Autumn in Scotland

by Karen Ranney

  The ballroom was a cacophony, an overwhelming sea of noise. She felt like a tiny island in the middle of it. Or perhaps a sea creature floating in an ocean. A headache bloomed between her eyes, pierced her temples as well. What she really wanted was to leave the ballroom and seek out her bed. She’d drink a tisane for her headache and place a cold compress on her forehead, take off these incredibly uncomfortable shoes, and wiggle her toes in freedom. She’d toss her stays to the other side of the room and might even lay naked beneath the sheets.

  The headmistress was not nearly as restrained as she appeared.

  But she was not done with polite chatter. Parents came up to her, cups in hand, questions on their lips. She responded to their worries with as much tact as she could.

  “Mary is doing quite well in her studies,” she told one mother. “She seems to have an aptitude for the poets.” In other words, the girl spent endless hours staring out the window and uttering dreamy little sighs from time to time rather than paying any attention to her instructor.

  “Janet is, perhaps, more suited to marriage than to books,” was the advice she gave to another parent. Janet, the sweet girl, could not find her way out of a darkened room with a lit candle. She desperately needed a husband to protect her from the world and herself.

  At three in the morning, the ballroom began to thin. At half past, she moved to the door, a signal that the celebration was officially over.

  She stood at the doorway and watched as one by one her guests descended the stairs. Those who were staying the night were directed to the guest rooms. Those who couldn’t be accommodated at Balfurin would take comfort at a nearby inn.

  By noon, Balfurin would be empty of chattering, laughing girls. By afternoon, the teachers would leave as well. Another school year would not begin until March. She and the staff of Balfurin would have four whole months of blessed quiet.

  And George.

  George, who picked the very worst time to reappear.

  She smiled at one of the last couples to retire for the evening, suspecting that her expression was less than successful coming on top of the surge of anger at her husband.

  Husband, the word didn’t even sound correct. For five years she’d been little more than a widow. The subject of rumor and speculation. One courageous student had actually asked her, “Your ladyship, did your husband die on your wedding night?” Since the girl was a dear sweet innocent who was already engaged, she saw the question as it was, an almost tearful request for reassurance.

  “No, he didn’t, Annabelle, and it won’t happen to you, either. I’m sure your marriage will be a long and happy one.”

  What an utter hypocrite she was, lying about marital bliss. Thank God the subject didn’t come up often.

  Her last guest was the aunt of one of her students. A woman no longer in the prime of her life, but beautiful nonetheless. She was leaning on a cane. Charlotte couldn’t remember Lady Eleanor being so afflicted.

  “It’s a bother, my dear,” she said when Charlotte approached her offering assistance. “I’ve been kicked in the leg by a horse, can you believe it? Vicious brute, not fit to be ridden, but I would try.”

  “I am sorry, Lady Eleanor. Do you need some help with the stairs?”

  “Lend me one of your footmen, will you? The one with the blond hair and the devilish smile. He can carry me all the way to my bed.” She smiled wickedly at Charlotte. “Oh, my dear, are you shocked? Of course you are. How very odd. I find that disturbing, actually. My niece shouldn’t be exposed to such puritanical thought.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “But then, my brother would probably be very happy about it. He’s a bit of a puritan himself.”

  “Puritanical thought?” Charlotte said. She really didn’t know what to say.

  “We must discuss this narrow-mindedness of yours. But first you must lead me to a chair. I find confidences are easier when I am not thinking of my leg.”

  The very last thing Charlotte wanted to do at this moment was talk to Lady Eleanor. She was related to a duke, and having her niece attend the Caledonia School for the Advancement of Females had been one of the reasons enrollment had suddenly jumped in the last two years. Moira’s father had interviewed Charlotte quite thoroughly, and he’d found no fault in her establishment or her thought patterns.

  Narrow-minded? Of course not.

  She loved learning for the sake of it. She enjoyed filling her mind with extraneous facts and each day acquiring some knowledge that she didn’t have the day before.

  They found a set of chairs outside the ballroom door.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” Charlotte asked.

  “Other than a footman?” Lady Eleanor asked, laughing gently. “Nothing but information, my dear. Who was that delightfully handsome man you greeted earlier?”

  A moment passed while Eleanor looked expectantly eager, and Charlotte searched her memory for the men who’d approached her.

  “Black hair, my dear. Devilish eyes. Blue, I’m certain. And a dimple in his cheek.”

  “George,” Charlotte said flatly. “My husband.”

  “Your husband?” Lady Eleanor sat back in her chair and surveyed her with interest. “Then why are you looking so stricken? If I had a husband as handsome as that, I should be smiling the whole time.”

  Charlotte didn’t quite know what to say to that.

  “The ceremony earlier was a bit long, I think, but the ball more than made up for it. And your selection of footmen certainly added to the charm of the evening.” Lady Eleanor smiled, glancing at the procession of young men who were carefully descending the stairs while laboring under trays of cups and glasses. “A veritable selection of young gods. I could sit and watch them for hours.”

  What is the female word for satyr?

  “Tell me,” the other woman said glancing at her, “do you not feel the same? A handsome man must surely make your heart beat stronger.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Truly?” Lady Eleanor looked surprised. “Not even that handsome husband of yours?”

  “I have found that men on the whole are an encumbrance,” Charlotte said.

  “I am indeed sorry to hear that, my dear. Someone must give that husband of yours a little instruction. It’s a sin to be so arresting in appearance and so deadly in the bedroom.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He’s evidently a bad lover,” Eleanor said, swinging her cane from side to side in an arc.

  “I don’t remember,” Charlotte said, wondering if she should admit the truth. “He’s been gone for some time. We’ve been estranged.”

  “Only arriving tonight? Oh, my dear, why didn’t you say? I’ve been chatting on and on and you’ve got that delightful creature waiting for you.” She stood.

  “I sincerely hope not,” Charlotte said, joining her. “I haven’t seen him in five years, I’m not about to welcome him into my bed.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  She glanced at Lady Eleanor. The woman wasn’t even looking at her but was ogling one of the footmen. What was worse, he was grinning right back at her.

  “It’s late,” Charlotte said. “Let me have someone escort you to your chamber.”

  “Him,” Lady Eleanor said, pointing the end of her cane at the blond footman.

  Charlotte clasped her hands in front of her, wiping any expression from her face. Evidently, she was not entirely successful, because Lady Eleanor only laughed.

  “I am beginning to think that Providence led me to speak with you tonight, my dear. Such innocence is not an altogether good thing in a woman of your years.”

  “My years?”

  “You’re not a young girl, my dear. You’re a mature woman, and if you don’t take care, you’ll be an old woman before your time.”

  With that, she stepped away, placing her hand on the footman’s arm. As Charlotte watched them walk slowly down the stairs, she was suddenly grateful that Lady Eleanor’s niece had graduated tonight. She wouldn’
t have to see the woman again.

  Chapter 5

  A t seven o’clock, before the breakfast bell rang, in fact before the bell rang to wake up the dormitories, a knock on her door roused Charlotte.

  Thinking it was Maisie, she rose up on one elbow and called out, then fell back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept well the night before. Her feet hurt from standing for hours in those hideously uncomfortable shoes. But the main reason she couldn’t sleep was because of her thoughts.

  George no doubt slept without nightmares in the room across the hall.

  She wanted to slam her fist against the door more than once and wake him up. Discretion kept her in her bed, frowning at the tester above her, frustrated, angry, and plotting.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t come up with any way to rid herself of her husband. Murder was both immoral and illegal. She couldn’t stab him, although any woman in Scotland would side with her, she was certain.

  She hadn’t been able to divorce him, even though she’d tried. An action for divorce could not be started until four years after desertion, and the fact that no one knew exactly where George was living had complicated that process.

  She’d gone through the process of adherence—attempting to legally acquire George’s assets so that she’d have some way of supporting herself. Unfortunately, there were no assets except for her missing dowry. Balfurin was entailed and exempt from any adherence procedures. The adherence petition had ultimately been dismissed, since she couldn’t prove that George was still living in Scotland.

  Had she been successful, however, she would have had to go to civil court to have George declared a rebel, and “put to the horn.” After that process was complete, she was expected to present a petition to the presbytery asking that George be excommunicated. This was only a formality and not truly expected to be granted. But only after these cumbersome steps were completed could she raise the action for divorce.

  Maybe George would go back to where he’d come from, as long as she knew where that was. He hadn’t been forthcoming with any details. But the fact that his companion was Oriental was a clue. He’d gone to the Far East, evidently, when he’d left London.

  Far enough from a new bride not to be found.

  But this time, perhaps her divorce petition would be granted. If he remained in Scotland, that would be even better. How did she convince him to leave Balfurin?

  She doubted he would go, and she wasn’t about to abandon the school.

  What was she going to do?

  The knock came again, and this time she sat up.

  “Oh, come in, Maisie,” she said crossly.

  But it wasn’t Maisie. It was Lady Eleanor.

  Charlotte grabbed the sheet and held it up to her throat. “Lady Eleanor.”

  Eleanor smiled brightly at her and held the door open for two more women. Charlotte recognized them immediately—Gladys McPherson, the English widow of a Scottish industrialist. Following her was Mary Holmann, a Scot who’d married a German baron. On his death she’d returned from Germany to live in Scotland again.

  Each one of the women were either parents or patrons of students.

  “Ladies,” Charlotte began, only to be silenced by Lady Eleanor.

  “We haven’t much time, my dear. The girls are in a hurry to leave. Each of them is in a rush to spend a fortune on dresses. Why ever do you insist upon uniforms?”

  “They’re more conducive to learning, I’ve found,” Charlotte said. But Lady Eleanor was not listening. Instead, she was gathering up chairs from the adjacent sitting room, and placing them around the bed. Mary and Gladys joined her in sitting down and looking intently at Charlotte.

  Gladys’s gray hair was arranged in a coronet. Surprisingly, even at this early morning hour, she had flowers arranged in her hair as if she were a sprite of spring. Her dress was a pale yellow, and flattering, bringing out the sparkle of her brown eyes.

  Mary was dressed in a subdued reddish brown, the color of rust. But her hair was loose, with tresses that looked as if they might fall from a few well-placed hairpins.

  But Lady Eleanor was the most surprising of the three of them. Her dress was a solid deep blue, with white cuffs and collar. As somber as any of Charlotte’s dresses.

  “As I said, my dear, we haven’t much time. Mary and Gladys and I have agreed that you should be included in our little gatherings. We normally meet for tea at Mary’s house, but these are special circumstances.”

  “I have the fewest relatives who might be scandalized should the purpose for our meetings be learned,” Mary explained.

  “You’re a great deal younger than our normal members,” Gladys said.

  “But that’s a good thing, I think,” Mary said.

  “Indeed, we’ve agreed,” Lady Eleanor added.

  “What group would that be?” Charlotte asked.

  “Oh dear, didn’t we say?” Mary asked.

  “We call ourselves The Edification Society.”

  Mary giggled. “We’ve come up with other names, of course, but none that bore people so successfully.”

  Lady Eleanor smiled. “It’s true, my dear. The curious want nothing to do with our meetings. They’re afraid we’re discussing Egyptology and women’s suffrage.”

  “Not that we don’t occasionally, of course. One can’t talk about men all the time.”

  “Men?” Charlotte asked, subsiding back against the pillows.

  Eleanor tapped her cane on the floor. “You have an emergency and we’ve decided that you should be included.”

  “Especially now.”

  “Why now?” Charlotte asked weakly.

  “Because your husband has returned,” Mary said.

  “An errant husband is a problem,” Eleanor said. “Especially one who’s been gone so very long. Four years, hasn’t it been?”

  “Five,” Charlotte said.

  “All the more vital that we meet.”

  “I do wish we could have discussed the footmen.” This surprising comment was not from Eleanor, but from Mary.

  “Perhaps next week, dear. For now, we must address Charlotte’s issue.”

  All three women looked at her expectantly, as if they were waiting for her to comment.

  “Very well,” Eleanor said after an interval of silence. “We shall begin.”

  She pointed her cane in Mary’s direction.

  “It is very important that your husband be considerate of you after such a very long time without conjugal relations,” Mary said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Charlotte said.

  “There are a great many substances that can be used as lubricants,” Gladys said. “We provide our members a list.”

  “We have an entire package of substances available for new members. There is no need for discomfort during relations.”

  “I’m afraid you have the wrong idea,” Charlotte said.

  “Are you naturally orgasmic?” Mary asked. “What a delight! You must tell us how that feels.”

  “I have no intention of bedding George,” Charlotte said. “In fact, I wish very much for him to go away. Just as he had for the last five years.”

  They stared at her as if she’d been the one saying shocking things.

  “He deserted me.” She faced them down and wondered if she was doing the wrong thing by being so honest.

  “Yes, but he’s back.”

  “He’s a very good-looking man, Charlotte.”

  “He has very healthy-looking attributes,” Gladys said.

  Charlotte glanced at her, eyes widening. The older woman wasn’t even blushing.

  “Attributes?”

  “John Thomas,” Lady Eleanor explained. “His twig and berries. Or, if you insist upon the most medical of terms, his penis.”

  “And testicles,” Mary said. “Although I’ve often found them to be superfluous at best.”

  “Oh dear no, Mary,” Lady Eleanor said. “If you mouth them properly, it causes quite a sensation.”

  “As
well as the anus,” Gladys said. “Bung hole,” she explained. “A most curious orifice capable of a great many sensations.”

  Charlotte looked from one to the other, certain she’d never before been quite so discomfited.

  “Are you giving me instructions on my marriage bed?”

  “In the absence of your mother, my dear, why should we not?” Lady Eleanor asked.

  “Although I doubt she would have as much experience as all of us. You see, we’re only a small contingent of our group.” Mary leaned forward. “We even have a former kept woman among us. She’s been most instrumental in teaching us all sorts of things.”

  “I really have no intention of replaying my wedding night,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh, then you haven’t been instructed properly. Were you told to lay there and bear it all? What a very great pity. Men are like bulls, my dear. You must give them a whiff of the pasture before letting them loose. You must demand of them your full measure of satisfaction before allowing them to climax.”

  Charlotte didn’t know quite what to say to that. Another protestation that she had no intention of bedding George MacKinnon would fall on deaf ears, she was certain.

  What on earth did she say to them? None of her training, either received as a child, or as the Headmistress of the Caledonia School for the Advancement of Females, prepared her for this group of women.

  “You must demand your conjugal rights of him as soon as possible, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said, “for your health. Intercourse is very good for the digestion, not to mention the circulation.”

  “Oh bother, Eleanor, it’s fun!” This comment was from Gladys, the oldest of the group, whose eyes shined with merriment at the moment.

  All three women laughed in a convivial agreement that went completely over Charlotte’s head.

  Lady Eleanor was the first to sober. “You haven’t had a good time of it, have you, my dear? George has had all the fun, then?”

  When Charlotte remained silent, she sighed. “Well, we need to change that. You must demand your rights.”