Poverty Castle (21 page)

‘A shawl is a very good idea,' said Papa.

‘What do you think yourself, Papa?' asked Effie.

‘Earrings.'

They were all taken aback. ‘Earrings?' They could not remember seeing Old Kirstie wear any jewellery, except a cameo brooch which had once belonged to her mother she had said,
which was easy enough to believe, and showed the face of Burns' Highland Mary, which wasn't.

‘She has a photograph of herself when she was young,' said Papa. ‘In it she's wearing earrings, rings, and bangles. She often admires your mother's jewellery. Doesn't she, darling?'

‘I don't know about admiring it,' said Mama. ‘She certainly likes to finger it.'

‘She's got fingers like hens' claws,' said Rowena.

At Seal Rock the road came close to the loch. A seal was basking on the rock. They were delighted to see it. It was often there. They regarded it as a friend. It stood for all that was normal and sane and decent. When they were old women, wherever they were, they would remember it.

But they were young this morning, savouring the experiences that would be remembered in old age. Every fresh green leaf, every bird on the shore, and every sparkle on the loch, like the seal called on them to enjoy the present and leave the future to trust.

M
OST OF
the streets in Tarbeg ran steeply downhill to Harbour Street, which had shops on one side and fishing boats on the other. Especially when the sun shone, there was an invigorating smell of fish, seaweed, and gulls' droppings. These last were everywhere. There was a saying that just as there were more deer than sheep on Jura so there were more gulls than folk in Tarbeg.

It was never easy to find a parking space. This morning the Sempills were lucky in that there was a space in front of the Royal Hotel. According to a notice it was reserved for hotel guests but Papa said that since they would be having coffee in the hotel later they were really guests. In any case, as Rowena said, anybody seeing the Daimler would think that its owners were staying at the hotel.

It was always hard for the Sempills, when they were all together, to stroll along Harbour Street, recipients of many glances of respect and admiration, to pretend that these were not deserved. Seven of them, six fair-haired, all tall, for Rebecca too was going to be above average height, good-looking, healthy, casually but expensively dressed, affable, ready to exchange greetings even with people who did not know them well, they were a credit and an adornment to the town. Tarbeg knew it. They knew it themselves, they could not help knowing it as they looked at one another. They were properly modest but forgivably pleased.

The townspeople had seen Rowena in school plays and had gasped at her talent and beauty. It was known that Effie was to be a doctor, Jeanie a vet. As for Diana, she was famous: she
had been dux girl of her year and captain of the hockey team. She was now at Glasgow University where she was doing very well, but her greatest triumph was in becoming engaged to the son of Sir Edwin Campton, present laird of Kilcalmonell.

Whatever shop the Sempills went into they would be welcomed, for they were not only prodigal but cheerful spenders. Other customers listening to them were encouraged themselves to go for the best and dearest.

Diana saw she was the only one showing anxiety. All the others, including Papa, seemed to have convinced themselves that Mama's pregnancy would turn out all right, she would have the boy that she had wanted so long, and the family would be knit closer together. As a consequence they were happy and jolly. Seeing them and listening to them, in the busy street, with friends greeting one another all around her, and on one of the boats a fisherman singing as he mended his net, she tried to banish last night's premonition, but could not. Whenever she looked at Mama she saw, on that dear face, in between the bright smiles, visitations of pain and fear.

Suddenly too Diana had a feeling that there were not seven of them but eight. The additional one was not remote little Roderick, but Peggy Gilchrist, in their midst, saying nothing but noticing everything.

‘What's the matter, Di?' asked Effie.

‘Nothing.'

First they shopped for things to eat, in the baker's, the green-grocer's, the butcher's, and the delicatessen, all of them together except in the butcher's, which Jeanie, the vegetarian, refused to enter. They carried the packages to the car and stowed them in the boot.

The twins had bought some rolls for the swans, but when they threw the pieces the expert Tarbeg gulls swooped and caught them in their beaks in mid-air. The swans looked cross. ‘We feed wild swans while millions of human beings are hungry,' said Diana, ostensibly to Rowena but really to Peggy Gilchrist.

‘Don't be silly, Di,' said Rowena.

Peggy wore one of her baffling smiles.

They went off then to buy things for themselves. They were to meet outside the hotel in forty minutes.

In the luxurious lounge the waitress who attended them was a girl who had been at school with Diana though never in the same class. Cissie had not been a successful scholar. As she put their coffee and cream cakes in front of them she chatted with Diana about some of their contemporaries.

‘Do you ever hear from Fiona?' she asked.

Fiona McTaggart had gone to Aberdeen where her father had bought a lucrative practice.

‘Not very often.'

Cissie giggled. ‘She'll think you're too high above her in the world now. She was always shy, wasn't she? Not like me. Did you hear about Mary Buchanan? You mind Mary? Daft about dancing. Would you believe it, she's married a shepherd up Knapdale way, at the back of beyond. Lives in a cottage with outside toilet. Nice speaking to you, Diana. Have to go. Old Sourpuss is watching.'

The manageress was certainly frowning, for she did not approve of her underlings being familiar with guests, but the Sempills were regular freely-spending customers whose peculiarities had to be humoured. Well-to-do themselves, living in a house called a castle, they talked, as if to equals, to people like Cissie McLean whose father was a dustman and who lived in a council house. It cost them nothing, gave them the name of being friendly, and emphasised their superiority.

There were two shops in Tarbeg that sold best quality highly priced Scottish woollens. In choosing a shawl for Old Kirstie, Papa said, expense was to be no object. He took part himself in the quest. The one finally chosen was of soft Shetland wool, hand-knitted in a Fair Isle pattern. Since its price was thirty-two pounds the shopkeeper was more than willing to wrap it in gift paper and put it in a box. A card was slipped in, inscribed: ‘From the Sempills of Poverty Castle, to a grand old lady on her ninety-third birthday.'

‘Now for the earrings,' said Papa.

‘Isn't the shawl enough?' said Effie.

‘We promised earrings, so earrings it must be.'

‘We didn't really promise Kirstie anything,' said Jeanie.

No one else said anything.

Papa led the way to the jeweller's.

Only Rowena helped him and Mama to choose the earrings. The others stood by, refusing to give their opinion. Papa and Mama didn't notice. Rowena did, but just shrugged her shoulders. The pair selected, out of dozens looked at, had cairngorms set in silver. They were made in Scotland and cost eight pounds more than the shawl.

Rowena was aware that seventy-two pounds was too much to spend on birthday presents for an old woman who after all was just an acquaintance, but it didn't bother her. It did her sisters, especially Effie.

‘What's the matter?' asked Rowena, as they walked to the car.

‘It's far too much,' said Effie.

‘We can afford it.'

‘That's not the point.'

‘Yes it is. If we couldn't afford it it would be far too much.'

‘They'll give Kirstie a lot of pleasure,' said Jeanie, doubtfully.

‘They'll embarrass her daughter,' said Effie, ‘or even humiliate her.'

‘Can you humiliate people by giving them expensive presents?' asked Rowena, laughing.

‘Yes, you can. It's not like Papa to make a mistake like that.'

‘You're talking rot, Effie. Isn't she, Diana?'

Diana smiled. She thought Effie was right but for the wrong reason. What would Peggy Gilchrist's judgement have been?

At the car Papa proposed that for a treat they should go and have lunch at Heatherfield Castle, once a nobleman's home and now a very exclusive hotel, about two miles out of town.

Mama was keen but Effie said dourly that they could go if they liked, she would have sausages and chips in Mac's. Her
sisters knew what was the matter with her. She was ashamed of being well-off, though she enjoyed its consequences as much as any of them. Usually she could keep her shame under control but sometimes it made her sulky and rebellious. Effie's was an attitude that Jeanie sympathised with but did not feel compelled to share, that Rowena and Rebecca did not understand and in the former's case did not want to, and Diana herself had little patience with. She had often pointed out to Effie that by spending their money the Sempills gave employment to people, and she had asked did Effie want a revolution in which many people might be killed and which could well result in universal poverty and misery. Being lucky was a burden that she would just have to bear. When she became a doctor she could go and practise in Ethiopia and be as poor as she liked.

Effie had said that if Peggy Gilchrist met Nigel it would be very interesting. So it would be if she herself met Peggy. What was insincere and immature in her moral and political attitudes would be shown up. Peggy worked very hard at trying to understand the human situation. Reading books like the
History of the Crusades
was part of her attempt. Effie just depended on superficial feelings.

‘Well, are we going to stand here all day?' asked Mama.

‘Let's have a special lunch at home,' said Rebecca, the peace-maker. ‘Papa and Mama will be our guests.'

‘Good idea,' said Jeanie. ‘You cook and we'll help.'

‘In the dining-room,' said Rowena, ‘not the kitchen.'

‘What about it, darling?' asked Mama. ‘Shall we accept this invitation?'

It had occurred to Papa that a decent bottle of wine at Heatherfield Castle would be costly. He could afford it, but should he? Extravagance for other people's sakes was permissible, but not for his own. It troubled him, as a theoretical socialist, that though he had done no paid work for the past ten years he was better off now than ever, owing to the profitability of his investments. Having lunch at a five-star hotel with water instead of wine would be a penance, but only if dry
bread was eaten with it and not gourmet food. But to be fair it wasn't to avoid that hardship which made him accept the girls' offer. Last night, after his conversation with Diana, he had vowed to stop being sorry for himself and to start finding his own happiness in that of his family.

‘We'll let you have one of your best bottles, Papa,' said Jeanie.

He laughed. ‘Thanks very much. Right. Let's go.'

‘What about Oxfam?' asked Diana. ‘We were to hand in what money we had left.'

‘Salves for our consciences?' sneered Effie.

Diana could not imagine Peggy Gilchrist ever sneering so cheaply.

The girls emptied their pockets and purses. It came to six pounds and sixty-five pence. Papa made it up to ten pounds. They stopped at the Oxfam shop. Rebecca ran in with the money. Then they headed for Kilcalmonell. Rebecca sat on Diana's knee.

‘About the earrings, Papa,' said Effie, not heeding Jeanie's dig in her ribs, ‘do you think we should give them to Old Kirstie?'

‘If you don't, I'll have them,' said Rowena.

‘Why on earth shouldn't we give them to the old woman?' asked Mama. ‘They were bought for her.'

‘Isn't the shawl enough?'

‘Heavens, Effie, it's not like you to be so niggardly.'

‘I'm not being niggardly, Mama. It's just that I think too much is as bad as too little.'

They were passing Seal Rock. The seal was missing. That was nothing remarkable, thought Diana. No doubt it was enjoying itself somewhere else. She would see it again on her way back to Dunoon pier tomorrow evening. But she could not help having that premonition again. Her family was no longer protected by benign unseen forces. They were as vulnerable as any other family.

Jeanie felt she had to give her twin some support. ‘Old Kirstie might be embarrassed,' she said.

Papa chuckled. ‘She's long past being embarrassed.'

‘Her daughter then.'

‘Why not give her the earrings for Christmas?' asked Rebecca.

‘She might not be with us at Christmas.'

‘Effie's being silly,' said Rowena.

‘What do you think, Diana?' asked Papa.

‘Perhaps the shawl would be enough.'

‘So you agree with Effie?'

‘Not for the same reason,' muttered Effie.

Mama laughed. ‘What a to-do about a pair of earrings.'

Papa stopped the car. ‘Shall we have a conference?' he asked, making fun of them.

‘We've been having one,' said Rowena.

‘Has everyone had her say? Good. Shall we take a vote? Who's for giving both the shawl and the earrings?' He put up his hand.

Mama put up hers. ‘I'm not sure I know what's going on.'

‘It's all very silly,' said Rowena, putting up her hand.

All parts of that road were beautiful, but where they had stopped was particularly so. The loch glittered. Yonder was the lonely promontory called in Gaelic the place where herons nested. What was it like, thought Diana, to be a heron?

‘We're waiting for you, Di,' said Jeanie. ‘It's three against three so far.'

‘You can't abstain,' said Effie, dourly.

‘Why not?' asked Papa. ‘Voting is not compulsory in this country or this family. We can toss a coin.'