The House of Lyall (30 page)

This information had the same impact on Andrew as if he had been slapped in the face with a wet fish. Marianne must have known when she wrote that she would be alone. What was she up to? Her indifference to him at Hector's funeral had worried him. He had got the distinct impression that he was intruding on a very deep private grief, but even when he reminded her of his promise to be there for her when she needed him, she swore that nothing was wrong. Perhaps, however, she had been too upset to talk about it then, and she may be ready to confide in him now.

Carnie broke into his thoughts. ‘Master Ruairidh was a bit down all day yesterday, but he's brighter the day.'

This did much to ease Andrew's anxiety. He had forgotten about the two boys – they would be around during the day, which would make things easier. ‘I have heard that children can be quite ill one day and back to normal the next.'

‘That's what Nursie said when her Ladyship wanted to get in the doctor. The bairn's just three yet, of course, so it's little wonder she frets. Master Ranald, now, he's a sturdy wee man, never nothing wrong wi' him, an' it's just as well, for it's him that'll come into the title.' Carnie's weatherbeaten face sobered. ‘I sometimes get a queer feelin', though. Old Lord Glendarril had a twin brother, you see, Randolph his name was, and being a couple of hours older, he was the heir, but he caught a terrible chill the winter he would've been twenty-one, and he never saw his birthday.'

The elderly man shook his head mournfully. ‘And Master Hamish, the present Lord, was the second son by about an hour, but young Randolph, after their uncle, he picked up some germ and died when he was fourteen.'

‘Neither death was caused by a hereditary disease,' Andrew pointed out quietly, ‘and if Ranald is as healthy as you say, I should not think there is any chance of Ruairidh ever inheriting.'

‘It's the name that bothers me, Mr Andrew. That was two Randolphs that died young, and Ranald's no' that much different from Randolph, is it? I'm sure there must be a curse on the elder sons –' He broke off, then added darkly, ‘Things like that comes in threes.'

Andrew had to laugh at this. ‘I would not have thought that you were so superstitious, Carnie, and surely you do not believe there are curses in this day and age. We are almost three years into the twentieth century. Ranald will grow to be a fine young man, and with his mother's genes in him, he will be one of the best lairds this glen has ever seen.'

Marianne was waiting outside with the two small boys as Carnie drew the carriage to a halt at the steps. ‘Oh, Andrew, it's good to see you again!' she exclaimed, coming forward as if to hug him.

Evading this, and hoping to discourage her from trying again, he bent down to her sons with a smile. ‘My, you two have grown!'

‘I'm as big as Rannie,' Ruairidh said confidentially.

‘You are not!' his brother protested.

‘Say hello to Uncle Andrew properly,' Marianne prompted, ‘or else he'll think you're always arguing.'

Gravely, they both held out their hands and said in unison, ‘Hello, Uncle Andrew.'

‘Hello there,' he responded heartily. ‘I wish I'd had a brother to argue with when I was young.'

Four large blue eyes regarding him curiously. ‘Had you nobody to play with, either?'

‘I had a dog …' His voice tailed away. He could still recall the awful wrench when he had said goodbye to Duke – far worse than losing his father.

‘I'm as clever as Rannie now,' Ruairidh announced.

‘No, you're not. I know more than you,' Ranald boasted. ‘I can say my catechism, and I can say the alphabet backwards as well as …'

‘That's enough,' Marianne said sharply, putting her arm through the visitor's to walk up the steps. ‘Stop pestering Uncle Andrew. He's tired after his journey and needs a wee rest. You'll see him later on.'

‘Oh, good!' Ranald grinned. ‘Is he staying for a while?'

‘He goes home on Sunday. Off you go, and don't let Nursie forget to give you your syrup of figs tonight … remind her it's Friday.'

Both boys pulled faces but scampered off obediently. ‘They're not so bad,' Marianne smiled, as she opened the door of the ex-Blue Room, the most comfortable in the house and consequently, the most used.

‘They're very well-behaved,' Andrew observed, taking a seat on the couch as his hostess had indicated. ‘Carnie was saying that Hamish is down in London.'

‘Yes, he did ask me to go with him, but he'd expect me to make the rounds of his friends' wives, and I can't stand any of them. How are your aunts, Andrew? I hope Miss Edith got over her bout of flu?'

‘She only stayed off work for two days, but, unfortunately, Esther went down with it, in a much more severe form. Their doctor seemed quite concerned for her but she said last Sunday that she had begun to feel better.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. And Miss Emily?'

Andrew smiled fondly. ‘She soldiers on. I keep telling her and Edith that they should retire from the shop – they are both over sixty now – but they just laugh at me.'

‘The shop's their life. Don't force them into giving it up.'

‘I wouldn't dare try,' he laughed.

It was halfway through the afternoon when he said, ‘We had better get down to business and have it out of the way. What was it you wanted to see me about?'

‘Can I speak about something … personal first?'

The pain in her eyes alarmed him. ‘Is anything wrong?'

‘Not exactly … well, you could say there was, but … oh, Andrew, I didn't want to let anyone know, but I'll have to tell you.'

She sank down on the couch beside him but before telling him anything, she held one hand out to him and, presuming that she wanted him to hold it to bolster her courage, he clasped it to his chest. ‘What is it, my dear?' he asked huskily.

She started with the lost letter and her shame at not having kept in touch with her father, waiting for him to absolve her of all blame, but he looked at her with his head on one side. ‘I was afraid that this might happen. In fact, I am surprised that it didn't happen sooner, if this Moll was the kind of woman who ill treated a young girl.'

‘Oh, Andrew, I'm sorry,' she wailed. ‘I told you that story so you wouldn't think so badly of me for running away. She never touched me, not in anger, at any rate.'

‘But you said you ran away because you stole some money,' he reminded her. ‘Why in heaven's name did you tell me that and not tell me the truth about your stepmother?'

Her nerves at breaking point, Marianne cried, ‘I don't know. It just came out and I can't think about –' She broke off, biting her lip, then blurted out, ‘It's all piling on top of me, Andrew!'

The concern in his face changed to uncertainty. ‘Is there more that you have not told me?'

‘Not about that,' she muttered, averting her head. ‘It's just happened so quick after –'

Her abrupt, agitated stop made him say, ‘Go on, Marianne. What else happened? Tell me!'

‘I was raped,' she stated badly, ‘and don't ask me to tell you anything about that, for I haven't told anybody … I can't. Not yet. Not ever.'

Pity for her surged up in him as he took her in his arms, biting back the questions he wanted to ask: who, where, why, and how had the opportunity arisen? ‘Please don't upset yourself like this, my dear. I know it must have been traumatic for you, but it was not your fault.'

‘But
he
said it was,' she moaned. ‘
He
said it was my fault. When he was … Oh God, Andrew, you've no idea what it was like. He was like an animal. Oh God! Oh God!' She buried her face in her hands in anguish.

He crooned soothing words to her, patting her gently on the back whilst silently cursing her unknown assailant. At last, when he thought that she was over the worst, he said, ‘Does Hamish know about this?'

She nodded, then raised her eyes to him. ‘He … he doesn't know what to do … he's never had to cope with anything like this, and I didn't mean to tell you, Andrew, but you've got the knack of worming my secrets out of me.'

‘I am glad of that, my dear.' He smiled. ‘I would hate to think that there were any secrets between us now. Believe me, Marianne, as I told you long ago, no matter what you have done, or do in the future, I will stand by you. I have not stopped loving you and never will, so bear that in mind. All I ask of you is that you will be scrupulously honest with me at all times.'

‘I will, Andrew, I promise.'

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Now, shall we continue? It will help to take your mind off things. What was it you wanted to see me about? Do you want to divorce Hamish? Is that it?' She had mentioned no such thing when she wrote, but it was the first thing that had occurred to him, perhaps a hope which had lain latent in him since the day of her marriage, although he was not aware of it. Her astonished gasp, however, told him that he was mistaken in his premise.

‘No, of course I don't want to divorce Hamish! I love him! I really do, and he loves me.'

‘I'm sorry, Marianne. Tell me what it
is
you require of me and I shall do my best to –'

‘I … need some fresh air. Come on.'

He followed her along the hallway and down to the basement kitchen where she introduced him to Mrs Carnie as the weekend guest. ‘We're going to take the dogs out a walk,' she went on, ‘but I thought we might have a cup of tea first.'

‘In here?' asked the cook, incredulously. She was not accustomed to her domain being invaded in an afternoon, especially by the mistress. Lady Marianne, Lady Glendarril as they should call her now but old habits die hard, usually left everything to Roberta Glover, menus included, and seldom put in an appearance herself at any time of day.

‘It'll save you preparing a tray and sending it up.'

‘Aye, there's that to it,' the woman smiled, ‘and everything's ready, anyway.' She produced a plate of small sandwiches while the young kitchenmaid went to the dresser. ‘We won't bother with plates or saucers, Kate,' Marianne told her. ‘Just a cup in our hands.'

Andrew made a friend for life of the cook by helping himself to one of the triangles and popping it into his mouth whole. ‘Mmmm! This is absolutely delicious.'

Colouring with pleasure, Mrs Carnie beamed at him. ‘Eat the lot, I'll easy make some more. There's still half a jar of that plum chutney I made last October. The longer it's kept, the better it gets.'

‘There's plenty here,' Andrew said, and while he set about emptying the plate, Marianne smilingly calmed the dogs, who had heard the magic word ‘walk' and could hardly contain their excitement.

When they went outside, the two red setters bounding on ahead, Andrew realized that she had been very sensible in taking him to the kitchen first. Talking to the cook, even for so short a time, had cleared the tension which had grown between them, and made it possible for them to behave naturally towards each other. She showed him the circle of stones known to the glen folk as the ‘Fairies' Ring', where legend had it that the little people danced at twelve o'clock every Midsummer's Night. About half a mile further on, still climbing the hill, they came across a long mound that she explained was a barrow, a burial ground from Roman times. Being a city person – Edinburgh born and brought up, and now domiciled in Aberdeen – he was fascinated by the extent of her knowledge of, and obvious love of, country lore.

When he spotted a wooden shack half hidden behind two massive firs, he asked, ‘The woodcutters aren't going to start cutting here, are they? What a shame, they're such beautiful trees.'

Her gurgling laugh reminded him of those times past when, young and carefree, they had walked along the banks of the River Dee, and he had to stifle the urge to tell her. She had promised not to say anything out of place, and he must not do so, either.

‘It's not for woodcutters,' she told him. ‘This is a still, where men of the glen made whisky in the olden days, and had to hide from the Revenue men, the Excise men. Hamish says somebody's started it up again …' She turned to him, her eyes dancing. ‘Will we go in and take a look, Andrew?'

He caught her frivolous mood. ‘Why not?' He went ahead of her and shifted a weighty chopper which had obviously been placed there to camouflage the real purpose of the hut, then eased the door open. The large distilling vat with its tapering filter was so shiny and looked so well cared for that they exchanged knowing glances, and Marianne looked around for any sign of recent activity.

Tumbling to what she was searching for, Andrew removed one of the wide flat sticks propped against one wall. ‘Look at this!'

‘This' turned out to be a collection of bottles containing a clear liquid. ‘That's not whisky, though?' he asked.

‘I think it is,' she grinned. ‘Hamish told me last year they'd given him a taste of their latest batch. He said it looked like water but took the roof off his mouth and the lining off his stomach. I thought he was joking, but maybe he wasn't.' Suddenly remembering her companion's profession, she said, ‘I know what they're doing's against the law, Andrew, but you won't report them, will you?'

He flung his head back and his laughter bounced off the rude walls and the empty metal vat. ‘I'll not tell, Marianne. I've enjoyed this walk more than anything I've done for years. You're so good for me …' He caught himself. ‘I shouldn't have said that.'

‘Yes, you should. It lets me know you've forgiven me for what I said earlier. We're back to being best friends, aren't we?'

‘For ever and ever,' he assured her, ‘but I think we'd better go back before Mrs Carnie sends out a search party for us.'

While he closed the door and replaced the axe as he had found it, Marianne called to the dogs, who were poking their noses down rabbit holes, their tails swishing feverishly from side to side. ‘Romulus! Remus! Here, boys! We're going home now.'