The House of Lyall (4 page)

During lunch, he told his aunts about life in Marischal College and Marianne found herself transported to a magic world of books, of lectures, of theses demanded on time by grim-faced professors. Then his expression lightened, and he made them laugh about the tricks his fellow students got up to, especially how they got the prescribed work done and still had time to go out and enjoy themselves. ‘They take it in turns to do the research and revision, and then they all make copies with slight variations.'

‘Oh, Andrew!' exclaimed Miss Edith. ‘I hope you do not take part in those deceptions?'

‘No, Aunt Edith,' he assured her. ‘I appreciate my good fortune in being given the chance to make something of myself, although I have a struggle to get through the work in time.'

‘I am glad to hear that you behave honourably.'

It was Miss Esther who said, when they were clearing the table, ‘It is too nice a day for young people to be cooped up inside. Why don't you take Marianne for a walk, Andrew?'

He jumped to his feet eagerly. ‘I would love to, Aunt Esther, but perhaps she does not care much for walking?'

The girl stood up quickly. ‘I do, I love it.'

‘She is only fifteen, remember,' Miss Edith cautioned him. ‘Do you think it seemly to …?'

‘Seemly my foot!' exclaimed Miss Esther. ‘Her head is screwed on the right way, and Andrew knows how to behave. I am not suggesting he takes her to the Tivoli, or anything like that.'

It was the first time Marianne had heard any of the sisters arguing and she hoped that they wouldn't end up fighting, but Andrew led her outside before anything else was said. ‘Don't take it to heart,' he smiled. ‘I do not think their disagreement will last long.'

‘I dinna like the idea of them quarrelling over me,' she murmured.

‘They're not really quarrelling, and what would you rather do? Go back and sit with them, or walk along the Dee with me?'

‘That's nae fair,' she smiled. ‘You ken fine I'd rather walk with you, wherever you take me.'

‘We might meet some of my fellow students. Quite a few take their lady-friends that way, as well.'

Marianne wondered if he realized what he had said. Did he really want her to be his lady-friend? Or did he mean lady friend, which wasn't the same at all? She didn't ask; the thought of meeting other boys, whether alone or accompanied by lady-friends, was too exciting to jeopardize.

There were indeed several couples promenading when they reached the path which ran along the riverbank, but no one Andrew knew. ‘I hope you won't be bored with just my company,' he smiled, after they had been ambling along for about fifteen minutes. ‘I'm often accused of being a dull old stick.'

‘Oh, you're nae dull,' she protested automatically.

‘It's what comes of not knowing any girls, and I get the feeling you haven't known any boys, so we can learn together … if you like?'

‘Learn what together?'

He laughed at her wary expression. ‘Nothing bad. Just the art of making conversation with the opposite sex.'

Relieved that this was all he had in mind, she said, ‘I didna ken there was an art to that.'

‘There's an art to everything, Marianne, and it would help us to find out more about each other.'

She had no intention of telling him anything about herself, other than giving him the ‘cruel stepmother' reason for her leaving home, but as time passed, with him confiding that he hoped to set up a law firm of his own eventually, she let it slip that she wanted to marry someone rich. As soon as she said it, she wished that she hadn't.

‘I suppose you think I'm awful?'

He took her hand and stroked it gently. ‘Not at all, my dear. It is probably every girl's dream to marry money, but the majority never do. They fall in love with a boy who hasn't a penny to his name, and live in a poky little house, and raise a large family on next to nothing …'

‘… and they end up hating each other,' she burst out. ‘I've seen it happening time and again at hame.'

‘It doesn't always happen like that. Didn't your parents keep on loving each other until your mother died?'

She considered briefly. ‘I never heard her saying she loved him, but I suppose she must have, deep down, and he was that cut up when she died I was sure he loved her.' After a pause, she added, somewhat bitterly, ‘But it didna take him long to find another wife.'

His grasp tightened. ‘It's different for men. Most women can face years and years of widowhood, but a man needs someone … to care for him, to look after his children … to satisfy his needs. Do you know what I mean, Marianne?'

She coloured and snatched her hand away, her outrage making her speak in the dialect she had been doing her best to forget. ‘Aye, I ken, and I'm sure decent men dinna speak to young girls about things like that.'

‘I'm sorry. I told you I had never had anything to do with girls. I was only trying to save you pinning your hopes on a dream which may never materialize, but I'm beginning to suspect that you are one of those people who will succeed in everything you set out to do. I will not, however, cast it up if you do marry a poor man.'

They said nothing for some time, and she found it very pleasant to be walking so close to him, the gentle sound of water lapping against the bank disturbed occasionally by the screech of the swans sailing majestically a little farther upstream. If he wanted her to be his lady-friend …

‘Well, well! Rennie, you secretive old dog!'

The strident voice startled them both, their heads swivelling to see who was talking. A broad young man in grey breeches, and with a peaked cap set on his head at an absurd angle, had come up behind them.

‘Oh, it's you,' Andrew said unenthusiastically.

‘Won't you introduce me to your paramour?' Without waiting, the other man turned to Marianne with his hand outstretched. ‘My name is Douglas Martin, and this … is Vi … um …' He looked enquiringly at his companion with a barely suppressed lewd giggle.

‘Vi Collie,' she supplied, rolling her eyes sideways.

Shaking the proffered hands one after the other, Marianne murmured, ‘Pleased to meet you.' There was something about Douglas Martin she didn't like, but since he seemed to be Andrew's friend, she would do her best to be polite to him … and the common-looking girl clinging to his arm like a sticky-willow. It dawned on her that Andrew hadn't introduced her to them, and she hoped he wasn't ashamed of her.

Catching her accusing eye, he looked at the other man and said, very coldly, ‘This is Marianne Cheyne. She works in my aunts' shop.'

The underlying message was received and acted upon. ‘Ah … yes …' Douglas mumbled, moving away. ‘We'd better be getting on, eh, Vi?'

When the ill-matched pair were out of earshot, Marianne asked, ‘Why did he go off so suddenly? Did he not want to speak to a girl who works in a shop? That Vi looked as if she …'

Andrew laughed at her confusion. ‘Yes, Martin is a snob of the highest degree, yet it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he had spent most of last night with her.'

She was shocked. ‘Do students do that sort of thing? Have you?'

‘Have I been with a lady of the streets? Not yet, but I sometimes feel I should, just once, to see … to learn … the ropes.'

They both laughed, he self-consciously, she in embarrassment, and they turned to make their way back to Strawberry Bank.

At his Aunt Esther's behest, Andrew's visits became weekly once his preliminary examinations were past, and throughout the summer, he and Marianne went out walking every Sunday afternoon if the weather was suitable. Sometimes, they met other students who stopped and were introduced to Marianne, who was pleased that they seemed as decent and polite as Andrew was. In fact, she was quite attracted to one in particular, and when they happened to run into Stephen Grant too many times to be coincidental, Andrew didn't seem to mind. ‘You've made a conquest,' he teased, making her blush.

Nevertheless, it was well into September before this was proved to be true. As Marianne waited for Miss Edith to lock up the shop one night, with Miss Emily fussing silently round her sister as usual, she was astonished to see the lean six-footer standing in the next doorway. When he came forward, she said timidly, ‘Miss Edith, Miss Emily, this is Andrew's friend Stephen Grant.'

‘You are his aunts, I believe,' he smiled, showing a dimple in each cheek. ‘I hope you don't mind if I ask your permission to take Marianne out one evening? Andrew will vouch that I do not drink, and I have no other vices which would blacken me in your eyes.'

Marianne held her breath, but she need not have worried. Both sisters were bowled over by his boyish charm, and Miss Edith, the decision-maker, was beaming as she said, ‘We have no objection to you taking Marianne out for a short walk occasionally, Mr Grant, as long as you do not keep her out late. You may call for her at half-past seven tomorrow night.'

Taking this correctly as a dismissal, Stephen gave a small bow, cast a delighted glance at Marianne and walked away. Before she had time to make up her mind whether to be pleased at his dexterity in dealing with the elderly ladies or offended that he hadn't asked her first, Miss Edith said, ‘He seems a very agreeable young man. I take it you like him, Marianne?'

‘I don't know him very well, but I've nothing against him.'

‘I don't know what Andrew's going to say about this,' Miss Emily put in. ‘I thought he and Marianne –'

Miss Edith tutted impatiently. ‘She is too young to be serious about any one boy – it will do her good to get to know others. She can come to no harm as long as we vet her escorts.'

Too young – as Miss Edith had said – to appreciate what could happen to her, or to have any deep romantic thoughts about either Stephen or Andrew, Marianne slept soundly that night, and did not feel at all nervous about the assignation until about five minutes before Stephen was due.

When the expected knock came, Miss Edith motioned her to stay where she was and went to the door herself. ‘Ah, good evening, Mr Grant. You must come in and meet my youngest sister, and then we will hinder you no longer.'

‘They all like you,' Marianne told him a few minutes later, as they walked away from Strawberry Bank. ‘You made a good impression on them.'

‘Your aunts are dear old souls,' he smiled.

She didn't correct him. What difference did it make if he'd made a wrong assumption? ‘Have you seen Andrew today?' she asked.

Blushing, Stephen looked squarely at her. ‘I made a point of seeing him. I didn't want him to think I was keeping our meeting a secret.'

‘What did he say?' she asked conversationally, although she wasn't really interested in what Andrew had said. It had nothing to do with him who she went out with.

‘He said he was glad someone else was taking an interest in you.'

This put a different slant on things. How dare Andrew palm her off like that? Had he another girl in mind for himself? She couldn't let Stephen see that she was angry, however. It wasn't his fault.

They kept on walking and talking, her anger faded, and the more she was in his company, the more she came to like him. When he told her that his father was one of the top surgeons at the Infirmary and his mother had been a Drummond of Drumtocher, she could tell that he wasn't just trying to impress her.

‘Are your parents still alive?' he asked her then.

The abrupt question took her by surprise. If she told the truth, he would want to know where her father lived and what he worked at, and she couldn't tell him about the ramshackle house where she had been born and brought up, the sawdust from the mill lying thick over the bits of furniture her mother had dusted lovingly several times a day until her lungs had been contaminated. ‘They both … died,' she said presently. ‘That's why I had to come to Aberdeen.'

‘Where did you live before that?'

‘We'd a lovely big house in its own grounds.' For a moment, she felt sick at the lies she was concocting, but she had started now and it was quite good fun really. Carried away by her imagination, she went on, forgetting to be careful with her speech, ‘It had oak trees a' roon' it, an' it had six lums an' a orchard at the back, an' …' Her inventiveness giving out, she looked guiltily round into Stephen's face.

Fortunately, he thought he understood the reason for her sudden stop. ‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you speak about it. I can see you still haven't got over losing your parents and your home.'

She dropped her eyes in a suitably overcome way, and they walked on for a time without saying anything. They were in Albyn Place, where each house was a veritable palace to Marianne, when Stephen observed, ‘D'you see this house we're just coming to? That's where I live.'

She was shocked. He couldn't live in a place like this? It was huge! There were dozens of lums, and turrets at the corners, with tiny leaded windows which wouldn't let in much light but were real quaint; there was a curved drive up to the entrance; it was too big to be called a door. Before she had time to absorb any more details, they had passed the vantage point and her view was obscured.

‘That's funny-looking trees,' she observed, never having seen anything like them, their feathery branches sweeping down to the ground.

‘I can't remember the Latin name for them,' Stephen smiled, ‘but most people call them monkey puzzles. I hope you don't think I took you this way to boast about my home, it was just that it's a pleasant way to get out of town – right out Queen's Road.'

Queen's Road being a continuation of Albyn Place, she had to agree with that. All the houses they passed before they came to the open countryside were every bit as grand as the Grants', and all built from the silver granite taken out of Rubislaw Quarry, so Stephen told her when he took her up the grassy bank to show her the vast, gaping hole. It was so deep that her legs started trembling and she felt a sickness deep in her stomach, and she was extremely grateful that he didn't make her stand so near the edge for long.