The House of Lyall (20 page)

‘What's stopping you, then?' laughed the minister's wife.

‘Grace Peat!' exclaimed the horrified Flora. ‘You shouldn't say things like that.'

Marianne shook her head. ‘It's all right, I don't mind. Nothing's stopping me, Grace, except my body. I must be like the shepherd's wife, because Hamish and I are trying but we've had no luck yet.'

‘Duncan doesn't want any children,' Grace sighed, ‘but he's got quite an appetite for …' She stopped, colouring slightly, then added, ‘I'm on tenterhooks every month because he has a vile temper when he's angry.' She looked pointedly at Flora now, as though demanding that she, too, should lay bare the intimate side of her marriage, and at last, her face a deep crimson, the doctor's wife said, ‘Robert and I desperately want a baby, too, and I've been pregnant twice, but I lost them both at three months.'

‘I'm sorry,' Marianne murmured, but Grace said accusingly, ‘You never told me that, you secretive thing. But you shouldn't be depressed about it. Keep trying. If Robert's managed it twice, he'll manage again.'

‘Do you really think so?' Flora's expression had brightened. ‘He says the same, that two miscarriages don't mean that I'll never carry to full time, but I thought he was only trying to stop me losing hope.'

‘He's the doctor, for goodness' sake,' Grace said firmly, ‘so he should know. You and Marianne will have to keep trying, and if I can, I'll stop the douching Duncan insists on to prevent me conceiving. Wouldn't it be fun if we all landed in the family way together?'

Her candour about so delicate a subject, and the very nature of their discussion, forged a firm bond between them, which pleased three husbands and at least one father-in-law, who would all have been absolutely appalled had they known the reason behind the closeness.

Chapter Ten

It was August of the following year before Marianne realized what had happened, by which time she had missed twice, and after she gave Hamish her good news, he completely stopped coming to her room at nights. But there was no doubt that he was proud of himself, strutting about like a cock on a muck midden, with a new spring to his step, and he told his father straight away, though she'd asked him not to say anything yet. She had also been quite put out that Hector had taken it on himself to announce it to all and sundry, for she'd have preferred her condition to be kept secret until it could be hidden no longer.

News of her pregnancy was the talking point in every house in the glen within a day of her telling her husband, mainly because Mima Rattray, shopkeeper and postmistress, had instant access to the ears of all the womenfolk. ‘Of course, I never believed yon story that went round about The Master,' she would say after imparting the exciting information. ‘There was never nothing peculiar about him.'

One of her customers did dare to justify her own credulity of the rumour. ‘Well, right enough, there musta been some mistake there, but you canna deny it was queer he never looked at ony o' the lassies here.'

‘But, Lizzie, dinna forget, he's gentry,' Mima pointed out, thus explaining everything, but adding also, ‘He'd just been waiting to find the right wife and what's wrong wi' that, tell me?'

Lizzie being suitably cowed, one of the other women in the shop said, ‘Aye, there's something to be said for the groom bein' a virgin as weel as the bride.'

This led to a debate on the benefits or otherwise of such a combination, and ended in such a riot of hilarity that Mima had to put her foot down firmly to keep them in order.

Because of the shame they felt at jumping to their wrong conclusions before, the glen folk were extravagant with their congratulation to the laird and the parents-to-be. Marianne responded to their good wishes with shy embarrassment, Hamish accepted them with a smiling murmur of thanks, but Hector acted as if he alone had worked the miracle. He even began carrying a silver flask of whisky with him wherever he went, so that those he met could drink to the fertilization.

Robert Mowatt having passed on the good news in sympathetic confidence to his wife, Flora confidentially told Grace Peat, and so they actually knew before Marianne told them herself, which gave them time to temper their envy. Nevertheless, she could discern more than a touch of wistfulness in each pair of eyes when they affirmed their rapturous joy at her good fortune. ‘Your turns are bound to come,' she told them, gently, ‘so don't give up.'

Flora grimaced. ‘Robert says we should wait a full year from the time I lost the second one, to give my body time to recover. But I don't know …'

‘At least he's planning for you to conceive again,' Grace sensibly pointed out. ‘D'you know what Duncan said when he heard Marianne was expecting? “Thank God it is not you!” What a thing for a man of his calling to say. It's not up to God to stop His ministers putting a bun in their wives' oven.' She looked pensive for a moment, then gave a little giggle. ‘There's such a lot of begetting in the Bible, it seems to me He encourages conception, immaculate or otherwise.'

The shocked Flora now burst out, ‘I don't know how you can sit there and take God's name in vain like that, and you married to a man of the Church.'

‘Not only am I married to one,' Grace nodded, winking mischievously at Marianne who was hard-pressed to keep a straight face, ‘I am also the daughter of one – my father was minister of quite a large parish in the wilds of Aberdeenshire – but what I'm saying is, it might be worth my while to pray a lot more, don't you think? To get in His good books, if you see what I mean.'

Rather belatedly, it dawned on the doctor's wife that her friend was joking. ‘Grace Peat, I never know when to take you seriously.'

Grace grinned at her. ‘You should know me by this time.'

She stood up to fetch the tray she had made ready earlier, and when she went out, Flora leaned across and whispered, ‘There's something not quite right about Duncan, I always think. Grace told me once that when he's in one of his black moods, she's scared to speak to him.'

It was Marianne's turn to gasp in shock. ‘She's actually
scared
of him?'

‘Oh, don't ever tell anybody I said that,' Flora pleaded, ‘but I've seen bruises on her arms when she's wearing short sleeves and I'm sure he hits her. She's never admitted it, mind. Says she banged into a door, or knocked against something, but –' She jumped back at the sound of footsteps coming along the little passageway between the sitting room and the kitchen, shaking her head in warning.

Marianne couldn't put it out of her head, and later, on her way home, she tried to remember if she had ever seen bruises on Grace's arms but she didn't think she had. Going inside, she came to the conclusion that Flora had been imagining things. Duncan was a man of God, for goodness' sake. He maybe had moods, all men did, but he wouldn't strike his wife, and there was no sense in mentioning it to Hamish or Hector. It would only lead to trouble where, more than likely, there had been no trouble at all.

*    *    *

Life below stairs in the castle was light-hearted now. ‘Mrs Hamish has fair made a big change here,' Mrs Carnie remarked to her husband before they went to bed one night. ‘There's no' the fear like there was when Lady Glendarril got on her high horse.' She shook her head and corrected her statement. ‘No, to be honest, it wasna fear exactly, but we were aye worried aboot what she'd say, for she'd a wicked tongue on her when she got goin'.'

Carnie drew hard on the pipe he was lighting with one of the tapers the chamber maid supplied him with – from the vase in the master's study. ‘She were a good mistress, though,' he observed, snibbing the flame between his thumb and forefinger and laying the taper inside the fender.

‘Are you tellin' me Mrs Hamish is no' a good mistress?' his wife demanded, ready to be outraged if he even thought such a thing.

‘That's no' what I said. She's no' as strict as Lady Glendarril, an' she's mebbe a wee bit ower friendly wi' the young maids …'

‘She's tryin' to put them at their ease! Some o' they lassies used to be scared stiff at Lady Glendarril. You get better work oot o' them if you treat them right and dinna shout, that's what I aye say.'

Her husband eyed her with scepticism. ‘Is that a fact? I've heard you roarin' at them like a ragin' bull … mony's the time.'

‘Just when they needed it,' she defended herself, then got back to her original topic. ‘Ony road, Mrs Hamish didna come o' the gentry. You can tell by the way she speaks she was workin' class, but my faith, she's learned a lot since she come here.'

‘Roberta Glover learned her the maist o' it.'

‘Na, na, Miss Glover just learned her some o' it, for she wasna ower proud to ask, and she's took her ain road for a good while now.'

Tired of baiting her, though she should be used to it after near twenty years of marriage, Carnie nodded amicably. ‘She's shaped up fine. She's a good heid on her shooders.'

Pleased that he was agreeing with her at last, his wife said, ‘You look real tired the nicht, Tam. I'll put a drappie brandy in your hot milk afore we go to oor bed.'

He grinned roguishly. ‘I dinna need brandy to kittle me up, as fine you ken.'

She turned a coquettish smile on him. ‘Ach you. Behave yoursel'!'

When Marianne went into the dining room one morning in early winter, her husband and father-in-law had finished breakfast, and after Hector went out, Hamish said, ‘We were discussing you.'

‘And what conclusion did you come to?' The frosty edge to her voice showed her annoyance at being talked about behind her back.

‘We think it's time you visited Strawberry Bank. It is almost a year and a half since the wedding, and I am sure the Rennies would be delighted to see you. In fact, Father was astonished that they had not come here again.'

‘I've invited them in every letter I write, but Miss Edith says they don't feel easy in the castle.'

‘I see, well, all the more reason for you to go to Aberdeen and you had better do it before winter sets in. If you wait much longer, there is a possibility that the journey could endanger your health and the child's, according to Father. You do want to see them?'

Her little spurt of anger evaporated. ‘Of course I do! I'll write today and ask which Sunday would be best for them. It has to be a Sunday, you see, it's the only day the shop's shut.'

‘In that case,' Hamish said gently, ‘you will also see Andrew, will you not?'

There was no sarcasm or jealousy in his voice, so she felt free to answer honestly. ‘Yes, so I will. I'm quite pleased about that, for I've always … liked him.'

‘I am well aware of that, and he has always
loved
you.'

She could detect a touch of sadness in his eyes now. ‘I can't help how he feels about me!' she protested, hoping her husband would admit at last that
he
loved her, too, but she was disappointed yet again.

‘As I have said before, I would not object to your … seeing Andrew, but as for anything more than that, you will have to wait until you have recovered from the birth of … our child.'

She stamped her foot angrily. ‘And as I've said before, and all, Hamish High-and-Mighty Bruce-Lyall, I don't
want
anything more from Andrew. Yes, I like him, maybe I love him in a funny sort of way, but I could never break my marriage vows. Us working-class folks were brought up to believe a husband and wife should mean everything to one another, not like you out-of-the-top-drawer folk that have fancy women and fancy men whenever the fancy takes them.' She was unaware of her pun, she was working herself up to such a pitch. ‘Or maybe you want me to take up with Andrew so you can have intercourse with somebody else, and all?'

Hamish's face was livid by the time she stopped, even his lips white as he whipped round without saying a word and slammed out, leaving Marianne still shaking.

After a time, recovered slightly, she lifted the silver teapot and poured herself a cup of the now luke-warm liquid, strong as tar with the standing, and braced herself to face whichever maid came in to clear the table. No one appeared, however, which made her feel worse. All the servants must have heard her shouting, and for the life of her she could hardly remember what had started it. They had been speaking about her going to Aberdeen, about the Rennies, about Andrew. Yes, that was where it had gone wrong, and maybe it
had
been her fault. She had been too quick to take offence. Hamish had just been letting her know he wasn't jealous of Andrew, that was all.

Was that why she had exploded? Did she want him to be jealous? Yes, dammit, she did, and saying he wouldn't mind her carrying on with Andrew had been like a slap in the face to her. She didn't love Andrew, not in that way, but she always enjoyed his company and he had taught her so much. If it hadn't been for him, she could never have fitted in at Castle Lyall.

Why could Hamish not understand? Why couldn't he love her … as she …? Good gracious, how long had she been in love with her husband? It was something she hadn't foreseen when she agreed to marry him – and what could she do about it?

Recalling Hamish urging her to go to Aberdeen before winter set in – he'd hinted that, if she didn't go soon, she wouldn't be allowed to go till after her confinement – she went upstairs to write to Miss Edith. She couldn't tell the sisters what had happened this morning, of course, but maybe Andrew could advise her.

Strangely, it did not occur to Marianne that it might stretch the bonds of friendship to breaking point and beyond if she asked the man who loved her what she could do to make her husband love her. In fact, she very seldom thought of Andrew as a man who loved her. She preferred to look on him purely as a friend, her best friend.