by Anne Hampson
The following day they attended church as usual, Andrew and Robbie in their kilts and Shena in a bright green coat with matching leggings and hat, the collar of the coat being trimmed with white fur, as was the hat which fitted snugly to her face. Gail wore an expensive tweed suit and contrasting accessories. They would have made an impressive family even had Andrew not been the wealthy and respected Laird, and these his wife and children. People nodded and smiled as they went in, and again when they came out. They stood around for a while, Andrew listening to one or two problems and promising to look into them. And then they were in the car again, driving home in the dear frosty air, with the sun shining down from a cloudless sky.
After lunch they went for their usual stroll, and a sense of peace and well-being came over Gail as she walked beside her husband, with Robbie and Shena racing on in front, then returning, covering twice the distance of their parents, and more. But in the midst of this tranquillity rose the image of Morag. She had been particularly troublesome while Gail and the children had been away; this Gail had learned from Mrs. Birchan the previous evening.
'She tried to run off, but her father caught her. I'd let her go, myself, and I think he would if she weren't ill and supposed to be resting all the while.' The housekeeper had shaken her head. 'A bad one that, Mrs. MacNeill. A black heart it is she has inside her-aye, a black heart ' Gail mused on this as she went along beside An-drew. And she also mused on what Beth had said about Morag always remaining a barrier to Gail's happiness. And as the thought became reflected in her shadowing gaze her husband happened to glance down, apparently with some casual remark on his lips, but instead of voicing it he frowned and asked her what was wrong.
'Wrong?' she echoed uncomprehendingly. 'You're not happy.'
She started. 'What makes you say that?'
'Your expression ... it's sad.'
'I'm not sad.' Gail forced a laugh and added, 'I haven't anything to be sad about?'
'Perhaps that was too strong a word.' A pause, thoughtful and long. 'Are you unhappy, Gail?'
Why should he be questioning her like this? It was altogether too personal for Gail and she resorted to evasion by a query of her own. 'Is anyone ever perfectly happy in this life?'
'I never said anything about perfection. It's an indeterminate state where human emotions are concerned. Human emotions involve degrees and comparisons when assessing their height or strength; with perfection there are no degrees or comparisons.' Having no wish to delve so deeply, Gail remained wrapped in silence and he added, startling her by his abruptness, 'Have you any regrets, Gail?'
'About our marriage?' She raised her eyes, seeing only him, so tall and strong beside her, so good-looking and masculine. She was unaware that the slanting sun was losing warmth with distance, or that a herd of deer was grazing on a high knoll, making a delightful silhouette against the sky. She did not realize the children were no longer running about, and making a noise, but were sitting on a pile of rocks, waiting for their parents to catch them up. 'No,' she murmured at last. 'I have no regrets.'
'There's nothing you'd have changed? Nothing?' How strange he sounded, she thought, and he had slackened his pace so that both he and she were scarcely moving at all. How did he want her to answer him? He seemed so tense, as if his whole fate depended on the reply she would give him. And suddenly she thought she understood. He was afraid she might be dissatisfied with her life here. Perhaps he was anxious that it might not have come up to her expectations, or that it was too quiet for her. Yes, that was what troubled him. But he must not be troubled; he had far too much already on his mind.
'No, Andrew ' She looked up and smiled at him. 'There's nothing I'd have changed.'
'Oh, but I would-I would!' her heart cried. 'I would have our relationship changed-I would have you love me.' He stopped, and it seemed to Gail that a great and shuddering sigh escaped him.
'And you would never leave me?' Again she was startled by his question, but what really held her attention was the little touch of greyness appearing at the sides of his mouth. He seemed to be held in the grip of uncertainty and ... could it possibly be fear?
'I would never leave you.' She thought fleetingly of that moment when the idea actually did come to her.
'No, I'd never leave you, Andrew. Why should I?'
Ignoring her question, he said, still standing close, and looking down into her face, searchingly, 'Not even when the children grow up? Not when they're married and gone from here?' Tightly she closed her eyes. When the children were married and gone.
What would there be for her then? An automatic existence, an unreal and undefinable position of neither wife nor servant-just someone who lived at Dunlochrie House, someone who accompanied the laird when it was desirable that he be accompanied, someone who would act as hostess to his guests and turn on the charm because that was what would be expected of her. Could she go on living a life like that, loving Andrew as she did? But by then her love might have weakened with age, or even died- untended through the years. An impatient sound issued from her husband's lips-a sign that he desired an answer, and she said,
'It's impossible to know what one's feelings will be so many years from now.' His lips compressed. 'I told you the marriage would be binding.' An inexorable quality in his voice now and the familiar hardness in his blue eyes. His changed mood hurt, but she could find no way of guiding him back to his former almost gentle manner and she remained silent. Andrew spoke again, and the words seemed to be drawn from him against his will, voiced in tones contrasting sharply with his former inflexible reminder that the marriage would be binding, voiced in tones reflecting that same uncertainty she had noticed a few moments ago. 'As you feel now, you believe there is a possibility of your leaving me?'
Again she closed her eyes. He looked so hopeless and despairing in spite of the hardness of his features, that she could scarcely refrain from touching him, and asking him what was the matter. It was not possible, because they weren't close enough for questions such as that, but she could say, with a look of candour and sincerity in her eyes,
'As I feel now, there is no possibility of my leaving you.'
He drew a deep breath, and his step was light as they resumed their walk. His pace was also too fast for her and she began trotting to keep up with him. 'Am I walking too quickly for you?' He slowed down, his glance straying fleetingly to the hand swinging at her side.
She gained the impression that he would have liked to clasp it in his own.
On Thursday Andrew had to go away, his presence being required at one of the factories in which he had interests. The factory was in the Midlands, and he would be there for several days. 'Watch Morag,' he warned. 'I know you have to go out, but Mrs. Birchan will be on guard then. I've also arranged for the nurse to come in for several hours a day He broke off, shrugging. 'There's not much else I can do, apart from going to the extreme lengths of locking her in her room-in which case she'd work herself up into the kind of excitement we're all trying to avoid.' The doubt in his voice betrayed his deep anxiety that Morag might manage to leave the house in his absence and this brought from Gail a swift entreaty that he would not hold her to blame should Morag succeed in making an escape. He smiled at her: -No, Gail, I shan't blame you.'
'I'm afraid, Andrew. Can she possibly be watched all the time?'
He shook his head.
'It's a risk I must take, Gail. I've forfeited my sport-and many other things. But I shall not neglect my business. What does one do with so willful a girl?-beat her?' He shook his head. 'I shall not allow her to force on me such self-degradation. Morag has been my cross for many years past, and I expect she'll be my cross for many years to come, but I'm reaching the end of my patience. I don't want her to go off because her health could suffer in consequence, but I'm not willing to stand guard over her for twenty-four hours of every day.'
Never before had he spoken to her quite like this; Gail felt happy that he should do so now and she was emboldened to say, 'You've done
everything you could, Andrew. You've nothing to reproach yourself for, nothing at all.' For a moment he looked strangely at her, as if searching for a pointer to her thoughts.
'No, Gail,' he agreed at last, and the bitterness in his voice was terrible to hear. 'I have nothing to reproach myself for.' But there was no bitterness in his voice when, about to drive off in the big car, Andrew lowered the window and said to Gail, who was standing there on the forecourt,
'Take care of yourself, my dear. Goodbye.' He smiled and gave a small salute with his hand, but Gail scarcely noticed these things, for her mind was wholly occupied with what he'd just said, and she was wondering if the slight stress placed on the 'yourself' was made by accident or design.
Morag's taunts and jeers were very much in evidence that day, but mingled with them were subtle threats. 'I'll get away somehow, and he'll blame you …'
'We've discussed this,' Gail couldn't help saying. 'And your father assured me I'll not be blamed.'
'So you talk about me behind my back, do you?'
'Not normally. But I did want to make sure I should not be held responsible for you while your father is away.'
'Playing safe?' Morag gave a harsh laugh. 'Still trying to get round him. What's the matter? Is the celibate state tearing at your nerves?' Sick with disgust, Gail turned away. The nurse was at her lunch, but it was almost time for her to come back. Gail wasted no time when she did so, and as she was closing the door behind her she heard Morag say, 'Hello, warder number two. Never leave me a moment, do you? But I'll beat you all yet-just wait and see!' Gail went along to the kitchen and spoke to Mrs. Birchan.
'She can't run away,' asserted the housekeeper after Gail had repeated what she had just overheard. 'Mr. MacNeil told Sinclair to keep the runabout over at his own place for the time being, because Miss Morag knows how to start it without a key. As the only other car is yours, she can't get away-so long as you make sure you don't leave the key about, that is.'
'I shan't do that,' returned Gail grimly, and then, 'She's gone away before without a car.'
'She had money for taxis, and train fares. Her father's made sure she has no money. She gave him a terrible time this morning, when you were out, taking the children to school, but he wouldn't let her have one penny.' Gail sighed.
'How silly she is! Won't she ever learn?' Mrs. Birchan had been rolling pastry, but she left it and washed her hands at the sink. Then she dried them on a towel, talking as she did so. 'No, Mrs. MacNeill, she won't ever learn because, for one thing, she's nothing up here to learn with.' Mrs. Birchan tapped her forehead with her hand. 'It was an evil day when Black Morag was born in this house-yes, don't look so startled, Mrs. MacNeill, that's what they call her down in the village.' She threw the towel on to the table. 'An evil day for the master-but he was so proud of the babe. Aye, he was young, you see, and I remember saying about the brightness of his eyes, and the wonderment in them, if you know what I mean? It was as if he had seen a miracle. He was a soft young man in those days, with a heart as big as a football....' The woman tailed off reminiscently and silence fell for a moment or two. 'And now I sometimes wonder if he has a heart at all, so much has been done to him by Black Morag and her mother.' Mrs. Birchan stopped, and took up the rolling pin again. 'I shouldn't be saying these things to you, but I was carried away. I did say once before that I'd let her go, if the choice were mine, and if she comes to harm then it's her own fault.'
'Well, we can't let her go, Mrs. Birchan. She must be carefully watched, for her own sake. I'm anxious, even though my husband has taken all the precautions possible.'
'The nurse is with her, I suppose?' Gail nodded.
'She is now, but she goes off duty at six o'clock.'
'Everything will be all right. We're all about during the evening, and she won't go at night. Besides, as I've said, she hasn't any transport or any money. You can't get far without those,' Mrs. Birchan added with a re-assuring smile. But she added, 'Perhaps you should lock your car in one of the garages instead of leaving it parked on the front. It is just possible that she has a key that fits.'
'Yes, I'll lock the car away when it's not in use.'
Gail then dismissed the matter of Morag and her threats to leave. As Mrs. Birchan had said, it was impossible for the girl to get far without either money or transport. But it had never entered any of their heads that Morag might receive assistance from outside.... 'She must have arranged it all by phone,' said Mrs. Birchan grimly when, the following morning, it was discovered that the girl had gone. 'I thought I heard a car door close, but when I got up there was no sign of a light. I think they got away without switching the engine on; it's downhill after you're off the forecourt-all the way to the road.'
'I'll ring my husband-' She turned. 'Oh, Sinclair, there you are; I was looking for you. Would you please take Robbie and Shena to school?'
'Of course, Mrs. MacNeill.' He gave her a sympathetic glance before his eyes flickered to the house-keeper, whose red face betrayed her anger. 'Are they ready?' he inquired of Gail, and she nodded.
'They're in the car.' She looked at him. 'Thank you very much. I hope it isn't inconveniencing you at all?' she added, knowing how busy he was. He never grumbled, and Gail had very early discovered his great respect and admiration for his employer. 'It's not inconveniencing me in the least,' he replied, adding after a pause, 'If there's anything else I can do...?'
'There might be, but I'll see later.' Andrew had given her two telephone numbers: that of his hotel and that of the factory where he would be during the day. She received the same reply from both. He was not there.
'I'll ring again later,' she told Mrs. Birchan. But Gail could not rest and she went up to Morag's room and began searching around without having the slightest idea for what she was searching. On a pad by the telephone she noticed some scribbling-idly done while Morag was speaking, Gail concluded, absently flicking back the page. More scribbling... but an address this time as well. Gail frowned. This was an address in Scotland
'The master's estate in Ross and Cromarty-where he goes for the stag hunting,' said Mrs. Birchan, and Gail's face fell. 'She won't be there.'
'No, of course she won't.' A small hesitation and then, as Gail tried to visualize the circumstances under which that address was written down, 'She was talking on the phone when she wrote it-and it was scribbled, just like all the other bits of things she'd been absently writing down. Is there a staff at my husband's shooting lodge?' Her colour rose slightly at having to question the housekeeper about this, but Mrs. Birchan did not reveal any surprise she might have felt. 'Only when the master's there. He has an elderly couple who live some distance away. They look to the place when he's not there and move in when he is. You see, he's only there for the shooting and it's not worth keeping a staff. The estate workers all live in their own houses, and so does the factor.'
No one there.
'How far is it, Mrs. Birchan?'
The housekeeper looked up. 'You're not going?'
'Yes, I am. Something tells me I should'
'Miss Morag wouldn't go to a lonely place like that. It's night-life she likes, not being buried in the country. As for the distance-no, it's too far to drive, if that's what you're contemplating.'
'One can drive anywhere if there are roads to drive along,' Gail replied and, after another unsuccessful attempt to contact Andrew, she decided to act immediately, no amount of argument or advice deterring her, not even Sinclair's grave warning of imminent bad weather.
She gave the housekeeper instructions about the children, received Sinclair's promise that he would take them to 'school and bring them home again, and also that he would keep trying until he contacted Andrew, and then she set out under a darkening sky that became blacker and more threatening with every mile she travelled until, by teatime, the snow was continually building up against the windscreen, necessitating her getting out of the car in order to clear it. This happened every few minutes and her clothes were be-coming soaked, clinging to her b
ody as she drove along at a crawl, almost blinded by the massive snowflakes swirling in the headlights' glare. Would Sinclair have been in touch with Andrew yet? she wondered, stopping once again to dear snow from the windscreen. There was a blizzard raging now, and the wind lashed at her face and legs as she proceeded with her task.
How dark it was, this grim and deserted land! -and how quiet when for a few seconds the wind abated. Just the muted purr of the engine- sounding almost as if it were ready to stop- Stop! Suddenly alarmed that this might happen, she got into the car again, relieved to hear the engine pick up at the pressure of her foot on the accelerator. But driving was becoming difficult, and she was forced to proceed even more slowly. Dared she stop and look at the map? Had she very far to go? Was it imagination or was the snow turning to sleet? Yes, it was turning to sleet. Her heart lightening at this discovery, she stopped and switched on the inside light to take a look at the map. There wasn't really very far to go.... It had been a long and arduous journey and the first faint glimmer of dawn was appearing over the mountains as she drove up to the lodge and peered up at the windows. No sign of life. Had she made that journey for nothing? And how would she get back if the sleet turned to snow again? The roads would be impassable.
Would Andrew be furious at her impulsive action? The car slid to a standstill and as she got out Gail noticed the bumper of another car just discernible at the corner of the building. She went towards it; a sort of lean-to afforded it some shelter and she saw that it was very old and battered. Another similar car stood a little distance away, this one covered with snow, but somehow giving the impression that it was in no better condition than the first. Gail walked round and found the back door. To her surprise it gave to her touch and she entered this house of her husband's for the first time. Dust-sheets everywhere-how cold and deserted l But on opening the door of the drawing-room she knew instantly that someone was in residence. Dead ashes of a log fire in the hearth; bottles and glasses on the table and the arms of chairs; a record player on the table and records on the chairs and on the floor. At one end of the room the carpet had been rolled back....