The Handfasters

by Helen Susan Swift

  It was obvious that Mr Kemp was not taking my position seriously.

  “It could have been anyone,” I said, quite desperate to make him understand the danger I could have been in. “A murderer, even a Frenchman!”

  Mr Kemp gave his slow smile. “It was neither,” he said. “Believe me, I would hear about any strangers lurking about your cottage.”

  Strangely, as soon as he said those words, I knew that it was true. For a mechanic, Mr Kemp had a presence that I could not fathom. He could certainly put on as many airs and graces as an English factory owner or a Highland cattle drover. “That is reassuring,” I said, making my voice as cold as the weather outside, “but I would dearly have liked to see you when I was living in terror.”

  “I am here now,” Mr Kemp pointed out, quite truthfully. “And if you would stop looking for an argument for a moment, I will tell you why.”

  I stopped at once, for that was the first time Mr Kemp had ever raised his voice in my presence. “Yes, Mr Kemp?”

  “Your Mr Forres, John Forres, has declared that he will never stop looking for you. He says that he intends to marry nobody else but you, ever.”

  It must have been a minute before I could speak. “I had hoped that he would lose interest,” I said, faintly.

  “It appears not,” Mr Kemp told me.

  “Then what are we to do, Mr Kemp?” I waited for his solution. The cottage that I was in afforded proof of his resilience, and I knew that he would have some plan in mind.

  “It appears that Mr Forres will require some persuasion that you are not the correct woman for his wife.”

  I agreed.

  “So let us persuade him.”

  “Yes, Mr Kemp,” I attempted to retain my patience. “But how?”

  “The solution is simple,” Mr Kemp said. “We get married.”

  I do not think that I have experienced quite that sensation of joy before, but Mr Kemp's next words sent me plummeting straight back down.

  “Not in reality of course, our respective social positions would preclude that, but as handfasters.”

  The word meant nothing to me. “I am sorry Mr Kemp: I am dumfounded; as what, pray?”

  “We get handfasted.” Mr Kemp sat me down and piled some peat on the fire. As I sat there he explained. “Handfasting is a form of trial marriage that some of the … lower … orders use in Scotland. A man and woman declare themselves married for a period of a year, and after that they could decide whether to legitimise the relationship with a proper wedding, or shake hands and go their separate ways.”

  I saw the obvious flaws. “So you can use me as a wife,” I said deliberately crude, “and then, when I am forever sullied, wave goodbye and find somebody else?”

  Mr Kemp's smile was as infuriatingly understanding as ever. “Don't you trust me? It's not that long since you said that you loved me.”

  That was true, and a year was a long time. I closed my eyes, contemplating a handfasted year with Willie Kemp. What could be finer, I thought, and smiled across to him. A year with the man that I loved, a year in which John Forres would certainly lose interest, 365 days to convince Mr Kemp that I was the best woman for him. And the same number of nights of course.

  “I probably trust you more than any man I have ever met,” I said. That was true. For goodness sake, it was only a few minutes since I had been prancing about naked in front of this man, and he had acted as a complete gentleman. Or as a man with no interest in me at all.

  That thought made me sit up straight.

  “Mr Kemp,” I spoke so quietly that he must have heard the sudden hammer of my heart. “Please answer me one simple question.”

  He took a step back, suddenly wary. “That depends entirely on the nature of the question.”

  I took a deep breath. “Mr Kemp,” I said. “Do you care for me? Even if only a little?”

  Mr Kemp looked relieved. I suspect he thought I was going to propose, or ask for financial help. “Miss Lamont. I do care for you. I am not in the habit of kissing women for whom I care nothing.”

  Now, you may think that his statement was so obvious that I could ignore it, but when somebody you love declares even a basic liking for you, it makes you extremely elated.

  “Then let us get handfasted,” I said, still unsure what the procedure entailed.

  Mr Kemp looked at me and smiled. “Even when I am only a mere artisan and you are a gentlewoman born and bred?”

  “I do not care!” I told him. I still do not know why I fell in love with that awkward man, but I did, then, and that is an end to it. “I love you, not your station in life! Maybe if we go home married, mother might find you a suitable job. Maybe you could work as an engineer on the estate, or be a factor, or even an estate commissioner. I don't know.”

  Mr Kemp smiled. “Thank you for the thought,” he said, “but I would prefer to remain in my own area.” He looked down on me from his great height. “Perhaps you will get used to my type of life.”

  I thought, appalled, of a lifetime of such hardships as I had endured in the tiny cottage and was about to shake my head, but then I thought of a lifetime shared with Willie Kemp. “Perhaps I will, as long as you do not leave me alone again for such a long period of time.”

  His smile broadened. “I promise that I will never leave you alone again for such a long period of time,” he said, solemnly. “And now, if you are sure that you agree, let us get handfasted.”

  “How?” I was suddenly afraid. “I do not know what to do. I have never heard of such a thing until this very minute.”

  Mr Kemp looked around the room, with its plain furniture and my clothes drying beside the bright fire. “First we will need a couple of witnesses,” he told me, “and we will find somewhere suitable to perform the ceremony.”

  I looked at him with his slow smile and the deep humour behind those dark brown eyes. Somehow I knew that Willie Kemp was playing a devious game with me, but for the life of me I could not work out what. I thought that I could trust him, but perhaps his apparent refusal to take advantage of me was itself a ruse? Was he luring me into a position where I was completely at his mercy? All the years of reading Gothic novels, where every man is either a brave hero or a blatant villain, had taken their toll of my young mind.

  I hesitated.

  Could I really trust this man with everything I had left?

  Chapter Ten

  “Well?” Mr Kemp extended a hand in invitation. “Shall we?”

  That was really my last chance. I could have said no and still returned to my old life. Mr Kemp had told me that, despite my recent behaviour and tattered reputation, John Forres still wanted me as his wife, so I could have all the clothes, dances, balls and security that any woman would desire, or I could head for love with this enigmatic mechanic and live in poverty beyond the fringes of society.

  Was I tempted? Of course I was, but not for long. And nor would you be, my dears, not as a healthy, red-blooded eighteen year old with all a young girl's hopes and desires running through your body.

  “Of course we shall,” I took hold of his hand and allowed him to lead me into a life of hardship and poverty.

  According to Mr Kemp, we needed two witnesses and a length of twine for a proper handfast ceremony. I had no idea where we could find any of these items, but Mr Kemp took me out of my cottage and into the snowy hills. I could not see where the paths were in that white sameness, but Mr Kemp had no difficulty as he led me by devious tracks to a second cottage about two miles away and overlooking a crooked village.

  “That is Carlops,” he told me. “The name comes from the Carlin's Loup, the witches leap, or so the old folk say.”

  I looked down upon the straggle of weaver's cottages where the roofs were free of snow and the clatter of the looms was a constant companion, and I wondered about the life of the people who lived there. Perhaps someday Mr Kemp would find us a cottage in a place like that. After my solitary abode in the hills it seemed quite attractive.

  “Wa
it here, please.” Leaving me in a sheltered dell, where birch trees displayed their silver bark and a grassy banking eased the bite of the wind, Mr Kemp slipped softly down to Carlops. He returned within a few minutes, bringing with him a man who might have been forty, but who looked more like a gaberlunzie beggar than a respectable gentleman, with his clothes tattered and tobacco stains in his ragged beard.

  “This is Ebeneezer Linton,” Mr Kemp announced, “and a more honest fellow you would be hard pressed to find.”

  I looked at the ragged apparition and tried to smile, but all the time I wondered at the low company into which I had fallen. “Oh mother,” I thought to myself, “please do not ever find out about your daughter's misbehaviour down in the south country.”

  “Hello, young Alison!” Ebeneezer gave a gap toothed grin. “Willie told me that he was getting handfasted rather than a common marriage. Aye,” he eyed me up and down, nodding all the while, “you're a choice piece. He's got a good eye for a woman, has our Willie.”

  I nodded, trying not to allow the horror to show in my face. That this rough blackguard should address me so familiarly was bad enough, but that he should call me a 'choice piece' as though I were some animal in the market! John Forres may have been arrogant, but he was never impolite. Besides, the man's accent was so strong that I barely understood a syllable.

  “Never mind Ebenezer's words,” Mr Kemp advised. “He's a wee bit rough but sound at bottom. Just one more call to make and we'll be ready.”

  There was another trail over these barren white hills, with the wind biting through my cloak and my two companions talking quietly about machinery and levers and such like subjects. Again I wondered if I was making the correct choice, but when Willie Kemp guided me over the many churning burns, his touch was as gentle as a dove. All the roughness was outward, I believed, and I walked onward with romance overcoming any shred of sense that I may have had.

  People will tell you that love conquers all, dears, but don't you believe it. This life requires a hard head as much as a tender heart, and life without both is out of balance. Surely, aim for the man you love, but don't throw away all your assets in the pursuit of a foolish dream. Keep a foot in both camps until you are totally sure, and then leap for him, thrust in your nails and cling for dear life, for there is bound to be somebody willing to take him away.

  If I had thought that Ebeneezer Linton looked like a sorner, the next witness would have made Old Hornie cower and back away. Mr Kemp took me to a gypsy encampment deep in the southern hills, where horses shivered in the snow, three battered wagons were spread beneath a copse of shivering elder trees and a group of tanned people looked up. I backed away from the barking dogs until an old woman shambled along, the rings in her ears dangling almost to her unwashed neck and her eyes as bright and hard as Aunt Elspeth's diamonds.

  “Is that you, Willie Kemp?”

  “It is, Mother Faa.” Mr Kemp bowed respectfully.

  “Aye, so it is, so it is. But who is this with you?” Mother Faa peered from within the tawdry rags that nearly concealed her sharp face.

  “This is Ebeneezer.”

  “Oh I know Ebeneezer Linton. I knew his father's father before his grandmother ever did. Who is the other one.” Her claws tugged at my cloak as she peered into my face. “The pretty one.”

  “This is Alison Lamont.”

  “Ah; a girl from the Highlands.” The old hag grinned, showing perfect white teeth. “I can smell the Gael in you,” she told me. “And what are you doing so far from home?”

  The question was directed to me, and I answered as honestly as I could. “Mr Kemp and I are to be handfasted. He requires that you should be a witness.”

  “Does he indeed?” Mother Faa did not ease her scrutiny, pulling back my cloak to gaze at what could be seen of my shape. “Aye, I see why. You have a plump body and fine, childbearing hips.”

  Stepping back, I would have closed by cloak had she not gripped like the devil himself. “I would be much obliged, madam, if you could refrain from such personal observations.”

  Mother Faa placed one hand against my stomach. “Ebeneezer Linton has buried two wives and has seventeen children,” she told me, “so he has no interest in a child such as you, while Willie Kemp has brought you here for my approval. Is that not so, Willie?”

  I shuddered, wondering what sort of man would subject his intended to an inspection by such an old witch as this.

  Mother Faa chuckled, tapped my stomach lightly and carefully replaced my cloak. “You have nothing to worry about there, Willie. In any respect.”

  “I did not think I had, Mother Faa,” Mr Kemp said quietly.

  I looked at him. “Mr Kemp! How dare you treat me so! You have no right!”

  “And she has fire!” Mother Faa ignored my outburst quite as much as did Mr Kemp. “You two will have such exciting arguments. I nearly envy you the joy of discovering each other.”

  Mr Kemp smiled again. “Thank you, Mother Faa,” he said, “and now perhaps, we may proceed to the proper place?”

  “Not yet,” I said. I knew that I could not alter what had happened, but I demanded fairness, at least. “If I am to be examined, then so should Mr Kemp!”

  Mother Faa looked at me with amusement in those hard eyes, and Ebeneezer laughed out loud.

  “She certainly has all the spirit you will need,” Mother Faa said, “and she is right. The gander must share the sauce of the goose!”

  I watched, feeling justified as the old gypsy opened Mr Kemp's jacket and pawed him in the same manner as he had me. Of course I did not believe a word that she said, for she had probably known Mr Kemp for years, but at least I had shown that I was not to be trifled with.

  “He has a fine body, Miss Lamont,” Mother Faa told me, “but you have already seen it.”

  How in the Lord's name did she know that?

  Her chuckle would have not been out of place in Weir the Wizard's house. I saw her delve further down, and secretly rejoiced at Mr Kemp's involuntary wince. “Oh yes, Miss Lamont, everything is in order. He will make a fine husband.” Her final cackle brought a blush to Mr Kemp's face and caused Ebeneezer to laugh out loud. “He is untried, however.”

  “That will do, Madam.” I pulled the old hag's hand from its personal probing. “You have told us quite enough.”

  Appearing not quite as confident as he had been only a few moments before, Mr Kemp led us back to the hills, unerringly following a succession of sheep paths that I could not see. He seemed to know his way by some instinct and eventually brought us to the grey cairn that surmounted Harper's Hill. Perhaps it was the wind that had removed the cover of snow on that high and windy place, or perhaps old Mother Faa had something to do with it: I rather suspected the latter.

  “Here we are.” Mr Kemp said, not even out of breath, although I was panting like a pair of bellows and Ebeneezer was about half a mile behind and labouring mightily. Old Mother Faa was walking alongside us as if she were floating on air, which she probably was, the evil old witch.

  You will all know what a cairn is, my dears, but maybe you have never seen the cairn on Harper's Hill? It is large, taller than a man, and composed of different sizes of stone, large and small all jumbled together higgledy piggledy. The historical people tell us that some ancient chief is buried underneath, but God alone knows why they went to such trouble to get rid of a man who was probably a rogue anyway. Maybe they were making sure he stayed down by piling as much weight on top of him as possible.

  But that day such metaphysical thoughts did not concern me in the slightest. After so much hardship, and enduring the company of two creatures who would have been far better locked in bedlam than loose with respectable people, I was about to become handfasted to Mr Kemp.

  “So what do we do?” I asked, and was surprised when Mr Kemp shook his head.

  “I'm not sure,” he said. “I've never been handfasted before. That's why I chose these two. Ebeneezer was handfasted once, and Mother Faa knows everything abou
t everything.”

  I nodded; I should have realised that there was some logic in Mr Kemp's choice. “Mr Linton,” I addressed the tattered Ebeneezer. “Did you marry your handfasted wife?”

  “Good Lord no,” he seemed to recoil at the very suggestion. “I did not marry that one. We fell out after a few weeks and went our separate ways.” He nodded, “that is what the whole idea is about, a trial marriage to find out if you are suitable. It was entertaining while it lasted, though.” His eyes brightened with the memory.

  Not in the slightest reassured by the story of collapse, I hoped that Mother Faa would be more encouraging.

  “Up on the cairn,” she ordered. “That's the place. Start at the top.”

  “And from there it's all downhill,” Ebeneezer chuckled. “I still see my daughter, though.”

  That simple statement appalled me. I had not considered having children, and outside wedlock too. “She would be illegitimate!” I said in horror.

  “And none the less welcome for that,” Ebeneezer revealed a humanity that I found surprising in one so rough.

  Mr Kemp gave me his slow smile. “The question of children is something that Miss Lamont and I can work out between us,” he said. “It is surely the concern of nobody else.”

  The day remained fair as we scrambled to the summit of that cairn and, despite the oncoming ceremony; I admired the view spread before me. From up there I could see the entire Pentland range, fold upon fold of brilliant white hills, dotted with shivering sheep and scattered with trees and the smoke from cottages. I could see the hope in which my own cottage was situated, and the distant Firth of Forth, where tiny white specks revealed the passage of ships.

  I could also see the spread of Edinburgh under its permanent reek of smoke, and the distinctive rock on which the castle stood. For a moment I thought of my comfortable bedroom in George Street, and the bustle of servants, and Aunt Elspeth's efficient serenity, and Louise's sulky face, and I wished that I was there.