Highland Sisters

by Anne Douglas

  ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ Greg rose heavily to his feet. ‘And his mother’ll be there, don’t forget. Best leave it, Rosa. You’re not to blame, so leave well alone.’

  ‘No, I will not, Da! I tell you, I’m going to speak to Daniel. And you’d better get yourself away to the minister at the kirk to find out if he knows the wedding’s off. And tell Mrs Guthrie I’ll be coming to see her about all the food and everything—’

  Suddenly Rosa held her hands against her eyes like a child beginning to cry yet no tears fell, while her father stood by, bending his head against the rush of thoughts that consumed him.

  ‘How could Lorne have done it, Da?’ Rosa whispered, letting her hands fall. ‘I know she likes her own way but there’s no bad in her – she wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. Yet when you think of all Mrs Guthrie’s done, and what others have done as well, and the service all arranged and the organ booked, folk in their best clothes – Da, how could she have let everybody down?’ Rosa’s eyes fell. ‘And that’s not counting breaking Daniel’s heart!’

  ‘Lorne is Lorne,’ Greg answered in a low voice. ‘She doesn’t want to hurt folk, it’s true, but if she wants something she’ll take it. She won’t think of anyone else. It’s the way she is.’

  ‘But Da, this is something you’d never think even Lorne could do. To run away on her wedding day and leave the bridegroom to pick up the pieces!’

  ‘These things happen, eh? Maybe mostly to women but to men and all. Folk can change their minds, everyone knows that.’ He shook his head. ‘But it’s a terrible thing my own daughter’s done, I cannot deny. It hurts, eh?’

  ‘It hurts,’ Rosa agreed.

  They were both silent for a few moments until Greg said he must be away. And Rosa should go to Daniel’s, if she was going.

  ‘Oh, I am!’ cried Rosa. ‘I am going now!’

  Six

  When she spoke of going to Daniel’s house, of course Rosa meant his mother’s, for Daniel’s only house was one he rented in Kinlaine, the nearest big village that was almost a town, from where he conducted his joinery business and worked on his real love, which was carving and making furniture. It was to that house he’d planned to take Lorne as a bride, which she’d been quite happy about, believing that living in a town must be more exciting than in a village, but where now, of course, she would never go.

  Oh, poor Daniel, Rosa groaned as she hurried towards Mrs MacNeil’s cottage, which was some way from Mariner Street and not so attractive, having no view of the sea. Not that that worried Mrs MacNeil, who cared nothing for something that could cause so much trouble: great, salty drops always being blown on to good paintwork and shining windows – who would want it?

  Rushing round with her duster, it was her belief that all who cleaned their houses as she did would be much happier in a street like hers, well away from the dangerous elements of wind and rising water, where everything could be controlled. And to have control of people as well as things was certainly Mrs MacNeil’s aim; she even made Daniel leave his shoes at the door to save marking her floors, just as she’d made his father before him – though he’d been dead now for many years, out of reach of his wife’s control for ever.

  It was well known in the village that Daniel had had a tough life with his mother. Not so much because of her being so house-proud, but because she did so dote upon him, always telling him he was all she had, she couldn’t do without him, clinging to him on every occasion. But the time came, nevertheless, when he’d rented a place of his own elsewhere and, to her chagrin, she’d had to make the best of it. Oh, the scenes, the tears! Everyone knew about them but Daniel had not given in, and when, later, his mother declared she’d never get over it if he married Lorne Malcolm, he did not waver, simply saying that it was up to her what she did. If she wanted to see him, she must accept Lorne. It would be a case of ‘those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder’, he quoted to her and, after more tears and more hysterics, it was Mrs MacNeil who gave in and the wedding was planned.

  But, oh God, what would she be saying now? Rosa scarcely dared to wonder as she arrived at Mrs MacNeil’s immaculate front door. She didn’t know but she could certainly guess, and only the thought of seeing Daniel, who’d been staying at his mother’s before the wedding, made her lift her hand to knock. For whatever Mrs MacNeil said about Lorne, it could only be what Rosa had already thought herself.

  ‘Yes?’ cried a voice as the door was flung open by Mrs MacNeil, who appeared on the step, not wearing the wedding outfit she had made herself which everyone had heard about but one of the dark dresses she often wore, which must have seemed to her to be particularly appropriate to that terrible day. For, of course, she must be in a kind of mourning for her son, not because he had lost his bride, for which his mother could only give thanks, but because of how that bride had treated him. Humiliated him before the whole village! Daniel, Mrs MacNeil’s son! The cheek of it; how could she have had the nerve?

  Even just seeing Mrs MacNeil on the doorstep, Rosa could tell how mortified she was, how she could hardly contain her feelings. It did not help that now on that doorstep she was seeing Rosa Malcolm, sister to the woman who had done all the damage, and as her ice-grey eyes took in the visitor, a great flood of scarlet shot from her throat to her brow, and she had to clutch at her own door to support her in her fury.

  ‘Rosa Malcolm!’ she hissed. ‘How do you have the face to come here? After what your sister has done to my son! The wicked, wicked girl! I always knew she was not to be trusted, not fit to marry Daniel, and now she’s proved it, the wanton, the trollop! And now you come here, knocking on my door, making excuses. How dare you, how dare you?’

  ‘I am not making excuses, Mrs MacNeil,’ Rosa answered through dry lips. ‘I know my sister has done wrong but she is not what you’ve called her. She’s not wanton, only foolish. She has been led astray—’

  ‘Is that what you are calling it? All I know is Mr Thain’s foxy groom came here this morning with a letter for my poor boy from your sister, and stood around so all the neighbours could see him until I sent him packing, the nasty creature! But by then, poor, poor Daniel was away to shut himself up and not a sign of him have I seen since, but don’t ask to see him yourself, for I’ll not let you in – away you go, away to your father, and tell him from me he should be ashamed to have such a daughter as your sister! Away, I say, out of my sight!’

  And as Mrs MacNeil stood on her step, making shooing gestures as though she were chasing off an unwanted cat, Rosa knew there was nothing she could do. Daniel’s mother would never let her near Daniel, and who could blame her? At the thought of him shutting himself away, it was all Rosa could do not to dissolve into tears. But that she would not do in front of Mrs MacNeil, and she was turning slowly away when, amazingly, she heard Daniel’s own voice behind her speaking in strange, artificial tones to his mother.

  ‘Is it Rosa there, Ma? Don’t be blaming her now, she has done nothing.’

  ‘Of course I am blaming her, Daniel! She’s a Malcolm – she is forbidden this house, and that is that.’ Mrs MacNeil, almost breathless with rage, had put her hand to her face to cool her cheeks until she looked at her son, standing on the front step, and cried out in new, raw pain. ‘Oh, Daniel, oh, dear Lord, your poor face! Oh, what has that girl done to you?’

  ‘My face?’

  Oh, yes, his face! Rosa knew at once what Daniel’s mother meant, for his face had changed. Still handsome, still with the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the level brows … yes, all were still there, but somehow, mysteriously, no longer made up the face that she knew. It was as though all that had made it Daniel’s had been wiped away by what Lorne had done, and the beautiful, dark blue eyes that were so expressive had become so blank, so dead, they were like the eyes of no one living.

  Oh, Daniel, Daniel – what could Rosa say? What could anyone say? How right her father had been to say that there was nothing anyone could do for him. At least, not then. Time would h
elp, time might work a miracle but maybe only far into the future, and it was clear that after the crushing blow Daniel had received he could not think of any future at all.

  ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ he asked Rosa now, fixing her with those dead eyes of his. ‘She said, in her letter, you didn’t know.’

  ‘We didn’t know,’ Rosa told him, glad to let him have the truth. ‘Da and me, we never had an idea. Just this morning, she sent us away so we could not see her leaving the house.’ Rosa’s mouth was trembling, her eyes filling with tears. ‘And now, we do not know where she is—’

  ‘And who cares?’ Mrs MacNeil cried. ‘If she never comes back to this village, it will be too soon. Daniel, go into the house, away from the neighbours – can you not feel their eyes? Rosa Malcolm, please leave us! Just go.’

  ‘Wait!’ ordered Daniel, holding up his hand. ‘Rosa, it was good of you to come, I want to thank you. But don’t tell me if you … hear from her. Don’t tell me where she is and where he is, for if I should know—’

  He said no more but turned and went into the house, to be followed by his mother, after she had flashed another fierce stare at Rosa, and then the front door was banged shut and Rosa herself was running again, just running, as though speed would take away her thoughts.

  Seven

  So much to do, so many folk to speak to without knowing what to say … For how could anything be said by Greg or Rosa that would make things any better? As they moved around the people they knew, now eating what had been intended for the wedding breakfast, Mrs Guthrie having said it should not go to waste, the father and sister of the girl who had set the whole village buzzing could say nothing, only keep their eyes down and endure what had to be endured.

  True, there was some sympathy for them, especially from Mr Guthrie, the minister, and his wife, but as the villagers enjoyed their meal in the hall off the kirk, there was also a certain undercurrent of suspicion of the Malcolms in the air. Could it be certain that they’d had no idea of what Lorne was planning? Had they not had a feeling that she was up to something? And had she never dropped so much as a hint that Mr Rory was in love with her and planning to carry her off right under poor Daniel’s nose? Was that not hard to believe?

  I’ll never get over this, thought Rosa, handing sandwiches and cups of tea. This will be something I’ll always remember. Even Da’s feeling it – he looks as though he’d just like to crawl away into a corner and curl up till Christmas. And so would I …

  ‘Don’t blame yourselves,’ Mrs Guthrie told them as they prepared to leave the kirk hall. ‘You weren’t to know what Lorne would do; the minister and I truly believe that.’

  ‘’Tis good of you to say so,’ Greg muttered, his eyes cast down. ‘Plenty are not agreeing with you.’

  ‘Never mind. Hold your heads high, and pray that Lorne will soon come to her senses and return to us.’

  ‘She will never do that,’ said Rosa. ‘How could she?’

  ‘We must hope that she sees the light and that God guides her to do what is right.’

  As Mrs Guthrie shook their hands and wished them well, they were joined by the minister, who showed them the same kindness and understanding as his wife, though it was plain he was having difficulty in finding forgiveness for Lorne. ‘God will be her judge,’ he said solemnly as they turned to go, but as Lorne had never been one for kirk-going, Greg whispered to Rosa that she would probably never care whether God judged her or not.

  ‘At least that’s the worst over,’ he added. ‘I mean, facing the folk we know. Now we can just go home and shut our door.’

  ‘The worst?’ Rosa was staring at her father, her eyes enormous. ‘Da, have you forgotten Mr Thain? We’ve still to face him.’

  ‘Mr Thain … Oh, my Lord!’ Greg’s jaw had dropped. ‘What was I thinking of to forget him? Did I not say I was worried before, Rosa, about what he might do? Did I not say we might lose the cottage?’

  ‘And I said we would not. But it’s not going to be very pleasant, meeting him. Or Rory’s brother. Or his stepmother.’

  ‘I am only thinking of him – Mr Thain. He’s the one with the power and it’ll be me who gets the blame for what Lorne has done.’ Greg passed his hand over his eyes. ‘I am thinking I can’t face going home now, Rosa, in case the Thains are there.’

  ‘Oh, come, Da, stop talking like that!’ cried Rosa, though believing that he might be right. ‘We don’t know what the Thains will be doing.’

  But when they finally reached home, the first thing they saw was an open carriage at their door, in which Rory Thain’s father, his stepmother and his brother were sitting – all waiting. Waiting for Rosa and her father, the family of the girl who had snared away one of their own, while Norris, the ‘foxy’ groom, stood beside the horses, waiting too and failing to conceal a smirk when the Malcolms arrived.

  ‘There you are at last, Malcolm!’ cried Mr Thain. ‘Where the devil have you been?’

  Without waiting for his groom, he opened the carriage door and stepped down to confront Greg immediately, as though he were afraid Greg might run away. Which, of course, he would have liked to do, though with Rosa by his side he managed to meet his landlord’s furious blue stare without flinching.

  While the groom helped Mrs Thain to descend from the carriage and a bleak-faced young Mr Hugo leaped out himself, Greg cleared his throat and stammered, ‘Mr Thain, sir, Mrs Thain, I am sorry we were not in – we’ve been seeing the minister—’

  ‘I should think you have, though it’s myself and my family you should be seeing first,’ snapped Mr Thain, a tall, dark-haired, masterful man, rather overweight but elegant in a tweed suit and Homburg hat. In any walk of life he would have been hard to deal with, Rosa thought, but as a prosperous landowner who held his tenants’ lives in the palm of his hand, what chance could her father have of making him accept the truth – that they knew nothing of what Lorne and Rory Thain had been planning?

  ‘Still, I am glad you are here now,’ Mr Thain went on, ‘so please open your door. I have no desire to discuss the present situation on the doorstep.’

  ‘The door’s not locked, sir. We never lock the door – there’s nothing to steal—’

  ‘Just get on with it, man, and let us in! Priscilla’ – Mr Thain put out a hand to his wife – ‘let’s see if they can find you somewhere to sit down.’

  ‘As though I care about sitting down!’

  Still on the doorstep, auburn-haired young Mrs Thain, holding a lace handkerchief to her eyes, appeared grief-stricken and at the same time petulant, shaking off her husband’s hand and drawing her fine brows together. In a dark green close-fitting jacket and ankle-length matching skirt, she was as well dressed as usual, but nothing else was usual for her that day, Rosa could tell, and was not surprised to see tears forming in her large blue eyes when she lowered the handkerchief to speak.

  ‘All I care about, Frederick, is having Rory back, though God knows where he could have gone, and why he should have done what he’s done to us, his family, is quite … is quite … beyond me.’

  Turning to her stepson, who was staring at the ground, Mrs Thain put her hand on his arm. ‘Hugo, you understand, don’t you? You feel the same terrible shock as I do?’

  ‘Just come into the cottage, my dear,’ Mr Thain said soothingly. ‘We can talk inside of what can be done.’

  ‘Of what can be done?’ asked Hugo, suddenly looking up. ‘I doubt very much that anything can be done. What have you in mind?’

  But his father shook his head at him and marshalled everyone except the groom inside the cottage, where only Mrs Thain accepted, in spite of all previous protestations, one of Greg’s hard wooden chairs, sinking into it with some relief.

  Eight

  Rosa, who might once have been grateful that her home had been tidied before this unwelcome visit, now cared not at all how it looked, for other things mattered more. So many things, her head was spinning, but she stayed by her father’s side, anxious for him and the nerves he
was trying to hide before his formidable landlord, who now turned his gaze on Rosa.

  ‘Malcolm, is this another daughter of yours?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘Yes, sir, this is my elder daughter, Rosa. She is in service in Inverness.’

  ‘And sister to the girl who has caused all the trouble. In her confidence, very likely. Am I not right?’

  ‘No, sir!’ cried Rosa, her colour rising. ‘Lorne told me nothing of her plans.’

  ‘Oh, come! You would be close to her; you would know what she was up to. Please do not tell me she never mentioned my son’s name to you. Never boasted about her hold over him?’

  ‘Of course she did!’ his wife put in before Rosa could speak. ‘I have a sister; I know what sisters are like. Just tell us what she said, Rosa, and I promise no one will be blaming you.’

  ‘Madam, I hardly ever saw her,’ Rosa answered desperately. ‘I work in Inverness; I only came back for her wedding to Mr MacNeil. And it’s the solemn truth that my father and me had no idea what she was going to do. She even found ways to get us out of the house so that we shouldn’t see her leave. We couldn’t believe it when we read the letter she left us.’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ Greg said earnestly. ‘It was the shock of our lives when we found out what had happened – we haven’t been able to take it in. But we’ve had to tell folk and see the minister and Rosa here has tried to help young Daniel, but he cannot be helped, he’s too upset.’

  ‘Poor man,’ sighed Mrs Thain. ‘Oh, how could that girl do such a thing to him?’

  ‘You say she left a letter?’ Mr Thain asked, ignoring his wife’s sympathy for the unknown bridegroom. ‘I should like to see it.’

  ‘Papa, you can’t!’ Hugo exclaimed, fixing his father with outraged eyes. ‘That’s the Malcolms’ letter. It’s private!’