A Trick of the Light

by Ali Carter

  ‘Magical,’ said Minty.

  ‘Now, come, out of here and we’ll do a quick circuit upstairs.’

  ‘Were daughters ever sent on a Grand Tour?’ asked Felicity.

  ‘Occasionally, and you’ll find a copperplate engraving by Francesco Bartolozzi hanging in the gents. It’s of the 2nd Earl’s daughters, Annabel and Mary, on theirs.’ Fergus nattered away as we lined out on the landing. ‘If you want to learn more about the Grand Tour, we have a very good copy of Boswell’s An Account of Corsica in the library. Also, don’t forget to look at the watercolours of Rome painted by Simone Pomardi on your way to the dining room later.’

  ‘Which Earl collected those?’ said Rupert.

  ‘The 4th.’

  ‘Now his wife’s an interesting character,’ said Ewen, winking at Louis, or me; it was hard to tell as we were standing one behind the other.

  ‘These,’ said Fergus, drawing our attention to the oil sketches crammed on the walls, ‘are all views of the estate, painted by Landseer.’

  I made sure not to catch his eye.

  ‘Landseer?’ said Shane. ‘The guy who sculpted the lions at Trafalgar Square?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And The Monarch of the Glen,’ said Lianne. ‘Our teacher gave us a quick run-down of Scottish art before we came.’

  ‘Even an ignoramus like me knows that painting,’ said Rupert. ‘Comes from my love of stalking, you see.’

  ‘Which Earl collected these?’ said Felicity.

  ‘The 4th again but it wasn’t so much a collection as a gift.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Landseer was a popular visitor at Highland house parties and often in return for an invitation he would give his hosts a beautiful oil sketch he’d done over the course of his stay.’

  I counted at least fourteen paintings. ‘He must have been here a lot.’

  ‘They’re simply lovely,’ said Jane. ‘You’re jolly lucky to have so many.’

  ‘Isn’t he,’ said Ewen with a huge grin. ‘They’re all thanks to Countess Flora.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain,’ said Fergus, deferring to his brother.

  ‘I’ve always admired Landseer,’ began Ewen, ‘his Highland oil paintings are my favourite. Theatre – that’s how I think of them.’ Fergus began to twitch. ‘A performance within a frame. Stags, dogs, game and foliage beating their breasts on the stage…’

  Louis got the giggles and Fergus interjected, ‘What I thought Ewen was going to tell you is why we have so many more of them than most Highland houses.’

  ‘Countess Flora, the 4th Earl’s wife,’ said Ewen, much to Fergus’s evident relief, ‘had an affair with Landseer, and that’s why he came to stay so many times.’

  ‘And…’ Fergus fed his brother the next line.

  ‘Some of the dates on the backs of the pictures prove he came often even after her husband had died.’

  ‘Why didn’t she marry him then?’ said Lianne.

  ‘He was an artist,’ said Minty, as if her parents had whispered something similar in her ear.

  ‘Are you going to show them all the masterpieces?’ said Ewen with a giggle.

  ‘No,’ said Fergus, irritated by his quip. ‘I’m showing all we have time for.’

  Does Ewen think his brother is boring on? As far as I’m concerned Fergus could continue as long as he wants, it’s such a treat to be taken around a collection. These days one can probably look most pictures up online but digital versions always fall short of originals.

  I’ll never forget seeing Rogier van der Weyden’s The Deposition in the Prado. The emotion in the faces of the ten figures made me tremble inside. No digital reproduction could ever move me like this. Modern photography just doesn’t do a work of art justice, the vibrancy is lost, the size is misleading and the paint strokes are indistinguishable. Its only good use is in capturing intricate details.

  What a joy it is to absorb the Muchtons’ collection from life. I think everyone else thinks so too as not one of them has brought out a mobile to take a picture.

  Fergus turned to Jane and Felicity. ‘Would you mind if we looked at the portrait in your room?’

  ‘Oh goodie,’ said Felicity. ‘I’d so like to hear the history behind her.’

  Jane opened the bedroom door and rushed in first, planting herself in front of the dressing table.

  ‘This is a portrait of Countess Antonia, the 3rd Earl’s wife,’ said Fergus. ‘Gather round in a semi-circle and you’ll get the full effect. It’s a marvellously accomplished painting.’

  The buxom woman was dressed to the nines and when Fergus turned on the torch, the sheer beauty of the diamond necklace, hanging like an armoured collar round her neck, glistened and shone as if it were real.

  ‘I bet that’s worth a bomb,’ said Shane.

  ‘It’s painted by a follower of Raeburn so it’s not worth a vast amount but isn’t it beautiful.’

  ‘I meant the necklace.’

  ‘The necklace?’ said Lianne as if he were stupid.

  ‘The real thing,’ said Shane.

  ‘If only we still had it,’ mourned Fergus.

  ‘Family sold it I suppose,’ said Rupert.

  ‘It was stolen,’ corrected Ewen and Jane grasped the dressing table with fright. Maybe she’d had jewellery nicked in the past.

  ‘From the safe?’ Felicity gasped.

  ‘No,’ said Fergus, ‘our parents had returned home late from the Thane of Cawdor’s daughter’s wedding and got into bed without putting it in the safe.’

  ‘Fools,’ said Ewen. ‘It was stolen in the night.’

  ‘Burgled?’ said Rupert.

  ‘Yes, and the thief must have known exactly what he was after as nothing else in the house was touched.’

  ‘Terrible, just terrible.’

  ‘How frightful,’ added Jane.

  ‘Was it in their room?’ Minty wasn’t buying it. ‘You’re saying they didn’t wake up?’

  ‘Yes, that is odd,’ said Rupert.

  Fergus looked hurt and Ewen explained. ‘Pa drank a lot and Ma often took sleeping pills.’

  ‘Three cheers for insurance,’ said Rupert, completely insensitive to the sentimental loss.

  Fergus looked at his watch. ‘There’s time for one more picture. Come, out of here, we’re heading for the far end of the children’s corridor.’

  ‘Who’s sleeping all the way down here?’ asked Jane.

  We were outside my bedroom looking at a painting of the Annunciation.

  ‘I am,’ I said and blocked the door – I didn’t want everyone peering in.

  Fergus rushed into an explanation. ‘This picture of the Angel Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary is of little value but it has an interesting history in the context of the Muchtons. It was bought by our great-great-grandfather, the 6th Earl.’ Fergus sighed. ‘Our family have been as good at making money as they have been at losing it. The 5th Earl worked his socks off and thanks to him by 1873, when our great-great-grandfather inherited the title, the Muchton finances were in good order…’

  ‘A role model for you,’ interrupted Ewen.

  Fergus continued unprovoked. ‘You’d think my great-great-grandparents…’

  ‘Our great-great-grandparents.’ Ewen was at it again.

  ‘Our great-great-grandparents had it all, but no amount of money in the world could buy them a son. They had three daughters, but were desperate for a male heir. So, despite the fact we’re a staunchly Presbyterian family, they put their prejudices aside and bought this picture of the Annunciation.’

  ‘Ooooo,’ said Felicity.

  ‘Jees, let me have a look,’ said Shane, pulling Giles out of the way.

  ‘The story goes,’ began Fergus, ‘that my, our, great-great-grandmother said a prayer in front of it every morning and every evening.’

  ‘Did it work?’ chuckled Rupert.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Ewen. ‘She had twin girls and gave up.’

  Louis found this particularl
y amusing.

  ‘That’s why you’re twins,’ giggled Felicity. ‘Skips a generation, you know.’

  ‘What happened to the title?’ said Minty.

  ‘On her father’s death the eldest daughter became Countess Iona suo jure, in her own right.’

  ‘But she’s a woman,’ said Giles.

  ‘Muchton,’ said Fergus, ‘is one of a handful of Scottish hereditary titles that can pass through the female line in the absence of a son.’

  ‘Did she have a son?’

  ‘Yes, and so on her death it passed to him, on his death to our father and on Pa’s death to me.’

  Giles turned to Ewen and said, a little cheekily I thought, ‘Bad luck you weren’t born first.’

  Ewen wasn’t amused and neither was I. Giles’s comment had made me feel profoundly sad, bringing the conversation I’d had with Mum at Christmas to the forefront of my mind. So, when Fergus announced, ‘That’s the tour over,’ and began to march everyone back downstairs I nipped into my room to pull myself together.

  I sat down on the bed and started to weep. I’m still finding it impossible not to, when I think about what I now know. It’s not that I regret having faced up to my parents and asked them, ‘Why am I an only child?’ It’s just their answer remains hard to digest.

  It had been tough getting it out of them. First, Mum had avoided the question, jumping in with the usual, ‘Susie, there’s so much to do I think we should write a list, sort out the menus for the next few days, there isn’t time for any chatting right now.’ But I wouldn’t let it drop, I wanted to know, and Dad, who was looking out of the window at the time mumbling about the lack of song birds these days, said, ‘Marion, I’m going to pop out. Susie, this is a conversation for you and your mother.’ Mum as good as collapsed into a chair, and I, too caught up in my own issues to offer sympathy, stared down at her drooping figure. It was then, with the smallest, saddest of voices, she told me about my other half, a little boy, who died at birth. After that she failed to ever conceive again.

  Like Fergus, I came out first. He was granted primogeniture and I was granted life. I didn’t dare ask Mum if a caesarean would have saved him. I’m sure in the past it had crossed her mind too.

  Boom, boom, boom, the dinner gong sounded. I dried my eyes and said a prayer. Oh Lord, give me strength not to get so upset.

  ‘You’re very lucky to have married into this family,’ said Felicity to Zoe at dinner. ‘It’s sooo interesting. Such a lot of history in those paintings.’

  ‘Isn’t there just.’

  Felicity swung her head one hundred and eighty degrees and was now grinning at me. ‘Don’t you agree, Susie?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and although I was smiling back my eyes were watching Ewen and Louis who were sauntering into the room. If it wasn’t a help-yourself-to-the-lamb-casserole-on-the-hotplate affair their tardy arrival would have been noticed. But everyone was shiffiling and shuffling, taking care not to slop their full plates as they chose a seat at the table. Felicity had sat next to me, and much to my relief Ewen, not Louis, sat down on my other side. I think Louis has been flirting with me (and me with him a bit) and although some fun this week would be exciting, it’s only Monday, I don’t want to rush into it.

  ‘It is a treat being here,’ said Felicity before I could so much as nod at Ewen.

  ‘I agree. We are lucky to be in such a beautiful place.’

  ‘I hope you won’t have us painting the river again,’ she tittered. ‘Pretty as it is, it was a struggle.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be visiting a new place each day.’

  ‘Oh good-eeee. I’m so pleased Jane persuaded me to come here.’

  I smiled; it was nice to see Felicity looking happy. ‘You and Jane must live quite near each other?’

  ‘Oh yes, neighbouring villages, although we always meet in Margaret’s house, she’s the one who started the club and has a sitting room big enough for us all. Are you a member of a book club, Susie?’

  ‘No, but I like the sound of them.’

  ‘Such fun, we all bring a bottle and some nibbles, it’s more about the social than the book. I try to listen to whatever it is in the car, I never read them.’

  ‘Do you drive a lot?’

  ‘I used to take my husband to his train every morning and collect him in the evening so that made it easy, but now hardly at all.’ Felicity blinked back a tear.

  ‘I hope your daughters live near you?’

  ‘Terribly close and they’re ever so good to me.’ She took a large gulp of wine and instantly perked up again. ‘Tell me, Susie, is there a man in your life?’

  ‘Not a steady one.’

  ‘It won’t be long, I’m sure.’

  We both took the break in conversation as a good moment to tuck into dinner and when Felicity raised her head and looked at Zoe I grasped the opportunity to turn to Ewen.

  ‘Susie,’ he included me, ‘Rupert on my left here was just telling me he knows where our cutlery comes from.’

  ‘My wife,’ said Rupert, ‘couldn’t believe it when I told her I was eating off the silver that caused such a hoo-ha on my very first job.’

  ‘Red trousers here,’ said Ewen, ‘tells me my father bought the contents on the cheap.’

  Rupert guffawed. ‘I’m teasing you. It wasn’t his mistake. The land sale I was in charge of fetched a penny or two but the wet-behind-the-ears chap selling the contents agreed a price without putting it past the owner. Legally he couldn’t go back on his word.’

  ‘Well done, Pa,’ toasted Ewen with an empty glass. ‘Can’t say he has much else to show for the money he spent.’

  Rupert chuckled. ‘The likes of these,’ he held up his knife and fork, ‘won’t keep Fergus and Zoe in their old age.’ He then filled up our wine glasses and turned to his left to talk to Lianne.

  Zoe stood up. ‘I’m just going to get some more water,’ I heard her say, ‘I don’t know who left an empty jug on the table.’

  I gave Ewen a prod with my elbow.

  ‘Whoops, that was your fault for distracting me.’

  I smiled and he watched as I put a forkful of lamb casserole into my mouth.

  ‘You’ll never get any continental food here,’ he said, ‘but it’s all delicious, that’s for sure. I wish I had someone to cook for me.’

  ‘You live down the back drive, don’t you?’

  ‘Glamorous, eh?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I apologised, embarrased.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s nice you live where you grew up. It is your home.’

  ‘Was my home.’

  ‘Sorry, was,’ I teased.

  ‘Hey cheeky,’ he said and then out of the blue, he asked, ‘Are you a twin, Susie?’

  My eyes glazed, my heart beat and my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth. I must not cry.

  ‘So sorry, so sorry,’ whispered Ewen, ‘I didn’t mean to bring it up.’

  ‘Bring it up?’ I said with total surprise; how could this man possibly know?

  ‘I am familiar with problems between twins, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  I was snappy because I was sad, and Ewen had touched a nerve. But he doesn’t know this. I must be nice, and hey, dinner’s when I’m meant to be working this man out. So, I went for it…

  ‘Do you find it difficult living so close to the house you grew up in?’

  ‘It’s a bigger issue than that.’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘You go first. There are too many questions coming my way.’

  ‘My twin died at birth.’ I said it. Straight out. No wobble of my vocal cords and no tears. Here’s hoping my oversharing draws him out.

  ‘Susie,’ whispered Ewen, ‘I really am so, so sorry. I’ve stepped out of line. That’s awful. Terrible. Terrible. So sad.’

  ‘It’s okay, let’s leave it.’

  ‘Guess you’re going to tell me it’s my turn now?’

  I was so pleased he w
as trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘Yup, fair’s fair.’

  Now how was he going to soften the blow having brought up my dead twin?

  ‘Rightfully I should be the 10th Earl.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, thinking, yes, Ewen is about to confide in me (or have a go at his brother).

  He looked down at my plate. ‘Since you’ve finished, I’ll explain.’

  Gads, what’s he about to bring up?

  ‘Here’s a home truth,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Had Ma given birth naturally I would have come out first. But no, fifteen hours in she had a bloody caesarean, I was pushed into second place and Fergus suddenly became the heir.’ He grasped his wine glass and I hoped for his sake he wasn’t going to crack it again.

  ‘That’s extraordinary.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘I’ve never thought about such a scenario before.’

  ‘Well, if you’ve no need,’ he sounded much happier with another glass of wine in him, ‘there’s no point.’

  ‘Hey, I could be the Duchess of anywhere for all you know.’

  He laughed again. ‘It is quite a sensitive subject, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I do understand.’ I did. Because, even though people say male primogeniture is ‘so last century’ one can to this day drum up plenty of families who pass on estate, house and contents to the closest male heir. Here at Auchen Laggan Tosh it presents an acutely jealous case. When the previous Earl of Muchton died, the eighteenth-century Highland title and family estate all landed in his son Fergus’s lap. Ewen, in the cruellest of twists, lost out on it all.

  ‘Hey,’ I tried to rally him. ‘Why don’t you prove everyone wrong?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Go out into the world, find a vocation, reach the top of your game. Maybe even get your own title, end up in the House of Lords if that’s what you want?’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Well, what do you want then?’

  ‘My fair share.’

  ‘That would mean selling the family home.’

  ‘Nah, he could keep it. I mean the paintings. There’s a fortune here, mouldering away on the walls. Why can’t he sell a few and give me half? Fergus would have money to do up the house and I’d have some to get me started in life.’