Far Horizons (23 page)

“He's run away to sea,” Harriet explained. “On a ship to the Americas, as ship's boy.”

David sat back heavily, the anger draining from his face. Harriet was silent, not knowing what she could say or do to make anything better.

“Well,” David said at last. “Well.” He shook his head, his eyes dark with regret and sorrow. “I can only hope it'll bring some sense to him. It hasn't come otherwise.” He coughed, the effort wracking him, and Harriet hurried to pour a glass of water from the pitcher by the bed. After he'd drank, he turned to face her. “What shall we do, Harriet?” he asked quietly. “And how long do we have in this place?”

“I'm not certain. A few weeks at best.” Harriet realised her father had never asked her advice before, and she felt a strange sense of gratified pride. She took a breath and made herself continue. “There is another way, Father. A way to stay here, at Achlic.”

David shook his head, clearly bewildered. “What would that be?”

Harriet let her breath out slowly, willing herself to say the words. “Andrew Reid, Sir James’s nephew, asked me to marry him. If I say yes, he's promised we could live here as we are. The farm would still belong to Riddell, of course, but we wouldn't be turned out onto the street.”

“Paupers, on Riddell charity?” David shook his head. “I'd rather beg for my dinner on the docks.”

“We'd be family, of a kind,” Harriet protested weakly. She could hardly imagine it herself.

David was silent for a moment, lost in thought. When he looked up at her, his eyes were clear and shrewd. “Do you love him?”

Harriet swallowed. “He loves me. He's told me so.”

David shook his head. “I asked if you love him.”

Does it matter
? Harriet thought. “I'm fond of him,” she said slowly, realising with some surprise it was true. “Even though I don't always trust him. Perhaps I could love him in time...”

“What of Allan?”

I love him
. Harriet shook his head. “He hasn't written in a year. I know he's well, for his mother has written Margaret and Rupert.”

“You think he’s given up on you?”

Harriet flinched. “I don’t know what to think. But the truth of it is there isn’t time to find out. And he gave me my freedom. I wouldn’t be betraying him.” Though her heart said otherwise.

David coughed again, and Harriet handed him his mug of water. “You mustn't marry the Riddell boy, lass, to save us.” He looked at her with eyes that were both wise and sorrowful. “It's not a mistake worth making. We'll survive somehow.”

How
, Harriet wanted to ask. How could a girl, a woman and a frail old man survive on the pittance that would be left them?

There was a knock on the door, and Jane MacCready came in with a tea tray. “A nice cup of tea should make everything a wee bit better,” she said with a smile. “Harriet, I forgot the jam for the scones. Would you fetch it, please?”

Feeling summarily dismissed, Harriet rose from the stool. David clasped her hand gently before she left, and the surprising gesture had her near tears yet again. As she walked downstairs, she could hear Jane's bustle and chatter, and her father's few gruff replies. It would take much more than some tea to make things better, she thought grimly.

The next day Harriet made her way to Lanymoor House for Caroline's pianoforte lesson. She knew she would see Andrew, and had resolved to tell him of her decision. It was the right decision, she told herself... the only decision.

Her mind wandered during Caroline's lesson, and it was only with half an ear that she listened to the little girl bang out her scales.

“Gently, Caroline, gently, remember our fingers are like feathers on the keys.” Harriet lightly played a few notes, but Caroline only pouted.

“Don't like feathers!”

“Don't be a brat, brat,” Andrew said with humorous languor. Harriet looked up, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. He leaned against the door frame, his hands in the pockets of his morning coat, the picture of elegance and ease. “Are you finished for today?” he inquired. “If so, I thought we could take tea in the back parlour. It's smaller in there, and cosier. There's even a fire.”

“It sounds lovely,” Harriet replied, forcing herself to meet Andrew’s eyes and smile.

“Run along, Caroline,” Andrew commanded. “Cook has fresh biscuits for you in the kitchen.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Not today, poppet,” Andrew said firmly. “Hurry for those biscuits now. I need to talk to Harriet alone.”

The back parlour was cosy indeed, and Harriet stood by the fire, stretching her hands out to the flames.

“You're like ice.” Andrew took her hand in his own, and with his other hand lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “I didn't mean to make you afraid, when I asked you to marry me,” he said quietly. “We can forget it now, if it is easier.”

“I'm sorry. There's been so much going on...” Briefly Harriet told him of Ian's defection.

“Your father is likely to be right,” Andrew said frankly. “The discipline of a ship might be just what Ian needs.”

“That may be so,” Harriet flashed, “but it didn't mean it had to be like this, with him running away in shame!”

“You're right.” He caught her hands in his own and lifted them to his lips. “Pax, Harriet. I'm agreeing with you.”

“I know.”

“Have you reached a decision, then? I spoke to my uncle and he agreed to the plan. We could live at Achlic. I don't mind if your father runs the place. I know he'll still feel it's his own, and that's only fair. Besides, I don't the first thing about running a farm. I'm sure he could teach me well.”

“He's too ill to do much of anything at the moment,” Harriet replied with a small smile. “But I'm certain he'd rule with an iron fist from his bedside!”

Andrew caught his breath. “Does that mean...?”

“Yes.” Harriet nodded, her heart like lead inside her. “I'll marry you, Andrew.”

A delighted smile broke over his face. “You've made me the happiest man alive, Harriet. I know you don't love me now, don't bother to protest, I accept it as it is. But in time... I swear you'll love me in time. I'll do everything I can to make it so.”

Harriet laughed, a shaky sound. “I'm sure you'll make me very happy, Andrew.”

“I promise I will.” He squeezed her hands, his face alight. “May I kiss you?”

The only time she’d been kissed had been with Allan, at Duart. She could still remember the feel of his lips on hers, his arms around her. The promises he’d made echoed in her head, now with a hollow ring.

Tears pricked Harriet's eyes as she nodded. Andrew brushed his lips across hers, and Harriet felt a betraying tingle inside her. Her hands reached for the lapels of his coat, and as the kiss deepened she pulled away, blushing. She felt as faithless as an adulteress, even though she knew she was free.

“I’ll make you happy,” Andrew promised again, and Harriet nodded. She could almost believe he would. She knew he would try. “Do you have a preference for a date for the wedding?” he asked. “I know women have all sorts of notions about these things...”

A wedding date! Why did she feel such a wave of dread? Andrew was a good, caring man, and he loved her. She would be well provided for. Most women did not even hope for as much. “Would you mind if we waited till spring? Father should be a bit more able then, and I might even be able to get word to Ian... and Allan.”

“Ah, yes, Allan.” Andrew’s face was grave. “I know you loved him, Harriet, but do you think you'll be able to forget?”

Forget? Harriet didn’t even know if she wanted to try. Perhaps she would make herself forget, for her own sanity. “I chose you,” she said quietly. “Let that be enough, for now.”

“It is.” Andrew embraced her once more. “It assuredly is!”

Later that evening, Harriet sat at the kitchen table, the candle flickering by her elbow, and stared down at the blank parchment. Would Allan even care about her news? She had a sudden, piercing realisation that he would.

“Oh, faithless heart,” she whispered, “to doubt him for so long and then marry another.” She thought of him on the hillside by Duart, the day before he left.
I love you, Harriet Campbell, and I always have, since the day I found you here, hiding among the rocks. It was meant to be, between us. I've always known it.

“I'm sorry, Allan,” she whispered. “There's naught I can do. If I had a choice...” But the choices had been taken from her, along with her home and livelihood. Slowly, painfully, Harriet began to write.

The candle was burned low when she finally lay the quill down, and sprinkled sand over the drying ink. After she'd folded the letter and sealed it, she allowed for the tears to come. She lay her head on her arms and cried bitterly, for all she had lost, and all that she had hoped to have.

When she’d finished, she felt drained and empty, the sorrow and disappointment now released, to be replaced by a flat, grim determination.

The letter went on the last ship sailing for Canada before winter. The day was cold and windy, and Harriet handed the letter over along with the last of the hopes.

“You don't know what you're doing,” Margaret told her in furious disgust late that night, after Harriet had made her announcement and the others had gone to bed. “Allan loved you, and will always love you. How can you throw that away?”

“What would you have me do, Margaret?” Harriet replied with just as much heat. “Do you think my father will survive a cold, draughty hovel in town? Do you think Eleanor will enjoy life as a scullery maid or laundress at her age, working her fingers to the bone for a few pennies a day? There aren't many choices open to us, and I have to protect my family!”

Margaret's face crumpled, and she flew to wrap Harriet in her arms. “Oh, Harriet, I'm sorry. If only this burden was not upon you. Can't you write Allan? My father has money. He might provide passage for all of you. You could start anew in Scotia.”

“It would be too late, by the time the letter arrived,” Harriet replied heavily. “It's done, anyway. Allan hasn't written me in a year, Margaret. You don't know what might have happened. People change.”

“Yes, they do.” Margaret was quiet for a moment. “My father has sent the ship fare for Rupert and me. We're to sail this spring.”

Harriet studied her friend's face, and the sorrow that darkened her eyes. “That should be good news, I would think.”

“I don't want to go,” Margaret stated flatly. “I've met someone, someone here...”

“What?” Harriet’s brows rose to her hairline. “This is the waiting, I suppose? Who is he, then?”

Margaret smiled tremulously. “It’s rather a long story.”

“I’m listening.”

Duly Margaret told of her lessons with Henry, his claim to her affections.

“You’ve kept this from me all this time?” Harriet asked, not without a little hurt.

“I was embarrassed at first. It seemed... forward, if not improper. I didn’t want you to disapprove. I supposed some might have seen scandal in it, or worse.”

Harriet nodded her acceptance. “Only those whose tongues never cease to wag. He’s asked you to wait?”

“I believe so.” Margaret’s eyes shone even as she bit her lip.

“But you’re not sure?” Harriet shook her head, chuckling. “Och, these men!” She threw up her hands, and they both laughed in a real way for the first time in weeks. “Why do they always ask us to wait?”

“He's a sailing master,” Margaret explained.

“Of
The Allegiance
?” Harriet guessed shrewdly, and Margaret blushed in acknowledgment.

“He'll be back in a year's time. If I'm not here...” she shrugged and then said simply, “I love him.”

“You've all winter to decide,” Harriet reminded her. “Spring is a long way away, as yet.”

“You've all winter as well,” Margaret said quietly. “Like you said, spring is not for many months. Things can change, Harriet. Remember what you told me? People can change their minds. Everyone.”

Ian lay curled up in his hammock, his chin nearly touching his knees, his back against another of the ship’s boys, asleep aside him. In the four weeks since he'd been on board
The Allegiance
, he'd not become accustomed to the heave and roll of the ship. Now, in the middle of the night, his stomach still churned unpleasantly, although whether that was due to seasickness or his general misery, he did not know.

He had not taken to ship life. Ian himself acknowledged it, and it only made him angrier with himself. Everything about the ship was foreign, even frightening to him. There were three other ship's boys, a ragtag crew that were from an entirely different social sphere than he was.

The food, a rough diet of dry biscuits, salted beef or greasy stew, made him long for the homemade roasts and puddings at Achlic. And when he'd received his first daily ration of sailor's grog, or watered down rum, he hadn't known what it was or what to do with it. Having never tasted proper spirits before, he'd taken a long, healthy swig before the fire hit his throat and he coughed and sputtered. All the sailors around him had laughed and jeered--it'd been days before they let him forget what a lubber he was.

Although he didn’t think he was afraid of hard work, the mind numbing labour of swabbing decks, coiling ropes and washing down the sails frustrated him, as did the galling fact that he had to take whatever came from the sailors aboard ship. His job, he soon realised, was to make himself either useful or scarce.

He longed to return home, yet what could he do? He'd signed on for a year, and he knew he must honour that. He admired the ship's master, Henry Moore, although he'd rarely seen him since they'd set sail. Perhaps Mr. Moore would let him off when they reached their destination in America, but then what? The thought of being alone in a strange land was even worse than being aboard the ship.

Tears pricked his eyes, but Ian forced them back. He would not cry. He was a man now, even if only a ship's boy. He’d made himself one when he took on the responsibility for Achlic, and even in the dark privacy of his hammock, he would not give into tears.

The next morning was cold and clear, and the ship made good headway. They were only about six days off the coast of Massachusetts, according to the master. Ian stood apart from the other ship's boys, watching as the sailors trimmed the sails. Although the ship's boys were in theory encouraged to learn as much as they could about the rigging, in practise most sailors shouted at them to get out of their way when work was going on. So they stood to the side, kicking their feet and gossiping.