Return to Rhonan (7 page)

Sitting in a scented bath of lavender and rosemary, Muriall leant forward for the maid to soap her back.  ‘Huh, it is a formal evening, so I am forced to dress accordingly.  The Duke is firmly on the side of the tenants. On some of the estates, thousands are to be evicted from their homes, homes that have been in their families for over five hundred years. Let us hope they can talk the Earl round.’ 

‘Begging your pardon my Lady, but my family....’  Her words faded away in a soft sob.

Muriall turned to her. ‘What is it Becky?’’ 

The maid lifted eyes filled with tears, ‘My family on the McGaven estate, are to be cast out onto the roads. I know not what to do my Lady – my heart is breaking when I think of the bairns. How can it be? How can they drive them into the sleet and rain, without food or water?’

‘We will fight them Becky, fear not, that is why the committee meet this night. Sadly, only the Duke is openly prepared to fight the cause. As for the others, tis another excuse for a banquet and liquor. But fear not the Duke is powerful, far more so than those other two dilettantes ’

She stood as the abigail covered her in warm toweling, before helping her out of the tub. Drying herself, she watched the maid lay out the undergarments, a soft linen chemise, followed by the shift, and a petticoat. Sighing, she said, ‘Today’s fashion does allow us to be free of corsets but men still call for breasts to be served up on a plate.  All they need is a knife and fork. Cattle, that’s what we are, cattle.’

The maid could not resist a tremulous smile as she passed Muriall the chemise followed by the shift.

‘And I shall have to endure that rakehell Maximillian, lecherous swine. I shall wear my whip to table, and if he so much as....’ The maid slipped the offending petticoat over Muriall’s head, who then turned for Becky to do up the laces.  ‘Why in heavens name should I wear all this useless apparel? A linen shirt and leather breeches would do me well enough. Just think of the thousands now starving, many roaming the roads.  Just one of these garments would feed a family for a week. I feel so ashamed – so ashamed.’

‘My Lady you do everything you can to help the tenants.’

‘Not enough by far.  Let us hope Duncan is successful in persuading them to take action.  I just wish I could attend but as usual, I was forbidden to
set foot
into the room
.
Not on my Lord Duncan’s say so but on the Earl’s.   I sicken at the way we women are used. We are just as intelligent as men.  We may not have their knowledge, but that is only because it is denied us. They are educated in the classics, mathematics, science and us?  We have to be pleasant little creatures, who can paint, play the pianoforte, sing and speak French – oh yes and embroider. 

‘Do you know the other day Aunt Flavia caught me reading a book on science?  She went into paroxysms, saying I would injure my head if I were to read such intellectual tomes, that the female brain is too fragile, that I should take a fever.  Can you imagine it?  Oh, God it is so ridiculous. It is she who hurts my head not the damn book.  I am strictly forbidden to cast any opinions on the evictions of the tenant farmers. However, I am going to fight alongside Lord Duncan, together we may make an indent in this odious business. Tis treacherous times Becky – treacherous times.’

M
uriall took hold of the young woman’s hands, ‘I shall see that your family are taken care of Becky. I wish I could help everybody, but I realize I must contain my fervour to the few.  But we can save some of them’.

‘Thank you my Lady, at least I shall sleep tonight now knowing you will protect them.’

‘I hope that with the help of the Duke and some of his associates we will be able to do more.  Tonight will be a testing point.’ Picking up a  triangular  piece of steel, she said, ‘And as for this contrivance, it is medieval torture.  How women wear it between their breasts I don’t know.’

‘It does uplift and separate the bosoms milady.’  

‘Never – never.  I’m sure if I fell it would cut them off. I will never wear it – never – I don’t care what Aunt Flavia says.’‘

‘Och my Lady it couldna do that. Now for your dress.’

Smoothing down the white muslin embroidered with white silk roses, Muriall frowned, ‘Why does it all have to be white or pink? It is so insipid.  Give me crimson anytime.’

‘But that colour is for the older women milady, not for a wean like yerself.’

‘Wean?  I’m nineteen not nine Becky.’

Smiling together now, Muriall posed in front of the long mirror stand, the white dress did become her pale porcelain skin. The flimsy lace sleeves showed off the sloping shoulders, whilst the design of the dress with the material caught up underneath the bosom, accentuated the plump swell of her full breasts.

Muriall loved the way Becky brushed her hair, with long firm strokes until it shone like burnished copper. ‘What do you think for the centre parting – tis the new fashion.’ ‘

‘With your curls ma’m, ye have no need to curling tongs. It would be such a shame to singe these locks.’’

‘Well I don’t like the centre parting.  I shall wear it so that the curls fall naturally.’

As Becky lifted the jar of face cream Muriall grimaced. ‘I refuse to put that disgusting stuff on my skin, white lead and beeswax?  I would look like a painted doll especially with the kohl and beetroot stains on my cheeks.’

‘Och I agree with ye.  Nevertheless, maybe just a light dusting of powder would give your skin a velvety texture milady?

‘Now Becky to serious matters.  The cart will be ready after the meeting tonight, so you will accompany us. First, we visit our own tenants, the Earl has raised the rents once again and the poor people starve. Then we must scour the roads for the tenants evicted on the Baron Fodenberry’s estate last night. And you must look for your family.  I hear more are to be forced out but pray God it is not tonight.  Hopefully, we can delay or even stop the evictions on our estate. So it is ten o’clock at the Orangery.’

The maid closed the door gently behind her, bustling away down the stone corridor passing Lord Maximillian just returning from the stables. A slight smile flickered across his handsome face. So, she would be alone.  Perfect.

Not even bothering to knock he turned the brass handle pushing the door open.  Closing it firmly behind him, he turned the key. His eyes dwelt on the waist length hair incandescent in the candlelight.  Muriall turn round sharply, her hairbrush in her hand. 

‘What?  How dare you enter a lady’s chamber without permission.  Get out now.’

Smirking he put a finger to his lips as if to hush her.  As she went to rise, he caught a handful of her hair raising it to his nose, sniffed ‘Ah lavender and rosemary. Tis as beautiful as you milady.’

Smacking his hand sharply with the hairbrush she stood wincing as he pulled more sharply on her hair. ‘I am so enamoured after seeing your dalliance with my wimp of a brother yesterday.’

Between clenched teeth, she hissed ‘Get out now before I hurt you.’

‘Not before I have tasted your sweetness.’ He laughed softly, ‘I feel sure you can share your favours. It would not do for me to report your amorous cavorting to the Earl now – would it?’ Letting go her hair, he cupped her face with both hands, pulling her to hm. She wished she was wearing her usual boots, she could have stamped on his feet, but she had only the soft satin pumps. Seething she brought the brush up whipping him sharply across the head. 

Surprised, he stepped back ruefully rubbing his injured skin through the thick blonde waves.  ‘Now you are certainly are a wild cat – time to be tamed methinks.’

Snarling, she advanced, raising the brush high. 

Holding up his hand in defense, he said, ‘Tis obvious you are not in the mood – but there will be other times. For now I will keep my silence—‘

‘You pig – odious rake.’ As she lunged for him, he slipped through the door, shutting it softly.

Panting she stood listening to his retreating footsteps Shuddering she walked back to the bed. Opening the bedside drawer, she took out a dagger, unsheathing it from its leather case. In future, it would be to hand. No way would she tell Duncan. It would end in a duel and she did not intend losing him to that vile viper.

CHAPTER 1
0

Duncan grimaced, as he paced the empty dining room. It was a heart rending business – starving tenants driven from their homes. His father must be brought to heel. Hundreds walked the roads without shelter or sustenance. The poor devils suffered enough already living half-starved in squalid one-roomed huts, whilst at the Manor House; the Rhonans ate their way through an evening meal of several courses lasting hours.    

His fingers scraped at hair as black as his mood, his scarlet vest blending with the burgundy silk decorating the walls.  He glanced up at deceased ancestors in military uniform and waist pinching crinolines gazing down with haughty expressions from ornate frames, gilt glittering in the candlelight. Sheer decadence.  The Earl squandered money on yet more renovations to the Manor, fine dining, balls, carriages, horses, gambling whilst only a mile away children’s bodies sunk in starvation.  

He glanced at the table laid ready for the Clearance Committee Meeting, scowling at the sheets of parchment, quills and crystal inkstand. It was action that was needed, not correspondence. An empty belly paid no heed to time.

Hearing voices and
laughter; he
straightened his spine ready for the fray. After a sumptuous meal, the committee members would look forward to a hearty buffet, wine and spirits, huffing on cigars whilst discussing ways of depriving the famished tenants of their farms. Duncan clenched his teeth, by God; he would use every means possible to fight for the rights of the people. He had to curb his temper or else all would be lost.     

As the Committee members assembled in the room, the butler formally announced Duncan’s younger brother Lord Maximillian, who minced in, pulling languid fingers through pomaded dark blonde hair.  Duncan’s jaw tightened; the selfish bastard didn’t know the meaning of the word compassion.  All he cared about were horses, cards and his sordid Hell Fire Club. 

The Earl of Rhonan followed him, his skin as sallow as his spirit.   Contempt filled his voice as he said, ‘Let’s get this bloody business over with. I’ve had enough of these filthy peasants and their whining.  Greedy buggers.’

With a scraping of chairs across the Aubusson carpet, the gentlemen flicking back their coat tails, seated themselves.  Algernon Perkins, the Lawyer and Factor for the Earl, diligently sorted out papers from his briefcase. Smirking at the quills on the inkstand, he brought out a velvet case from his waistcoat pocket, proudly uncovering a pen with a steel nib on a decorative ceramic holder. Proud of the new invention, he held it up for the members to see. That alone would feed four people for a month.

The
Butler,
dignified in black tails, his prodigious girth straining against a navy silk vest, opened the leaded light doors to the dresser, taking out  Georgian  amber decanters of whisky, placing them on the table alongside silver mounted mould blown ones of port and  brandy. Bowing to no one, in particular, he left the room closing the door softly behind him.

Duncan felt a rush of shame as he looked at the decanters of fine spirits. They gathered to vote on taking the starving tenants’ very livelihood whilst drinking out of sterling silver and antique cut glass.

The Earl hunched over the table, his dress as always exquisite, with a blue silken tailcoat and yellow silk vest, the cream silk cravat high on his throat, decorated with a diamond stickpin, the size of a hazelnut. Fixing a pince-nez on his thin aquiline nose, he said, ‘Come come Perkins, let us not mince words, the land must be cleared, and the tenants evicted – nothing less.  

The Reverend Michael O’Sullivan interrupted, ‘I have tried telling them it is the grace of God that they give up their land; they must needs suffer and bow to His Will; the Earl’s word is the law under man and God.’

Duncan growled, ‘God’s law – you speak blasphemy priest. How much will you receive from their misery?  Will you preach it is God’s law as they are driven on to the roads with nothing?  Hey?

The Earl’s eyes glittered, ‘Now we’re being dramatic. Besides what can we do? We are creating industry – are we not? Bringing in Cheviot sheep is our only way to produce a profit.  We need more money for our houses, our carriages, our gold and silver plate. We have the given right to quality living – our society must not be impoverished.’

‘We?  You mean you and your fat friends – what about the men and women and children  even now almost starving, shivering without fuel, children crying out in hunger?  What right do they have?  They have the right to the land they owned for thousands of years,’

Duncan narrowed his eyes, looking at each member who avoided his gaze, either looking down into full wine glasses or puffing on the Cuban cigars. His voice filed steel. ‘Dramatic?  Have you seen inside a tenant’s hut? For God’s sake, we destroyed these proud Highlanders, these warrior Chiefs. We took away their clan system and broke the power of the Chieftains, and still you are not satisfied.