by Helen Magee
He shook his head. ‘No thank you,’ he said, ‘I merely wished to meet you.’
‘But perhaps we could have a talk,’ I said. ‘We could get to know each other.’
His eyes seemed to be upon me and I shivered.
‘There is no point,’ he said. ‘You will not be here for long.’
Before I could answer the door was opened and a shadow fell across us. ‘It’s time for your supper, Master Alexander,’ said a voice.
‘Yes, Dorcas,’ the child said and walked obediently and unerringly towards the door. He turned on the threshold and spoke to me.
‘The schoolroom is on the floor above,’ he said, ‘I shall be there at ten o’clock tomorrow morning if that will be convenient.’
He closed the door behind him softly and I turned to the woman beside me. It must have shown in my face.
‘No one told you,’ she said.
‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry but it has come as something of a shock.’
‘Aye,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘It would do. They should have told you. Still you’re here now so you’ll just have to get used to it.’
She was a severe looking woman with hair that had been dark going grey now but her eyes were bright as she looked at me. ‘You think him strange?’ she said.
I hardly knew how to answer.
‘He seems remarkably composed for such a young child,’ I said, ‘and . . . and very able to get around . . . ’ my voice trailed off.
She nodded again.
‘You think he’s odd, I can see. Well judge not is what I say lest you yourself be judged.’ She looked at me almost fiercely. ‘And you need have no fear for him going about the place. He knows the house and grounds better than the rest of us put together. It’s not natural the way that laddie can get around, and him so afflicted. Ach well, you’ll find that out for yourself so I’ll say goodnight and I hope you’ll be comfortable while you’re here.’ And then she, too, was gone.
I sat down at once and looked out of the window. The river gleamed in the evening light and the scene was one of peace and beauty. I thought of my reception in this odd household and remarked under my breath that it hardly seemed worth while unpacking. I was clearly not expected to stay. When Araminta burst into the room and flung herself into the chair opposite I could have hugged her. She seemed almost normal now.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘there was a storm about it but you’re to dine as family so we’d better see what you’ve got that’s fit to wear.’
I could not help it, I burst out laughing at her audacity. I laughed till the tears spilled down my cheeks. Perhaps it was reaction.
‘Good gracious,’ she said regarding me suspiciously, ‘I do believe you’re as odd as the rest of us. Well, come on, what have you got? You certainly can’t come down in that. You look like a parlourmaid.’
She threw open my trunk and began to rummage in it, pulling out clothes and casting them about the room.
‘The Sutherlands are coming tonight so you really should wear something decent. They’re our nearest neighbours. There’s Douglas who’s very serious and quiet and Alison who looks serious and quiet but isn’t.’ She turned mischievous eyes on me. ‘She’s in love with Lachlan.’
I was shocked. Although I knew from Charles that she was only two years younger than me she seemed much more irresponsible.
‘Araminta,’ I said.
She looked at me critically, her head on one side and said,
‘Yes, I suppose you’d better call me Araminta. It would look pretty silly if you were to call me Miss Araminta this and Miss Araminta that across the dinner table.’
My expression must have shown my disapproval for she threw down a pile of underthings and put her hands on her hips. She looked exceedingly pretty.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t look so pious. After all it isn’t as if you’re even a real governess. We all know that was just a trick so that Charles could get you here.’
I made to protest but she was still rattling on.
‘And besides, it’s true. She’s been in love with him for years. At one time it was thought they’d marry. It would have been a good match with the estates adjoining each other but then Lachlan went abroad for a while and lo and behold he brought back a wife. It was terribly romantic’
She collapsed on a pile of clothes, and I groaned inwardly as I thought how crushed they would be.
‘It was in Venice,’ she said, her eyes dreamy. ‘Can you imagine it? So romantic. Gondolas and serenades and the waters of the lagoon glinting in the moonlight.’
I tried to imagine Lachlan Grant serenading his lady love from a gondola and failed completely. She looked at me sharply.
‘He wasn’t always like this, you know. When I was fourteen I was quite in love with him myself. But that was before the
tragedy.’
‘Tragedy?’ I said.
She nodded.
‘It happened last year. Vida’s sister was killed while she was on a visit to her family home in Italy. She used to be such a sweet person but she’s different now. Everything’s different now.’ Araminta jumped up. ‘This will do,’ she said, holding up my grey silk, ‘I’d better change or we’ll be late. Don’t take for ever. I’ll come and fetch you on my way down.’
She left my mind in as great a muddle as she left my room and by the time I had tidied up I did not have much time to dress. I loosened my hair and brushed it, pinning it more loosely on top of my head so that the waves framed and softened my face. I picked up the pale grey silk that I had not worn since the evening of my encounter with Charles. I shivered slightly as I put it on and told myself not to be foolish, then the thought of seeing Charles again brought the colour to my cheeks until I remembered the conversation I had overheard in the library. I would have to speak to him.
I must confess that I looked with interest at the dinner guests that night. Douglas Sutherland was a man in his early thirties, quiet with a kind face and brown eyes and hair. He greeted me with a deference that contrasted oddly with both the affectionate familiarity of Charles and the cool politeness of his brother. Alison Sutherland was a feminine version of her brother with smooth brown hair and gentle eyes. At first she seemed rather colourless, but as dinner progressed I noticed an undertone of red in that smooth brown hair that gave it a curious vibrancy and her eyes though brown were not the soft brown of her brother’s. They were like dark pools, looking almost black at times. She was not conventionally pretty but there was something about her that belied that first impression of ordinariness and I thought of Araminta’s words – she looks serious and quiet but isn’t. Her gown too, at first sight, looked almost dull until she moved in it and whether it was the cut of the gown or her own natural grace I could not tell., but I wondered how I could even for a moment have thought the rather dark blue watered silk dull. It occurred to me that she was a very sophisticated woman. She must have been six or seven years younger than her brother and whereas Araminta made me feel quite elderly, she made me feel like a child.
The conversation flowed easily after an initial gaffe by Araminta.
‘Here we are, then,’ she said as we sat down, ‘Lachlan, Alison, Charles, Felicia, Douglas and me. You balance up the numbers nicely, Felicia, though what we’ll do when Vida comes home I don’t know.’
The reactions of the rest were interesting. Lachlan Grant looked irritated, Charles amused, Douglas gently reproachful and Alison concerned. She turned to me.
‘You will get used to Araminta’s outspokenness in time, Miss Grainger.’
Her manner was almost proprietorial as she smiled at Lachlan, and I saw him relax slightly. Douglas leaned towards me and said, ‘She is our ‘enfant terrible’.’
Araminta flashed him a look. ‘Not such a child, Douglas; after all I’m nearly eighteen.’
He looked slightly discomfitted as her smile became mischievous and Charles interrupted.
‘Perhaps when you’re eighteen you’ll start behaving
like a young lady.’
She looked at him from beneath impossibly long lashes. ‘And who’s to teach me?’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps Felicia will.’ And he raised his glass to me.
I smiled back but his brother interrupted.
‘I am sure Miss Grainger will be fully occupied with Alexander,’ he said to Charles.
And to me, ‘Perhaps after dinner you would come to the library, Miss Grainger. I should like to discuss my son’s education with you.’
I inclined my head, conscious of the fact that for him at least I was not a guest at the table.
Over dinner I learned something of the history of the area which had in past centuries been turbulent and bloody.
‘I’ve never understood why the Grants were not knighted at least,’ said Charles. ‘After all a castle deserves something more than a plain Mister.’
‘But we Grants are Masters of Dryford,’ said Lachlan drily, ‘a curiously Scottish invention and besides the Grants were always too busy keeping the ravening hordes of Englishmen from our door to have time to dally at Court seeking favours.’
Charles turned to me.
‘Didn’t I tell you, Felicia? Pure Scot. It must make Dryford’s past Masters turn in their graves to see an Englishman living at the Keep.’
‘Come now, Charles,’ said his brother, ‘you are too sensitive and, besides, you have our mother’s Scottish blood in your veins.’
Their manner was light enough but there was an undercurrent of strain and Alison turned the conversation neatly.
‘You will not have had time yet to seel the Keep, Miss Grainger. It is the only part of the original buildings still standing.’
‘Indeed at one time it was the only building,’ said Lachlan. ‘I don’t know if you are familiar with these old Border Keeps, Miss Grainger?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m ashamed to confess that I know nothing of them at all, Mr Grant,’ I said.
‘Then we must set that to rights at once,’ he said, and went on to speak of the subject with such authority and knowledge that I found myself fascinated by it.
‘Strictly speaking it is not a keep at all, Miss Grainger,’ he began.
‘Oh Lachlan, don’t be pedantic,’ said Charles. ‘Felicia isn’t interested in the history of architecture. She wants to hear stories of Border raids and maidens being abducted by wild Scotsmen, don’t you, Felicia?’ And he laid his hand on mine.
‘Indeed I am interested in history,’ I protested, ‘and in architecture and I’ll warrant most of the stories you’d tell me would be grossly exaggerated.’
Araminta squeaked with delight and Charles subsided, his dignity momentarily offended as I turned eagerly to the man they called the Master of Dryford,
‘The Tower of London is a keep, isn’t it, one of the earliest?’ He looked at me with approval and no little surprise. ‘Yes indeed,’ he said, ‘but that was built long before our modest Dryford.’ ‘And what is Dryford if not a keep?’ I said, leaning forward.
‘It’s what is known in Scotland as a Tower House,’ he continued. ‘Some say they were modelled on the Norman keeps that were introduced to England in the Middle Ages, some that they are related to the much earlier brochs or circular stone towers of Scotland. I think ours is rather closer to the latter.’
The Scottish burr was more pronounced now and I found it oddly attractive.
‘They were built, as Charles so romantically puts it, at the time of the Border raids in the sixteenth century as both defence against attack and living quarters. If you imagine a house built one room on top of the other you will have some idea of the architecture of the Tower House.’
‘And did they pour boiling oil down on the enemy as Charles says?’ asked Araminta, her eyes shining. ‘And bring the pigs and cows into the Lord’s Hall when the reivers reived or whatever it is reivers do?’
Her guardian looked at her in mild exasperation.
‘My dear Araminta . . . ’
‘Oh don’t call me your dear Araminta like that. You make me feel about a hundred years old.’
‘Araminta,’ he began again patiently, ‘the main purpose of the Tower House was, as its name suggests, as a house for living in, not a fortification. It strength lay in the fact that, occupying so little ground and being built several stories high with enormously thick walls, it was almost impregnable. And as for bringing the animals into the Laird’s Hall, I doubt if the Laird would have been very pleased. The animals would be brought into the enclosure in which the tower stood, or if necessary into the cellar apartment.’
Araminta looked disappointed. ‘I think I prefer Charles’s version,’ she said. ‘Was there nothing romantic about them?’
Lachlan Grant laughed.
‘They were reasonably comfortable, defensible and cheap to build – a combination irresistible to any self-respecting Scot.’
‘Oh Lachlan, you are so dreary at times. There must be some story attached to the Keep, it’s so ancient.’
He appeared to consider this, then said slowly,
‘There was one but I’m afraid it would frighten you too much.’
‘Oh, tell me, tell me, please!’ she wheedled. ‘I promise I won’t be frightened.’
‘It was many years ago,’ he began, ‘at the time of the Border raids when the Tower was first being built. They say the first Master had a beautiful young wife with whom he was madly in love. He was a very proud man and very jealous and he kept her in his tower, only letting her out as the sun went down to gather the sweet herbs she used for her remedies. She was a wonderful herbalist and some say she had made a love potion to ensnare him, so wildly was he in love with her. It was whilst she was gathering her herbs one evening that she was seen by a young nobleman from the other side of the border. He had been out hunting and had followed his prey farther than was wise. When he saw her he was overcome by her beauty and stretching out his arm he lifted her onto the saddle of his horse and bore her away to England.’
Araminta was hardly breathing, her eyes wide with wonder.
‘What did her husband do?’ she asked.
‘He got her back, of course,’ said Lachlan Grant. ‘After all he was Master of Dryford. He and his men rode across the border and stormed the castle and brought her back to Dryford.’ His voice dropped. ‘But it was too late. The Tower was just being completed. It’s said that she’s there still, walled up in the topmost room.’
Tears stood in Araminta’s blue eyes and she said, ‘But who was she and why was it too late?’
There was silence in the room and his voice was low.
‘At first they did not know what had happened to her, then a shepherd boy came to the Master of Dryford and told him of the young nobleman and the beautiful woman he had seen riding together across the border, but by that time she had been in England too long. Her name was Araminta and she talked too much.’
Araminta stared at him open-mouthed for a moment and then,
‘Oh you beast, Lachlan,’ she cried, ‘you unutterable beast.’
The whole table dissolved into laughter and Alison chided him for baiting Araminta.
‘She deserved it,’ said Lachlan Grant good-humouredly. ‘Romance she wanted and romance she got.’
We took coffee in the drawing room after dinner and I relaxed a little and looked around me. I had found the dining room rather impressive and slightly awe inspiring with its massive oak table and the silver epergne that dominated it, reflecting light from chandeliers. The drawing room, the ‘small drawing room’ as I later learned to call it, was built and furnished for comfort rather than ceremony, and I leaned back in my deep-buttoned armchair as Charles lit a cigar and propped himself up against the mantelpiece, one foot on the brass fender.
‘What shall it be then, charades?’
‘Oh Charles, how babyish,’ said Araminta. ‘I have a much better idea.’ And she rushed from the room in a flurry of cream silk flounces.
Alison laughed. ‘When will she ever grow up?’
she said, looking at Charles.
‘Probably never,’ replied Charles with a tolerant smile.
‘What she needs is a husband,’ said his brother from the depths of his armchair.
‘Surely not,’ broke in Douglas. ‘She’s too young yet.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lachlan Grant. ‘She’s flighty. The sooner she settles down the better, as far as I’m concerned. It’ll be no joke being Araminta’s guardian once she comes out. She’s the type that needs to marry young, someone dependable who’ll take her in hand.’
Alison protested, ‘Now really, Lachlan, can you see Araminta allowing anyone to ‘take her in hand’ as you put it? And besides, Douglas is right; she’s too young yet.’
‘Now, now, Alison,’ said Charles, ‘don’t argue with Lachlan. After all he should know what he’s talking about. He married young enough,’ and he cast a look at his brother.
The lines around Lachlan Grant’s mouth tightened and I thought Charles had goaded him but he merely flicked the ash casually from his cigar into the fire as he rose from his chair saying to me,
‘I have some work to do, Miss Grainger. I’ll let you know when I am ready to discuss my son.’
At that moment Araminta hurtled through the door carrying a large book and various pieces of paper and pens. She stopped, crestfallen, as she saw that her guardian was leaving.
‘You’re not going are you, Lachlan? I wanted you to join in.’
He looked at the book in her hand.
‘Why Araminta, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in possession of a book before. What’s this? Making up for all those misspent schooldays?’
She tossed her head at him and flounced into the room.
‘Beast,’ she said without rancour, ‘don’t join in then. Honestly, you get stuffier by the day. Now,’ she said to the rest of us, ‘I’m going to write all your names down on one piece of paper and their meanings on another and the game is to guess which name goes with which meaning.’
Her expression was so eager that everyone smiled and agreed and she sat down on the floor in a most unladylike fashion and began to look up names in her book and laboriously copy out the meanings.