The Fairbairn Girls (17 page)

Diana’s wedding was the only bright beam that shone into her dark world at the moment. It brought with it a sense of hope that the other girls might have a chance to shine, too. She could picture it all. Her beloved Henry, who would inherit the earldom in another three years if Freddie couldn’t be found and was then legally declared dead, was going to give Diana away. He’d be resplendent in the kilt of the Fairbairn tartan, with a burgundy velvet doublet and his father’s jewelled-handled skean-dhu showing out of the top of his right high sock. She smiled at the thought of her handsome young son in the role of heir apparent, receiving the guests by her side at the reception where William would normally have stood.

Henry was the future of the Fairbairn family now. The one who would keep the line going for another five hundred years. Although they had lost all their land, at least they still had their fortress castle and within its thick stone walls they would remain safe.

On the day the church was packed with friends and neighbours and great arrangements of spring flowers and leaves softened the severe interior, creating a festive air. Down in the great hall of the castle the family stood waiting for Diana to come down from her room, where Laura was dressing her in her bridal finery.

‘You look beautiful,’ Laura told her with satisfaction, for she had worked hard to create the dress. ‘Look at yourself in the long mirror.’

Diana turned to see her reflection and her eyes widened. ‘Is that really me?’ she breathed. ‘I’d no idea it would turn out this well.’

‘It’s you who is making the dress look so good,’ Laura assured her. ‘Come on. Everyone is waiting.’

‘What time is it?’ Lady Rothbury asked anxiously. No longer in mourning but dressed in silvery grey silk, she looked at Henry anxiously. He took out the flat round gold watch on a chain which his father had left him. ‘Four minutes to eleven. Di ought to be coming down by now.’

At that moment a figure appeared at the top of the grand oak staircase and there was a stunned silence as Diana descended – an ethereal figure of delicate beauty in a dress of white satin covered with Chantilly lace, gathered at the front in a shawl effect, and a long train.

There was an awestruck silence and from the top of the stairs, holding up the train, Laura had the gratification of seeing the expressions of amazement on the faces of the family.

‘Oh, darling . . .!’ For once Lady Rothbury was lost for words. ‘You look wonderful.’

Diana’s face glowed with happiness. ‘Look at my tiara!’ she said, giggling.

Laura had made a headband of white satin and then embroidered it with crystal beads and pearls. It looked most effective as it held her long silk tulle veil in place.

‘Well done!’ croaked Henry, stepping forward to offer Diana his arm.

In the background the household staff, led by the old butler, McEwan, sent up a massive cheer and clapped as Henry led her out of the castle, followed by her seven sisters, all wearing pale blue silk dresses which had also been made by Laura.

Lady Rothbury stepped into the waiting carriage which would take her ahead to the church while the bridal retinue walked the short distance along a gravel path lined with all the members of the outdoor staff they’d once employed. There was their old ghilli, their gamekeeper and several beaters, the pony man, the foresters and ten gardeners. There was also the group of men that maintained the gates and fences on the erstwhile estate and the men who looked after the rivers. Many of them were still wearing the Fairbairn tartan and it touched Diana deeply that they’d remained so loyal to the family in spite of what had happened. Most were having difficulty finding new employment yet none bore a grudge on this day when a member of the family got married.

Henry smiled, vowing to himself that when he took his place as the Earl of Rothbury he would do everything he could to help them financially. Maybe he could find a way of buying back some of the land. Maybe he could even do the unthinkable and turn what was left of Lochlee into a profitable business where people could come and stay as paying guests and be charged extra if they wanted to shoot, fish and stalk. His father would turn in his grave at the thought and Mama would be appalled and ashamed, but Harry wanted to do what he could for these loyal men he’d known all his life.

To the music of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ Henry proudly led Diana up the aisle, followed by the rest of the Fairbairn girls, all so tall and elegant, all with glossy dark hair and hazel eyes. From her place in the front pew Lady Rothbury felt quite overcome with pride.

The ceremony was simple and straightforward and when Henry had said ‘I do’ and given Diana’s hand to Robert Kelso, he stepped back and stood beside his mother.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered gratefully. ‘Your father would have been so proud of you today.’

Back at the castle the reception was in full swing as the three hundred guests waited in line to be received and McEwan did his best to announce each person correctly. The champagne flowed as waiters skimmed around refilling glasses and offering tiny sandwiches filled with salmon and other sweetmeats.

While Lady Rothbury, Henry and the new Lady Diana Kelso and Lord Kelso shook hands with all the arrivals, the other sisters mingled with the guests.

‘Let’s see if we can find any husband material!’ Beattie whispered to Laura with a mischievous smile.

‘Now, which sister are you?’ asked a warm male voice behind Laura. She turned and found herself looking up into the strong-featured face of a tall man in his late forties with a military bearing and dark twinkling eyes.

‘I’m Laura,’ she replied, laughing. ‘I’m the second daughter.’

‘Out of . . .?’

‘Nine girls, but now I’m afraid there are only eight of us.’

His brow puckered in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He looked around the magnificent room. ‘You were born here, I imagine?’

Laura nodded. ‘We all were. The local doctor and midwife practically lived with us for a few years.’

He burst out laughing. ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m Walter Leighton-Harvey. I live in Lasswade, near Edinburgh, and I’m ashamed to say this is the first time I’ve visited Argyllshire. I was in the Scots Guards until I retired so I had to be wherever I was posted.’

‘I suppose so,’ she replied stupidly. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was having difficulty breathing as she continued to look into his eyes. There was something about this man that she found deeply attractive in a way she hadn’t found any man since Rory.

‘Are you staying up here for long?’ she asked awkwardly, and to her own surprise realized she was hoping he’d say yes.

‘I’d like to go to Mull. There’s a ferry from Oban, isn’t there?’

She nodded. ‘Mull’s very beautiful.’
Why can’t I say something
witty and intelligent?
she thought frantically.
I can’t let this marvellous
man slip through my fingers before I’ve even got to know him
.

Lizzie passed behind him and gave Laura a knowing nod of approval.

‘How long do you plan to stay on Mull?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you’d care to stay with us for a few days on your way back? Friends are always dropping in for a night here or there and Mama loves to entertain,’ she added, astonished at her own boldness. Her cheeks were quite pink now and she could see the admiration in his eyes as he gazed back at her.

He seemed to hesitate before answering and Laura held her breath. ‘That’s really sweet of you,’ he began in his warm, rich voice, ‘and I’d have loved to stay with you all, but the thing is my wife and I have to get back to Lasswade for our son’s birthday at the end of the week, so alas! I’ll have to refuse your lovely invitation.’

‘Oh, of course,’ she replied, a shade too quickly. ‘Maybe another time,’ she added with forced gaiety while her heart plummeted with disappointment.

‘There you are, Walter!’ exclaimed a sweet-looking woman in a large hat covered in silk roses. ‘I think they’re going to cut the cake in a minute.’ She turned to Laura. ‘You look so lovely, my dear. I hear you made Diana’s wedding dress and all the bridesmaid dresses, too?’

Laura nodded, hating this woman for being so nice and so charming. ‘How incredibly clever of you,’ Mrs Leighton-Harvey continued in her sugary voice. ‘Wherever did you learn such a skill?’

Laura shrugged as if it was nothing. ‘I picked up a few tips from the person Mama used to employ as a resident dressmaker,’ she replied casually.

‘Well, I’m full of admiration, my dear,’ said Mrs Leighton-Harvey, patting her arm. ‘Isn’t she a clever girl, Walter?’

‘Very clever,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving Laura’s face as he smiled down at her.

‘Come along, Walter. Let’s find a good place to watch them cutting the cake.’

Walter gave Laura a little bow. ‘Will you excuse us?’

As they moved away Laura saw the reluctance in his eyes. ‘Goodbye,’ she replied, determined to hide her disappointment.

Nearly all the guests had been received now and McEwan had put the number one footman in charge of announcing any latecomers while he gathered together those who were to make speeches by the three-tier cake that Cook had spent weeks baking and icing.

‘Mr and Mrs George Thornby,’ shouted the footman as an elderly couple stepped forward to be received by Lady Rothbury and Henry. ‘Lord and Lady Ellison,’ came a minute later. They too stepped forward.

There was a slight pause and then the footman cleared his throat to make another announcement. ‘The Earl of Rothbury,’ he boomed.

Lady Rothbury turned white and gripped Henry’s arm. ‘It can’t be,’ she whispered aghast. ‘Has Freddie returned?’

The room fell silent, the guests not sure what was going on but sensing something momentous was happening.

Everyone looked towards the doorway, their expressions expectant. Many were asking themselves if it was possible that Freddie had really had the nerve to come back to Scotland, knowing he’d face charges of murder and robbery?

When a tall, thin man in his early twenties with a black moustache and sideburns strolled arrogantly into the room as if he owned the place, confusion broke out. Whispering swept through the guests like incoming waves on a beach. This certainly wasn’t Freddie. Whoever he was he couldn’t be the Earl of Rothbury. Unless a previously unknown cousin had succeeded to the title?

‘The footman must have got the name muddled,’ an elderly lady presumed.

Everyone stood watching as the young man stepped up to Lady Rothbury with his hand held out. ‘I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting until now,’ he said with a strong Scottish accent.

She shrank back from him, a look of fear and horror in her eyes.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Henry angrily. ‘Did Freddie send you here?’

‘I’ve no idea where Frederick is,’ the man replied loftily. ‘All I know is he’s not going to return so it’s time I made an appearance. I am and always have been the rightful heir of Lochlee anyway.’

For a moment Lady Rothbury had to be supported by Henry and Robert Kelso as she staggered and nearly fell.

‘Get out of here,’ Henry said roughly. ‘You’ve no right to adopt my late father’s title. Who do you think you are?’

The man looked at him with sardonic amusement. ‘I’m your late father’s eldest son. This is where I belong. Where I’ve always belonged.’

Lizzie and Laura had gathered around their mother in bewilderment.

‘What’s going on?’ Laura asked.

Lady Rothbury rallied. ‘Let us talk about this in private. Robert, you and Diana stay here and talk to the guests.’ Then she turned to McEwan. ‘Take this . . . this person to the morning room and I will follow.’

McEwan looked stricken. ‘Yes, M’Lady. I’m sorry, M’Lady, he would never have been allowed across the threshold if I’d been on the door when he arrived.’

Glowering angrily, he grabbed the young man’s arm. ‘This way, laddie,’ he said roughly.

There was a scuffle as he protested and swore at the butler to ‘Keep your filthy hands off me,’ but as quick as a dart Henry bent down, whipped his skean-dhu from his sock and held the blade, unsheathed, towards the interloper’s throat.

‘Do as my mother says,’ he growled.

The whispering had spread across the room and spilled into the great hall as two strong footmen frogmarched the man along the corridor followed by Henry, his mother, Laura and Lizzie.

‘Get someone to fetch the police,’ Lady Rothbury instructed McEwan, ‘and we don’t want to be disturbed. See that one of the footmen stays outside the morning-room door.’

‘Yes, M’Lady.’ For the first time in his long years of employment at Lochlee he looked flustered and apologetic.

There was a round table in the middle of the rather drab room and Lady Rothbury seated herself at it, indicating that the young man should sit opposite. Henry stood protectively by her side, his dirk still held firmly in his right hand while the sisters sat on their mother’s other side.

Lady Rothbury looked stern and composed as she faced the interloper. When she spoke her voice was sharp and angry. ‘I know all about you, Douglas Kirkbride – you have the blood of my family on your hands.’

‘You know this man?’ Henry exclaimed in a shocked voice.

‘I know all about him and the misery he has caused us all,’ his mother replied bitterly.

Kirkbride shrugged and his manner was insolent. ‘I’m the eldest son of William Earl of Rothbury and that’s an indisputable fact. Therefore I’m his rightful heir.’

Laura rose angrily. ‘That’s rubbish! Freddie is his eldest son. I was four when he was born and I remember everyone saying he was Papa’s first son.’

He smirked. ‘You were also four when I was born three months
before
Frederick. Therefore I’m the eldest son. Frederick, who is no longer around, is the second son, and this young bully brandishing his skean-dhu is the third son. I am merely doing my duty in claiming my inheritance because Frederick is probably dead, and this whippersnapper is never going to amount to much,’ he added, giving Henry a disdainful look.

Infuriated, Henry sprang forward, throwing his arm out and gripping the man in a headlock. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he shouted, resting the tip of his dirk against the man’s throat. The two men struggled and Lizzie’s scream of alarm caused the footman waiting outside the door to rush in.