Jennie About to Be (20 page)

They returned it in both English and Gaelic; the slight dark man against the wall neither moved nor spoke. The children, released from the iron grip of shyness, ran and leaped about them, and the dogs ran with the children. One of the boys came up to Jennie carrying a small black kid. She took it from him and hugged it, put her face in the soft fur of its baby neck, fondled a miniature hoof. Then she returned it, saying, “He is very handsome.”

Morag translated it. The child gave her a blazing smile. He let the kid go, and it ran crying to its bleating mother.

The escort went as far as the brook, with the smallest children hoisted on the backs of the older ones. Jennie and Morag crossed by the steppingstones, and the children boldly shouted their good-byes, very brave now that the lady was leaving. Morag gave them obvious admonitions, making shooing gestures, and they turned and started back over the rocky ground, talking among themselves. Those unencumbored with younger ones climbed up on the biggest boulders, jumped off with shouts, and raced for the next.

“The brook is forbidden for them to cross,” Morag explained. “Or to play near. It is very deep in some places, and it is always fast. Long ago two children drowned in it.”

“Who was that man?” Jennie asked. “The one who just came?”

“Alick Gilchrist. He lives over the loch. A Dia, he shamed me with his bad manners!”

“Gilchrist, did you say?”

“Many are named Gilchrist at Linnmore. My name is Gilchrist.”

Jennie stopped in delighted astonishment. “Then you are all clans-people.”

“The old people still call it that. It makes it all the harder for them when—” She stopped and, as if to avoid Jennie's eyes, swooped down and snapped off a piece of uncurling fern.

“When what?” Jennie asked. “And what was meant by ‘the enclosing'? Enclosing of what?”

“It doesn't matter, Mistress.” Morag straightened up. A radiant confidence had replaced her embarrassment. “It doesn't matter at all, when the Captain is factor. For isn't he one of us?”

He was, indeed, and in the face of Morag's luminous certainty Jennie could now dismiss the man's cool insolence and the way he had smiled.

“The children have no school, have they, Morag?”

“No, Mistress.”

“What about yourself?”

“Mistress Grant taught me to write and read. I went up to Tigh nam Fuaran as a very young girl.”

“And Aili—can she read and write?”

“I try to teach her. She is a wee bit slow.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “It's not that fine a teacher I am.”

“I would like to start a school here,” Jennie said. “I know I can't reach all the children on the estate, but I can teach these, and you could help me. You could translate for me, and you could be teaching me Gaelic at the same time, so I could speak it to them.”

It was nothing she had planned. The seed had germinated all at once when the children surrounded her. “I can teach out of doors when it's fair, up here on the ridge or on the drying green behind the house. Indoors when it's bad. We could use one of the empty bedrooms for a schoolroom.”

“I will do anything you ask,” Morag was promising, tearful with joy. “
Anything!
”

Papa would approve of her using some of her sovereigns for slates and everything else she needed.

“Would the parents let the children come, do you think?”

“They will be so grateful,” Morag assured her. “They will make them come.”

“We'll make it happy for them, Morag, with singing and stories. And
cakes
.”

“White bread and butter they'd like, Mistress.” Morag spoke from experience. “When I first came here, it was better than any cakes to me.”

“Then they shall have it,” said Jennie. “Now I must think how to get slates and things. Are there any shops in the village?”

Morag looked distressed. “A few, but I am afraid—but perhaps in Dornoch or Kirkton—”

“Don't worry.” Jennie laid a hand on the girl's arm. “They can be got somewhere, I know.” She went ahead down the return track and stopped at the fern-fringed pool. Some long-stemmed purple violets had opened up and languished over their trembling reflections. The sight of them crowned the day for Jennie; the first violets had always been her personal good omen.

J
ENNIE SPENT
the rest of the afternoon wandering through the woods around Tigh nam Fuaran, absentmindedly looking for bluebells and more violets. She didn't want to pick them and take them home, any more than she wanted to imprison any of the birds she watched and heard, when she could put her mind on them. She was preoccupied with her school plans. She had never dreamed that she could contribute so much to the welfare of the estate, and she could hardly believe that she was involved in it so soon.

When she heard hooves on the road, she went out to meet Nigel. “Who's this bedraggled gypsy urchin?” he called.

“You have no idea how comfortable wet feet can be after a while,” she said. “But wet hems drag a bit. Trousers are better. Kilts would be best. Nigel, why don't you and Archie wear kilts? Your father looks superb in his.”

“And he wore the kilt when it was proscribed by law, too, which makes him all the more superb.” Nigel dismounted and took her into his arms, and they kissed. Adam nudged impartially and emphatically until they separated, laughing. “He wants his supper, the tyrant,” said Nigel.

“So no lallygagging. Go along, the two of you.”

“Is he master or am I?” Nigel looped the reins over one arm and put the other around her, and they walked.

“Was your meeting productive?” Jennie asked.

“Oh, yes. . . . What have you been doing all afternoon?”

“I went down to the cottages.” She had to stop to talk. “Oh, Nigel, you must visit them soon! They speak of you with such fondness, they're so happy you're here and so anxious to see you. Oh, and I met Hamish! Fancy, he's Morag's father. Did you know that?”

“Morag's father, is he?” Nigel looked bemused.

“And he was your father's ghillie.”

“I shall have to get down to have a talk with Hamish.”

“The men want to talk with
you
. They want to work; they're worried about their rents.” Adam was tossing his head about and snorting in exasperation, so they walked on. “I like them, Nigel,” she said fervently. “They are so warm and friendly and not servile. I'd
hate
that. They wish us many lads and lasses.”

“I'm sure they do, but you mustn't make free of the place down there.”

“I don't intend to intrude on them, but at home I went wherever I pleased.”

“This isn't home. At least, not that home.” He seemed as frustrated as Adam. “Oh, hang it, girl, you know what I mean!”

“No, I don't,” she said mildly. “I thought this was our home, forever and ever, world without end.”

“Of course it'll be ours when the time comes, but now it's Archie's by law and Christabel's by money, so we—oh, Lord!” He scowled at her. “Can't you see?” Adam lowered his head and gave Nigel's shoulder a hard shove. “And
you
keep out of this!” Nigel said to him, and Jennie began to laugh.

“Come along. Any moment now he could turn carnivorous. . . . I know Christabel calls the tune, my darling man. The first ten minutes with her told me all I needed to know. But, Nigel, I don't intend to be an elegant automaton that sits in a chair with its feet on a footstool and does fine needlework. I want to be occupied when I'm not with you, and I want to be useful. But I promise I won't go out of my way to offend her.”

He looked relieved. “I love your spirit, Jennie, darling, but I don't want to jeopardize our life here. It can be very good.”

“It's very good already,” she protested. “It's almost perfect. But it can be even better. You and Archie are determined to improve things for the tenants—I refuse to say ‘peasants,' that's her word—and I want to have a part of it. So, Nigel, my angel, I am going to have a school. At first it will be for the children close by, but with time—”

“Good God!”

“You're staring at me as if you'd just found out I've married three times before or that I'm going to elope with a groom. In a hackney coach,” she added. “Like Lady Caroline Wellesley. Nigel, you can't be that horrified! Please tell me you aren't.” Her stomach was roiling. “How could Christabel possibly object? It won't cost the estate anything; it will be nothing out of her pocket.” She hugged Nigel's arm. “The way to make the parents accept change is through the children. You'll see, they'll be more than willing to have new cottages and learn modern ways. Morag says they'll be happy to have me teach the children, and then
you'll
be able to do anything with them; they're so relieved you're here, and not an Englishman or a Lowlander, who'd be even worse, Morag says. He'd be just as foreign.”

“Morag says”!
he repeated. “Why are you gossiping with the servants? And this school idea—”

“How can one possibly disapprove when children are taught to read and write and figure, girls as well as boys? In time I'll add needlework for the girls, starting with good plain sewing, and the boys could be taught joinery, and other trades, and then they needn't always go for soldiers. It's dreadful to think they should be born and reared only for cannon fodder.”

“Oh, my girl, you're a romantic dreamer.” Nigel wrapped her in his arms and rocked her against his chest.

“No, I'm not.” She burrowed her head under his chin. “I know it can't happen all at once.
Petit à petit l'oiseau fait son nid
. That's the first proverb I learned in French. And I promise you I'll discuss the school with Archie. After all, he is the master here, and I shall respect him as such.” She tilted her head back so she could look into Nigel's face. “With any luck I'll have his consent and his blessing before Christabel can get a whiff of it.”

“You'll manage it if anyone can.”

Adam snorted and sprayed them, which effectively broke them up.

“Never, never discuss a serious or romantic issue with a hungry horse as the third party,” said Jennie.

Fergus came at a shambling trot to take Adam, who practically dragged him to the stables, while Dora called over the paddock wall.

“And now, my love,” Nigel said to Jennie, “you'd better bathe at once. Hair and all. Sometimes they are verminous.” He grinned at her expression. “A fact of life, my dear.”

“Then you shouldn't have hugged me,” she retorted, “because you may have caught a few facts of life from
me
.”

S
HE TOLD THE SERVANTS
they might go home Saturday night to keep the Highland Sabbath with their families. Mrs. MacIver was pleased without being effusive. It was a long walk to the village, but she was used to it, and sundown came later every day. The girls were ebullient at the chance of talking over with their families all the new and happy circumstances.

Only Fergus would not be going away, even on Sunday morning after he had done his chores. It was either his choice or because he had no home but his little room in the stables. “You'll not get a blink of him,” Mrs. MacIver had told Jennie. “I'll see that he has food for the day.”

“This isn't done, you know,” Nigel observed. “Church is one thing, but twenty-four hours?”

“You mean it's not done by Christabel, who doesn't have Highland servants in the house.”

“They'll take advantage.”

“No, they
won't
,” she said.

She could prepare breakfast, and she wanted to. Dinner would be at Linnmore House after church. This looked like being a set Sunday ritual, and she would gracefully accept it as the inevitable dark side of her new life. Besides, she might be able to lure Archie outside to show her around the premises, and then she'd get his permission to start the school.

That night Jennie and Nigel were alone in a house together for the first time in their lives. Candidly enjoying their own bodies and each other's, they made love in the long twilight, lying on the pillows and coverlets they'd spread on the floor beside the fire in their room.

Jennie raised a long naked leg and pointed her toe at the plaster rose on the ceiling. “It's heaven to feel so wicked and know we aren't.”

“Wouldn't it be even more heavenly to feel wicked and
be
?”

“Is that why men go with light women, and supposedly respectable women take lovers?”

“How should I know?” he asked. “When do we have supper?”

“Are you changing the subject?”

“Only because making love makes me hungry.” He got up and walked about the room, looking about seven feet tall. Firelight danced over his body and caught in his yellow hair. “I need to be restored so we can commence all over again.”

“Oh, in that case—” She reached for her wrapper.

They went down to the kitchen and collected the cold supper and wine Mrs. MacIver had set out on a tray for them. They ate and drank sitting on the floor by their fire; afterward they made love again and fell asleep where they were, naked and uncovered. They roused up when the fire had been dead long enough for the room to chill and hurried into bed, snuggling their cold bodies together until they were warm and sleepy again.

Jennie woke with the dawn chorus echoing among the treetops outside the windows. She slid from under the covers without arousing Nigel, shivering, pulled her nightgown on over her head, and went into Nigel's dressing room, where she had tucked away in his armoire the carpetbag she'd forbidden Morag to unpack, saying she'd do it herself. The old wool dressing gown was there, and the fleece-lined slippers. She dressed in them, taking an affectionate joy in the reunion; then she brought out from the bottom the nightgown from that night in Inverness.