The House of Lyall (8 page)

The elderly lady was startled out of quite a deep sleep by the silvery chimes of the domed clock on the mantelshelf. Eleven o'clock! What could have happened to Marianne? Wide awake again and, in her anxiety for the girl, more finely tuned to any noises, Edith became aware of a sound outside in the street. Thank heaven! But it was far too late for Marianne to be staying out with a boy! She would have to be told … but why hadn't she come in?

Absolute silence fell again, and after another five minutes, Edith could stand it no longer. She had to find out what was going on.

Striding to the front door, she opened it quietly and was astonished that she could see no one in the flickering light of the gaslamp a few yards along. Thinking that she must have heard a cat prowling about, she was on the point of going back inside when her eye was drawn to a slight movement to her right.

‘Is that you, Marianne?' she said softly, not wishing to rouse her sisters.

Skirts rustling, a figure trailed round from the side of the cottage. ‘Good gracious!' Edith exclaimed. ‘What were you doing round there?'

‘I was … I was waiting … for you to go to bed.' The unsteady words ended in a torrent of tears, and Marianne gladly allowed herself to be led inside.

Her story came out as if she were in a trance; the walk down to the river and along the banks. ‘He wasn't doing anything bad,' she went on, gulping, ‘till we came to the cemetery …'

‘Trinity,' murmured Miss Edith, wondering what was coming.

‘Is that what it's called? Well, he took me over and pulled me inside the gate … I was scared to go … and then he … started …'

‘I can guess, my dear. Do not distress yourself by telling me.'

But now she had started, Marianne felt compelled to get it all out. ‘He was only kissing me at first, and stroking my neck, but something aboot him made me fear't, so I started fightin' him aff, but it was like fightin' a raging bull and I couldna stop him – nae even when he started touchin' me on my … bosom. But when he lifted my skirts and tried to force me down on the ground, I went right mad.'

Her voice was rising, so Miss Edith grasped her hand. ‘My dear girl, I know exactly what happened. It happened to me once, when I was about your age.' She gave a tight smile at the incredulity on the white face. ‘I was quite pretty in those days and I was very lucky that the boy did not make me pregnant, otherwise my father would have thrown me out. The best thing for you to do now is to give yourself a thorough wash … down there, and go to bed. We can do nothing else but wait until –'

‘You don't understand!' Marianne cried. ‘I didn't let him! You see, I've always been scared of cemeteries, and it was being so close to the gravestones as much as him mauling me … that helped me to …'

‘You actually stopped him?' Miss Edith could scarcely believe it.

‘I twisted awa' and kicked him right in the balls! An' when he was holdin' himsel' and swearin' like a trooper, I took to my heels and ran.'

Her eyes wide with shock at the coarseness which had come from the trembling young mouth, Miss Edith over-looked it since the girl was in such a state. ‘All I can say is thank heaven you got away from him. It was a brave thing you did, but you might easily have been overpowered. Your escape was lucky indeed! Now, off you go to bed, but
remember, do not arrange to meet any more boys until I have vetted them. Good night, my dear. You are quite safe now.'

‘Good night, Miss Edith.' Marianne stood up and, on impulse, bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for not being angry with me.'

‘Is that why you waited outside? You were afraid I would be angry? I am angry at the boy for taking advantage of a naïve young girl, but it was not your fault, although …' she paused for a moment, a twinkle in her eyes, ‘… we tried to warn you, if you remember? But we must let bygones be bygones. I shall never mention it again, not even to my sisters … and especially not to Andrew.'

Miss Edith did some thinking while she made sure that the fire was left safe before she went to bed. Was it fate that had made the seducer choose a graveyard in which to perpetrate his vile deed? Had Marianne been given divine protection? Or was it sheer good luck? Whatever the reason, her ordeal had not been as bad as it could have been. At least it was over. She would not have the worry of waiting to see if her show came. Nor was she suffering from a broken heart, as she, Edith, had been, for she had loved Sandy Raitt. They had kept company for almost three months while he was stationed in the Torry Point Battery, close to Girdleness Lighthouse – he had been one of the first volunteers who made up the Aberdeenshire Royal Garrison Artillery – but after that night, she had neither seen nor heard of him again.

She laid down the poker and straightened up. He had professed to love her, which was why she hadn't stopped him … and it hadn't been an altogether dreadful experience because she loved him. Even after all those years, there was still a soft spot for him in her memory. She may be an old maid, but unlike many of the breed, she
had
tasted of the sweet fruit which was forbidden to unmarried girls.

One pleasant Sunday afternoon in late March, when Marianne was walking along the beach promenade with Andrew, the sea looking much more friendly than on her first visit, she was surprised to see Stephen Grant coming towards them. She hadn't seen him since the night he dropped her like a hot brick, a year and a half ago, and she was elated by the change in his expression when he heard her talking in such a refined manner. She laid it on thickly. ‘It's so nice to see you again, Stephen,' she gushed. ‘I often wondered if I had done something to offend you.'

‘I've b-been b-busy swotting,' he stammered.

‘All the time?' Her eyes twinkled mischievously, causing Andrew to step in to save his friend embarrassment. ‘Pay no attention to her, Stephen. She is just teasing.'

‘May I walk along with you?' Stephen mumbled. ‘Dick Thorne started off with me, then he met a girl he knew, and –'

‘You're very welcome to join us,' Marianne smiled.

For a time, conversation centred round the weather, always a good talking point, then Stephen looked hopefully at Andrew. ‘My parents are abroad until the middle of July and I was thinking of asking some friends to dinner one night next week – Dick and his girl if they'll come, another three chaps with partners, and there's my young sister and me, of course. Would you and Marianne care to come? Our cook is a true gem, so you'd be guaranteed a sumptuous meal.'

Before Andrew could answer one way or the other, Marianne said, ‘We'd love to come, wouldn't we, Andrew?'

‘Yes, thank you, Stephen. We'd be delighted.'

‘I'll let you know, which day when I've got everything arranged.'

Satisfied that his invitation had been accepted, Stephen bade them good night and left them, and Andrew turned to Marianne. ‘What are you playing at?' he demanded disapprovingly. ‘I'd have thought you wouldn't want anything to do with him after he –'

‘He lives in one of the biggest houses in Albyn Place.'

‘Oh!' His face fell. ‘Is he rich enough for you, then?'

‘His father is. Oh, I just want to see inside their mansion.'

‘But you wouldn't say no if Stephen popped the question? He's not a brilliant student, you know, and he'll probably end up being an ordinary solicitor like me, with hardly enough money coming in to keep himself, never mind a wife.'

‘He'll still have a wealthy father,' she retorted, ‘and a mother out of the top drawer. I never made any bones about what I wanted, Andrew. You've known that all along.'

‘Yes, you're quite right.' He appeared chastened now, and held his head down for most of the way back to Strawberry Bank.

When they neared the house, he mumbled, ‘Will you please tell my aunts I've a lot of notes to write up? I can't face them right now.'

‘I'll tell them, and … Andrew, I'm sorry. Anyway, Stephen might not want to marry me. He was quick enough to drop me before. It's a long way from dinner to marriage and maybe he asked us to make up the numbers.'

‘Oh, he already has his eye on you. I'm sure the “dinner for friends” was a spur-of-the-moment thing just to get you into his home.'

Marianne deemed it wisest not to continue on that topic. ‘Will I see you next Sunday?' she begged.

‘If you want me to come.'

‘Of course I want you to come. I'll always be your friend, no matter who I marry.'

He turned away hastily, making her regret being so insensitive. He had made it clear so often that he didn't want to be just her friend.

When she went in, she passed on Andrew's message and then pleaded a headache so that she could go to bed. She didn't care that his aunts would suspect something was wrong between them – she couldn't please everybody and she wasn't going to try. She would please herself. It was her life, after all.

The doubts started creeping in after she undressed and lay down. Was she being foolish? She knew nothing about Stephen Grant except that he was an out-and-out snob, so his parents would likely forbid him to marry the likes of her. Why couldn't she be content to marry Andrew when he'd got his degree? She would be better off than she was now, financially and emotionally, because nobody else would ever love her as much as he did. And she … nearly loved him. It hurt to think there might come a time when she would no longer see him. It would depend on the partner she chose, though not many husbands would permit their wives to remain so friendly with another man.

It all depended … it all depended … was it to be Stephen? Or Andrew? Or somebody she hadn't yet met?

Chapter Five

‘Andrew is asking for trouble,' Miss Esther remarked. ‘Marianne will meet a different kind of people at Albyn Place.'

Miss Edith shrugged. ‘He is afraid that if he doesn't take her, she might come to resent him for spoiling her chances.'

Miss Esther said no more, but when Andrew said the next Sunday that the dinner was to be on Wednesday, his pale face and sad eyes pierced her heart and she longed to reassure him. As she whispered to Miss Emily when they went to bed, ‘She cannot possibly meet anyone nicer than he is, so he need not upset himself.'

On the evening of the dinner, wishing that she had something more elegant to wear, Marianne put on a skirt and blouse she had bought the previous summer and, it still being cold in the evenings, she was forced to cover the pastel pink with a muddy-grey woollen cardigan, felted after being washed so often. She didn't care so much that her well-worn coat was bordering on the threadbare – she would be taking that off – but while Andrew walked with her to Albyn Place, she wondered if anything would be said about her lack of dress sense. But surely Fate couldn't be so cruel as to have the horrible girl of the Hogmanay Ball at Stephen's house tonight?

She soon discovered that Fate could. Stephen himself admitted them to his home and detailed his sister, Myra, to show Marianne where to leave her coat. Then, when she was taken into the drawing room, the first person she saw was the stuck-up pig, as she had designated her.

Only too conscious of her matted cardigan, Marianne stepped forward to shake hands when Myra made the introductions. ‘Marianne, meet Sybil and Barty, and Ethel and Richard. Hamish and his partner haven't arrived yet.'

Taking in only one of the names, Marianne sat down in the chair Myra indicated. So she was called Sybil, was she? Well, if she started anything here, she would get more than she expected. Another man coming in at that moment, there was a renewed flurry of hand-shaking, and when that was over, Sybil leaned across her partner and said to the girl on his other side, in a clear voice that echoed round the room, ‘Do you see what I see? It's the crinoline creature from the ball – and she is no better dressed for the occasion tonight than she was then.'

Her blood boiling, Marianne strove to keep calm. ‘We do not all have the money to dress in the height of fashion,' she said quietly, into the deathly hush that had fallen. ‘I have to work for a living, though I don't suppose you'll ever know what that means.'

Sybil turned a scarlet face towards her. ‘You … you … insolent … guttersnipe!' Barty, her partner, tried to calm her, but she went on, ‘Who do you think you are talking to?'

‘To a bad-mannered, spoiled bairn that should ken better!' Marianne spat out, the speech lessons forgotten in her white-hot anger, the good impression she had wanted to create killed off in the first few minutes. ‘I'm nae as well-educated as you, but I wouldna dream of doing to onybody what you just done to me!'

Tears stinging her eyelids, she stood up to go to look for Andrew, who had disappeared somewhere with Stephen, and the tall, fair-haired stranger who had come in behind her stepped aside to let her pass. ‘Good for you!' he murmured, patting her on the back. ‘I have been dying to take Sybil down a few pegs for a long time.'

Recovering some of her equilibrium as he followed her out of the room, Marianne sighed, ‘But being a gentleman, you couldn't, so it fell to an ignorant peasant like me.'

‘No, no, do not degrade yourself like that. I just wish I had your spirit.' After closing the drawing-room door behind him, he gave her arm a brief, reassuring squeeze. ‘I do not suppose you will feel like staying here now, so if you go and fetch your coat, I shall take you home.'

Still too upset to think, she was halfway to Strawberry Bank with him when she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Andrew'll be wondering where I am! And what about your partner?'

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. ‘She had not come out of the cloakroom when we left, but I should think they have both been told by this time that I whisked you away. And if it was Andrew who was talking to Stephen on the stairs, Hester won't mind being left with him. The question is – will he mind being left with her?'