By Eastern windows (35 page)

*

A year or so after her return to Scotland, Henrietta remembered, Elizabeth had received a very good proposal of marriage from a gentleman with his own estate just north of Edinburgh, but as soon as her father had approved the match, Elizabeth had fled down to London.

‘Oh, Henrietta, he’s ancient and wheezy and as stiff as an old gander!’ Elizabeth had explained breathlessly.
 
`I would spend all my time expecting him to die at any minute.’

‘Then marry him for his money,’ Henrietta advised practically. ‘Because once he is dead, believe me, you will find yourself surrounded by many handsome
young
men eager to marry a young widow with her own fortune, You will be able to take your pick.’

‘I’d prefer to take poison!’

Some years later, another offer of marriage was proposed, this time from a young man reported to be very handsome, of good breeding, reasonable wealth, and destined for a career in politics.

‘What’s the matter with this one?’ Henrietta had asked impatiently upon Elizabeth’s unexpected arrival back in London. ‘What’s to do now? He’s young, isn’t he? Got all the requirements – and even destined for a high career in Parliament!’

‘But he’s got no
heart!
’ Elizabeth had wailed. ‘And even worse, he’s got no
brain!
 
No intellect, no mind of his own at all!’

‘It’s you that’s got no sense in your head,’ Henrietta had retorted grumpily. ‘And what’s more, when it comes to men, you’re simply too self-willed. You’ll have to change that.’

*

‘Shall I light the candles?’

Henrietta came out her memories, opened her eyes, blinked, and looked up at Elizabeth. ‘Yes, dear … oh goodness, my mind was miles away. Where’s that Ginny? She should have been in to do the candles by now.’

Elizabeth shrugged, lit a taper from the fire and moved from one candelabrum to another …
 
and after a short interval the candles burned up brightly, lighting the room. ‘Ah, that’s better.’ Henrietta yawned. ‘Now dear, let’s get back to our conversation.’

Elizabeth sat down and lifted her sewing. ‘Which one?’

‘The same conversation we’ve been having for two weeks now. Are you
sure
it was not another marriage proposal that sent you running down here this time?’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Well, I know you are not dishonest, although sometimes you can be very evasive, but there must be something wrong. I can tell these things. No man involved? You are sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we must get one involved,’ Henrietta decided, ‘and I know just the man who may be able to help us. But first, Elizabeth, we really
must
attend to your clothing. When was the last time you had a new gown?’

‘Gown?’ Elizabeth half laughed. ‘I don’t believe I have ever worn a
gown
.’

‘Exactly my point, but riding habits and plain dresses are not the mode here in London, dear. Not if you wish to mix in the best of circles. So tomorrow we must rectify that and go shopping.’ Henrietta pressed her palms together firmly, enthusiasm brightening her face. ‘Tomorrow, Elizabeth, I am going to
spoil
you!’

Elizabeth woke at dawn. She hurriedly washed and struggled into her clothes. She had packed her small trunk the night before and now she wondered if she could successfully slip out of the house by way of the servants’ hall in order to catch the early-morning Mail Coach back to Scotland.

It was a sneaky and shameful thing to do, but Henrietta had become infuriating – older and grumpier and
infuriating.
Ever since the death of Elizabeth’s father, three years earlier, Henrietta believed the only path to Elizabeth’s life-long security was the acquisition of a husband.

Brushing her hair, she reflected that all Henrietta’s intentions were good, and all from the heart; always ready to give a helping hand or send a letter of advice, and her home was always open with a warm welcome.

And yet … here was Henrietta’s self-willed ungrateful niece preparing to slip out of the house
 
… without a word of thank-you or farewell.

Elizabeth thoughtfully sat down on the edge of the bed.
 
Whichever way she looked at it, leaving now in this secretive way was a devious and dishonourable thing to do, she realised, no matter how urgent the need. And the deep hurt and offence that Henrietta would feel was not to be contemplated.

No, no, Elizabeth decided, she could not do it. She could not hurt Henrietta, now or ever. She would have to go the shops and allow herself to be dressed up like a pretty doll or a desperate debutante in search of a husband.

*

London itself, with its glamour in every shop window, was very seductive. Henrietta insisted they began their fashion hunting in Bond Street, and then eagerly and happily set about turning Elizabeth into one of the best-dressed women in London. By the end of the day Elizabeth found herself the owner of two beautiful gowns and seven very chic day and evening dresses.

Later that evening, once dinner was over, Henrietta continued her plans. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I want you to pop upstairs and change into one of your new dresses, dear. You see, earlier today I sent a note over to a dear friend of mine inviting him to drop in tonight if he can. He knows so many men he could introduce you – ‘

‘I’m sorry,’ Elizabeth interrupted, `I’m sorry, Henrietta, but I would rather die than have some stranger – ‘

‘
Stranger
?’ Henrietta put down her wineglass. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I would never involve any stranger in our business. He is a relative of mine, although a very distant one, I grant you, seeing as he has spent most of his life in foreign climes. And
you
must know him too, Elizabeth. Surely you must have met him at least once during all those visits of yours to Lochbuy? Was he not at Margaret’s marriage to his uncle?’ Henrietta thought back. ‘No, I believe he had gone to India by then.’

‘India? Surely you don’t mean ... Lachlan Macquarie?’ Elizabeth’s face had paled.

‘Yes, dearest Lachlan, he and I have become great friends since his posting to the War Office. Well, in truth, he’s more friendly with my son, seeing as they both served in India.’ Henrietta paused, then continued thoughtfully,
 
`Now that I think of it … not only am I related in some way to his mother, but as my niece Margaret –
your
sister – is married to
his
uncle, then that makes him a relative of yours also, Elizabeth. A cousin of some sort.’

Elizabeth was seriously regretting her decision earlier that morning not to offend Henrietta by slipping out to catch the Mail Coach back to Scotland.

‘Is he … is he back in London then?’

‘Recalled about a week ago. Duke of York in one of his panics again. That man drives me mad.’ Henrietta motioned to the footman to come and lift back her chair. ‘Come along, Elizabeth,’ she said rising. ‘You need to change into one of your new dresses, and I need to change my wig – this new one is too tight and very uncomfortable.’

*

An hour later, in the drawing room, the moment Elizabeth dreaded finally came, yet Lachlan greeted her as friendly and as casually as if he had seen her only yesterday.

He moved to a chair and accepted a glass of wine. ‘Henrietta tells me you are planning to settle in London for the autumn.’

‘I have no plans.’ Elizabeth hesitated, lowered her eyes.
 
‘Nothing definite.’

‘
Poor Elizabeth!’ Henrietta lamented to him, the baby-curls of her copper-brown wig dancing as she shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Elizabeth now has an entire new wardrobe of beautiful dresses, but has absolutely nowhere to go in them, no man to escort her.’

Elizabeth's face crimsoned with embarrassment. She sat staring at her aunt as if wishing the world would instantly end.

‘Lachlan, you must take her into society and introduce her to some of your officer friends,’ Henrietta said bluntly.
 
‘Become her chaperone. Would you do that for me?’

Lachlan glanced at Elizabeth with some surprise. ‘Of course, if that is what Elizabeth wishes.’

‘Oh
goody!
' Henrietta smiled in gratitude. ‘Now Elizabeth might meet a possible husband, if
you
can help her to find one. Twenty-five is far too old for a girl to be unmarried.’ She looked at her niece. ‘Well, Elizabeth, will you allow Lachlan to escort you out and introduce you to some of his friends?’

Elizabeth's embarrassment had paralysed her. She sat with head bowed, her china teacup rattling in the saucer which she held with shaking hands.

‘She wants to say yes but she's too coy, aren't you dear?’ her aunt said helpfully.

After a silence Henrietta persisted louder. ‘You would love cousin Lachlan to introduce you to his friends – all those handsome officers – wouldn't you, dear?’

The teaspoon on Elizabeth's saucer rattled to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, bringing her nose closer to the spot of carpet where the cat usually left his hairs, and she responded to the third – ‘wouldn't you, dear?’ with a paroxysm of sneezing, her head nodding convulsively.

Henrietta clapped her hands triumphantly. ‘There – she said yes!’

A short time later, Elizabeth excused herself, pleading a headache and walking very carefully to the door, certain she was about to collapse at any moment with shame and humiliation, turning into the hall and groping with her hand for the oak banister. By the time she reached her room she had made her decision – yes, it would definitely be the Mail Coach first thing in the morning, whether it hurt Henrietta or not. Especially as Henrietta, despite her good intentions, had embarrassed her so completely tonight by treating her like some pitiable spinster.

The following morning she woke late, no doubt due to her fitful sleep during the night. She also felt very tired, probably due to all the shopping she had done the day before.
 
She lay in bed listening to the sound of movements throughout the house. All the staff were up, going about their business in preparation for breakfast. She glanced at the clock – too late to catch the Mail Coach now.

She decided to lie in bed a little longer and think some more about her situation. Through the chinks of the curtains she could see the day had started with a bright autumnal sunshine. Turning languidly towards the window she stretched her limbs and after a long period in thought, concluded that she had two choices. Either she could continue to feel humiliated by having a chaperone forced upon her like some dismal spinster – or she could turn her back on the dark shadows of her own resentment and instead choose to enjoy it all and have some
fun
for a change.

TWENTY
-
ONE

Lachlan was an easy chaperone, friendly and relaxed and always ready to allow her to choose where they should go. On the second evening she chose to go to a play at the theatre, simply because Murdoch had often said that all plays were spawned by the devil. When she imitated Murdoch’s dour scowl, Lachlan laughed out loud.

The weeks that followed were the most hectic Elizabeth had ever known. He took her to the Lord Mayor's Ball and introduced her to a number of suitable gentlemen. He escorted her to the Queen's levee where Elizabeth saw some of the most glamorous women in the world.

At least three times a week he took her somewhere, always introducing her to officers and gentleman, many of who immediately sent their cards to Wigmore Street the following morning.
 
Elizabeth always managed to quickly hide the cards before her aunt could see them, and then in the evening she presented a woeful face and a shake of her head to Lachlan when he casually asked if any calling cards had arrived.

It was baffling. Lachlan couldn't understand it. A number of his fellow-officers, all eligible, had seemed charmed at the sight of her. Maybe it was her rather cool manner that put them off? If only she was as pleasant with them as she usually was with him.

‘It's because I find I am quite at ease in your company,’ Elizabeth explained over supper, ‘which I seldom am with people I don’t know well.’

 
The social whirl went on up to and including the Christmas season. He took her to the ballet
Achilles et Deidamia
and again introduced her to a number of eligible young men. They went to the theatre to see Mrs Siddons and Charles Kemble in
The Tragedy of Pizarro
and enjoyed themselves so much he forgot to introduce Elizabeth to anyone; just as he forgot when he took her to hear the great Grassini warbling at the heights of her voice in
La vergine de sole
.

‘But you must
remind
him, dear,’ Henrietta said. ‘We must get you a husband somehow.’

And then came the greatest event in any Scottish calendar, the Hogmanay Ball on New Year's Eve. In the drawing room at Wigmore Street, Elizabeth presented herself to her aunt. ‘How do I look?’

Henrietta gasped at the sight of Elizabeth in her new pale gold silk gown, which contrasted magnificently with the burnished bronze of Elizabeth's hair. It was of the new
young
style of silk gowns, not voluminous, but slimly-draped and elegant