back into the ballroom.
And so Flora knew with dismay that she could look forward to a trip over her husband's knee that night, that the longed-for ball was going to end for her with tears and a sore bottom. And all because she had tried not to offend their host, and indeed a gentleman who had been nothing but polite towards her! It seemed entirely unfair, and her heart was full of resentment.
She was approached by Mr Spiers, the assistant minister at Inverlannan Kirk, for the next two dances, and she almost felt like going to Mr Farquhar and impudently asking him whether she had permission to dance with this impeccable gentleman.
She was so preoccupied with angry thoughts during the dance that she failed to notice Lord Daventry sidling up to her as she sat down after the dance to adjust her shoe. He was there, standing by her, before she realised he had approached. He bent a little down and said in a low voice, "Why so cross a countenance, Mrs Farquhar?"
She started in surprise, and turned away, leaning closer over her shoes.
"You tripped and smiled like a delightful nymph during our two dances, but now you look like thunder."
"Excuse me." She got up and left him abruptly, not wishing to disobey Mr Farquhar’s insistence that she should not become further acquainted with him. But really, what was she to do if he addressed her directly? It was hardly her fault.
She stood by the punch bowl, twisting a cup in her hand and turning this over in her mind, and she was struck by the sight of Lord Daventry talking with apparent earnestness to Miss Buccleuch. It seemed to her that Miss Buccleuch was both pleased and displeased by his conversation, for she smiled and frowned almost at the same time. As Flora watched, she finally shook her head and turned from him, and he made a slight bow and walked off in the opposite direction. Miss Buccleuch was certainly smiling to herself as she turned aside.
* * * * *
Shortly afterwards, dinner was announced, and the party surged in crowds to the dining room where a magnificent first course was spread upon the table. Flora had never seen so much food, and she almost managed to put what would happen later to the back of her mind as one of the castle's many liveried footmen ladled white soup into her bowl. It could not last, however. She was seated between Dr Urquhart of the unfortunate wig and a pale young woman called Mrs Murdoch who kept up an incessant stream of polite yet uninteresting questions. Dr Urquhart talked loudly across the table to another gentleman about translating New Testament Greek and paid her no attention, and when Flora recalled that he must have heard every slap and cry of her hiding the night he had stayed to dinner, for the guest bedroom was right next to their own, she was grateful for that. She wondered miserably if Mrs Murdoch's husband took her in hand, if she ever had to sit through dinner dreading bedtime.
Again, she felt a surge of resentment at the injustice of her position. She glancedaround to see where Lord Daventry was, and to her surprise she saw that he had taken a place next to Miss Buccleuch. Flora was too far down the table and the hubbub was too great for her to hear what they were talking about, but their conversation seemed to be animated and good-humoured.
She was glad when the dessert was over and the ladies rose. As they were leaving the room, she was surprised to find her arm touched lightly and Miss Buccleuch addressing her. "Mrs Farquhar, could I beg a favour?"
"Of course," said Flora, perplexed. Miss Buccleuch's manner seemed a little agitated, but she was more animated than she had ever seen her.
"Would you do the great kindness to come with me outside for a little while? I would like to talk with you."
"Well of course, but... outside?" It would be a cold night now, for it was near midnight, and they were both heated and ill-dressed for out of doors.
"Yes... there is a small gazebo near the house, on the west lawn. It is not far, but there would be no chance of us being overheard." She glanced about, as if the press of ladies around them were all listening to their conversation. In fact, nobody was paying them any attention, and as the ladies headed for the drawing room, Miss Buccleuch led Flora discreetly away down another staircase.
* * * * *
A servant brought them cloaks, and Flora followed Miss Buccleuc
h along a gravel path than ran below the long, lit drawing room windows on the first floor. The cold of the night air was startling after the heat of blazing fires and many bodies, and the nearby strains of music and laughter seemed to intensify the silence and darkness of the grounds. Their way was illuminated by the windows above, but as they walked down a set of steps towards a small stone structure, Miss Buccleuch brought out a dark lantern from under her cloak.
The gazebo was a simple open Grecian-temple style summer house, with pillars and a stone bench that ran around its back wall. In summer it was probably a delightful spot to pause and rest while out walking in the grounds, but in the dead of night in spring it was chilly and gloomy. Miss Buccleuch placed the lantern on the seat and opened it, so that the little gazebo was lit with long, dark shadows. It gave her own face an eerie aspect, as she sat beside it and invited Flora to join her.
"Now we may speak," she said. "Mrs Farquhar, I can see that you are most surprised, and I must explain as quickly as I can. It was good of you to come out here with me. Oh! I have longed to talk to you so often, but I can never know who might be listening, even when we are alone. In our house, the servants report to my mother. At the Manse, your housekeeper or your outdoor man - they too would send reports of anything untoward, straight back here. Your housekeeper is sister-in-law to our head gardener, you know."
"Yes, I do know," said Flora, perplexed. She was astonished by Miss Buccleuch's change in manner.
"I have no idea of your helping me," Miss Buccleuch continued, her voice low and eager. "I really believe there is no help, while... I only want to talk, to unburden my heart. Tell me, do you love your husband?"
"Oh! Yes."
"Oh, to be able to marry the man that is in one's heart, that is surely the greatest happiness in the world. I wish I could feel it would ever be mine."
Much as she had often wished that Miss Buccleuch would be somewhat less reserved with her, Flora was a little overwhelmed by this outpouring and hardly knew how to respond. She tried tentatively, "Do you mean to say that... Are you in love with the gentleman you opened the ball with, Mr Ross?"
"Oh!" She made a noise that was half gasp, half laugh. "Mr Ross! No indeed! That is whom my mother wishes me to marry, but no, no. No, I am in love with... I should not say it since we may not marry, but... it is Lord Daventry."
"Lord Daventry! But why may not you marry Lord Daventry?"
"Because my mother and my brother will not permit me! Because of all the scandal that attaches to his name! My mother says she will not see me made unhappy as she was by my father, and my brother is determined that he will not taint me, as he puts it."
"But..." Flora was very confused. She groped about for a way to express this without insult. "Is not your brother... Does not Sir Duncan also have a reputation for... and is not Lord Daventry his very great friend?"
"Oh yes! His very great friend, and he has absolutely forbidden him to marry me. As for my brother's reputation, he has one set of rules for himself, I think, and another for his sister. Oh! Sometimes I feel I would like to throw it all over, and elope with Lord Daventry in spite of everyone. But Duncan has said he will kill him if he does that, and besides I do not have the courage to go against my mother and my brother both. They both insist I should marry Mr Ross, a gentleman of unimpeachable character, and go and live in another castle even colder and more remote than this one, by the sea."
"Has Mr Ross made you an offer?"
"No, thank heavens. Not yet. But I think my mother is working on Sir John and Lady Ross to persuade him, Lady Ross is her particular friend. They are all here tonight. My mother hopes Mr Ross may even make his offer tonight. I know she does. What if he does? Can I really refuse him? They will be furious. They will lock me up and beat me."
"No! Really? Does your brother beat you?"
"My mother usually, but my brother sometimes if he is very angry." She pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "I cannot endure it long, I know I will give in. And to have to marry a man for whom I feel nothing - nothing! - when my heart belongs to another! When one is married, one has to be... intimate. You know all about this, Mrs Farquhar, of course. Could you bear to do that with a man you cared nothing for?"
Flora shook her head in distress. She had been feeling mightily sorry for herself most of the evening, and imagining that every other lady in the room was carefree and happy. Now she realised that there was many worse troubles than the prospect of a sore bottom delivered by the hand of a loving and God-fearing husband.
"What should I do?" Miss Buccleuch whispered, kneading her hands. "I dread going back in there, in case Mr Ross does make me an offer, and then my fate will be absolutely sealed."
"But... cannot Lord Daventry intervene? If he loves you, will not he defy your brother and marry you anyway?"
"I could not accept him. I would be so afraid my brother would make good his threat. He has... a terrible temper, Mrs Farquhar."
Flora felt utterly unqualified to offer any advice. She was a young girl of nineteen, with painfully little experience of the world. She had not even been out in society. And yet she felt that Miss Buccleuch was turning to her for advice as the wife of the Minister and a married woman, though she was surely a few years her senior. She was casting about in her mind for something wise to say, when they both heard a step on the gravel path.
It was testament to Miss Buccleuch's nervous excitement that she started, and clutched Flora's arm. Flora had no reason to feel alarm - after all, there was no reason why she and Miss Buccleuch should not be here, resting from the ball and exchanging private conversation as two young ladies often would - but her companion's agitation affected her too. She watched in fright as a dark figure appeared climbing the steps that led to the gazebo, and when it came within the circle of the light cast by Miss Buccleuch's lantern, she saw to her great dismay that it was Lord Daventry himself. Miss Buccleuch gasped, and her grip on Flora's arm tightened.
The Viscount had a bottle of champagne in one hand, and a half-full glass in the other, and his gait was swaying slightly. "Well, Miss Buccleuch," he said. "And here I am, as promised."
"Lord Daventry! Here is my chaperone, as also promised."
"Damn me, Caroline. Nice choice of chaperone, a little girl who looks like she should not be out and about without her governess. Run along, little girl."
"Lord Daventry! You forget yourself. Mrs Farquhar is our Minister's wife, a respectable married woman, and she is staying here to protect my honour. You are staying, Mrs Farquhar."
"Poor little lamb, married to that stuffed shirt of a clergyman." His voice was slurred.
"Lord Daventry! You must not say things like that."
The Viscount staggered to the bench and sat heavily beside Miss Buccleuch, and to Flora's horror, took her in his arms and kissed her. It seemed to Flora that she allowed the embrace for a moment before giving him a small shove and wriggling free. "Lord Daventry! You insult me, and before Mrs Farquhar."
"I'd do a damn sight more than insult you if your little friend weren't here. Come away with me this very night, Caroline. Ross is on the prowl back there. Damn the lot of ‘em."
"Lord Daventry, you are in liquor."
"Damn right I'm in liquor, why would I not be, when you will not have me."
"I cannot! My brother would kill you."
"Old Buccleuch's all right, he'll come round. Come with me, Caroline. My carriage can be ready right away. We'll flee this damned hell-hole and go to Europe til your brother stops his noise." He reached for her again, but she moved along the bench, evading him.
Flora had got to her feet and backed away a little. She felt she ought to say something, she felt that in strict duty she ought to remonstrate, but she was struck absolutely dumb with embarrassment and fright.
"Caroline! If you go back into the castle, Ross will hunt you down like a fawn at bay. Leave with me right now." This time he did catch her in his arms, and it did not seem to Flora that Miss Buccleuch put up mu
ch of a struggle.
Then she heard another step on the path, below.
Miss Buccleuch froze. "I cannot be found here!" she cried in a harsh whisper, and with no hesitation she was gone in a swish of white muslin. Flora had a confused impression of her running up a slope outside the gazebo, in the opposite direction from the path, but in a moment she had disappeared into the darkness.
She turned towards Lord Daventry, who was making no attempt to follow his lady, but was swaying slightly on his feet and looking at Flora with a quizzical, amused expression. "The bird has flown," he said in a low drawl. "No matter. Here is one in the hand."
He was lunging at her before she realised what he was about to do, before she imagined he could do any such thing. Caught utterly off her guard, Flora found herself seized in strong arms and a mouth tasting of wine and smoke crushed against hers. She had not even a moment to scream before she was silenced, though she struggled with all her might and batted her hands wherever she could hit him. It was no more use than fighting against Mr Farquhar when he had her tight across his knee. She could not breathe.
Then all of a sudden she was free, and he was off her, and she tripped backwards and stumbled onto the cold flagstone floor. In a daze, she saw that Mr Farquhar was there in person, and he was holding onto the back of Lord Daventry's coat and pulling him back. Then he swung around and delivered an almighty punch to the Viscount's jaw.
The crunch of bone against flesh was sickening. Lord Daventry went down, staggering against the seat of the gazebo and landing heavily. He blinked and rubbed his face. "The deuce."
Flora jumped to her feet and went to run into her husband's arms, crying, "Oh! Mr Farquhar!"
She stopped in horror as instead of embracing her, he grabbed her wrist in a painful grip and glared at her with an expression of cold fury. "Come on, Flora. We are leaving."
She could hardly articulate her protests before he had dragged her from the gazebo, pulling her arm almost from its socket. The last she saw of Lord Daventry, he was slumped inside the gazebo with blood on his lip, holding a hand to the side of his face and shouting in a slurred voice, "Don't be too hard on her, Minister - she couldn't help herself, the ladies cannot resist me."
