The Handfasters

by Helen Susan Swift

  “I have wanted to do that since you first stepped into my life, dripping wet and defiant,” Willie Kemp said, and he was smiling down at me.

  “Oh,” I said, for I could think of nothing more sensible to say. You see, I thought that all the feelings were on my side, and that I had seized and held the initiative. I had not thought that a mere mechanic, or even an engineer, would dare have feelings for a lady born and bred.

  “Shall we try again?” He asked.

  I may have hesitated, for a thousand thoughts were swirling around my head, a thousand images and a thousand ideas, from the foolish notion of marriage to this fellow, to wondering what Aunt Elspeth would say, to the constantly recurring memory of Mr Kemp as I had first seen him that day. I say that I may have hesitated, and I certainly coloured up, but neither prevented me from meeting his kiss with one more passionate than before, and this time we held each other in busy hands.

  “My aunt Elspeth will never approve of this,” I said when we broke for breath.

  “Your aunt Elspeth does not know,” Mr Kemp reminded, with a deep twinkle in those brown eyes.

  “I might tell her,” I warned.

  “So might I,”' he retorted, and I knew that neither of us would break the secret of this day, for I trusted Willie Kemp.

  Fool that I was, for no man ever tells a woman everything about himself, and Mr William Kemp had more secrets than a household of women, and maybe I was only the least of them. But I did not know that, then, you see, and I only believed what seemed to be true.

  We broke after the fourth or perhaps the fifth kiss and Mr Kemp stepped back, still smiling with his eyes, although his lips were strong and serene, if perhaps slightly swollen. As were mine of course, and I hoped that Louise did not pry too closely what I had been up to, to return with my lips afire and my eyes no doubt as bright as a summer morning.

  “You must go back to your aunt,” Mr Kemp told me, but I shook my head.

  “Not yet,” I said, “please, not yet.”

  “You must,” he said, and there was desperation in his face that I did not understand, for I did not know him then, or men. He was honourable in his own way, was Mr Kemp, and he was attempting to save me from what might have seemed an inevitable conclusion to our behaviour.

  And what of me? I was too young to know and too foolish to care.

  “Just a few minutes more,” I pleaded, and he relented, allowing one last fond kiss, as the poet says, and then he made me dry the end of my skirt at his constantly-burning fire. Disappearing into the small room, he changed himself into the clothes that I had been wearing, which made me smile at the smallness of his wardrobe, and readied himself to escort me home.

  “You cannot come,” I told him, rather pointedly and extremely rudely.

  “I think I had better,” he said. “It's not right for a lady to walk alone, not after that riot the other night. Indeed, I am surprised that your aunt sent you by yourself.”

  So I was escorted back from that significant little hut, along Princes Street and into the New Town. I felt strange, walking with a man who was so obviously my social inferior, but who carried himself with all the confidence of a lord or a successful merchant. There were a few raised eyebrows, but as they came from people that I did not know, it did not matter, and in some perverse way it felt quite good to have such a large and powerful man walking at my side. At least I knew that none of the Edinburgh cowlies, for such was their name for a footpad or rogue, would dare accost me with Willie Kemp there.

  He was sensible enough to leave me at the corner of Queen Street and Hanover Street, and although I half suspected that he wanted to steal one last kiss, he did not ask, which was slightly disappointing. I wanted to desperately to turn around and see if he watched me all the way, but such an action was beneath my dignity, so I forbore. I still do not know.

  I walked into the great hallway of Aunt Elspeth's Queen Street townhouse, with the arched window above the door allowing in light and the painting of some battle or other wasting most of the space in the inner wall. My heart was singing, all was well with the world and I could think of nothing except Willie Kemp. I thought of his mannerisms and the tone of his voice, of the touch of his hands on my shoulders and the way his eyes softened when he smiled. I recalled other images also, but I will not go into that here, my dears, and I will allow you to give free play to your imaginations.

  Aunt Elspeth descended the stairs exactly as I entered, with her cream and gold dress as serene as always and her hair immaculate to a fault. Not that Aunt Elspeth would ever admit to a fault.

  “Ah, Miss Alison.”

  “Yes Aunt Elspeth,” I said, and wondered if I should tell her about Mr Kemp right away, or impart the good news during our evening meal. I was desperate to tell somebody, and Louise did not seem to be around. I was hardly aware of the sodden state of my lower skirt, and, strangely, my severe aunt also failed to notice my appearance.

  “I have some news for you, dear. Some very good news.” Aunt Elspeth seemed to have quite forgiven me for my actions at Lady Catriona's ball.

  I smiled, waiting to for the day to get even better.

  “Come into the withdrawing room, Miss Alison, and sit down.”

  I knew by now that all the important business was conducted in the withdrawing room, from announcements of forthcoming balls to family business and even the occasional small rebuke. I followed my aunt, wishing that I had dried the foot of my dress at Mr Kemp's fire and smiling at some of the images that recurred. Would Louise not be green with jealousy when I told her of my adventures?

  “Sit down, Alison.”

  I perched on the sofa, in exactly the same position as Louise had taken only two days previously. The clock was still ticking softly and the sounds of the street were subdued in the late afternoon. The light was already beginning to fade, I noticed, so the servants would build up the fire ready for a warm evening in the house.

  “Well Alison, you are aware that your mother sent you to Edinburgh in the hope that you might find a suitable husband. Good men are so scarce in the Highlands these days, what with every really eligible young man joining the army as soon as he can hold a musket.”

  “Yes, Aunt Elspeth,” I said, keeping my head down and my secret to myself.

  “Well, I am glad to say that I have already found the most suitable man for you.”

  I looked up at that, wondering how Aunt Elspeth could have spoken to Mr Kemp so quickly.

  “And I have found a man who has already made his feelings for you quite clear.”

  It was Willie Kemp. They must have spoken even before Aunt Elspeth sent me to his hut. No wonder Mr Kemp told me that he had wanted to kiss me from the moment we met. It was all cut and dried.

  “I think that you know exactly who I mean,” Aunt Elspeth said, and I nodded.

  “Yes, Aunt Elspeth, and I could not be happier!”

  “Good! Then that is settled then. As soon as it can be arranged, you will become Mrs John Forres.”

  Chapter Five

  I sat, completely stunned, staring at Aunt Elspeth. I could not believe how wrong she was. Only a few seconds before I had been dreaming of a life with Willie Kemp, that large and honourable, if poor and eccentric man, and now she had told me I was to marry the dandified John Forres, a creature with the smoothest of tongues and the slyest of eyes.

  “No,” I said. “You cannot mean it!”

  Taking my exclamation for joyous disbelief, Lady Elspeth smiled and nodded.

  “Oh I do Alison. As soon as I heard that he admired you at Lady Caroline's Hogmany Ball, I knew that he was just the husband for you. Imagine; you will be married into one of the largest landowning families in the Highlands, your own part of the world. When Mr Alexander Forres dies, Mr John Forres will have an income of some £20,000 a year. Imagine!” And she sat there, looking like the cat who has found a mouse hidden in its cream, the obtuse old harridan. I say old, but she was not old at all, but at that time I thought she was posit
ively ancient.

  I was unsure what to do for the best. Should I begin to bawl my eyes out, or keep a stiff and polite silence, or beg her to reconsider?

  “I realise that this news must be overwhelming,” Aunt Elspeth said, perhaps with some kindly intent, “so it may be best if you were to withdraw to your room and consider the possibilities of your new life.” She stood up and held out her hand, as if she were the Queen awaiting a kiss from a flattered commoner. “Tomorrow we will take the carriage to the Forres Residence and make the formalities.”

  “Tomorrow?” I stared at my aunt.

  “There is no point in delaying such things. So repair to your room now, and compose yourself.”

  I obliged of course. It is always best to remain in the favour of the royals. Besides which, I did not know what to say.

  “Well, Miss Alison,” Aunt Elspeth called out to me as I negotiated the stairs, “that's your future assured, and so soon after your arrival in Edinburgh. I hope that you are as pleased with yourself as I am.”

  Have you heard the expression about your heart sinking into your shoes? Well, that is exactly how mine felt. Tomorrow was very close.

  John Forres. The name haunted me as I slouched up the stairs that led to my shared bedroom. John Forres, that smooth mannered, perfumed mountebank. What on earth had Aunt Elspeth in mind when she selected him?

  Throwing open the door, I threw myself down on the bed, buried my face in my pillow and began to howl. It was quite some time before I realised that I was not alone. Louise was lying in exactly the same position on her bed, giving vent to her feelings in exactly the same way.

  I looked over to her for a few minutes, noting how undignified a woman is when face down on her bed with her shoulders heaving and her bottom wobbling with emotion. Did I look like that? I must have, and the thought was not pretty. What would Mr Kemp think of me now?

  I watched as Louise lifted her head, took a deep breath and began another bout of grief stricken yells that must surely have been held in the street outside, yet alone down stairs by Aunt Elspeth and the others in the household.

  “What on earth is wrong with you?” I asked, nearly forgetting my horror at being paired with John Forres. After all, I was young, and such an event was somewhere in the future, not an immediate happening. The young have a way of putting tomorrow off in the expectation that it never happens. That way leads only to heartache, dears, so make sure that you grasp your future firmly in both your own hands, rather than allowing others to direct it for you.

  Louise looked up, her pretty face interestingly swollen by tears and her eyes puffy and red. “Mother is marrying you to John Forres,” she wailed, slobbering all over herself, “and it's not fair. I should be marrying him.”

  I allowed her to return to her sodden pillow for a few moments while I lay back. For a few moments I wondered about John Forres. True it would be delightful to be mistress of £20,000 a year, so there would be no more scrimping and saving, no more worrying about household expenses, and my children, and I was fully determined to have a whole brood of girls and boys, would be most carefully brought up.

  And then I thought of Willie Kemp's kindness and his enthusiasm over that ridiculous boat, and the way he looked after me that night. I thought of other things related to Mr Kemp too, but they are not for your ears or eyes, my dears. Find your own man and do not peep into the intimacies I shared with one I fondly hoped would be mine, fool that I was.

  There was no comparison. I honestly believed that Mr Kemp and I had chosen each other, while Aunt Elspeth had foisted John Forres onto me.

  “Louise,” I said, but she was too intent on sobbing to hear me.

  I tried again. “Louise!”

  She looked round slowly. “Go away,” she said. “I hate you.”

  “I hate you too,” I told her pleasantly, “but that does not really matter just now. You see, I don't want John Forres at all.”

  Louise's look could have melted cheese. “I don't care what you want. I only care what I want, and I want John Forres for myself!”

  That really confirmed my opinion of Miss Louise, but did nothing to help me. I could feel the tears returning to my eyes as I thought of the future that Aunt Elspeth had planned for me. Was there anything I could do to escape?

  I did not know.

  And that thought kept me awake for most of the night as I listened to Louise sobbing and snuffling and I thought about the happenings of the day.

  Lady Catriona was not effusive in her welcome when Aunt Elspeth brought me back to the Forres residence. She looked at me as if I had crawled from beneath some stone but treated me politely for the sake of my aunt.

  “So this is the young lady that so interested my grandson.” Her eyes were shrewd as she surveyed me. “There's quite a lot of you,” she said pointedly and I felt myself colouring up.

  To explain, Lady Catriona was little more than a wraith, a woman who had kept her lack of shape while generations had grown past her. I was not quite so slender, but curves were in fashion in 1812, you see, and we were not afraid to eat.

  “Yes, Lady Catriona,” I said.

  She probed me for a long moment. “I had to ask you to leave my Hogmany Ball, Miss Lamont.”

  I agreed again, hoping that she would see fit to ban me from her family as effectively as she had banished me from her house.

  “Well,” she said, suddenly smiling, “I am sure that we can put that behind us, now that we know the truth of the matter.” She stood up from the chair to which she seemed to have been rooted for some time. “John told me what really happened, so it appears that you hold a genuine appeal for him.”

  Lady Catriona began to circle me, like a cat stalking some defenceless bird. Although she had changed her gown for something so comfortable that it seemed a shapeless blanket of a creation, her turban remained the same. “Perhaps there is something there after all, Miss Lamont. Perhaps there is something other than your wild Highland ways.”

  Unsure what to say, I said nothing and allowed her scrutiny to continue.

  “So this is Miss Alison Lamont is it?” I had not noticed that there were two other women in the room. One was young and handsome, with auburn hair and a strong face. The other woman was older and sat half hidden behind the pianoforte. She emerged now, and looked at me in a manner every bit as direct as that of Lady Catriona. 'From Badenoch, I believe?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” I waited hopefully for an introduction.

  “Mrs Anne Cairnsmuir,” Aunt Elspeth told me.

  “And you are to be married to Mr John Forres?” Mrs Cairnsmuir continued as if my aunt had never spoken.

  I nodded as the stark truth returned to me. I was to spend the remainder of my life chained to a man that I despised. The sheer horror of that sentence struck me anew.

  “I believe that the two of you met only on Hogmany?” Mrs Cairnsmuir asked. “It is so short a time for such a deep commitment.” She looked at me quizzically. “But sometimes one needs only a few moments, I believe.”

  Thinking of Mr Kemp, I agreed.

  “Then perhaps things are already decided,” Mrs Cairnsmuir said slowly.

  The tears were hot behind my eyes.

  “So greet your intended, Miss Lamont.” Lady Catriona ordered, and watched to ensure I was standing correctly or perhaps that my curtsey was low enough when the lucky man stepped in.

  Mr John Forres looked exactly as he had on the night of the ball. He was tall and smart, with that scarlet uniform like a badge of honour and a smile stretching his glossy, immaculately shaved skin.

  “My dear Miss Lamont; I am so pleased that we are to be united in marriage,” his bow was so low that his head nearly bobbed from his mother's Axminster carpet.

  “Mister Forres,” wishing I was anywhere but in the Forres Residence, I gave the briefest of curtsies. When I straightened up, Mrs Cairnsmuir was watching closely, with a small frown on her face.

  “Good,” Lady Elspeth said. “Now that we have agreed upon t
he union, we can make the arrangements as quickly as possible. There is no need to delay such an event. Your grandson John requires a wife, and my niece will be better with a husband to curb her waywardness.” Her nod was as good as the full stop that ends a solicitor's letter.

  “Waywardness?” Mrs Cairnsmuir stepped forward. “As the godmother of John Forres, I believe that it is in my interest to know the details.”

  I had wondered what her position was, and why she was present at what should be a family affair.

  “My niece is quick tempered,” Lady Elspeth said evenly, “and she is apt to impulsiveness.” Her smile was full of irony. “I can add a distorted sense of direction to her faults, and sometimes a lack of judgement.”

  “Impulsiveness is natural for somebody of her age,” Mrs Cairnsmuir said, “as is a quick temper. Maturity will cure both.”

  Good advice my dears, but completely false, of course, for I am as impulsive as I ever was, and if you want an example of my temper, then cross me, once. But Mrs Cairnsmuir, God rest her bones, was not to know that away back in 1812.

  “As for a distorted sense of direction, well, that may be an asset, given the correct circumstances. However, a lack of judgement could be serious. Tell me, Miss Lamont,” surprisingly, Mrs Cairnsmuir addressed me directly, rather than speaking as if I were only an object to be discussed. I began to like her a little better. “In what manner did this fault become apparent?”

  “I am not quite sure what my aunt means,” I replied cautiously. “Perhaps it would be better to ask her.”

  “Miss Lamont is quite aware what I meant,” Aunt Elspeth said hotly. “She lost herself on the journey from this residence the other night and…”

  “I see,” Mrs Cairnsmuir nodded. “I have indeed heard that story.” She looked at me, and then at John Forres. “And what does Mr Forres think about it?”

  John Forres was surreptitiously engaged in admiring his silhouette in a mirror. As I watched he placed two fingers inside an inside pocket and produced a snuff box in the shape of a woman's leg. Still watching himself, he practised opening it with an apparently casual flick of his left thumb, removed a pinch and thrust it up each nostril in turn. His sneeze was as elegant as any could be, and only then did he return his attention to us.