The Handfasters

by Helen Susan Swift

  “I do beg your pardon, ladies, were you addressing me?” He indicated his box. “Belongaro, don't you know. One of the finest snuffs ever made.”

  I hoped that Mrs Cairnsmuir would allow the matter to drop, but she seemed determined to embarrass me. “I asked what you thought about your intended's behaviour the other night.”

  “Simply appalling,” he said. “She should be thoroughly ashamed of herself.” He fixed me with what he thought was a stern glare. “Miss Lamont requires a good man to keep her in line, and I'm just the fellow.”

  “Just the fellow,” Mrs Cairnsmuir repeated.

  I had remained demure until then, but as I opened my mouth to give my opinion, Lady Catriona rang a little handbell and a liveried servant brought in a tray of drinks. There was orgeat for me, probably the safest and least powerful drink known to man, or woman, no doubt in case I fell down again, or ran off with the footman or started to sing a republican song, while the ladies could imbibe claret, and Lady Catriona slurped down a tumbler full of the finest Ferintosh. For somebody who effected to despise my wild Highland ways she made short work of the whisky.

  “So you have no objection to your intended spending the night at a man's house and with no female chaperone?” Mrs Cairnsmuir seemed to be labouring the point.

  “There is no harm done, apparently,” John Forres sipped at his claret. “It seems that the gentleman in question did not take advantage of the opportunity thus presented.” He looked at me with a smile. “Of course, once you are mine, my dear, I expect you to act with more circumspection.”

  I swallowed hard, feeling frustrated tears rise to my eyes. Should I meekly agree? Or give vent to my true feelings. “Of course, Mr Forres.”

  “You know that your duty as a wife is to provide one healthy male heir. After that you are free to amuse yourself as you please, as long as it does not involve me in a scandal. I have no desire to wear the cuckold's horns.” His laugh was light. “Conduct your affairs with discretion madam, and I will not embarrass you with mine.”

  So my dears, you see that my intended had no intention of being a faithful husband. I might have expected the ladies present to look scandalised at this display of John Forres' moral philosophy, but none of them turned a hair. My generation were the most dreadful hypocrites, you see, where adultery was accepted, but scandal was not. John was merely voicing what was common practice. He was a man of his times, and honest in his own way.

  Now I am not asking you to emulate our behaviour, my dears, for we have moved on since my time, and this Queen Victoria has installed much higher standards in the country. However, we all live according to the lights current in our formative youth, I believe, and treat all other values with disdain.

  I stood beside Mr John Forres for quite ten minutes, waiting for him to say something of the slightest interest, but save for some casual comments about the weather; his conversation was of fashion and high society.

  “Not that I would expect you to know these people, dear Miss Alison,” he said most condescendingly, “but when we are married you will be moving in the most exalted company and it is best to be able to fit in, don't you know?”

  I nodded and attempted to look demure. “Yes, Mr Forres,” I agreed. I could see the other ladies nodding their approval. To them it seemed obvious that John Forres would lead me in the correct manner. I would be the dutiful wife, attending the correct parties and meeting only those of our own social standing.

  William Kemp and that small hut by the loch began to drift further away. I wondered how his steam boat was today, and if he had managed to steer it in a straight line yet. Somehow I doubted it.

  “And as for the servants,” John Forres was teaching me how to manage a house, now. “You must treat them with a firm hand, dear Miss Lamont, and never allow them to take over. They will cheat you from morning until Christmas, given half a chance, you know.” He looked at me, “indeed perhaps I should check over your household accounts every month. I was fairly good at mathematics.”

  “He was indeed,” Lady Catriona nodded to support her grandson. “He was far from the bottom of the class.”

  And equally far from the top, I wagered, wondering who he bribed or coerced into doing his prep for him.

  The remainder of the day passed in equally exciting conversation, but I will refrain from including you in my exquisite boredom. Suffice to say that by the time I left the Forres Residence I knew that I would never marry John Forres, however much my aunt, Lady Caroline, Mrs Cairnsmuir and Uncle Tom Cobley and all tried to persuade me. Actually, Mrs Cairnsmuir did not try very hard, but asked a great many difficult questions and generally acted as Devil's advocate, which was just as bad.

  Louise was not interested in my complaints, being far more concerned with her own shattered dreams. However, she was no longer engaged in washing the pillow with her tears and had time to scream her hatred of me.

  I allowed her to vent her feelings for a few minutes.

  “Besides, I have a new beau now. You can keep Mr John Forres.”

  I shook my head, “but I don't want him,” I said.

  Louise's scream must have been heard right along Queen Street. “You don't want him and I do,” she said, and began a new bout of sobbing that kept me awake half that night. As I lay there with the pillow muffling the sounds, I planned how best to escape from this intolerable position in which I found myself.

  Chapter Six

  Willie Kemp stared at me over the intricate metal structure that he was adding to his steam boat. “You want what?”

  I repeated my words, stuttering when I realised the enormity of my request. “I want you to help me.”

  Ushering me to the seat, he stood by the fire, sighing as if in deep thought. “Let me get this straight, Miss Lamont.” His voice was grave and deep, a schoolmaster lecturing his pupils rather than a man speaking to a woman who loved him. “Your aunt has ordered that you marry John Forres.”

  “That is correct,” I heard the tremble in my voice.

  “In doing so, your aunt is merely complying with your mother's request.”

  I nodded. My mother had indeed sent me down to Edinburgh with a plea for Aunt Elspeth to find a husband.

  “And as you are a minor you are obliged to obey both your mother and your aunt.”

  Again I nodded. I could not argue with Mr Kemp's logic, and I began to hate him too. I felt completely alone in this city and wished desperately that I was back home amongst my own hills. I knew that I did not belong in this grey place of regular streets and cold, mechanical people.

  “So far then, Miss Lamont, you have no reason to complain,” said this man that I had run to for comfort. “Now tell me, would this be a favourable marriage? Is Mr Forres a wealthy man?”

  “He is,” I said stiffly. I had not expected such an interrogation and felt my lip thrust out sulkily. Lord, but I could be a sulky puss when I wanted to, me that thought myself so refined.

  “So no complaints there either.” Mr Kemp said. “So I fail to see why you are unhappy with this proposed match, Miss Lamont.” He gave a faint but infuriating smile. “Does he have two heads, perhaps? Or is he misshapen in some other way?”

  I shook my head once more. “Indeed he is a handsome enough fellow, and quite well favoured about his person as far as I can see.”

  “So as Dr Pangloss would say, 'all is for the best in this best of all possible lives.”'

  I felt like stamping my foot in frustration, if it would not have seemed so childlike. “But I don't like the man!”

  “So your only objection is that you are not in love with him,” Mr Kemp eventually came to what was really the crux of the matter.

  “Exactly,” I agreed, pleased that Mr Kemp at last appeared to agree with me. I was wrong of course.

  “You do realise that most fashionable marriages are arranged in such manner, and the participants usually manage to jog along tolerably well. Your marriage will be no exception, and most people will wonder why you are ma
king such a fuss.” When he looked down at me with his eyebrows raised in that fashion I hated him all the more.

  I do not know if I have ever felt more wretched than I did at that moment. I had left Aunt Elspeth's house and run to Mr Kemp's for support and comfort, but instead he had torn my argument to shreds and obviously thought that I should comply with Aunt Elspeth's orders.

  “But I do not love him,” I wailed, completely forgetting in my misery to appear refined and dignified. Really, my dears, deep emotion can be a terrible thing. Sometimes it is far better to live life on the surface. But on other occasions, the rewards can be far greater if you explore your deeper feelings, it all depends on your personality, I presume.

  “Does that matter?” Mr Kemp continued, cruelly ignoring my distress.

  “Yes!” This time I did stamp my foot as I glared at him hotly.

  “Why?” That single word made me stop dead.

  Why did it matter? I was being offered everything that a young woman could desire. If I married John Forres, I would be mistress of a large property, with sufficient income to ensure that I wanted for nothing in my life. Mr Forres had already made it clear that he would not be a demanding husband, quite satisfied with a single heir. But I did not want Mr Forres.

  “Mr Kemp,” I kept my voice as calm as I could. “I will not marry Mr Forres, never in the reign of Queen Dick.”

  Mr Kemp sank down until he squatted right beside me with his face so serious that I knew his next question would be crucial. His words were straight to the point. “Why not?”

  “Because I love somebody else,” I told him, and hoped that he would ask who that person might be. After our quite passionate kissing on our previous encounter, I thought the answer was obvious, but I had yet to learn that men are obtuse about such matters. Their view of relationships is quite different from ours.

  “Ah,” Mr Kemp looked away. “And does this fortunate fellow also love you?”

  I looked into those deep brown eyes and told the entire truth. “I don't know,” I said, hopelessly. “I have not asked him.” The tears came back then, and it seemed natural to drop my head on Willie Kemp's shoulder and natural for him to put a strong arm around me.

  “Then you do need somebody to help you,” Mr Kemp said kindly, “until you find the courage to ask.”

  “Thank you,” I said humbly, putting my trust in the kindness of this mechanic. It was obvious that he liked me, but that was all, so how could I say that it was him I loved, when we were from two such different backgrounds? A man like Willie Kemp would be utterly dismayed to hear that a lady could love him, for he could never give her the life style that she desired.

  “Can I stay here for a while?” I knew at once that the question was unanswerable. If Mr Kemp agreed he would be putting himself to great inconvenience, for at that age I did not understand the economics of food and shelter. I had no idea how much it cost to feed and clothe somebody, to say nothing of winter fuel, for such things had always appeared magically for me. We were indeed a spoiled generation, my dears, and it is little wonder that so many of our class lived far beyond our means.

  Mr Kemp continued to look at me with that half smile on his face and his eyes deep brown. “Does Lady Elspeth know that you are here?”

  “Of course not!” I refuted the suggestion immediately. “I told my aunt that I was going for a walk to mull things over. She has no idea that I am here.”

  Mr Kemp nodded. “I see. Well, even so, I do not think it is best for you to live with me.”

  I nearly burst into tears at the disappointment. I really believed that Willie Kemp would have been able to take me in, somehow and look after me as he had on Hogmany. “But what will I do?' Where will I go?” I was becoming frantic now. “I can't marry that man!”

  Mr Kemp sighed with infinite patience. Having experienced his kindness, I had come to him out of the blue, expecting an instant solution and now he had rejected me. “Perhaps it would help if I spoke to Lady Elspeth myself? I may be able to persuade her that Mr Forres is not suitable for you?”

  “No!” I was quite adamant on that point. I could imagine my aunt's reaction if a mere mechanic, however tall and handsome, arrived to speak for me. “No, but I do thank you, Mr Kemp. I shall endeavour to find another way out of my situation.” I would return home. I would catch the next stage for the north and throw myself on my mother's mercy. Even if I had to live the remainder of my life as a spinster, I would not marry John Forres. But I wanted this man…

  This very man who was speaking again. “All right. Give me a few days to find a solution, Miss Lamont. Come back a week today and I will see what I can do.”

  “A week! So long! I could be married before then.” I expressed my dismay, but Mr Kemp only shook that calm head.

  “You will not be married before then. These affairs take time to arrange. There are guests to invite, a church to prepare, banns to be read, the minister to instruct, clothes and food to find…” he gave that slow smile I found so irritatingly fascinating. “No, Miss Lamont, I assure you that you will still be unwed this time next week.”

  “Oh Mr Kemp! I knew that you could help.” Without thinking what I was doing, I rose, cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. Again he responded, but pulled away long before I was ready.

  “Miss Lamont! You told me that you cannot marry John Forres because you loved another man. Think of him rather than thanking me so effusively!”

  I looked at him in disbelief. Why did he not realise that he was the man I loved? Did I not make myself plain enough, or did Mr Kemp believe that I kissed every mechanic that I came across? What kind of woman did he think I was?

  “Yes, Mr Kemp,” I said. Remember I was only eighteen and very naïve. If only I had known that Willie Kemp was playing a double game and I was caught in the middle of a very elaborate trap, I would not have been so trusting. He was truly the most devious and wicked man alive!

  Chapter Seven

  That week was one of the longest that I have ever known. I put on my most demure face, obeyed every instruction that Aunt Elspeth chose to give, endured Louise's whining and constant mood changes and counted the hours.

  “Oh Alison, are you not pleased to be marrying such a gentleman?” Aunt Elspeth would say, and I would simper and curtsey and think of his soft white hands.

  “Yes, Aunt Elspeth.”

  “Oh Alison, please ensure that your hair is tidy today, for Mr John Forres may call round.”

  “Oh yes, Aunt Elspeth,” and I would scurry to the mirror and play with what loose strands of hair I had while Louise would watch and scowl and steal my hairbrush, the vicious little minx.

  After a few days Louise was less openly spiteful and began to take care of herself again, which a mixed blessing as the dressing tables once again resembled the battle of Maida with powder strewn everywhere and empty bottles scattered around like dead soldiers. I asked her if she had quite recovered from her disappointment.

  “I have a man too,” Louise told me, tossing that beautiful mane of blonde hair that sent her beaus wild with admiration and I always wanted to spoil with blue dye.

  “Good,” I said with my most false smile spread over my face. “I thought you would find someone. Who is it? That nice Mr Semple?” Semple was a near neighbour in George Street, a ruddy faced man with broad shoulders and an amiable appearance.

  “Oh no, it's not him. He has all the appearance of a farmer. Oh no, Alison, I have found somebody far more suitable. I have found a real gentleman with broad lands and a uniform.”

  “Ah,” I said, and wondered which of the unfortunate Highland officers had been fooled by Louise's charm. My countrymen are as brave as lions, but they are not always the best judge of female character. I think that they need a Highland woman to keep them right, or they can be up to any folly. “Who is this ideal man?”

  “That's for me to know and you to wonder,” Louise gave a little twirl so her dress rose around her perfect ankles. “So I'll leave you to you
r mirror, Alison. And do try and appear respectable, although I realise that it must be hard with hair like that.”

  “I'll do my best,” I promised. “And shall I tell John that you have got over him?”

  Her look could have cut glass. “Do what you will, Alison dear. You seem to do that anyway, without any permission from me. Or anybody else.”

  As you can imagine, that week passed abominably slowly. John Forres came to call twice, each time spending as much time in front of the mirror as he was in front of me, and the scent of his pomade lingered far longer than a memory of anything sensible he may have said.

  “Is he not the perfect gentleman?” Aunt Elspeth asked. “What style he has. I envy you, Alison, being promised to such a man, although I really do not know why he prefers you to Louise.”

  About to say that they were welcome to each other, I thought it best to remain quiet. I did not want any hint of my possible plans to seep out. Mind you, I did not know what these plans were, but trusted entirely to the good judgement of Mr Kemp: fool that I was “I am sure that I have no idea,” I said, truthfully.

  Pursing her lips as if she were preventing herself from making any comment, Aunt Elspeth swept away, her skirt an immaculate quarter inch from the floor and her back as erect as any scarlet jacketed officer. I watched with admiration; in many ways, Lady Elspeth was the perfect woman and I could have learned a lot from her.

  After a week of tormented worry I again informed Aunt Elspeth that I required exercise to clear my thoughts.

  She looked at me from above her imperious nose. “Clear your thoughts, Alison? I would imagine that you have thoughts only for Mr John Forres.”

  “Oh I think of John Forres a lot,” I said, “but there are other things in my mind as well. I must consider the guests, and the food, and the minister,” I temporised desperately, trying to recall everything that Mr Kemp had listed.