The Fairbairn Girls (3 page)

Breakfast over, the Fairbairn family scattered in different directions with great purpose and without saying a word to each other. Lord Rothbury was the first to stride from the room and go straight out where the ghillie was waiting for him with Megara, ready saddled, bridled and raring to go. For the next three hours they’d ride around the estate and talk about the coming shooting season when grouse, pheasant, widgeon, woodcock, plover and snipe would be brought down. Then there were leverets to be shot before they became fully grown hares, and then stalking would follow. Only one thing clouded William’s pleasant expectations for the coming months: a large number of guests were always invited to Lochlee Castle for a few days at the end of each week. The men were fine. They were his friends. It was the frivolous wives who drove him mad; sometimes he wished he could shoot them, too.

Meanwhile, Margaret Rothbury had gone up to her private sitting room to give orders to the housekeeper, Mrs Spry, before sitting at her desk to see to her correspondence. She was an avid writer of letters and believed in keeping in touch with even the merest acquaintance.

‘You never know,’ she pointed out on one occasion, ‘when they might come in useful.’

‘They’re not a damned pair of boots!’ her husband had growled back.

‘Come along, children,’ called Susan the nursery maid, whose job it was to ‘give the girls a good run in the garden’ as Nanny ordered, as if they, too, had been a pack of dogs. Bundled up in tweed coats, woollen hats and scarves and little buttoned-up boots, Alice, Flora and Catriona trotted up and down the garden paths with sticks and hoops, seeing who could keep the hoops bowling along the longest.

Alice, who was six, was highly practised and her hoop rolled along merrily, but four-year-old Flora was wild with her stick and her hoop kept crashing down on to the lavender borders. Only three-year-old Catriona ran up and down, gripping her hoop firmly in one of her tiny hands while waving her stick above her head and yelling, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’

Susan watched them absently, her mind on the dashing new footman who’d arrived the previous week. She half hoped he was watching her now from one of the castle windows, and she raised her dainty chin so that he would see her pretty profile.

In the west wing, Freddie and Henry sat at a long table with glum expressions as Hector Stuart, their tutor, lectured them about the vast extent of the British Empire on which the sun never set.

By the window a globe of the world stood on a walnut stand. ‘Take a close look at it,’ he told them, rising to his feet. ‘I want each of you to write a list of the countries that make up our great Empire.’

Freddie’s groan was audible and Henry’s gusty sigh made the sheet of paper in front of him quiver.

‘Come on, lads! Buck up!’ Mr Stuart said bracingly.

Freddie gave him a withering look. ‘A stable boy is a “lad”; I’m Lord Fairbairn,’ he said coldly.

Mr Stuart eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Your father has given strict orders that titles do not exist in the schoolroom. You are plain Freddie and Henry is Henry. Your sisters are not referred to as “Lady” this and that when they’re in the schoolroom or the nursery.’

Freddie raised his chin rebelliously. ‘I’m Viscount Fairbairn everywhere I go.’ There was a defiant swagger in the way he spoke.

Henry gave a sweet smile. ‘Well, I don’t mind being called just “Henry”.’ There was a thoughtful pause. ‘I’m only the Hon. anyway.’

Mr Stuart gave an approving nod in his direction. It had been obvious to him from the moment he’d set eyes on the brothers that Henry was a good-natured soul, kind and even-tempered, while Freddie was an obnoxious little bully who was far too full of himself. In fact, if he’d been a betting man, Hector Stuart would have put a few sovereigns on Freddie turning out to be a complete and utter rotter.

In the north wing a governess, Miss Napier, was endeavouring to educate Diana, Georgina, Beatrice and also Eleanor, who had recently, at the age of ten, been considered bright enough to be with her older sisters.

‘I believe she just needs encouraging and being with the others will help. She lacks self-confidence,’ Miss Napier told their mother.

‘Not too much encouraging, I hope,’ Lady Rothbury retorted briskly. ‘Men do not like clever girls. Don’t bother teaching her arithmetic or anything like that. She’ll never need it. I’d rather you concentrated on getting her to read good books and maybe do a little sketching.’

Laura had gone straight to the library, where she settled herself at the round table in the centre. This was the warmest, most welcoming room in the castle, lined by oak bookcases holding six thousand books. Thick green velvet curtains masked the icy draughts from the windows and brown leather chairs were arranged for comfort near the big stone grate where logs fizzled and blazed.

She opened a notebook and, after sharpening a pencil, started to write, wanting to pin down on paper all her memories of the past few days while they were still fresh in her mind. It had been six weeks since Rory’s last visit, when he’d proposed and given her a diamond and sapphire engagement ring, and she’d felt quite sick with excitement when she heard his carriage draw up in the drive four days ago. On seeing him again sudden shyness had overwhelmed her for a moment, and she was glad they weren’t alone as her mother and sisters gathered around to welcome him back, but then they’d gone for a walk in the gardens on their own and suddenly she knew without a shadow of doubt that she was deeply in love with him.

How happy they’d been during the past few days, she thought as she scribbled in her notebook. She was missing him already, even though he’d only been gone an hour. If only she could have gone with him, she reflected, to his home in the south of England where it was warmer and the landscape was gently undulating and green instead of rugged.

Only now, as she sat alone in the library, did she realize with a sense of shock how empty and incomplete her life was without him.

Lizzie came barging into the room at that moment, full of purpose. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I was thinking . . .’

‘That can be dangerous, you know. Are you missing Rory already?’

Laura nodded, her eyes over-bright. ‘Don’t you long to leave here?’

Lizzie sat down opposite and leaned her elbows on the table. ‘Yes, sometimes,’ she agreed.

‘We’re missing so much by being cooped up here miles from anywhere,’ Laura complained. ‘I’m longing for the bright lights of a great city like London where there’s so much to see and so many things to do. If it wasn’t for the fact that when I’m married to Rory we can nip up to town whenever we like, I think I’d go mad.’

Lizzie looked thoughtful. ‘I think we all want to escape south. Especially Freddie. It’s because we’re young. We want adventure. We want to see the world. I expect we’ll be quite happy to settle here again when we’re as old as Mother and Father.’

Her sister looked appalled. ‘I hope I won’t end up here when I’m old. I don’t think Rory would like it either.’

‘I don’t think James would mind. Eventually, you know.’

‘Do you think you’ll really marry him?’

Lizzie smiled smugly. ‘Yes, definitely. He’s just waiting for the right moment to propose.’

Laura spoke eagerly now. ‘When Rory and I are married we’ll be in a position to invite Georgie, Beattie and Di to stay with us, and we’ll introduce them to Rory’s friends. Young men who live in London, too,’ she added impressively.

‘What? Not county, you mean?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe no one who is listed in the peerage, but Rory knows masses of people through his work, including an actor. They all seem to be making a lot of money.’

There was a shocked pause before Lizzie spoke. ‘Goodness!’

‘Most of the really rich young men are in trade, or at least their fathers are,’ Laura continued defensively.

‘Goodness,’ Lizzie repeated. ‘Don’t you think we might frighten them off with our titles?’

‘I’m seriously thinking of dropping mine when Rory and I are married.’

‘Whatever for? You’ve always been Lady Laura and I’m certainly not going to stop being Lady Elizabeth for anyone.’

‘I don’t want to overshadow Rory by being Lady Laura Drummond while he remains plain Mr Drummond.’

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that having a titled wife might raise his standing amongst his clients?’

Laura flushed angrily. ‘What a horrid thing to say.’

‘I’m not saying that’s why he’s marrying you, I merely meant . . .’

Laura jumped to her feet. ‘I know what you mean. You think we’re defined by our titles and the fact that we’re women. Thank God Emmeline Pankhurst formed the Women’s Franchise League two years ago. Soon women will be equal to men and allowed to vote, and it’s about time too. We’ve been regarded as appendages to our husbands, with not an original thought of our own, for too long. It’s time we stood up for ourselves,’ she added forcefully.

Her sister looked askance at her. ‘Here we go! Does Rory know you’re a secret suffragette?’

Laura burst out laughing. ‘Of course he does, and it’s no secret. That’s what he likes about me. Times are changing. Do
you
want to be like Mama? Letting Papa make all the decisions? At least we’ve now got a Married Women’s Property Act, but we need much more recognition.’

‘I’m happy with the way things are. I don’t want the responsibility of having to make all the decisions.’

‘So you’re content to live your life as a second-class citizen? A “Yes Woman” who does what her husband says?’ Laura countered swiftly, her hazel eyes glinting with intelligence.

Georgie, Beattie, Diana and little Eleanor came into the room at that moment and looked at them with curiosity.

‘What’s going on?’ Beattie asked.

‘What are you arguing about? We could hear you from the hall,’ said Diana.

Laura looked amused. ‘We weren’t really arguing. We were having a discussion about a woman’s role in the future. I believe we should have the same rights as men.’

‘How boring,’ Georgie exclaimed in disappointment.

‘Would you give up your title to make your husband feel less inferior?’ Lizzie demanded.

‘As my future husband will have a title already it won’t arise,’ scoffed Georgie airily.

At that moment they heard their father’s voice coming from somewhere outside the castle, yelling furiously at someone. Laura and Lizzie both rose to their feet and rushed to open the window, along with their younger sisters, so they could hear better.

‘If you come here again,’ the Earl was raging, ‘I’ll personally see you are flogged with a horsewhip, damn you! Do you understand? Keep away from here if you know what’s good for you!’

Then they heard another man’s voice, this time low and menacing. ‘As the Rowan tree is my witness, I curse the Fairbairn family from here until eternity.’

‘Go and be damned!’ yelled their father in response. ‘Get out of here or I’ll set the dogs on you.’

There was a skirmish of horses’ hooves followed by the clip-clop of someone riding away down the drive. Then they heard Lord Rothbury speak again in a calmer voice to the ghillie. ‘Linton, that man is not to be allowed on my land again. Call the police if you see him and have him arrested at once for trespass. On no account must he be allowed to come anywhere near me or my family. Now take Megara back to the stables. I won’t be going out again today.’

‘Yes, M’Lord.’ Linton sounded utterly quenched and unlike himself.

A moment later they heard their father cursing loudly as he stomped up the stone steps of the castle and into the great hall. ‘That
bastard
! I’d like to kill him.’

‘I’m going to find out what’s happening,’ said Laura.

Lizzie looked perturbed. ‘Do you think you should?’

‘I’m not afraid of Papa.’ Opening the library door, she stepped into the hall. ‘Papa? What’s the matter? Who was that you were shouting at?’ she asked calmly.

He shot her a furtive glance. ‘Mind your own damn business.’ Then he brushed roughly past her, almost knocking her down.

At dinner that night Lord Rothbury sat at the head of the long table, drinking heavily and refusing to speak. Only his wife’s ceaseless prattle broke the heavy silence and, as usual when there was trouble, she appeared as if she was unaware of it – that was her armour.

‘You haven’t forgotten, girls, that Mrs Armitage is arriving tomorrow?’ she asked brightly.

The sisters all perked up immediately and started talking at once.

‘What time is she arriving?’

‘How long is she staying for?’

‘Mama, I need a new coat . . .’

‘Two winter skirts . . .’

‘A smart day dress and . . .’

‘She can make my wedding dress, can’t she?’ Laura’s voice was the loudest. ‘And my going-away suit. I want a sapphire-blue velvet skirt with a matching jacket with satin revers.’

Lady Rothbury threw up her hands with a girlish gesture. ‘Goodness me! You’ll work the poor woman to death. She’s only staying for three months. May I also remind you that before she does anything else she has to make
my
winter wardrobe.’

Georgie immediately looked rebellious. ‘We can plan what we want, though, can’t we?’ she asked defiantly.

‘You’re way down the pecking order,’ Lizzie observed bossily. ‘I’m the first who needs new clothes, then Laura and then Beattie. Anyway, you’re not going anywhere special.’

‘Then when do I get new things?’ Diana wailed. ‘I want to have a new jacket.’

Suddenly Lord Rothbury rose to his feet; his face ruddy and bloated, his height and breadth dominating the room and making Diana cower back nervously. He raised his crystal wine goblet in his hand and then with great force threw it down into the fireplace. There was an explosion of glass splintering as it hit the old bricks, causing the dogs to jump to their feet with fright.

‘Let me remind you,’ he boomed above the din of screeching daughters and yelping dogs, ‘that “I want” doesn’t mean “I get”.’ With that he turned and stormed out of the room with Megan at his heels, her tail between her legs.

Little Eleanor couldn’t get to sleep that night. Something strange was happening below her bedroom window, where an ancient and rather magnificent Rowan tree grew. She’d always loved its scarlet leaves and the bright red berries that hung in the autumn like magical rubies from the branches. Nanny had once told her that the berries were the blood of the tree, and those who shed its blood would be for ever cursed. That was why no one was allowed to cut branches to bring into the house to enhance an arrangement of flowers. It was also why everyone regarded the Rowan tree with awe and great respect.