by Helen Magee
His hand came up and touched my hair, playing with a stray tendril and I felt my head swim. Then his words sank in and I drew back.
‘And that is exactly why I have come to see you,’ I said. ‘Why did you bring me here under false pretences? You forged
that letter from your brother, didn’t you?’
He spread his hands in mock horror.
‘Forged?’ he repeated. ‘Hardly that. It was harmless enough and I knew that Lachlan would see you for the paragon you are just as soon as you walked into the house. And besides, without that letter you would not have come.’
‘You could have written to him,’ I said. ‘You could have asked him to interview me.’
He shrugged.
‘Lachlan does not trust my judgement,’ he said. ‘He would merely have informed me that he would find someone himself, some horrid old harridan smelling of mothballs and with a permanent cold in the head and a moustache. Not my beautiful Felicia.’
I laughed in spite of myself at the vision he had conjured up, then I remembered the other reason I had wanted to see him.
‘Why did you not tell me about Alexander?’ I said.
‘What about Alexander?’
‘Oh, Charles, don’t be obtuse. Why didn’t you tell me the child was blind?’
He looked at me quite seriously and said, ‘You might not have come.’
I felt myself flushing, torn between pleasure at his desire to see me here and anger at his fecklessness. Into my mind came the picture of myself on the very edge of despair and the strong arms that had pulled me back to life. He hadn’t been feckless then.
‘Charles, you really are the most irritating man,’ I said.
He whooped with delight.
‘You’re not angry. Dear, adorable, Felicia.’ And he grasped me round the waist and started to waltz me round the room. It was at that moment that Lachlan Grant walked in.
His look was cold as he surveyed us from the doorway and my face flamed as I tried to pin up the hair that had been loosed from its pins as we whirled around the room.
‘My son is waiting in the rose garden,’ he said.
That was all, but in his look was not only cold reproof – for a moment I thought I saw disappointment.
‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, ‘I had no idea it was so late.’
The estate business must have taken much longer than I thought.
‘Felicia was helping me with the papers,’ said Charles, and I realised his arm was still round me. I moved towards the door as Lachlan, raising an eyebrow, said,
‘Indeed?’ in a tone that clearly betrayed disbelief, and moved aside to let me pass.
I hurried to the rose garden and though thereafter I regularly helped Charles with his papers, I always made sure I was on time for my duties.
Throughout those first weeks Alexander proved an interesting companion. He showed me the house whose history he knew in detail and I found the subject utterly absorbing; and if it sounds strange to say that a blind child ‘showed’ me the house, then I quickly found it perfectly normal. There were times, increasing as the weeks went on, when I truly forgot his blindness but I could make no progress in my attempts at friendship. He remained as he had been at the start – unfailingly polite, diligent and distant. Of his father I saw very little, though he made a habit of calling me to the library once a week to discuss Alexander’s progress. At first I dreaded these occasions but gradually I began to enjoy them. He was an interesting man, wellread and with a dry sense of humour that I found confusing when it was directed at me as it sometimes was. When he relaxed he could be a most entertaining companion but there was always an undercurrent of tension about him even in his lightest moments. Charles was far easier to be with. We would go for rides together though he had to teach me to ride first, which he did very well. He loved horses as did Araminta. She would often join us and we ranged far and wide across the countryside, sometimes calling in on the Sutherlands at Greenholm Manor. I learned to love the Border country on these excursions and Alexander’s stories lived for me as we rode the sites of past battles.
Araminta was a source of constant amazement to me. I began to admire her as a creature of absolute perfection in one respect – her self-interest. I had never met anyone who could so completely alter factual circumstances to suit her view of the world. In those days however it was Dorcas who troubled me most. She guarded Alexander with a fierce kind of pride that could be touching, if a little frightening. I was careful never to assume responsibility in her province. I asked her about the accident but she was not forthcoming. She pursed up her lips in an expression that I was beginning to recognise and said,
‘ ’Tis best forgotten. No good will come of dredging that up, and besides I thought the Master had spoken to ye of it?’
‘He has,’ I said, ‘but you are his nurse and I thought you could tell me more about how it has affected him.’ Her look was discouraging as I finished lamely, ‘He seems such a reserved child.’
‘Better that than the other way,’ she said. ‘I’ve nursed two tyrants in this house and that’s enough for any family.’
I was surprised. ‘You mean . . . ?’
She nodded, and I thought I saw a glint of pride in her eye as she said,
‘Aye, ye wouldna think it now, would ye, but those two were the very devil. The one so fair and angelic looking but with a wayward streak in him that got him into many a scrape, and the other as dark as the devil himself and with a temper to match. It’s a wonder murder was never done in this house when they were young. Aye, the laddie’s better off as he is.’
And with that I had to be satisfied, though I found it hard to imagine the cool Lachlan Grant letting his temper get the better of him.
The house I continued to find fascinating. The oldest part was the Keep and Alexander was full of stories of its stormy past when the Border Reivers had fought over land that was now Scotland, now England. The rest of the house was something of a jumble, having been added to down the years in the various styles of the period, but it was to the Keep that Alexander and I kept returning. Though he would not go in when I asked to see where the animals had been kept and where the people had lived.
‘It’s unsafe after the spring floods,’ he said, but I had the distinct impression that it was not that which kept him out of the Keep. I did not press the point for I was gaining his confidence slowly and that was too precious to me to risk losing. I had also begun to wonder about Vida. There was as yet no word of her homecoming and I found myself trying to imagine what she was like. Alexander never spoke of her. I had tried asking Charles and Araminta but their replies were unhelpful.
‘To tell the truth,’ said Charles with that engaging lop-sided grin of his, ‘I wasn’t here very much after Lachlan was married, or before come to that,’ he continued, rubbing his chin, and I thought of the animosity between the brothers that Dorcas had described. ‘Anyway, I came up for the wedding and she was certainly a stunner. Lachlan was mad about her.’ He paused and looked thoughtful. ‘Last time I was here things had changed a lot. I never knew Vida very well and she was certainly as striking as ever but Lachlan – well, I suppose that’s what marriage does to people.’
I ignored his teasing look. ‘You mean he wasn’t in love with her any longer?’
He looked at me casually.
‘You could say that,’ he said, ‘but why are we talking about boring old Lachlan, Felicia my lovely when there are so many more interesting things to talk about?’
‘Like what?’ I said.
‘Like you and me.’ And I laughed and the conversation resumed its normal bantering tone, but not before I said,
‘Charles, was that after the accident, the last time you saw her?’
‘Mmm,’ he said, tucking back a strand of my ever-unruly hair. ‘What is it about you, Felicia? Is it the hair that won’t stay in its pins or the eyes that look so enquiringly on the world – or is it the governess in you that I find so absorbing?’
I had become used to his flirting and answered him in the same vein. I sometimes wondered if I were becoming too fond of Charles for my own good. He was charming and amusing but I never could tell when he was being serious.
I tackled Araminta on the subject of Vida as she sat in my room one day decrying my clothes.
‘Felicia, you really must do something about your wardrobe,’ she said, carelessly tossing one of my better day gowns on the bed. It slid to the floor and lay there, a crumpled heap of grey-blue muslin.
‘Araminta, I’m a governess,’ I replied, picking it up and trying to smooth out the creases, ‘and governesses do not have ‘wardrobes’; they have clothes.’
She pouted.
‘Oh, don’t be so dull. You’re not a real governess.’
This was Araminta’s constant cry, and indeed I was not treated as a governess in the house except by its Master, who behaved at all times with punctilious regard for my station. I had mixed feelings about that for while I appreciated the friendship of Charles and the camaraderie that Araminta showed towards me, the sort I thought wryly that she would display towards a plainer older sister, I nevertheless was beginning to take a pride in my work as governess to Alexander and both Charles and Araminta were too liable to forget that I had duties and expect me to be as free as they to go off on jaunts whenever it suited them. So I ignored her statement that I was not a ‘real governess’.
‘My clothes are perfectly adequate for my needs,’ I said, then, as she turned her pretty face up to me and grimaced as if in pain, I too laughed for it had sounded too prim.
‘You’ll have to have something new for my eighteenth birthday ball,’ she said. ‘I’m not having you come in that boring old grey silk that you wear to dinner nearly every evening. Gosh, it’s dull, Felicia. I’d almost rather you wore one of your parlourmaid’s dresses than that.’
I had to agree with her though it was not the gown that was dull but me wearing it. I still could not put it on without thinking of that awful night in the Larkins’ gaming room and I knew that, whereas before then it had suited me and the colour had reflected rainbows in my eyes, now when I wore it it was as if the gown itself drained me of colour and life. Still, it was the only one I had that was remotely suitable for the Dryford dinner table and there was nothing I could do about it.
‘It will have to do, Araminta,’ I said severely and was a little surprised to find that I had ssumed that I would be a guest. I wondered briefly if Lachlan Grant would object but I thought not. He probably would not notice.
‘It won’t,’ said Araminta, her colour mounting, ‘I’ll find something for you. I’d force you to get something yourself if I thought you wouldn’t appear in . . . in black bombazine,’ she finished.
I laughed. She really was still very much a child.
‘We’ll see,’ I said and a thought struck me. ‘Araminta, will Mrs Grant be home for the ball?’
‘Vida?’ she said in a puzzled voice. ‘I don’t know, I hadn’t thought. I’ll ask Lachlan, or no, on second thoughts I don’t think I will.’
She looked suddenly serious and it was so unusual for her that I said, ‘Why not?’
‘Oh, I don’t think he likes her very much,’ she said, offhand again.
‘But I thought you said it was a wild romance . . . Venice and the gondolas and the moonlight?’
She crumpled my best shawl between her fingers and watched it expand again as she opened her hand.
‘That was before,’ she said darkly.
‘Before the accident?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She cast the shawl aside. ‘I was at school until last year,’ she went on, ‘so I hardly knew Vida, but I do know Lachlan and he’s changed.’
Her small face was pugnacious. She sprang to her feet.
‘Anyway married people always get like that after a while,’ she said authoritatively, unconsciously echoing Charles. ‘I’m going for a ride. Will you come?’
I shook my head. ‘Alexander and I have work to do this afternoon,’ I said.
She snorted and I reproved her.
‘If you’re not careful you really will turn into a governess,’ she said, as she swept through the door. ‘I shall go and find Charles. He’s always fun.’
Yes, he is I thought to myself after she had gone. Then I began to wonder. Was it Vida who had changed or Lachlan and what was she like? I gave myself a shake. I was becoming obsessed with this unknown woman, but the afternoon’s events did nothing to dampen that obsession.
Alexander and I went for our usual afternoon walk, and as often happened our path took us towards the Keep. I enjoyed these walks with Alexander. He was so diligent in the schoolroom that it was difficult to get him to chatter; but out in the open he relaxed, became more of a child though still somewhat distant. I often thought he worked so hard to make up for his disability, though I knew that he was already farther advanced in his studies than most children his age. I suspected too that he wanted to impress his father whose visits to the schoolroom, though more frequent of late, were still something of an occasion and Alexander loved to show him how well he was progressing. His father on his last visit had seemed particularly pleased and after a word with his son drew me aside. He looked at the boy’s dark head bent in concentration as his fingers moved deftly over the thick embossed page,
‘I have much to thank you for, Miss Grainger,’ he said.
I was surprised. ‘He is a remarkably intelligent boy,’ I replied, ‘and teaching him is a pleasure. Indeed on many occasions he has taught me.’
His eyes rested on me and I felt a tightening in my throat. This would be how Alexander’s eyes would look if he could see.
‘I was not referring to his scholastic progress,’ Lachlan said gently. ‘I do not think you realise how much happier Alexander has been since you came.’
I was touched and curiously proud. ‘I would be more pleased than I could say if I thought that were true,’ I said.
He smiled then, and the smile was so like Alexander’s that I felt my breath catch and once again thought that the warmth that was in his eyes should but for that terrible accident have been in his son’s. He took my hand in his and I felt the warm dry pressure of his fingers as he said,
‘It is true. Miss Grainger, believe me, and please accept my apologies if I have been a little hard on you. Charles showed more good sense than I gave him credit for in bringing you here, even if the circumstances were a little unusual.’
I felt the colour mount in my cheeks and I released my hand from his. I would not tell him that I too had been misled. It would be disloyal to Charles.
‘You are fond of my brother, I think,’ he said. His eyes were fixed on me and I flushed even more.
‘He was very kind to me. He . . . he did me a great service.’
One eyebrow rose in surprise and I realised that he had no knowledge of my first meeting with Charles.
‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘then you have amply repaid that debt to our family. One thing only, Miss Grainger. You are young. Do not confuse gratitude with love.’
He said a final word to Alexander and was gone before I could reply, if indeed could have found the words. My cheeks were hot with shame. He had quite politely but definitely put me in my place as a servant to his family and the warmth for him, the first that I had felt since coming to Keep Dryford, was gone as quickly as it had come.
As I walked towards the Keep with Alexander that sunny afternoon I felt again the sense of outrage that had enveloped me at his interference. He had virtually warned me off. Was I then just another of that line of governesses whom Araminta had described and, more important, was I in love with Charles?
* * *
So immersed was I in my recollections that I did not at first hear Alexander’s voice.
‘Listen,’ he was saying. ‘Do you hear it?’
‘What?’ I said.
We had come almost to the Keep and were standing on the low bridge that led into it. The Keep was c
loser to the river than the rest of the house and some Grant in the last century had had a channel dug so that water flowed from the river and around the tower like a moat before flowing back through an underground culvert to the river. It was a pretty idea but impractical, for the culvert kept choking and having to be cleared, something that I knew annoyed old Redpath who had to do it each time there was a heavy fall of rain.
I strained my ears, listening, expecting to hear an unusual bird song. Alexander loved all animals except horses and could identify birds by their call.
‘I can hear nothing unusual,’ I said, ‘only birdsong.’ He tutted impatiently and I looked at him in surprise. He was usually so calm.
‘You must hear it, you must! It sounds as if it’s in pain.’
I listened again but still I could hear nothing. His hearing was so much better than mine. Then all of a sudden he had darted away from me towards the door of the Keep. As he reached it his face became pale and I saw him shiver though the afternoon was warm and sunny.
‘Alexander,’ I said in concern as I reached him. He was standing in front of the heavy wooden door, his face white and set.
‘It’s in there,’ he said, ‘and I can’t . . . I can’t . . . ’ He began to tremble violently and I put my arms round him.
‘Alexander, what’s in there? Why are you afraid?’
He turned his face to me and I searched for enlightenment in those clear blank eyes,
‘You must come with me,’ he said and he clutched the sleeve of my gown and then my hand. ‘Please.’
I knelt beside him. I had never seen him afraid before.
‘I’ll come,’ I said, ‘don’t be afraid.’
I tugged at the heavy wooden door and it opened onto a low hall. There were steps leading up and a door at the far end. He went immediately to this door, clutching my hand still, and it was then that I began to hear the tiniest of sounds. I opened the door then drew back in alarm, clutching Alexander to me. But he must have remembered from previous visits for his foot was already searching for the first step. The sound was louder now, a pitiful whining and scraping and in his eagerness he let go of my hand and plunged down the stairway towards it. It was pitch black in the cellar and I called out to him to be careful before I remembered that darkness meant nothing to him. It was some moments before I reached him and my eyes began to grow accustomed to the dark. I heard rustlings and whimpering and then an excited bark.