by Helen Magee
‘Leave the Larkins?’ I said.
‘For a new life,’ he answered. His gaze was very steady. I was confused.
‘I shall need time to think about it,’ I said.
‘Of course, but not too much time, Felicia. If you do decide to come it would be better if you travelled with me.’
‘When do you leave?’ I asked.
He looked a little rueful. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘or at the latest the day after. I really should have been home some days ago.’
I was immediately contrite. ‘And you stayed just to come and see me?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, London has many pleasures,’ he said. ‘Don’t go thinking you’re its only attraction.’
I laughed, feeling easier, then I thought of the risk to the Larkins’ security if I stayed with them. My stepfather would not let them rest as long as I was here. All at once my mind was made up.
‘I’ll come,’ I said.
The Larkins, though sorry to see me go, were pleased at the way things had turned out.
‘It’s more fitting for a young lady than what you’re doing here, Miss Felicia,’ said Mrs Larkin.
‘You’ll be all right there,’ said Mr Larkin. ‘I have a letter from Mr Allingham’s brother, and he seems a proper gentleman.’
‘Oh, Mr Larkin,’ I said, ‘did you ask for a testimonial?’
‘Indeed I did, my dear, as is only right and proper.’
He showed me the letter and it was indeed extremely proper. It referred to me throughout as ‘the young person’ and made it quite clear that as he had not met me the position would be reviewed after a month to the ‘satisfaction of both parties’.
‘Good gracious,’ I said, ‘he sounds quite fierce.’
‘He’s quite right, my dear,’ said Mrs Larkin, ‘he has a child’s welfare to consider and that’s no light matter.’
I felt suitably chastened, then my attention was caught by the sprawling signature. I could not make it out but one thing was certain. It was not Allingham. I remembered Charles’s reference to his being the ‘English brother’ and I determined to ask him about it.
I got the opportunity next day on the long train journey north.
‘Why is your brother’s name different to yours?’ Charles smiled.
‘He’s actually my half-brother. Same mother, different fathers. He’s a few years older than me.’
‘Is that why you call yourself the English brother?’
‘Yes, my mother was a Scot but my father was English. Lachlan on the other hand is pure Scot.’
‘Lachlan,’ I repeated. ‘That’s a strange name.’
‘Och aye, lassie, it’s no’ sae strange whaur you’re gaun,’ he said in a travesty of a Scots accent and I laughed.
‘Tell me about him,’ I said, ‘this Lachlan,’ and the word sounded strange on my lips, ‘and about Keep Dryford. That doesn’t sound
so terribly Scottish.’
Charles leaned back and began to speak.
‘It is in Scotland but only just. The land round about was fought over for centuries by those Border Reivers you seem to find so romantic, though I don’t think it could have been as romantic as you think. Dryford was razed to the ground several times in the course of history and had to be rebuilt. The present house is only about two hundred years old. It’s built inside a loop of the River Tweed, for defence I suppose, hence the name. Before the estate bridges were built there was only one access to it. The Grants have lived there for generations. It came to Lachlan through my mother’s family. As heir he took the family name for his own.’
‘So his father’s name was different again?’
Charles smiled.
‘Confusing, isn’t it? But mother was the last of the Grants and she held the estate in trust for the elder son.’
‘And didn’t your father mind, his son not taking his name?’
‘Not my father, Lachlan’s,’ Charles corrected me. ‘My father was an Allingham from Sussex. I didn’t know Lachlan’s father, of course; he died when Lachlan was very young so I don’t know if he minded or not, but Keep Dryford could never belong to
anyone other than a Grant.’
‘So you . . . ’
‘Will never be Master of Keep Dryford,’ he finished for me. ‘No the next Master will be Alexander, Lachlan’s son. I am merely the poor half-brother.’
I was on the point of laughing at his dramatic view of himself when I noticed the tightness about his mouth.
‘Does it hurt?’ I asked gently.
He smiled and the tightness was gone.
‘The plight of the younger brother is rather too common to be of much interest, Felicia. Let’s just say it irritates me sometimes.’
‘What was he like, your father?’ I said.
‘As unlike Lachlan’s I gather as it was possible to be and, I suspect, a great deal more fun.’
‘And your mother, she was happy with both?’
He considered this.
‘I think my mother was rather like one of those strange creatures you see at the Zoological Gardens. A chameleon, it’s called. It changes the colour of its skin depending on its background. I’ve no reason to believe she was not happy with both.’
The tightness about his mouth was returning so I did not pursue the point.
‘Your brother, what’s he like?’
He laughed. ‘Like our fathers, he is as unlike me as it is possible to be. Very worthy.’
I laughed too. ‘Then I shall not like him at all.’
He looked serious then, and took my hand.
‘Oh, but you must, Felicia, for if you did not then you might go away, and I should be heartbroken.’
I felt my heart give a little leap then I noticed the twinkle at the back of his eyes and scolded him.
‘Can you never be serious?’
‘Never,’ he said.
I asked him about his brother’s wife but he was strangely evasive.
‘It’s an odd situation,’ he said, ‘and not a very happy one. She was much upset by the death of her sister last year and has been only recently back to their family home in Italy where the accident happened. I’m not quite sure when she is expected at Dryford.’
‘She is Italian then?’ I said in surprise.
He nodded. ‘Yes, we were all somewhat surprised at Lachlan’s choice.’ He looked out of the window at the passing countryside and I barely heard his words as he said, ‘I wonder if he is regretting it now,’ then he turned to me smiling and said,
‘Now who else can I tell you about? Oh, yes, Alexander, the child. He’s eight now and an exact replica of his father. Very serious.’ He pulled a face at me and I laughed.
‘Then he should not be troublesome.’
‘I shouldn’t count on that, Felicia, he’s rather an odd child in some ways but you must judge for yourself.’ He went on, ‘And then of course there’s Araminta.’
‘Araminta?’ I repeated.
Charles was looking out of the window again at the rolling hills.
‘A sort of cousin of Lachlan’s. She’s not yet eighteen and he’s her guardian. She’s an orphan as well as an heiress so you see he does have a highly-developed sense of duty,’ and he gave a little laugh. ‘You will find that my dear half-brother is something of a paragon, Felicia.’
‘He sounds extremely dull,’ I said.
He gave me a quick look and smiled.
‘Oh, Felicia, I shall so enjoy you being at Dryford.’
I felt my cheeks flush with pleasure at his words and encouraged him to speak further of what I should find there, and I heard of the old nurse Dorcas who had been with the family since Lachlan was a baby; of a brother and sister called Sutherland who were living not far from Keep Dryford; of old Redpath – man of all work and the source of much folklore. When he had finished
detailing the household I said,
‘Quite a large house then?’
‘I’m sure you’ll find us very provincial after London,’ he teased.
&
nbsp; I looked at him closely.
‘Do you like living at Dryford, Charles?’ I asked.
For a moment I thought he would not answer, then he said, ‘My dear, I have no choice.’ And there was a bitter twist to his mouth.
He seemed disinclined for conversation after that so I turned my attention to the scenery flying past outside. The neat fields of the South had long since given way to rolling hills and then to what seemed to me mountains. I had never seen such country. Even the air seemed sharper, clearer somehow and with an edge to it though we were in high summer. After the stuffiness of London I found it invigorating. And so I sat at the window and wondered what was in front of me and thought of all that had gone before and the events that had led me to Keep Dryford.
2
There was a carriage at the station to meet us. It was driven by an old man with a weatherbeaten face and startlingly blue eyes.
‘Good-day, Mr Charles,’ he said, ‘and I hope ye’ve had a good journey.’
Then to me, ‘Good-day, Miss, and welcome to Dryford.’
His voice had a strong Scottish accent that sounded strange in my ears but his eyes were kindly and I felt reassured by his welcome.
It was not a long drive and the sun was low in the sky as we drove in through the gates of Keep Dryford. There was a bank of trees to the right which obscured the house but when we had rounded them I caught my breath. There is stood as it had done for at least two centuries, its lawns smooth and green, sloping down to the broad expanse of shining water which was the River Tweed. The house itself stood, as Charles had said, in a wide loop of the river, almost an island, its only approach by land being the way we had come. I could see several low stone bridges spanning the water at various points.
My eye took in its towers and battlements, its turrets and windows cut deeply into the stone. Only the height and width of those windows reminded me that it was not as old as it first appeared.
‘You did not tell me it was a castle,’ I said accusingly.
‘Only a small one,’ said Charles modestly, ‘but fit for a small princess.’
His eyes were bright with laughter.
I was nervous as Charles handed me down from the carriage. I looked at the imposing archway which surmounted a flight of worn stone steps and drew a deep breath as I started up them. The great oak door was thrown open as I was halfway up and a figure stood for a moment in the doorway before it flung itself in a whirl of bright beauty down the steps and into Charles’s arms.
‘Oh, Charles, it’s so good to have you home again. Things are so dull here when you’re away.’
I stood transfixed for a moment taking in the spun gold hair cascading from its restraining pins, the swirl of the pretty pink muslin gown and the sea-blue eyes that looked up at him accusingly over a petulant mouth. Charles held her away from him, laughing.
‘And this, Felicia, is my dear cousin Araminta.’
I made to stretch out my hand in greeting. I had never felt so dowdy as I did then in my brown merino travelling dress, my hair pushed firmly back under my bonnet. A deep, slightly cold voice interrupted,
‘Araminta, you really should not throw yourself at Charles that way. You will give our new governess a totally unsuitable impression of our manners here.’
I felt my cheeks flush at the word. I suppose I had known from the beginning that I was to be governess to the child but Charles had never referred to it as such. It had been as if I were coming as his friend rather than as his brother’s employee. I felt myself withdraw slightly as I turned to the speaker.
‘I assure you, sir, I do not make up my mind hastily about such matters.’
He was tall and broad and his hair was as dark as his brother’s was fair. From my position halfway down the steps he had an air of command that was not lightened by his expression. He came down the steps towards me.
‘Miss Grainger, I am pleased to make your acquaintance and delighted that you have such a sensible approach to life.’
He flicked a glance at the other two. ‘Araminta, perhaps you will be so good as to show Miss Grainger to her rooms.’
‘Oh, Lachlan,’ she said, her blue eyes clouding, ‘can’t Dorcas do that? Charles has only just arrived and I did so want to ask him about London.’
His voice was cool but firm.
‘I too want to ask him about London,’ he said, ‘and I rather think my questions will be more pertinent than yours. Now run along.’ He turned to Charles. ‘The library, I think.’
Charles shot me a look as he passed to follow his brother inside. It was so comical I giggled. Araminta looked at me critically.
‘Well, I suppose you’ll have to do. You tell me about London.’
I looked at her in surprise but she seemed totally unaware of her rudeness and her eyes began to sparkle as she plied me with questions about the latest fashions, the theatres, the shops. I’m afraid I could tell her very little about these things and she stamped her foot in vexation.
‘Oh, Lachlan is such a bore.’ Then, ‘Never mind, I shall have Charles all to myself soon and he always has lots to tell me. He goes to the most exciting places.’
By this time we had arrived on the second floor and she threw open a door on our right.
‘This is yours,’ she said waving an arm around. ‘You’ll be quite comfortable while you’re here, though I don’t suppose that’ll be for long.’
I looked at her in amazement. She really was an outspoken person.
‘What makes you say that?’ I said, curious.
She was in the act of closing the door on her way out.
‘They never do,’ she said. ‘It depends what type they are. Either they fall in love with Charles or they fall in love with Lachlan and then, of course, they have to go.’
She looked at me closely, her beautiful blue eyes narrowing like a kitten’s.
‘I wonder which type you are,’ she said. Then she turned on her heel and was gone. As she went the words came floating back through the half-open door.
‘And, besides, Alexander isn’t exactly a nursemaid’s dream. He’s an odd little thing.’
I sat down on a chair, torn between irritation and amusement. First a governess and now a nursemaid. And what on earth did ‘odd’ mean? Charles too had referred to the child as odd. I took off my bonnet and looked round. I was in a spacious sitting room, its windows looking over the lawns to the river, and in the distance the hills rose blue and misty to the sky. There was a bedroom adjoining the sitting room and hot water and towels had been laid out by some thoughtful person.
I felt better after I had washed and changed out of my heavy travelling dress and into a lighter one. I chose a pale mauve muslin with a demure white collar in recognition of my status. I brushed my hair and secured it firmly, hoping that I looked every inch the governess, then I went in search of my employer.
If I had thought I would have difficulty finding the library then I was I mistaken. There was no one in the hall and through the slightly-open door the words came clearly.
‘She’ll make a wonderful governess.’ This was Charles, defensive. Then came his brother’s voice, low but penetrating.
‘And did it not occur to you that I should have the privilege of choosing for myself my son’s governess?’
‘You could have refused.’
‘My dear Charles, I was presented with a fait accompli, and how you persuaded her guardians to let her come with you, a stranger . . . ’
‘She has no guardians. She is alone in the world.’
There was a small silence. Then,
‘I see,’ he said, and at the tone I felt my face flame.
Charles was speaking again. ‘You’ll see for yourself at dinner. She’s a wonderful girl.’
‘Governesses do not usually dine with the family, Charles.’
‘This governess is different, Lachlan. She’s from a good family, she’s not used to being treated like a servant.’
I thought of my years in my stepfather’s
house and my heart went out in gratitude to Charles for his defence, but he was speaking still.
‘You cannot expect her to dine in her room with a tray.’ His voice was contemptuous.
‘I shall not comment on her ‘difference’ to other women, Charles, or on the fact that being a ‘wonderful girl’ is perhaps not the best recommendation for a governess. I think you know my attitude towards your susceptibilities, but surely if she is so unused to being treated as a servant she ought not to have become a governess.’
Charles started to speak again but Lachlan seemed to have grown tired of the conversation.
‘Oh, have it your own way,’ he said curtly. ‘There are other more important things to discuss.’
I fled back the way I had come, my cheeks still burning and the thought in my head – what did he mean by a fait accompli? He had written expressing his agreement with the arrangement, then a suspicion flashed across my mind. I remembered Charles’s words.
‘Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll write to him.’ And when the letter had come, ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be fine?’
Oh no, I thought, he can’t have. But by then I had reached my own room and there was a sound of movement.
The child was standing by the window, his hand fingering the heavy curtain, and as he turned I felt the breath catch at the emptiness of the blue-grey eyes. His hair was as dark as his father’s but his face was pale and set and it was void of all expression.
‘You must be Alexander?’ I said.
‘You are the new governess,’ he said and his voice, too, was curiously flat.
I smiled but there was no answering smile in his eyes and his face remained grave. I had the feeling that I must be very careful to make no sudden movement. It was as if I had come across some frightened animal in a forest though no fear showed itself in those eyes, only a great emptiness. I held out my hand but he made no move to put his out though he was standing facing me. It was only then that I realised with a shock that the child was blind.
‘How do you do,’ he was saying gravely.
‘Would you care to sit down?’ I said and wondered at myself. I was treating an eight-year-old child like an adult and all the time trying to come to terms with the fact of his blindness.