by Beth Andrews
Chapter Ten
We determined firstly to interrogate Janetta concerning her relationship with Graham, which (although she did not realize it) was sadly lacking. We were in the great parlour at MacDonald Hall, seated together in three large gilt chairs, arranged in a semi-circle with Janetta at the centre and us on the outer edges, facing her.
‘Pray tell us, delightful Janetta,’ Sophia began, ‘do you truly love Graham?’
‘Does he ignite the warmest fires of passion and stir the depths of devotion in your soul?’ I added, the better to elucidate the question.
Janetta blinked and stammered as she replied, ‘Well, really, I do not . . . I’ve never. . . .’
‘Ah! Poor child,’ Sophia interrupted. ‘I see that he does not.’
‘You have clearly been coerced into accepting his offer by your mercenary and insensible father.’ I nodded sagely.
‘No indeed!’ Janetta was adamant in her defence. ‘Papa would never do such a thing. I like Graham very much. We have been friends since childhood.’
Sophia and I exchanged expressive glances and, in accordance with our prearranged plans, deemed it best to turn the conversation in a slightly different direction.
‘Tell me, dear Janetta, what qualities does Graham possess that you most admire?’
‘Well . . . he is so very sensible and. . . .’
‘Stop!’ I cried, aghast. ‘Worse you could not say of him.’
Janetta seemed incapable of comprehending this opinion, shaking her head and attempting to understand it, but without much success.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked at length. ‘Should I not wish to marry a man of sense?’
‘You should want to marry a man of fire,’ I insisted. ‘A man of passion and reckless impulse is what you need.’
‘Do I?’
‘But pray,’ Sophia continued, ‘what else has Graham to recommend him?’
‘He is well-informed and agreeable.’
I dismissed this description with a snort of contempt.
‘We do not pretend,’ Sophia commented, ‘to judge of such trifles as those.’
‘We are convinced that Graham has no soul.’
‘I thought everyone had a soul,’ poor Janetta muttered, but we ignored her attempt at justification.
‘Tell me,’ I asked, coming to the heart of the matter, ‘has he ever read The Sorrows of Young Werther?’
Janetta was more mystified than ever, and it was several seconds before she could frame a response.
‘I do not suppose that he has ever heard of them. Nor indeed have I.’
At this, Sophia clutched at her chest and I reeled back in my chair, feeling that I might at any moment expire from the shock of it.
‘Do you mean to say,’ Sophia asked, when she had recovered her poise enough to speak, ‘that you have never heard of Goethe?’
‘ “Goitre”?’ Janetta quite misconstrued our meaning. ‘Yes, a cousin of mine had an enormous swelling of the throat: quite horrible, it was.’
‘No, no!’ I cried, almost angry at her obtuseness. ‘Not “goitre” but “Goethe”. Are you unacquainted with the divine German author?’
‘I’m afraid I know nothing of him,’ she confessed. ‘Should I find him entertaining?’
This crude suggestion was almost too much for my refined sensibilities.
‘Goethe entertaining!’ I cried, almost in pain.
‘I assure you, Janetta,’ Sophia attempted to finish my speech, since I was momentarily speechless, ‘that Goethe has never written one word which could be considered entertaining.’
‘One can scarcely even conceive of such a possibility,’ I was finally able to contribute. ‘Goethe has never given anyone a moment of pleasure!’
‘Except, perhaps, Mrs Goethe,’ Sophia interjected slyly.
‘I think not.’ I refused to relinquish my point.
‘But if he is not entertaining,’ Janetta insisted, ‘why do you expect me to read him? I do not understand.’
I realized that I was speaking to an infant in the ways of love, and must summon all my patience and fortitude.
‘Goethe,’ I said very slowly, ‘is the very essence of romance.’
By now thoroughly confused, Janetta put forward the most hideous suggestion of all: ‘Perhaps I should consult my father about this.’
‘Foolish child!’ Sophia corrected her. ‘That is the very last thing you should do.’
‘You must learn to cultivate a suitable contempt for the beliefs of your elders, and a most enlightened confidence in your own opinions, however ill-informed.’
‘Is this true, Laura?’
‘If you wish to be a thoroughly modern young lady,’ I said adamantly.
‘And you must begin,’ Sophia brought us back to the original point, ‘by rejecting the unsuitable Graham.’
I took pity on the bewildered girl, patting her on the head like a young, eager puppy.
‘Why,’ I said sadly, ‘the poor man’s hair has not the slightest resemblance to auburn.’
‘No indeed,’ Janetta said, considering the matter. ‘It is very true, now I think on it.’
‘So you see how impossible it is that you could ever love him.’
‘And,’ Sophia pressed the point, ‘that it is your duty, as a girl of almost sixteen, to disobey your father.’
Janetta nodded, quite cowed now by our barrage of questions and edicts.
‘It seems the world is changing,’ she said a little wistfully, ‘and one dare not let intelligence or virtue keep one from changing with it.’
‘Quite so,’ Sophia and I agreed in unison, pleased with her quick understanding.
Chapter Eleven
The next day, as we walked in the extensive garden surrounding the castle, we continued to lead her down the path towards her ultimate fate. She still occasionally displayed signs of intransigence and incomprehension, but we worked on her with ferocious diligence until she was wholly converted to our way of thinking.
‘Tell me, my dear Janetta,’ I began, ‘is there not some other man in the neighbourhood for whom you feel the stirring of passion in your loins?’
‘What?’
‘Laura means to say,’ Sophia interpreted, ‘that there must be some gentleman of your acquaintance whom you find attractive. Is that not so?’
‘No.’
‘No!’ I veritably screeched, grabbing her arm and almost twisting it in my fervour. ‘Think carefully, Janetta. Surely there is some man whose face and form set him apart as the one to whom you can give your heart and hand.’
Janetta shook her head, a little ashamed at being unable to produce the desired answer.
‘No,’ she said again. ‘Nobody.’
‘Impossible!’ I cried, exasperated.
‘Are there any other young men at all living in the surrounding neighbourhood?’ Sophia asked more gently.
Janetta paused, her face screwed up in an effort of concentration. At last she was able to produce one name.
‘There is Captain M’Kenrie,’ she said.
‘I knew it!’ I carolled triumphantly.
‘And is Captain M’Kenrie not handsome?’
‘He is well enough, I suppose.’ Janetta shrugged, looking somewhat doubtful.
‘A paragon, undoubtedly!’ I corrected her.
Sophia, meanwhile, was in a euphoric dream, her hands clasped together almost as if in prayer, as she began to rhapsodize over this as yet unseen gentleman.
‘A captain.’ She sighed soulfully. ‘Only imagine him in his uniform . . . so dashing and heroic!’
‘Does your heart not beat faster at the mere thought, Janetta?’
‘Not noticeably so, no.’
Her dullness could be very irritating at times, but I refused to be defeated.
‘Only think of his fine figure!’ I commanded her.
‘Now that you mention it,’ she squeezed the words out with some effort, ‘I believe he does have rather a good figure.’
&nb
sp; ‘Of course he has!’
‘And a noble heart as well, I’d wager,’ Sophia suggested.
‘A girl would have to be out of her senses if she were not in love with such a man!’
We had finally worn Janetta down, and she seized on the idea with an almost evangelical zeal.
‘She would, wouldn’t she?’
‘You are violently in love with him, are you not, dear Janetta?’ Sophia whispered in her ear like the serpent in another famous garden.
For a moment our prize pupil hesitated.
‘I would not put it like that,’ she ventured slowly. ‘I do not think I am a very violent person, after all.’
‘But violence is the very essence of love!’ Sophia pointed out.
I could see her confidence in our wisdom beginning to waver, and once more leaned towards her, urging her on.
‘Come child, do not be shy. You can admit your love to us in all confidence. We are all friends here.’
‘I suppose I must be in love with him, then.’
‘There, you see!’ Sophia said gaily. ‘That was not so difficult, was it?’
‘I do love him!’ Janetta declared, whipping herself up into such a fine frenzy that she almost believed it herself.
‘And of course,’ I added, ‘it stands to reason that he adores you.’
Janetta seemed momentarily to come down from the lofty heights to which she had risen in her imagination.
‘Why should you think such a thing?’
‘Has he not demonstrated it in a thousand different ways?’ I asked.
‘I have never known him to do so.’
‘You must be mistaken.’ Sophia refused to accept her answer.
‘Think, Janetta,’ I implored her. ‘Did he never gaze on you with admiration?’
Sophia, catching the wave of emotion, rode it to the shore of self-deception in a flash.
‘Did he never,’ she asked Janetta, ‘tenderly press your hand, drop an involuntary tear, and leave the room abruptly?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘Try harder, dear,’ I said, somewhat drily.
‘He always leaves the room when his visit is ended, but never abruptly or without making a bow.’
‘Perhaps on those occasions you failed to notice his confusion and despair?’
‘Perhaps,’ she conceded.
‘And I cannot believe,’ Sophia said tartly, ‘that he could ever do anything so common as making a bow, or that he could ever behave like any ordinary person.’
‘He seems ordinary enough to me,’ Janetta said sadly.
Chapter Twelve
We said no more at that time. Later that night, however, Sophia and I were lying on her bed, staring up at the richly festooned canopy above us and considering what scheme we might contrive to prevent the terrible catastrophe which we feared might befall the poor misguided girl.
‘Janetta must not be allowed to marry Graham,’ I declared resolutely.
‘If only we could make Captain M’Kenrie aware of her intense passion . . . her hopeless devotion,’ Sophia suggested.
At her words, I sat bolt upright in bed, light dawning unexpectedly.
‘But why not?’ I cried, turning towards my companion. ‘What should prevent us from doing so?’
Sophia followed my example, sitting up and staring into my eyes in sudden comprehension.
‘You mean. . . ?’
‘We shall write to the captain ourselves!’
Considering that he who hesitates is lost, we immediately leapt from the bed and dashed into the adjoining sitting room, where stood a good-sized writing desk and all the necessary paraphernalia. I sat down at the desk and picked up a sheet of paper and quill. Then, even as I raised my hand, Sophia interrupted me.
‘But wait!’ she cried. ‘Whom shall we entrust with this missive once it is written?’
‘Any one of the servants will do.’
‘Might they not inform MacDonald?’
I gasped. She was right, of course. The servants would no doubt suspect that something was amiss and inform their master at once.
‘Besides,’ Sophia continued, ‘what if he cannot read? One can never be sure of anyone below the rank of general, I think.’
‘True, true,’ I agreed.
‘What are we to do, then?’
‘There is but one course open to us.’ I stood up, squaring my shoulders. ‘We must go to Captain M’Kenrie and plead Janetta’s cause to him in person.’
‘A delightful notion!’ Sophia was persuaded at once.
On this note, we returned to bed and a long, refreshing sleep. The next morning we left the Hall early, making our way into town and enquiring where the man we sought might be lodging. In such a small hamlet, it did not take much searching before we arrived at his door. It seemed he shared rooms with a fellow officer. Mercifully, the man had spent the night with a doxy on the other side of town and was passed out in a drunken stupor so that M’Kenrie was practically alone when we knocked energetically upon his door.
It was some minutes before he answered, and we heard a deal of scuffling and muttered words from the other side. At length the door opened a few inches and a much-dishevelled gentleman stared out at us. He was tall and not ill-favoured, but clearly greatly surprised to be confronted by two strange women at such an hour of the day.
‘What’s all this, then?’ he demanded.
‘Sir,’ I began, pushing past him before he knew what I was about, ‘we come on an urgent mission, which much concerns your future happiness.’
By this time, Sophia had also edged her way past him. We now stood in the centre of the small room, while he leaned against the door, which had closed behind us.
‘What nonsense are you talking?’
I had taken the liberty of rehearsing a speech while we made our way to his domicile, and now, placing my hand over my heart, I opened my lips and intoned: ‘Oh, happy lover of the young and beautiful Janetta.’
‘Who the hell is Janetta?’
By this time, M’Kenrie’s roommate had roused himself from his semi-comatose condition and added his mite to our little scene.
‘Don’t be daft, lad,’ he chided his friend. ‘You must remember the daughter of old MacDonald?’
‘From the farm?’ M’Kenrie asked, still quite befuddled.
‘From MacDonald Hall, you great loon!’
M’Kenrie perked up at this, and seemed much more sobre himself.
‘D’you mean the young heiress?’ he asked.
‘The same,’ I answered at once.
‘But I hardly know the girl!’ he protested.
‘According to these two,’ his friend said, ‘you’re her lover!’
I immediately spied my opportunity to continue my speech.
‘You who possess Janetta’s heart,’ I cried, dabbing at my eyes with a moist handkerchief for full effect, ‘why do you delay so cruelly the confession of your attachment, when her hand is destined to another?’
‘Delay what?’ He seemed more at sea than ever.
‘The confession of your attachment,’ Sophia instructed him. ‘Keep up, sir, for Heaven’s sake!’
‘A few short weeks will put an end to every hope you entertain, by uniting this unfortunate victim of her father’s cruelty to the detestable Graham!’ At this, I hissed dramatically, which startled both men. ‘I beg you to reveal your dark desire and persuade her into a secret union which will secure the happiness of you both.’
‘There you have it!’ the friend declared at the conclusion of my speech. ‘She’s all a-twitter over you, if what they’re saying is true.’
‘I can hardly believe it.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’ Sophia asked, growing impatient.
‘I’m going to MacDonald Hall as fast as I can,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘I’m not such a fool as to let a real, live heiress slip through my fingers!’
He paused only long enough to shave and wash, and prepared to adorn himself
in his dress uniform, which we considered would be most effective. We informed him that we would return to MacDonald Hall ahead of him and have Janetta ready to meet him when he arrived.
We made sure that Janetta’s father was off hunting before we brought her down, quite unsuspecting, to continue our previously arranged time of reading. I had a volume of Clarissa Harlowe before me, while Sophia perused a worn copy of The Monk and Janetta struggled to make sense of The Sorrows of Young Werther.
Suddenly M’Kenrie burst into the room. He was quite a spectacle, as even I was forced to admit: wet from head to toe, his white linen shirt clinging to his manly form like a second skin while he held his scarlet coat in his left hand.
‘Captain M’Kenrie!’ Janetta cried, in shocked disbelief. ‘What are you doing here? And why are you all wet?’
‘Clearly he has been swimming in the loch, in order to cool his overwhelming passion for you!’ Sophia cried, quite enraptured.
‘Actually,’ MacDonald said apologetically, ‘I slipped and fell into a horse trough.’
There was an awkward silence, while I frantically made signs to M’Kenrie behind Janetta’s back. He seemed at length to grasp my meaning, and strode forward, falling on one knee before the girl.
‘My dearest . . . um . . . Jemima.’
‘Janetta,’ I corrected him.
‘My dearest Janetta,’ he tried again. ‘Only my modesty has thus far kept me from declaring the depth of my passion for you.’
‘Passion!’ Janetta looked as if she wanted to run, but I held her arm firmly in my grasp.
‘Once I knew of your feelings for me,’ M’Kenrie went on, warming to his theme now, ‘I flew here on the wings of love. If you will but consent to wed one so far beneath you, then take my hand—for you already own my heart!’
Janetta looked from me to Sophia, not knowing how to respond to such words.
‘What shall I do?’ she begged.
‘Think, Janetta!’ Sophia urged her. ‘Think of Werther.’
‘I should shoot myself?’ Janetta cried, horrified.
‘No, no!’ I said.
‘Should I shoot M’Kenrie, then?’
‘It’s your father who’ll be doin’ the shootin’, m’dear,’ M’Kenrie answered. ‘But I’m thinkin’ he’d best start with these two.’
Sophia and I were quite taken aback by this remark, since he clearly indicated the two of us.