The House of Lyall (22 page)

Miss Edith bade them goodbye first, and when it was Andrew's turn to leave them, Hamish said, ‘You must pay us a visit some weekend, Andrew. We would be glad of some younger company.'

‘Thank you, I'd like that very much.'

When they were sitting in a first-class carriage by themselves, it occurred to Marianne that she would probably have no opportunity to carry out Miss Edith's instructions once they went home, and that now would be an ideal time. ‘Hamish,' she said gently, ‘I'm truly sorry for the things I said the other day.'

‘No, my dear,' he murmured. ‘It was my fault, and you must please accept my apology.'

His kiss was not enough to lift the weight which had been pressing on her, and she came to the conclusion that she would be wise to take Andrew's advice and wait until the baby was born. Surely having his son placed in his arms
would
make Hamish realize that he loved her. Besides, he was probably right to sleep in another room until she recovered from her confinement. She was only six months gone, but she wasn't sure how long into a pregancy a man could … do it without causing harm to his wife or the unborn infant.

Chapter Eleven

No winter had ever passed so slowly for Marianne. Even Andrew's visit just before Christmas did not lift her spirits, despite assurances from Thomson that she had hardly begun to show. Nevertheless, she had the distinct impression that her old friend was embarrassed at seeing her, which made her so conscious of her condition that she kept to her room as much as she could. This, of course, infuriated her husband, who accused her of being unsociable.

‘He was your friend before he was mine,' he snapped after Andrew had gone, ‘and you should have made him feel welcome in our home, instead of which you made him so uncomfortable that I would not be surprised if he does not come back.'

She tried to explain. ‘I don't like people seeing me like this. Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but I don't want Andrew to see me looking like the side of a house.'

‘Yes, it is always Andrew!' Hamish spat out. ‘You care what he thinks of you, but I do not matter.'

Because a woman's emotions always teeter on a razor's edge during pregnancy, Hamish's attitude tipped the balance for Marianne now. ‘I'll never stop caring what Andrew thinks of me,' she shouted, ‘though I know he loves me so much he wouldn't bother how I look.'

‘You don't want him to see you with another man's child in your belly! That is the whole crux of the matter, isn't it? Possibly you wish it was his?'

‘Don't be so damned stupid!' she screamed. ‘You canna have a very good opinion o' me when you're sayin' things like that! You tell't me why you wanted to marry me, and I was willin' to produce sons for you, and I'd never have agreed to it if I'd wanted Andrew, would I?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘You forget what you are getting out of the arrangement. A castle home, a title some day, and wealth you would never have known if I had not come into your life.'

‘I haven't forgotten anything, and I'm grateful to you for what you're providing for me …' She paused, gulping, and lowered her voice. ‘Hamish, why can't you be grateful to me for what I'm doing for you? I'm carrying your child, but it was conceived through your love for your father and the future of the family, not for me.'

He made as if to move towards her, then checked himself. ‘We had a business agreement, Marianne,' he sighed. ‘Love played no part in it, if you remember, but I am deeply sorry for upsetting you in your condition. What I said was quite uncalled for. Now, I feel the need of a walk before I go to bed, so shall I call Thomson to –?'

‘I'll manage to go to bed myself.'

He held the door open for her, and as she went upstairs, she was conscious of him watching until she reached the top landing.

On Hogmanay, Hector invited some of his business friends and their wives to see in the new year of 1899 at Castle Lyall, and Marianne had been ordered to be there to greet them. She was almost into the seventh month of her pregnancy, and her hackles had gone up when the three overdressed, bejewelled women had looked at each other knowingly when they saw her. One of them even said, with all the finesse of a bull crashing through a china shop, ‘You have put on some weight since you were married.'

Having resolved to be polite to the guests, Marianne smiled. ‘Yes, a little.'

A round of puzzled glances followed this unproductive statement, then the same woman, built like a battleship and obviously the leader of the group, coaxed, ‘Come now, my dear girl, there is no need to be shy. You can trust us.'

Her persistence goaded Marianne into indiscretion. ‘Oh, I can, can I?' she said loudly. ‘Well, I'm sure you ken already, for Lord Glendarril's likely tell't you, but I'm six month gone and if you count back on your fingers – likely the only way you
can
count and you've maybe done it already – you'll see the bairn wasna made till long after the wedding night.'

Marianne did not welcome the new year along with the guests. In the shocked silence following her outburst, her husband took her firmly by the elbow and shepherded her upstairs. ‘I know they are inquisitive old harpies,' he said, ‘but they are under my father's roof and we must observe the niceties of being hosts.'

‘I'm sorry, Hamish,' she wailed. ‘I couldn't help it. That woman was practically asking me outright if I was expecting, and that isn't very polite, is it?'

‘That woman,' he said drily, ‘is the sister-in-law of Mr William Ewart Gladstone.'

‘Him that was Prime Minister?' she faltered. ‘Oh, what have I done? Your father'll never forgive me.'

A grin spread over Hamish's face. ‘My father cannot stand her and neither can I, so go to sleep and forget about it. Just remember to be more tactful in future.'

When he closed the door behind him, she plumped down on the stool before the mirror on her vanity table and regarded her reflection with distaste. No wonder those women had been curious about her. Her very face had changed! In the first five months, it had been pale and pinched, which is why Miss Edith had guessed how the land lay, but her cheeks were fuller now, with such a deep rosy glow to them folk would think it was the bloom of good health if they didn't see the rest of her. She considered this for a moment and realized that she
was
blooming with health. She'd had none of the morning sickness other mothers-to-be spoke about; no pains except a slight tenderness in her breasts. Her hazel eyes were bright and clear and her auburn hair had its usual sheen.

The aches and pains came in the last month. Her back felt as if it would break with the extra weight, her breasts were uncomfortably heavy and she couldn't see her feet for the great bump at her front. She waddled when she walked, and it wouldn't surprise her if her legs buckled under her one of these days. It was awful to have no control over her body.
But the doctor – she had got to know Robert Mowatt quite well on the fortnightly examinations Hector insisted upon – assured her that there were no problems, that she would sail through the confinement.

And sail through it she did! At 3 a.m. on the tenth day of March, after only about two hours of true labour, he delivered her of a baby boy weighing eight pounds twelve ounces and yelling his head off as he was cleaned.

‘He's got a fine pair of lungs, at any rate,' the doctor observed, then raised his voice. ‘You can come in now, Hamish. It's all over and you have a son.'

The nurse Hector had been adamant about employing handed the tightly wrapped bundle to the father, who asked only one question before he carried it away: ‘Is he all right, Robert?'

The doctor nodded. ‘Not a thing wrong with him that I could see, and all his parts are there.'

‘Why did you tell him that?' Marianne asked when her husband went out. She was hurt that Hamish hadn't asked how she was, but she couldn't say so to a third party.

Robert looked at her sadly. ‘He wanted to know if the child could carry on the Bruce-Lyall line. That's all Hector was worrying about, not just an heir to follow Hamish, but an heir to follow that. So do not be upset that your man was only concerned about the infant … no,' he grinned, as she opened her mouth to deny this, ‘you can't fool me, young lady. I am sure he'll show more interest in you when he comes back, so don't be angry with him.'

Minutes after the doctor left her, Hamish brought back the son she had not been given a chance to see, and her voice was a touch nippy as she said, ‘Is your father satisfied with him?'

‘He thinks he's perfect, and so do I. Don't you?'

‘Since I haven't set eyes on him yet, I can't really say.'

‘Marianne, I am sorry … I did not realize … I should have …' A look of horror crossed his face. ‘Forgive me, please. The first thing I should have done was ask how you were. Oh, I made a proper mess of it.'

She did not have the energy to argue, and, after all, she thought, in self-pity, the baby had been the most important factor for both Hamish and his father; it was the only reason for the marriage. ‘I'm not too bad,' she sighed. ‘The last wee while was the worst, but it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined. Maybe your father was right. Maybe I am the best person you could have found to give you sons.' A devil got in her here, a wish to shock him. ‘I was the same as a woman at home. When folk asked her why she kept on having babies, she used to say, “Havin' a bairn's nae bother to me. It's just like havin' a stiff shite.” ‘

His shock was greater than she expected. First, he turned white, then the colour rushed back into his cheeks until they were scarlet, and as he stood gaping at her, she had to laugh. ‘That wasn't fair of me, Hamish. I wanted to pay you back for neglecting me, but I don't suppose you've ever heard a girl using language like that.'

He closed his mouth and his face gradually returned to its natural shade, but her coarseness had told him how badly he had wounded her by his cavalier behaviour and he attempted to soothe her. ‘Father wants to call him Ruairidh.'

He could not have said anything more likely to rouse her to fury. ‘Your
father
wants?' she burst out. ‘Who had this bairn, me or him?'

‘Marianne, that's not –'

‘Never mind tryin' to get round me. Just go and tell your father I'm callin'
my
son what
I
want.'

‘He meant no harm. He is so used to making all the decisions here that he did not stop to think.'

‘What about you? You just agreed with him?'

‘I was too overjoyed to think rationally about anything. It is not every day that a man has a son, and that was all that mattered to me. I am afraid that I neither agreed nor disagreed with him, and I am practically sure that, if I explain how you feel, he will allow you to choose any name you want.'

This time her devilment was mild. ‘What about Dod, then? Or Tam? Or Willie?'

After a brief hesitation, Hamish murmured, ‘He would not object to any of these. George, Thomas and William are good, strong names.'

‘I was only testing you,' Marianne laughed. ‘What did your father suggest, did you say?'

‘Ruairidh – it's an old family name, but if you –'

‘Rory?'

‘Spelled in the Gaelic way, of course. R-U-A-I-R-I-D-H.'

This appealed to her, but having made a stand, she was not going to climb down. ‘Tell your father I'll name this one, but we'll call our second son Ruairidh to please him.'

Hamish had forgotten how well she could stick to her guns, a trait in her that his father admired. ‘I will make sure that you get your way, Marianne. What name had you chosen?'

Not having chosen one at all, she picked a name out of the air. ‘I thought Ranald would be nice.' She had seen it in a poem when she was at school, and she had always liked it.

While she was resting, it occurred to her that she'd had no chance to test the advice Andrew had given her. It had been the midwife who had handed Hamish his son, and he hadn't given one single thought to his wife till later. After she produced the second son that was wanted, she would likely be left strictly on her own at nights for the rest of her life. She would end up a wizened, unloved old lady unless …

Not unloved, though! There was always Andrew.

Marianne came awake slowly and luxuriously. The sun was streaming through the gap she had left in the curtains the night before, the birds were trying to outdo each other with the sweetness of their songs, cows were lowing in the distance … yet the small gilt clock by her bed showed only half-past five. June was a lovely month.

Stretching her arms, she decided against rising just yet. Thomson would alarm the whole household if she wasn't in her room when she brought up her morning cup of tea, and she'd have everybody in a proper fankle in no time. Besides, it would be quite nice to have time to consider her life, to set aside the cares of her duties as mistress of the castle. No, her duties didn't actually lie within the castle itself – Roberta Glover took care of the running of the household – but she did look after the needs of, and give advice to, the women of the glen, and they treated her with all the respect she'd ever wanted. They expressed their gratitude in many ways – giving her eggs gathered ‘but an hour ago, your Leddyship', a small jacket knitted for her baby, and, from more than one young wife she had counselled, a lovely, soft woollen blanket, edged with blue ribbon for the cot or the perambulator. They looked on her as Lady Bountiful, as someone who could sort out any problem for them, or comfort them in their grief if they had lost a loved one.

She had taken to it like a duck takes to water, like an new-born infant takes to the breast, like a dung beetle takes to cows' sharn. She smiled at her own wit, but it was true, though she'd have to watch not to say ‘sharn' in front of anybody here. She'd have to find out what the proper name for it was, because she only knew two other words which were even worse. Her mind went back to what she had been thinking about before: her new-found organizing skills. She had surprised herself by her confident dealing with the minor household problems of the crofters' wives, even with her belly starting to swell and her back giving her gyp. Now her confinement was past, she'd be able to attend to the whole glen with one hand tied behind her back, not that she'd ever try it.