The House of Lyall (31 page)

‘What was that you called them?' Andrew asked as he joined her.

She explained that it was how Hamish had referred to them in fun not long after they were born, and the names had stuck.

To make the walking easier, they followed the course of the burn which used the path a glacier had gouged out in its descent from the mountains at the end of the Ice Age. At this point, the water swept over any obstacles in its way in a raging torrent, but by the time it left the glen it had lost its impetus and slowed down, uniting with another stream to make a river which meandered sedately towards the North Sea. ‘I love coming this way,' Marianne remarked, ‘even though it's just me and the dogs. It's too far for the boys.'

When they arrived back at the house, Marianne said, ‘Half an hour till dinner, just time to have a quick wash and change of clothes.'

‘Oh, are men expected to change into dinner jackets?'

His concerned expression made her laugh. ‘Hector always did, but it depends on how Hamish feels, and since he's not here, you don't need to bother. Put on something you're comfortable in.'

On his way downstairs to join her in the dining room, wearing one of the pullovers his Aunt Esther had knitted for him each Christmas, he hoped that Marianne, too, had put on something comfortable, and was glad to see her in a baggy jumper and equally out-of-shape skirt. She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Well, this is nice. I never feel happy when I'm dressed formally, but that's one of the penalties I have to pay for marrying into …' She glanced apologetically at him. ‘I'm sorry, Andrew. I'd made up my mind not to say anything personal while we had dinner.'

Andrew had also been thinking while he washed and changed. If she wasn't contemplating divorce, she must be thinking of making a will. Probably Hamish had already made his with the family solicitor, but Marianne, being Marianne, would want to let Andrew do it for her. Thinking about their own death was quite upsetting for some people, and that would be why she had been putting it off. But it couldn't be put off for ever.

‘I think we should get your business out of the way tonight, though,' he said. ‘That'll give you time to think it over, and if there's anything you want to change, I can alter it before I leave tomorrow.'

‘Tomorrow?' she exclaimed, in obvious disappointment. ‘I thought you were staying till Sunday. Are you scared of being alone with me in the evenings?'

‘I feel it is not proper for me to be sleeping in the castle while your husband is away.' There was a slight pause before he murmured, ‘It is not you I am afraid of, my dear, it is myself.'

She coloured, but he could tell that she was pleased by the flattery. ‘I suppose we
should
get things over with tonight. We'll get down to it as soon as we finish dinner.'

Over the meal he told her how well the legal firm in which he was junior partner was doing now, paving the way for her to put her faith in his ability, and she recounted stories about the glen folk and the droll things they said when she went amongst them, but, at last, they were wiping their mouths with the starched napkins – embroidered, Andrew noticed, with the Bruce-Lyall coat of arms.

‘We'll have coffee in the study,' Marianne instructed the maid, and Andrew jumped to his feet to pull back her chair for her. ‘I brought some paper with me to write down what you want to say, so I'll just run up and get some.'

‘There's paper in the top drawer there,' she told him, pointing to the massive leather-topped desk which had originally belonged to Hector's father but which he had never used himself. Hamish, however, had taken it as his.

Walking across to it, Andrew cast a covetous eye on the exquisite carving on the burnished mahogany legs and heaved a sigh. ‘What a beauty! I wish I could afford a desk even half as good as this.'

‘You will, some day.'

The top drawer held a large selection of different sizes and thicknesses of paper, from which Andrew selected a few sheets which did not have the identity of the owner embossed on them, and laying them in a neat pile in front of him, he picked up a pen from the crystal container and dipped it in the matching inkwell. ‘Now, what were you thinking of putting in your will?'

Marion seemed taken aback by this, but she answered readily enough. ‘Of course, I didn't think of asking you before, but you'll be able to tell me about the jewellery Hector left me. His wife's will had said it had to go to the girl Hamish married.' Her eyes took on a concerned look now. ‘It
is
legally mine, isn't it, though the will was made long before Hamish even met me?'

‘Oh yes, it's legally yours. Had she lived, Lady Glendarril would no doubt have instructed her solicitor to insert your name.'

‘I expect she would,' Marianne said, rather uncertainly. ‘Anyway, when I die I suppose it'll go half each to whoever Ranald and Ruairidh marry?'

‘Yes, that would be feasible,' Andrew murmured, making a note of it. ‘Now, shall I give you a moment to think about what else you want to do?'

‘No, I know exactly what I want to do. First, I want you to order a stone for my father's grave.'

Hamish's head jerked up. ‘A gravestone? Is that why you asked me …? You do not want to make a will?'

She shook her head impatiently. ‘I wasn't pleased when Moll asked me to do it, but the more I've thought about it, the more I want to. A good decent-sized granite stone, not marble, but he wouldn't like an angel or anything like that over his head, so maybe just a wee bit of decoration round the sides. At the top, get them to put “CHEYNE”, then underneath that, “Anne Lawrie, dearly beloved wife of Alfred Cheyne, born 24 February 1862, died 12 April 1892”.'

‘She was only thirty? How tragic.'

‘It was, wasn't it? Then below that, I'd like: “Also the above Alfred Cheyne …” I'm not sure when he was born, but Moll will have his death certificate and it'll be on there.'

Andrew raised his head again. ‘Is that all?'

‘Not yet. Down at the bottom, in fancy letters, I want: “Together in love again.” And that's all.'

‘Your stepmother will probably not be pleased about this, especially the last part. Don't you think it is rather … rubbing her nose in it?'

‘I'll put what I like, I'm paying for it with my own money. Hector left me a fairly decent legacy, and I'll instruct the bank to let you draw on it.' She was pensive for a moment and then said with a smile, ‘I was remembering a gravestone in the cemetery at home – not that I went in there very often, but this one made everybody laugh. I don't remember any
of the names, so I'll make them up as I go along. “Annabel Duncan, with her dates of birth and death, dearly beloved wife of William Smith.” Then underneath that, “Margaret Ross, also dearly beloved wife of William Smith,” and underneath that again, “Matilda Jackson, also dearly beloved wife of William Smith.” Then, of course, underneath them all, “Also the above named William Smith.” But the funniest thing was what he'd had put on the gravestone, maybe after his first wife died. “Behold, I live for evermore.” That was what was inscribed on the pedestal bit. I know it was referring to Jesus or God, but it looked as if he was saying, he'd buried all three of his wives and he would never die. But he did …' Andrew's still solemn expression made her break off. ‘It's not really funny, though?'

Andrew obliged with a smile. ‘Yes, it is. It is just that I am rather perturbed about what you have asked me to do. You are quite sure about it?'

‘Certain.' Watching him put away the unused sheets of paper, she said, ‘You know, Andrew, you saying you thought I wanted to make a will has made me think. Maybe we
should
get it done while you're here.'

He turned round to face her now. ‘Don't you think that you should talk that over with Hamish first? He may prefer you to use whoever was his father's man of business.'

‘I think he'll want you to do it for us, seeing you're a good friend, but maybe I
should
wait.'

‘It is entirely up to you.'

‘There's one thing I've been worrying about. Hector's twin brother died young and so did Hamish's, that's why they inherited the title, so can you tell me … if anything ever happens to Ranald
and
Ruairidh, God forbid, who would inherit when their father dies? Would everything go to the Crown?'

‘You are worrying needlessly, Marianne. I made inquiries into this while I was still a student, just out of interest, and when the title “Viscount Glendarril” was created, it was stipulated that it must pass to the nearest male relative. This, fortunately, can go through the distaff side – in other words, to the son of a daughter or sister – but not to the woman herself. In the absence of nearer relatives, a search would be made for cousins or second cousins, and should that be unfruitful, the title would lapse. Where the estate is concerned, of course, it would depend on the will made by the deceased peer, and where no will has been made, if a search does not turn up a claimant, then the estate goes to the Crown. But since the last two generations of Bruce-Lyalls have produced only sons, I think both title and estate are safe for many years to come. Does that satisfy you?'

‘Yes, thank you very much, Andrew. I knew I could depend on you.'

‘And you always will, my dear.' He came over to sit beside her now, taking her hand as he said, ‘I know that I should not say this, Marianne, but you mean more to me than –'

‘You mean a lot to me, too,' she broke in, ‘but I can't …'

‘I know,' he sighed, ‘you can't love me in the way that I love you.' He looked into her eyes, his heart speeding up as it always did when she regarded him with that sad little smile, and he had to force himself not to take her in his arms and kiss her into submission. She would never be his and he must be content with the closeness of their friendship.

She dropped her eyes suddenly. ‘Andrew, why don't you try to find another girl? Maybe I'd feel a wee bit jealous if you did, but I'd be happy for you …'

The noise of voices outside brought her to a halt, and in the next minute, Hamish strode in, looking surprised to find that his wife was not alone.

‘I thought you wouldn't be home till Tuesday!' Marianne exclaimed, a trifle guiltily.

‘I finished my business yesterday, but I decided to catch the first train this morning. It's good to see you again, Andrew. If I had known you were to be here, I'd have travelled overnight.'

Andrew gathered from this that Marianne had not told her husband she had invited him, and she broke in now, clearly ashamed of the subterfuge she had employed to get him there, but, just as clearly, determined to brazen it out. ‘Hamish, do you remember us discussing making our wills – some time ago?'

‘Ah … yes.' Hamish's response was only a fraction slow, but enough to let Andrew know that there had been no such discussion.

‘Well,' Marianne continued, ‘I wrote to Andrew before I knew you were to be away, asking him to come and give us some advice. I thought it would be nice to have a friend as our solicitor.'

The ensuing silence made Andrew wish that he was anywhere but at Castle Lyall. ‘You must be tired, Hamish,' he said, getting to his feet, ‘so I'll make myself scarce to give you peace to talk it over. I'll see you both in the morning.' He looked at neither of them as they wished him good night and, going upstairs, he was thankful that Hamish had the decency to wait until he was out of earshot before hauling his wife over the coals for putting him in such an embarrassing position.

Marianne sat apprehensively until the sound of a door closing noisily released her husband's tongue. ‘So?' he began. ‘I am supposed to believe that you invited Andrew here not knowing that you were to be alone? Do not deny it – I am not an imbecile!'

‘Oh, Hamish, I never thought you were! I wanted someone to talk to, that was all, and I've always been able to tell my troubles to Andrew. You know that.'

The dark frown eased. ‘As you can see, I still have a touch of jealousy where he is concerned, but I should not have doubted you. I am sorry, Marianne. My only excuse is that I am practically dead on my feet. There was some problem with the train, and we were stuck outside Edinburgh for at least a couple of hours.'

‘Do want something to eat before we go to bed?'

‘No, thank you. I had a meal in the dining car.'

She let him take her hand and lead her up the stairs, wishing that he could see sense about Andrew. He must know by now that there was not, and never had been, anything more than a deep affection between her and her old friend.

On Saturday morning, Hamish, rested now and trying to make reparation for his boorishness of the night before, suggested that they all go on a picnic since it was such a lovely day. ‘Ask Cook to make up a basket,' he instructed his wife, ‘and get Nurse to make sure that the boys are wearing suitable clothes. We'll go and see Carnie about a carriage, shall we, Andrew?'

Andrew said no more about returning home now Hamish was back, and was glad of the holiday spirit.

Hamish chose to take them further up the glen, to a large clearing where he spread a tartan travelling rug on the mossy grass for the ladies to sit on, and the forenoon went extremely well, the men playing all sorts of games with the two little boys while Marianne and Nurse just enjoyed the sunshine.

After lunch – and Mrs Carnie had done well in the feast she provided – Nurse said, ‘Ranald and Ruairidh usually have a wee nap about now, so if the rest of you want to take a stroll, I'll stay with them.'

It was during this stroll that Hamish voiced his decision. ‘I was thinking, early this morning, Andrew, and I believe we
should
have a change of solicitor. Old Bowie is getting on, must be about seventy, and it seems to me that having a friend to look after our business is just what the doctor ordered. What do you say, Marianne?'