The Corn Maiden, page 11
From time to time, she noted the considerable income from stock sales, from wool sales, even occasionally from the sale of venison. Completely absorbed, her coffee growing cold beside her, she read on, caught up in the world of frugal and, at times, fragile husbandry. From the stillness in the room, she became aware that Moidart was leaning forward and watching her intently. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I do not know where are my manners! I became so interested…”
“Interested? Do these dry, dusty bones interest you?”
“Oh, yes, yes indeed,” said Nell. “I am familiar with all the accounting procedures at Somersham. Kenton, my steward, taught me a lot. I have always been interested in such things. And they are not dry! Oh no, they tell a story…”
“What do they tell you?” he asked, a defensive shutter falling over his eyes.
“They tell me that my estates are being run efficiently but hardly profitably by a romantic, who has, apparently, a head for figures.”
He inclined his head with a slight smile. “Thank you for the compliment, your ladyship. My professor of mathematics at Edinburgh would be gratified to hear your praise.”
She blushed at the jibe but continued, “What is Andrew Baird’s problem? The man would seem to have been something of a burden on the estate for quite a while…”
“Ah, there! So you have rootled out that one! Poor Andrew broke his leg last June. It has set badly, which is an inconvenience for a shepherd as I think you would agree, and he has a wife and four bairns. What would you have me do? Put him out? Put the family on the next ship for the Americas?” he asked coldly.
“Certainly not. You must fetch a doctor to treat him, and then you must give him work to do off the mountains, in the folds, until he is healed.”
“In the folds?” he said, mystified. “Our Scottish sheep live out on the hill all year round.”
“Then that explains it,” she said and waited for his enquiry. As he continued to look at her with mistrust, she went on cheerfully, “I have been examining the figures for the sale of wool. Your income from the sale of wool is high, but comparing the price of raw wool with the numbers of sheep kept on the estate, I see that the price for each sheep is low—much lower than it would be for our Suffolk sheep. Also, it appears that you lose many ewes at the lambing season—I assume because they are kept out on the hill? Kenton has, for the past few years, taken to folding the ewes for the lambing, and we find that we have far fewer losses. My advice would be to acquire a better quality of sheep—I can have sent up a pair of my prize rams from Suffolk to improve your native stock—and make much better efforts to pen the sheep at lambing time.”
Seeing his surprised approval, she said defensively, “I would be ashamed to take all this for granted and not to understand the foundations. I am not just a society Miss, you know!”
“You are full of surprises, Lady Elinor,” said Moidart, rising to his feet to bow formally. “There are some old things that might interest you,” he said, taking a bundle of papers from a shelf. One by one, he began to put before her tenancy agreements, each with the Lindsay seal in the corner—Patents of Arms with their gay heraldry, maps and plans delineating boundary agreements, all in the most meticulous order, and finally, on parchment sealed with the Royal Arms of Scotland, a summons to the Lindsay of the day to join the Young Pretender, dated Glenfinnan 1745.
“What happened to him?” asked Nell.
Moidart laughed. “Well, luckily, of the two brothers Lindsay, one joined the Prince and one stayed at home. For the first time, perhaps, in the history of the family, they had a foot in both camps, and Lindsay survived.”
“What happened to the boy who joined the Prince?” she could not help asking.
“Culloden,” said Moidart. “He didn’t survive Culloden.”
“He does not add,” thought Nell bitterly, “‘slaughtered by the English,’ but I know that is what he is thinking.”
It would have seemed petty of her to remind him that he was speaking of her ancestor. He seemed to identify her so fully with the despised English side of her family. She sighed. This morning had not gone well. She was not entirely sure what she had been expecting, but this cold, ironic formality was hard to bear. She was beginning to imagine that she had, after all, dreamed the closeness and the excitement of the previous evening.
In an attempt to say something flattering about the estate and fearing that she might have insulted him on the subject of the wool sales, she drew his attention to a pile of tenancy agreements, all duly signed by a variety of tenants from the humblest shilling a week shepherd to the grander five pounds a week tacksman. “Explain this to me, Moidart,” she said with a puzzled smile. “Every one of these agreements is signed and annotated in the most beautiful, flowing copperplate handwriting. Now, in Suffolk, you would find that more than half of such documents would be signed by a cross, for the humbler tenants cannot write.”
“Then ’tis a shame on you and your English system,” he said roundly. “Here all children in the village go to the Parish school and receive a good education. The Laird’s son sits on a form with the shepherd’s son, and they learn together. The brighter ones can go on to grammar school and then on to university in Edinburgh, which is accounted among the finest in the world. You probably do not know that half your doctors and scientists in England are Scots. And it is Scots who are running many of the armies of Europe, good fighters that they are!”
“I should like to meet some of my tenants and herdsmen,” she said thoughtfully.
“Aye, and they will be very curious to meet you, my lady. We will start tomorrow. You are acquainted now with your castle; you must begin to get to know your lands.”
A light tap at the door interrupted further plans as Tibbie entered. “Moidart, your horse is ready, Coll says, and Jenny has prepared a bite to eat in the kitchen before you leave; begging your pardon, my lady.” She bobbed, gathered up the coffee tray, and left.
Before she could stop herself, Elinor had burst out with a disappointment that was audible even to her own ears, “You are leaving, Moidart?”
He turned to her with a questioning smile playing on his lips. “I am sorry, I forgot that I must now ask your ladyship’s permission to absent myself,” he said provokingly. “I have a business meeting in Callander. As a magistrate, it is my duty to take my turn to act as Judge’s Marshal in the Quarterly Assize. I usually stay overnight with my friend Doctor Jameson, but as the owls are being a particular nuisance here, I shall make my excuses and return tonight…in case I am needed,” he added. “Can it be that you do not wish me to go?” he asked, moving over to her and looking intently into her eyes.
“Not at all,” she said, recovering herself. “I had not realised that you were such an important personage in this part of the country. Of course you must do your duty. And pray do not concern yourself for me, Moidart. I shall sleep well tonight, and undisturbed.”
“All the same,” he said thoughtfully, “I shall not leave you unattended.”
He opened the door and leaned outside. Nell heard a sharp whistle and, a moment later, the hound came slipping and sliding into the room. Moidart spoke crisply to the dog in Gaelic and pointed at Nell. “There. You have your companion now, Lady Elinor. Lupus will not leave your side until I return.”
Nell looked down dubiously at the dog, wondering if this was the good idea Moidart seemed to think it was. She could have sworn that the dog was equally uneasy with its task, but nevertheless, it settled down grumpily by her right foot and, licking its lips, whined pathetically at its master. Such was the dejection in its eyes that they both burst out laughing.
“I fear I am being a great nuisance to the whole household,” said Nell.
“Nay, lass, never think it!” he said surprisingly and, taking a step closer, lifted her hand and kissed it. Feeling her fingers tremble at his touch and seeing the smile fade from her face, he gathered her into his arms with a sigh and gently touched her lips with his.
“Two and a half hours,” he murmured. “I have been within kissing distance of you for two and a half hours and have not touched you. Am I not a good and self-sacrificing steward?”
As she made no attempt to pull away from him but stayed quietly in his arms, his next kiss was more serious and left her trembling and yearning for—she hardly knew what—for his closeness, for his warmth, for his continued presence. She knew with a clear certainty that she did not want him to leave her side even for the half of a day.
Gently he held her away from him and looked at her steadily. “I shall hasten back, never fear. Ask for anything you want or need. Remember, you are at home here.” And, with a warning word to Lupus, he was gone.
Nell felt for the dog as it scurried to the closed door and sniffed underneath, whimpering and listening to the retreating footsteps, and then ran back to her, pleading for the door to be opened. Hardening her heart, she waited for several minutes to allow Moidart to ride clear of the castle before leaving the business room and taking the staircase to her bedroom. The dog shadowed her and, to her amusement, settled down in front of the fire, looking up and watching her with sad but alert eyes every time she moved about the room.
“Lupus, I don’t know which of us is keeping guard on the other, but perhaps we should both break out!” And, taking pity on him, she was just promising him a long walk across the hill to while away the afternoon when Tibbie tapped at the door and entered. She was grinning conspiratorially and holding out a small silver bowl of roses.
“Last of the summer, Miss,” she said, placing them by the bedside. “Moidart said I was to pick only the white ones, seeing as how you liked them so much.”
7
Nell woke the next morning to find the door ajar and the dog gone from his post at her threshold. She assumed with a smile of pleasure that Moidart must have returned and called his dog off duty. Her five-mile tramp through the sodden heather with Lupus streaming ahead like the wind had left her exhausted, and after an early supper, shadowed at every step by the hound, she had gone up to her room, where she had fallen into a deep and undisturbed sleep.
She stretched pleasurably in anticipation of her day. He had said that they would ride out together to inspect her lands, and she acknowledged that her eagerness to do this stemmed largely from a desire to be at his side for as long as she could. She wanted to be near him, to hear his voice, share his thoughts, tease him, be annoyed by him. But where was this exciting urge going to lead her? Straight into the pit of iniquity, she told herself grimly. The Prayer Book warned her and other inexperienced maidens of the dangers of toying with the affections of men, who were, for the most part, like the Devil, a “roaring lion, seeking whom they might devour!” Would Moidart devour her if she did not take care? The thought made her shiver with anticipation.
Of the physical relationship between men and women, she knew rather more than most girls of her age and rank, since her old governess, Thérèse de Bercy, was a French émigrée whose adored husband had died during the Revolution. Thérèse, with Gallic frankness, had not only passed on to Nell a grounding in the physical facts of love but had also given her a glimpse of the spiritual closeness that could and should exist between lovers.
Lovers? She savoured the word, saying it softly to herself. Was this what she wanted then—to be lovers? But it was not a simple physical attraction that drew her to him, and it was here, she acknowledged, that the danger truly lay. She was becoming fascinated by the whole man. She had never met his like before. He did not pretend to even a conventional veneer of good manners. He spoke his mind clearly, even when he knew she would not be pleased to hear his words. He treated her with considerable—and well deserved, she had to admit—rudeness one minute, only to be gentle and loving the next. And she found much in him to admire. Under the tough outer skin was a man who would defend his decision to go easy on his distressed tenants, who would sit wakeful in his room and write poetry, who would think of sending her a little bowl of white roses, though she decided, with a rueful smile, that the thought had not been without its thorns.
Her whirling thoughts came round full circle again, as they had a hundred times since she had met him, and still without resolution. The only thing of which she was certain was that she wanted the man and was determined to attach him to her by whatever means should come to hand. So—what was she to do? And the answer, the only one that occurred to her was, as always, be near him, seek him out, and the way forward would become apparent.
Hearing a clatter of dishes in the distance, Nell became suddenly acutely aware of how hungry she was feeling. She was relieved to hear Lucy’s pert voice along the corridor and delighted to see her come through the door with a breakfast tray, laden as before.
“Message for you, Miss Nell,” she said, “before I forget what it was…I was to say, ‘Would the lady care to ride out the day? Mister Moidart has to ride to Achill (she stumbled over the unfamiliar word), and maybe you’d like to ride with him?’ Mrs. Fraser has sorted out some clothes for you.”
Tibbie bustled in close on her heels, arms full of clothes. A dark green riding habit, a cloak, a hat and several pairs of boots were carried in for her inspection.
Her breakfast disposed of, Nell jumped from her bed and ran to the window to look out over the loch and over the encircling hills and surrounding rolling moorland. Her eyes picked out the white walls of crofters’ houses dotted here and there across the mountain slopes, each surrounded by small stone-walled fields, each with its attendant black cattle, and from the chimney stacks in the turf roofs of each a plume of smoke flattened by the wind. It was a peaceful scene and a busy one.
Turning to look in the other direction and down into the castle courtyard, she saw Coll emerge with two fine saddle horses, one black and one roan, and as she watched, she saw him fit a sidesaddle to the roan.
“Come on, Lucy! Obviously Moidart didn’t expect no for an answer!”
“From all I hear,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes suggestively, “the steward never expects no for an answer! He’s no Mister Kenton, Miss Nell! He’ll bear watching!”
Nell considered this for a moment and decided not to pursue the remark.
Washed and brushed, she dressed herself in her borrowed clothes and stood in front of the long mirror. As on her first evening, this morning’s collection fitted surprisingly well, and she found she was satisfied with what she saw. She went to stand for a moment with Tibbie at her side looking down on the stable courtyard below. The scene had changed, and she smiled to see black head next to redhead, Moidart and Coll, adjusting the harnesses of the two horses. Not, perhaps, strapped up to the peak of Park perfection that Turvey would have demanded, but fine horses all the same—plenty of bone, Nell decided, and well coupled up. Just the horses for this country.
As she watched, from an open stable door a third horse was led out in the hands of a man so old, so bent, so crabwise in his gait and forming a contrast so marked with the vigorous men and horses that Nell was for a moment tempted to laugh. “Who’s that, for goodness’ sake?” she asked.
“Why, that,” said Tibbie, “that would be auld Angus, if you please.”
“And auld Angus—who’s he?”
“Well, it was this way, milady. When Mr. John—that is John Lindsay the younger, you understand—came out in Forty-five—came out for the gude cause—auld Angus, him below that’s now eighty-four, was just a wee lad. Fifteen, would he have been? And he like a little tyke that would run always at Mr. John’s heel to do his bidding and the way people would laugh at the pair of them…But when Mr. John rode out to join Prince Charlie, he said, laughing of course, because that was his way, they say, ‘Lock him up if you have to, but this is one time when wee Angus’ll no follow me!’”
Aware that she had the full attention of her audience, Tibbie made a histrionic pause before resuming, wide-eyed, “And what did this wee Angus do? Why, he slipped away and wandered on in search of Mr. John and in search of the army. But he’d not catch him but on dark Culloden field.” Her voice wavered for a moment, and Nell saw a tear gather in her eye.
“Good heavens,” Nell thought. “This was seventy years ago! But to Tibbie it might have been last week!”
“And wha’ did he find? The battle lost. But wee Angus searched the corpses where they lay thick on the field, and he found Mr. John there dead, his good broadsword in his hand! And the red soldiers caught wee Angus, and he lay two days with four wounds in him out in the cold, while the crows were hopping round him and with the foxes barking for two nights. But he strapped himself up and walked back to the house of Lindsay, hiding by day and crawling by night. And that was the first the gude folk knew for sure which way the battle went. He brought away Mr. John’s ring—as a token like—and whiles the Laird will wear it to this day.
“The folk cared for him and hid him, but young though he was, he was a bent old man from that day, for the broken bones—ill-set—that was in it, though he’s always had the touch with horses. The Laird gave him shelter and food and the wee room over the stable arch, ‘for as long as he should need it, and Angus McColl shall ne’er lack for shelter while Lindsay has a roof over his head,’ he said. And so it was and so it is and there he bides, God bless him!”
Nell looked from the eager face beside her to the bent figure below and felt a lump rise in her throat and knew a tear was in her eye.
“But there,” said Tibbie practically, “he’s a blithe man! Nothing whatever will fash him, as your ladyship will discover.”
Thoughtfully, Nell made her way downstairs, and as she did so, words from one of her grandmother’s songs came into her head:
On dark Culloden’s field of gore, Hark! Hark!
They cry, “Claymore! Claymore!”
And bravely fight—they can nae more
