Twixt Two Equal Armies (50 page)

“The aldermen,” Sir Torquil breathed, “our distinguished Dr. Smellie . . . I must beg to introduce . . . ”

His lordship threw a hasty look at Miss Tournier, but she was busy looking at her feet and then Primrose Tristam sided up between them so he could never receive the amused look he had hoped to share with her before Sir Torquil hastened him away to a party of small men in somber dress a few feet away.

Holly watched him walk away. It really was his own fault, she reflected, since he would never deign to venture out into their little provincial circles. Perhaps he found them tedious, perhaps vulgar, but they would catch up with anyone who took to living here for any period of time. These little formalities were important to them and should not be mocked — but, as she watched him being introduced to the local dignitaries, she had to own he did not look mocking at all. Quite the opposite. Which made her wonder why . . .

“So,” a pointed voice said beside her, “what on earth shall
we
talk about so exclusively now? You can hardly expect
me
to talk to you about books as well.”

Holly smiled and slowly turned to Primrose Tristam. “No,” she said slowly, “I cannot claim to expect that.”

“Well, then,” Miss Tristam said.

“But we didn’t talk about books,” Holly went on. “We talked about — ”

“Oh?” She was interrupted by a snorting sound from Miss Tristam. “What else could you possibly have to talk about? Really, Holly!”

Holly frowned. “I’m afraid I do not — ”

“You’re the hired help,” Primrose Tristam said and leaned into Holly ever so slightly, at the same time as she pretended to share a confidence. “What else could you properly talk about to your employer? Certainly nothing of a personal nature. Holly, dear, such things are . . . unseemly.”

“I . . . ” But it was a useless beginning to a protest that had no foundation. Primmie was right.

“Let me give you some advice, my dear,” Primrose said and looked at her with sickly sweet concern. “Because we are
such
old friends and all that. I know you haven’t had the experience of many servants in your household, and you have no gentlemen about, so you may not be aware of their unfortunate tendencies to trifle with the help. I cannot tell you the stories I have heard, from Mama and my aunts, of how so many sweet young girls are brought to ruin because they mistook the intentions of their masters. Some so foolish as to even think he might marry them.” She paused for a tittering laugh before resuming her mission of mercy.

“His lordship is all that is charming and affable, but you must be sure not to mistake any . . . interest he may show in you for anything more than what it is. After all, it is obvious that when he marries, he must choose a bride from among his own set. But, no man is past seeking out a little diversion with the hired help in the meanwhile. Books and the weather do not an attachment make!”

Miss Tristam drew even closer and assumed an air of confidence, despite the fact that Holly remained resolutely silent. “To be truthful, Holly, I don’t understand why you don’t just accept Mr Grant and get it over with. He’s really your best prospect and if I were you I would move quickly before news of your current . . .
work
is spread too far abroad. He may begin to question the wisdom of wanting to marry a servant girl.”

D
R
S
MELLIE REALLY WAS A
marvellous man, his lordship thought, perhaps because of his unfortunate name, for he was a man of dry and precise humour. The kind of humour that did not lend itself to friendship very well, but served as the perfect antidote to Sir Torquil’s anxious reassurances and interventions. There was an amusing comment about the fate of being smallbuilt when trying to catch the final dash into the Kye and the spilling of the pig’s blood and Lord Baugham laughed with his new acquaintances. His laughter, however, was stopped mid-stream when he happened to catch the eye of Miss Tournier. She was still standing in the spot where he had left her, but there was something about her expression that struck him. Suddenly this play was not so amusing; the attention not as gratifying as it had been just a moment earlier. Having allowed it to go this far, he was now obligated to see it through, but his thoughts were now on quickly extricating himself from this public display.

After begging various pardons and promising possible future meetings, he was able to take his leave and retreat back to where Miss Tournier was standing motionless with the eldest Tristam daughter chatting to her in perfect cheerfulness.

“Oh, very good work, my lord,” Primrose twittered as he came up to them. “Those dreary old men, I’m so glad you’re not one of those who find their company invaluable. I know Mama complains about Father being so embarrassingly fond of them that he stops and drags them around where ever he seems to meet them. You’re much better off back here with us.”

Lord Baugham smiled and said he could hardly argue with that.

“I must go.”

He stared at Miss Tournier, but she would not meet his eyes.

“Of course you must, my dear”, Primrose said and leaned over to catch Holly’s hands and give her a kiss on her cheek. “You dear creature.”

She had hardly let go of her hands before Holly stepped away.

“Miss Tournier!”

She stopped, but seemed reluctant to turn around.

“I . . . ” What could he say? He struggled with the appropriate words for a moment. “Thank you. Again. For helping me and guiding me through my first Run. I enjoyed it.”

“You’re welcome, of course,” she muttered before turning away once more.

“And now you must let me help you a little, my lord,” Primrose interjected, turning his attention back to herself. “A little supper . . . I know Mama and Father are most anxious . . . can’t let your employees carry all the weight . . . not paid . . . my pleasure . . . ”

Holly could hear Primrose chatter away as she took herself down the slope and away from the last scene of the Ramsey Run. What she heard next should not have come as a surprise, but when Lord Baugham’s cheerful voice carried back to her, proclaiming that although Ned McMahon had won the race, it certainly turned out that he was carrying off the prize himself, accompanied by Miss Tristam’s delighted laughter, it made a great hole in her enjoyment of the day all the same.

But it’s only to be expected,
she rationalised,
after all, I am merely an employee, not one of the “prominent” young ladies of the village.
Despite herself, she turned and watched him being led away, Primmie clutching his arm comfortably and possessively, smiling and bowing to the accolades of the crowd. Once she thought he briefly caught her eye, but his expression as he swept past her seemed to confirm her own relative unimportance and standing among such company. She turned from the sickening scene before her and began to walk towards Rosefarm Cottage, filled with an unexpected and, she scolded herself, irrational disappointment; she had thought that perhaps she and his lordship were becoming friends . . . now she was corrected. If he was more at home with the false flatteries and simpering attentions of Miss Tristam, then he was welcome to them. She would remember her place and trouble him no longer with any attempt to be anything other than a hired librarian.

Chapter 22

On Gentlemanly Behaviour and Justifiable Defeats

Hamish was gutted. He was no stranger to feelings of shame or disappointment, but the result of the Ramsey Run seemed to him to have offended some higher principle and he had felt compelled to quickly slip away from his family as soon as he saw his lordship rein in his horse and hesitate, giving over the victory. The only satisfaction he could claim was that Duncan’s instant jab in his ribs had prompted his mother to sharply smack her eldest’s head. Now he wandered alone back to the church knoll among the drunks and the giggling girls, past the fortune-tellers and the ale stalls behind the animal enclosures to be alone. He kicked at the heaps of straw in his path and wallowed freely in his misery. His lordship had lost in a humiliating way to Ned McMahon, upsetting Hamish’s newfound world order. Now, Ned was a good man, of course, and a local hero, and it was not really his person that had offended Hamish’s sensibilities. Certainly, his family’s victorious shouts and his neighbours’ gleeful looks had stung him, but the more he thought about it, he really did blame Lord Baugham for his present misery.

“Ye could hae beaten him!” he muttered angrily. “I know you could’ve. Why didn’t ye make a real effort?”

To Hamish, his employer’s dignity and success seemed the most important things in the world, but in his eyes, his lordship had simply not taken the competition seriously enough. He had done his part, bravely standing up for him among the locals, despite the opposition, but Lord Baugham had failed him. In conceding defeat so readily, he had not lived up to his promise of a heroic model. That was the wincing and incomprehensible defeat.

He could not help but think of Captain Bob and how that gallant hero was also destitute on his return to England and how he was determined to overcome his desperate fate. In just a few days he would be there with a true hero again, facing insurmountable obstacles and valiant fights and that thought cheered him. Having no wish to go back and hear the rest of the jeers and remarks his family had thought up for him since he left, he wandered down the slope and dodged the carts and bands of youths making their way to the grounds for more riotous fun as the evening approached.

Suddenly he saw a familiar figure walking slowly down the church lane by the wall and he recognised Miss Tournier. Now, it was hard to know whether a gallant and protective spirit was awakened within him upon seeing this lonely figure walking, or whether he thought he had finally spotted someone who could give him the sympathy and reassurance he still felt lacking. Whatever the case, he set out in a trot and breathlessly called her attention to him long before he reached her side.

“Miss Tournier! Miss! Oh, am I glad to see ye, miss!”

Miss Tournier turned at the sound of her name and gave a genuine smile of delight. When he reached her, a little short of breath, he greeted her.

“Good evening, miss. Ye should nae be out here on yer own like this. Where’s his lairdship?”

Holly was touched by his concern and her expression showed it. “Well Hamish, I am very happy to see you. His lordship has found more appealing company than I am able to provide. But if I might take
your
arm as I am walking, I would feel much safer indeed.”

Hamish did not believe that company more appealing than Miss Tournier’s could be found by anyone, but he very proudly held his arm out and beamed as she softly laid her hand upon it and allowed him to lead the way. “Where to, miss?” he questioned shyly.

“Home, my friend. I should be getting home and so, by the way, should you. It is late.”

“It’s nae that late, miss,” Hamish protested. “I’m quite used to staying out late. But I’ll go after I’ve seen ye home if you wish.”

He was obviously happy to be of service and Holly smiled her thanks as he cheerfully guided her onwards.

“So tell me Hamish, what did you think of this year’s Run? Did you find it exciting?”

Hamish’s spirits sunk. The elation and pride he felt at being able to be of assistance to Miss Tournier faded when once more his lordship’s shortcomings were recalled. He did not quite know how to answer her, so he looked down at his feet once more while they walked on.

“Hamish?” she soon gently prompted. “Did you not enjoy it?”

She had once told him she could not abide foolishness, and although he had an inkling his sentiments might be considered foolish at best and even childish, he did think — and from all that he had heard in the way of morally educational tales from his teachers and the Reverend, it was true — that honesty never could be considered to be wholly foolish. Imprudent, perhaps, but he did so much want to tell her.

“Yes, ma’am, assure I did. It was . . . exciting. But . . . ” He took a deep breath and stole a glance at her to ascertain she did not frown or even laugh at him. “I cannae deny I was . . . surprised at . . . at the outcome of the Run.”

He could tell she regarded his laborious confession with a straight face and admirable patience.

“It’s just that he was so much better than Ned!” he burst out with a pleading look. “I know he was! He is! And that furlie horse of his is . . . magnificent! And he lost and I dinnae think he should have.”

The boy’s words made Holly recall her own, very opposite, impression that Lord Baugham had conceded a certain victory for the noblest of reasons. She smiled. Silly thoughts to be thinking considering how they had parted just now . . . and now she wondered if perhaps he had not lost out to Ned McMahon so voluntarily after all, since he had so readily snatched up the ‘prize’ in the end. However, she did not want to say as much to a boy in the throes of acute hero worship.

She turned her smile upon Hamish and tried to ease the boy’s disappointment. “Hamish, we must allow even those people we admire to be human and imperfect. Yes, Lord Baugham lost to Mr McMahon, but I hope you noticed how gentlemanly his behaviour was in doing so — he would not endanger others for the sake of his own glory.”