The House of the Laird (13 page)

CHAPTE
R
THIRTEEN

He had already l
eft when she went downstairs the following, morning, and because she had hurried with her dressing in the faint hope that she might see him again before he left, a sensation of acute disappointment welled over her when she entered the dining-room and found that his place at the long oak
t
able had been vacated, and there was nothing but his empty coffee-cup and pushed-back plate to reward her for all her frantic haste.

But later that day the feeling of disappointment passed, and upstairs in her own room happiness returned to her when she sat before her window and looked out at the quiet view of hills and woods and the more distant encompassing wall of mountains,
alive with color in the sunshine. For although she had got to endure this enforced separation she had all her memories of the day before to hug to herself
her memories of being held in the arms of a man
whose very name made her whole body quiver like an aspen when she heard it mentioned, and whose lips had taught her that anything she had ever dreamed or imagined about being loved and in love was pale and colorless beside the reality.

The afternoon’s post brought her a note from Nannie McBain.
She was back at her own cottage in Craigie village, and she was longing to see something of Karen. She asked whether the girl would have tea with her the following afternoon, and whether, if that was impossible, she would drop in and see her some other time soon.

Karen carried the note down to Aunt Horatia, and the latter said at once that, of course, she must go and visit her old nurse. Fiona was being driven in to Inverlochie by Aubrey Ainsworth the following afternoon, and they could drop Karen at Ellen McBain’s cottage, and then pick her up again on their way home. That would en
a
ble the two who were linked by remembrances of Karen’s childhood to spend at least a couple of hours together, and Karen was so pleased by the prospect and the opportunity that was going to be presented to her to tell her old friend all about Iain that her eyes glowed with pleasure; and she missed the slightly disdainful look which Fiona Barrington shot at her.

“And then you really will have to begin getting together something in the nature of a trousseau,” Aunt Horry said, beaming at the girl whose expression was so openly revealing, and who was living just then, as the older woman realized, in a rosy glow of almost unbelievable happiness. One thing Aunt Horry loved was Romance with a capital R,
and being able to assist it in every way she could. “I promised Iain that we would begin preparations
without any loss of time, since apparently he’s made up his mind to rush you into marriage, and as he won’t be away very long that doesn’t leave us with any time to spare
.”

Karen looked at her mutely but gratefully, and Fiona said in her softest and most attractive voice, “I can be of assistance to Karen over this business of collecting clothes, and I’d absolutely love doing so if she’ll let me.”

Karen still found herself mute—largely because she was not at all sure where the money was coming from to purchase anything in the nature of a trousseau, although she realized that she could hardly marry Iain while still in possession of the few clothes that made up her wardrobe at that moment, and nothing at all besides—but Aunt Horry exclaimed with enthusiasm:

“
Why that’s a lovely idea, Fiona! You have such perfect taste, and Karen is such a worthwhile subject to practise it on! I’ve no doubt between you you’ll collect some lovely things, and that will make it unnecessary for me to go into Inverlochie, which I really wouldn’t like a bit, because I hate shopping in country towns.”

“I don’t know whether you’ve made any honeymoon plans yet?” Fiona asked Karen in the same smooth, friendly voice. “But if you’re stopping off in Paris, or anywhere like that, you can always add to your
o
utfit with Iain to help you choose things—and, incidentally, to foot the bill!” Her golden eyes gleamed a little strangely across the room at Karen, and her scarlet mouth quirked upwards at one corner with a kind of dry humor. “But for absolutely essential things Inverlochie will do you quite well— it has some quite smart little shops
.”

Karen thought Fiona’s voice had grated in an unusually sarcastic manner—unless it was her own imagination—when she added those words, and, incidentally,
“
to foot the bill!”, and she looked with a hint of appeal in her eyes at her hostess. The latter
gave a slight shake to her head, and waved a be-
r
inged hand in the air, as much as to say, “Don’t bother about ways and means now, my dear—all that will sort itself out later on!” But Karen felt keenly that she was very much a Cinderella who was secretly despised by the beautifully-equipped Fiona—unless it was some faint stirring of natural jealousy because she had once bee
n engaged to marry Iain herself!

And yet, in a moment, Fiona was smiling at her with all the sweetness and the charm her smil
e
could contain—and usually did—and suggesting colors that were likely to become Karen better than any others, and materials that were the least likely to crush easily if she and Iain were thinking of doing any extensive travelling once they were married.

“And I think you ought to give yourself a rather more sophisticated hair-do,” she suggested gently, while the topaz eyes dwelt on Karen’s soft curls, “and perhaps a change o
f
make-up
... There’s an excellent hairdresser and beauty parlor in Inverlochie, if you’d like me to make an appointment for you? I go there myself sometimes, and I can thoroughly recommend them.”

“And talking of hair styles, and things like that,” Aunt Horry cut in, “I’ve made up my mind to give a dance for Karen before her marriage, for we really must introduce her to some of the local people. It will have to be rather a rushed affair, and the invitations sent out as quickly as possible, but I’m sure Iain will approve of my going ahead with the arrangements, because at the moment his future wife is a complete stranger to the district, and that isn’t fair either to the district or to her.”

She looked at Karen affectionately, as if she was anxious to show her off to the “district,” but the girl herself was faintly appalled by the idea. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t, as Iain himself had said, a hundred per cent fit, but she knew that she shrank from making new acquaintances just then, and being in any way shown off—largely because she was certain there was nothing about her to show off. And the fact that Mrs. Barrington considered a new hair style and a more sophisticated type of make-up might improve her was a clear indication that in the eyes of the lovely widow there was definitely something lacking in her appearance at the moment.

She wondered—and all at once her old feeling of fo
r
lo
r
n
n
ess returned to her—what it was about her that Iain had found sufficiently attractive to fall in love with? Making due allowance for the fact that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, she had so little of the genuine article compared with anyone as radiantly perfect as Fiona Barrington that to her forlornness there was suddenly added a little cold feeling of doubt.

L
ooking at Fiona, she thought, “How could he, having once loved her, love me? Or is it, perhaps, because I’m so completely different?—Because he didn’t want to fall in love with anyone like Fiona again?”

He had probably been, very badly hurt; he was probably afraid of beauty, and had decided that it was wise to avoid it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still ad
mi
re it. Any man must admire beauty, especially when it was golden and flawless like Fiona’s.

And the inference to be derived from that was that she, Karen, had something else—something different which had appealed to him! Her very forlornness, perhaps. He was dark, and strong, and vital,
and he had been drawn to her because of her helplessness.

But was such a feeble quality enough in itself to kindle the vital spark of love? It was much more likely to arouse pity, and pity was said to be akin to love
—akin
to
love!..
.

She decided she must stop thinking along such lines, not only for her own peace of mind, but because Iain had told her that he was in love with her.
And to begin to have any doubts about his love would be to under-value
him...

And at least she loved him with her heart and soul and
—
There was nothing about him that she
did not love.

The following afternoon, when she arrived at Nannie McBain’s cottage, she was so looking forward to seeing her that all other thoughts had been temporarily put right out of her mind.

The big car, with Aubrey at the wheel and Fiona, wrapped in mink, occupying the space beside him in front, stopped right outside the cottage, and Karen had the feeling that she had had once before that eyes were watching them from behind the lace-curtained windows of the two adjoining cottages, as well as those on the other side of the street.
Nannie
opened the door j
u
st as Aubrey let in his clutch, and with a last, faintly regretful look at Karen—for unlike Iain he seemed to be quite impervious to Fiona’s type of looks, and to find a curious satisfaction in the contemplation of those of the younger girl, whom he had already made several efforts to paint—gave his attention to the business of driving, and the car glided effortlessly away. Karen flung herself into the stout arms that
w
ere held wide to receive her, and within a matter of moments she was inside the cottage.

Looking about it she saw that it was exactly as i
t
was when she had seen it last. The overcrowded front room still had its antimacassars and pot plants ranged along the window-sill, the highly ornamental
fire screen
and the huge
family
Bible on a little table in a corner that was also decorated with a vase of bright yellow
daffodils
. Nannie took her through into the kitchen, however, where a fire burned cheerfully in the shiny black range, and a kettle was whistling on the hob. A black cat lay asleep on the rug in front of the fire,
a
delicious smell of home-made gingerbread pervaded the room, and the table was laid with a lace cloth and loaded with a variety of edibles for tea.

“Now, sit you down there and let me have a good look at you,” Ellen said, when she had thrust her visitor into a comfortable basket chair, and stood back to regard her.

Karen removed her hat and smiled up at her, delighted to observe that her old nurse herself looked fit and well, and was even more plump than when she had seen her last. She had been a widow for several years, but she was a very cheerful widow, who occupied herself with many things, and was always available it anyone required someone to take over a job of nursing, or helping with a newborn infant. In addition she organized jumble sales and whist drives, collected for overseas missions, and was a great help to the minister and the backbone of the local Village Institute.

Just now she was determined to find out whether Karen had been properly taken care of in recent weeks or not, and decided that on the whole the answer must be an emphatic Yes, for although a slightly fragile appearance was natural to her, her eyes were clear and blue and happy, and there was a delicate pink color in her cheeks like the faint pink on the inside of a shell. She was wearing a beautifully made tweed coat which became her very well indeed, and her hair looked soft and well cared for, and made a golden halo about her face.

“Well, you look bonny,” Ellen gave her opinion at last, when Karen was beginning to feel that the inspection was somewhat o
v
er-prolonged, “as bonny perhaps as I’ve ever seen you, for you were never one of those buxom lassies who can really fend for themselves. You were always a wee bit fragile
-
looking, and when I heard that you were ill I was well-nigh out of my mind with anxiety because I didn’t know, placed as I was, what I could do about you. And then Mr. Mackenzie wrote and said that you were safe and being properly looked after, and it was aye a relief. The Mackenzies of Craigie are a fine family, and I’ve known Mr. Iain for years. Is it really true that you’re going to marry him soon now?”

Karen felt, herself begin to blush as she admitted that it was true.

“Then you must tell me all about it while we have
tea.”

The tea was similar to others Karen had enjoyed in that cottage in the past, but just now her appetite was not quite up to the quantities of home-made scones and bannocks, currant bread and crab-apple jelly cakes and gingerbread with which she was plied; but there was so much to talk about that Ellen did not seem to notice that her capacity was more ladylike than it had been on her early visits. There were all the details of how she had come to meet the Laird of Craigie in the beginning to be drawn out of her by a persistent Nannie, and just how ill she had been, and what Dr. Moffat thought of her now. And when the wedding was to be, and where the honeymoon was going to be spent
.

The large-hearted Scotswoman could not have been more anxious to hear all the details if Karen had been her own child, and as her eyes rested on the windflower loveliness of the girl in front of her a glow of pride appeared in them, and she observed that she was not really at all surprised.

“That you’re going to marry Mr. Iain, I mean,
”
she added. “You’re so like your mother, and I used to think her pretty as a picture, although she faded, poor thing, after your father lost his money. She
wasn’t the one to
stand
up to shocks, but you
’
ve
never led the sheltered life she led, and I think it hi
g
h time someone took c
a
re of you. And Mr
.
I
ai
n
’
s a man who can do so. Not only is he very well off, but he’s the sort of man I’d have chosen for you.
”

Karen’s heart thumped because he was the only man she would have chosen for herself, and Ellen continued, gazing at her more thoughtfully.

“But of course you’re not a bit like that other one he was to have married—that Mrs. Barrington who’s staying at Auchenwiel now.”

“N-no,” Karen stammered, wondering whether Nannie had recognized the lovely widow enshrouded in
mink
in the car that had brought her to the cottage a short while before.

“She was a beauty, that one—and still is!” the older woman observed, proving that she had seen her in the car. “And I’m surprised that Mrs. Montagu-Jackson has her to stay with her, considering the way she treated her nephew.”

Karen crumbled a piece of Eccles cake on her plate, and Nannie exclaimed shortly:

“Almost as near to being married to her as he is to you now—that’s what he was! And she broke it off—broke everything off at practically the last moment, as you might say, in order to run off with
a
friend of his! And if that wasn’t the worst blow he ever had in his life, well
—”
Her words dried up suddenly as the realization smote her that she was not being particularly tactful in the circumstances, but Karen reassured her quietly:

“It’s quite all right. I do know that Iain was to have been married before, and that it was Mrs. Barrington he was engaged to. But at the moment she’s a very welcome guest at Auchenwiel, and if there were any bitter feelings, well, they aren’t bitter any longer!”

Ellen shook her head in perplexity.

“That seems to me more than a wee bit strange.”

“And she certainly is beautiful, as you said,” Karen added generously.

Nannie poured her out another cup of tea, and pressed her absent-mindedly to something more from the piled-up dishes.

“Beauty isn’t everything,” she remarked. “In fact that sort of beauty’s a menace
—
it casts a spell over a man! Since you don’t mind my talking about it you might as well know that Mr. Iain was so terribly cut up at the time that none of us would have been surprised if he’d—well, at anything he did
!
One
minute
they were driving together through the village, as happy and handsome a pair as you’d ever find, and the next—she was gone! And he just left everything and went off, too, abroad! He’s only been back once until now in all that two and a
half
years, and then he stayed for about a fortnight and then disappeared again. We’ve often wondered whether he would come back and settle down at Craigie—perhaps find someone who would help
him
to forget. But I never dreamed it would be you, my dearie,” beaming on her visitor.

Karen still toyed with the last piece of Eccles cake.

“Would you—were you very surprised when you heard about me, after, Mrs. Barrington?” she asked, in rather a low voice.

“I was delighted,” Ellen informed her, deliberately misunderstanding her.

“I mean”—Karen lifted her head and looked at her bravely—
“
we’re so very different. You said just now that I was like my mother—pretty, and rather helpless—or I might have been helpless in similar circumstances! But Fiona Barrington is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life, and she would have made such an absolutely perfect mistress for Craigie. We’re such a contrast that—well; you
must
have been surprised!”

Ellen looked at her with shrewd, wise eyes.

“Are you in love with him, bairnie?” she asked.

Karen’s quivering, flushing face answered for her.

“
Very
much in love with him?”

The girl’s jewel-bright eyes misted a little.

“Wouldn’t any woman be very much in love with him?”

“The point is,” Nannie answered, gently, “that he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him if he hadn’t been in love with you. So, although I’ll admit it’s
not very nice for you having that Barrington woman staying at Auchenwiel just now when you
’
re making plans to be married, don
’
t make yourself unhappy by drawing comparisons between the two of you, because a man doesn
’
t make the same mistake twice—not if he
’
s wise!
”

And although Karen was faintly amazed at the discernment of her old nurse—unless it was simply the fact that she had known Karen from babyhood—she was also conscious of a sudden sensation of relief, because a doubt that she had thought hidden in her own heart was dissipated.