Maggie (22 page)

“You’re the same age as Colonel Delaney,” said Maggie softly. “I thought he had a sparkle in his eye when he looked at you.”

“I think it’s pity,” said Miss Rochester, “if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yes,” said Maggie softly. “I know what you mean.”

Downstairs, the earl was standing in the hall arguing with Colonel Delaney. “Look, you
can’t
go!” he was protesting.

“Well, I feel I’ve got to, don’t you know,” said Colonel Delaney. “Trespassed on your hospitality long enough and all that.”

“But to leave me with this gaggle of females for dinner.”

“Thought you liked Mrs. Murray,” mumbled the colonel.

“Not much.”

“Don’t look like that. Seems to me you’ve been deliberately ignoring Mrs. Macleod.”

“No, you got it wrong, as the Americans say.
She’s
been
ignoring me. Tried to kiss her and she pushed me away as if I disgusted her. She feels a debt of gratitude to me and I don’t want to take advantage of it again. What about you and Aunt Sarah?”

“Miss Rochester? Oh, splendid woman, salt of the earth and all that sort of thing, but nothing there, old boy. I’m a confirmed bachelor.”

“Anyway, do stay for dinner,” begged the earl. “I’ll get rid of Mrs. Murray somehow, the Misses Bentley and the Farquharsons are only staying the evening, and then we can be comfortable again.”

“Oh, very well,” said the colonel reluctantly.

But as dinner wore on that evening, both the earl and the colonel became extremely restive, for there was no sign of Maggie and Miss Rochester.

At last, the earl summoned a footman and told him to find out what had happened to the ladies.

The footman seemed to be away for a long time. When he at last returned with a note in his hand, the earl almost snatched it from him.

It was from Miss Rochester. His aunt had only written a few lines. “Dear Peter, Maggie wishes to return to Inverness-shire to see if she can pick up her old life. She begs me to thank you for all you have done. She did not want to say goodbye since it would have been too painful… and too painful for me as well. My regards to Colonel Delaney. Yr. Loving Aunt, Sarah.”

“When did they leave?” demanded the earl.

“Just after the dressing gong, my lord,” said the footman. “Miss Rochester was most insistent that you were not to be disturbed.”

“Oh, has that Mrs. Macleod gone?” laughed Dolly. “Really, these little shop girls have no manners. Breeding will out, I always say.”

“Excuse me.” The earl rose to his feet and signalled to
Colonel Delaney who followed him from the room.

“Well, well, well,” said the colonel, rubbing his hands. “This is like old times. I do like a bit of action.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why we’re going after ’em, of course. Anyone can see you’re in love with Mrs. Macleod. Now you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said the earl with a sudden feeling of exhilaration. He realized he loved Maggie so much, why!, he could make her love him. “Yes, very much.”

“And you’d better have me along because a little thing like Miss Rochester isn’t fit to go gallivanting about the countryside without a man to help her.”

The earl blinked at the idea of anyone describing his aunt as “a little thing”. “What about my guests?” he demanded. “We can’t just go off and leave them.”

“Why not?
You
didn’t invite them and with any luck by the time we return, Mrs. Murray will have taken herself off. Come along. We’ll catch the night train.”

The next day Maggie and Miss Rochester stood outside the door of Maggie’s father’s shop on the Beauly road.

“Well, he’s not here,” said Miss Rochester, after rattling the door handle and banging on the glass.

“Is it Maggie Fraser?” asked a voice behind them.

Miss Andrews, the local schoolteacher, stood blinking myopically at Maggie and Miss Rochester.

“Oh, Miss Andrews,” said Maggie. “I’m looking for my father.”

“He’s gone, and good riddance,” said Miss Andrews. “He sold his stock and left for America. I have the key with me. The auld scoundrel asked me to check the shop from time to time to make sure no one had broken in. The one thing he didn’t do was to sell the shop. Said he would come back to the place of his birth to retire. The man’s mad,
saving your presence Maggie… I mean Mistress Macleod,” said the schoolteacher, taking in the finery of Maggie’s clothes for the first time. “We read about you in all the papers. Quite a bit of excitement it caused. Anyway, as I was saying he’s mad to talk about Beauly as his birthplace for it was established as a fact that he was born in Skye, and he just liked to say he was from the mainland because he thought that was a grander place, as if anyone cared.”

As she was talking, the schoolteacher turned the key in the lock and swung open the door.

Maggie breathed in the familiar cheesy, peppery, spicy smell of the store.

“Now is there any way I can help you?” asked Miss Andrews. “We were all a wee bittie conscience-stricken what with the way we all stood back and let your father marry you off to that terrible man.”

Maggie smiled. “No, I just want to look around and see what I can do. I’ll return the key to you when we have finished. We may stay the night in the Lovat Arms in Beauly.”

“Come and have tea at the schoolhouse when you’re ready,” said Miss Andrews, “and you can tell me all about the trial. It was like a shilling shocker to read about your experiences in the newspapers.”

Miss Rochester thought the last remark insensitive in the extreme, but Miss Andrews had taken her leave before she could think of a reply.

Maggie and Miss Rochester wandered aimlessly about the dusty shop after the schoolteacher left. They went upstairs and threw open all the windows, letting the sweet, fresh Highland air drift through the rooms.

Maggie leaned her elbows on the sill and stared out over the Beauly Firth. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said in a low voice. “Too many ghosts here. Too many memories of beatings.” She turned and faced Miss Rochester. “I had not
known any kindness in my life, you see, until I met you and Peter.”

Tears began to run down Miss Rochester’s face. “It’s all so hopeless,” she sobbed, and Maggie knew what she meant. You cannot fall out of love just by running away.

“Shop!” cried a loud, imperative voice downstairs.

“Oh, dear,” said Maggie. “We left the door open. I’ll go down and get rid of whoever it is.”

Maggie ran down the stairs and Miss Rochester slowly dried her eyes. She wished she had stayed in her safe, boring life at Beaton Malden.

Well, at least she could offer to take Maggie back with her, and they could set up house together and grow old and unloved together, and the whole picture was so utterly miserable that Miss Rochester almost began to enjoy it in a horrible kind of way.

“Miss Rochester!”

She looked through her tears. Colonel Delaney was standing on the threshold. He gave an odd little duck of the head and went to stand beside her at the window.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, without looking at her, “that life’s been very flat since the murder business. Been thinking about going to the South of France. Have a bit of a flutter at the tables.”

“Oh,” said Miss Rochester miserably.

The colonel took his walking-stick and began to draw patterns in the dust on the floor.

“Er… well, it’s like this. Not much fun by myself. Wondered if you’d care to toddle along with me?”

Miss Rochester turned quite pale. “I mean,” he went on anxiously, “Mrs. Macleod’s being taken care of. Came with Strathairn, don’t you know.”

“Are you asking me to go to the South of France?” asked Miss Rochester in a queer, strangled voice, totally unlike her own.

“Yes.”

Large bosom heaving, Miss Rochester clutched onto the window ledge to steady herself. That miserable little picture of herself and Maggie pining away in Beaton Malden fled from her mind.

She, Miss Sarah Rochester, was being propositioned for the first time in her life. The least she could do was cope with the situation like a lady.

“Thank you, Colonel Delaney,” she said politely. “I should like to go very much indeed.”

The Earl of Strathairn and Maggie Macleod were walking along the shores of the Beauly Firth at least six feet apart.

Seagulls wheeled and cried mournfully overhead. The tide was out leaving an expanse of slimy rocks and brown seaweed.

He had suggested a walk to cover his awkwardness. Somehow, he had hoped the surprise of seeing him again would break down her reserve and that she would throw herself into his arms. But she seemed very calm, cool and chillingly polite.

“Maggie,” he said, stopping and facing her. “Do you plan to stay here?”

She looked at him a long time. She seemed to be summoning up her courage to say something. At last, to his surprise, instead of answering his question, she blurted out, “Are ladies allowed to be passionate?”

“It sounds like a clue in a word game,” said the earl. “What
do
you mean?” Maggie blushed and hung her head.

Then in a flash, he remembered his distrust of her. He remembered his old peculiar ideas that ladies did not go in for passionate lovemaking. He remembered most of the polite world professed to believe the same. So
that
was why she had repulsed him!

“Maggie,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “passion
knows no boundaries or class. Between a man and a woman in love, it is the most exhilarating, beautiful emotion.”

A pale golden sunlight filtered through the grey clouds above and the gold of the sunlight seemed to flicker in the depths of Maggie’s eyes as she looked at him.

“My name,” she said slowly, “is not Maggie Macleod. I am Miss Margaret Dunglass, your cousin, and your friend.”

He stumbled twice in his rush to take her in his arms, saying over and over again, “I love you. Marry me. I won’t take no for an answer. I love you so much, Marry me.”

Maggie raised her mouth to his, and he held her very close, kissing her and kissing her, kissing away all the murders and worries and doubts and fears.

“You are not Maggie Macleod,” he said at last. “You are the Countess of Strathairn, and my wife.”

“You can’t want to marry me,” said Maggie, but her eyes were shining with all the love in the world.

“We
are
married,” laughed the earl. “But we’ll be married in church as soon as possible. I see you don’t believe me, so I am going to
make
you believe me if we have to stay here all night.”

He bent his mouth to hers again, and they stayed locked in each other’s arms for a very long time while the sun set behind the hills of the Black Isle and the incoming tide crept up around their feet.

When they finally made their dazed way back to the shop it was to find the colonel and Miss Rochester had gone. They stood looking at each other in the dim light of the store.

“Why didn’t they wait?” asked Maggie.

“They probably saw us from the window and knew their company was superfluous,” said the earl. “Too late for us to go anywhere.” Maggie held out her arms to him.

He swept her up in his arms and made for the stairs, leading to the bedrooms above.

“Peter,” murmured Maggie against his ear. “You know, I
swear the Marquess of Handley did not say anything about murdering Mr. Macleod.”

“Mmmm,” said the earl, his mouth against her hair. “Oh, he did it, mark my words. No one else had any reason to. Kiss me again, Maggie, my wife, and let’s forget about the murder. Justice has been done. Now we’ve only got each other to worry about.”

He laid her gently on the bed and began to unbutton the front of her dress.

Miss Flora Meikle looked around her spick and span cottage with a pleased eye. It was great to be able to retire with a good pension and have Jessie to look after her.

Jessie was a good girl and had never forgotten the day when Miss Meikle had taken her into service and rescued her from a life of prostitution. Since that day she had served the elderly housekeeper with a fierce devotion.

The door opened quietly and Jessie came in with the tea tray and set it down on a low table in front of the fire.

“You may join me, Jessie,” said Miss Meikle grandly. “I feel like a bit of company.”

Jessie sat herself down opposite Miss Meikle, eyes downcast, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“You’re a good girl,” said Miss Meikle. “Help yourself to tea. We’ve never really talked about it, you know.”

Jessie nodded. She did not have to ask what “it” was.

“Of course, it was a bit of luck you looking something like Mrs. Macleod and then these silly apothecaries couldnae tell sable from rabbit. You’ll be able to wear that mantle and dress again, now all the silly fuss is over.”

“I felt a wee bit bad about it,” said Jessie, “especially when they arrested Mrs. Macleod, but I knew you wouldnae let her hang.”

“Och, no,” said Miss Meikle comfortably. “Mind you, I thought she would get hard labour, but that never did a
body any harm.”

Jessie raised her wide brown eyes and looked thoughtfully at her mistress. “I’ve never asked ye, mum, but why did ye poison auld Macleod?”

Miss Meikle sipped her tea reflectively. “Well, life is strange, Jessie. I got so’s I couldnae stand the sight o’ the man, him and his bullying ways.

“Up till the last minute, I didnae mean to do it. Mrs. Macleod didn’t know I went into the study a few minutes after she took in his tea.

“I went to check the fire had enough coal. I’d been carrying the arsenic powder I told you to get me in the pocket of my apron. But it was like a talisman, something that made me feel strong, able to put up with him. An’ to think I told them all I thocht he was a saint. Saint Lucifer, more like.

“Well, he was sittin’ at the desk, grumbling away as usual an’ he was holding the tea cup wi’ those great red hands o’ his with the black hairs on the back o’ them. Fair gie’d me a scunner. He went to look out of the window, and I tipped the powder into his tea. I knew he always took two or three sips for a start and then he would tip the whole lot doon his craw. That’s what he did.

“I whipped mysel’ out o’ the house and down tae the shops in Sauchiehall Street, talking to as many folks as I kenned so I could say as wisnae home at the time.