Clandara (27 page)

“It's of small importance what a servant like myself thinks, and well you know it. Are you happy, my dear lady? Say you are, for that's all that matters!”

“Happiness is not a word I know any longer.” Katharine pulled the shift over her head and Annie covered her with an embroidered nightgown, ruffled at neck and wrists and hem. It hung straight down to the ground, loose and fastened high. The glittering yellow gown she had worn at Holyrood revealed far more of her body than the robe in which unmarried ladies went to bed.

“I am not expecting love and all its fancies.” Her voice was so bitter it was hard and ugly. “I am marrying a good man who loves me because he will care for me and for Clandara and because my father wishes it. And I owe him a placid year or two before he dies. But don't ask me if I'm happy, Annie.”

“Ye will be.” She knelt down and put on Katharine's velvet slippers. “Time will teach ye wisdom, milady, and teach ye the joy of a good and kindly husband. If I'd ever found one I'd not be the crotchety old spinster that I am now.” She looked up into the beautiful unhappy face, and her heart ached. As usual, whenever she was touched, her tone grew particularly sharp.

“Now go to bed and put some colour in your cheeks. Ye can talk all ye want about the wedding tomorrow! And God help me, I suppose I've got to be dragged to live at Spey House with you! There's never a thought for me in it all … Spey House!”

She tucked in the covers round her mistress, and put one candle on the table by her bed, its little silver snuffer in the chamber stick. And then she suddenly lifted Katharine's hand and kissed it, her face flushing awkwardly.

“God bless ye, milady. And pay no mind to me. I'd sooner die than stay at Clandara or anywhere else without you.”

When she had gone, Katharine lay until the candle flame burnt down and expired with a greedy hiss. A month or two at the most, Henry had said. If he were right, then she would be married by the spring, and he would be beside her in his family bed at Spey House, his head on the pillow near hers, his hands stretching out to take her, his body reaching its triumph within hers. And from it she would conceive his children and watch them grow, and her days would be filled with the duties incumbent upon the mistress of a great house and an estate; there would be new friends and relatives by marriage whom she had to cultivate and please. The old Mrs. Ogilvie of Spey, half remembered as a frail and homely little lady who was devoted to her only son … A whole new life, leagues away from Clandara and the lowering mountains that were reflected in Loch Ness, and the places where she had ridden out in secret to meet her lover. The hollow where she had felt the earth beneath them move and the day turn into night … there would be nothing of that in the bed at Spey House; she would not dissolve and flow away on the stream of Henry's passion. She would submit and endure, but that was all. Love would never come again.

When Annie woke her in the morning she was unusually gentle, for it was obvious that Katharine had cried herself to sleep.

On November 17th the city of Carlisle within the English border surrendered to Prince Charles, and he entered the city itself on a white horse preceded by a hundred pipers and a jubilant army who had so far encountered only token resistance. All the omens were good; the people they had seen were not unfriendly; their reactions were those of curiosity and, living so close to the borders of Scotland, they were not as alien to the invader as the English people further inland which had still to be penetrated. Carlisle surrendered and its fears, like those of Edinburgh, were allayed by the excellent conduct and restraint of the Highland troops, whose only crime against the civic sense of what was proper was their uninhibited use of the streets for natural functions.

The Prince was in residence at the Castle and those in his immediate council were there with him; the rest, including the Macdonalds of Dundrenan, were quartered in the houses of the local gentry and in the town itself. Janet Douglas had been living quietly in a rented house outside the city walls; she had seen the Prince's army lay siege to Carlisle and finally march into it triumphant, and two days later she drove in herself in search of James. She soon learnt that the Macdonalds of Dundrenan were guests in the house of a Catholic gentleman called Wykeham, and at seven o'clock on the evening of the 18th she was admitted to the room where Hugh and David and two of their tacksmen were drinking and playing cards.

“Good God!” Hugh sprang up in surprise, and the others rose more slowly after him, staring at the tall woman who was almost hidden in a long blue cloak and hood.

“Janet Douglas,” he said. “Well, well, I might have known it. Come, sit down and let me present James Macdonald, the son of Angus, and Ian Macdonald of Dungall. Mrs. Douglas, lately come from Edinburgh. You remember my brother David.”

“Your servants, lady.” The two tacksmen bowed. Both of them were distantly related to their chief, and both held a large acreage and high responsibilities at Dundrenan. A glance from Hugh was sufficient, and they excused themselves. He took Janet's cloak and called for a glass of wine for her. It was served by the Red Murdoch, who bowed low before her with no trace of recognition on his ugly, freckled face.

“I see James is here,” she said. “That's one licence I wouldn't allow him, to have that savage in my house.”

“Murdoch is no savage,” David interposed sharply. He had not spoken before. “He's one of the best men with dirk and claymore at Dundrenan. And he's loyal to us all to the death!”

“Pay no attention to my brother,” Hugh said lightly. “He and our more brutish tenants have much in common. He loves poor Murdoch; he once saw him cut a dead man's throat and it won his heart for ever. It was the brother of James's betrothed, as a matter of interest.”

“Don't, please!” Janet shuddered. “Hugh, where is he and how is he? I've travelled night and day to find him and I'm not going to sit here wasting words.”

“Why didn't you tell me the truth at Edinburgh?” Hugh demanded.

“Because I was too proud. He'd hurt me beyond endurance; we had a bitter quarrel and I said things for which he will never forgive me.”

“If you are so sure of that, why are you here?” he countered.

“Because I don't care!” she said. “I don't care what he says or does to me. I can't live without him. And if you laugh at me, Hugh, I'll throw your wine in your face.”

“Come.” He shook his head at her and his light eyes were gleaming. “Come, this is not the calculating Janet that I know … You're not the kind of woman who throws wine and makes a scene. You are above all that, unlike the rest of us poor mortals. But content yourself, I'm not going to laugh at you, and if I do I'll take good care to hide it. I'm glad you've come. He needs you.”

“Is he here?”

“Upstairs,” Hugh nodded. He put out his hand. “I shouldn't try to go to him. I must warn you, my dear lady, that he's not alone.”

Her pale face did not alter; no colour came into it and her very fine eyes stared straight and coolly into those of Hugh.

“What manner of woman is with him?”

“The lowest. He seeks nothing else. He found this drab in some whorehouse last night and brought her back again this evening. He's drunk too!”

“And you and his father have done nothing to stop this?” she demanded. He shrugged.

“He's not the man to let us interfere. There's a madness in him, and he's fleeing from it; Father doesn't understand this; he thinks he'll sicken of debauch and come to his senses cured, but I do not. He's still fleeing that damned woman, that's the trouble.” For a moment a frown showed in contrast to the eternal mocking grin. He had told no one of that meeting at Holyrood and of its failure. He would never tell anyone because in the few seconds when he held Katharine in his arms and kissed her to prevent her crying out, he had wanted her himself. For that moment of weakness he hated her more than he had ever hated anyone.

To his surprise Janet put down her glass and got up.

“I'm not afraid of a common whore,” she said. “Take me to his room. I'll get rid of her. Wait, my purse is there on the table, if you please. No doubt I'll need it.”

“As you wish.” Hugh opened the door for her. “Up the stairs and the door immediately before you on the landing. I still think it would be better if you didn't go.”

“Thank you for your solicitude, but I'm no swooning gentlewoman. My father was a merchant and my mother's people lived in a miserable croft and slept on the floor with their animals. Don't worry about me, Hugh. If I need help I'll call you.”

She did not knock on the door; she opened it and pushed it wide and walked into the middle of the room. There were two candles burning by the side of the disordered bed; James lay upon it, half covered by one of the sheets, and by his side a young, bedraggled prostitute looked up from her ministrations in alarm. When she saw that the intruder was a woman she began to shout and curse, and the drunken man on the bed opened his eyes and struggled up on to his elbow.

“Hold your tongue and get out or I'll call the watch for you!” Janet's voice cut through the obscenities. She advanced up to the bed and picked up the girl's shabby petticoat.

“Dress yourself and begone, or I'll have you whipped through the streets at the cart's tail! Dress, and be quick!”

There was something about her that made the strumpet pause. She climbed out of the bed and began to pull on her clothes.

“He owes me for tonight,” she said.

“How much?”

“A guinea,” the girl spat at her. “And cheap at the price for the drunken dog. Look at my arms!”

“A crown,” Janet said coldly, “and not one farthing more. That pays for a bruise or two. What were you doing, trying to steal his money when he was asleep? You're a fool if you were. He's just the man to break your neck.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” She turned away and looked at James. He glared back at her, his eyes half closed and reddened, the shadow of a beard on his face.

“Never mind that now. When we're alone we'll talk. Here's your crown; now go! And if I find you near this house again I'll have the skin flogged off your back!”

At the door the strumpet turned once more; she wasn't more than twenty and as the light from the landing candelabra fell upon her, Janet saw with horror that her hair was red.

“Curse on yer both. I hope I've given 'im the pox!” And then she fled down the stairs. Janet came to the bedside and looked down at James. He looked older and thinner, his face was wolfish now, the cheeks fallen in, and the bloodshot eyes blazed with drink and confusion at her.

“How are you, James?” she said gently. “How is your wound?” There was a livid scar upon his shoulder near the chest; she touched it gently with her finger. For a moment he did not answer her.

“Why have you followed me?” he said at last. “Why can't you let me go to the devil in peace?”

“Because I think you need me,” she said quietly. “And judging by what I find here tonight, you certainly do. Sit up and let me make you comfortable. Pooh, this room stinks of that creature. I'm going to open the window.”

She went to the door and called out.

“Hugh, could someone bring James some clean linen and something to eat for us both?”

He sprang up the stairs and made her a sweeping bow. “As you command, dear lady. By God, I'll never underestimate you again. I dare say we shan't be seeing you again tonight?”

“It's unlikely,” she said coolly, “unless he decides to throw me out when he is sober. But we shall see.”

Within an hour James was changed and bathed and they were both dining from a tray sent up with Murdoch. There was a decanter of excellent whisky on it, and after they had finished Janet joined him in drinking it, as she had done the first night they met at her brother's house in Perth. She raised her glass to him.

“Your health, and our reunion.”

“As you wish. My health and our reunion. Tell me something; have you not one jot of shame, to come breaking in here and turn a common whore out of my bed? …”

“You are always asking me if I am not ashamed,” she answered, and she smiled. “And I always disappoint you. I'm not a bashful woman, James. Surely you know that by now. I told Hugh a strumpet doesn't frighten me. You forget I've had a husband. I've turned them out of the house before.”

“A nice comparison.” He raised his glass. “My thanks.”

“You know very well I'm not comparing,” she said. “My husband never once did anything that made me happy except die. I wouldn't have walked down the street in pursuit of him, much less from Edinburgh to England in the wake of an army and the middle of a war. You should be flattered.”

“I am. Didn't we quarrel, you and I? I've been drunk the last two nights and I get fuddled in my mind. I found that little slut and there she was in the whorehouse, dancing in her petticoats under the torchlight, and her hair was red … red as the fire itself. I took her then and again tonight. I found her sneaking round my pockets and I shook her until her head almost fell off her dirty neck.” He leant back in his chair and scowled. “They're
dirty
, these English. Their women are dirty and low-tongued, and they say these are not really the English. A dirty little thief, and poor at her trade … Pass me the whisky, Janet. Don't fret yourself, I'm not drunk now and I shan't get drunk. I'm in attendance on the Prince tomorrow.”

“If she was all those things, why did you choose her twice?” she asked him.

He glanced up at her and his black eyes were full of unhappy mockery more at his own expense than hers.

“For the colour of her hair,” he said. “You knew that. You're a clever woman, Janet. Why did you ask?”