Highland Fling

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘My dear Jane, how absurd you are! Two people couldn’t be more different than Sir Herbert and General Murgatroyd. Your father has a great sense of humour, for one thing, and then he’s a very cultivated man. Anyhow, you shouldn’t talk like that: you get all your brains from him.’

  ‘No, indeed, I don’t. I get them from my maternal grandmother, Judith Trevor. Brains often skip a generation, you know, and come out in the grandchildren. Poor mummy and daddy are both terribly stupid: darlings, of course, but narrow-minded and completely unintellectual.’

  ‘I simply don’t understand your attitude towards your parents, and, what’s more, I believe the whole thing is a pose. Why, when you’re at home you always seem to be so fond of them, and anyone can see that they adore you.’

  ‘Think what you like, my dear Sally, you won’t alter the truth. Of course, I know how charming they are and how grateful I ought to be for everything they’ve done, and so on, and in a way I am fond of them. We have a different outlook and that’s all there is to it.’

  The door opened and Walter came in with a telegram in his hand.

  ‘Too extraordinary,’ he said. ‘Here’s a wire from Ralph to say that he and Mrs Fairfax are coming to dinner. Can you understand it?’

  Sally read it out loud:

  ‘ “May Loudie and I come to dinner today? Will arrive about eight on chance of finding you.

  RALPH” ’

  ‘How very mysterious! Why are they in Scotland?’

  ‘I know, so peculiar and why together? However, we shall hear all about it this evening. How pleased Albert will be to see Ralph. Do you imagine they’ll be wanting to stay the night?’

  ‘Certainly, I should think. We’ll get rooms ready in case. Anyway, it’s very exciting. I’m always pleased to see Ralph, myself, and Mrs Fairfax is such heaven. But I’m longing to know what it all means, aren’t you?’

  ‘What will the Murgatroyds think of Mrs Fairfax?’

  ‘I expect they probably know her already. But I imagine that Ralph will be a bit of a shock to them.’

  ‘Oh, this is going to be fun!’ said Jane, and she ran off to tell Albert.

  Dinner was well advanced before there was any sign of the newcomers.

  As Sally had conjectured, Mrs Fairfax was well-known to all the Murgatroyds. A much-married lady, she had in turn been the wife of an English duke, an American millionaire and an Italian prince; and now, in theory, if not in fact, shared the bed of a rather depressing Colonel Fairfax. Lady Prague, in common with many of her contemporaries, still remained on bowing terms with her despite these moral lapses; as the mother of an English marquess, an American heiress and an Italian duke, Mrs Fairfax could always command a certain measure of tolerance even from the most strait-laced dowagers.

  Lady Prague was in the middle of explaining to the general that dear Louisa had always been such a high-spirited girl and could, therefore, hardly be blamed for her actions. ‘Not that I approve of her, of course. I don’t, but somehow one forgives things to her that one couldn’t put up with in others’ – when the door opened and Ralph Callendar swayed into the room. He kissed Sally’s hand, blew kisses to Jane and Albert, bowed to the rest of the company, and explained:

  ‘Loudie is making up her face in the hall. She thinks that she’s looking tired, but that if she is sufficiently maquillée everyone will think: “How painted she is!” instead of: “How aged she is!” which is naturally preferable. The angel! Here she comes!’

  The door opened again to admit an immensely fat Pekinese, with bulging eyes and a rolling gait, followed by his mistress and human counterpart, Mrs Fairfax. Short and plump, waddling rather than walking, her little round face inches deep in paint, her little fat hands covered with rings, her stout little body enveloped in a sable coat, she resembled nothing so much as a rather prepossessing giant Pekinese. The moment she was inside the room she let loose a perfect flow of inconsequent chatter:

  ‘Sally, darling, what must you think of us, forcing ourselves on you like this? We heard you were here quite by chance and couldn’t resist coming. Florence, what a surprise! And Mowbray, too, and the admiral, and dear, nice Mr Buggins! Albert such an age since I’ve seen you. Jane – looking so beautiful. What’s happened to you, my dear? In love, I suppose, as usual? Well, I must say this is a delightful party. And the poor Craigdallochs are away, I hear.’

  She sat down next to Walter and continued:

  ‘Of course, I suppose you all think Ralph and I are eloping? Well, no. Though to be frank, this is the first time I’ve made a journey of the sort without eloping. I ran away with all my dear husbands, you know, even with poor Cosmo, though I can’t remember why that was necessary. Oh, yes, of course I know, I was under age and my father said we must wait for three months. Three months! As though anyone could. So we just ran away to Paris: only for a night and it was all most innocent (dear Cosmo – so pompous!); but we were seen by several people – we took care to be, of course – and after that it was plain sailing and we were married in the rue d’Aguesso, I remember. Really, it made a vivid impression on me at the time. The Ambassador was there and poor father gave me away, and poor Cosmo took me away, dear thing, to Rome or somewhere, and it was all very different from what I had expected. And now I’ve shocked Florence. But what was I talking about? Oh, yes, of course. Well, Ralph and I are not eloping: merely escaping.’

  ‘Escaping?’

  ‘From Linda May. From the West Coast of Scotland really. You tell them about it, darling, while I get on with my fish.’

  ‘You see,’ said Ralph, shutting his pained eyes and speaking in a voice which gave the impression that he had lived a thousand tiring lives, ‘Linda, the poppet, seems to have gone mad. It is a great tragedy. She invited us to go for a cruise in her yacht. She said we would go to the Islands. Naturally thinking that she meant the Greek islands, we accepted, intending to leave her quite soon for the Lido. Two days before we were to start I discovered, to my horror and amazement, that we were being taken to visit some islands on the West Coast of Scotland. Well, you know, Albert, Scotland is all right for you, but it’s not my period. So I telephoned to Loudie and told her this agonizing news. I begged her to come straight to the Lido instead. But no, obstinate as a mule. She insisted on going with Linda. Imagine my mental sufferings faced with the prospect either of not seeing Loudie for weeks, or of facing these ghastly hardships in her company. I begged, I implored her to change her mind; and when, at last, I realized that she was absolutely bent upon going, I made the great sacrifice and accompanied her. But I did beg, didn’t I, Loudie?’

  ‘Yes, darling, you did, indeed,’ she replied, with her mouth full.

  ‘To continue: It was even more horrible than I had anticipated. The scenery – my dear Albert – forgive me if I say that the scenery made one feel physically sick whenever the eye strayed out of the porthole. I kept my curtain drawn all day and even then I couldn’t help seeing those mountains sometimes – they haunted me. To make matters worse, Linda, it appears, is madly in love with a monster of a Scotsman, who came to dinner last night in his kilt. Those hairy old knees decided us. “The mountains I can bear,” said Loudie. “Natives in the seminude at dinner-time is another matter. I leave tomorrow.” Luckily the angel had her Austro-Daimler sitting at Oban, so here we are! But I tell you –’

  At this moment there was a piercing shriek from Lady Prague. The Pekinese was seen to have his teeth firmly embedded in her right ankle.

  ‘Doglet!’ said Mrs Fairfax in a gently reproving voice, ‘what do I see you doing, my own? Somebody give him a piece of grouse and he’ll leave go at once.’

  General Murgatroyd, however, seized the dog roughly by its tail, whereupon it turned round and bit him in the hand. The general shook it off and, crimson with rage, demanded that it should instantly be destroyed.

  ‘My little Doglet destroyed? Oh, what a dreadful idea! Such a horrid word, too. You cruel old general! Besides, a dog is always allowed his first bite, by law
, isn’t he?’

  ‘First fiddlesticks! Anyhow, it’s had two bites this evening – Florence and myself. The animal is not safe, I tell you.’

  ‘ “The animal,” indeed! Fancy calling my Doglet “the animal”! Come here, my precious. The general isn’t safe: he wants to destroy you. Ralph dear, be an angel and put Doglet in the car, will you, till after dinner? Thank you so much. I do hope you’re not hurt, Florence?’

  ‘Yes, Louisa, the skin is broken and he has torn my stocking rather badly. A new pair! Of course it doesn’t signify. I must go and paint it with iodine. I only trust the animal has not got hydrophobia.’

  She left the room angrily, General Murgatroyd opening the door for her with a gesture of exaggerated chivalry. Lord Prague, who had noticed nothing, went on eating.

  ‘I’m so sorry that Doglet should have caused all this commotion,’ said Mrs Fairfax. ‘The angel! So unlike him! I’ve never known him really to lose his temper before, but you wouldn’t believe how sensitive he is to dress. I ought to have remembered that pink georgette is the one material he simply cannot abide. In fact, all georgette is inclined to upset him; and dear Florence’s shoes, with those long pointed toes, would drive him distracted. Poor little sweet! He’ll be utterly miserable after this, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And he’d have reason to be if I had anything to do with him,’ muttered the general.

  ‘You must find this house very interesting, Albert,’ said Ralph, returning from his mission. ‘So exactly your period.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, I do,’ replied Albert earnestly. ‘And I would love to show you the wonderful things I have found here and collected together.’

  ‘No, dear Albert, I think I have suffered enough during the last few days from Victorian taste crystallized by the Almighty into the extraordinary scenery with which I have recently been surrounded. Not at all my period, dear. Corbusier, now –’

  Here Sally gave the signal, as they say in books, for the ladies to leave the table, and presently took Mrs Fairfax upstairs to powder her nose.

  ‘You’ll stay the night, of course?’ she said.

  ‘Alas! no, my dear. Very sweet of you, but we’ve taken rooms at Gleneagles for tonight. I really must push on. I should like to reach London, if possible, tomorrow, as my husband is passing through for one day on his way to America and I want to see him about being divorced, you know.’

  Sally’s murmured sympathy was waved aside.

  ‘It’s not been too successful, really – our marriage, I mean. I’m getting rather old for all the fuss and worry of having a husband, that’s the truth. And how’s yours getting on, my dear: still happy, are you? Has Walter settled down at all? I know you were rather worried about him at one time.’

  ‘We’re divinely happy,’ said Sally, ‘and it’s wonderful being here. He hasn’t a chance to spend any money and he’s been working harder than I’ve ever known him. You know, people are too hard on Walter. Of course he gives the impression of being all over the place, but that’s only because of his high spirits. And then, poor darling, he has no idea of the value of money, which is sometimes very annoying for me as I’m by nature rather stingy.’

  ‘I’ve hardly ever met a man who has any idea of the value of money,’ said Mrs Fairfax. ‘It’s one of the nice things about them. Now, women are nearly always mercenary creatures.’

  ‘Oh! And, by the way, of course, I’d quite forgotten it – I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘Are you, Sally? Well, it does happen. Torture, my dear, but one looks lovely afterwards, which is a great consolation. I’ve had three, you know, and they all cut each other dead now; but they’re devoted to me, specially dear Bellingham. By the way, I’m told that Potts (my second husband) has taken a house near here – Castle Bane. Dreary creature, Potts, but Heloïse is a dream. She’s at the Lido now. I’m going out there really to see her. How lovely Jane was looking at dinner!’

  ‘Yes, wasn’t she? It’s a great secret, so don’t say I told you, but she’s engaged to Albert.’

  ‘My dear, you amaze me! Will that be a success?’

  ‘I really don’t know. They are very much in love at present; but Jane is terribly sensitive, and Albert so much wrapped up in his work that I can’t help feeling there will be trouble. So long as she understands his temperament – but I’m not sure how much she does. However, even if they’re happy for a year or two it’s more than lots of people get out of life.’

  ‘Yes, you’re perfectly right. I’ve lived through it and I know. I had two years of complete happiness with Cosmo, and about eighteen months with Campo Santo, and I can tell you that it makes all the rest of one’s life worthwhile. But I don’t really advise too much chopping and changing for most people: gets one into such restless habits. I couldn’t have stayed with Cosmo after.… Well, never mind. So I thought if I can’t be happy I might as well be rich, and made off with Potts. Then, of course, I was bowled over by Campo Santo in ten minutes. Well, I always think that would have lasted, only the angel died on me quite suddenly: and there he was – Campo Santo in good earnest. It was dreadfully depressing. Still, there was little Bobs to cheer me up: quite the nicest of my children. Have you seen him? He’s still at Eton, the precious. He’s meeting me in Venice, too, when Heloïse leaves. They can’t endure each other. Not frightened about this baby, are you?’

  ‘Well, no, not really.’

  ‘You needn’t be; nobody dies in childbirth now, my dear. It’s considered quite vieux jeu. And it may be a consolation to you to hear that the medical profession makes an almost invariable rule of saving the mother’s life in preference to that of the child if there’s any doubt about it. Sick much?’

  ‘Yes, a whole lot.’

  ‘Excellent! A very good sign. Now can we go and collect Ralph? I think we should soon be making off.’

  They found the others standing round the drawing-room fire, the ‘grown-ups’ having taken themselves off to the study to hear a talk on Timbuctoo. Walter had happened to be passing the door when it began, and declared that the opening words, delivered by the evidently nervous speaker in a sort of screech, had been;

  ‘People who take their holidays abroad seldom think of Timbuctoo.…’

  ‘Very seldom, I should imagine,’ said Albert. ‘Loudie dear, I wonder if you would sing us this little song which I found in an album here? The words are by Selina Lady Craigdalloch (the genius who collected in this house so many art treasures), and the music is “By my dear friend, Lord Francis Watt”. It has been my greatest wish to hear it sung by somebody ever since I found it.’

  ‘I have often noticed,’ said Ralph languidly, ‘that all accompaniments between the years 1850 and 1890 were invariably written by the younger sons of dukes and marquesses. They seem to have had the monopoly – most peculiar.’

  ‘I should love to sing it,’ said Mrs Fairfax, settling herself at the piano, ‘and then we must go. Where is it – here? Oh, yes.…’

  To Bxxxxxxxxxxx

  (Morte Poitrinaire)

  She began to sing in a small, pretty voice:

  ‘When my dying eye is closing,

  And my heart doth cease to beat;

  Know that I in peace reposing,

  Have but one, but one regret!

  Leaving you, my only treasure,

  Bitter is, and hard to bear,

  For my love can know no measure;

  Say then, say for me a prayer!

  Lilies, darling, on me scatter,

  And forget-me-nots, so blue;

  What can this short parting matter?

  We shall surely meet anew!

  We shall meet where pain and sorrow,

  Never more assail the breast;

  Where there is nor night nor morrow

  To disturb our endless rest.’

  ‘Beautiful!’ cried Albert. ‘And beautifully sung!’

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Fairfax, ‘a very pretty little song. You know, Ralph dear, I think that we shall have to be going. Unfortunat
ely we are still in the realm of night and morrow, and if we don’t soon push on to Gleneagles we shall get no rest at all.’

  There was a perfect chorus of dismay, but Mrs Fairfax was adamant.

  ‘Your figure is a dream, Ralph!’ said Albert, as they followed her into the hall. ‘Are you on a diet?’

  ‘Yes, dear, most depressing. I got muscles from dancing too much, they turned into fat – et voilà!…’

  ‘Do muscles turn into fat?’

  ‘Of course they do. Haven’t you noticed that all athletes become immense in their old age?’

  ‘But this is very serious!’ cried Albert, in a voice of horror. ‘It should be brought to the notice of public schoolmasters. I myself shall give up walking and buy a little car. I sometimes walk quite a distance in Paris.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ralph mournfully, ‘develops the muscles so much as driving. Goodbye, Albert. I hope to see you in London, dear.’

  Sixteen

  That night Jane found herself unable to go to sleep. Her brain was in a particularly lively condition and she tossed and turned thinking first of one thing and then of another until she felt she would go mad. ‘Albert! Albert! Albert!’ was the refrain.

  ‘Shall I be happy with him in Paris? Will he be the same after we’re married? Shall I interfere with his work? That, never,’ she thought; ‘I am far more ambitious even than he is and will help him in every possible way to achieve fame.

  ‘If I lie quite still and breathe deeply I might manage to drop off to sleep. What shall I put on tomorrow? Not that jumper suit again. I wasn’t looking so pretty today. I shan’t look pretty tomorrow if I have no sleep. Perhaps if I get out of bed and walk up and down.… Yes, now I’m feeling quite drowsy. I must write to mamma tomorrow, I haven’t written for over a week. What shall I tell her? Oh, yes! the games would amuse her.’

  Jane began to compose a letter in her head and was soon even more wide-awake than before. She had hardly ever in her life experienced any difficulty in going to sleep and it made her furious.