And so the shadows of it were never dispelled. All she had ever been able to find out was that the grieve, Robert Kelso, had been hanged for the murder.
She had only a vague recollection of him: a big, powerful-looking man with broad shoulders and longish raven-black hair, darker even than Douglas Monteith’s.
Pushing her bicycle, she started towards the village and as she did so a roe deer fled away, its white scut bobbing like a rabbit’s tail, down one of the fern-edged, moss-carpeted paths and through the brown shadows of woods so thick that the paths had been protected from the recent early fall of snow. She passed along by the busy, tumbling river and then across to a stile which had to be climbed to reach the path to the village. With some difficulty she managed to get her cycle across, then she climbed nimbly over herself.
The village was a disappointment. Granny’s house was like a haunted place with gaping windows revealing an empty black interior. She had gone, no one knew where. This saddened Clementina, although she knew it was silly to feel like this. After all, the old woman hadn’t been her Granny but Alice Tait’s. It was just—she had felt so in need of someone. For a few minutes she lingered outside the village shop as she had once done with Alice, as if hoping that by some miracle Alice would suddenly appear, plump-cheeked, mob-capped and ready for anything. But there was no sight nor sound of Alice—only the echoing tink-tink of the blacksmith’s forge nearby.
With a heavy heart, Clementina mounted her bicycle and pedalled laboriously in the direction of the Drumcross Road.
Tonight she would ask Flora to bring her a glass of warm milk to make sure she could get a good restful sleep. This lethargy and depression would not do. No useful purpose could be served by it and she must be refreshed and fit for all she wanted to accomplish. At the moment, apart from her secretarial work for the West Lothian Group and her regular meetings about contraception in the homes of women in Blackwood village, she was writing a pamphlet about contraception with some diagrams drawn by Agnes, who was very artistic. It was planned to give these pamphlets out at the next meeting, which for the first time was to be held in a hall.
There were so many women whose health, strength and freedom had been eroded or destroyed by yearly pregnancies—not to mention horrific abortions and miscarriages—and who were anxious for enlightenment and help, that house meetings could not cope with them all. Women from other villages and even from Bathgate had come to hear about them and were pleading to be allowed to attend. A public meeting in a hall had hence become an urgent necessity. They had booked the Co-op Hall for an evening a couple of weeks after the Edinburgh suffragette demonstration and now the pamphlets were almost ready. Clementina had worked hard at them and Agnes had put much care and artistry into the diagrams and drawings.
Millicent, Betsy, Kitty and Eva had also been very busy. They had put together a box containing a layette to help the Blackwood village women when they did have babies. The idea was to cut down in whatever way possible the grinding worry to which the women were subjected. The box contained all the basic necessities for a confinement and was loaned out to the women as it was needed, each woman being allowed to keep the box until the baby was shortened. Among the contents were little bootees and a beautiful shawl knitted by Kitty, her fingers never at peace, her knitting needles flying at top speed. Long flannelette gowns had been produced by Betsy and Millicent. Eva had made vests and supplied nappies and little odds and ends like safety pins, soap and vaseline.
The box had proved such a godsend that they had determined to make up another one as soon as they could. In return, apart from their gratitude, they had the women’s enthusiastic support for the West Lothian Justice for Women Group and quite a number of them were determined to march under the West Lothian banner in Edinburgh.
A strong sense of sisterhood was growing between not only Clementina and her immediate friends but also with the many other women with whom she now came in contact. She had been much comforted and strengthened by this, as they all had. Yet on this day, feeling overstrained, with nerve ends exposed after her nightmare night, she longed for another deeper kind of comfort, she was unsure of what nature. She wondered if she dare approach her mother, really try to get close to her. Perhaps she was much to blame for her mother’s attitude. She had been a terrible disappointment. She was argumentative and it must be quite a trial for her mother, who was obviously very conventional, to have to struggle with someone in the family with such modern ideas. Especially after her mother had had to cope with a terrible tragedy in her life and then suffer such a debilitating illness.
The more Clementina allowed herself to think of her mother, the more loving and compassionate she felt until, by the time she was cycling through the iron gateway of Blackwood House, she wanted nothing more than to run into the sitting-room and into her mother’s arms. When she saw the horse tethered at the door of the house she could have wept foolish tears of disappointment. It looked as if her mother had a visitor and so there would be no chance to have a confidential talk with her. In the reception hall, however, Mrs Musgrove met her and told her she must go straight into the drawing-room. Her mother wished to speak to her.
The moment she stepped into the room she was nonplussed by the sight of Douglas Monteith’s tall figure in a dark suit and light waistcoat, standing with his back to the fire, smoking a cigar. The spicy aroma pervading the room added to her feelings of discomposure.
‘You wished to see me, Mother?’ Clementina said.
Her mother looked even more beautiful than usual in a cream silk dress with a high frilled neck and hair like polished mahogany. But her eyes seemed to burn unnaturally bright.
‘Are you not going to say “Good afternoon” to Lord Monteith, Clementina? What will he think of your manners?’
‘Good afternoon, Lord Monteith.’
‘Lord Monteith,’ Lorianna said, ‘has honoured us by asking for your hand in marriage.’
‘How dare you!’ Clementina found herself trembling with emotion. ‘I made my feelings perfectly clear to you.’
‘That’s why I’m here, Clementina.’
‘But I have refused you!’
Her mother intervened. ‘Clementina, I implore you not to be so perverse. You have no reason to refuse Lord Monteith. Apart from the fact that he can provide you with everything any woman could ever want or need, he loves you and is more than capable I am sure of dealing with …’ she hesitated delicately, ‘any little problems that may arise.’
Surely he had not betrayed her intimate moments of confusion and distress? She was speechless with fury for a moment, knowing that her rage was illogical because she had been longing to confide in her mother about this very subject herself, but not caring. How dare he! she thought.
‘I shall never forgive you for this, Douglas!’
‘Clementina, don’t be ridiculous,’ her mother said. ‘Lord Monteith has behaved with absolute correctness and propriety in coming to me. There is nothing for you to forgive.’
‘I have a right to say “No”, Mother, and I have said “No” to Lord Monteith. We are not suited. Our temperaments, the way we live and our philosophies are completely at odds.’
Monteith sighed. ‘Clementina, if it is your suffragette meetings you are worried about, I promise you I will allow you to attend them within reason. Obviously I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, and so taking part in anything illegal or militant would be out of the question, but otherwise—’
‘You would be pleased to indulge the little woman,’ Clementina interrupted with heavy sarcasm, ‘so long as she asked your permission very humbly, and you happened to be in a good mood—and of course, she would have to be careful and show that she was suitably grateful if you felt beneficent enough to give your permission.’
‘Oh, Lord Monteith,’ Lorianna said, ‘I do apologise. I don’t know why my daughter behaves like this.’
‘Clementina!’
She recognised the warning note in his voice, but had gone too f
ar to change course. Recklessly, defiantly she said, ‘Well, I’m not your little woman and never will be, thank God!’
The thunder of an approaching storm darkened Douglas’s face, narrowing his eyes and hardening his jaw.
‘You are not dealing with your mother or your brothers now, Clementina. You will do as I say.’
‘Huh!’ Clementina scoffed. ‘You are ordering me to marry you, are you? Well, let me tell you, I am not your obedient slave, nor shall I ever be to any man.’
‘God!’ Douglas exploded, tossing his cigar into the fire. ‘If you start on your bloody women’s rights again, Clementina, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I apologise, Mrs Blackwood,’ he added, remembering the delicate sensibilities of the older woman who was shrinking back into the cushions of the settee, her hand shading her eyes in obvious distress.
‘I know exactly how you feel, Lord Monteith,’ Lorianna murmured.
‘I have no wish to “start” anything,’ Clementina said. ‘In fact I’m going. I have another, more important engagement.’ With a dismissive swish of her skirts she made to leave.
‘No, you don’t!’ Douglas’s long legs crossed the room with a rapidity that startled her and his voice contained such violence she didn’t stop to think or feel any more—she just lifted her skirts and ran.
He caught up with her halfway up the tower stairs and knocked her up against the wall, making her immediately retaliate with a punch that sank her knuckles into his eye and nearly sent him reeling back down the narrow spiral stairs.
‘Christ!’
‘Lord Monteith!’ her mother wailed behind him, ‘it’s no use. She is absolutely beyond the pale. Oh, please, just come away and leave her alone!’
Taking advantage of the few seconds while Douglas nursed his eye, Clementina raced up to the schoolroom quarters and shut and locked the landing door. And not a moment too soon.
‘Clementina!’ Douglas shouted. ‘I am warning you. If you don’t open this bloody door, I shall kick it in.’
She flew into her bedroom and locked that door as well. The landing door exploded with a thunderous noise that echoed not only in every corner of the tower but right down to the servants’ quarters and brought them all running to the foot of the stairs.
‘You will be terrifying my little boy!’ Lorianna was sobbing hysterically now. ‘Remember you are a gentleman. For pity’s sake, have some consideration even if Clementina has not!’
Gradually the sobbing faded away and there was silence.
Clementina could imagine Mrs Musgrove helping Lorianna on to the settee and sending servants scurrying for brandy and smelling salts, while Douglas made stiff apologies before striding from the house, mounting his horse and riding the long road through fields and hills back to Dumbreggan.
Clementina leaned against the bedroom door. She was safe. She was free. She was so miserable she didn’t know how she would be able to endure it.
49
‘John!’ Lorianna turned in surprise as Stirling entered the room without being announced. ‘Where is the maid? I am so sorry about this. I will ring for her to take your hat and cane.’
Stirling regarded her enquiringly. ‘Have I done something to offend your housekeeper? I seemed to get an even more frosty look from her than usual. I thought I wasn’t going to get past her.’
‘Oh dear!’ Lorianna’s brow creased with concern. ‘I am sorry, John. She is a strange woman, but very efficient at her job.’
Just then Baxter entered, ‘You rang, madam?’
‘Yes. Please take Mr Stirling’s hat and gloves and cane and why didn’t you announce him?’
The maid did not reply.
‘Baxter,’ Lorianna said in exasperation. ‘I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.’
After another awkward pause the maid said in a low voice, ‘Mrs Musgrove said that Mr Stirling was not welcome, madam, and sent me back downstairs to the servants’ hall.’
Lorianna gasped and had to sit down before she was able to speak.
‘Mrs Musgrove is mistaken. I shall speak to her about this later. That is all, Baxter, you may go now.’
‘Don’t get upset on my behalf, Lorianna,’ Stirling said when they were alone. ‘As you said yourself, your housekeeper is a very strange woman. Sometimes a little eccentricity is the price one has to pay for an efficient servant.’
‘She has always had a hatred of men, but recently this has become worse. It’s Clementina’s fault, of course. It was Clementina who drove Lord Monteith to act as he did. But Mrs Musgrove refuses to see it like that.’ Lorianna helplessly shook her head. ‘She will be refusing Gilbert and Malcolm entry next.’
‘What on earth was Clementina thinking about?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, John. Her behaviour makes no sense. I have tried and tried to understand it, but I just can’t. They seemed to me so well-suited.’
Stirling looked down at her and noticed how pale she was. The sweep of dark lashes was quite startling against the pallor of her cheeks.
‘Allow me to pour you a little brandy, Lorianna.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled gratefully at him.
When he bent over her and offered her the drink she noticed that his hands were slim and carefully manicured. The rim of the glass felt cool and hard against her lips, but the brandy warmed and strengthened her.
‘I don’t know what I would do without you, John.’ She touched his arm and experienced through the smooth feel of expensive cloth, through the warm flesh, the long, hard bone.
He took the glass from her and put it aside before sitting down.
‘Your daughter is still very young, Lorianna. She may yet see sense.’
‘I doubt it, it’s just how she is. Anyway, to put it mildly, Lord Monteith’s patience is exhausted. He is turning to other prospects now and I cannot blame him, can you?’
‘No, I’m afraid she has gone too far this time.’ Stirling tapped his fingers absently on the arm of his chair. ‘To have behaved in such an incredibly unladylike manner to such a man… . His family goes back to the sixteenth century.’
‘Mrs Anstruther-Brown was boasting about how he was paying attention to her daughter, Effie. She had invited him to attend her hunt ball and apparently Lord Monteith never took his eyes off Effie the whole evening. I thought the awful woman was never going to stop chattering on about it.’
‘Ah, well,’ Stirling said. ‘If a match between Clementina and Lord Monteith is not to be, it’s not to be. Sometimes it is better not to struggle against fate, but just accept the inevitable and try to make the best of it.’
Lorianna’s eyes widened. ‘You mean I ought merely to accept the fact that Clementina’s going to be an old maid, a failure, a subject for ridicule?’ She flushed in sudden embarrassment. ‘Oh, John, how tactless of me! I forgot about your sisters. I am so sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘My sisters’ failure to get husbands is an example of the cruel fate I referred to just now. They never had Clementina’s beauty of course. She will meet someone else, you’ll see. Someone she will want to marry. Try to have patience, my dear.’
It was true that she was impatient—irritatingly, agonisingly so. Guilt and shame, love and hatred jostled continuously inside her, giving her no peace. Clementina had behaved in an absolutely unforgivable way, yet there was something so pathetic about the strained, eager-to-please look in her eyes that it brought love to pain Lorianna with its intensity.
Clementina had come to the sitting-room the other day and abruptly presented her with a birthday present. The girl was so graceless! It was a handkerchief sachet she had made and embroidered herself and her pride in it was obvious in her shining eyes and her air of excited expectancy. It had been clumsily and inexpertly sewn (Clementina had never excelled in any ladylike accomplishments) and more deserving of shame than pride. However, she later bitterly regretted her gasp of impatience.
‘Clementina, how many times have I shown you how to do these stitches? And surely
you could have kept your work in a sewing bag to keep it decently clean? It looks like something a five-year-old has done.’
‘It is just that I worry about her so much.’ Lorianna smiled at John as calmly as she was able, in an attempt to disguise the feelings about her daughter that he had detected. ‘All I want is that Clementina should be happy and properly looked after.’
‘Of course,’ Stirling said.
‘And how is your family?’ Lorianna asked. ‘Your mother and sisters are well, I hope?’
‘Mother is getting very frail and hasn’t been able to take her usual drive to see the shops. Something she sadly misses. But Abbie and Susan are in excellent health. I worry about them, of course. Which is why, although as I said I don’t believe you need be too concerned about Clementina—she is still young—I can understand your anxiety. My poor sisters lead such empty lives. They walk miles, day after day, week after week just to pass the time. Or they play bridge with the same set of people—all spinsters like themselves. I see them all growing old together at that bridge table. It’s very sad. One is forced to ask oneself “what use are they in the world?”’
For a moment they were silent with their thoughts. The clock on the mantelshelf whirred and struck seven with delicate tinkling strokes. The fire’s glow occasionally flamed up and ruby light leapt into the amber pools of the oil-lamps. It enriched the gold of Lorianna’s dress and danced spasmodically across the pink damask of the settee and red wall-hangings.
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