Bride of the Solway (30 page)

Ross grinned in response, and nodded. 'I take your point, sir. I shall try to persuade her that the best time to visit is in the summer, when her garden will be at its best.'

'What will you do about the wedding?' asked Sir Angus after a pause. 'That will depend on Cassie.'

'I fear that Cassie is in no fit state to make any decisions at present.'

'Probably not. God, I wish I had carried her off to Gretna instead of crossing the Solway.'

'No. No, Captain Graham, you do not. Remember Cassie's history. Remember what happened to her mother. If Cassie is to be able to take her place in society, at your side, there cannot be anything
havey-cavey
in your marriage.' He lifted a hand to forestall Ross's protest. 'Oh, we could have succeeded by marrying her from my house. I have some standing in the community, after all. But a Gretna marriage would not be tolerated. You must know that.'

Ross nodded. He did know that perfectly well. He had said as much to Cassie in the garden. But he did not know—not really—about Cassie's history. After a moment, he said, 'Sir Angus, Cassie has not told me of her mother. And judging from her reaction earlier, I am persuaded that she did not know the whole. You said that
Mrs
Elliott was not mad, but the victim of her husband's cruelty?'

'Aye, that was the way of it.' He paused, a deep frown on his brow. Ross sat very still, waiting.

'I can see that you are determined to hear the worst of the family you would marry into. Well, you have the right. You have dealt with James Elliott. His father was much the same. Cassie's mother, Elizabeth Fergusson, was a second wife and much younger than her husband. She was beautiful, too, and Elliott was a jealous man. After Cassie was born, he persuaded himself that his wife was unfaithful. He may even have believed that Cassie was not his own get.' He stopped, gazing vacantly into the fire. 'I always wondered whether that was why he banished her to that Edinburgh seminary for so many years. He seemed to hate the child. And her brother soon learned to do the same, I fear.' He shook his head sadly.

'Cassie's mother, sir?' Ross prompted gently.

Ah, yes. Poor Elizabeth. She had only to smile on another man, no matter how young or old, for Elliott to accuse her. And he beat her, cruelly. Sometimes she was confined to her bed for weeks, until the bruises subsided. Eventually, she could stand it no longer. She did take a lover and she tried to escape from her husband. She did not succeed, James Elliott caught them and had her taken to the asylum. There was no one to help her.'

'But the lover.. .surely he tried?'

'He could not. He was dead. They said his neck was broken in a carriage accident. But I never believed it. He was murdered, by James Elliott. For revenge. That man had to control everything and everyone. It was he who should have been in the Bedlam.'

There was so much bitterness in his voice. There was something more here, something hidden.

'You were related to Cassie's mother, I take it, sir?'

'Yes. Distant cousins. Very distant. We shared a great-grandsire.'

'Does that mean that I, too, am related to Cassie?'

'Yes, but no more closely than I am. There is no impediment to your marriage, if that is your concern.'

Ross nodded thoughtfully. The hidden factor must relate to something else. 'I am surprised that
Mrs
Elliott was given any opportunity to meet a lover. Surely James Elliott would have been most vigilant, given his insane jealousy?'

'Aye, but he could not shut his doors against the family. I was his daughter's godfather.'

'It was you? But you said—'

'It was my brother.'

Let me come with you, Cassie.' 'No!' .

'But you should not be alone.'

'I need to be alone.' She knew she ought not to be short with Ross. He was not the cause of her troubles, or her guilt. She had brought that on herself. He was trying to support her. And she was rejecting him. She turned back to him. 'Forgive me, Ross. I do not mean to be rude. Or ungracious. I know that you have the best of motives, but... Forgive me, I need to be alone.' The tears were threatening to overwhelm her again. She picked up her skirts and ran for the sanctuary of the garden. ,

As she reached the steps, she heard his long sigh behind her. He was deeply unhappy. But he would not follow her. He was too much of a gentleman to intrude in her grief.

She stopped running at the end of the knot garden and turned, just to check. She was alone. She had known it would be so. She stood, for a long moment, gazing around, trying to focus her mind on anything but her morass of tangled emotions. She tried to concentrate on the geometric perfection of the clipped hedges and fancy gravel.

It was not her own preferred style of garden, but it was certainly effective. Sir Angus—no gardener himself—had opted for the classical styles of his youth and entrusted their care to a team of trained men. If she were going to stay at
Whitemoss
, Cassie would use all her feminine wiles to persuade her godfather to change it to something more to the modern taste. But she was not going to stay, was she? She was going to marry Ross Graham, was she not?

Cassie shook her head, in bewilderment. She was no longer sure of that, or of anything else.

She walked back to the centre of the knot garden and sat down on the little bench, automatically settling her black skirts around her. At least the housekeeper had been able to provide Cassie with a gown that made her feel as if she was properly in mourning. It did not fit well—not well at all—but no matter, for who was to see her, hidden away here, miles from anywhere? Her inner voice reminded her that Ross had seen her. And what did he think of her? Red puffy eyes, pasty complexion, and a gown that resembled a corn sack. What's more, she had barely spoken half a dozen sentences to him since the news had come.

He wants to help you, Cassie Elliott, yet you push him away.

'I can do no other,' she groaned aloud. 'My brother is dead. And I am responsible.' She sat twisting her hands together, as if the act could somehow undo the past. It could not. Of course it could not. She would have to learn to live with what she had done.

Shaking her head, she rose and walked slowly out of the knot garden and towards the woods beyond. The sun was getting hotter. It was not like Solway weather at all. She would feel better under the cool canopy of the trees. No one would disturb her there.

The stately trees seemed to welcome her in. She reached out her fingers to touch the lowest branches of a short hazel, and then a magnificent beech. How beautiful they were. And some of these trees must be well-nigh a century old, perhaps older. That Holm oak beyond, for instance, looked to have stood in the
Whitemoss
garden for longer than the house itself. No doubt these trees had looked down on many a weeping woman, over the decades. Whatever those women's troubles, the trees would still have been looking down after their pain was long gone. As Cassie's troubles, too, would pass.

Had she been indulging her grief these last two days? She walked back under the trailing canopy of the beech and stroked its rough bark. The great tree's strength and permanence soothed her, as if it could speak. You have had your moment now, Cassie. You have shrieked your grief and guilt to the skies. Enough now. You must live with what you have done and embrace life once more. For no one can go back and change the past. All that is left is to shape the future. Running away from it will shape nothing.

Cassie continued to stroke the bark for a long time. And then she leant against it, resting her head against the trunk so that she could gaze up into the branches. They reached up to the sky, with pride and confidence. And a great lust for life. Yes. It was time for her to do the same. She had to start taking control of her life once again.

And she must make her peace with Ross. She had hurt him. She had no doubt about that. And he, being a man of inner strength and understanding, had allowed her to snap at him, to reject him, without ever voicing a word of complaint.

She loved him. Of course, she did. But he could be pardoned for doubting it, of late.

Did it matter to him, a man who did not love her in return? She rather thought it did. He did care for her. She was sure of that. Only a man who cared—and a good and decent man—would have behaved as Ross had done. It was time she told him so, and thanked him.

She would spend just a few more minutes collecting her thoughts in this tranquil green space and then she would return to the house, to find him. Then she would tell him.

She walked slowly back out on to the main path and a little further into the wood, gazing up at the trees and
marvelling
at their variety. There were native rowans and pines, but also younger, smaller trees that must have been imported and planted here by Sir Angus or his predecessors. In another thirty or forty years, this wood would be even more splendid.

Perhaps, in thirty years, she and Ross would be able to return here, with their children and grandchildren, to walk once more down this winding path? That picture warmed her heart.

Cassie's reverie was interrupted by a rustling in the undergrowth. Rabbits? Or a bird, rooting for worms?

The noise grew louder. A twig snapped. That was no bird. 'Who is
there?'Cassie
cried, turning towards the sound.

'Come and sit down, Captain Graham. How is she?'

Ross shook his head and took the chair opposite Sir Angus. 'No better, I fear, sir. I cannot persuade her to talk to me.'

'No, and nor can I. I tried again this morning, when she first appeared, just after breakfast. She simply shook her head and turned her back on me. She was muttering something about needing to be alone. At least, I think she did. To be honest, I did not think it was directed at me. More at the floor at her feet. We cannot allow this to continue, sir. We will have to find some way of shaking her out of this all-pervading gloom.'

Ross shook his head. 'I don't see how we can. She is a grown woman. She has convinced herself that her brother's death was her fault, that her prayer for his damnation was answered. She believes she might as well have killed him with her own hand. It is nonsense—we both know that— and she is sensible enough to know it, too. Or rather, she will be. Eventually. I think we must give her more time.'

'You risk indulging her too far, my boy, if you will permit an old bachelor to advise you. What sort of a marriage will it be if you do not exert your authority? A husband must be master of his own household.'

'I shall be,' Ross said quickly. 'But Cassie needs more time now. And she shall have it.'

Sir Angus said nothing. It must have been obvious that Ross's mind was made up on the issue and that nothing would move him.

Ross leaned back in his chair and gazed across at the miniatures on the wall. His mother's portrait hung there still. He was glad he knew the whole truth now. Surprisingly, it no longer seemed so dreadful, compared with the horror of Elliott's death. But he was relieved that he had no need of his family. He could set himself to forgetting the whole sorry crew. All except his mother. He began to muse on what he now knew of her life, and her sacrifices for him, her only child. She had been a brave and steadfast woman. Much like Cassie, in fact.

He smiled towards the portrait. You would have approved of Cassie,

Mother. She will make a good wife and—God willing—a good mother to our children. I am only sorry that you will never see them. If you are looking down on us now, Mother, I ask you to bless Cassie and to help her through her torment. I need her to come to me with a glad heart, and a willing hand.

For a moment, he almost thought that the portrait nodded. A strange fancy, indeed.

'Excuse me, sir.' It was Sir Angus's butler. He was now well used to the visitors and treated them both with proper respect. 'Your man, Fraser, has this moment arrived, Captain, with two horses. He has taken the baggage up to your chamber.'

'Excellent. I can certainly do with a change of clothes. I am hardly presentable in these.' He glanced ruefully down at his coat and breeches, borrowed from one of Sir Angus's gamekeepers.

Sir Angus smiled. 'I have seen worse, my boy. No doubt you have, too, in the wars?'

Ross nodded. Ever since he had come north, he seemed to be fated to ruin his own fine clothes and spend his time wearing ill-fitting cast-offs instead.