The House of Lyall

by Doris Davidson

  Her mind now went over her leave-taking of the Rennies. She had expected Miss Emily and Miss Esther to be weepy, but she had been astonished that Edith had openly dabbed her eyes and then hugged her closely. ‘You know I wish you happiness, Marianne dear,’ she had whispered, ‘but I would like you to look on us as aunts to whom you can come if you need advice, or if …’

  Her voice breaking there, Marianne had said shakily, ‘Thank you, I’ll not forget.’

  The Andrew had taken her hand, his eyes dark with the hurt she had inflicted on him. ‘I’m truly sorry, Andrew,’ she’d murmured, his pain reaching out to clamp around her heart.

  His finger had risen to dash away the tear that she couldn’t stop edging out. ‘No tears, my dear,’ he’d told her. ‘I am happy that your wish came true, and I sincerely hope that you will find happiness as well as contentment in your new life … but remember, Marianne, if things do not work out the way you envisaged, I will gladly come and take you away from him.’

  Before she realized what he was doing, he had swept her into his arms and given her a kiss that came within a hair’s-breadth of being passionate. Then, with a stifled moan, he had jumped on the landau and it had moved away. She had gone back to Hamish, who had been standing in the doorway to give her privacy to say her goodbyes. He’d looked even greyer than before, despite the feverish spot in his cheeks.

  ‘There’s still a few left,’ he’d muttered, ‘but my father is helping them to gather all the left-overs … Ah, here they come.’

  The few he mentioned – about ten over-happy men and perhaps six women – had reached the foot of the curved steps as the first of the traps returned, and Marianne had had to smile when she’d noticed the boxes that clinked being loaded much more carefully than the ones which presumably held the left-overs from the meal.

  ‘Thank you for everything, your Lordship,’ the oldest man had grinned and, after shaking his employer’s hand, he’d turned to Marianne. ‘My best wishes to you and your man, m’lady, and dinna tak’ lang to gi’e us the heir we need.’

  The sturdy woman who was obviously his wife had pulled at his sleeve. ‘Behave yoursel’, Tam! Get up on the coach, for ony sake.’

  The drive empty at last, Hector had turned unsteadily, and Marianne had helped him up the steps, smiling as she noticed how high he was lifting each foot, as if uncertain where to set it down. Recalling having seen Dick, his valet, staggering around in an advanced stage of inebriation quite early on, she’d realized that the servant would be totally incapable by this time of attending to his master. ‘Will Hamish help you get undressed?’ she’d asked her father-in-law inside.

  ‘I can manage to take off my own clothes,’ he’d said, but it was the bridal couple themselves who had half carried him up to his room, where, giving up all pretence of joviality, he’d sat down on his bed with tears streaming down his face. Never having seen a grown man cry, Marianne had felt most uncomfortable. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with him,’ she had whispered to Hamish, and withdrew before he could say anything.

  She’d felt pleased to have the chance to undress without being seen, but had forgotten that she could not unfasten the hooks and eyes down the back by herself and she had not wanted to ring for Thomson. Sighing, she’d sat down at her dressing table to wait for her bridegroom.

  It had been twenty minutes before he’d appeared. ‘Too much whisky made Father very emotional,’ he’d muttered, ‘but he’s fast asleep now.’

  ‘That’s the best thing for him. Hamish, will you help me out of this gown?’

  When he’d come closer, she’d seen that his face was ravaged by tears. ‘Hamish, I’m sorry. I should have known how upset you’d be. I’ll ring for Thomson.’

  ‘I’ll manage!’ With what was almost a grunt, he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her round with her back to him, so that he could undo the tiny fasteners. Letting her go abruptly when they were all open, he’d burst into tears and she’d thought it best to let him get it out of his system. Eventually, he had said brokenly, ‘I am truly sorry, Marianne. I don’t know what you must think of me, but I couldn’t help it.’

  Knowing that he was ashamed of himself for giving way, she’d tried to reassure him. ‘I was the same when my mother died. Everybody’s the same. After all, your mother’s the person who feeds you and takes care of you when you’re small …’

  ‘I can’t even use that as an excuse,’ he’d hiccuped. ‘My brother and I had a succession of nurses to feed us and care for us.’

  She could have bitten her tongue out. ‘Your mother gave birth to you, Hamish, and there’s always a close bond between children and their mothers, especially boys, I’ve been told.’

  ‘Perhaps that is it, then. Ever since my brother died, I have felt it my duty to make it up to her. She was almost inconsolable at the time, and made such a fuss of me after she recovered.’ He’d stopped, and there was a long pause before he had whispered, ‘I know what you are expecting of me, Marianne, but I can’t, not tonight!’

  ‘I understand,’ she’d soothed, but to his rapidly retreating back.

  It shouldn’t have come as any surprise to her, but she could not help feeling let down. It was their wedding night and he had left her in this huge bed on her own.

  Because of the ill-feeling he had engendered by having the wedding immediately after the funeral, Hector had decided to offer a kind of sop to the offended relatives who had stayed all night.

  Sitting down to breakfast the following morning, he looked around the table with a somewhat shamed expression. ‘I have been thinking more clearly since my beloved wife was laid to rest,’ he said sadly, wiping away a non-existent tear, ‘and I realize that I ought to have listened to …’ He cleared his throat noisily. ‘I should have let Hamish and Marianne postpone their marriage as they wanted to, but what is done can not be undone, and I pledge, before all of you here, that my entire household will observe the customary full year of mourning. We will not, therefore, attend the Queen’s Jubilee on the twenty-second as we had planned.’

  The satisfied murmurs proved that his strategy had worked. Only Marianne’s disappointed expression pricked his conscience and, as soon as he got her alone, he murmured, ‘I am very sorry, my dear. I know how much you were looking forward to going to London to join the celebrations, but it is best that we do not flout convention again.’

  Marianne nodded her head. ‘I am disappointed, but I do understand. I heard Lady Glendarril’s two … cousins, I think, say yesterday that they were shocked at you for …’

  ‘If I tried to count the times I have shocked Eunice and Rosemary over the years,’ he chuckled, ‘it would be in the hundreds, perhaps even the thousands. They are sour old maids – they were sour even when they were young. It would have done them the world of good if one of their brother’s friends had ravished them.’

  Marianne’s smile vanished when Hector went on, ‘Speaking of which, I hope you will soon be telling me that I am going to be a grandfather.’ He clasped her hand tightly for a second and then walked away.

  Wondering what he would have said if she told him what had happened the night before, Marianne went upstairs to the room where she had lain alone in the darkness. The vast bed had curtains all round, which she intended to remove as soon as she could. She had left them open last night, but she had still felt as though they were smothering her when she tried to get some sleep.

  When would Hamish come to her bed and make them truly husband and wife? Surely he wasn’t such a Mammy’s boy that he’d take weeks to get over her death?

  She took a deep breath. What was the good of looking on the black side? It was early days yet.

  * * *

  Moll Cheyne had waited impatiently all forenoon for her husband to come home, and the minute he walked in, she burst out, ‘Have you seen the day’s paper, Alfie?’

  ‘I havena time to sit about readin’ papers,’ he growled, setting his hard backside on the equally hard chair at the table. ‘I hardl
y get time to draw breath.’

  Always worried that the sawdust he breathed in would eventually clog his lungs completely, Moll let him finish his soup before she handed him the Aberdeen Journal and pointed to the photographs accompanying a prominent article. It had been written by a cub reporter on the Observer – the local paper for Laurencekirk and most of the county of Kincardine – whose editor had deemed the Bruce-Lyall funeral-cum-wedding worthy of much wider circulation.

  Peering at the pictures short-sightedly, Alfie suddenly exclaimed, ‘Lord preserve us! It’s my Marion!’

  ‘Read it,’ his wife urged. ‘Read it an’ see why she’s never wrote or let us ken where she was.’

  Still only concerned with the photographs, he studied the first – a host of black-clad men and women over-shadowed by a girl in a dark costume standing at the rear of the group but in the foreground of the picture – then read out the caption: ‘Marianne Cheyne is one of the mourners at the burial of Lady Glendarril of Castle Lyall, in Glendarril churchyard on Saturday.’ Alfie’s head shot up. ‘She must be in service at the castle.’

  Moll shook her head then pushed back the greasy lock of hair that had fallen over her face. ‘It doesna say onything aboot her bein’ in service, but maybe that’s where she met him.’ Her husband’s puzzled expression made her snap, ‘Get on, Alfie!’

  His eyes moved slowly to the other picture – the same girl emerging from a church wearing a wedding gown and accompanied by a tall young man with a sombre expression. ‘ “The Honourable Hamish Bruce-Lyall leaving Glendarril church on Saturday with his bride, the former Miss Marianne Cheyne,” Alfie read out. His brows crawled together in puzzlement. ‘There’s some mistake here. It says the frunial was on Saturday, so the wedding couldna have been on Saturday an’ all?’

  Moll stood up. ‘For ony sake, read it a’!’ She moved over to the fire to make a pot of tea for him. It’s all he would feel like after reading the rest.

  At last, Alfie took a look at the headline: ‘GLEN MINISTER CONDUCTS WEDDING IMMEDIATELY AFTER FUNERAL OF GROOM’S MOTHER.’

  The reporter may just have been learning his profession, but he knew how to attract attention … and how to hold it. Much was made of the fact that Marianne had been befriended by the Rennies when she arrived in Aberdeen, and that she had shown her gratitude by asking them to take on the duties of bridesmaids and of giving her away. This information had been gleaned mostly from those of Hector’s relatives who had been denied the privilege of being wedding guests, and thus were loud in condemnation of Hamish and Marianne for not cancelling their marriage, but the journalist had taken great pains to cast no slur on the bridal couple. In fact, he made it appear that Clarice herself had begged them before she died not to change their plans, and that they had agreed reluctantly.

  This was how he explained the seriousness of their expressions after the nuptials were tied, creating a tide of sympathy for them by saying that each anniversary of their wedding would remind them of Lady Glendarril’s death. He ended with, ‘And so, as the Honourable Hamish Bruce-Lyall and his bride start married life with sorrow dimming the joy they should be sharing, let us wish them every happiness for the future.’

  Alfie laid down the newspaper as Moll set an enamel mug of tea before him. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well, what?’ Alfie was not particularly bright at the best of times, but what he had just read had completely flummoxed him.

  ‘Are you to be writin’ to her?’

  ‘Writin’ to her? What the devil for?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Alfie! Can you nae see what this means? Here’s us, countin’ every ha’penny an’ never having enough to go round, and there’s her, rollin’ in it!’

  He banged his clenched fist on the table top, making the tea splash out of both mugs. ‘If you think I’d beg fae my ain lassie, you’re softer in the heid than I thought you were.’

  ‘But she’s got plenty, an’ you are her father.’

  ‘I used to wonder what had became o’ her, an’ I’m pleased she made something o’ hersel’, but a father’s supposed to provide for his bairn, nae the other wey roon’.’

  ‘Aye, well, but … maybe we should let her ken the Moodies never did nothin’ aboot that money she took, an’ tell her she’s welcome back ony time she –’

  Alfie’s face darkened even further. ‘She’ll nae be welcome back! I’m having nae trock wi’ a thief though she is my ain lassie. And dinna you think on writing to her, for you’ll nae get me to speak to her supposing she’s got the nerve to show her face here!’

  Recognizing that nothing-would make him change his mind, Moll gave up, but she cut out the item about the wedding and hid it away for future reference. Should Alfie ever have to stop working because of his chest, she would write and ask Marion – Marianne, as she called herself now – for help … but she wouldn’t tell him.

  After all the house guests had left, Hector joined the young couple in the Blue Room and said quietly, ‘Do you remember me saying you would have to take Clarice’s place as mistress of the castle, Marianne? Now, because of her death, I cannot let you take a honeymoon, but I will allow you one week to spend as much time with Hamish as you wish. After that, I expect you to acquaint yourself with the layout of the castle, and what goes on behind the scenes, so to speak. You will probably have noticed that the running of the every day household matters is in Miss Glover’s capable hands, but if you do not like her, it will be up to you to find a replacement, and that goes for all the members of our staff. Mrs Carnie is an excellent cook, but if you and she do not get on –’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll get on with Mrs Carnie,’ Marianne interrupted, ‘and Miss Glover.’

  ‘Roberta Glover can be a bit abrupt at times, but she knows her job inside out, and she’ll keep you right if there is anything you are not sure of. And now,’ he went on, getting to his feet, ‘if you two young things do not mind, I must go to bed. I still feel a little off colour after yesterday. I do not make a habit of getting drunk, as Hamish will verify, but whisky was the only thing to numb the ache. Sorrow is not the best of bedfellows.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ observed Hamish.

  And Marianne said, ‘We won’t be long in going to bed, either. I didn’t get much sleep last –’ Her eyes widened as her hand flew to cover her errant mouth.

  Misconstruing her embarrassment, Hector gave a great roar of laughter as he went out.

  Marianne looked at her husband in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, Hamish. I don’t know why I said that.’

  ‘Probably because it was the truth,’ he said, but not unkindly. ‘I feel the need of a good night’s sleep myself, and so I shall …’ He paused, eyeing her warily. ‘I shall sleep in my own room again.’

  ‘Your own room,’ she echoed faintly.

  ‘You know what our arrangement was,’ he muttered self-consciously, ‘and the chamber maid knows to keep a bedroom ready for me. My mother and father slept in separate rooms for years.’

  Marianne felt like saying, ‘But not on the second night of their marriage,’ only what good would it have done? She had entered into this anything-but-ideal contract in order to have wealth and power, and the gates to that world were to be opened for her a week from tomorrow. Love would be an additional blessing.

  Alone in the marriage bed again, Marianne boosted her low spirits by thinking that she would soon be in sole charge of everything and everybody in Castle Lyall, and once she had it running her way, both Hamish and his father would see that she was capable of much more than breeding children. She would provide the two sons they needed in order to be sure of an heir, and then …

  By God, and then! She would make the gentry sit up and take notice of her, fall over themselves to invite her to their homes, be they mansions, castles or palaces. She had the beauty the nobility lacked – horse-faced, most of them. She would be the talk of the glen, the whole of Scotland, even – and England, too.

  Chapter Nine

  On the first full day of t
heir marriage, Hamish showed his bride the kitchen gardens where all the vegetables were grown, sheltered from frost and winds by the high wall enclosing them, and the flourishing herb patch situated where the kitchenmaid could quickly cut whatever Cook might suddenly decide she needed. Marianne was impressed, although she had never heard of most of the herbs here before.

  The flower gardens and lawns also appealed to her – the symmetry of the layouts, the subtle mixing of colours, the more delicate being kept together in patterns around the perimeter, and the shaped beds within graduated up to the most flamboyant. ‘I won’t remember their proper names,’ she whispered to Hamish, after Dargie, the head gardener, reeled off over a dozen, unintelligible as far as she was concerned, before he went off to supervise his undergardeners and left The Master and his wife to carry on alone. ‘It sounded Greek to me.’

  ‘It was Latin,’ Hamish told her, courtesy forbidding him to laugh.

  ‘We always called them red-hot pokers,’ she explained, pointing to the tall clump of red and yellow blooms in the centre. ‘And that’s mappies’ mou’s,’ she went on, indicating the antirrhinums.

  ‘What on earth does that mean?’ her husband asked, bemused.

  ‘Surely you ken what …?’ She stopped with an embarrassed laugh. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do. Well, mappies is what we called rabbits at hame, and a mou’ is a mouth. To let you see …’ She took one of the florets between her forefinger and her thumb to show him. ‘If you squeeze a wee bit out and in, like this, it’s like a rabbit’s mouth opening and shutting.’