The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4)

by Helen Susan Swift

  'There is nothing glorious in killing people,' Alexander could have read my thoughts.

  'I agree,' I said. 'There is nothing glorious at all.'

  We were silent for a few moments as the wind continued to howl around the eaves.

  'My mother showed me how some plants could cure diseases.' Alexander looked hesitant as if he expected me to scoff at him. When I merely nodded, he continued. 'I would like to expand on that. I want to find plants to cure other illnesses.' He looked directly into my eyes. 'Could you imagine how much good that would do, Mary? Decades ago, James Lind from Edinburgh discovered that lime juice and fresh vegetables help cure scurvy, although the Navy has done nothing about it, so we lose thousands of seamen every year.'

  'I did not know that,' I said.

  'Could you imagine what treasures are out there, waiting for somebody to discover them?' I had never seen Alexander so enthusiastic about his plants; I had never seen any man so imbued with the desire to help humanity. This excitement was a new side to my eccentric companion.

  'It is something I had not thought about,' I said.

  'Think what good the potato has done since the Spanish brought it back from the Americas,' Alexander was in danger of falling into the fire in his enthusiasm. Even more interesting was that Alexander forgot he was wearing a loose blanket, which opened up when he gestured with his hands. I will leave the sights to your imagination. I can still smile at that captivating memory.

  'Imagine what other sources of food are waiting for us to find them. We might discover the cure for any disease; measles, diphtheria, consumption, any of the fevers. We might find a cheap foodstuff that can end hunger or even famine forever!'

  I hardly listened to Alexander's words. I was more impressed by his enthusiasm and desire to help. Speaking about varieties of plant, I had found a an entirely new variety of man; one I had never met before. 'How will you do all that, Alex?'

  'I'll search the world,' Alexander said. 'I'll search the corners of the world that have never seen searched before. Europe is too small, too crowded, too well known. I want to look in the Americas, in Africa, in this Terra Australis that Captain Cook mapped for us all.'

  I imagined Alexander scouring the highways and byways of the world for his plants. 'What a noble man you are,' I said. 'What a noble, inspiring, Christian project.'

  'Every so often,' Alexander said. 'I will come home to catalogue what I have discovered. I will test the properties of each plant, each vegetable and each fruit.'

  'You have your life mapped out, I see.'

  Alexander nodded. 'I've never told anybody any of that before.' His enthusiasm faded. 'I don't know why I told you.'

  I think I knew. I could not articulate my knowledge.

  'You must consider me crazy.' Alexander's smile lacked its usual confidence. There was a sudden hesitation in the twist of his mouth. 'When I spoke about plants at school, the boys mocked me. So did the teachers, when they listened.'

  'No,' I said. 'I don't think you are crazy.' I did not know what I thought. I could not even analyse my feelings. Or rather, I think I did know what I thought. I did not wish to admit it.

  'It is as well that Mother put that barrier to prevent me finding a wife,' Alexander said. 'No woman would want a man to wander all over the world, leaving her at home.'

  'No,' I agreed. 'No woman would want that.' I took a deep breath. 'Alexander,' I said, 'do you remember when we were in Wallace's Cave and you helped me put a note beside Captain Ferintosh's horses?'

  'We did that well, didn't we?'

  'We did,' I agreed. 'That was not what I was going to ask.' Now that I had started, I was not sure how to continue. Men were different, even painful, to talk to about emotional matters.

  'What were you going to ask?' Alexander leaned forward, his eyes as intense as I had ever seen them.

  'I am going to ask how you felt when you helped me with that note.' That was blunt even for me. I did not expect Alexander to tell me anything. All the men I knew would have avoided the question by giving a whimsical reply.

  'I felt as if I was betraying you,' Alexander gave a direct answer without a trace of a smile.

  'Why?' I pushed for more details.

  'I knew Ferintosh was not right for you.' Alexander said. 'I like you too much to see a man hurt you.'

  The words twisted in my insides. I had to push further, damn me for a fool. 'If you like me, then why did you not try to prevent the meeting?'

  'I had no right to do such a thing,' Alexander said. 'I had no right to influence your life.' He was silent for quite a while. 'I had no right to prevent you from searching for happiness.'

  'Even although it hurt you?' I was not sure for what I was looking.

  'Even then.'

  I nodded. 'You are a good friend, Alexander. A strange man, but a good friend.'

  'The rain is easing.' Reaching over, Alexander fingered my dress, spread out on a bale of hay beside the fire. 'Your clothes are dry. I think we can dress and get you back home.'

  Alexander was right. It was time to go. My mind was too full of words and images to add any more. I needed time alone to think.

  I looked back inside the stables before we left. I was not sure what had happened in this dark, smoky place. I did know that I would never forget these few happy hours, perhaps my last carefree memories before my mother condemned me into marriage with a man far my senior.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For all the excitements of the past couple of weeks, one thing had dominated most of my thoughts. From the moment that my mother had mentioned her intention to marry me off to John Aitken, I had worried about the evening she intended to formalise our agreement. My passing, stupid infatuation with Captain Ferintosh had been a reaction to mother's statement. After all, Ferintosh was a rogue. I had known that I think, from the first or second time I had met him. In saying that, I missed him. Despite everything, I do not now regret the time I spent with that handsome, wicked man.

  Saturday evening. I felt sick. I had grown to quite like Mr Aitken, for all his advanced years and physical weaknesses. He was, as Mrs Mackay had said, a kindly man. But I did not love him. I could not love him. I could not ever see myself as marrying him. The thought of kissing him, let alone having other more personal intimacy, repulsed me.

  As the hour of Mr Aitken's arrival drew close, I contemplated my options. I could stay and brazen it out, giving a firm no to my mother's hopes. I did not know how she would react. I did not even know if my decision would be legal. My second option was to smile nicely and agree to the wedding. My mother would be pleased and, judging from what I had seen; Mr Aitken would be an amiable enough husband, with bouts of grouchiness expected in an old man. I thought of the third option: run.

  I had considered that choice already. Now I examined it in increasing desperation. I could pack up what I could, grab Coffee and head for … Head for where? I had nowhere to go. I could perhaps ride to Edinburgh and find a job as a governess if I were extremely fortunate. I would be little more than a paid servant, a teacher of other people's children. I could have wept with frustration. If there was somebody I knew well, somebody to give me sanctuary, somebody that knew me better than they knew my parents, I could have, I would have, run there. There was nobody.

  I knew dozens of people. I was acquainted with all the local farmers and their families, all the minor gentry of East Lothian, but so were father and mother. None of them would hide me. I thought of Catherine Brown, my most particular friend. Would he help? Yes, she would if I asked. Could she help? No; her father was as close a friend of father's as I was of Catherine's.

  'Mother,' I nearly pleaded. 'Do you have to invite Mr John Aitken?'

  'Yes, I do,' Mother said. 'You know that you and he are getting quite friendly now.'

  'I do not wish to marry him.'

  'You will wish to marry him,' Mother said. 'I know you better than you know yourself.'

  I spent much of Saturday afternoon lying in my bed, fighting
my fears and trying to work out how to escape. I could not think of a way. I considered fleeing to Alexander Colligere and pleading for sanctuary, until I realised that I did not know where he lived. That was strange; I knew every other man and woman by their houses or farms. Despite having met Alexander Colligere a few times, I did not know much about him. He merely appeared and disappeared, seemingly at will. Like a fairy, or his witch of a mother.

  I was alone.

  That thought, for a young woman on the cusp of official adulthood, was sobering. It made me think of my position in the world, both now and in the future. A woman without a fortune of her own needed a husband. I had the usual female accomplishments, but I could do no useful work except the lowest and least paid. Reality bit hard. Now, you may have read all Sir Walter Scott's novels, in which case you will believe that Scots are all romantic dreamers who wish for the return of some mythical Stuart king. The reality is somewhat different. The average Scot is the most hard-headed pragmatist known to humanity. We are about as romantic as a midden heap. Our history has made us a race of survivors, and that includes matters of romance or lack of it.

  The debacle with Captain Ferintosh had somewhat dented my childish belief in romance. No chivalric knights were riding to rescue damsels in distress; there were few marriages of never-ending bliss. Now I sought something more permanent than a fleeting kiss, charming manners and fine clothes. I had learned that it was what a man was like inside that mattered.

  I now knew that inside his somewhat unprepossessing exterior, John Aitken was a good man. He would not beat me, as I had heard happened in some marriages. He would not deny me affection; when I visited him in Tyneford he had been the most pleasant of companions. His house was well run and comfortable. I could be happy there. All I lacked was love. Many marriages managed to survive without that single ingredient. No, I told myself severely, John Aitken is a good man.

  Armed with that nugget of information, I asked Mother if I could have a bath before John Aitken arrived.

  'I would like to look my best,' I glanced down at myself. 'The last couple of weeks have been difficult. I am bruised and weather-battered, with the smell of smoke in my hair.'

  Mother's pleasure could not have been more evident. 'What an excellent idea!'

  I was a little guilty at giving the maids extra work, so I helped them carry the bath to the front of the fire in my room. I even carried up some of the pails of hot water myself, slopping it over the floor as I did so. Eventually, it was all set up. I stripped to the skin and stepped in, allowing the gentle warmth to seep into my body. Baths were not as frequent in my youth as they are now, so young Maggie hovered to see this novelty, pretending to wish to help me.

  'Are you bathing to get ready for Mr Aitken's visit, Miss Mary?'

  Honestly, Mother was right. I allowed far too much familiarity from the servants. I ignored her question. 'Have you ever had a bath, Maggie?'

  'Why, no Miss.' Maggie widened her eyes and giggled at the idea.

  'You should try it sometime,' I said. 'It's very relaxing.'

  'What if a man walked in when you were all naked, Miss?'

  I smiled. 'A gentleman would knock at the door, first.'

  'What if they didn't knock first?' Maggie said. 'What if Mr Hepburn was to walk in by mistake, or one of the footmen.' She looked down at me, giggling. 'Or even Mr Aitken.'

  'Oh, Lord, no!' I had nearly reconciled myself to the thought of John Aitken as a husband, yet Maggie's words shocked me. The thought of that balding old man finding me like this! I shook my head. 'I hope it never happens, Maggie.'

  'Or one of the younger gentlemen, Miss,' Maggie was too young to know when she had said enough. 'Mr Ormiston maybe, or that strange man with the kind eyes.'

  'That strange man with the kind eyes? Who do you mean, Maggie?'

  'That tall fellow that sometimes walks around the grounds, Miss. I saw him fall into the haha a few days ago.'

  We had a haha, a sunken barrier with a turfed incline, around our immediate gardens to prevent the livestock straying where they could do damage. I was not aware of anybody having fallen down the slope.

  'I don't know of any tall fellow with kind eyes.' My first thought was of Captain Ferintosh, but he was safely incarcerated in Haddington, if not in Edinburgh by now.

  'He was there again this morning, Miss.' Maggie said. 'I wonder if he is still there.' She tripped to the window, stifling her giggle.

  I lay back, luxuriating in the bath as I lazily soaped myself. I hoped that Mr Aitken did not turn up. No, I thought, he will turn up. He is one of those solid, reliable men, the sort one wishes for a husband. I sighed. Mother had chosen well. Except for his age and appearance, Mr Aitken had all the attributes of a good husband, damn him.

  'I can see him!' Maggie trilled. 'What is that man doing?'

  'Who? Mr Aitken?' I looked up, not wishing to leave my warm bath on a whim.

  'No,' Maggie shook her head. 'That strange man. He is climbing a tree!'

  'Who is climbing a tree?' Sighing, I climbed out of the bath, allowing a cascade of water to slop on the floor, and sloshed wetly to the window. Edging Maggie aside, I peered through the glass. 'Where?'

  'There, Miss,' Maggie pointed to an elm tree that spread its branches to within a few feet of the house. 'Just there.'

  I had been looking too far away. I adjusted my view and started. Alexander, possibly attracted by the flurry of movement, stared straight at me. 'Oh!' I covered my mouth. I stood still, unable to move as Alexander and I perused each other from a distance of two yards.

  If I was astonished, Alexander was more so. He was fully clothed; I was fully naked.

  'Oh, Lord!' Turning, I ran back to the bath and immersed myself in the soapy water. 'Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!' I sunk right down as if to hide from Alexander's view. 'Oh, Lord!'

  'Oh, Miss,' Maggie was still at the window. 'He's fallen down! He's fallen from the tree!'

  'Oh, Lord,' I said for about the fifth or was it the sixth time? 'Has he hurt himself?' I left the bath again, suddenly concerned.

  'No, Miss. He's on his feet.'

  Feeling a little foolish, I returned to the bath, which had lost much of its appeal with all the to-ing and fro-ing.

  'He's walking away, Miss,' Maggie said.

  'As long as he's not hurt.'

  'Is he a Peeping Tom, Miss?' Maggie perched herself, uninvited, on my dressing table. Clearly, she had not yet learned the decorum necessary for all good servants. 'Shall I call for the footman to throw him out of the grounds?' She wriggled her bottom to get more comfortable, knocking down two of my precious bottles of scent.

  'No,' I shook my head. 'That is Mr Alexander Colligere. He is the least likely man in the world to be a Peeping Tom. He was probably searching for some new form of plant. Was he looking into my window?'

  'No, Miss,' Maggie shook her head quite firmly. 'Not unless he has eyes in his doup.'

  I shook my head. These young girls had no idea of decorum or respectable language. I tried not to smile. 'He was not facing this way, then.'

  'No, Miss. He was bending over the branch looking at something.'

  'He could not have been a Peeping Tom then,' I said.

  'No, Miss. But when you came to the window, he saw you.'

  I nodded. Poor Alexander must have got quite a fright, looking for a plant or an insect or a piece of lichen, only to find a naked me staring at him. I could not prevent my smile. 'He must have been surprised.'

  'Yes, Miss,' Maggie's giggle proved so infectious that in a second we were both laughing. 'What would you do if he came in here to apologise, Miss?'

  I imagined the scene. Alexander was so unconventional that he might do such a thing. I thought of him walking in, open-handed and open-eyed, ready to apologise. I smiled again. 'I would stand up and accept his apology,' I said, imagining the sight, imagining Alexander's reaction.

  'Yes, Miss,' Maggie said. 'The poor fellow would likely faint on the spot!'

  'Then I would
have to revive him,' I said. 'With a strong dose of smelling salts and a kiss on the lips!'

  'Oh, Miss!' Maggie was giggling so much she could hardly speak. 'You are terrible!'

  For a moment we were not mistress and servant but two young women sharing an amusement. We laughed for a few moments until I tried to control myself. 'I heard a story once,' I spoke as gravely as I could. 'There was a gentleman who walked into a lady's boudoir by mistake when she was taking a bath,' I indicated myself in case Maggie had forgotten what I was doing. 'The gentleman bowed and said, “My apologies, sir.” I don't know if I would be relieved or insulted if a man said that to me.'

  Maggie shook her head. 'He must be a very short-sighted gentleman not to notice the difference between a man and a woman, Miss. In your case, it is very evident.'

  I was not prepared to discuss such details with anybody except Catherine Brown. 'I heard of another instance,' I said slowly, 'where the gentleman concerned felt obliged to propose marriage to the lady.'

  'Oh Miss!' Maggie laughed again. 'What if that strange tree-climbing gentleman did happen to walk in?'

  I did not laugh. I looked at the door, wondering what I would do if Alexander opened it and walked in while I was in the bath. The thought was quite disturbing, in an altogether interesting way.

  Alexander: that strange, homely, comfortable man. I closed my eyes, allowing my thoughts to wander where they would, exploring avenues I had never before considered.

  'Miss?' Maggie was kneeling at my side. 'The water's getting cold miss. You'll catch a chill if you're not careful.'