Poverty Castle (31 page)

Peggy had said nothing about her visit to Kilcalmonell House.

Sonia was puzzled therefore. ‘Who's Nigel?' she asked.

‘A neighbour of the Sempills.'

‘Did you meet him when you visited them?'

‘Yes.'

‘Who is he? Why should he send you a postcaird?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘Is there something going on between you and him, Peggy, that you're keeping to yoursel'.'

‘Not that I know of.'

‘Whit age is he?'

‘About twenty.'

‘Whit does he do?'

‘He's a student at Oxford University.'

‘Anither toff! Do you ken whit Ah'm going to tell you,
Peggy? Things went on during that visit that you've never telt us.'

‘Didn't I come back just the same as I went? Did you notice any difference?'

‘Right away Ah noticed it. You're sadder. Weel, Ah suppose that was to be expected, for you got a taste of how the rich live and then you'd to come back here. This Nigel, is he a minister's son? Gie us oor daily bread. That's part of the Lord's Prayer, isn't it?'

‘I think so.'

‘It's a funny thing to write on a postcaird.'

‘So it is.'

‘And you don't ken whit it means?'

Peggy shook her head.

‘Does he fancy you, Peggy?' Sonia spoke doubtfully. It was her belief that no man was ever likely to fall in love with Peggy, who was too well educated for working-class men and too lowly born for upper-class ones.

‘No, Sonia, he doesn't.'

‘Do you fancy him?'

‘No.'

‘You don't sound awfully sure. Ah'm like this Effie. Ah think it could be some secret message.'

The solution came to Peggy one day in the supermarket, as she was working at a check-out counter. It was a slack spell and she was thinking of the dinner in the Big House when she suddenly realised the ‘Give us each day our daily bread' was an example of synecdoche.

A
WEEK
before the new term was to start Diana wrote to say that she would not be returning to Mrs Brownlee's. She had found new lodgings where she would have a room to herself and, what was more important, a telephone of her own, which would enable her to keep in touch with home during the next two or three critical weeks. She knew Peggy would understand. They would see each other at the University and she hoped Peggy would visit her often. She did not give her new Glasgow address.

Peggy was hurt more than she had any right to be. She wasn't really Diana's friend. Didn't friends have to be social equals? They had little in common. Like the other girls she had sometimes wondered why Diana had stayed on in Mrs Brownlee's when she could have afforded better. Her point about the telephone made sense. In Mrs Brownlee's if a call came in the middle of the night it might not be heard by anyone. The other girls would be relieved that she had gone. Without wanting to, in some cases resenting it, they had acted deferentially towards her.

All that was true, and yet Peggy felt forsaken. She had let herself take too seriously Mrs Sempill's invitation to regard herself as one of them. They had all urged her to visit them whenever she felt like it, and no doubt they had meant it at the time, but that had been several weeks ago. Her only contact with them since was that postcard. It hadn't been an oversight which had caused Diana not to give the address of her new lodgings. She had been letting Peggy know she mustn't drop in any time she pleased.

Peggy's mother noticed that she was downcast.

‘Ah'm no' surprised you're no' looking forward to going back to University. Didn't Ah tell you it was a big mistake?'

Her father guessed the true reason. ‘You'll meet ither freen's juist as interesting.'

What other friends would live in so beautiful a place, in such a splendid house? What other friends would consist of five lovely clever sisters?

Sonia would have been more inquisitive if the colour of wee Archie's stools and a rash on his stomach hadn't absorbed all her attention and concern.

So in October Peggy returned to Mrs Brownlee's where her new room-mate was a first-year student from Oban, a big ruddyfaced sturdy blatherskite with a Highland accent. Fiona soon heard from the other girls about her illustrious predecessor and asked more questions about her than Peggy was willing to answer. Was it true that Diana was engaged to a baronet's son and heir? Did she really live in a house called Poverty Castle? Did she have four beautiful sisters? Had Peggy once gone to stay with them? What had it been like?

‘You must find me awfully ordinary compared with her.'

‘I find you awfully talkative compared with her, Fiona.'

‘Sorry.' But a few minutes later Fiona would be enquiring again. To be told once wasn't enough for her. Yet she must have done well enough at school to be admitted to University.

One day for fun but also with a little spite Peggy suddenly asked her what synecdoche was.

‘Syn-what?'

‘Synecdoche.'

‘God, how would I know? Is it some kind of disease?'

‘It's a figure of speech.'

‘Never heard of it.'

One Wednesday evening there was a telephone call for Peggy. The girl who came to tell her said it was from Diana Sempill. Peggy tried hard not to run going down the stairs.

She paused for a few seconds to recover her breath and
self-respect before lifting the telephone. She spoke quietly: ‘Hello. Peggy Gilchrist speaking.'

Was there a hint of haughtiness in Diana's voice? Was the future Lady Campton displeased at being kept waiting? That was ridiculous and unfair. Diana never found it easy to put into her voice the friendliness she was feeling.

‘Why haven't I heard from you, Peggy? Why haven't you visited me?'

‘I don't know your new address.'

‘Good heavens, didn't I give it to you? How stupid of me. I was anxious about Mama when I wrote to you, Peggy. I still am. We all are. I'm afraid she's not well.'

Peggy remembered the tall fair-headed woman weeping in the ruins of the castle. She remembered her too stroking her cheek and neck and crying, ‘Look, Lady Angela, no wrinkles.' Had the miracle gone wrong?

‘I'm very sorry,' said Peggy. ‘She looked so well and happy.'

‘She was happy but not well. She's still happy but very far from well. I may have to take a few weeks' absence and go home to help look after her. The twins are in Edinburgh, and Rowena and Rebecca are at school all day. There's a nurse and Mrs McDougall but the twins and I think one of us should be there too. They've agreed it should be me.'

Peggy would have liked to say, ‘I'll come with you, Diana,' but what she did say was, ‘I hope it turns out all right. When is the baby expected?'

‘About three weeks. We're all going home this weekend. Could you come and see me tomorrow? About four? For tea.'

‘I don't know your address.'

‘Of course. How silly of me. If you have a pencil handy –'

‘Yes.' Peggy took down the address and the telephone number.

‘I'm looking forward to seeing you again, Peggy. You're a great encouragement to us all.'

‘Me?'

‘We all think you're indomitable. Nigel too. See you tomorrow then.'

As Peggy went upstairs to her room she saw herself in a mirror on the wall. A more ordinary-looking girl she had never seen. There were thousands like her out there in the streets of Glasgow. Indomitable? What nonsense. Look, there were tears in her eyes. Like a child she was crying because she had been left out.

Next day when she came back from lectures there was a message from Diana. It had been received that morning about six o'clock. The visit was off. Diana had had to leave at once for home. She had said that Peggy would understand.

D
IANA
'
S TELEPHONE
had rung at a quarter to five. It roused her from sleep.

It was Rebecca, frightened. ‘It's Mama, Diana. It's happening. We've been up all night. It's terrible. Dr Grant's here. I don't think he knows what to do. He's sent for another doctor, a specialist in obstetrics. Poor Papa's blaming himself. He's talking about getting a helicopter to fly Mama to Glasgow, but Dr Grant doesn't think that would do any good and Mama doesn't want to be moved.'

Diana strove to keep calm and think clearly. ‘How is Mama?'

‘She looks awful, Diana. She just keeps moaning that the baby must be saved, it doesn't matter what happens to her. But it does. I'm afraid, Diana.'

So was Diana afraid but she must not show it. ‘It'll be all right. We knew it would be difficult. I'd like to speak to Papa.'

‘He won't leave Mama's side. He asked me to let you know. Will you telephone the twins? Dr Grant says it would be as well if we were all here.'

‘Yes, I'll telephone them immediately. But I'll have to find out if Papa's serious about getting a helicopter. It would be awful if we arrived in Kilcalmonell to find that Mama was in Glasgow. Where is Rowena?'

‘In her room. She won't come out.'

‘Please go and tell Papa I want to speak to him.'

‘All right.'

As Diana waited she thought about what had to be done. The twins had the Escort in Edinburgh. They could pick her
up. It might be advisable to go all the way by road, via Loch Lomond. Ferries could be delayed.

It wasn't Papa speaking but Dr Grant. She pictured him, grey-haired, stooped, worried-looking.

‘Your father asked me to speak to you, Diana. He's with your mother.'

‘How is she, Doctor?'

‘It's her heart. The strain's been too much for it.'

‘Is she having a miscarriage?'

‘No, but it's not the easiest of deliveries. I've sent for Dr Hislop. He's the best obstetrician in these parts.'

‘Rebecca said Papa was talking about getting a helicopter to fly Mama to Glasgow. Would that help?'

‘I don't think so. We can do all that's required, if her heart stands the strain. We may have to move her to Tarbeg Hospital.' He refrained from pointing out that just a week ago he had suggested that Mrs Sempill ought to spend the last two or three weeks of her pregnancy in a Glasgow nursing-home. ‘I may say, she doesn't want to be moved.'

‘Is she in a condition to decide what's best for her?'

‘Your father says her wishes must be respected. He wants you all here as soon as possible.'

‘Tell him we'll be there by eleven o'clock at the latest.'

‘Good. Don't drive dangerously, though.'

Still in her night-dress she telephoned the twins. They too had a telephone in their room. She would try to keep calm though Effie might misinterpret it. There was no help in panic or hysterics. If, she thought, as she listened to the telephone ringing in the room in Edinburgh, if Papa had brought us up to go to church and believe in God we could have prayed. It could still be done, but not honestly.

Effie muttered, sleepily. ‘Do you know what time it is, whoever you are?'

‘Sorry, Effie. It's Diana. I've just had a call from Rebecca to say that Mama's having her baby and is very ill. We've got to get home as soon as we can.'

‘Oh Christ!' Effie could be heard wakening Jeanie and giving her the news. Then she was shouting into the telephone. ‘How does Rebecca know? She's just a kid.'

‘Dr Grant's there. I was speaking to him. Another doctor's on his way.'

‘So it's the baby?'

‘Yes. Dr Grant's afraid Mama's heart might not be able to stand the strain.'

‘We were all warned, weren't we?' Tough Effie was weeping.

‘We're not giving up hope, Effie. But we mustn't waste time. Come in the car and pick me up. We'll go all the way by road, I think, and not depend on the ferry.'

‘It's just as fast anyway. What time is it now?'

‘Five o'clock.'

‘We'll be at your door soon after six. We should be in Poverty by nine.'

‘Yes, but don't take risks.'

‘We won't. The roads will be quiet at this time.'

‘But you'll still be sleepy.'

‘No, Di, we're both thoroughly and horribly awake. Thanks for keeping calm. I know like me and Jeanie you feel like wailing and screaming. If you gave way so would we. Like old times. See you soon.'

As Diana put the telephone down her hand was sore with the tightness of her grip.

Before the twins arrived at a quarter past six she had telephoned Mrs Brownlee's and left a message for Peggy Gilchrist with a yawning maid. She had also been in touch with home again. Dr Hislop had arrived and was confident that the baby so far had come to no harm. He would not commit himself about Mama. Rowena had spoken too. She was crying. For the first time in her life she did not know how to play the part she had been given.

It was too early to ring Edwin. It could be done from Poverty Castle, if it was necessary.

It was still dark when the twins arrived at her door. She got
into the back of the car. It was almost a minute before any of them spoke.

‘Any later news?' asked Jeanie. Her voice was hoarse.

‘Dr Hislop's there now. He thinks the baby's safe.'

‘That bloody baby!' muttered Effie. ‘Well, it shouldn't have happened, should it? And if it hadn't happened Mama's life wouldn't be in danger, would it?'

‘It's not the baby's fault,' said Jeanie.

‘As if, for Christ's sake, there weren't enough in the world already, millions upon millions more than are needed.'

‘Needed for what?' asked Jeanie, irritably. ‘Shut up, Effie.'

Jeanie's right and Effie's wrong, thought Diana. But what if Mama dies and the baby survives, will we be able to love it as we should?

Only once during the two and a half hours' journey was Peggy Gilchrist mentioned.