The House of Lyall (14 page)

He took his handkerchief out to mop his perspiring face, and as he returned it to his breast pocket, he muttered, ‘I should not have betrayed my wife. Thank God she never knew.'

He fell silent, and Marianne still couldn't think of anything to say. She wished with all her heart that she could sneak out and leave him to his tortured thoughts, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She was hardly aware of Hamish coming in almost twenty minutes later, but gratefully accepted his arm to help her to stand. When he took her into her own room, she said, ‘You should get your father out of there. It's not good for him.'

‘I'll see to him in a minute, but I wanted to tell you Miss Glover has told the chamber maids to make rooms ready for those relatives who live furthest away. If they do not arrive until tomorrow, they will likely want to stay over until Saturday. I sent the trap for Duncan Peat and he came up with a solution that everyone finally agreed to. He'll have the funeral service first so that those not invited to the wedding can leave before it starts, but …' he stopped with a wry smile, ‘I am afraid they will all stay on out of curiosity, though there won't be many asked back to the house. Marianne, are you still sure about this?'

‘I'm still sure, though I wish it was all over. Now, for any sake, Hamish, go to your father.'

Left alone, she sank back on her bed to think. The society wedding in St Giles she had longed for was only a pipe dream now. She had been prepared to settle for making a ripple at Brechin, and that, too, had been knocked on the head. Nevertheless, being married in a wee kirk in a sparsely populated glen, with members of the nobility mixing with the castle staff and estate workers, would most likely be unique particularly since it was to follow a funeral where some of the mourners would be wedding guests once the coffin was interred in the kirkyard. It would be a talking point for years, Marianne mused happily.

Her first priority would be to let Andrew and his aunts know of this latest development. They had declined to attend at either St Giles or Brechin Cathedral – no doubt they felt such places would be too grand for them – but surely they wouldn't refuse to come to a wee kirk where most of the people in the pews would be workers in the Glendarril mill and their families, and tenants of the wee crofts on the estate. The four Rennies would have to come! They were her only guests … and she had the feeling she would need them.

Chapter Eight

‘Well, I never!' exclaimed Edith Rennie in some irritation, when she read the short note Marianne had enclosed with her letter to Andrew. ‘How can she and Hamish be so callous?'

Esther was not quite so quick to criticize. ‘They could hardly have carried on with their original arrangements … not with a death in the family.'

Edith nodded vehemently. ‘That is precisely what I meant. They should be showing more respect and not turning his mother's funeral into some sort of circus. His father must be cut to the quick that they have not cancelled the wedding … nor even postponed it.'

‘I gather from what she said in her letter to me,' Andrew put in, ‘that it was Lord Glendarril himself who suggested it, Aunt Edith. She said he was angry at his wife's relatives for dictating that the couple should wait anything from three months to a year.'

Esther and Emily exchanged troubled glances, but it was left to Edith to ask the question. ‘Andrew, you do not think …? Marianne could not be …? Surely Lady Glendarril would not have let her son make free with the girl?'

Amused by her spinsterish euphemistic term for seduction as much as by her calculated refusal to use any of the words usually associated with pregnancy, Andrew was still appalled at the suggestion that this was the reason for the hasty trying of the knot. ‘Oh no, I shouldn't think that!'

‘Poor girl,' murmured Emily, joining into the discussion at last. ‘Marianne was so happy … and now … oh dear!'

Esther nodded. ‘Yes, immediately after the becomes Hamish's wife, she will have to stand at his mother's graveside and comfort him! Solemnizing a marriage and consecrating a body to the grave at more or less the same time sounds very heathenish to me, and it does not bode well for their future happiness.'

Knowing why Marianne was marrying Hamish, Andrew let out a deep sigh. Even before the unexpected death of the bridegroom's mother, he had not foreseen the girl being truly happy on her wedding day, never mind in the future, and as it was … ‘It's the other way round, Aunt Esther. They have arranged to have the wedding ceremony after the burial, and I'm sure Marianne will cope, whatever happens.'

Edith regarded him shrewdly. ‘You are not thinking of attending, are you, Andrew?'

He gave an apologetic smile. ‘I thought she might need someone on her side, someone she could turn to if anything goes wrong. She has nobody down there, nobody at all.'

Edith was about to point out that she had Hamish, but something in her nephew's eyes stopped her.

‘If there's any bad feeling amongst the mourners,' he carried on, ‘and I fear there will be since Lord Glendarril has stipulated that only the estate workers will be looked on as wedding guests, Marianne will need me … all of us, Aunt Edith. That's why she wrote. We are invited back to the castle afterwards as her guests … her
only
guests.'

‘In that case, we had better accept, but it scarcely gives us time to find clothes suitable for both ceremonies – a Herculean task.'

When Andrew was leaving, Edith walked a little way along the street with him, and he guessed she meant to give him a lecture. Her first words proved him right.

‘I hope you have thought carefully about what you are doing, Andrew. I know how you feel about Marianne, and I am rather afraid that watching her being joined in holy matrimony to another man will be too much for you.'

‘It's because I love her that I want to be there for her, though it'll turn the knife deeper into my heart. I'll never stop loving her, Aunt Edith, so I'll have to get used to her being someone else's wife. I'm a grown man now so stop worrying about me. Marianne said one of their carriages would pick us up at Laurencekirk station if we did decide to go, so I'll send her a telegram to let her know we will be there.'

Before she turned away, his aunt stroked his cheek. ‘You are a dear boy, Andrew, and I hope with all my heart that some day you will find a –'

He interrupted her there, to stop her hoping for the impossible. ‘We have to take the nine forty train on Saturday forenoon, so I'll meet you at the station around half-past.'

Saturday dawned bright and fair, but the tension at Castle Lyall became more fraught as the morning progressed, resentment running high amongst those who had stayed overnight and still had not been invited as guests at the wedding. Fortunately, Lord Glendarril had taken the precaution of having Carnie and his wife set up tables in the ballroom as well as in the dining room, so that his relatives – a few ancient aunts and spinster cousins – and the army of relations on his wife's side could be kept separate while they had breakfast … not that it was really necessary. The majority on both sides agreed that the wedding should have been put off, and all were outraged that they had been ordered to leave after the interment. They whispered to each other that Hector's loss had temporarily deranged his mind – why else would he ban them from the wedding reception? – but one look at his set face prevented even the most stout-hearted from saying anything.

Marianne, aware of the atmosphere there would be downstairs, kept to her room – she was nervous enough without getting involved in any arguments – but she was quite glad when Lord Glendarril himself appeared with a cup of tea after her breakfast tray had been removed untouched.

‘You need something in your stomach to see you through this day,' he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Not as bad as I thought I'd be.'

‘Only another few hours to go and then we can relax. We will still have the reception to get through, of course, but the workers will likely clear the tables of food in no time, and I have told them there will be no dancing or celebrating
afterwards … not in the castle. I have made several crates of spirits and porter available to them, and what they do in the privacy of their own homes – or in the school hall – is up to them. I know some people think I am showing no respect for Clarice, but I have had to steel myself, and I know I shall give way when everything is over.'

‘It would be only natural,' Marianne murmured although privately wondering how natural anything could be in such an unnatural situation.

‘Natural, perhaps, but as a Bruce-Lyall, I cannot let that sort of weakness be seen by the minions. I must say, I have been impressed by how Hamish has been taking his mother's death. He was so devoted to her I would have thought … but he must have more backbone than I gave him credit for.'

He laid her empty cup on the table by the bed and patted her hand. ‘I suspect that he, too, will give way when the pressure is off, so you will have to be strong for him, my dear.'

‘I will,' she promised. ‘I know it sounds awful, but I didn't know your wife very long, so I'm not so affected as everybody else.'

‘That is good. After today, you will take her place as Lady of the … but we will say no more about that at present. I shall send Thomson up to help you dress. She will be
your
personal maid now.'

Something he hadn't considered before suddenly struck him. ‘Um, Marianne, I trust you will wear the wedding gown Clarice chose?'

‘Oh, Lord Glendarril, I couldn't turn up at her funeral dressed like that! What would folk say?'

He gave a half-smile. ‘My dear girl, we Bruce-Lyalls do not give a damn for what people say, especially the upstart
nouveaux riches
who bore their way into everything. As for
my
workers, every man, woman and child is dependent on me for the roofs over their heads, for the food they eat, for the clothes they wear. Not that I ever cast that up to them, but whatever they think of today's arrangements, they are unlikely to voice their opinions aloud.'

‘But I wouldn't feel right about it myself,' Marianne pointed out. ‘I could wear the navy costume she had made for me, that would –'

‘You cannot get married in a navy costume!' he frowned. ‘I know how these women's minds work. They will be wishing they could have seen the wonderful gown our maids told them about.' He tapped his fingers on the jamb of the door for a few seconds then brightened. ‘I know! I shall tell Thomson to pack it carefully in its box, and one of the young lads can take it to the church as soon as possible. You will wear your navy costume when you leave here, but after the funeral, she will help you to change in the vestry, and I guarantee that you will cause quite a stir when you walk down the aisle.'

That settled it for Marianne. He was arranging it so that she could have her big moment after all, although she would have preferred more people – especially more of the aristocracy – to witness it. But why was he rushing the wedding like this? Was he afraid that Hamish might change his mind, or was he afraid that he, himself, would die unexpectedly?

Andrew was astonished when Hamish himself met them at the station. ‘I got orders from Marianne to take you to the house first because she has something to ask your aunts.'

After being helped into the impressive landau, the ladies settled back to enjoy the scenery, and Hamish turned to face the other man. ‘I have something to ask you, too, Andrew. I would be honoured if you would act as best man for me. I'm glad you could come, and since we are keeping the numbers to a minimum …'

‘Of course, and I'll be honoured to do it.' Nevertheless, Andrew's heart was aching at the thought of what this would entail.

His aunts were much happier at what Marianne asked of them. She had decided, when she first knew they were definitely coming, to ask Andrew if he would give her away, but Hamish had appropriated him to be best man, and she had enquired of the minister if she could have a woman to take over this duty.

Duncan Peat had said he didn't see why not, although it was most unusual, and so she had asked Miss Edith to do this, and Miss Emily and Miss Esther to be bridesmaids.

The small church was absolutely packed for the funeral service, with many of the gentry left fuming outside. The hymns were played on a small wheezy harmonium by an elderly woman who seemed to be crouching over the keyboard as her feet pedalled madly, but the music could be heard even above the lusty singing. After Duncan Peat spoke a fitting eulogy for the laird's wife, he put up a shorter prayer than usual before the last hymn was sung. The six pallbearers now stepped to the front and hoisted the brass-handled coffin up on their shoulders. In a slow march, they carried it outside to where the beadle, who was also gravedigger, had the family lair – the largest and most ostentatious in the kirkyard with a huge marble angel standing guard at its head – open to receive its latest occupant.

Still frightened of cemeteries and gravestones, Marianne kept her eyes on Hamish, and saw his pallor change to a horrible grey. Alarmed that he was going to faint and fall into the grave, she was about to run forward to him when she noticed that his father was exactly the same colour. She should have expected it. After all, they were saying goodbye to a woman they had loved. She herself, mindful of what she had to do immediately after the service, had purposely kept
in the background, and when the Reverend Duncan Peat ended his closing prayer, she signed to her maid and to Esther and Emily to follow her to the vestry.

Some ten minutes later, she was asking, ‘Do I look all right? Is my veil on straight?'

Thomson, a small woman in her late forties, seemed to be struck dumb by the transformation of the robust young girl into this elegant woman, but Miss Esther breathed, ‘You are absolutely lovely, my dear. I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful bride.'