‘Did you enjoy your expedition with the two Sassenach gentlemen?’
‘Aye, they’re nae so bad. Yer Mr Darcy’s quite adept wi’ the fish. His cousin didnae catch much.’
‘Probably spent the whole day looking at you.’
Isobel preened herself. ‘And why should he not?’
‘I wish I could hear what you talk about.’
‘Things ye ken nothing of. Hunting. Travel.’
‘Books?’
She shook her head. ‘Ye can stop looking so superior, Lizzy. We’re nae bookworms like Thomas and Mr Darcy, but the colonel reads once in a while, and so do I.’
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bank, her feet brushing the sand. ‘It’s a relief to have the colonel here. I hope he will deter any further—episodes.’
‘Tha’s nae likely, now ye’re selling.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Issy, tell me truthfully, who do you think instigated these attacks?’
‘Nae Hector.’ She joined Elizabeth on the bank. ‘Nor the Staffords. They may be unscrupulous, but why would they take such a risk? If I had to guess I’d say Mr Brodie. Greedy, ambitious, cares only fer himself.’
‘I agree.’ Elizabeth threw a stick on to the beach; the terrier watched but disdained to chase. ‘I can’t see who else it could be. But we have no evidence.’
‘Weel, he got what he wanted, and may he burn in hell for Thomas.’
Elizabeth nodded: she felt the same anger. ‘You don’t believe in forgiveness?’
‘Sorry Lizzy, ye can keep yer Christian clemency. The Bible also says an eye for an eye, and I’ll stay wi’ that.’
Elizabeth smiled, loving her directness. ‘You really are a savage, aren’t you?’
‘Aye.’ Isobel grinned. ‘And I’ll wager ye are too, under yer soft English cloak.’
At dinner, with no guests this time, Hector Mackay tinkled his glass as broth was served.
‘Ladies, your indulgence please.’ He waved at Morag, who was whispering to her husband. ‘The gentlemen have been deliberating, and we have news to impart.’
‘With apologies for discussing business at table,’ Robert Mackay added.
‘Will ye get on wi’ it?’ Isobel said.
‘Manners, Issy.’ Hector Mackay extended a hand. ‘Mr Darcy has received an undertaking from the British government to assist tenants who resettle in Upper Canada.’
‘That’s splendid,’ Morag said.
Elizabeth watched Isobel and Flora as Darcy outlined the terms. Although sceptical, they seemed impressed by the amount of land to be granted, and the promise of free passage.
‘Tis almost too generous,’ Flora Mackay said. ‘It makes me suspect their motives. They’ve nae been so concerned fer our people in th’bygane.’
‘They want tae clear us out, for the sheep,’ Isobel said.
‘I agree this is not philanthropy.’ Darcy said. ‘But the government has no special interest in encouraging large sheep farms. What they seek is a bulwark against American expansion into our colonies. Highlanders are seen as hardy folk with a strong military tradition who will establish successful farming communities.’
‘And swell the ranks of the Glengarry Light Infantry,’ Colonel Fitzwilliam added.
Flora persisted. ‘How can we know they’ll nae be left tae fend fer themselves in a wild land that’s nae good fer sheep nor grain?’
‘There are, ah, uncertainties,’ Darcy said. ‘The colonel has been corresponding with officers who have served in the region and know it intimately.’
‘Indeed.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Flora Mackay. ‘And asking questions similar to yours. I should say first that my informants report no difficulties over farming. The land is fertile; the weather favourable. Nor will our emigrants be left unaided. Highlanders have settled nearby over many years. They have schools, taverns, kirks. They speak Gaelic. They weave tartan. They hold annual games. Yes, the new allotments will be further north, but just an hour’s ride from viable Scottish townships.’
Elizabeth noticed Isobel leaning forward, for the first time showing genuine excitement.
‘We should speak of the Mohawk neighbours,’ Robert Mackay said.
Flora Mackay recoiled. ‘Indians!’
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. ‘Again I have made enquiries. A strip, 3-4 miles wide, runs north-south extending into New York Province. The Mohawk call it Akwesasne, the British, St Régis. Over more than a century the Indians have mixed with Europeans. Some are Christians. In the American Revolutionary War, the British recruited their warriors to fight our cause. So far as one can tell, the Indian and Scottish communities have lived side by side in peaceful cooperation.’
‘So far as one can tell,’ Flora repeated.
‘I agree.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam looked around the table. ‘Reassurance would be welcome, and to this end I have a proposal. I have always been fascinated by the Americas, and would like to visit this area myself.’
‘That’s too much tae ask,’ Flora said.
‘The offer is not unselfish, Mrs Mackay.’ He threw a wry glance at Darcy. ‘Lacking the resources of my cousin, I must make my own way in the world; this venture represents an opportunity. Captain Ferguson has enquired informally on my behalf to his Lieutenant-Colonel over a possible transfer to the Royal Scots 1st Regiment of Foot. More precisely, the 4th battalion, now garrisoned in Upper Canada.’
Isobel looked up sharply. ‘Ye’ll be staying? Not just visiting tae look the place over?’
‘Perhaps. It depends what I find.’
She leaned forward. ‘Then I’ll come with ye.’
Morag gasped. ‘Issy, ye canna …’
‘I can and I will.’ She glared at the colonel. ‘Weel?’
Hector Mackay faced his sister. ‘You’ll ask my permission first.’
‘Ye ken weel enough that a woman can wed from the age of twelve,’ Isobel retorted, ‘and there’s nothing ye nor anyone else can do about it.’
Flora Mackay raised a hand. ‘We’ll have some respect for our visitor. What’s this wild talk o’ marriage?’
Isobel glared again at Colonel Fitzwilliam, and as their eyes met, Elizabeth saw him give a slight nod.
‘Perhaps this conversation had better continue in private,’ Darcy said, with a diplomatic smile.
‘Ye have my complete agreement there, sir,’ Flora said.
But Isobel was grinning, not scowling, and the colonel, still meeting her eye, was making a poor effort to conceal his delight.
In Elizabeth’s pleasure at this denouement, its significance took a few seconds to sink in.
She had feared there existed no place where Isobel and Colonel Fitzwilliam could prosper. Now they might have found one. Not England, nor Scotland. Canada!
She had feared too that few of her villagers would accept the risks of emigration. But now the laird’s sister was to join them! What influence might that have?
She exchanged a glance with Darcy, and sensed that he shared her excitement. Fortune had extended a helping hand to Georgiana; would it shine now on Laramore as well?
36
On the eve of the wedding, Darcy sat opposite Colonel Fitzwilliam in a simply appointed house that the Mackays kept empty for visitors. The location was a mere hundred paces from the mansion, but served to keep bride and groom separated; tomorrow they would pass their wedding night here in a chamber furnished only with essentials—a tradition supposed to teach humility.
‘So, cuz, you’ve beaten me to it.’ Darcy refilled their glasses. ‘No doubts?’
‘Oh, plenty.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam drew on his cigar. ‘It reminds me of the Canadian venture: who can say how it will turn out? All I know is that I want to try. I’ve never been so fascinated by a woman in my life.’
Darcy sipped Madeira, thinking of Elizabeth. ‘I suppose it’s the challenge that we crave. Which in Elizabeth’s case derives partly from her character, but mostly her intelligence. Despite a university education, I feel a tingle of danger every time w
e talk. Beliefs I have always taken for granted come apart at the seams.’
‘Yes.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. ‘I always have the feeling with Elizabeth that she is two steps ahead of me and knows exactly what I am about to say. Isobel is different: she relishes a battle of wills, not ideas. Did I mention the handfasting?’
‘The betrothal ceremony?’
‘It can be used in a wedding too, but yes. Your hands are tied together and you jump over a rustic broomstick called a besom. Pagan nonsense. She persisted for days trying to make me do it. Accused me of being a stuck-in-the mud Englishman, contempt for her way of life, disregard for her feelings. I mean to say! How can a fellow give in to such blackmail? Eventually I told her that if I heard one more word on the subject, the wedding was off.’
‘How did she respond to that?’
He laughed. ‘Put out her tongue, yelled handfasting, and ran off. After which the matter was never raised again.’
‘So nominally Miss Isobel won the battle.’
‘But I won the war.’ He shook his head. ‘The thing is, Darce, Isobel doesn’t want me to give in—not, at any rate, to placate her. Strength makes her feel secure.’ He sighed. ‘I wouldn’t take her to Almack’s but for the colonies she’s perfect.’
‘Any change of heart from Lord Matlock?’
‘Still disapproves.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam grimaced. ‘But he disapproves of everything, so fiddle to that. Earl Fitz and the little Fitzes send best wishes but decline to attend. For which one can hardly blame them.’
‘Lady Catherine?’
‘Concurs with my father.’
Darcy sighed. ‘We must inform them of Georgiana’s nuptials: Lord Dunbar is pressing for a date in August. I’ve been delaying in hope of reaching Edinburgh before the storm breaks.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. ‘After which you can provoke a veritable hurricane by declaring your own plans.’
Darcy rolled his eyes: time for a change of topic.
In Flora Mackay’s chamber, the largest in Strathmaran, the rite known as foot-washing was in progress. Isobel sat in an armchair with both legs in a tub of warm water, attended by Flora herself, Morag, Elizabeth, and also Anna, who had come over from Larraig.
‘Ye’ve had five minutes,’ Morag said.
‘What’s the purpose of it?’ Elizabeth asked.
Isobel shrugged. ‘Tradition.’
‘More than that, mo stór,’ Flora said. ‘It symbolises that ye’ll be a good wife: modest, considerate, willing to serve yer husband.’
Elizabeth exchanged a grin with Morag. ‘You need a longer soak, Issy. Half an hour at least.’
‘Ye’re nae so amusing as ye imagine, Sassenach.’ Isobel reached for the handles on the tub. ‘I’ve a mind tae empty the whole lot over yer head.’
‘We’ve nae dropped the ring.’ Flora said. ‘Whose shall we use?’
‘Yours, mother.’ Anna said. She turned to Elizabeth. ‘The idea is that it should come from a woman successfully married. If ye could have seen us 20 years ago! So many children.’
‘Spread far and wide noo.’ Flora shook her head sadly. ‘Some wi’ the Lord, wee darlings.’ She eased a silver band from the third finger of her left hand and let it fall into the water.
‘The good fortune now passes tae Issy, so that she too will be happy and fruitful,’ Anna explained. ‘Ye can take it oot now, Lizzy, if ye can reach.’
Innocently Elizabeth rolled up a sleeve and retrieved the ring, to be met by clapping and laughter.
‘What have I done?’ she asked.
Flora said gravely, ‘Whoever finds the ring will be the next tae marry after the bride.’
‘I’m still in mourning.’
‘Nae fer long.’ Isobel patted her shoulder. ‘Cheer up, Lizzy. Things seem bleak noo, but wi’ a wee bit of luck the right man might come along.’
Elizabeth joined in the laughter, trying to disguise the sadness that had come over her, for the end of mourning was the anniversary of Thomas Bailey’s death. She stayed a little longer before withdrawing to her own room.
As dusk fell, Elizabeth put finishing touches to a letter to Jane. It had been an eventful month. The betrothal of Isobel to Colonel Fitzwilliam had transformed opinion in Laramore, once news spread that the couple intended to settle in Canada. For years Isobel had been as popular among the tenants as she was unpopular among the gentry. Soon almost the entire village was on MacFarlane’s list, excepting only the elderly and infirm, who would accept cottages in Mulkirk.
The excitement in Laramore contrasted awkwardly with opinion in other inland villages such as Croidale and Rithgill, also to be cleared. Tenants knew they were to be allotted crofts and cottages on the coast, but these now seemed less desirable than the promise of land in Canada. Niall Brodie visited with a squad of soldiers and tried to reassure them, but he was shouted down, and two tenants were fined for public disorder.
Hector’s instinct was to quell the rebellion by force, but after discussion with Darcy he agreed to a compromise. A letter was dispatched to Lord Bathurst requesting an increase in numbers. Tenants who could not raise the deposit would be helped. Certificates of good character would be granted provided there were no further disturbances.
The tactic had worked, but a few days later everyone was shocked by a terrible aftermath. Niall Brodie rode out one afternoon to inspect the moor between Laramore and Forslethen, and did not return. Later that evening, searchers found his body beside a stone wall, his horse grazing nearby. Death was due to a violent blow to the side of the head. In the physician’s opinion he could have fallen from his horse and landed unluckily on the wall; however, after the bad feeling in Croidale and Rithgill, rumours of foul play were rife. The Procurator Fiscal in Thurso ordered an investigation, but with no witnesses a verdict of accidental death seemed inevitable.
In her letter, Elizabeth glossed over the episode. She had never written of the robbery in Edinburgh, nor the recent attack on Darcy, for fear of alarming her family. As in Thomas’s case, there had been little revelry at Brodie’s funeral. She had walked at Darcy’s side to the kirk, following the coffin-bearers, guiltily feeling safer now that the factor had met this violent end. She still believed him responsible for killing Thomas, and trying to kill Darcy, although of course there was no proof. What could not be denied was the disruption Brodie had wrought through his zeal for modernisation.
Hector Mackay, who had relied on Brodie over many years, was distressed by his death—and also left without a factor. However, he had been impressed by MacFarlane, who had managed large sheep farms in the Lowlands, and after talking it over with Darcy, Elizabeth agreed to widen MacFarlane’s remit: temporarily at least, her factor would manage not only Laramore but the whole unified estate.
Wearily Elizabeth completed the letter, ready to send in the morning. She would leave the wedding to her next.
37
Wednesday 27th July 1814
The complexities of a Highland wedding were stupefying. The month had to be propitious—never May. Some days of the week were better than others: on an embroidery in Flora’s drawing room Elizabeth had been shown the following ditty:
Monday for wealth,
Tuesday for health,
Wednesday the best day of all,
Thursdays for crosses,
Friday for losses,
Saturday no luck at all.
As matron of honour, Elizabeth wore a Highland gown and bodice matching Isobel’s, but with a paler tartan. The bride had to be clothed according to another ditty: Something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue. Flora had a charm necklace that had belonged to her grandmother; as to blue, the tartan bodice was deemed sufficient; for the rest, they added a sprig of white heather from Larraig and borrowed Elizabeth’s black brooch. The right shoe had to be put on first, and a silver sixpence slipped in for luck.
A minister presided, but the ceremony took place on the far bank of the Maran, below the first stand of go
rse. From Strathmaran this was a short procession, but at least they crossed water, another augury of good fortune, and villagers from Mulkirk and Portstroma clapped and threw petals as the laird’s sister passed. By stopping short of the villages they also avoided the danger of encountering a pig, upon which, by tradition, they would have had to return to Strathmaran and start again.
The groom’s party was already there, Colonel Fitzwilliam in his old regimentals while awaiting ratification of his new commission in the Royal Scots. At his side, Darcy served as best man; neither was kilted. A few paces from the gorse stood a flat rock resembling a table; from witnessing other weddings Elizabeth knew this was the oathing stone, which the couple would touch as they exchanged their promises.
Luckily the sun shone on their procession—another good portent—but fat grey clouds scudded past suggesting the possibility of a shower. Mercurial as the Highland weather, Isobel looked radiant as well as beautiful, transformed after her despair just a month before.
The form of service was stripped to essentials. Confidently the fateful words were spoken, and with a flourish Hector approached to pin a tartan rosette to the lapel of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s coat …
He was admitted into the ranks of clan Mackay.
Elizabeth exchanged an ironic glance with Darcy as he came to congratulate Mrs Fitzwilliam, whose acceptance at Matlock and Rosings would come much later, if ever.
The celebration unfolded joyously—a reaction perhaps to a month of upheaval and tragedy. A piper led them back to the great hall at Strathmaran, where drinks awaited before the feast. Hector Mackay made a humorous speech about his decorous wee sister, including an episode when aged five she had tried to ride a piglet. Darcy’s address was more serious, but attended with interest: he told of the Fitzwilliams, their estate at Matlock, the colonel’s military adventures, his caution over matrimony—now cast to the wind. To conclude, he too toasted the lovely lady who had effected this transformation. In response, Colonel Fitzwilliam thanked his cousin and the major for their best wishes, and promised not to detain the company by a résumé of Darcy’s career, except to point out that he too had displayed no great desire to surrender his bachelorhood—yet.
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