In Loving Memory (16 page)

Chapter 6

1865

For long years afterwards, Lara would count her blessings that a kindly fate had led her to that particular house in Portland Place and the resulting chain of events; the social connections made when Ewan Tait, a frequent visitor to the Younger’s extravagant dinner parties, discovered that his sister Lara Bell was a lowly kitchen maid.

Horrified, without disclosing their relationship to his society friends, he found Lara a place as a housemaid in Edinburgh in an establishment where he knew the family prided itself on encouraging girls in their employ to learn and better themselves.

Lara was a quick learner and after two years found herself lady’s maid to the governess of the family’s children. The governess was taken with Lara’s sharp wit and willingness to learn and was only too willing to teach her.

The bizarre coincidence of meeting up with the estranged brother and his intervention changed her life dramatically. How else could she ever have risen to the superior position she now held of paid-companion to yet another wealthy elderly lady?

All this was going through Lara’s head when she became aware that Miss Fotheringham was speaking to her.

“Lara would you please ring the bell for our afternoon tea.”

While they waited for the afternoon tea ritual, the two women chatted. Then quite out of the blue, her employer said, “Once we’re settled with our toasted scones, there’s something I wish to discuss with you. I’ve been meaning to discuss this matter with you for some time, but an article I’ve just read in my morning’s newspaper has rather brought things to a head for me.”

Lara wondered what Miss Fotheringham could wish to discuss, for many years now they had been living a quiet, comfortable life here in Edinburgh; the two women were now rather more fast friends than employer and servant.

The elderly lady leant forward. “No point in beating about the bush, Lara. From what I know of your life, the general opinion seems to be that you’ve always been something of what we call ‘A bonnie fechter’. Well, it was all part of what made you what you are, a fine confident woman, entirely aware of her own worth in the general scheme of things. Anyway, I digress ... Like it or not, I’m an old woman now and like you, a bonnie fechter or not, even I do know that I cannot go on forever. Lately, it’s been on my mind as to what would become of you once I’ve gone to meet my Maker.”

Lara could feel the tears spring to her eyes. “Oh, please I beg of you, please don’t say, far less even think of such things. Here with you all these years in your lovely home, this has been my life.”

The old lady nodded. “Lara, don’t upset yourself. You are the daughter I never had, so I just want to do what’s best for you once I’ve gone. Reading this article about women’s rights, or the lack of them, has clarified matters in my mind.”

Lara cocked her head on one side. “Sorry, I’m afraid I still don’t get your drift.”

“This would be a cause right up your street but for that, money and social position will be of importance in your involvement. So, I’ve decided, in my Will I’m leaving you this Town House and also you will be what I believe is now-a-days called comfortably off.”

Lara started to thank her but her words were waved aside.

“Not another word, my dear, I feel that you may be reaching the path marked out for you ... your destiny. If I can at least in spirit march alongside you in the feminist battled which surely lie ahead, then that can be my memorial too. After all as the daughter of a Scottish Radical, a man who died for his Cause, you will be demonstrating that women too can be important in the on-going struggle for human rights. Now I don’t know about you, Lara, but I’d love another cup of tea.”

1867

With the reading of Miss Arabella Fotheringham’s Last Will and Testament, Lara was astounded to learn that as its sole beneficiary, she was now even wealthier than the scale at which her friend and employer had previously hinted. Quite apart from vast sums of cash garnered from a number of bank accounts, as well as the town house in fashionable Edinburgh, there was also a range of tenement buildings in working class districts in industrial Glasgow rented out, bringing in a regular income. Added to that, Miss Fotheringham’s store of furs, jewellery, works of art, priceless antiques and Lara knew with a stab of wild exhilaration. I’ll want for nothing materially for the rest of my life. Better still, she thought, as a well-heeled Lady of Quality, I’ll be able, indeed entitled to take a leading part, and be socially accepted as a society leader, with funds and a voice to take a leading part in social reform.

Lara recalled how Miss Fotheringham had so recently pointed out before her final illness, “This matter of women’s rights that’s just beginning to be discussed in Edinburgh ... might that perhaps be a reforming activity in which you could play an active part?”

While Lara could well see the benefits to be gained, the stimulating interest, and perhaps even the self-advancement to be had in getting at the beginning of such a movement, she knew another area of social reform could, in fact, would hold the most attraction for her – the Temperance Movement and its effect on the wives and families of drunkards.

She came out of her daydream in time to hear Miss Fotheringham’s Solicitor say, “And, of course, there is also the large house ... rather more of a mansion if we’re being strictly accurate ... the large house in Glasgow’s fashionable East End, and actually quite near to the famous Glasgow Green, as I understand it. That house has also been bequeathed to you.”

He paused briefly, shuffled his papers around his desk as if almost gaining time for what he next had to say. “With regard to that particular bequest, apparently Miss Fortheringham inherited the Glasgow mansion, the family home from her father, a wealthy ship-owner and there is a condition which applies to you.”

Lara raised her head, by now decidedly intrigued as to what this condition might be.

Mr Sheddon coughed and went on, “The thing is, although after the death of her father, Miss Fotheringham legally owned the house, never did she return to Glasgow to live in the once family home. Instead, over these many years, she employed a loyal and trusted husband and wife team, not only to maintain the property, but also where necessity arose, to provide a temporary haven, an abode for wives and families seeking urgent shelter away from the despair and fear of hopeless, down-and-out drunken husbands and fathers. And here, I may say I’ve been quoting my client’s own words as to the exact situation. She wanted you to be absolutely clear as to what was involved in your accepting this bequest.”

Lara gave a puzzled frown, by now totally bemused as to where all this might be leading. Another shuffling of the papers on his desk and again the Solicitor resumed speaking, “As to the condition mentioned, the precise legal requirement would be that you move to Glasgow, live in the mansion and continue to develop further that humanitarian work, to enhance your own particular interest in social reform, whatever aspect it might take. And finally, continue to employ the live-in caretakers Mr and Mrs Tavish Taylor, or should they wish to retire, allow them a generous stipend.”

As she left the Solicitor’s office and was making her way homewards through the Edinburgh streets, Lara knew exactly what she would do.

Yes, she thought, even as a wee girl in Harmony Row, I remember my mother often enthusing about the first-ever Temperance Society which had been founded in 1829 in Greenock. Can’t say I understood all it was about, but even so, I do recall my mother forever saying that the Demon Drink had been the cause of all misfortunes in the life of the poor.

Then another thought came to Lara, the very idea of which seemed to bring a sort of inner glow to her heart. And that Fotheringham Mansion ... close to Glasgow Green ... isn’t that what the Solicitor said? Well, how strange that is ... my father as a Radical speechifier, wasn’t that one of his very own stamping-grounds. Aye, Glasgow Green that’s the place for Rallies, soapbox orators and meeting place for social reformers. So Glasgow Green and that mansion, that the place for me ... here I come.

Chapter 7

With the quick and ready sale of the Edinburgh town house now adding to her already vast fortune. Lara true to her new resolve wasted no time in travelling to Glasgow and the entirely new life which awaited here there.

Acting on instruction from Lara, Mr Sheddon had already advised the in-house caretakers to have a suite of rooms in the house prepared and ready for Lara’s arrival.

Poised on this latest exciting chapter of her life, Lara couldn’t help but wonder. What if the caretakers Tibbie and Tavish Taylor resent my arrival on the scene? After all, she reasoned. They’ve had it all their own way all these years, haven’t they? Are they as honest and trustworthy as everyone had thought? Won’t they resent a new broom sweeping busily through their previously comfortable life? What if ... what if ...?

Such thoughts were still racing through Lara’s head, as arriving on the doorstep of the large imposing house and having given a tentative beat of the brass lion’s head, the heavy oaken door was at once opened and a warm, welcoming voice said, “Ah, there you are, Mistress Bell, we’ve been watching out for your arrival. Mr Sheddon had the Glasgow factor’s office advise us that you would be arriving today and to expect you around this hour.”

As Lara was ushered into the impressive hallway, a reception area in which a cheery fire was blazing, she smiled, all the while thinking, so far so good ... or is this Tibbie person being too welcoming, too much watching out for my arrival, getting her own claim in first as it were as to who is the mistress of this fine house?

Mentally shaking her head free of such doubting thoughts, Lara then decided in her own mind. For heaven’s sake, Miss Fotheringham took you yourself on trust those years ago, as a companion-help ... Look where, after years of mutual trust and friendship, that’s led ... so why not give Tibbie and her husband the benefit of the doubt, go with the flow and let life take charge. After all, if they’ve had a cosy, unsupervised life here in this house for all these years ... thing is, they’re probably feeling even more nervous, more desperately apprehensive than you are.

Introductions over and the sturdily-built Tavish deputed to carry Lara’s luggage up to her rooms, Tibbie then announced, “Afternoon tea in the Drawing Room, let you get your breath back from your journey, then later we’ll have a tour of the house.”

It was later that same day when Lara first entered her own designated bedroom and suite of rooms on the second floor of ‘Fotheringham House’.

As she looked around at the rich furnishings, the mirror and crystal-bedecked dressing table, the velvet-covered chaise longue, the heavy, bobble-fringed curtains, the ornate brass tie-backs, and the muslin-draped four-poster bed, she gasped, “Why, it’s absolutely beautiful, I’ve never seen such a lovely bedroom.”

She turned to Tibbie, the emotion of the moment causing her eyes to cloud over with tears. “Mistress Taylor, I really must thank you, preparing such a room for me, that is more, much more than the call of duty, thank you.”

The older woman nodded. “Glad you like it, Miss Bell. But truth of the matter is, actually there was very little preparation involved, this was Miss Arabella’s own bedroom, before she left for Edinburgh and I’ve kept it in readiness, clean covers, everything polished, hoping she might return one day, even for a brief visit. But she never did return, never again set foot in these lovely rooms. But then I expect you know the story as well as I do, no need to upset ourselves by going through it chapter and verse yet again.”

Although Lara did not know the story, either chapter or verse, she was not – at such short acquaintance – about to let housekeeper Tibbie Taylor become aware of her ignorance regarding her benefactor. Instead she thought, no doubt the story ... whatever it might be it will unravel over the time I’m living here. So, enough to deal with right now, in coming to terms with this wonderful new phase of my life.

One beautiful spring morning as Lara made her way downstairs to breakfast in the ornate dining-room, she couldn’t help but feel, what a pity that Arabella never did come back, even for a visit to this lovely house, but then after that boating accident that Tibbie mentioned, it was probably more than Arabella could face with her father and her fiancé both gone to a watery grave. With this house being in such close proximity to the Clyde, the very sight of it, a raw and constant reminder not only of the disaster but also of what so very nearly might have been ... Arabella simply could not have endured that. No wonder she never ever married and if we’re being honest, became even more of a recluse than anything ... no wonder the poor woman was in need of a companion-help. She really did need what help I was able to give her. And, let’s face it, that was my good luck, if ever anybody fell into the Clyde and came up with a gold watch, it was me. Lara smiled grimly at the choice of phrase. More than enough of such gloomy thoughts about drowning, or falling into the Clyde. On a morning like this, sun shining, God in his Heaven, happy joyful thoughts those should be the order of the day, Lara, not this morose introspection.”

Arriving in the dining-room and rather rudely and absentmindedly replying to Tibbie’s good morning greeting, Tibbie gave Lara a thoughtful look then said, “Everything all right, Miss Lara? Ye don’t seem ye’re usual self this morning. Just ye let me know if the children of that new family getting shelter in the house are making too much noise out in the garden. A firm word from Tavish would soon settle their hash.”

Lara looked up from contemplation of the bowl of porridge. “Oh, Tibbie, how well you know me already, sorry, yes, I was as a bit preoccupied this morning, but honestly, nothing at all to do with that most recently arrived family. If those children have now escaped from a drunken lout of a father, then I’d be more than happy to hear them letting off a bit of steam in the garden. No, there’s no bother of any kind in that quarter. It was something else that rather was disturbing my mind.”

As Lara pushed the bowl and spoon away from her, she looked up and said, “Actually, on such a morning as this, I was thinking again about that terrible boating accident which all those years ago claimed the lives of Miss Fotheringham’s father and her then so recently betrothed fiancé.”

Tibbie frowned. “Don’t think I’m being cheeky or nothing, but I must say I don’t know what sort of local gossip ye’ve been hearing at that swanky sewing circle ye’ve been attending. There’s gossip, on one side, the truth on the other and then somewhere up the middle is the reality, the harsh reality of what really happened.”

When Lara made no reply to this assessment of past history, Tibbie, as she cleared away the porridge bowl, suddenly said, “Tell ye what, Miss Lara, why not get on with the rest of yer breakfast, then later if ye feel so inclined, why not come down to my wee sitting room in the basement, ye might as well hear the right way of what happened. All I will say for the moment, Miss Arabella always blamed herself for the tragedy, that’s why she never ever came back here. It was too much for her to bear.”

Lara nodded. “Yes, I wondered as much. And thank you, yes I would like that.” Tibbie smiled. “And then while we’re at it, perhaps you and I can discuss what plans you have for the house. Tavish will be out tending the grounds and keeping those bairns in order ... we’ll get peace to talk, there are things that need to be discussed.”