The Fairbairn Girls

by Una-Mary Parker

  After a while it faded away and all was quiet again. Laura closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  Shrill screams and a man’s voice yelling and blaspheming broke the tranquil silence of another cold dawn. Laura woke again, startled. This time she wasn’t having a nightmare. Flinging on her dressing gown, she ran barefoot into the corridor and looked down over the banister to the great hall below. Servants and footmen were standing still as if stupefied, while her mother clung to Beattie and Georgie, in obvious distress. At that moment Diana and Lizzie shot out of their rooms, still in their long white flannel night robes.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Diana asked in a frightened voice as she rushed ahead, followed by Laura and Lizzie.

  Their mother suddenly collapsed and Georgie and Beattie were helping her to a chair. Then Laura saw her father standing in the entrance of the castle. He looked like a broken man, his face white and gaunt and his expression wracked with grief.

  In his arms lay the soaked and frozen body of Eleanor.

  Laura stared in disbelief, unable to speak.

  ‘Why . . .?’ Diana whispered. No one was able to answer and the only sound in the great hall was the soft sobbing of the kitchen maids.

  Then the sisters turned and looked at each other, almost accusingly.

  ‘We knew something was troubling her, didn’t we?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘She insisted there was nothing the matter,’ Beattie whispered.

  ‘She’s been acting strangely for weeks,’ Laura said despairingly.

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell us?’ their father suddenly bellowed in a rage. They hung their heads, overcome, as he glared at them with his bloodshot eyes. ‘You should have told me or your mother instead of standing idly by.’ He looked down into Eleanor’s face as if he couldn’t believe he was holding her dead body. ‘Poor little girl,’ he groaned. ‘Poor child.’

  McEwan stood two paces behind him. He was staring straight ahead, then he raised his right hand and they saw he was holding the small wooden crucifix. ‘This had fallen out of her pocket. It was lying beside her body on the terrace.’ He sounded bewildered, light-headed almost, a lifetime of training in etiquette forgotten.

  ‘Christ! Why did she jump?’ asked Freddie angrily.

  His younger brother stood beside him, trying very hard not to cry. ‘Why did she want to die?’ Henry asked in a quivering voice, but nobody was listening to either of them.

  As if aroused from a coma, Lady Rothbury suddenly looked up from where she was sitting and spoke. ‘Will someone tell Nanny not to let the young ones come downstairs.’

  Mrs Spry moved swiftly forward. ‘I’ve already given those instructions, M’Lady.’ Then she turned to the kitchen maids. ‘This way, please,’ she commanded in a quiet but firm voice as she opened the green baize door.

  Her professionalism instantly made them shuffle back towards the kitchens, some of them wiping their eyes with their aprons. Then she ordered the footmen to fetch brandy and the maids to light the fires in every room.

  Leading the way, Lord Rothbury carried Eleanor’s body into the chapel. ‘Bring something to lay her on,’ he commanded, his voice gruff. A long oak table was hurriedly fetched and a silk Turkish rug was laid on it. As he placed the little broken body of his daughter on the table, he let out a bellow that sent shivers through all those who heard him.

  ‘May God forgive me, for this is all my fault,’ he moaned. ‘The sins of the father . . .’ His voice broke and he covered his face with his hands as he slumped down by Eleanor’s body.

  His wife went to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, William.’

  ‘Why did she jump?’ persisted Freddie in a loud voice.

  His father turned on him in a burst of savage rage. ‘She didn’t jump, you fool! She fell from her window.’

  Freddie’s mouth dropped open. ‘But why . . .?’

  ‘Stop asking questions,’ his mother begged.

  Laura and her sisters looked at each other again. It didn’t make sense. Eleanor believed in God. She would never have taken her own life. Laura turned to Lizzie and they both started running back up the stairs.

  As soon as they entered Eleanor’s bedroom they froze and stood still, shocked by the sight of a rope still tied to the carved bed post. It hung from the bed to the window like a washing line.

  Laura pressed her hand over her mouth as she walked unsteadily to the window and looked out. Then she flinched. ‘It’s a terrible drop!’ she whispered as she looked down at the bloodstained flagstones far below.

  ‘Do you think she was trying to run away?’ Lizzie whispered.

  ‘No. There are a hundred other ways she could have run away if she was that unhappy. Why choose this dangerous method in pitch darkness? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’d never have had the courage to try and climb down that rope,’ Lizzie said brokenly. ‘What in God’s name was she trying to do?’

  Laura leaned against the window frame, feeling sick and dizzy as terrible thoughts filled her head. Had Eleanor died instantly? Or had she lain injured on the freezing terrace, alive but unable to move, knowing it would be hours before anyone would find her?

  ‘Are you all right?’ she heard Lizzie ask. She shook her head, unable to speak. Now she knew, with terrible certainty, it had been Eleanor’s scream she’d heard in the night as the storm broke. And she’d turned over and gone back to sleep. Her anguish became laden with guilt. Maybe Eleanor would still have been alive if she’d raised the alarm?

  ‘I can’t bear it.’ She pulled herself away from the window and turned to run from the room but something caught her eye: a sheet of white paper lying on the dressing table. She instantly recognized Eleanor’s childish handwriting. ‘Look, Lizzie! She’s left a note.’

  Lizzie peered over her shoulder. ‘It’s a prayer,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

  They hurried downstairs again to find their mother had retired to her bedroom, overcome with grief, while their father had just given orders for the family doctor and the police to be called.

  ‘Papa,’ Lizzie said urgently. ‘We have something to show you.’ They led him into the study and closed the door.

  He read the prayer in silence and as the tears flowed freely down his ruddy cheeks he murmured again, ‘The sins of the fathers . . .’ Then he dashed out of the room and ran up the stairs, still muttering.

  ‘He’ll have gone to see Mama,’ Lizzie observed bleakly.

  Mrs Spry appeared, walking briskly along the corridor. ‘Ah, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Laura,’ she said when she saw them standing huddled in the middle of the hall, still in their nightgowns. ‘Can I get you anything? Some beef tea? Or something to eat?’ She spoke under her breath as if they were in a church.

  They shook their heads. Lizzie asked, ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Her Ladyship has requested not to be disturbed; I think Lady Georgina, Lady Diana and Lady Beatrice are also in their rooms; all the younger ones are upstairs, the boys with their tutor and the little girls with Nanny. So far the girls haven’t been told what’s happened.’

  Laura suddenly felt deeply sad. Families were supposed to stick close together in a crisis, like they did in the cottages in the village when something happened. Why did the upper classes have to grieve alone? she wondered. Was it to maintain their dignity? She looked at Lizzie, who was biting her bottom lip to prevent herself weeping in front of a member of staff, and she suddenly wished she belonged to a very ordinary family.

  At that moment Beattie, Georgie and Diana came downstairs, already wearing an assortment of black clothes.

  ‘We thought we’d sit in the chapel,’ Beattie explained. ‘We can’t leave Eleanor alone. Why aren’t you two dressed yet?’

  Lizzie told them about the prayer they’d found.

  ‘What did it say?’ Diana asked.

  ‘I can’t remember it word for word,’ Laura pointed out, ‘but she was asking God to tell the Rowan tree not to curse
us any more. She said a bad man was making the Rowan do bad things to us.’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘What tosh! What was she talking about?’ Georgie said scornfully.

  Beattie understood at once. ‘Remember the fierce argument we overheard when Papa and a man were fighting? They were cursing each other. I remember Eleanor was with us and we all wondered what it was about? Papa was very angry and ordered the man to leave and never come back.’

  ‘Yes,’ Diana butted in. ‘I clearly remember the man shouting, “As the Rowan tree is my witness, I curse the Fairbairn family from here until eternity”.’

  They looked at each other, shocked and appalled as the words sank in and they realized that Eleanor had tried to save them all.

  ‘Dear Lord, I feel sick,’ Diana whispered.

  ‘Why didn’t she tell us what she was planning?’ Beattie exclaimed. ‘We could have helped her and done it properly.’

  Georgie, for once aware of her own acerbic shortcomings, spoke humbly. ‘She’d have been afraid we’d laugh at her, and the awful thing is we probably would have done.’

  There was a long silence, and then Lizzie spoke. ‘You have to admit it’s a strange coincidence that since Papa had that fight with that man I lose James, Rory is killed, one of Papa’s dogs mysteriously dies, and then Eleanor is killed as she is about to take a crucifix down to the tree and pray to God to lift the curse.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what Papa meant when he said Eleanor’s death was all his fault. Why was he fighting with that man in the first place?’

  Beattie suddenly jumped to her feet, startling the others. ‘Don’t! That way lies madness. We all know Eleanor was a fanciful little girl and very impressionable. It was obvious she was worried about something. We should have forced her to tell us then none of this would have happened.’

  ‘We didn’t because we didn’t want to face the fact that something might be really wrong,’ Laura pointed out. ‘Looking back, Papa has been much grumpier since that man came here. What did he want? Why did Papa send him away like that?’

  ‘I wish I knew. What are we going to do?’ asked Diana. ‘I don’t want to go through life with a curse on my head.’

  ‘You won’t be the only one,’ Georgie remarked succinctly.

  Five

  Lasswade Hall, 1907

  Caroline came hurtling across the lawn to where her parents were having afternoon tea. Pretty in a white lawn dress and bonnet, the three-year-old was smiling with excitement at being home again.

  ‘Mama! Dada!’ she shrieked, waving her arms. ‘Look what Aunt Di gave me.’ She was clutching a doll in her tiny hand. Her nanny came hurrying after her, trying to catch up.

  ‘I’m sorry, M’Lady. Sir. She’s that thrilled to be back and there’s been no stopping her since dawn,’ she panted apologetically.

  Laura and Walter smiled as their child threw herself into Laura’s arms.

  ‘Hello, my darling. I believe you’ve grown,’ Laura exclaimed, settling Caroline on her lap. ‘Did you have a wonderful time with Aunt Di? And did you have fun playing with Nicolas and Louise?’

  Caroline nodded vigorously as she pulled off her bonnet, revealing long, flaxen hair which fell into curls down her back.

  ‘I saw Punch and Judy!’ she squealed. ‘And I sat on a pony.’

  ‘What a busy little girl you’ve been,’ Walter observed warmly.

  Caroline looked around. ‘Where’s Neil, Dada?’ He was her six-year-old half-brother by Walter’s first marriage; his mother had died five years ago.

  ‘He’s been away too, staying with his aunt,’ Laura said quickly, flashing a knowing look at Walter.

  ‘That’s right,’ Walter agreed. ‘You’ve been staying with your aunt Di and he’s been staying with his aunt Rowena.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she ask me to stay with her? Doesn’t she like me?’ Caroline’s eyes, so dark like her father’s, looked fretful.

  ‘She will when you’re a bit older,’ Laura assured her soothingly. ‘After all, Neil is six, nearly seven.’

  Tears sprang to Caroline’s eyes and her mouth drooped at the corners. ‘I don’t want to be three.’ A dry sob caught in her chest. ‘Mama, I want to be seven!’

  ‘You will be but how about a slice of cake first? Shall Mummy cut you a piece?’

  The child nodded sulkily.

  Laura spoils her, Walter thought. Probably to compensate. Neil was rather spoilt, too. It was what parents did when they felt guilty.

  ‘Shall I push you on the swing when you’ve had your cake?’ he asked gently.

  Caroline jumped down from Laura’s lap, her cheeks bulging with sponge and jam cake.

  ‘Finish your cake first,’ Laura said, grabbing her by the arm and attempting to wipe her mouth with a table napkin, but the child was off, running defiantly on her little legs to where Greg the gardener had hung a home-made swing from one of the branches of a tree near his hut.

  Laura watched her with anxious eyes.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Yes.’ What else could she say? Her voice was flat, though, and she sounded desperately tired. ‘Is Rowena bringing Neil back this evening?’

  ‘I suggested she might come to luncheon tomorrow and bring him with her. I thought that would give Caroline time to settle down.’

  Laura looked at him directly. ‘Neil is going to ask questions, you know. He’s getting too big to have the wool pulled over his eyes any more. What are you going to tell him, Walter?’

  ‘Leave him to me, my dear,’ he said quietly.

  ‘This has been the longest time you’ve been . . . away,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I know.’

  A silence hung over them like a poisonous cloud, stinging their eyes and breaking their hearts so they could scarcely breathe.

  How much longer can I bear this situation? Laura reflected bleakly. As long as you have to, answered the voice in her head.

  ‘Dada! Come on. I want to swing.’ The little girl’s childish voice floated across the sunny lawn.

  Laura turned to look at Caroline and at that moment knew she was going to have to continue to do her best at playing Happy Families.

  Rising, she slipped her hand through Walter’s arm and as they strolled towards their daughter, she said, ‘We should start entertaining again. Why don’t we have a house party next month? Say we invite a dozen friends from a Saturday morning until after lunch on Monday? We used to do that at home before Papa died and it was good fun.’

  ‘As long as it’s not too much for you I think it’s a great idea,’ Walter enthused.

  What’s too much for me is being cooped up in the house with you and the children, holding my breath and wondering when the next episode is going to be sprung on me when I’m least expecting it.

  Aloud, she said, ‘It won’t be too much for me at all. I enjoy entertaining.’

  ‘They used to be known as the Fairbairn girls, you know,’ Celia Brownlow chattily informed her husband Hugo as they were driven in their carriage to join a house party just outside Edinburgh given by Laura and Walter Leighton-Harvey. Keen on social climbing, Celia had nurtured this friendship for some time, taking advantage of when they met at the school attended by Laura’s stepson and Celia’s son.

  ‘You know she’s the daughter of an Earl, don’t you?’ she continued excitedly. ‘Now remember to address her as Lady Laura, not Lady Leighton-Harvey, because her husband hasn’t got a title.’

  Hugo nodded patiently. He didn’t have a title either and never having met this Lady Laura he hoped she was kinder to her husband’s lack of nobleness than Celia was to him. ‘The world is yours if you have a title’, Celia always said and it was obvious she deeply regretted her husband’s lack of being listed in the peerage. His fortune, self-made by manufacturing terracotta chimney pots, went some way to alleviating her desperation to ‘arrive’, but he knew it would never be enough.

  ‘Who else has she invited for the weekend?’ he asked, to humour h
er.

  Celia turned to stare at him, her large blue eyes registering shock.

  ‘You must never call it a “weekend”,’ she whispered, although the coach driver was unlikely to have overheard.

  ‘But it is a weekend? Saturday morning to Monday morning is certainly the end of the week in my world.’

  ‘I know, but it’s common to call it a weekend. Lady Laura specifically invited us to spend a couple of days with them at the end of the week. Those were her exact words in her letter.’

  ‘I wonder what her husband – the one without the title – calls it then,’ Hugo retorted sarcastically.

  ‘Now don’t be like that, Hugo,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t go letting me down. This could lead to lots of things. She might even invite us one day to stay at her ancestral home, Lochlee Castle.’

  He smiled, amused now that he could score a point. ‘I doubt that very much,’ he said smugly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It no longer belongs to the Fairbairn family.’

  ‘Come and meet the others,’ Laura said in welcome when they arrived. ‘We’re having drinks on the lawn before luncheon. Thank goodness it’s stopped raining.’ She led the way, an elegant figure in a long, dark red skirt and a cream high-necked lace blouse with long sleeves puffed to the elbow. Ropes of priceless pearls hung to her waist, and drop pearl earrings quivered when she moved. Celia, covertly admiring the rings on Laura’s fingers, noted her aristocratic hands and well-kept nails. The hands of someone who had never scrubbed floors, she told herself, resolving to keep her gloves on for as long as possible.

  ‘We have rather an invasion of family today but they’re not all staying because we don’t have enough rooms,’ Laura continued gaily. ‘This is my sister, Diana, and her husband, Lord Kelso, and this is another sister, Lizzie. That’s her husband over there, Sir Humphrey Garding. Have you met Mary and Theo, the Duke and Duchess of Melrose? Well, come along and meet them too. They’re mad about dogs. Do you have dogs? Here’s another sister of mine, Beattie and her husband, Andrew Drinkwater.’