74. Love Lifts The Curse Read online

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Scots have always been extremely superstitious and their curses are part of the history of every great Clan.

  For instance, Lord and Lady Airlie have a drummer at Cortachy Castle who cursed the family before he died in 1661.

  The drum is always heard as a prelude to another death in the family.

  In the seventeenth century a gypsy, whose two dumb sons were hanged for something they had not done, cursed Lord and Lady Crawford of Edzell Castle with the words,

  “By all the demons of hell! I curse you! For you, Lady Crawford, you shall not see the sun set, you and the unborn babe you carry will both be buried in the same grave and for you, Lord Crawford, you shall die a death that would make the boldest man ever born of a woman, even to witness, shriek with fear.”

  Lady Crawford died that same day and soon afterwards her husband was devoured by wolves.

  The Scots have every reason to dislike the ‘Sassenachs’ as they call the English.

  But the merest hint of Scottish blood brings out the friendliness in them and they believe that person belongs to them.

  I know this very well as my grandmother on my father’s side was a Falkner and a descendant of Robert the Bruce.

  My great-grandmother on my mother’s side was a Hamilton, so my Scottish blood makes me know that I am, indeed, a part of Scotland, and it is something I am very proud of.

  CHAPTER ONE

  1879

  Jacoba looked round the room.

  It was devoid of furniture with the exception of two pieces so old and broken that they were unsaleable.

  The diamond-paned windows looked out onto the garden and the sun was shining.

  It seemed to her impossible that after living in the Tudor gabled house for the whole of her life that she now had nowhere to go.

  She had never imagined that she would have to leave the village where she knew everybody.

  She had to say goodbye to the home where she had been so happy with her father and mother.

  At the end of the village ran a long brick wall, which encircled the estate of her uncle, Lord Bresford.

  She knew every tree in the Park, every enchanted pool in the wood.

  She loved the paddocks where the horses were exercised and the sparkling stream that ran through the garden.

  They had all been the background to her childhood fantasies.

  Then had come a bombshell – there was no other word for it. Her whole world had been shattered when her father and her uncle were killed in a train crash returning from London.

  While her mother was alive, her father had been content in Worcestershire with his horses, his shooting and occasionally a day’s salmon fishing on the River Avon.

  After her death he was alone except for Jacoba, who was only fifteen.

  It was then he began to go regularly to London with his brother.

  Lord Bresford, a bachelor, who was only eighteen months older than her father, had always been the talk of the village. They whispered about his raffish behaviour with the beautiful women of the Social world, as well as the Gaiety Girls.

  Jacoba had listened to all the gossip and thought that the Gaiety Girls had a certain enchantment about them, something she thought with a sigh that she would never know.

  Her father had talked vaguely of taking her to London when she was grown up.

  As the years passed however they became more and more hard up.

  When her father returned from his visits to London, he would invariably search for some object of value in the house to sell.

  Jacoba learnt to her surprise that her uncle was doing the same.

  “How can you sell that silver bowl, Papa?” she had protested. “Mama said it was left to you by your Godfather and originally belonged to King George III.”

  “I will get a good price for it,” her father retorted sharply, “and I need the money.”

  “But why? What have you bought that is so expensive?”

  “It is not what I have bought, but what I have spent!” her father answered. “Everything in London is five times the price it is in the country. You will not understand, but there are women who charm like magnets every penny out of one’s pocket.”

  He was right, Jacoba did not understand.

  However she ceased to say anything even when the Queen Anne mirrors were taken down from the walls.

  And finally her mother’s jewellery was no longer in the safe.

  When she was nearly eighteen, she felt certain her father would suggest that she went with him to London.

  He obviously could not afford to give a ball for her, but she thought that he would introduce her to the hostesses who according to the newspapers gave such large parties, receptions and balls every night.

  Instead her father went off as usual with his brother.

  He told her to ‘be a good girl’ and that he would be away for only a short time.

  She was just nineteen when he was returning from his last visit, which ended so disastrously.

  Jacoba could not believe it could possibly be true.

  The Chief Constable came to tell her that there had been a terrible crash on the railway line from Paddington to Worcester.

  Among the dead were her father and her uncle.

  The joint funeral of the two brothers was held in the little village Church and their coffins were placed in the family vault.

  Jacoba noticed at the time, but did not then appreciate the seriousness of it, that there were hardly any relatives present.

  Lord Bresford’s and his brother the Honourable Richard Ford’s death had been written up in all the newspapers, especially in The Times and The Morning Post.

  Yet only three relatives attended their funeral.

  They were all cousins. One was a very old man of over eighty who lived in the next County and the other two were elderly female cousins who lived together in a tiny cottage near Malvern.

  Jacoba knew that her family had originally come from Cornwall and, if there were any relatives living there, she had never met them.

  After the funeral she had little time to think about relatives.

  Only of the mountain of bills that poured in from London.

  Apparently neither her father nor her uncle had paid what they owed for ages.

  Then the creditors arrived to see what there was of value at Wick House where her uncle had lived.

  His Solicitor told Jacoba that everything would have to be sold.

  “Everything?” she had asked incredulously.

  “I am afraid so,” the Solicitor replied, “and I doubt if what we receive for Wick House and The Gables will be enough to pay off all that is owed.”

  Jacoba stared at him.

  Then she asked,

  “Did you say – The Gables?”

  “That will have to go too,” the Solicitor said, “and of course, its contents, although your father has already sold a great deal of the more valuable items.”

  Jacoba could hardly believe it.

  When the day came for the sale, she could only sit thinking that she must be in some dreadful nightmare.

  The family portraits at Wick House were ‘knocked down’ for a few pounds and the portrait of her mother that she loved so much was sold for what seemed a mere pittance.

  Even her father’s clothes were put up for auction.

  She begged the Solicitor to let her keep some of the things she had known and loved since she was a child, especially those that had belonged to her mother.

  He told her firmly that she could only keep those items that actually belonged to her. Everything else had to be sold.

  She tried not to cry as her father’s and uncle’s horses were taken away by loca
l farmers.

  When, after the sale was over and she went back to The Gables, all that was left in the house were her bed and her trunks.

  “How – how long can I – stay at The Gables?” she asked the Solicitor, thinking frantically that she had nowhere to go.

  “Until it is sold,” he said, “and it would be wise if you went to live with one of your relatives.”

  “What relatives?” she asked.

  “Surely you have some?” the Solicitor enquired.

  She tried to remember those who had come to the funeral.

  The two old ladies who had told her that they lived in a tiny cottage she knew were very poor.

  “We would love you to come and see us, dear,” they had said when the funeral was over. “We cannot ask you to stay the night as we have no spare bedroom, but you are very welcome to come to luncheon or tea.”

  The old cousin who had come from Gloucestershire was, she had learnt, living with his daughter who was married and had three children.

  “This is a nice house your father had,” he said to Jacoba. “I can see that it is quiet and peaceful. I have to put up with so much noise at home that it leaves me dazed at times!”

  Before Jacoba could say anything he had added,

  “I must not grumble. I am too old to live by myself and at least my daughter and her husband give me a roof over my head!”

  Jacoba knew that she could not turn to any of them for help.

  She was also aware that she had no money.

  “Your mother left you what little she possessed,” the Solicitor told her, “and it’s a mercy that your father could not get his hands on it, otherwise it might have been spent.”

  “How much is there?” Jacoba asked.

  “She had invested fifty pounds in Government Stock, which with accumulated interest is now worth nearly seventy pounds,” the Solicitor replied. “But you must understand that when that is spent you will have nothing more.”

  “Then – what shall – I do?” Jacoba asked weakly.

  “I believe you have been well educated,” the Solicitor replied, “and I am sure that you can find yourself some sort of employment.”

  He thought for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “You are still too young to be a Governess in charge of children and – ”

  He stopped. He had been about to say ‘too pretty’, but thought it would be a mistake.

  As a Solicitor he was well aware how often young Governesses could get into trouble, either with the father or an elder brother of the children they looked after.

  He had realised since he had talked to Jacoba that she was not only young but also very innocent.

  He wondered what position he could possibly suggest to her.

  It must be somewhere where she should be safe and not at the mercy of some man who would ruin her.

  “I have an idea,” he said after a moment. “Why not try for a post as a companion to some elderly lady? There are, I believe, in the Social world, quite a number who employ readers when their sight is not as good as it was and who also want somebody to take their pets out for a walk and change their books at the library.”

  “It does not sound very arduous,” Jacoba smiled.

  “I expect it depends on the person you are serving,” he replied. “Some old people can be cantankerous and others are exceedingly voluble!”

  He was obviously speaking from experience and Jacoba laughed.

  Then she said,

  “It would be exciting to go to London. After all I have lived here all my life and have seen nothing of the world.”

  The Solicitor thought London could prove dangerous for her, but aloud he said,

  “I tell you what I will do, Miss Ford, I will look at the advertisements in The Times and The Morning Post to see if there is anybody asking for a companion. If we cannot find one, I will insert an advertisement for you at my own expense.”

  “That is very very kind of you,” Jacoba sighed, “and I only hope that if you find me a place I will not let you down by being a failure.”

  The Solicitor thought that the way she spoke was very touching.

  He was an elderly man and had been married for thirty years, but he thought, with her clear skin and large eyes that were grey rather than the traditional blue, that she was one of the loveliest young women he had ever seen.

  Her hair was fair with little touches of red in it.

  She looked, in a way that he could not describe, different from other girls of her age.

  He drove back to Worcester.

  As he went, he asked himself how the hell the Honourable Richard Ford could have got himself into such a mess.

  He had always known that Lord Bresford was a rake and a spendthrift. However his brother Richard had always seemed sensible and respectable until his wife had died.

  ‘He should have thought of his daughter when he was amusing himself in London with women who want only one thing from a man and that is his money!’ he thought angrily.

  He had not told Jacoba that among the bills that had come down from London there had been quite large ones for jewellery, furs and clothes. Expensive gifts from her father to some alluring creature with tastes.

  *

  At The Gables, Jacoba cooked herself two eggs for supper.

  She ate in the kitchen at a rickety table, one leg of which was supported on a brick and the table top had warped until there was a wide crack down the middle of it.

  The chair was also unsaleable because it had lost its back and was nothing but a stool with the broken pieces protruding so that she had to be careful how she sat on it.

  She was thankful that the stove was a fixture.

  There was a little coal left and plenty of wood in the garden.

  ‘Perhaps I can stay here for quite a long time,’ she thought as she ate her eggs, ‘and I might find something to do in the neighbourhood.’

  She could not think of anyone, however, who wanted a paid companion and she had a feeling that the farmers would be embarrassed if she suggested working for them.

  Three days later, however, there came another blow.

  The Solicitor, Mr. Brownlow, called to tell her that there had been an offer for the house and the estate.

  “And – The Gables?” Jacoba asked anxiously.

  “I am afraid so,” he answered. “You do see, my dear, that The Gables was originally the Dower House and therefore my partners insisted on including it with the cottages and the land that goes with Wick House.”

  He saw the expression, which was one of despair, in Jacoba’s eyes and added quickly,

  “But I also have some good news for you! I saw this morning in The Morning Post an advertisement which I thought was certainly interesting.”

  “What does it say?” Jacoba asked.

  Mr. Brownlow had brought The Morning Post amongst his other papers.

  He opened it and read,

  “‘Young lady required as companion for elderly Peer living in Scotland. Must be well-educated and prepared to enjoy the Highlands. Apply, Hamish McMurdock Esq., White’s Club, St. James’s Street, London SW.”

  As Mr. Brownlow finished reading the advertisement in his rather pompous voice Jacoba exclaimed,

  “That would mean I would have to go to Scotland!”

  “Would you mind that?” he enquired.

  “No – of course not – I have always wanted to see the Highlands – and I am sure it would be very interesting.”

  Mr. Brownlow thought privately that she would also be out of the way of the raffish young men she might encounter in London or anywhere else for that matter, who would undoubtedly behave as her father had.

  “I certainly think the advertisement is worth answering,” he suggested.

  “I will do that at once,” Jacoba said. “We fortunately did not sell the ink or the pen, so I will go and fetch them!”

  She flashed him a smile as she ran from the kitchen and he reflected,

  ‘She
is far too young to be on her own, but an elderly Peer should not be particularly dangerous.’

  He had always understood that the Scots were a God-fearing people who kept the Sabbath very strictly.

  They worshipped in their Kirks and they drew the blinds in their homes to keep out the sunshine on the Sabbath.

  ‘She should be safe there!’ he decided. ‘And perhaps she will find a decent man who will marry her even if she does not have a penny to her name.’

  Jacoba came hurrying back with the ink and a quill-pen.

  Mr. Brownlow dictated to her what she should say in her letter, emphasising that she had received an excellent education. He also made her write that she would be delighted to come to London for an interview with Mr. McMurdock.

  However, he must understand that, as she was not employed at the moment, she had to ask him to provide her with expenses for the journey.

  “Do you not – think that – sounds a little – grasping?” Jacoba asked.

  “Now, listen to me, my dear,” Mr. Brownlow said. “You have only seventy pounds between yourself and starvation. When that is spent, you will either have to beg in the streets or else come back here and hope that one of the villagers will take pity on you.”

  “How – could I – do that?” Jacoba asked. “They are all very poor, as you know, and most of them have no – room for – their own children, let alone – a visitor!”

  “Then you must not spend a penny of your own money,” Mr. Brownlow said. “Just keep it for emergencies and whatever anyone asks you to do they must pay for it.”

  “I expect the journey to Scotland will be very expensive,” Jacoba remarked.

  “Then unless they pay your fare you cannot go!” Mr. Brownlow insisted firmly.

  He repeated his warning several times while he was with Jacoba.

  When he left, he only hoped if an answer did come from London that she would be sensible enough to obey his instructions.

  Once he had gone Jacoba ran down to the village with the letter.

  She found herself feeling excited at the prospect of going to Scotland.

  It was not only because it was somewhere new and a country that she had always wanted to visit.

  It was also because she was finding it increasingly depressing to stay in the empty house.