Excessive drinking was regarded as something to be proud of, rather than the reverse. Never in any other country had Alexander witnessed such regular scenes of total debauchery. Even his own father didn’t feel he’d had a good evening with friends if he wasn’t carried home unconscious by his servant. Men continued drinking until they slid under the table and there was always a servant whose special duty it was to loose the neckerchief in case the gentleman choked.
As far as the Bachelors’ Club was concerned, when the business of the evening was exhausted, the members drank ‘a common toast to the mistresses of the Club’ before parting. No debauchery there. Although Alexander suspected that after he and Burns left, some of the others may have returned to the tavern to continue toasting other ladies. Or anyone else they could think of.
Burns had quite a long walk home and then had to be up at some God-forsaken hour in the morning. As they strolled along for a few minutes together, they’d talk, usually about the Club. Burns said, ‘I believe the Club should serve to promote mutual understanding, strengthen and expand the common intellectual interests of its members.’
Alexander agreed but not without a frisson of secret amusement when he thought of some of the members who were far less serious-minded than young Burns, couldn’t even talk in the pure English that Burns could so easily adopt on formal occasions, and had far less lofty ideals. He kept thinking of his companion as ‘young Burns’ but in fact he was twenty-one, only a couple of years younger than Alexander himself. They parted with the usual firm handshake and Alexander turned, suddenly disconsolate, into the shadow of his father’s house.
Robert’s company was always so exhilarating that it tended to leave one exhausted afterwards. Right from the start he had made a rallying cry of holding fast to what were accepted as the highest ideals of Club life, which aimed at improving humanity, and to avoid ‘all excesses, extravagances and follies, the end of which is guilt and misery’. It was interesting to observe how excessive and extravagant in mood and personality the man was who so eagerly proposed these ideals. Alexander knew he was thinking like a doctor and a student of human nature again but that, for better or for worse, was exactly what he was. And despite his comparative lack of experience in practising his art, he knew without a doubt that he was a much better doctor than his father.
He was a talented poet too. It was another reason he was glad of his friendship with Robert Burns. Robert had penned some verse. All of it he’d seen so far had been inspired by some maid or other that he’d either fallen in love with or felt slighted by. Even as a child of fourteen, he’d been ruled by his emotions, it seemed.
Apparently he’d heard a song that a son of one of the local gentry had written to a girl he was in love with and Burns thought he could at least equal this effort.
Burns was touchy about the gentry. He had been infuriated by a rich girl sweeping past him with head in the air without deigning to cast him a glance. Alexander had smiled at one of the verses he’d penned as a result.
There lives a lass beside yon park
I’d rather hae her in her sark (shirt or chemise)
Than you wi’ a’ your thousand marks
That gars you look sae high –
Susanna was sitting by one of the candles trying to stitch something. She looked up and greeted him pertly.
‘And how was your precious Bachelors’ Club?’
‘Very well indeed.’
‘And your ploughman friend?’
‘As entertaining as ever. I marvel at the man. He even writes poetry. How he finds the time and energy, I do not know.’
‘He writes poetry?’ Susanna echoed. ‘Gracious heaven! What kind of poetry?’
Alexander shrugged. ‘There was one about the sorrows of being a farmer but mostly his poems are inspired by women, as far as I can see. He strikes me as a very emotional man. Almost to an unhealthy degree.’
‘Why don’t you ply him with one of your magic potions?’
‘Magic? God forbid! You’ve been in a very ill humour of late, Susanna. Perhaps it’s you who needs a potion.’
‘I feel cruelly confined, that’s all. I can’t wait for the day when we leave for the capital city.’
‘We must be patient until the spring and the better weather. The roads are too dangerous at this time of year.’
‘Fiddlesticks! I’m sure coaches are still managing to get through.’
‘You know what Mother is like. She’d worry herself to death if we attempted the journey just now. Anyway, both Mother and Father are looking forward to us bringing in the New Year as a family. I’ve been away for so many years. Where are Mother and Father, by the way?’
‘Mother is abed sound asleep after taking one of Father’s potions. Father has not yet returned from the tavern.’
‘And the servants?’
‘If you want a dram, Alexander, you’ll have to serve yourself. I think Mysie must have taken some of Mother’s potion. And John will be waiting at the tavern to carry Father home.’
He could well understand his sister’s impatience to be away from here. He felt depression weigh down on him with the fetid gloom of the place. He didn’t know how he’d last out to the spring himself. More and more he was thinking of moving permanently to Edinburgh. There was no future for him in Tarbolton. Not while his father was alive and practising medicine. Even after his father’s demise, he suspected the locals would still avoid him and prefer even old wives who meddled in herbs and spells to him and his different and more advanced methods and ideas.
No, Edinburgh was the place. While he was on this next visit with Susanna, he’d have a look around for lodgings and find out what his prospects might be in practising medicine in the city. It was time he was looking around for a suitable wife too. He and Robert had discussed this and Robert had agreed that it was time they both were married to a good woman.
Already, of course, he had an eye on what might prove a good prospect. Charlotte, her name was. Charlotte Guthrie. He had attended her grandfather, old Lord Guthrie – a cantankerous, overweight old widower much plagued with the gout. He still managed to go to church, though, helped by a cluster of sweating servants. He was a great admirer of one particular minister who, he said, could ‘dung the guts out o’ five Bibles’.
His granddaughter, Charlotte – or Lottie as the old man called her – was an only child. Her father had died of smallpox and she was now the sole heir and beneficiary of the Guthrie estate. Old Guthrie was a sociable man (any excuse to drink to excess) and there was to be a big celebration at his home at New Year. The Wallace family had been invited. Alexander toyed with the idea of proposing to Charlotte on that occasion. Or should he wait until after his expedition to Edinburgh? There were several wealthy young ladies of his grandmother’s acquaintance who had already been impressed by his poetry readings. One of these ladies might prove a more attractive alternative. He would look into the matter further before making up his mind.
It might be that he could also do something in the matrimonial way for his sister. It was obvious that she needed a husband to keep her unruly spirit in check.
Yes, he must think about that too. He felt slightly cheered as he lifted a candle and groped his way carefully to bed.
3
Susanna tried to feel some enthusiasm about the coming Hogmanay celebrations at the house of Lord Guthrie. In her imagination she saw herself meeting some handsome young man of fortune who was also a guest of the old lord. The word ‘old’ always succeeded in dissolving her dream. She had been at the Guthrie manor house before. Her mother and father had taken her to dinner there on more than one occasion.
The other dinner guests had always been of the same generation either of her parents or of the ancient lord. His grand-daughter, Charlotte, was in her twenties and even more uninteresting than Lord Guthrie. A quiet-spoken girl, she was obviously intimidated by her roaring bull of a grandfather – even though much of his roaring was good humoured. What a noisy, ill-mannered, c
oarse brute of a creature he was. Probably Charlotte was more embarrassed by him than anything else.
‘Even I suffer agonies of embarrassment,’ Susanna complained to her mother.
‘Oh tuts, ye make such a drama out of everything, Anna. He’s really a good-natured, generous soul and he adores Lottie.’
‘Well, I’m much surprised to hear that, Mother. I pity the poor wretch.’
‘Poor wretch indeed! What stuff an’ nonsense ye talk!’
Susanna had nearly added, ‘She’s in an even worse situation than I am,’ but thought better of it. For one thing, she wasn’t totally convinced that it was true. At least Charlotte had many high-ceilinged rooms in which to escape from her tormentor, and beautiful gardens and grounds to wander in and take pleasure from. She had also obsequious and attentive servants at her beck and call.
Here Mysie and her husband John were good enough workers – John searched out and kept her father supplied with most of the requisites for his potions. Mysie did all the cooking and cleaning. But they could be very awkward, or ‘thrawn’ as her mother would say. At times, they were downright impertinent.
Susanna longed for a capable personal servant who could help her to dress and do her auburn hair, or powder her wig. More often than not, she had to struggle with everything herself or depend on her mother to help her.
At least Alexander was more knowledgeable and sophisticated. He knew about fashion, for instance, and had bought her several fashion dolls from France and Holland. She had managed to get an Edinburgh mantua maker to stitch up a couple of gowns. One was a copy of a French doll, the other of a Dutch doll. She was wearing the Dutch outfit for the Guthrie New Year celebration. Her powdered wig was decorated with small wax flowers. Around her neck was a pretty frill of the same material as the gown. The floral patterned gown had a low square neckline, tight elbow-length sleeves with a double lace frill, and a wide skirt that flounced out over ample panniers.
Susanna had ordered Mysie to bring as many candles into the bedroom as possible so that she could view herself in the long mirror. Mysie, however, had been in one of her moods and no extra candles had appeared. Susanna had to go herself to purloin a candelabra from her father’s medicine room.
Now she viewed herself with some satisfaction. She was prettier than Charlotte. As well as even features and a pert, slightly turned-up nose, she had sparkling eyes and an aura of vivacity. Charlotte was so depressingly dull.
Susanna wasn’t in the least looking forward to the evening. All that drinking and falling about and the bawling of ‘Happy New Year’ at the first peel of the church bells. What was going to be so happy about it, that’s what she’d like to know. Except the proposed visit to Edinburgh, of course.
‘Come away, come away.’ Her mother fussed into the room and out again. ‘Lord Guthrie has sent his carriage. We must not keep it waiting.’
‘Why not?’ Susanna felt like asking, but didn’t. The whole thing was such a waste of time. At best it would be an ordeal that had to be endured with as much dignity as she could muster. Head held high, she swept out of the house and into the carriage beside her mother, father and brother.
Alexander said, ‘You look charming, Susanna.’
‘Thank you, Alexander.’ She favoured him with a smile. ‘And you look a picture of fashion.’
He raised a protesting hand. ‘In Tarbolton, perhaps. But I had this outfit made in England earlier this year and no doubt it will already have been superseded by something far more à la mode.’
She couldn’t imagine it. He looked so stylish in his silk stock, purple brocade coat with high collar trimmed with braid, long matching waistcoat, velvet knee breeches, silk stockings and shiny leather shoes. She wished with all her heart that the coach was taking them to some fashionable ball in Edinburgh or one of the estates in the countryside, not too distant from the capital.
But it was not to be. The coach tumbled them about on rough roads and muddy paths until it drew up with much clatter of horses’ hooves and snorting and whinnying. A couple of liveried footmen helped them out of the carriage and led them through the open doors of the house.
Usually the hall was a dark, depressing place with creaky wooden floors, panelled walls hung with stuffed heads of stags and other animals and a huge empty fireplace of rough stone. An oak chest stood against another wall, along with a grandfather clock.
This evening, however, a fire crackled and sparked and sent orange light dancing, enfeebling even the light of two large candelabra.
They were shown into the big drawing room, where Lord Guthrie’s rotund figure descended eagerly upon them. There was a noisy rabble behind him, not in the least intimidated by the rows of Guthrie ancestors in heavy gilt frames glowering down on them from all sides. Even the curtains that stretched from ceiling to floor did nothing to lighten the walls. Embroidered with all sorts of exotic birds and trees, the material had darkened and in places begun to disintegrate with centuries of dust.
It was as Susanna had feared. The room was full of elderly men and old-fashioned dames. The exception was the dutiful Charlotte in a pink open gown with a line of brown bows down the tight bodice. She wore no rouge, making her complexion merge into the paleness of her powdered wig.
Susanna patiently suffered the bear hug of a welcome by Lord Guthrie. She was thinking what an annoying creature he was, disturbing her clothing and wig, and nearly suffocating her with the fumes of whisky. Why couldn’t he behave in a more civilised manner like a gentleman was supposed to and simply bow and brush her hand with a light kiss?
Thankfully he soon turned his enthusiastic attention to his other guests and Susanna was left to be looked after by Charlotte.
‘Susanna,’ Charlotte murmured with downcast eyes.
‘Charlotte. And with what delights have you been passing the time since we last met?’
‘Grandfather takes up much of my attention, as you know. But I have enjoyed a few little outings with my cousin, who has been visiting from Edinburgh.’
‘Oh really? I had not heard there was a stranger among us.’
Charlotte gave a little smile that somehow made Susanna feel annoyed. All right, the Guthrie house was some miles from Tarbolton, but visitors to the house had made forays into the village on previous occasions and the news had easily got around. She didn’t like to miss anything, or worse, be made to feel foolish or ignorant.
‘A gentleman, is it?’
Charlotte gave another little smile that Susanna took to be an affirmative but couldn’t be sure.
‘A young gentleman?’ she pressed on, regardless of Charlotte’s reluctance to chat.
Then Susanna realised that Charlotte wasn’t listening to her. Charlotte’s eyes had fixed on some point beyond her. Susanna turned and saw a man, perhaps in his early thirties, moving towards them. She felt a twinge of disappointment. In the first few moments during which she had been in Charlotte’s company and heard about the cousin, her vivid imagination had rapidly formed a picture of a handsome young man who, as soon as he saw the much more beautiful Susanna, would immediately forget about paying court to his plain cousin, and would sweep her more attractive friend off her feet. They would fall passionately in love, and live happily ever after.
But the man was not handsome – at least not like the man of her dreams. He had a rather cruel face with scant brows, pale eyes and an unusually thin, tight line of a mouth. But his manners were impeccable. He bowed. He kissed their hands. He offered them an arm each to lead them into the dining hall for supper.
Alexander came and sat at the other side of Charlotte and immediately engaged her in pleasant conversation. ‘He is being gentle in his manner to her, even enquiring about her health,’ Susanna thought with amusement. Poor Alexander, he can never get away from being a doctor. And a very good doctor, she hastily assured herself. She believed in him even if no-one else did.
Charlotte’s cousin was called Neil Guthrie and was the only surviving son of Lord Guthrie’s late b
rother. She had always believed, and suspected everyone else had too, that Charlotte was Lord Guthrie’s only heir, but now it surely must be this cousin. Property and fortunes always went down through the male line of any family, as far as she had always heard or seen.
For the first time, Susanna’s lively imagination began to compose pictures of herself as mistress of the Guthrie manor house and estate. She would have the whole place redecorated, of course, in brighter, more fashionable colours. And she’d have those dreadful curtains torn down. She could just see, almost feel, the suffocating cloud of dirt and dust that would come down with them and fill the room. She’d order the servants to fling open all the doors and windows and to fly about shaking their aprons and brooms to clear the air. She smiled to herself at the merry picture.
‘Something amuses you, madam?’ She was startled out of her dream. ‘May I share it?’
She suddenly realised that to make the dream come true must involve the man who had just addressed her. She flushed.
‘I am a foolish dreamer, sir. It was nothing.’
‘A dreamer perhaps, madam. But foolish? I do not believe it. I judge you to be a most intelligent young lady.’
She laughed. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’
She tried to persuade herself that he was, after all, quite good-looking. He certainly was very charming and well-mannered. She liked that. Despite his calculating eyes and thin mouth, she began to feel quite warm towards him. Perhaps, of course, her melting emotions were helped on their way by the glasses of wine she was enjoying. Anyway, she was fast coming to the conclusion that Neil Guthrie might, after all, be quite a good catch. Her eyes began sparkling invitingly in his direction. She laughed and giggled appreciatively at his every bon mot or funny story about the antics of his servants or dullards of his acquaintance. She began to feel that there was a strength about him that she could admire. Even although at the same time it betrayed a streak of ruthlessness.
A Darkening of the Heart Page 2