The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  ‘Ah.’ Tom glanced at her sympathetically and carried on smoking. After a pause he asked, ‘Is that why you’re unhappy?’

  This startled Esmie. ‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she protested.

  He eyed her keenly. ‘It seems to me that you haven’t really settled since the War. It’s the way you talk about your time with the Scottish Women’s Hospitals as if you were happier then. Is it that you miss the excitement of living by your wits – of living a simple life – the challenge of the battlefront?’

  She gaped at him. How could he possibly know all that?

  ‘At times I’ve felt the same about active service in the army,’ he admitted. ‘That sort of life gets under your skin – the comradeship and knowing that every day counts because it might be your last.’

  Esmie was shaken by his observations; she hadn’t thought he could be such a perceptive man.

  ‘But you’ve turned your back on all that,’ she pointed out.

  His jaw tensed. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out. ‘Yes, I have.’

  He seemed about to say something more, then changed his mind and glanced back at the house. ‘I just wanted to warn you that I’ve been indiscreet to Lydia about you and Harold – she’s bound to say something. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can fend off Lydia’s questions, don’t worry,’ Esmie said dryly. ‘I’ve had years of practice.’

  ‘And what will you say to my friend, Guthrie?’ he asked.

  She gave him a sharp look. ‘That’s between me and Harold.’

  ‘Sorry, that was none of my business. It’s the drink making me speak before I think.’

  ‘I’ll forgive you on your wedding day,’ she said with a smile.

  She noticed how a droplet of rain was poised on the end of a slick of his hair that had fallen over his forehead. Esmie had a strong desire to flick it off and smooth the hair back in place. It felt wrong to be standing alone under the tree with Lydia’s groom but she was reluctant to hurry back inside. She had been enjoying a moment of solitude; it was Tom who had approached her. She became aware that he was studying her with that intent look in his blue eyes.

  ‘So why are you hiding out here?’ he asked. ‘Was Tibby making you dance the tango?’

  Esmie gave an abrupt laugh. ‘Yes, how did you guess? I’m fond of your sister but she’s a hopeless dancer.’

  Tom chuckled. ‘She is. But she makes up for lack of finesse with bags of enthusiasm.’

  Just then, Esmie saw Lydia appear on the terrace. She felt a guilty pang.

  ‘Mrs Lomax is looking for you,’ she said.

  For a moment, she saw confusion in Tom’s look and then he spotted his bride.

  ‘Ah, Lydia.’

  He stepped forward and waved. She beckoned to him. Tom turned to Esmie. ‘Shall we go in? No doubt Lydia will want you to help her change out of her dress. I think it’s finally time for us to leave.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Reluctantly, Esmie left the shelter of the tree and led the way across the sodden grass.

  In the short time it took for Lydia to change from her wedding dress into her going-away outfit, she bombarded Esmie with questions about Harold’s proposal and advice about accepting it. To Esmie’s embarrassment, Lydia spilled out the secret to her mother as soon as Minnie joined them in the bedroom.

  ‘Harold’s proposed to Esmie! Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Minnie rushed across the room and, for the umpteenth time that day, burst into tears.

  ‘That’s marvellous news,’ she cried, clasping Esmie to her soft bosom.

  ‘But I haven’t given him an answer yet,’ Esmie protested. ‘I’m still thinking it over.’

  Minnie drew back. ‘But you’ll say yes, surely? Harold’s such a nice man.’

  ‘Of course she will,’ Lydia answered. ‘They’re perfect for each other.’ She turned from adjusting her pink felt hat in the mirror. ‘Dearest Esmie, it’ll make going to India so much easier if I know you’ll be there too.’

  Minnie blew her nose and smiled fondly. ‘You must be special to Harold – he’s never courted anyone before, as far as I know. His mother and aunt will be thrilled. Agnes Guthrie despairs of ever being a grandmother.’

  Esmie fought down the panic rising inside. ‘Please don’t say anything to Harold’s mother. I must have time to talk to Harold first.’

  ‘I won’t say a word,’ Minnie promised.

  Looking at Minnie’s flushed, excited face, Esmie doubted Lydia’s mother would be able to contain such gossip. Esmie would have to make up her mind swiftly and speak to Harold before the news of his proposal spread. She couldn’t bear the thought of Agnes Guthrie being bitterly disappointed in the way that Maud Drummond had been.

  Esmie was suddenly furious with Tom. If he hadn’t drunk so much and been indiscreet, she wouldn’t be under the pressure that she now was to accept marriage to the doctor. She hid her dismay as she helped Lydia retie a silk scarf. Then the three women were hugging and saying tearful goodbyes.

  For a moment, Lydia seemed overwhelmed by the momentous step she was taking and her chin started to wobble.

  ‘I’m going to miss you and Daddy so much, Mummy. And this place. I love my home. I didn’t think it would be so difficult to leave.’

  Minnie clung to her daughter and they fought back tears. Esmie patted their shoulders.

  ‘This will always be your home,’ Esmie reassured her. ‘You’re more likely to stay here when you’re on leave from India than you are at The Anchorage.’

  Lydia pulled away and gave a tremulous smile. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Come on, Mrs Lomax,’ Esmie encouraged, ‘you’ve got a husband waiting outside who’s impatient to be with you.’

  Dabbing away her tears, Lydia composed herself. ‘I’m impatient too,’ she said, beaming.

  Esmie and Minnie linked arms and followed Lydia downstairs.

  Chapter 9

  The day after the wedding was a Sunday and Esmie knew that Harold would be at church and then spending a quiet day with his mother and his formidable aunt, who didn’t approve of outings on the Sabbath or even reading – unless it was the Bible.

  Exhausted, Lydia’s parents rose late and were content to spend the afternoon sitting in the summerhouse keeping out of the thundery showers. Knowing they would want to recount the events of the previous day and suspecting that Minnie would have told Jumbo about Harold’s proposal, Esmie decided to leave them in peace. She didn’t relish further questions. So she took herself off for a long walk along the cliffs.

  Alone with her thoughts, Esmie pondered her encounter under the tree with Tom and the revelation that it was he who had encouraged Harold to propose to her. A plucky woman, he’d called her, and ideal for the mission as well as Harold. It brought home to Esmie how Tom – unlike her – was not the least bit troubled at the thought of having her living close by in the same region of India.

  Her insides twisted with a feeling that must be relief. It would make it easier for her to accept a future with Harold in India.

  Gazing out over a choppy greenish sea, Esmie sensed she was on the verge of making up her mind. Tom had been right; she hadn’t completely settled back in Scotland. Vaullay had been a place of refuge and healing after the gruelling years on the Continent. But now she was ready for a new challenge and a new cause.

  Turning inland, Esmie walked briskly towards Ebbsmouth.

  The Guthries lived in a former mariner’s house on the edge of the town, where Agnes had moved after her stationmaster husband had died ten years ago. Her husband’s spinster sister, Edith, lived with her and ruled the household. The approach to the house was under an archway made from the jawbone of a whale.

  Shadows were lengthening across the front garden as Esmie knocked at the front door under its rose-covered porch. No one answered. Perhaps they were still resting? She should have waited until tomorrow. She half-turned to go, her nerve failing her. Then Esmie realised that if she walked away now, she might have changed her m
ind by the morning. She should stick to her instinct and act at once. Turning back to the door, she knocked louder and waited with a drumming heart.

  It seemed an age – but was probably no more than a minute – before the door opened. In bare feet and his thinning hair tousled, Harold peered out, looking groggy from sleep.

  He stared at her in astonishment. Instantly his face reddened.

  ‘Esmie? What . . .?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday,’ she said.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked in concern.

  Esmie shook her head.

  From inside, Edith’s querulous voice called, ‘Who is it? What do they want? Don’t they know not to call on the Sabbath?’

  Harold looked torn, glancing over his shoulder and then back at Esmie.

  Esmie said hastily, ‘I’ll come back tomorrow. It can wait.’

  As she stepped away, Harold reached out and stopped her. ‘No, don’t go. Just give me a minute.’

  He left her on the doorstep and disappeared inside. She could hear him placating his indignant aunt. He returned moments later, pulling on a jacket, his feet thrust into unlaced shoes. He shut the door behind him and gestured for Esmie to walk ahead. They didn’t speak until they had passed under the whalebone arch and were hidden from view by a thick beech hedge.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t invite you inside,’ he said. ‘Mother wouldn’t mind but Aunt Edith . . .’

  ‘No, it’s my fault. I know I shouldn’t have called but I can’t put things off any longer. You’ve waited long enough for your answer.’

  Harold’s look turned to alarm. ‘So you’ve made up your mind?’

  Esmie nodded.

  ‘It was good of you to wait till after the wedding,’ said Harold. ‘Not to cast a shadow over the happy day. I imagine you want to get back to Vaullay as soon as possible – to your work and Dr Carruthers – and that’s why you’ve come on the Sabbath. I don’t blame you. Aunt Edith’s from a different generation and doesn’t understand. But I do. I’m grateful that you’ve given my proposal such consideration and that you’ve come to tell me in person—’

  ‘Harold,’ Esmie interrupted, ‘please let me speak.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking miserable.

  ‘I’ve come to say yes,’ she said. ‘I accept your proposal.’

  He gaped at her as if he’d misheard. ‘What? You do?’

  Esmie nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  She was disarmed by his boyish uncertainty and smiled. ‘Yes, I’m sure. As long as you are.’

  He ran a hand over his uncombed hair. ‘Well, yes . . . I wasn’t expecting . . .’ Abruptly he smiled. ‘Goodness. Thank you.’

  They stood regarding each other. Esmie could tell he felt as awkward as she did. She hadn’t meant to blurt out her answer. She should have given him more time to talk it through and discover if he really wanted to marry her or was only proposing because his best friend Tom had pressured him into doing so.

  ‘Harold,’ Esmie said, placing a hand lightly on his arm, ‘I know this isn’t a love match for either of us but I agree with all you say in your letter. I think we will be good companions and I’m eager to work alongside you in Taha.’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Harold said with sudden enthusiasm. ‘We can do God’s work together.’

  Esmie had a momentary pang of doubt. He must have seen it in her expression.

  ‘You do believe in the work of the mission, don’t you? That’s very important to me.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can to further its medical work,’ Esmie answered. ‘But when you talk about God’s work . . . I’m concerned about what you might expect from our marriage . . . that you might feel that our main duty is to procreate.’ Esmie’s cheeks burned at her forwardness but she wanted to be truthful with him. ‘I want to nurse and be your partner in life but I don’t want children straight away. If I was to become a mother so soon I wouldn’t be able to do my work – my life would be taken up with worrying about keeping a baby safe and alive.’

  She held his look, wondering if she had offended him. His face was puce with embarrassment but his eyes shone with understanding – or was it relief?

  He took her hands in his; both hers and Harold’s were shaking.

  ‘Esmie, I’m glad that you’re being frank with me and I have exactly the same fears about bringing a child into such a harsh place. The British cemeteries in India are full of children who haven’t survived infancy. I know the reason you want to go to India is to work among the Pathans – you were quite clear about that – but I was equally clear that what I’m offering is friendship. So we’re in agreement; abstinence will be our sacrifice to the greater cause of caring wholeheartedly for the sick.’

  Esmie faltered. ‘I— I didn’t mean . . .’

  He let go of her hands. ‘We don’t need to speak of this to anyone but ourselves – or mention it again.’

  Esmie thought she hadn’t made herself clear; she wasn’t asking for complete abstinence. She knew there were ways of enjoying intimacy yet avoiding conception; she and Lydia had discussed it. But Harold was already stepping away. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t want him to think that she shunned physical contact with him.

  He looked uncomfortable and glanced towards the house. ‘Best wait until tomorrow before breaking the news to Mother and my aunt.’

  Esmie had the distinct impression that Harold had been referring to the Guthrie women when he’d said they shouldn’t ever mention to anyone else his suggestion of celibacy. Agnes Guthrie would be pained by Esmie’s reluctance to have Harold’s children and Edith would be shocked at such a topic.

  Esmie hid her disappointment that he didn’t want to share the news of their engagement straight away. Now that she had made up her mind, she was eager to tell everyone. But she nodded and curbed her impatience. She could tell from Harold’s glances that he was anxious not to linger outside.

  ‘You must go back to your mother and aunt,’ Esmie said. ‘I can walk back by myself.’

  He looked relieved. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven,’ he said with a bashful smile. ‘Then we can announce our betrothal to Mother and Aunt Edith.’

  She smiled too but didn’t attempt to kiss him again. It must all seem so sudden to Harold – she had caught him off guard – and she shouldn’t be surprised that he was a little flustered.

  As Esmie made her way back to Templeton Hall, her heart lifted with optimism. She had found a man who was offering her exactly what she wanted; the security of marriage that would allow her to act freely in her work, as well as companionship without the emotional entanglements of love. Surely Harold was an answer to her prayers?

  Yet she felt a niggle of worry over his eagerness for their relationship to be platonic. That’s not what she had meant when she’d expressed her concern about having children. A marriage without any intimacy would not be a true marriage. But maybe she had misunderstood him. Harold might be meaning abstinence while they settled into the work of the mission and got to know each other better. That would be a sensible approach. Esmie was sure that once they became familiar with one another – and their fondness grew – that intimacy would follow naturally. With that thought, she quickened her pace. Minnie and Jumbo would be the first to hear her news.

  Chapter 10

  Vaullay, August

  Esmie and Harold were to be married in the asylum chapel at Vaullay. It was to be a small affair, with just Dr Carruthers representing Esmie’s family and Agnes and Edith on Harold’s side. Although both bride and groom were keen on a swift and quiet wedding, Harold insisted that they waited for Tom and Lydia to return from honeymoon so that Tom could be his best man. Esmie invited Tibby as well.

  Esmie wore the powder-blue dress that Isobel had bought her for Lydia’s wedding, skilfully embellished with trimmings of white lace around the neckline and hem. When her
aunt had remonstrated that she would buy her a wedding dress, Esmie had been adamant. ‘I’m not wasting your money on a new dress that will never be worn again. The blue one is perfectly fine.’ She did allow her guardian to pay for a white headdress and veil, thinking it would at least keep her wayward brown hair in place for a few hours.

  On the morning of the wedding – a bright summer’s day with a light dew making the lawns sparkle – Isobel’s cheerful maid Jeanie helped Esmie get ready while Isobel kept the inquisitive Norrie out of the way. She kept the two-year-old occupied with helping her tie together a posy of flowers.

  ‘Thank you, Norrie.’ Esmie smiled and took the posy from the small boy, ruffling his hair with affection.

  Abruptly, nervousness seized her at the thought of what she was doing. She would be stepping over the doorway for the final time as Esmie McBride. The next time she came to Isobel’s home it would be as Mrs Harold Guthrie. She fought to control her rising panic as doubt seized her. She was about to marry a man she hardly knew. She had enjoyed his company while on holiday at Lydia’s but what would Harold be like in India? Soon it would be too late to have second thoughts. She caught Isobel’s look.

  ‘Your parents would be so very proud of you,’ Isobel said, her eyes glistening.

  Esmie cleared the lump in her throat and said, ‘I don’t know how I would have coped without you these past eleven years since Father died. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, Auntie.’

  Isobel patted her cheek. ‘I’ve enjoyed every minute of your company, dearie.’

  ‘And I yours.’ Esmie smiled. ‘It’s not that I want to leave you or the hospital . . .’ She struggled to find words adequate to express her restlessness of spirit.

  Isobel’s look was full of compassion. ‘Esmie, you mustn’t feel bad about going. It’s a fine thing you are doing. Ever since you were a wee girl, I’ve been struck by your courage and sense of purpose.’ She squeezed Esmie’s shoulder. ‘And you are marrying a man of principle. I know you will make a success of whatever you are called to do.’