Her Heart for a Compass

by Sarah Ferguson

  “It’s his ambition which makes him so determined to marry me.”

  “It is a very natural thing to wish to better oneself, and your father is a uniquely powerful ally.”

  “If only Killin could cut to the chase and marry Papa!”

  Donald smothered a laugh. “The man’s intentions are honourable, and you have spurned him in the most public manner possible. Whichever way you look at it, he did not deserve that. What’s more, he was not the only injured party. What about your parents? Your running off as you did was a poor show, I’m afraid.”

  Lady Margaret’s lip wobbled, but no tears followed. “You are quite right, a very poor show indeed. I’ve been blaming Mama and Papa for not listening to my objections, and I’ve been blaming Lord Rufus for taking advantage, but they are all simply following the rules of the game, aren’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t call marriage a game, exactly, but if you mean they are doing what they believe is expected, and for the best, too, then yes.”

  “If you are right, and I cannot deny that you most probably are, then I owe my parents a huge apology.” Lady Margaret sighed wearily. “And Killin, too. Though just because you’re right, Lochiel,” she added with a touch of defiance, “doesn’t mean that I am entirely wrong. I may have gone about it ineptly, but I don’t regret the fact that I have finally acted on what my instincts told me from the first. The match would make both of us miserable. Killin will now be free to look elsewhere for a bride.”

  Donald was not so sure. In his opinion, the Earl of Killin was far too ambitious to allow his pride to let the opportunity slip from his grasp. He was spared the tricky decision of whether or not to say so by the dismay on Lady Margaret’s face as she saw the long line of carriages outside Montagu House.

  “Your father must have put an early end to the festivities.” He ushered her into the shadow of Admiralty House. “You can’t go back through the main entrance, that’s for sure.”

  “What do you think he’ll have told people?”

  “Most likely that you have been taken ill. Overcome by the occasion or some such excuse.”

  “He will be absolutely apoplectic.” Her eyes wide, she stood rooted to the spot as she stared at the queue of carriages. “Oh God, what have I done?”

  The bravado she had displayed only a moment before was a façade and in danger of crumbling as Lady Margaret surveyed the ruins of her betrothal party. She was very naive but, by heavens, she had real spirit, too, no one could doubt that. “Come now,” Donald encouraged, “your parents will be so relieved to find you unharmed, they will forget to be angry.”

  She shrugged, but her trembling mouth betrayed her. “When you saw me and realised I was unharmed, you were furious, not relieved, and you are not even directly involved in this debacle. You have been a perfect gentleman, and I have been most ungrateful. Your seeking me out was above and beyond the call of duty as Papa’s friend.”

  Donald winced. She obviously considered him long past his prime, while he was only just thirty, which must put Killin, who had another five years on him, in the ancient-fossil bracket to one her age. “I am sure any of your father’s friends would have done the same thing.”

  “I am very sure most of them would have passed the chore on to a servant,” Lady Margaret countered. “I am very grateful that you did not, but I must make my own way in now.”

  They were brave words, when she was visibly trembling with fear. Donald wished fervently that she would succeed in being heard, but his gut told him that it was far more likely she would be summarily dismissed. The life would be crushed out of her, and in a society so tightly buttoned up that sometimes he himself felt stifled, that seemed a damned shame. But there was nothing he could think of to say or do that would help. “You will be in my thoughts,” he said instead. “I wish you the very best of luck.”

  “I’ll need it,” she said grimly. “I’ll go round to the service door, then I can have one of the servants tell Mama I am safe, and make my way to my room by the backstairs, and wait until everyone has gone.”

  Keeping to the shadows as they made their way from Whitehall past the line of carriages towards the mews, Donald became more and more reluctant to abandon her. “I don’t feel comfortable, leaving you alone like this.”

  “I won’t have you embroiled. This is my mess, Lochiel. The best thing you can do is go home and leave me to it. I must bid you good night, and thank you, once more for escorting me home safely. Oh, and for the use of your cloak, too, though you’d better have it back or there will be more awkward questions for me to answer.”

  She unfastened the garment and handed it to him. Donald watched as she knocked on the door and heard the servant’s shocked exclamation when it was opened. Then he turned away and headed for his own rooms with a heavy heart.

  Chapter Seven

  You’ve let me down. You’ve let me down. You’ve let me down.

  Margaret stared sightlessly out the window of the first-class carriage, her father’s words chiming mockingly in time with the rhythmic pistons of the Scotch Express, darkening her already severely chastened mood. The huge locomotive expelled enormous puffs of smoke as it powered north, giving her only fleeting glimpses of the towns and countryside they passed through. She was heading home to Dalkeith. As little as twenty-four hours ago, the prospect would have filled her with delight, but the memory of that dreadful interview with her father made the prospect of anything other than her imminent demise utterly unappealing.

  If she died, it would at least lend credence to the version of events her parents had announced at last night’s ball. A sudden illness that required lengthy recuperation involving fresh air and seclusion, apparently. She would prefer something quick and painless. If the train crashed—but, no, she didn’t want anyone else to be harmed as a result of her folly, especially not dear Molly, sitting stoically opposite her.

  You’ve let me down. You’ve let me down. You’ve let me down, the pistons taunted remorselessly. Margaret put her hands over her ears and bowed her head, her eyes smarting with unshed tears. Despite Lochiel’s shocked reaction, until she entered the kitchen of Montagu House last night, she hadn’t realised quite what a dishevelled picture she presented. Papa’s austere butler had almost dropped the salver of glasses he was carrying. The stunned silence of the servants—kitchen maids, porters, chambermaids, and footmen—told its own story. And as for Molly—the look of horror on her maid’s face made it clear that at the very least she thought Margaret had been ravished.

  But worse was to come. She had been forced to stand before her father in her tattered dress, looking and smelling, as Molly had forthrightly informed her, as if she’d been dragged through a midden backwards. Papa wouldn’t meet her eyes, fixing his gaze on the wall about a foot above her head. The way he’d spoken, the clipped tones, barely able to contain his fury, made her quake in terror.

  The memory made her shudder. She had tried to stick to her resolve to explain her actions, but she had not been permitted to speak, not even to apologise or beg forgiveness, far less admit the error of her ways. He didn’t want to hear her lily-livered excuses, he’d said. No amount of self-justifying waffle could explain her dereliction of duty. Having failed dismally to fulfil her only purpose in life, he considered her redundant. He may as well have placed a black cap on his head when he sentenced her to exile in Dalkeith for an indeterminate period.

  When Margaret had finally been dismissed, emerging from the study emotionally flayed and reeling, Mama and Victoria were waiting outside in the hallway. Her aching heart had leapt, thinking they were preparing to plead her case, beg her father to display some mercy or simply offer some succour. But they were waiting only to reinforce her ostracized status, pointedly turning their backs on her. Mama, with her handkerchief to her nose, informed her that she stank of the gutter.

  Bowing her head in shame, it was only then that Margaret noticed that having lost her reputation, her family’s good name, and her bridegroom, she had a
lso somehow mislaid her mother’s bracelet along the way. The one Papa had given her to mark their own betrothal and lent especially for the occasion. Ignominy heaped upon ignominy! Could her fall from grace get any worse?

  “We’ll be coming in to York soon, my lady,” Molly said, dragging Margaret back to the present. “It’s our only refreshment stop, so it would be sensible to take advantage of the facilities, if you take my meaning.”

  “Thank you, I will, but I don’t want anything to eat. You and that poor footman in the corridor, dispatched all this way just to chaperone us, will need some sustenance, though.”

  “Jarvis has his own sandwiches. You must be hungry, for we left King’s Cross at ten and it’s almost two now. You had nothing for breakfast but a slice of bread, and you left half of that.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite and I don’t think I’ll ever regain it.”

  “Come now,” Molly said with a forced smile, “the situation is dire but not as desperate as that, surely?” Reaching for the basket which the porter had placed in the luggage rack above her, she opened it. “Take a look at this now. Luckily there’s no need for us to put ourselves at the mercy of the railway company’s catering, if that’s what’s worrying you. It was a bit of a scrabble, for we left in such a rush that I’d hardly time to pack our portmanteaus, but Monsieur Henri very kindly put together a picnic for us. See, there’s some chicken in aspic, and a big slice of that pork pie that you’re so fond of.”

  Until now Margaret had been too shocked and shaken to cry, but this small thoughtful gesture, the first since she had returned to Montagu House last night, touched her heart. She burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’m completely ruined, and I have dragged you down with me.”

  Her maid pursed her lips, handing her a handkerchief. “There’s no use in crying over spilt milk. Truth is, I never really took to London; it’s far too big and noisy. I’ll be glad to get home to Scotland.”

  “That’s a sweet thing to say, whether you mean it or not.” Margaret dabbed her eyes, sniffing. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “What you don’t deserve is to be treated like a criminal, in my humble opinion.”

  “Oh, Molly, if you could have seen Papa’s face. I felt as if I was getting smaller by the second. By the time he’d finished with me, I was no bigger than a mouse, I swear.”

  “Even a wee mouse needs to eat, my lady. I know I’m speaking out of turn, but your father has no notion how hard you try to please him.”

  “He thinks I don’t try nearly hard enough.”

  Molly clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Och, away and boil your heid! That’s nonsense.”

  “Boiling ma heid might knock some sense into it.” The train was slowing down to pull into York station. Margaret’s head ached from lack of sleep. Despite her protestations, her tummy rumbled. She smiled weakly at Molly. “Perhaps I’ll have a small slice of pie. It will give me the strength to start thinking about how on earth I am going to atone for the terrible damage I’ve wreaked.”

  Illustrated London News, Friday, 21 July 1865

  Illustrated London News, Friday, 21 July 1865

  The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Lady M.

  The Lounger at the Club, with his ear firmly to ground, is devastated to announce that London society is to be deprived of the young woman whose Titian hair and effervescent personality have been lauded in what is known in common parlance as the marriage mart. Lady M—— has abruptly departed the Capital.

  Yours Truly had anticipated a most significant announcement to be made at the dinner and ball hosted by her esteemed parents, the Duke and Duchess of B—— on Wednesday night, at which a certain Lord R—— P——, a Scottish earl, was a most honoured guest. Another guest has shared with us, in the strictest confidence naturally, the surprising information that the announcement made was very far from that which everyone present eagerly awaited. Lady M—— had apparently been taken suddenly and violently ill. It must have been very sudden indeed, for she was observed dancing not half an hour earlier One might venture to suggest that one of the symptoms of her malaise was extremely chilly feet!

  So indisposed is she that we understand she is currently making the long and arduous journey to her parents’ home near the Scottish capital. A journey which, we most sincerely hope, does not tax her clearly fragile health further. The duke and duchess, though without question exceedingly concerned for her well-being, have chosen to remain in London, such is their confidence in their second daughter’s stoicism. Of Lord R—— P——’s whereabouts, we are, alas, less certain, though it seems safe to speculate that while the lady’s journey takes her north, the gentleman in question will be travelling hastily in the opposite direction.

  The Lounger at the Club wishes Lady M—— a speedy recovery. If he becomes aware of any further information which might shed more light on this most unfortunate, not to say intriguing turn of events, rest assured our readers will be the very first to know.

  Princess Louise to Lady Margaret

  Osborne House, Isle of Wight, 31 July 1865

  My Very Dearest M.,

  What on earth have you done!!!! Your letter arrived yesterday, but needless to say, news of your plight preceded it by some days. I knew at once there must be a scandalous reason for your sudden departure from the metropolis—a view, in case you’ve not seen it, that the somewhat lurid Illustrated London News shares. Why did you not heed my warnings about the press? I told you, M., the price of fame is relentless scrutiny. The newspapers love nothing better than to knock someone from her pedestal, especially when they put her there in the first place. This tale your parents put about of a sudden illness will not be believed. (Though Her Majesty did believe it. Her many chins were shaking with disapproval at the suddenness of your departure, for you know how little my mother tolerates illness as an excuse for avoiding one’s obligations.)

  What on earth possessed you to take such extreme measures as to run off? I know you had reservations about the gentleman in question, but I thought you had resigned yourself to taking him on. I cannot condone your behaviour, though I am slightly in awe of your courage. I know that a lecture from me is not what you want to hear, but I would not be your friend if I refrained. You have broken almost every rule of court life and conduct, and you will be crucified if that is discovered. It matters not a whit that you hold Killin in such distaste that you couldn’t bring yourself to marry him. Were he a monster, you would still be castigated for defying your father, and Killin is not a monster.

  I wish you had not been so rash! We are both of us, you and I, females who feel emotions intensely, but the difference between us is that you wear your heart on your sleeve. And that is your most heinous crime, in the eyes of the society we inhabit. You must resist the urge to let your heart steer your actions, my dearest friend. If the truth of that night were ever known (whatever it is, I know you left out a great deal of the detail in your letter!), it would be the ruin of you. What’s more, it would generate a scandal that even your family would be hard put to weather. Though I am reluctant to mention it, I must point out that your behaviour affects me, too. As a princess of the realm, my own reputation must be spotless. Her Majesty’s advisers would insist that I discontinue our friendship. Had you remained in London, I would have been obliged to distance myself from you. I am sorry to sound so unfeeling, but I do not make the rules; I am merely obliged to follow them.

  That being said, let us adopt a more positive tone. All is not yet completely lost. If anyone knows how to play the game, it is your parents. Your exile may seem harsh, but out of sight in our flighty society is very much out of mind. The attention of the world will move on quickly to the next cause célèbre.

  I wish I could be with you to prove that these difficult words are spoken from the heart, but here I am, languishing at Osborne for goodness knows how much longer, and you are at the other end of the country. I am sending you my heartfelt love and some sketches in the hope that my feeble attempts
will bring you some cheer. I hope and pray I will see you soon, but the prospects are not good, for the queen is talking of a trip to Coburg in August, where there is to be an unveiling of a statue of dear Papa.

  Do not despair.

  Your friend now and (hopefully!) always,

  Louise

  Lady Victoria to Lady Margaret

  London, 28 July 1865

  Margaret,

  I write to you at our mother’s behest. The duchess wishes to inform you that your attendance at our brother Henry’s wedding at the beginning of next month will not be required. Following this event, our parents will be enjoying the shooting season with friends, and will not be visiting Dalkeith Palace. They will then spend the remainder of the parliamentary recess, including Christmas, at Drumlanrig or perhaps Boughton or Bowhill. You are to remain at Dalkeith unless the duke decrees otherwise, while our younger sister, Mary, will remain at Drumlanrig under the care of her governess.

  Margaret, I beg you to consider the impact of your indefensible actions. Our father remains furious with you, and will not countenance your name being spoken. His Grace’s humiliation was witnessed not only by almost every serving peer but by all of his cronies from the Roxburghe Club. As you know, of his many public positions, it is of his presidency of this club that he is most proud. The duke blames our mother for failing to control your actions, though this seems to me unjustified, for I know from personal experience just how wilful you can be. The duchess is greatly affected by his condemnation and has kept the loss of her bracelet from him to protect herself from further criticism. Thus, Margaret, on top of everything else, you have also damaged the good relations between our parents.