Wild Heritage

by Wild Heritage (retail) (epub)

  She shared his hopes and through the days before the exhibition she painted obsessively, every brush stroke expressing ambition. As she worked the Professor stood behind her gurgling with appreciation. ‘You’ve never painted so well. But slow up a little, you’ll wear yourself out,’ he told her over and over again.

  She didn’t feel tired. She could have painted all night if necessary so he allowed her to stay on after the rest of the class had gone home and catch the last train to Camptounfoot, where she fell into bed and slept like the dead.

  She was charged to a high pitch with energy and excitement, counting the days till the show.

  The only cloud on her horizon was that she was too busy to go back to Murrayhill with Amy and as a result never saw Murray. Then one day Amy told her that he had been sent off to the Highlands to stay with Julia again.

  ‘Papa insists that he can work there without distractions. He’s afraid of Murray failing, but Julia’ll keep his nose to the grindstone,’ she said.

  ‘I hope he manages to come back to Edinburgh for the show,’ she said and Amy nodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course he will. The Roxburghs will be out in force. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Amy herself was exhibiting a highly coloured flower picture but did not seem to care much whether it was admired or not. When the Professor asked her to put a price on it in case someone wanted to buy it, she laughed. ‘It’s not for sale. I’m keeping it for my grandchildren, to show them what granny did when she was a girl.’

  The exhibition was scheduled to open on a Tuesday and on the previous Sunday Marie walked to Bella Vista with a printed invitation for Bethya, whom she found in her elegant drawing-room, looking even more drawn and pale-faced. There were purple circles round her eyes but she brightened when Marie was shown in.

  ‘My dear, how good to see you!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I brought you this. I hope you’ll be able to come,’ said Marie, handing over the invitation.

  Bethya was delighted. ‘This means your time at Professor Abernethy’s classes is over, doesn’t it? He wrote and told me how well you’ve done. You’ve been an exemplary pupil apparently.’

  Marie flushed. ‘I owe you so much, your ladyship. I hope you’ll be able to come to the exhibition.’

  Bethya exclaimed, ‘Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ve already heard about it actually and plan to go because I had a letter from your friend Mrs Roxburgh.’

  Marie was surprised. ‘Mrs Roxburgh wrote to you?’

  ‘Yes, she did. She’s very enthusiastic about your work. She suggests that you go to study in Paris for three months and I think that’s a good plan.’

  It was astonishing that all this had been going on without Marie knowing anything about it. She shook her head. ‘But I can’t go to Paris, Lady Godolphin. I can’t afford it. And besides I don’t know if I’d learn very much in three months. I’d be better to stay here and try to get commissions. The Professor says I might… if people think I’m a man. That’s why I’ve to sign my work as M. Benjamin.’

  The wry note in her voice made Bethya cock an eye at her. ‘Be sensible. Women learn that lesson very early,’ she advised in a strange voice.

  Then she assumed her normal tone and went on, ‘I can afford to send you to Paris. Mrs Roxburgh is thinking of sending her daughter, Amy, there and she suggested that you might go as well. You’re good friends I believe. There’s a highly recommended École des Peintures that Mrs Roxburgh knows about. I think Paris is a good idea. After three months you’ll know if you want to stay and by that time you might have started to sell your work. You should try it. You have to gamble in life. Sometimes it comes off…’

  Marie sat forward in her chair. ‘I don’t think I can take so much from you, Lady Godolphin. I don’t want to presume on your generosity. You’ve been too good to me already. When you come to the exhibition, I want you to tell me which picture you like best and I’ll give it to you. I can’t do anything else to show my appreciation and I’ll be very hurt if you refuse it.’

  Bethya could tell that this offer was genuine and that a refusal would hurt.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you which one I like and I will accept it. It’s very thoughtful of you. But think about Paris, please. I can well afford it. Besides, it has given me great pleasure to have sponsored you and seen you do so well.’

  Concerned at how ill Bethya looked, Marie stood up and said, ‘I must go now because I don’t want to tire you. I only came to bring your ticket for the show. I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday. And I’ll think about your offer.’

  When Marie was emerging from Bella Vista’s gates, she was almost bowled over by a fast-trotting horse pulling a smartly painted dogcart with a man at the reins. She hopped onto the grass bank and glared at the equipage, and her look was so fierce that the driver pulled up and apologised. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I hope you’re not hurt or frightened.’

  ‘I’m neither,’ she said stiffly, ‘but you really should go a little more slowly.’

  He looked contrite. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again and then added, ‘Can I offer you a lift? Are you going to Camptounfoot?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she told him.

  ‘You live with Tibbie, don’t you? I’ve seen you once or twice when I’ve been in the village. I’m Robbie Rutherford from across the road,’ he explained.

  She recognised him. This was the famous Robbie whom everyone in the village talked about, the most famous son of the place, the lad who’d gone into the world and made good. He looked well set up and respectable, not too tall but broad in the shoulder and his brown hair flopped down over one eye giving him a perennially boyish look. Yet he had a shrewd gaze and a firm chin. Not a man to take lightly, that was obvious.

  ‘Let me drive you to the village,’ he said again and she smiled.

  ‘All right. Thank you.’

  He jumped down and she noticed that he limped as he came round toher up to her seat. He proved to be a cheerful, talkative companion, asking intelligent questions about her painting and enquiring about the coming exhibition. His evident interest made Marie blossom. He had a good effect on her, making everything, even a trip to Paris, seem possible.

  The carriage was high and beautifully sprung, far superior, she realised, to anything the Roxburghs owned. It must have cost a great deal of money. She told him about her visit to Bethya Godolphin as they bowled along and he listened with keen interest.

  ‘I’d like to come to your exhibition,’ he told her suddenly and she beamed.

  ‘I’d like you to come.’ But she did not think he would.

  She had been invited to spend the night before the show with the Roxburghs in Murrayhill but before she left Camptounfoot, she tried to persuade Tibbie to take the train to Edinburgh on Tuesday morning.

  ‘Please come and see the exhibition,’ she pleaded, but Tibbie shook her head.

  ‘I’m feared of the train. And I’d get lost in a city. I’d like to see your pictures all hanging up and hear folk saying nice things about them but going to Edinbury’s no’ for folk like me. I’d not be easy in my mind there.’

  Marie knew it was impossible to change her mind. Because she herself was going in early, and would not change that plan because she was longing to see Murray again for the first time since their encounter in the summer-house, and because there was no one else to escort Tibbie to Edinburgh, she accepted defeat.

  She had not told David about the exhibition and had no intention of doing so, for she had not forgiven him over the mysterious matter of the letter to the Roxburghs. They had not seen each other since Christmas, for he no longer came to Camptounfoot on Sundays.

  At Murrayhill, Mrs Roxburgh and Amy greeted her with enthusiasm.

  ‘The Professor says that your pictures are absolutely marvellous,’ cried Amy. ‘He’s hung ten of them and he said that the snow scene is as good as anything in the landscapes of the big collections! You’re going to do very w
ell and Mama thinks you’ll earn enough to keep yourself in Paris for six months at least.’

  They seemed to accept the expedition to Paris as a certainty and Amy was full of what she’d bought to wear for the trip but Marie shook her head.

  ‘I’ve not decided if l can go yet. I’ve no money,’ she said.

  Her objections were briskly swept aside. ‘Lady Godolphin has written to Mama and said she’ll still sponsor you and I can’t go on my own, can I? It’s all arranged. We’re going! Mama’s written to the École. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  Amy pranced around with her hands clasped and eyes shining but though Marie pretended to be equally excited, her spirits were low, for there was no sign of Murray and none of the family mentioned his name.

  Where is he? Surely he’s coming to the exhibition? she wondered in anguish. At last she found out from Amy when they were parting on the upstairs landing in preparation for retiring to bed.

  ‘Murray’s still in the Highlands,’ she said, dropping her voice so that none of the others downstairs could hear, ‘but he’s promised to be back by tomorrow so don’t look so forlorn.’

  What Marie did not know when she retired to her usual bedroom with a heavy heart was that Tibbie had gone for a trip that day too. She took the carrier’s cart to Maddiston and called on David in his office at Henderson’s Mill.

  He was surprised to see her standing in the office doorway and jumped from his chair to hurry towards her. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Marie?’ he asked.

  Tibbie shook her head. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’ve come to tell you that your sister’s showing her pictures in a big exhibition in Edinburgh and it would be a great thing for her if you went to see it. It’s tomorrow and I’ve got the address here in my bag.’

  His face went stony and its unguardedness disappeared.

  ‘But…’ he protested and she silenced him with a wave of the hand. ‘No buts, just listen to what I have to say. Your sister’s on the verge of a big success. Lady Godolphin’s talking of paying for her to go to Paris. They all think she’s a very good painter. You should be proud of her. Go and show her that you are or you and she’ll lose each other for ever and I wouldn’t want to see that happen.’

  His eyes were narrow and his mouth a tight line. ‘Why didn’t she come and tell me this herself? Why didn’t she ask me to go to the exhibition? I’m a success too and I did it for her as much as for myself but she’s not grateful, is she? She lets those people patronise her and cuts herself off from her brother, her only blood relation.’

  ‘David,’ pleaded Tibbie, ‘listen to me. You’re both stubborn, and you’ve hurt her badly. One of you must make it up or it will never heal. This is the perfect time.’

  He was beyond reason, however. ‘Anything I did was for her own good. I’ve tried to protect her from being used by people who like to feel that they’re helping the poor and needy. We’re not poor, we’re not needy. I earn a lot of money now and soon I’ll earn more. She doesn’t need to go cap in hand to those people in Edinburgh and Lady Godolphin. We’re as good as they are! If she goes to Paris, I’ll not care if I ever see her again because it will prove to me that she’s a fool with the soul of a beggar.’

  Tibbie sighed and pulled on her gloves, for she saw her mission was hopeless. ‘I’m sorry. I hoped you’d have more understanding. Don’t bother to see me out, I can find my own way. Come in and see me whenever you’re down in Camptounfoot…’

  He was still going over and over his old arguments and self-justifications when she left. Shaking her grey head, she wondered if he was not a little mad and felt afraid for him.

  Next morning she got up early and dressed herself in her best black bombazine. Then, trying to quieten her quivering nerves, she walked the path to Rosewell station.

  If David wouldn’t go to Edinburgh to back up Marie, Tibbie would have to go in his stead though the prospect terrified her.

  She was climbing the station brae when she heard the clip-clop of a trotting horse coming up behind her.

  ‘Mrs Mather, Mrs Mather, wait,’ cried a voice and she turned to see Robbie Rutherford being driven in his dogcart by a solemn-faced servant.

  He jumped down and took her arm. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘For the train. I’m going to Edinbury,’ she said staunchly.

  ‘So am I. I went to your cottage to collect you but you’d gone. I thought you and I might go to Edinburgh together,’ he told her.

  Tears came to her eyes. ‘Oh Robbie, you were aye a good laddie,’ she said with a sob in her voice and he laughed.

  ‘Folk in this place are always telling me that. I wish the opinion was more widespread.’

  While Robbie and Tibbie were jaunting into Edinburgh in the train, the morning at Murrayhill dawned bright and fresh. From her bedroom window Marie looked out onto a sea of white, purple and golden crocuses carpeting the vast lawn and her heart lifted in delight.

  She breakfasted alone, for the rest of the family were still in bed but before she finished Amy appeared in a flannel wrapper and told her, ‘The gig’s ordered for you at nine o’clock. Mama thought you’d want to get into the gallery as early as possible and see your work hanging before the crowds arrived. I’ll come on later with the rest of the family.’

  By this time Marie was in such a state of excitement that her throat felt as dry and rasping as sandpaper, so talking was difficult. It was a relief that prattling Amy was not riding into Edinburgh with her. There was a funny pulsing in her temples like the onset of a headache which never actually came to full flowering, but Amy’s chatter would almost certainly cause it to erupt and she did not want anything to spoil this perfect day.

  She went first to Professor Abernethy’s studio but found it empty apart from Milly, who was there looking very stately in a high-waisted silken gown and a frilled lace cap, a costume which, like her father’s clothes, was many years out of date.

  Marie’s footsteps sounded hollow as she walked the polished floor of the room where she had done so much work. The easels stood empty and no welcoming fire burned in the grate. Its desolation made her sad as she realised that her days of working there were over. Another chapter of her life was about to close.

  ‘Everything’s been taken along to the exhibition rooms. Papa’s there and I’m just going too. Come with me,’ Milly said. ‘I hope you like the way Papa’s hung your pictures. He’s taken a great deal of trouble to display them well. We both want you to have a good sale,’ she said encouragingly.

  When she set foot in the marble halled gallery, however, Marie’s nervousness miraculously disappeared.

  It was a long, white-walled room illuminated by an overhead glass roof. In the middle of the empty wooden floor was a circle of red plush seats around a trio of potted palms and the walls were closely covered with canvases, some brilliantly coloured, some subfusc.

  The wall facing the door was given over to the Benjamins, ten pictures, glowing and vibrant. Marie stared at them as if they were works that she had never seen before and then recognition dawned. I did those, I remember painting that flower, I remember putting that layer of paint on the canvas, she thought, rushing across the floor with her hands out as if greeting old friends.

  Standing in front of her pictures, she closed her eyes, then opened them wide and really looked. All the people who had been so complimentary to her were right. The pictures were magnificent. She knew that without worrying about false modesty or overweening pride.

  The Professor had taken the trouble to put her flower and fruit still lifes in ornate, gilded frames which he kept in a storeroom behind the studio and these set them off so well that they could hold their own with the famous Dutch canvases that she had used as models for her copies.

  The two pictures that Marie liked best, however, were not the clever copies but the ones she had done in Camptounfoot during the previous Christmas: a cosy interior showing Tibbie’s parlour with the cat asleep on the rocking chair before a blazing fire, and by far
the best canvas in the show, her snow scene. When she looked at it she shivered because it brought back the desolation and sadness she felt as she painted it. Bleak and forbidding but undeniably magnificent, it overawed her.

  What she was looking at was the result of two years’ work, for she had brought all her hard-earned skill into play to create that picture. It also represented the story of her life, for looming up at the back of the scene was the slope of hill where her mother’s body had been found.

  Suddenly she wished her brother was with her. She wanted to grasp his hand and stand beside him, for they had travelled a long and dangerous road together and she was sharply aware that without the kindness of strangers, their story could have been very different.

  At last she tore herself away from the snow scene and walked along the line of her work. There was the harvest scene she’d done after Kitty went away; there was a romantic flower study done at the time she first fell in love with Murray. She had kept a diary in pictures but only she knew what it said.

  Before she realised that time had passed, people began to flow into the room and one of the first to rush up to her was dear Tibbie, escorted by a beaming Robbie Rutherford.

  The old woman and the young one embraced as if they had not met for years and Marie sobbed, ‘Oh Tibbie, I’m so pleased you’ve come. You said you wouldn’t and I didn’t expect you, but I’m so pleased…’

  Tibbie, extremely proper-looking in the bombazine and a neat little bonnet with a striped ribbon round the brim, said, ‘I couldn’t have done it except for Robbie. He held my hand all over that big bridge Emma Jane and Tim built. I’d have died of fright if he wasn’t there.’

  Marie turned to him in gratitude. ‘That was kind of you. I did want Tibbie to be here but she absolutely refused to consider the idea. I’d given her up.’

  Robbie laughed. ‘I know that, but she was coming anyway though she was scared stiff. I met her at the station. Just look at her now… Before we know it she’ll be engaging all the grand folk in conversation.’ And he pointed to Tibbie’s little figure pushing her way with grim determination through the press of people in order to get nearer to Marie’s pictures.