The Devil's Promise

by Veronica Bennett

  Mystified for a second, I suddenly understood how my meaning might be misconstrued. “Oh!” I put my hand over my mouth, aghast. “Of course I did not mean… Forgive me…”

  “Do not distress yourself,” said the doctor, smiling his almost-smile. “I came because by attending David’s funeral I hoped to make myself known to his family, and, I suppose, make some sort of peace with him in death that I could not make in life. I am aware he left you and your mother very well provided for, but you need not fear that I seek any sort of bequest.” He turned his attention to Mother. “Except, if you would consent to it, Rose, a small token of my cousin’s life? A photograph, perhaps, or some memento such as a snuff box? David and I were close as children. I would dearly love something to remember him by.”

  “Of course.” Mother rose and opened the top drawer of the library desk. “Would you like to have this?”

  The doctor took the silver cigarette case she held out. “I remember this!” he said in amazement. “David had it when he was quite young, before we… Are you sure you are willing to part with it?”

  “Perfectly sure. Everything that was David’s is mine now, so it is in my gift. Please take it, and think of him every time you use it.”

  I was familiar with the cigarette case too. It had been a gift from Granny and Grandpa when Father had gone up to Cambridge in 1886. In honour of the family’s Scottish heritage, it was embossed with a thistle design, enamelled in blue.

  “You are most generous,” said the doctor, clearly moved by the gift. “Indeed, this makes me even more determined to make up for lost time.” He turned to me. “Catriona, if you have no objection, may I suggest something? A plan which may be of interest to you.”

  I still felt flustered after my faux pas. “A plan?” I repeated uncertainly.

  “Let me explain,” he said, with a glance at Mother. “During my journey from Scotland I had time to consider many things, about both the past and the future. I was nervous, I confess, about meeting David’s wife and daughter. I thought you might resent my sudden appearance, after so many years.”

  Mother hurried to reassure him. “Oh, no, indeed, we are more than happy to see you.”

  “I understand that now,” continued the doctor, “and I am relieved, and touched, by the warmth of your welcome.”

  She bowed; I kept my eyes on the doctor’s face. His homely manner had not changed, but there was urgency in his expression. “As I sat there on the train, with memories of my childhood with David going through my head,” he said, “I realized that although I could no longer do anything for him—”

  “But you have!” interrupted Mother. “You have come all this way to honour his passing!”

  The doctor nodded. “Very well, but it would ease my conscience greatly if you would allow me to do something else, for those David has left behind.” His gaze slid towards me. “Especially for Catriona.”

  “For Catriona?” echoed Mother faintly, her teacup halfway to her mouth. “What can you mean, Doctor?”

  “Merely that I have long regretted David’s absence from a place he once loved. As a child, he loved to spend holidays at Drumwithie. He never returned there in adult life, and he can never go there now, but, Catriona” – he looked earnestly into my face – “would you consider returning to Scotland with me, and spending the summer at Drumwithie Castle?”

  No one spoke. Until this moment I had faced the prospect of a summer spent in an atmosphere of deep mourning, with a fretful mother and the gloom of uncertainty hanging over the affairs of Graham’s Wholesome Foods. Now I was no longer a schoolgirl, Mother would soon present me to Gilchester’s social circle, while overseeing the business and indulging in her favourite occupation, horseriding. This interim between my leaving school and getting married was an inconvenience for both her and me. But now Doctor Hamish had offered me a lifeline. Going to Drumwithie promised a few weeks of fresh fields, freedom from Gilchester gossips and, tantalizingly, new acquaintances.

  I glanced at Mother; her gaze was on Doctor Hamish’s face, a bemused enquiry in her eyes. “Goodness me, are you sure?” she asked. “This is very kind of you… I think it can only do Catriona good, to see a little of the world. But she is not the easiest of girls, you know, with whom to maintain … er, calm communication. She has ideas.”

  “I should very much hope so,” replied Doctor Hamish stoutly. “Indeed, she reminds me of my son, Jamie. Quick, observant, scornful of pretention and feebleness, yet with the makings of a gentleman. Or in this case, a lady.”

  Mother was interested. “You have a son? Of Catriona’s age?”

  “A little older. He is twenty-one, and beginning to find his way in the world. It is sometimes difficult for him…” He paused, and considered the carpet, with the look of a man concentrating on the careful selection of his words. “Drumwithie is a small, old-fashioned place, though it does have a railway station. The castle itself is isolated and our circle rather restricted.” He smiled bleakly. “I am sure Jamie would say it is old-fashioned too. He has no idea of Catriona’s existence, and I have no doubt he will be very pleased to discover it.”

  Mother’s enquiring look became one of intense interest. “Has the boy not been away to school, then?”

  The doctor shook his head. “There is no day school nearby, and it was his mother’s wish that he be educated at home.”

  “Ah. And your wife’s name is…?”

  “Anne.” He paused, then added, “She is away from Drumwithie at present, and is unlikely to return for some time.”

  “I see,” said Mother, though it was plain from her expression that she did not. “So … is your son to attend the University?”

  Doctor Hamish considered this for a few moments, still seeking his words with care. “I hope he will enter the Medical School at the University of Edinburgh next term,” he said at last. “It has taken him several attempts to gain the necessary qualifications.”

  I knew exactly what Mother was about to say, and she said it.

  “But he has got there in the end, however twisting the path, and that is the important thing!” She picked up her teacup and took several small sips. I could tell by her rapid blinking that her brain was busy. “Catriona has been very well educated too, at St Giles’s College, you know. But the girls there do not generally go on to university.” She sat forward and added, “Now, would you like more tea, Doctor Hamish? Or another sandwich?”

  The doctor seemed not to hear. He was regarding me calmly. “So, Catriona, what do you say? Would you like to come to Drumwithie?”

  “Very much, if Mother can spare me.”

  “Of course I can spare you!” Mother put down her cup. “What do I ever do here, that I cannot do without you?”

  “Then that is settled,” said Doctor Hamish. “Today is Friday. Is tomorrow morning too soon to leave? I have patients I must attend to.”

  I could not protest, though tomorrow did seem rather soon. But Mother was enthusiastic. “Of course not! Your work is important, Doctor, and Catriona’s things can be packed in a trice. She is not a fussy child.”

  “In that case,” he added to me, “I will telegraph to Jamie to expect us tomorrow evening. There is a train at seven thirty in the morning to Birmingham, where we can join the London–Edinburgh train.”

  “Very well,” said Mother. “Susan and Edith will make a start on the packing after the funeral people have gone. Mrs Jamison will have to spare them from the clearing up.”

  I heard strain in her voice and glanced at her face. Her smile was tight and the expression of her eyes unconnected to it. In the twelve days since Father’s death, it had been Mother’s responsibility to deal with the local doctor, the undertaker, the registry, the bank, the solicitor, the vicar and an apparently endless stream of correspondence. All I had done was follow what instructions I was given and keep out of the way. Today had been long and anxious, and was not yet over.

  “Mother, why not go to your guests now?” I suggested. “I am feeling
much better, and when Doctor Hamish has had his tea, I will bring him to the dining room.”

  She wavered, glancing from me to the doctor and back. Then she nodded, took two sips of tea and replaced her cup on the tray. “Very well. You are quite right, no one can go home until I have made my rounds of them, and I must confess I am very ready for them to depart!” She got to her feet and adjusted her skirt. “Do I look all right?” she asked me.

  “You look pale, but it becomes you.”

  This was what she liked to hear. I watched her take polite leave of the doctor and make her way out of the room, her skirt swishing on the polished floor of the library. A wave of affection rushed over me. Poor Mother! She was but thirty-eight years old. A long widowhood awaited her.

  “There is no need for you to stay with me if you wish to lie down,” said Doctor Hamish, brushing crumbs from his lap. “I am perfectly content. These sandwiches are delicious.”

  “In the dining room you may have cold beef, pies, cheeses, trifle, jellies… You can imagine the trouble Mother has gone to.”

  “Indeed.” He paused. I knew he was looking at me, but was not yet composed enough to look at him. “Your mother is a remarkable woman and very worthy of her husband.”

  The tears came. Some fell into the tea, and some onto the front of my blouse. Most ran down my cheeks and dripped off the end of my chin. Duty and dignity forgotten, I began to sob.

  The doctor gently took away my cup and saucer. “My dear,” he said, “weep all you wish. Grief is best expressed, you know. I will go and join your mother now. She deserves my assistance, as a member of the family.”

  I nodded, hardly noticing him stand up. As he passed my chair he put a hand on my shoulder. “You had no need to doubt my sincerity, my dear, though I understand why you did. But I promise I will do anything within my power to make up for this long estrangement.” I felt him squeeze my shoulder gently, then his hand dropped away. “Now, you had better go and lie down, and forget about social niceties,” he told me. “There will be plenty of time tomorrow to make each other’s better acquaintance. Drumwithie is a long journey away.”

  I could not raise my head to thank him. When he had shut the library door behind him, I wept until my handkerchief was sodden. Then, as the torrent passed, I became aware of sounds from the dining room: glasses and crockery, chattering voices, even laughter. The reason for a funeral, Mother had explained, was to allow people release from anxiety. With a drink in their hand, they could begin to think of life instead of death.

  I roused myself, sniffing and hiccupping, and pushed myself out of the chair. Was Doctor Hamish one of the chatterers? He had taken the corner of the coffin as naturally as if he and Father had been brothers, not estranged cousins. We had only met him for the first time an hour ago, yet he was “assisting” Mother as if he, as well as she, were hosting the funeral reception.

  And within a few hours I would be on a train, travelling northwards with this affable stranger, to a place my father had once loved. Drumwithie Castle. Its name sounded exotic, different from any word I had ever heard. As I climbed the stairs, I comforted myself with the thought that whatever awaited me there, and whatever the reason behind the cousins’ estrangement, Father would approve.

  THE BONNIEST CAT

  IN SCOTLAND

  O ur journey to Edinburgh was exhausting.

  “Why does sitting in a train all day make you so tired?” I asked the doctor. “Surely you should arrive at your destination refreshed, when you haven’t been walking, or cycling, or doing anything but watch the countryside go by?”

  He smiled at me from the seat opposite. “I’m afraid I have no medical explanation for the phenomenon. But at least we are almost there.” He leaned forward, the better to see out of the window. “Look,” he said eagerly, “we are passing through the city. Have you ever seen such a black and filthy place?”

  The last of the sunlight gilded the highest rooftops, but Edinburgh did indeed look dirty. Smoke hung in the air, and the buildings were old and, as the doctor had said, black. The lumpy shape of Castle Rock rose out of the gloom. It looked grim and unwelcoming.

  “Edinburgh is known affectionately as ‘Auld Reekie’,” said Doctor Hamish, standing to reach up for our luggage. “Or ‘Old Smoky’ in English. You can see why, eh?”

  I do not know what I answered; at that moment the engine whistled so piercingly I had to cover my ears. We were drawing into the station, accompanied by a cacophony of hissing and chuffing. Then there was the unloading of my trunk and the doctor’s Gladstone bag, the handing-down onto the platform, the sounds of Scottish voices, hastening boots and the cries of weary children. Doctor Hamish led me towards the iron bridge that crossed the railway lines. “We have only six minutes to catch the connecting train, so if you would be pleased to make haste, my dear…”

  I quickened my stride, but it was hard to keep up with him. “How long are we going to be on this train?” I asked breathlessly.

  “We shall be at Drumwithie Station at …” – he consulted his fob watch as we boarded the train – “five past nine. Jamie will meet us and we shall be at the castle by half past.”

  My fatigue had almost got the better of me. It was soaking through to my bones, glueing my body to the seat. And I was further weakened by hunger. It was nearly eight hours since we had taken luncheon in the restaurant car of the Edinburgh train, and I had eaten only a few biscuits with my tea at four o’clock. I had no strength for conversation; I heard and saw no more until I was awakened by the halting of the train and Doctor Hamish’s hand on my arm. “Wake up, my dear,” he murmured. “We are here.”

  I half stepped, half stumbled into the near-darkness. The only sound was the hissing of the engine; the platform seemed to float amongst trees, vertical banks of evergreens lining each side of the track. The sky had turned the violet-blue of dusk, and the shadows were so black they seemed solid. I shuddered. The silence and gloom of the place were profound.

  When the steam cleared I saw a lantern moving in the half-light. Someone was approaching from the road. Doctor Hamish led me through the little gate. The person with the lantern came near enough for it to illuminate his face clearly. And that was the moment when I first set eyes on James McAllister Buchanan.

  He came closer. The light showed a striking face – youthful, with prominent bones. His eyes, set deep, looked at me with a penetrating gaze. He was dressed informally in a light canvas jacket and a shirt with no collar. His hair flopped forward over his brow, as bright gold as a new sovereign. I marvelled, wondering if it was the artificial light that made it appear so radiant. Then I found my hand gripped and my arm pumped in an enthusiastic handshake.

  “Miss Catriona Graham!” He had the same Scottish intonation as his father, though his voice was higher-pitched. “Heigh-ho, I will call you Cat! And I believe you to be the bonniest cat in Scotland!”

  I intended to speak, but no words came out. I must have been gaping like a goldfish, because I heard Doctor Hamish’s low laugh. “Do not be alarmed,” he murmured in my ear. “We have learnt to humour him.” Then, louder, “Now, Jamie, this trunk will not shift itself.”

  Jamie grinned, uttered a sound something like “Ha-iyya!”, gave his father the lantern, hoisted my trunk onto his shoulder and followed us to the waiting carriage. It was an old one-horse trap, open to the warmth of the evening. I accepted Doctor Hamish’s helping hand and stepped up, amused to imagine my mother’s expression had she been presented with such a vehicle. At home we had a brougham, pulled by our two most presentable horses. But in Gilchester there were tree-lined lanes and paved streets. Here, in this wild and wooded landscape, a fast, well-sprung brougham, with two trotting bays tossing their heads, would be absurd.

  I settled myself on the bench seat, with the doctor opposite and the luggage between us on the straw-strewn floor. Jamie put on his cap, climbed into the driving seat and took up the reins. “Cat, meet Kelpie,” he said amiably, indicating the elderly looking pony.


  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kelpie,” I said obediently.

  Jamie laughed. “See her ears turning? She knows her name.”

  “We shall be at the castle in fifteen minutes,” said Doctor Hamish, leaning forward to put the lantern in the holder. “Half past nine was an accurate estimation.”

  “And how my father loves an accurate estimation!” came Jamie’s voice.

  It was too dark to see the doctor’s expression, and he said nothing. I gripped the edge of the trap as Kelpie stepped forward. Her shoes rang on tarmacked road for a few yards, but then became thuds as the ground softened. The way to the castle appeared to be along a narrow track, scattered with sand in its muddier parts. From what I could see in the limited light, it was bordered by shrubby trees and an ancient fence, which shortly gave way to the impenetrable blackness of a forest. Trees stretched away on both sides, their branches sometimes encroaching far enough on the road for the pony to swerve.

  “Watch out for the deer, Jamie,” warned Doctor Hamish. “You are driving a little fast.”

  “If you wish me to get us back by half past nine, Father, then I had better drive as fast as your accurate estimation requires!” retorted Jamie.

  The doctor ignored Jamie’s remark, choosing instead to lean across and ask me if I was warm enough.

  “Quite warm enough, thank you,” I told him. He was about to sit back, but I continued quickly, before I lost courage. “I must say, though, we are travelling rather quickly.”

  “Hah!” cried Jamie, pulling on the reins. “For you, Miss Bonniest-Cat-in-Scotland, I will slow down. And I hope the deer and my father are thankful.”

  We were silent the rest of the way. I breathed the pine-scented air, relieved to be freed from the stuffy railway carriage, and increasingly excited about seeing Drumwithie. The trap jolted as the uneven road wound uphill and the trees thinned out. Then, as suddenly as if an invisible hand had drawn a line, they disappeared altogether. As we breasted the hill, I felt as if I had stepped off the edge of the world, so dense was the blackness all around us. Ahead I could just make out two low stone pillars. Jamie slowed the horse while we cleared the narrow passage between them, and then we began the final ascent to the castle.