The House of Lyall (46 page)

Having shown her husband and his parents her range of graphs, she produced samples of the fine wool. ‘The older women just use white, natural, grey and moorat – this mossy brown – that was traditional, but the younger ones are using other colours as well, not garishly bright like some national shops do under the pretence of them being real Fair Isle, but muted shades of rose, rust, lemon, blue, green, all dyed from woodland plants – lichens, grasses and natural sources.'

She glanced around her three listeners. Hamish was studying the skeins of wool as if trying to visualize the transformation from the dirty fleeces of the mountain sheep to this fascinating rainbow. Marianne had the hint of a sneer on her face as she contemplated the graphs with their explanatory keys at the side. Ruairidh was the only one to meet Melda's eyes, and instead of lingering on her with the love she had expected, he turned his head immediately away.

‘They're not all the same,' Marianne observed abruptly. ‘Look, a cross on this one stands for natural, but on this one, natural's a blank square, and it's the same with all the colours … different on every sheet of paper.'

Melda did her best to stifle her impatience. ‘That's because I got them from different women. Each one writes them down in the way her mother taught her. They hardly need to look at the patterns now, in any case, they've knitted them so often. They stand outside their doors, their hands working back and forth like shuttles, you'd hardly credit the speed they can go, and everything – from the largest man's pullover to gloves and scarves – is done on four needles … wires, as they call them.'

Marianne's eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘They can't knit standing up … not when they're using a lot of colours at a time. The balls of wool would get all tangled up.'

‘If you had taken time to look properly,' Melda began, an edge to her voice, ‘you'd have seen it's seldom more than two colours at a time, and they break off each colour at the end of the last row it is used, and join it in when it's needed again. I know that sounds as if there'll be an awful lot of ends, but they darn them all in so you'd never notice, and it means there's no long stretches of wool to snag on rings or fingernails when they're being worn or washed. And the wrong side of the work is as neat as the right side.'

‘Stop criticizing, Marianne,' Hamish snapped, as his wife opened her mouth again, ‘and give credit where it's due. Melda has done a marvellous job, and we'd better have a selection of Fair Isle goods ready for the buyers coming to get their winter stock. Nothing big, of course, maybe gloves and scarves, enough to whet their appetites.'

That night, bitterly disappointed that her husband was lying like a stone beside her instead of loving her as she had hoped, Melda tried to bring him round. ‘I can't understand why your mother's annoyed at me. I was just trying to get more interesting work for our knitters and extra business for the mill.'

Having brooded about his own misdemeanour since Sunday, Ruairidh decided he would have to get it off his chest before he could resume relations with his wife. He had not, however, had time to think how to confess without hurting her. ‘That's not why she's annoyed at you,' he began. ‘She blames you for there not being an heir to come after me.'

Her heart sank. ‘We've always known that, so why are you telling me now? Have you done something that needs that as an excuse?'

‘I've done nothing … not really.' It was the first lie he had ever told her, and he could not keep it up. ‘Oh, Melda, I've got to tell you. Mother invited the Furness family for afternoon tea one of the Sundays you were away, and Kitty … I took her for a walk after we'd had a game of tennis.'

‘Kitty Furness? Wasn't she one of the girls your mother tried to get you or Ranald to marry at one time? You must have known she was up to something, inviting them here.' Only then did she understand what her mother-in-law had wanted to happen. ‘Are you trying to tell me … you made love to Kitty Furness?' Her eyes brimmed with tears at the thought of how quickly he had betrayed her.

‘No, Melda! It's what she wanted, yes, and I nearly did.'

‘Nearly did?' Her voice was heavily sarcastic. ‘How nearly? Did you kiss her and fondle her, and … and … oh, how could you, Ruairidh? I know you can't stop once you're roused.'

‘I can't deny I was roused, but I thought of you, my darling, and shoved her away.' He turned towards her in appeal. ‘Melda, I could say it was all down to her, but it was as much my fault. I wish you could understand how ashamed I am, though I wouldn't blame you if you can't forgive me … but … please try, please!'

Her mouth was trembling. ‘You're sure you didn't …?'

‘I just kissed her, I swear it, but it's been eating at my innards ever since. I'm so sorry, my dearest! I don't even like her and I've hurt the only woman I'll ever love.'

She
was
hurt, so much that her first instinct was to retaliate by hurting him, but what was the point?

Neither Ruairidh nor Melda tumbled to what was going on that summer. He was pleased to be trusted to deal with so much of the business of the mill on his own, and she was delighted to be allowed to promote the Fair Isle side single-handedly. The fact that they were never away at the same time, that she was sent off perhaps a week after her husband returned, and vice versa, escaped them in the satisfaction of their work, and they spent what little time they had in each other's company discussing plans.

Ruairidh did think it strange that he bumped into Kitty Furness in Edinburgh on one trip, Newcastle on another, but because she appeared to be just as surprised by the meetings as he was, he accepted them as coincidences and didn't mention them to his wife. There was no sense in making her think things that weren't true, because he had learned his lesson and had refused Kitty's invitations in both cities to have a drink at her hotel, nor had he taken up her barely veiled hints that he should take her to his.

When, however, she appeared one Sunday afternoon in September at Castle Lyall while Melda was in Glasgow, he could see his mother's hand in it and determined to call her bluff. He asked Kitty to have a game of tennis, and afterwards, flopped down with her at the edge of the lawn. When, as he had known she would, Kitty suggested going for a walk, he said, in a loud stage whisper, ‘Why don't we go up to my room instead?'

His mother's intake of breath satisfied him that she had heard and he prayed that she would be so outraged that she would stop him there and then. She did nothing, however, so he helped Kitty to her feet, put an arm round her waist and let his hand rest on her hip as he steered her past the deckchair.

That was when Marianne's parasol came sharply down on the back of his legs, and never was he more glad of any pain. ‘You will not take that girl to your bed!' she said sharply. ‘This is not a brothel! Surely you didn't expect me to turn a blind eye to your …' She paused briefly, searching for a suitable word, and recalling what Hamish had said earlier, she ended, ‘… to you fornicating under my roof.'

He turned to face her. ‘I thought you wanted me to put Kit in such a position that I'd have to marry her?'

Kitty jumped in at this. ‘Here, wait a minute! Who said anything about marriage? I'm only out for a good time. I don't want to end up with no waist, varicose veins and a noisy baby tying me down.'

‘I know you don't. It was my mother's idea …'

‘And I thought you'd fallen for my charms,' she murmured, doing her best to look crestfallen.

‘Kit, I'm truly sorry for subjecting you to –'

She giggled now. ‘Don't be sorry, Ruairidh. I knew you wouldn't say that in front of your mother if you meant it, so I guessed what you were up to. It's a pity, though. I'd have enjoyed finding out how good a lover you are.' She turned to look scornfully at the older woman. ‘You obviously don't know how much your son loves his wife, Lady Glendarril, and I wish I knew why you've been trying to use me as a wedge between them.'

‘Melda can't have any more children,' Ruairidh explained, ‘so there won't be any heir to the title when I die.'

‘She could only give him a daughter,' Marianne said bitterly.

Triumph replaced the puzzlement on Kitty's face. ‘Well, there you are!' she beamed. ‘Dorrie will marry eventually, and she'll surely have a son. Hey presto, there's the next heir.'

‘She's right, Mother,' Ruairidh said eagerly. ‘And you'd better keep your fingers in your own pies after this. Come on, Kitty, I'll see you to your car.'

Teasing him, she backed away, looking afraid. ‘I don't know if I can trust you. You might throw me into the back seat and rape me.' She winked saucily at Marianne as she turned away.

When Ruairidh joined his mother again, she said angrily, ‘That exhibition was all for my benefit, was it? I thought you meant what you said. I thought –'

‘Mother, we all know what thought did. I knew you wouldn't let me take Kit to bed.'

‘I see. You depended on me to stop you? What if I hadn't?'

A boyish grin curved his mouth. ‘Kit wouldn't have taken another refusal from me, so I'd have been on top of her right now and you'd maybe have got your wish.'

‘You're being very indelicate,' she frowned.

He locked eyes with her. ‘You've been far worse than indelicate. I've told Melda about Kitty and luckily for you, she doesn't want any unpleasantness, otherwise I'd have taken her and our daughter away from here altogether. I might yet, if you try any more of your tricks.'

The incident put an effective end to Kitty's pursuit of Ruairidh, and to Marianne's attempt at getting him to provide an heir for the title. Unfortunately, it did nothing to stop her jealousy of her daughter-in-law, who was building up a very profitable Fair Isle department at the mill, and to whom Hamish was referring more and more for advice on current trends in woollen fabrics.

Melda was content with her life and was careful, in her differences with her mother-in-law, not to let them escalate into full-blown rows; she no longer held Marianne in awe, but she didn't fancy making a mortal enemy of her. She did, however, stand up to Marianne if she deemed it necessary, blocking her from getting her own way.

‘I used to think Melda was a quiet wee mouse,' Hamish confided to his son while they were having a glass of port and a cigar after dinner one night. ‘But she's developed quite a shrewd brain, and she commands a lot of respect from the workers, and the buyers from even the largest of stores. The trouble is, your mother's been cock of the walk for so long I think she's just a teeny bit jealous.'

The understatement of the century, Ruairidh thought, yet oddly enough, it didn't worry him now. His wife could hold off herself, she wouldn't let anyone ride roughshod over her, not even his mother. And that was as it should be.

Chapter Twenty-six

Just as Marianne had done so many years before, Melda had sent her child to the glen school, but Dorothea didn't fit in as well as her father and mother had done. She was quite bright and outgoing, but her arrogance kept the local children from being friends with her. Nevertheless, with her keen willingness to learn, she soon outstripped others of her own age.

The dominie – forty-six-year-old Philip Stewart, not a product of the glen but the best candidate who had applied on Willie Wink's retirement some years before – even went to the mill one day to talk to her father. ‘Dorothea could go to university in time, so I hope you will allow her to go on to Mackie after the holidays. She will be given every bit as good an education there as in any public school for girls that you care to name.'

‘Oh, I know that, and her mother would slaughter me if I suggested sending her away,' Ruairidh smiled. ‘My wife was a product of Mackie herself, so I am sure she will want Dorothea to follow in her footsteps.'

He made to turn away, then realizing that the other man looked as though he had something else to say, he waited, having a fairly good idea that it would be about Dorrie not behaving properly, and after opening and shutting his mouth a couple of times, Mr Stewart said, very apologetically, ‘I do not relish having to say anything like this, but …'

‘Yes?' Ruairidh encouraged. ‘Whatever you have to say, spit it out. What has she done?'

The dominie looked more uncomfortable than ever. ‘I am afraid … she is developing rather rapidly …'

‘She's only eleven, for heaven's sake, man. She has hardly started to develop yet.'

‘That is perhaps true physically, but –' Mr Stewart broke off, wringing his hands.

This annoyed Ruairidh greatly. Whatever the girl had got up to, it surely couldn't be as bad as … but Philip Stewart was from a little village somewhere on the west coast, and he was likely easily shocked. ‘Has she been swearing, or what?'

‘Oh no, her manner of speech in class is exemplary, although she is inclined to use rather colourful language in the playground. It is a different … oh, this is most difficult, Mr Bruce-Lyall.' He hesitated, but catching signs of impatience in his listener's face, he hurried on, ‘She is taking a great deal too much interest in boys.' He paused again for a moment. ‘I have caught her myself teasing them.'

‘What d'you mean, “teasing them”?' Ruairidh's voice was dangerously calm if the other man could have recognized it.

‘She was … lifting her skirts and showing them her … thigh.' He stopped altogether now, his face beetroot red, his eyes sliding away.

‘I am sure there had been a perfectly simple explanation for it. She could have fallen and skinned her leg or … or something like that. Was that the only incident, or have there been others?'

‘That was the only one I saw.'

‘I must assume that you are too ready to jump to conclusions.'