Chapter 17 Blackened State of Mind
Note: Baby Blue Eyes has been removed from FF but it is up for preorder and will be released on the 13th of December.
"I think I will retire early tonight. Reverend Grant will be holding a service on the morrow and he shall not wait until the Càrn Gorm residents are in their pew. Goodnight," Mrs MacGregor left the parlour with a smile but all seemed to believe it had been an order since they rose to follow her.
Elizabeth had no such claim on her time as she doubted she would be invited to join them. At the moment she would much rather enjoy the peace of watching the flames licking the yule log.
On the previous night, the traditional yule log had been joined by what Laird Eilein had referred to as The Cailleach or as Mrs MacGregor had kindly transferred to The Old Winter Woman totem. A carved piece of wood representing the Cailleach and had been tossed onto the burning yule log as a symbol of the destruction of winter. A sentiment Elizabeth could not dispute.
A branch of rowan tree had joined the Cailleach in the hearth. It was supposed to clear the air between people and chase away animosity amongst friends and family. Elizabeth thought wryly that it would take much more than a burning piece of wood to placate her feelings towards a certain gentleman, a sentiment she wisely kept to herself. Christmas was a joyous occasion she would not spoil with an argument over forgiveness.
Mrs MacGregor had lit a candle in the window as a welcoming sign to strangers, not that it was likely anyone should happen upon Càrn Gorm Castle but it was a nice sentiment and a new tradition Elizabeth had not heard of.
Elizabeth let cherished memories of Christmases past at Longbourn wash over her. Despite the elaborate meal and the burning yule log, it was the 26th of December and the celebration she was accustomed to from home was not present in the Highlands. It was like the Reformation's ban* on Christmas had never been lifted. No boxes had been handed out to servants nor tenants today as she was accustomed to from home.
Elizabeth had made the mistake of suggesting they should venture outside and gather greenery to decorate the Castle on the morning of Christmas eve. She had been brushed off rather abruptly as the Presbyterian Church discouraged the old pagan winter solstice celebration that the Catholics had embraced. It had been reinvented as a celebration of the birth of Christ, which was regarded as worst; paganism or Catholicism was debatable.
The meal had resembled what they usually had at Longbourn on Christmas Eve, turkey. There were some additions she was less used to like cock-a-leekie, a chicken and leek soup with pearl barley, smoked salmon and the traditional Christmas pudding had been replaced by something similar but not quite the same, the clootie dumpling. It was boiled in a cloot or cloth, as Elizabeth would call it.
"Are you not going to retire, Elizabeth?" her husband came back to enquire. Might this be the night she was to be importuned since he wanted her to retire?
Since her first night at Càrn Gorm Castle, Laird Eilein had not entered her chamber. It was a blessing and a torment at the same time. Elizabeth looked at it as stalling the inevitable. Her nerves frayed by each night it was postponed along with the prayer of gratefulness.
"We must leave early as the roads may not have been cleared of the snow."
"You want me to join you at church?"
"Of course, tomorrow is Sunday. It is custom here to attend church when there is a service. It is somewhat infrequent in the winter but Reverend Grant is always here on Christmas day."
Elizabeth could have reminded him that her knowledge of their customs was fairly limited but she chose not to as this might be a golden opportunity for her to escape.
#
Evina had brought out her green and blue tartan plaid gown for attending church. Elizabeth tried to protest, stating her Sunday finest from Longbourn was more appropriate but Evina insisted, claiming she would need it in the cold kirk. Elizabeth relented as Evina knew more about the Highland ways and escaping in traditional garb might not be such a bad idea. She had not, however, anticipated her husband doing the same. She had read about the kilt and seen sketching but to observe the plaid wrapped around someone with their knee-high stockings showing were quite another matter. Elizabeth blushed crimson on her husband's behalf, not that Mr MacGregor's old and crooked legs looked any better, his calves were much thinner than Laird Eilein's which in some way contrasted his wider midsection. Laird Eilein had not the same girth, the only wide measure on him was his broad shoulders but he managed to look even more forbidding in his traditional Scottish attire.
Evina brought her brown hooded woollen cloak for Elizabeth to wear. A garment that was new to her but Evina claimed it to be hers, a gift from her husband. Elizabeth donned the dratted thing because the hood gave her somewhere to hide her rosy cheeks.
The carriage ride to the church provided Elizabeth with beautiful yet varied scenery. The mountains created a backdrop to the dells and glens interweaved with lakes, plains and haughs[footnoteRef:1] but most of all there were miles upon miles of dark pine forest only broken by small clearings aside of rapid burnies[footnoteRef:2]. Every so often, a sawmill could be observed. [1: Haugh; low-lying meadow. ] [2: Burnie (plural burnies): small brook. ]
A ferry was waiting for their arrival, to take them safely over the Spey to Inverdruie but they were far from the only ones who were waiting to be brought to the other side. There was a rather long line of carriages in need of transportation across the river.
The laird of Eilein appeared uneasy. He was frowning at the long line of carriages, he bowed his head and sighed. This might be her opportunity to run but how would she cross the river Spey since there was a ferry, it was not likely a ford or a bridge could be found in the wide, deep river because the queue would certainly not have been this long. There must be another opportunity later.
What happened next was a little surprising. Elizabeth did not perceive Laird Eilein as a sociable nor a friendly neighbour as she had not seen a single visitor entering the castle doors in the month she had resided there.
In her defence; Elizabeth had not yet been familiarized with Càrn Gorm's extensive property. Neither walks nor rides, in general, could convey you to an equal for a short visit. Each proprietor held a small court in his domain. A neighbourly visit was done in a stately manner befitting of the rareness of the occasion and the length one must travel to accomplish it.
However, it soon became apparent that the laird did not lack acquaintances. The people who had been comfortably huddled up in the carriages against the cold December weather noticed that laird of the Eilein clan had arrived at the riverbank, they flooded out of their warm conveyances and came knocking on their window. Laird Eilein opened the carriage window to allow the flock of well-wishers to offer their felicitations upon the laird's marriage. Apparently not at all bothered about the potential flight risk of his wife. She regarded the current well-wishers outside the carriage, although they greeted her politely, the sceptical expressions made her aware she was a foreign intruder in a closely-knit society. She would have to prove herself or suffer their scorn. To cry for help to be rescued from their laird would more likely have her committed to an asylum before any aid was offered. Laird Eilein suddenly rose and exited the carriage before he leaned in and took hold of Elizabeth's hand and tugged lightly for her to follow him while looking at her imploringly. Elizabeth did as he requested and was greeted by a beautiful, cultivated lady.
"Your Grace."
The laird of Eilein bowed deeply and Elizabeth followed his lead by a deep curtsy.
"You may introduce me to your wife, Laird Eilein," the Duchess of Gordon graciously offered.
"It will be my pleasure, your Grace. May I present to you, Mrs Elizabeth Fitzwilliam, Lady of Eilein?
"How is the snow at Kinrara, Your Grace?"
"Horrible, I can barely see out of my parlour windows."
Elizabeth thought that the duchess must be exaggerating and referred from commenting but in this instance, Elizabeth would be wrong. The Duchess of Gordon's temper ill-suited her husband's habits which had led them to the wise decision of a separate living arrangement. The duchess dwelt with her daughter on the little old farm of Kinrara situated on the Badenoch property. She was rumoured to be much more happy and agreeable company there than at her husband's estate.
"Is Lady Georgina not with you?"
"No, she has caught a trifling cold but we deemed it wise she should not travel to church."
"Yes, a prudent decision, I am sure."
At the corner of her eye, Elizabeth spotted a familiar looking face but she could not very well turn her back on a duchess, to gauge if she was right. She was aware of the distinction she was paid although she had never before encountered a duchess, she knew what was expected of her.
The moment passed and the duchess returned to her carriage. Elizabeth glanced surreptitiously at the flock gathered around them. She had been correct, it was William Grant she had spotted among the well-wishers. It complicated matters as the Grants, in addition to their Highland home, had a townhouse in Lincoln's Inn Fields, London and an estate, Thorley Hall, in Twyford, Hertfordshire. The Grants usually spent the winters in Hertfordshire, the season in London and the summers at their estate Doune in the Scottish Highland. Elizabeth knew all this because she had once danced with the rosy and sturdy William Grant, a picture of a robust boy a couple of years her junior, at the Meryton assembly. They had become slightly acquainted at the assembly autumn last. Ironically, the second Grant daughter, a plain and thin fifteen-year-old, was named Elizabeth and their youngest daughter was named Mary. The similarities ended there as there was a younger brother, John, in addition to the heir, William. Mr Grant, together with his entire family, had watched her welcome felicitations from all and sundry with a smile on her countenance. The knowledge would not aid her to escape as the reverence Mr Grant showed her husband as he stepped forward to offer his felicitations, left her in little doubt of where his loyalty lay. Mr and Mrs Grant were followed by their three daughters but Elizabeth was not acquainted with them as only the eldest was out. Despite sharing a name with her own eldest sister, their dispositions differed vastly and the Bennet sisters had never warmed to Miss Grant.
Miss Jane Grant was a small and well-formed beauty with blue eyes. She was currently staring at Elizabeth with poorly concealed disdain. What would the Grants report back to Hertfordshire? Would words of her whereabouts reach her father? What would her father believe should rumours reach him that she was living with the appearance of a happily married wife in the Scottish Highlands with not a thought for the people she had left behind?
Elizabeth doubted it, instantly. The Grants had graced the Meryton Assembly with their presence only once and she knew of no mutual acquaintances amongst the four and twenty families her parents dined with. She should be safe until they journeyed back to their Hertfordshire home in the autumn which was a comfortable distance of more than thirty miles from Longbourn, but what then? It dawned on her that by habit, the Grants should have been in Hertfordshire at this very moment. Could they have moved permanently to the Highlands? The thought offered a small hope of concealing her location for a little longer.
Elizabeth smiled and curtsied to numerous of Laird Eilein's acquaintances but must be hard-pressed to name one. If she cried foul play, who would support her? Or would she ruin her sisters by association? Had Jane married Mr Bingley by now or had she postponed the wedding after Elizabeth had disappeared from Pemberley?
A very few people knew about her journey hither in solitary company of the laird but that would not signify much when they thought them married for several months. That their marriage had not been consummated mattered not at all as that private information was known to none other than herself and her husband.
Elizabeth was well and truly trapped in a marriage with a man she loathed. The realisation that there was no way out made her revert to her thoughts. Not a word was exchanged between the husband and wife until they reached the church but Mrs MacGregor was the loquacious sort and inadvertently offered Elizabeth some of the information she sought.
"Mr Grant has been elected a member of the thoroughly rotten Borough of Great Grimsby at an expense. He has had to sell Kinloss, their townhouse in Lincoln's Inn Fields and some furniture has been rumoured to leave Doune. He will travel to town when The House of Lords is in session, leaving his wife and children at Doune. As far as I can remember, the Highlands has not done Mrs Grant's ill health any good. The children seem pleased although their eldest son spends most of his time at school and the eldest two daughters are sent hither and dither between different relatives. Mr Grant bought Kinloss, downsizing from Thorley Hall. Lord Ellenborough must regret he purchased the estate before the Grants become desperately short of funds."
Mrs MacGregor regarded Elizabeth with a pronounced crevice between her brows, she had not managed to stifle a flinch at the mention of Lord Ellenborough, a known character in Hertfordshire. She reminded herself that although his lordship was known to Elizabeth, Mrs MacGregor was most likely repeating something she had heard, not telling a story she had any personal experience with. She had revealed that the Grants had sold Thorley Hall, their Hertfordshire estate some time ago which explained why they had not returned to the Meryton assembly.
"Do you know Lord Ellenborough, Lady Eilein?"
"No, not personally but I know of him. Thorley Hall is but thirty miles from my father's estate."
"You must have heard about the Grants then?"
"Yes, we have met but briefly at an assembly."
Mrs MacGregor must wonder why she had not made it known when they had greeted each other, neither had she enquired after news from home. They all probably regarded her as a strange, taciturn and unsociable creature...
"The Grants are very fashionable," Mrs MacGregor forged on, probably eager to right the impression she did not approve of her old Hertfordshire acquaintance. "They have removed the fruit trees and the vegetable garden to an inconvenient distance from the kitchen as that department of the garden is considered the reverse of ornamental. It has been replaced with belts of flowering trees, gay beds, grass plots and dry walks..." Perhaps not, Elizabeth thought wryly. Mrs MacGregor had simply wrapped her disdain in a pretty package.
#
The church of Rothiemurchus was dedicated to St Tuchaldus but was better known in the vernacular as Taldi's kirk.
"The minister officiating, Reverend Peter Grant, lives in Duthil and is known as Peter of Duthil. You will easily notice him as he is a rather tall and thin man, shy but worthy and clever. He comes to preach every third Sunday if the weather allows and the Spey has not flooded the road. When he officiates in Taldi's kirk, the other kirks are closed until it is their Sunday.
"Reverend Grant's cure extends for twenty miles down the Spey with vast plains and glens on each hand, the births and weddings alone are enough to keep one man occupied, considering the distances to be travelled in his district. He has little to do with funerals unless he chose to attend to pay his respect. The Presbyterians require no prayer by the grave, nor in humble cases, any blessings by the clergy at the preceding feast. Private exhortation is never thought of, all who could read prefer the bible itself to man's exposition of it.
"As a result of Peter of Duthil's busy schedule, the parish school is run by good old Mr Stalker. He is one of Queen Anne's bounty clergy. A class of men educated in the usual Divinity classes in Aberdeen, he has been ordained but not beneficed. The men of Queen Anne's bounty clergy are generally inferior of birth, even compared to the humble classes." Mrs Macgregor fell silent after her rather long tirade to appraise Elizabeth of everything she needed to know and she was truly grateful as her husband told her nothing.
Elizabeth was stunned when they arrived at their destination by the dilapidated condition of the kirk itself. The door and windows were ill-fitted, the plaster was falling off the ceiling and the graveyard was covered in nettles tall enough to protrude through the snow.
The service proved to be a cold experience. Evina's insistence she donned the woollen tartan gown and her heavy cloak made much more sense after nearly three hours in the freezing kirk. Two psalms, two prayers and the sermon was read first in Gaelic then in English. As the chief of the Eilein clan, Laird Eilein sat through both readings as the attendance was generally poor which Elizabeth thought was not at all strange considering the condition of the kirk.
The part of the service where the sermon was performed in Gaelic, left Elizabeth with a lot of time to reflect as the language was unknown to her. Mr Grant senior did not seem to have recognised her but his offspring would surely have filled him in as soon as the carriage door closed. It was discouraging to have been discovered by someone who could report her marriage back to Longbourn before she had the chance to inform her relations but it had the perks of revealing her whereabouts to her father.
What Mr Bennet could do with her situation was another matter. Elizabeth had thought she could run back to the bosom of her family and create a story that no one could gainsay but that option was no longer a possibility after she had been recognised by an acquaintance. Mr Grant was known to her father because he had set up a Scottish grieve office in Twyford, five years ago. Her father had used his services to incorporate crop rotation, deep ploughing, weeding, hay made in three days, corn cut with a scythe and housed as cut and cattle stall-fed. Elizabeth remembered above all the field of turnips that people had come far and wide to observe the wonder of turnips in drills and two feet apart in rows, each turnip growing to the size of a man's head.
Although much admired, the new ways had not caught on by all the onlookers that came to Longbourn. It was not imitated by any of the other Meryton farmers but her father had at least improved the yield on his farm. That his neighbours were not inclined to install this new Scottish way of farming made no difference to him. The additional income came in handy for a father of five daughters of marriageable age.
Laird Eilein was looking at her, sporting a frown between his brows. She must have smiled at an inappropriate moment in the service. Elizabeth schooled her features into a neutral expression. She was so tired of disguising every feeling and exhausted from being on high alert every waking moment. She was always looking for an escape that never came. All she wanted was a little peace and a long rest with not a worry in the world
By the time Reverend Grant ended his service, Elizabeth could no longer feel her toes and her fingers were painfully cold. It was with great relief she rose from the pew to follow her husband out of Taldi's kirk to greet the Reverend and a few of the other worshippers although neither the Grants nor the Duchess of Gordon were among them.
Elizabeth paid close attention to the gentleman and ladies who approached her husband to gauge their opinion of him. It surprised her that no one seemed the least bit intimidated by the laird of Eilein but greeted him in a friendly manner. She perceived him as an ogre that should be avoided at all cost and certainly not sought out on the church thread.
Elizabeth kept at her husband's side but added little to the conversation. Although she knew they were speaking the King's English or something similar enough to understand, her mind could hardly grasp what they were saying. It was like her mind was too overwrought to take in a simple conversation. Her head throbbed, her neck ached and her fingers were as numb as her toes when Laird Eilein guided her over the gloomy graveyard to a cluster of six houses in what must be the village square. He was walking towards one of them and they entered without knocking which Elizabeth thought was strange until she realised they had entered an inn. A few tables with chairs were clustered around a hearth that beckoned Elizabeth to approach it. She tugged on her gloves but she could not seem to manage to get the stiff kidskin fabric off. Laird Eilein came to her aid, he pulled forcefully and immediately enveloped her reddened fingers in his warm hands.
"Why did you not tell me you were cold?"
"Would it have made any difference?"
"Of course, it would!"
"We could not very well up and leave in the middle of the service, laird Eilein."
"Perhaps not but I could have warmed you. You need a muff and what shoes are you wearing?"
Elizabeth looked down at her walking boots. They were not designed for winter but she had not brought anything warm with her to Pemberley, she was supposed to be there for the summer after all.
"You must sit by the fire until you have warmed up."
Laird Eilein pulled a chair close to the fire and ordered her to sit before he barked out orders to their host. Warm broth and wine were delivered promptly. Her husband fetched himself a chair and a table was brought to them by the host. Together, by the fire, they consumed the meal while Laird Eilein frequently rubbed her hands.
"You must take off your shoes."
"What! You know I cannot take off my shoes in public?"
"Would you rather have frostbites and lose your toes or worse?"
Elizabeth thoughts immediately conjectured the worst, she had heard about frostbites leading to gangrene that travelled up your limbs and led to an excruciatingly slow and painful death. Without the suffering, death might not feel too terrible. Her thoughts scared her into action. Not only were they awful but sinful as well and she had just been to church. She must find a way to rally her spirit, even if it demanded her to cave in.
Laird Eilein held up his greatcoat to shield her while she untied the laces on her boots and pulled them off. She hastened to hide her feet under her skirt as soon as she had finished but Laird Eilein had another plan in mind. He lifted her lower extremities onto his lap and gave her feet the same treatment as her hands. When he espied her thin silk stockings he sighed.
"You must use your wool stockings in the winter, Elizabeth!"
"They do not fit in my boots."
"Then we will have to purchase winter boots. I will have more heated bricks added for our trip home but this will not do. You cannot venture out of doors until you have new boots."
"I am allowed to walk out of doors?" Elizabeth looked surreptitiously around to see if anyone had heard her exclamation but the few other guests had their heads turned away to give her privacy.
"Of course! I would advise you not to venture too far from gardens as it is easy to get lost although I am certain the dogs could follow your sent if I were unable to find your footprints in the snow."
It was like a curtain was pulled from her eyes and realisation dawned. She was never getting away from him nor this place. Her fate had been sealed those many months ago when she had ventured too far from the formal gardens of Pemberley.
Elizabeth waited for the tears that would surely start to well in her eyes but they did not come. Her emotions had been blanketed by a heavy layer of indifference and numbness infused her soul.
"I have noticed that you do not seem to receive any correspondence from home."
"No, I do not—I was under the impression..." She was loath to remind him of the agreement they had made in the gallery of Càrn Gorm Castle. If he happened to have forgotten the deal with an heir, she was of no mind to remind him.
"Are you telling me you have not written to your family because you believe I will forbid it? What kind of ogre do you think I am?"
"You did mention certain terms that must be met before I was allowed to write to my family."
"I believe I said visits, not letters! And those terms were met when you agreed to live with me at Càrn Gorm as you have these past weeks. Are you telling me that you have not written a single letter to your family since you left Pemberley!"
"I presumed..."
"Have I ever denied you the right to write to your family?"
"No, not specifically..."
The laird ordered their carriage readied with pinched lips and a frown. Bricks were added on the floor to warm her body but not her soul. She could have written to her father and have been rescued months ago. Oh, why had she not?
Elizabeth wasted little time writing to her father and dearest sister as soon as she was home from the kirk. An abbreviated version of her abduction was jotted down, sealed and put on a silver salver in the foyer. Her mother and other sisters must wait a little longer because she was adamant that the letter should be out with the early morning rider who was off to Inverness. Her wrist ached after penning lengthy letters to her dear Papa and most beloved sister, Jane.
#
Elizabeth awoke in the morning to a commotion in the great hall. Her lady's maid was absent, neither did she come when she rang the bell. In a fit of pique, Elizabeth donned one of the black gowns she could dress herself in and stomped down the stairs.
The first she noticed when she reached the foyer were voices coming from the gallery, merry happy voices that was gushing over some young lad. As she approached, it became apparent that it was Mr and Mrs MacGregor son who had arrived home after several years abroad. Mr Euan MacGregor had studied at The Royal Military Academy at Woolwich Common, London, and had proceeded to India as a cadet. He had made his fortune and had returned home to boast. He had a voice that carried and every resident, servant and dog at Càrn Gorm Castle had flocked around him to listen to his tales.
"To have you home to welcome the new year, Mrs McGregor gushed when her son paused to draw breath."
"Yes, I had to be home before Hogmanay, I have not had a black bun nor a decent tumbler of whiskey for years."
"We must remedy that at once, Euan." Laird Eilein slapped the guest on his shoulder and hauled him down the gallery in the direction of his study. "You may tell me the truth. How was the seasickness?"
"Horrible, I heaved over the railing the first three days but it got better or I would never have come home."
The twosome disappeared into the study while Elizabeth was left to ponder what her husband looked like when he was happy. She had not seen him smile since their journey north before he had married her. Since then, neither of them had had much reason to smile. While she pondered, everyone else disappeared in different directions. Elizabeth stood forgotten in the gallery, wondering where to go next. It was a blessing to be ignored as everyone had tiptoed around her, the first month. Laird Eilein must have told the staff she was a flight risk or something because servants and residents alike paid her an inordinate amount of attention. To be thus forgotten should come as a relief compared to the heavy scrutiny she had been subjected to.
She had not the time to ponder long on these matters as this was new years eve and if Christmas was of little notice, the Scottish seemed to rectify that oversight by doubling the effort on new years eve or Hogmanay as they called it.
#
For the first time in more than six months, Elizabeth was attending a party. Guests were arriving at Càrn Gorm Castle in hordes. The courtyard was ablaze with torches to guide their guests safely inside.
Elizabeth wondered why Laird Eilein seemed confident she would not scream abduction as soon as the guests arrived but she had not done so attending church, he might think her resigned to her fate and he would not be far off the mark. Elizabeth was too listless to even contemplate an escape, she wanted to sleep and not be bothered but the party would not make itself.
About fifty people of all ranks gathered around the table in the great hall. There was not exactly a below the salt mark at the table but the lower end sported a different description than the higher end and was treated accordingly. The lower end was served watered whiskey while the higher end had wine with their meal. There was not made any distinction by the food they served as tradition warranted. The broth was hearty and warming concoction made by turnips, leeks, carrots and peas with pearl barley in lamb stock. A fruitcake the Highlanders called black bun had the centre of attention and was not to be outdone by dishes of salmon, lamb or vegetables although the cheeseboard made a valiant effort.
Elizabeth was seated next to Captain Grant who had retired to Inverdruie after fighting the battle of Gibraltar. He was a dapper man, gay in manner with all the pride and spirits of an excellent officer. Had he not treated his wife so strangely, she might have claimed him a gentleman of the highest order. His wife, a Duff from Aberdeenshire, was a pretty old lady who lived very unhappily with her husband, particularly after their only son had fallen on the battlefield, some years past. They lived side by side, occupying the same rooms, they were even rumoured to play backgammon in the evenings without ever speaking a word to each other, communicating by pointing fingers only. Elizabeth rather liked the little old lady, a picture of a gentlewoman, riding every third Sunday to church on her pony dressed in a green Joseph and black bonnet. She wore the hat perpetually whether she was inside or outside a house. The Joseph she put on for ceremony, for church, calls or dining with the laird as she was now. Her pony was always led by the same maiden dressed in jacket and petticoats, plaid and snood. Elizabeth ruminated on the couple of which she liked both, yet they lived a miserable life...
They were halfway through the meal when Mr Euan MacGregor exclaimed and wanted to know who the beauty, talking so animatedly with Captain Grant, could be? The entire upper end of the table grew awkwardly quiet before the laird stepped up to the task.
"How remiss of me to forget to introduce you to my wife. Elizabeth, Mr Euan MacGregor, Mr and Mrs MacGregor son. Euan, my wife, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth smiled a little too brightly to cover her embarrassment. She was not the most memorable person to grace the earth but neither had she thought herself to that easily forgotten.
The servants regarded her sceptically which she accounted for by the fond regard they seemed to hold for their laird. The indifference and avoidance she treated her husband were not endearing her to them but she could excuse their behaviour by their ignorance in the most important matter standing between them. The MacGregors had withheld their judgment when she first arrived but even they occasionally frowned upon her cold treatment of her husband. Like she would ever forget how she had come to be on Càrn Gorm nor the imprisonment she had suffered at Eilein. If they thought she would ever forgive and forget, they were seriously underestimating her implacable resentment. Her opinions would not be swayed by a comfortable bed and a heated chamber.
Laird Eilein's behaviour puzzled her exceedingly. He had forced her capitulation by bribes, yet he had not claimed his marital right which was necessary to beget the heir he dearly wished for and needed. If he was waiting for her to succumb to some treacherous ailment he might be in for a long wait. Elizabeth was rarely ill and never seriously so. Her fevers were mild and infrequent but Laird Eilein did not know that. He barely spoke to her, even if they were in the same room he usually regarded her without comment. One would think she would find comfort in his lack of interest but it felt more like being a prey that was waiting for the ambush. She knew nothing of when and where it would change or if it would stay like this for all eternity. With no child, she was not allowed a visit from her family. Her life had become more comfortable but not more rewarding.
Mr Euan MacGregor had not the privilege of knowing any of the dealings since summer last. He swatted Laird Eilein's arm and congratulated them both most heartily before bombarding Elizabeth with questions about her family and origins. He knew the Grants had a Hertfordshire estate although not that they had recently sold it to Lord Ellenborough. Elizabeth admitted that she had made a slight acquaintance with the eldest son when they resided in Hertfordshire which earned her a strange look from her husband. He probably thought it strange she had not made it known when they offered their felicitations. Elizabeth wondered at that herself, all her trepidations seemed so inconsequential in a retrospective light
#
It was not a distinct yellow drawing-room party after the meal though a large portion of the guests seldom obtruded on the more refined selection of guests—unless a dance was to be held. This evening was Hogmanay and such an occasion demanded dancing well into the night. All the guests and residents united in clearing the great hall of its tables and chairs for the dance to commence. If it was one pastime that united the entire Highland from pauper to Duke and was regarded as essential art to all classes, it was dancing. Dance masters were highly esteemed and few could withstand the opportunity to engage in a single and double fling, heel-and-toe step and shuffles.
Elizabeth was astonished that her husband had proved to be hospitable in the feudal style. All were heartily welcomed, he even seemed content to have his table filled to the brim and scrupulously paid every guest his particular attention with one exception, herself...
No, that was not exactly true because Lady Annabel was not in attendance at all. Elizabeth had no qualms about that decision as the lady was unquestionably quite unwell.
Another lady missing was the duchess of Gordon who had sadly passed since their brief encounter by the ferry and Kinrara had been locked up and abandoned after the funeral. Elizabeth gathered her daughter; Lady Georgina must have left with her father. Burden by the grief of her trifling cold had proven contagious and much more sinister for the mother than the daughter.
Elizabeth helped clear away the tables and chairs for the dancing to commence. She wondered at the lack of a band to play for them and was concerned if she was expected to perform all evening on the pianoforte but she needed not have worried. It appeared that all Highlanders with respect for themselves owned a fiddle or a violin, some even had the luxury ownership of a violoncello, her husband was no exception. It was a trait she had not known he possessed but he proved himself a proficient player.
Elizabeth was engaged by Euan for the first set. Her husband was occupied with playing his violin so Elizabeth easily accepted as her husband was unavailable.
As the new mistress of Càrn Gorm Castle, Elizabeth was the first lady of the dance and called Gillie Callum then Shen Threws as the evening's first set of dances. Both were safe choices as they were familiar to her and were very lively dances. By the time the set had finished, she was out of breath but happy as the fiddle her husband was playing on. If it was Elizabeth's newfound vivaciousness or Mr Euan MacGregor's ready acceptance that made her approachable to her neighbours was not given but one might assume it was a little bit of both. Either way, Elizabeth needed not to sit out a single dance for the rest of the evening because her hand was most sought after and she rarely needed to rest. Her next partner was Sir William Gordon-Cummings, newly come to his title and just of age. He was the queerest of creatures, ugly yet Elizabeth liked his looks, tall and well made. His awkwardness stemmed more from oddity than gracelessness, extraordinary in his cleverness as much as want of it. He seemed quite taken with Elizabeth which was flattering in an adorable puppy sort of fashion. He was an accomplished dancer and an interesting conversationalist. Elizabeth laughed more than she contributed as he elaborated eloquently about his much anticipated trip to the continent. She hoped he was travelling with some reliable companions as Sir William's knowledge of geography was sorely lacking. He would be so disappointed when he entered Florence and could not find the Venetian waterways...
Elizabeth danced all night, this kind of exertion she could easily withstand an entire evening and long into the morning hours. Her elaborately styled hair that Evina had brushed bright with rose oil and spent hours to tame was escaping its pins but Elizabeth pulled it back up and continued to clap, dance, laugh and be merry until a hush fell over the party.
It was midnight! According to a couple of decades of tradition or 1788, to be precise, the Highlanders had linked arms and sang Robert Burns; Auld Lang Syne, to welcome the new year. Elizabeth had the arm of her current dance partner, Mr Grant not to be mistaken with the Hertfordshire Grants but it was the surname of half neighbourhood, that is to say, the half that was not named MacGregor. Miss Moira MacGregor stood nearby and Elizabeth stretched out her hand and invited her to join the merry line. Miss Moira MacGregor looked her in the eyes while pretending not to understand her meaning. Elizabeth immediately schooled her features into a more serious mien and called out Moira again.
"Would you not join us, Miss MacGregor?"
"No, I must see to that Laird Eilein has a tumbler of whiskey. He has played all evening and must be in want of a reprieve."
Elizabeth felt like she had been doused in a bucket of ice-cold water. Her countenance fell and her manners were consequently much subdued compared to earlier in the evening. She stemmed her alto voice with the other revellers but her joy had evaporated with the rebuke. She had, perhaps, enjoyed the evening too much. Laird Eilein had kept his eyes on her and he had occasionally frowned but that was his usual way, it was nothing out of the ordinary to Elizabeth. If he resented her merrymaking, he would have to address it. She would not curtail the first evening of pleasure she had had in months because of a dour husband, not of her choosing. It was obvious that more than her husband was displeased with her conduct and she glanced at Mr and Mrs MacGregor but they paid her no mind, signing joyfully. Her husband wore a stormy expression, at least his sentiments were easy to decipher but Elizabeth found no cause to repine her conduct. She had behaved with the decorum as befitted the mistress of the clan.
The song ended as the clock struck twelve long chimes. Immediately afterwards, there was a knock at the door.
"The first footer has arrived," someone exclaimed and rushed to the door. "Let us hope he is tall, dark and preferably handsome too..."
Outside, Reverend Peter Grant stood bearing gifts in his arms. Black bun and shortbreads, coal, salt and a clunk of Whiskey. His timely arrival was to bring comfort and warmth for the next twelve months. Mr Grant was ushered inside by a gaggle of whiskey induced females. Elizabeth did not quite know how to act upon this tradition no one had bothered to inform her about. She kept in the background until the commotion of finding their wrappers and greatcoats had settled and the party adjourned to a parlour that led out onto a balcony.
Laird Eilein and his men had prepared a feast for the eye with fireworks built as a totem in the back garden. The pyrotechnics[footnoteRef:3] burst forth, rockets howled towards the moon and Bengal lights shimmered faintly in the clouds of smoke that drift towards them with the distinct sulphuric smell of gunpowder. [3: Quirky fact: Pyrotechnics was invented two thousand years ago by the Chinese and I have worked five years at an explosive plant testing, among other things, gunpowder. ]
The fireworks were stunning, rivalling the blaze she had seen in London in 1809 in celebration of King George the thirds golden jubilee but Elizabeth could no longer muster to rise to the gayety surrounding her. She worried her lips with her fingers as she recounted her movements through the evening. She could not account for Miss Moira's harsh judgement but something must have rattled her.
The party sought the warmth of the great hall when the fireworks had burned out. Whiskey was poured into empty tumblers and the dancing commenced until the wee hours of the morning but Elizabeth refrained from joining them. She kept herself busy with tidying, bringing more to drink and clearing empty trays to have them refilled in the kitchen. Her neighbours soon stopped begging her for a set when she had rejected a few gentlemen. They had no qualms in continuing with the more willing wenches.
Elizabeth wondered when they would all go home. It was past three in the morning and she was exhausted to the point of faintness. She felt like she could not stand on her feet a minute more and snuck up the staircase. Her neck prickled, it felt like she was being followed. She did not dare turn around to check but hastened inside her chamber and bolted the door. She rested her back against the cold panels of the door and after a few minutes, she heard footsteps retreating from the hallway and trod down the stairs. She breathed out a sigh of relief and hardly managed to pull down her hair before falling promptly asleep on her bed.
#
He heard the bolt slide into position. He rained indecisively outside the door, contemplating if he should knock to gain entry or let his exhausted wife get some much-needed sleep.
The evening had come as a revelation to him. He had caught a glimpse of the real Elizabeth, the Elizabeth she must have been before his disastrous sojourn to Pemberley and the impulsive act he had committed that would shackle her to him for the rest of her life. He had not thought it would be such a burden to be his wife. Time and reflection had taught him otherwise but he was too deep into this quagmire to harbour any hope of escape for either of them. He needed his heir but he could not bring himself to force his attentions on an unwilling bride. He respected her too much which he admitted was a paradox if he had ever heard one. Had he known of a way to undo this tangle he had created, he would have done so he thought before he corrected himself. He could send her home and live his life without an heir but his duty was too strongly embedded in him to act so selfishly. No, that was not true either. He wanted her too much to let her go, even more so after seeing her dancing and laughing with his friends. He had never seen her thus which was a sobering thought indeed. He would give her the world if she could look upon him with those sparkling eyes and laugh, just once and it would sustain him for a long while, even make him forget the unjustness that had deprived him of his legacy but it was a futile endeavour that had no happy ending. He would have liked to inquire what Moira had said to her that made her sparkle disappear for the rest of the evening. It was like blowing out a candle and she had become a shell of the person she was. He would have to ask Moira and let his wife sleep. Resolute he padded back down to his guests who would stay for another night before the party ended and they would once again be tiptoeing around each other with no escape.
The Scottish Presbyterian Church embraced the Reformation's ban on Christmas so much that they discouraged festivities around the 25th of December well into the twenty-first century. Christmas was always a very low-key event, celebrated behind closed doors until 1958 when Christmas day became a national holiday in Scotland. Not until 1974 did Boxing Day become an official holiday.