Christabel's Room: A spellbinding Victorian gothic romance

by Abigail Clements

  For a moment we lay together, the feelings of our love running high, and then I sat up, quickly, turning my head away, ashamed.

  Duncan said, ‘I am sorry, Elspeth.’

  But I shook my head, saying ‘There is no need,’ because I knew I had wanted it as much as he.

  We stood up, not looking at each other, and Duncan said, ‘Come, lass. Donald and Angus will be waiting with the sheep.’

  I nodded, my face still turned from him, and we walked together away from the sweet-smelling hillside. There would be a time for love, but there were vows to be said first and we both knew that.

  As we reached the high pasture where the men and dogs were waiting at the gate, I was thinking of Rowena and Christabel and knowing now that I had been their sister in thought and had no right to condemn them.

  It was not long after that Uncle Iain asked me to meet him one morning in the library. When I arrived he was sitting in his favourite chair with old Dhileas curled as always at his feet. He stood up as I entered.

  ‘Elspeth,’ he said, his tone quite serious, ‘I have been wanting to talk with you.’

  I thought suddenly of the hillside, of the chambered cairn, and my cheeks went hot, guilt making me forget that he could not possibly know what had occurred there.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Iain,’ I said, nervously fingering the lace cuffs of my blouse. I had not felt like this since Annabel Grey and myself were caught by Miss Pringle with three cream buns from the forbidden village cake-shop.

  Uncle Iain did not appear to notice my distress, but continued, ‘You have been seeing Duncan MacKenzie rather often,’ he said.

  I nodded, biting my lip.

  ‘And is it marriage you are thinking of?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘Uncle Iain!’ I exclaimed, astounded. I saw then the laughter behind his serious face, and I protested, ‘You are teasing me, Uncle Iain. It isn’t fair.’

  ‘No, my dear,’ he said, his laughter quite open now, ‘it is not fair. I fear I am taking advantage of our relationship. But surely you will believe me when I protest that I do so only out of a genuine concern for your welfare.’ He was quite serious again, and I nodded solemnly and waited for him to continue.

  ‘You will forgive me for noticing, but surely he is courting you.’ It was intended for a question but it came out a statement. ‘And marriage is often the intention of courtship, I believe.’

  ‘He has not asked!’ I protested.

  ‘But if he did?’

  I paused and took a deep breath. ‘Then I would accept,’ I said firmly, looking defiantly back at my godfather, though fearing his response.

  ‘I should jolly well hope so,’ Uncle Iain replied cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, Uncle Iain!’ I cried, and flung myself into his arms in grateful relief. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you approved instead of making me suffer like that?’

  ‘Whatever made you think I would not approve?’ he demanded, amazed. ‘Duncan is my closest friend second only to one, and you the daughter of that one exception. Didn’t you realize how pleased I would be?’

  I shook my head, silently. My fear of his disapproval was only a measure of the importance of Duncan MacKenzie to me. I could not bear to think of anything coming between us. Suddenly I reminded myself that I was celebrating a race not yet won.

  ‘But Uncle Iain,’ I said, ‘Duncan has not spoken of marriage.’

  ‘He will.’ I smiled at the reply, but I wished that I felt half as confident as my godfather.

  ‘Yes, he will,’ Uncle Iain mused, almost to himself. ‘I know love now when I see it,’ he continued. ‘It is a knowledge I have learned the hard way, not to be forgotten, not ever.’

  He had turned his back on me and was looking out the library window, over the ravine.

  ‘You are alike, you and Duncan,’ he said finally. ‘Like must marry like, it is the only way.’

  He was lost to me now, in a world filled with ghosts, and I left him alone with the whining dog at his feet.

  Chapter Ten

  Summer came to Creagdhubh like an uneasy guest, not sure of its welcome. Through the spring months of March and April the dark clouds raced before high winds, day after day. Streamers of mist hung down the cuts and over the loch and the tall windows of Creagdhubh shook and rattled with gale-driven, lashing rain.

  Then one morning in May, the sky was blue from hill to hill and there was no wind at all. I stood at my window, brushing my hair and looking out, seeing where the hardwoods were suddenly a soft green, the larches the same fresh colour as the green-satin spread on my bed. The lawns around the old house were sprinkled with tiny white daisies and splashed with bright daffodils.

  Neat rows of crocuses, hyacinths and tulips showed in the flower borders. They seemed to have come, like mushrooms, from nowhere. Among the hardwoods behind the gate house I picked out the white, clouded tops of wild cherry trees.

  Catriona had opened the upper sash of the window and now, mingled with the rush of the burn, I could hear far down in the valley a dreamy, distant cuckoo.

  I had exulted over the weather upon arising, only to be assured by Mrs. Cameron that I had best enjoy it now, for by next week it could well be winter again. It seemed impossible to believe, but I reminded myself that last week it had indeed been winter, and the snow still lay drifted on the high, bare tops of the hills.

  Still, I had promised myself a ride down the loch path to see the still, black water under this splendid sunshine, as soon as Rowena’s lessons were completed.

  But before I had even gone down to breakfast, Rowena arrived, breathless, dressed in pale blue summer-gingham and brimming with childish excitement.

  ‘Oh, Elspeth,’ she cried, quite forgetting her customary studied dignity, and flopping down across my bed. I turned to face her as she said, ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  I hadn’t heard anything special, and it was plain she was delighted to be the bearer of the news.

  ‘We’re going to have a ball. A real ball at Creagdhubh. There hasn’t been one since Mother died, and then I used to be too young. But now I’m not. Oh, Elspeth, isn’t it just too marvellous?’

  ‘How very nice,’ I said with genuine pleasure, because it did sound very exciting. ‘When was this decided?’

  ‘This morning,’ she replied, dreamily. ‘I’ve been working at Papa for ages and he’s finally given in.’ She giggled, ‘I shall have a new dress made, a white one, for summer. From one of your new patterns.’ She turned over and lay on her stomach, her legs bent up and swinging one blue satin slipper. She chewed carefully on a delicate fingernail and said after much thought, ‘Or perhaps pink. Pink silk. What do you think?’

  ‘White,’ I said, smiling. ‘And lessons, I think too, but breakfast first.’

  ‘Pooh!’ said Rowena, automatically, but really quite good-naturedly. She was too delighted with her new excitement to be annoyed, even with me. I left her thumbing studiously through my fashion books and went to breakfast.

  Roderick was at the table and he rose to greet me, bowing tauntingly over my hand. I felt a rush of hatred for him for his theft of Rowena’s innocence. But I reminded myself they played a game for two, and if he was guilty so was she. For all her gingham and her laughter she knew how to be cruel, too.

  ‘Good morning, Roderick,’ I said stiffly and he stood by my chair as I sat down, his dark eyes malevolently playful.

  ‘And how is the schoolmistress this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Very well,’ I replied. ‘And would you pass the toast?’

  He did, with elaborate flourish, but before he could continue his conversation Uncle Iain entered, much to my relief.

  ‘Grand morning,’ he announced to both of us, and Morag too, who had arrived with platters of grilled kippers. ‘Yes, a grand morning.’ Uncle Iain had not missed the tension that existed between myself and Roderick, though he could clearly fathom no reason for it. He tried, as always, to bring us together, hoping to establish a normal friendship between us.


  It was understandable, but it added to my difficulties.

  ‘A fine day for a ride, Elspeth,’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes, I had thought so too,’ I answered. ‘In fact I plan to ride down to the lochside after Rowena’s lessons today.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Uncle Iain replied. ‘I’ll see the groom about your pony. I say, Roderick,’ he went on quickly, ‘why not keep Elspeth company. I am sure Duncan would be willing to share her for an afternoon,’ he joked, ‘seeing as how he is busy with the lambing just now.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ I protested, ‘I’ll be quite all right by myself. You need not bother,’ I said directly to Roderick.

  ‘But of course I must, and I would so much enjoy your company.’ He turned his taunting, crooked smile on me.

  ‘Jolly good,’ Uncle Iain concluded, before I could make any further protestation. ‘I’ll tell Geordie to saddle your mare as well.’

  ‘How very kind,’ said Roderick softly.

  When I arrived at the stables after luncheon, Roderick was waiting. I knew he would be. He held my pony at the mounting block, not hiding his amusement at my annoyance with him.

  Then he mounted his mare and we trotted out of the stable yard and across the bridge. The loch path started at the far side of the Creagdhubh bridge and skirted the edge of the ravine, following it steeply downward to the point on the shore where the waters of Alltdhubh flowed into the waters of Loch Ness.

  The path was steep and narrow, and if not outright dangerous, it was certainly tricky. But the ponies and horses of the Creagdhubh stables were bred and trained for this country and took to it naturally and well. I had grown used to the skill with which they set their sturdy hooves neatly down, winding a secure path through the slippery, rock-strewn mud. My pony, Hazel, a charming dapple grey, had become a familiar friend whose judgement I trusted over my own.

  I gave her her head and she followed close behind the sleek black tail of Roderick’s mare.

  In one way the narrowness of the track was a blessing, for it made conversation difficult and allowed me to comfortably ignore Roderick and concentrate instead on the grey furry ears of Hazel and on the beauty of the day.

  In London, summer supplanted cold air with warm, and grey skies, occasionally, with blue. Here it altered everything, and where the land had before been fierce and craggy, it appeared suddenly lush and gentle. Around the burn, the sun-dappled mosses and lichens seemed tropical, the wet vegetation like a rain-forest. I felt as if I rode through another world entirely, bearing no relation to the harsh, arctic landscape I had known for months.

  The very temporal quality, the knowledge that it might vanish as suddenly as it had come in a whirl of sleet and storm winds, added immensely to the beauty. I felt the need to grasp the day, like the handful clusters of fragile, veined primrose flowers that dotted the dark earth of the woodland.

  We reached the shore, where Hazel stamped on the wet sand of the narrow beach. The shore was not what I had expected. Although it gave a lovely, peaceful view out over the glistening, smooth water filled with green and gold reflections, it was not a peaceful place.

  Dark tree-branches overhung the water, and the pebbly sand was scattered with twisted, bone-coloured driftwood and dead-white boulders, shaggy with black, wet moss.

  I had expected the openness and freedom that shorelines usually give, and felt instead unnervingly shadowed by the hillside. I thought I would dismount and step out onto the boulders, away from the trees. I slipped my foot from the stirrup and in seconds Roderick had dismounted and was standing beside me.

  It is not easy to climb down from a lady’s saddle, particularly without a mounting block, and a gentleman’s helping hand is usually most welcome. I shrank from Roderick’s touch, but I had little choice.

  I slipped from the saddle, and his extended arm did not release me, but instead pulled me closer to him.

  I jerked away from him, so suddenly that the pony shied nervously, tugging against the reins which I still held. I slipped them over her head but kept them in my hand. Roderick had tethered his mare to a slim rowan-sapling, but I had no intention of staying here long.

  ‘Look, Roderick,’ I said, nervously, ‘there’s a boat on the shore there. Who does it belong to?’ I pointed down the beach to where I had noticed the curving shape of the small wooden craft, pulled high up from the water, its short mast in the low tree-branches.

  I was actually curious about it, but more important at the moment, it provided a point of distraction for Roderick.

  He looked in the direction I had indicated.

  ‘It is only the ferry-wife’s boat,’ he said with little interest. ‘The track to her crofthouse runs there, just above it. But see here,’ he added having come quickly on a new thought. He gestured in the opposite direction. The shore turned in a sharp curve into a small shallow cove. ‘Come round this rock, a moment,’ he called to me eagerly.

  I followed reluctantly, as he had already disappeared around the outcrop. Hazel followed splashing through the stony shallows of the loch, as I picked my way carefully along the thin strip of dry beach between the hill and the water at that point.

  Roderick was standing on the wider beach within the cove. I saw with relief that he was not tricking me away from the safety of the path home; there really was something to see.

  The boat in the cove was not much bigger than the ferry-wife’s but it was sleeker and neater, the paint fresh and shining, the brass mast-fittings and oarlocks gleaming.

  ‘The Creagdhubh boat,’ Roderick announced gaily. ‘Fancy a sail?’ He was already preparing to fit a wooden roller under the stern and slide the boat into the water.

  ‘No,’ I said quickly.

  ‘And why not?’ he replied lazily, still readying the boat.

  ‘Because I am going back to the house,’ I said, feeling I owed him no more explanation, and I turned, backing Hazel into the water to turn her also. Suddenly Roderick’s hand was on my own, holding me.

  ‘Let me go.’ I was frightened. He was strong and we were utterly alone.

  ‘What are you afraid of?’ he said coolly. I struggled, and his fingers tightened on my wrist hurting me and making me angry.

  ‘I know what you are,’ I said harshly. ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘And what am I, then?’ he whispered, tightening his grip still more, this time meaning to hurt me. I cried out, and he pulled me very close to him. The pony whinnied and half-reared behind me.

  When I would not answer he said, ‘And what are you then, with your superior ways? You out on the hill with your sheep farmer half the day. You’re no different from me, are you?’ His eyes were suddenly hungry-looking, and his other arm went around my body, his fingers strong and searching. I fought as he kissed me, turning my face sharply away. Then taking a desperate chance, I released my grip on Hazel’s bridle, freeing my hand to use the riding crop which hung on its leather strap from my wrist. I brought it sharp across his face, a stinging blow that left a bright red line on the smooth, tanned skin. Then I clutched frantically for the skittering pony’s reins, catching them by sheer luck.

  I hiked my riding skirt with one hand, got my foot in the stirrup and dragged myself onto the pony’s back as Roderick, recovered from the shock of my striking him, lunged for me. His fingers caught my skirt, and as the pony fought against my bridle hand I slashed out at Roderick with the crop, again and again until he let me go.

  Hazel clattered through the stony shallows, splashing up a white froth of water around her slim black legs. We galloped past Roderick’s mare who whinnied and pulled on her rowan tree, trying to join us. I hoped she would break free, but she did not, and I knew Roderick would be close behind me.

  Hazel plunged up the steep hill-path in a panic for home, and I doubt I could have held her if I wanted to. Just then, however, my panic matched hers, and I would rather have risked my neck on the hill-path than risk being caught there by Roderick.

  Roderick’s mare was taller and fast
er than Hazel, but she was a thoroughbred and meant for the open country. Here, Hazel’s Highland breeding gave her the advantage. I was in sight of Creagdhubh when Roderick caught me.

  His hand came down on Hazel’s bridle and for a moment I was afraid, though I knew he dared not harm me here.

  I was amazed to see that he was quite calm. Except for the bright weals on his face and his hand where my crop had struck, there was nothing to indicate we had had anything but a hearty ride together.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, quite coolly.

  ‘For what?’ I demanded angrily.

  ‘There is something we must decide on,’ he said.

  ‘I have made my own decision, sir,’ I said. ‘I am going to Uncle Iain.’

  He showed neither surprise nor fear. ‘And what will you tell him?’ he asked.

  ‘I will tell him the truth, that you have just now tried to take advantage of me, by force.’ I looked coldly into his deep, guarded eyes.

  He smiled, just a little. ‘Truth is a strange thing, my good schoolmistress. It changes according to the teller and the listener.’

  ‘The truth never changes. You know what it is, and so do I. And so will Uncle Iain.’

  ‘You think that he will believe you?’

  ‘Of course he will. I am his god daughter. He trusts me.’

  Roderick laughed. ‘I am his cousin. And he trusts me too. And blood remains thicker than water, I gather.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied bitterly. ‘He trusts you. And look how you have profaned his trust.’

  ‘With Christabel?’ he said mildly.

  ‘With Christabel. And with Rowena,’ I said.

  ‘I have done nothing with Rowena that would displease her father,’ he replied smoothly, ignoring my look of cold disbelief. ‘And will you tell Sir Iain about Christabel and myself, then?’ He looked boldly into my face, cool and confident.

  ‘I cannot do that.’ I admitted defeat. ‘It would destroy him.’

  ‘Undoubtedly it would,’ said Roderick. ‘It would also make things quite difficult for myself.’ He was silent for a moment and then he said, ‘If you accuse me before Sir Iain, I will merely say that you led me on; it will be interesting to see who he, and everyone else, will choose to believe. I think you have as much to lose as I do,’ he added pointedly.