A Dark and Distant Shore (60 page)

After a while, the smells of wet wool and steaming people became oppressive, and Drew drifted up the hillside to where Mistress Ewen was unpacking bannocks and cold venison while her husband, a respected fellow in these parts, conducted lordly negotiations with a succession of disreputable purchasers. By mid-afternoon, a great many stoups of whisky bitters had disappeared, and a great many bargains had been struck, but Ewen remained as courteous and unflustered and, it appeared, as sober as when he had risen from his bed this morning.

It was about five o’clock when a shy female voice said from behind, ‘Hello, Mr Campbell. How are you? I wonder if you’ve seen my brother anywhere? I can’t find him, and I expect we ought to be going home soon.’

She was the most sweetly pretty girl Drew had ever seen, with brown hair, soft brown eyes, and a flawless summer-warmed skin. There was no mistaking that she was of gentle birth, although she was dressed with propriety rather than elegance, her long curls emerging from a bonnet uncompromisingly tied under her chin and framed by a brim so modest that it could hardly even have been said to be out of fashion, far less in. Studiously, she ignored Drew, but she was blushing.

Ewen said, ‘Good day to you, miss. No, I haff not seen him aal day. Not at aal.’

Her rounded chin quivered. Really, Drew thought. Ewen wasn’t being very helpful. He said, ‘You shouldn’t be wandering unchaperoned in a place like this! Perhaps I may be permitted to offer you my protection while we search for your brother, Miss...’ The word hung on the air, but Ewen ignored it. Then the girl said, in her gentle voice, ‘Miss Randall.’

What luck! Drew thought. What incredible, wonderful luck! ‘Then we are already acquainted! You must be – surely you must be Shona? I’m Drew Lauriston. Our families know each other, and we met in Edinburgh when we were children. During the royal visit, do you remember?’

When she had seen him standing on the hillside beside Mr Campbell, she had thought him the embodiment of all her dreams – tall and slender and handsome, his bronze-gold hair sweeping back from a high forehead, his mouth smiling, and such a vivid light in his eyes. And now it seemed they were acquainted. And he was offering to escort her round this horrid hillside until she found Edward again. The son of Mrs Lauriston, who had been so kind to her.

The glow suddenly died from her eyes as she remembered Edward and Harriet’s views on Mrs Lauriston and her sons. Distractedly, she murmured, ‘Oh, yes. I remember you. Of course. But no, I couldn’t permit... Such a trouble... I will find him...’

But, masterful as the young knight errant she thought him, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘We are such old friends there can be no objection. It won’t be a trouble. Not at all. It will be a very real pleasure.’

His lips pursed gloomily, Ewen watched them go. Edward Blair wasn’t going to like it.

It took them a while to find Edward, though it would have been quicker if they had been looking. But they had the reminiscences of almost a dozen years to draw on, and the words tumbled out, eager and breathless, as if neither of them had ever had anyone to talk to before. In no time at all, and quite unwittingly, Shona’s artless revelations had led Drew to pity her deeply. He wasn’t without imagination, and her life at Glenbraddan sounded to him like little short of persecution. Even if Edward and the unknown Harriet had been normal, cheerful people it would have been drab enough, but their naturally dismal temperaments seemed to have been exacerbated by the trials that beset them on every side – trials not only like the eviction episode, but one mentally retarded son, and three miscarriages before the safe arrival of a baby daughter, Isabella.

‘Harriet is very devout,’ Shona said in her sweet, uncritical way, and Drew had an instant vision of good works and black bombazine. ‘She’s had so much to vex her, and only me to lean on – apart from Edward, of course. If only Grace were still here!’

Grace, it seemed, had bitterly offended her brother by blaming him for Luke’s death and had been brisky despatched to Paris to annoy Georgiana instead. ‘Oh, do tell your mama that Georgy and Emile have two children now – Gabrielle is four, and little Guy is one! I’m sure she will be interested. And she’ll remember meeting a young man called Peter Barber at Georgy’s wedding. Well, Grace and he met again in Paris, and they’re married now, and have a baby daughter, Petronella. They seem very happy. Mr Barber is a very worthy young man.’

Drew shuddered slightly. Earnest Grace and worthy Mr Barber; they sounded well suited. Gazing down at Shona with a compassionate light in his eyes that set her blushing all over again, he said, ‘You must be so lonely without anyone young to bear you company!’

She hadn’t thought of it that way before. ‘Oh, I had my governess until I came out of the schoolroom, and I paint. Watercolours of birds, mostly. And I persuade all the old people to talk to me about the traditions of the glen. And I read a great deal, and I help Harriet with the housekeeping. I’m very busy, really, especially now that I have to keep the family chronicle.’

‘The what?’

She dimpled up at him. ‘It was grandfather Telfer’s idea. Luke used to do it, and when he died Uncle Magnus said he was too much occupied and it was up to Edward. But Edward has no literary inclination, and no time, so he thought it would give me an interest. I’m not very good at it, but grandfather Telfer set up a trust and I have the income from that – for doing it, you understand? So I don’t object! Although I do feel a fraud, because there’s so little to write.’

‘Oh, but it must be interesting to go back and read what Luke had to say about things that happened when you were too young to remember? What fun!’ The idea appealed to him.

‘No, because all that has been sent to the lawyers in Edinburgh. No one’s allowed to see it for fifty years!’

‘Really? What a peculiar thing! Do you suppose...’

There was a figure blocking their path.

Exasperated over having to search for his sister, Edward was in no mood to handle the situation with the somewhat stilted civility he might otherwise have brought to it. ‘Who’s this?’ he rapped out before either of them could speak, and then recognized Drew. ‘Young Lauriston?’ His round, heavy-lidded eyes were hostile. Drew knew that he was only just thirty, but he looked like a sour old dominie.

Formally, Drew said, ‘Mr Blair, sir! Good afternoon to you. I was bringing Miss Randall to your carriage. Perhaps you will allow me to call on you one day soon? I am staying near by.’

‘Are you, indeed! Unfortunately, I fear that Mrs Blair is indisposed. We do not expect to be receiving visitors for quite some time. Come along, Shona. Good day to you, Lauriston.’

There was distress in her eyes as, timidly, she said good-bye and thank you. Drew’s face was set as he stood and watched the carriage out of sight.

Several weeks later, Vilia returned to the hired house in Clarges Street, Mayfair, to find Gideon in sole occupation of the drawing-room, his nose buried in
The Times.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said wearily, stripping off her gloves and sinking gratefully into a vast, padded chair. ‘Such a tiresome day. I’m cold and wet, and I want my tea. Of all months in the year, I believe November is the most disagreeable.’

Gideon said, ‘Shall I ring?’ wondering vaguely why the day should have been so tiresome. There had been no business appointments that he knew of.

‘No need. I told Frederick as I came in.’

He watched her rise again and go to the mirror to take off her grey squirrel bonnet and smooth her hair, then jumped to his feet to relieve her of the fur-lined mantle. Her hands were ice-cold, and he exclaimed, ‘Where have you been? You’re frozen!’

She flexed the long, slim fingers. ‘It’s not the weather. Nerves, that’s all. I’ve been to call on Magnus Telfer.’

‘I thought he was in Brighton.’

‘He came back a week or two ago.’ She sat down abruptly. ‘Oh, Gideon, he looks so thin and ill, even after all these months. When Luke died, I always thought he was suffering more from losing his son-and-heir – you know what I mean? – than Luke himself. But Lucy’s death has hit him very hard. He has lost all that fair-of-flesh look, and his hair is streaked with grey, and he’s dreadfully apathetic. He’s still wearing coats that do no more than hang on him, because he says he can’t summon up the interest to see his tailor. And he was so touchingly pleased to see me, so grateful to me for coming. Magnus – g
rateful!
We spent most of the afternoon talking about Lucy. “She understood me so well,” he kept saying. “She knew how to make me comfortable, knew just what I liked.” So you can guess why my nerves are a little frayed.’

‘Yes, indeed. Very trying.’

There was a silence. Then, twisting the amethyst seal on her finger, Vilia said, ‘It wasn’t only that. I have a confession to make. I tried to buy Kinveil from him, and he refused.’

‘You
what
?
’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she said defensively. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Gideon! I wasn’t proposing to use the foundry’s money!’

‘That’s unjust. I didn’t think you were.’

‘I suppose not. It’s what Theo would have thought, though.
Where
is that tea?’ She rose and gave the bell a violent tug just as the door opened to admit a flustered maid and apologetic footman. Even after three months they hadn’t learned to conform to the standards Vilia required of her servants.

When they had gone, she sat stirring her tea thoughtfully. ‘Magnus hasn’t been near Kinveil since Luke died and it occurred to me that he might be persuaded to part with it. I was afraid he might already be considering doing so. I’ve spent a good deal of time going into my finances with old Mr Pilcher, and we came to the conclusion I could raise £60,000, not more. Which is the precise sum Mungo Telfer paid my father for it.’

‘But...’

‘As you say.
But
Highland estate prices have soared since then, although less extravagantly than one might have thought. Magnus could probably sell for about £100,000. However, since he doesn’t really need the money, I thought I would ask, hoping – quite unashamedly – that for sentimental reasons he might agree. But his gratitude doesn’t extend as far as that. His father loved Kinveil, and he believes Luke did, too, which gave him the excuse to talk a good deal of nonsense about “sacred trusts” and the like. He spoke of going back some day when he felt strong enough to face it. I’m not sure how the sum of £130,000 crept into the conversation, but it did. So I withdrew as gracefully as I could. If it’s of any interest to you, however, he hopes the Lauristons will regard Kinveil as if it were their own. If I wish the castle opened up to receive us, I have only to say so.’

‘Christ! Does he mean it?’

‘At the moment, yes.’ Her lips smiling, she surveyed her son. ‘You don’t really care, Gideon, do you? Theo has a feeling for the place, and so has Drew. But not you.’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It’s beautiful, but it’s not my kind of beauty. The climate, the people, the whole atmosphere of it’ – he hesitated, wondering how far he dared go – ‘everything depresses me, somehow. It smells too strongly of fatalism and finality.’

Unexpectedly, she quoted poetry at him. ‘Have you ever read Shelley’s
Lines written among the Euganean Hills
?
Somewhere near the beginning, he says – let me get it right – yes...

...
like that sleep

When the dreamer seems to be

Weltering through eternity;

And the dim low line before

Of a dark and distant shore

Still recedes, as ever still

Longing with divided will,

But no power to seek or shun,

He is ever drifted on

O’er the unreposing wave

To the haven of the grave.

That’s what you feel about it, isn’t it? That atmosphere. That’s why you reject it – and why I’m drawn to it. I suppose that, in a way, Kinveil is
my
“dark and distant shore”.’ She smiled faintly. ‘My haven and my grave, too, perhaps. But certainly always just a little beyond my reach.’

For a moment, the light, musical voice diverted him from the words, as did the realization that this was the first time she had ever voluntarily opened any part of her mind to him. Then he exclaimed, ‘My God! How morbid of you! I hope you won’t make a habit of seeing Magnus if he has this effect on you.’ It wasn’t, perhaps, the most sensitive or sympathetic thing to say, but he wasn’t equipped to follow the revelation through, or not without thinking about it first.

‘Poor Gideon,’ she said, her voice brittle. ‘Go back to your
Times,
my dear. Is that the afternoon mail I see over there? All for me?’

‘Two for Theo, but he’s out.’

It was several minutes before he became aware that the quality of the silence had changed, and looked up from his newspaper. His mother was sitting as still and stiff as a lay figure, with an open letter in her hand. Her face was mask-like. Even as he looked, she put a trembling hand to her forehead and murmured, ‘Oh, God! Oh, no!’ and fell back in her chair in a dead faint.

He couldn’t rouse her at first. He had no idea what to do, but tugged on the bell and knelt there, chafing her hands uselessly and saying, ‘Vilia! Mama! Wake up!’ until the door opened and the footman appeared. ‘Get the housekeeper!’ he said, with vague thoughts of burnt feathers and sal volatile. They laid her on a sofa with her feet above her head, and if Gideon hadn’t been so worried he would have laughed at the housekeeper’s concern over the danger of her mistress’s skirt slipping and showing her ankles.

She came to, after a while, and pulled herself dizzily up to a sitting position. When she took the cup of tea one of the maids was holding out to her, the cup rattled in its saucer like harness jingling. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve never fainted before. I...’ There was panic in her eyes, and Gideon turned to the servants and dismissed them.

Wordlessly, she gave him back the cup of lukewarm tea, and when he said, ‘Shall I order fresh?’ shook her head.