To Scotland and Love Page 2

  But he had a pride that was unquenchable and which doubtless came from his Scottish blood. It made him determined to take as little as possible from his good friend Henry.

  He was aware that if he accepted the ten pounds that Henry had offered him, it would have to be spent on the rent.

  The meagre meals he consumed, when he did not have an invitation to a luncheon or a dinner party, would take up the rest.

  He was most fortunate in that his grandfather had been so well-known in political circles.

  And his mother had a fine ancestral title.

  He was therefore firmly on the guest list of all the great hostesses of London.

  Talbot was assured of a dinner or supper almost every night in one or other of the great houses.

  During the Season he also had received a number of invitations to luncheon.

  Inevitably there were days when he had to eat very frugally in Shepherd Market.

  Alternatively he could go to White’s in the hope that one of the members would pay for his meal.

  He bitterly resented not being able to reciprocate their hospitality with invitations of his own.

  He refused a great number of drinks that he was offered by his friends simply because he knew that he could not pay for a round when it came to his turn.

  “What am I to do, Henry?” he asked him again, now in despair.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Henry answered. “I told my father of your plight, but he merely gave me a long lecture on what a mistake it was to run into such debt.”

  He gave a somewhat humourless laugh before he added,

  “The bill had just come in for those last horses I had bought and the chaise that I ordered from the coachbuilders.”

  “I thought that was an extravagance,” Talbot replied. “After all the one you were driving before was perfectly adequate.”

  “But not really up to date,” Henry said. “I just cannot see why I should pinch and scrape when Papa is rolling in money.”

  “Mind you are certain of that!” Talbot said warningly. “You must know, as I do, that there has been what amounts to a major crisis on the Stock Exchange.”

  Henry shrugged his shoulders.

  “I never read the financial columns of the newspapers,” he said. “My father has the best people to advise him and he does not need mine as well.”

  Talbot thought it was the same attitude that he had himself taken up where his father was concerned.

  It had landed him in the gutter with no means of getting out of it.

  He was only thankful that his mother had not had to live as he did and he just knew how much she would have disliked it.

  ‘I will not give in,’ he told himself. ‘I will find something to do if it kills me.’

  He allowed Henry to treat him to luncheon at White’s.

  He then walked back to his lodgings.

  He had nothing to do before this evening when he had accepted an invitation to dine with the Countess of Warwick at her glorious house in Mayfair..

  The food there would be superlative and so would the drinks and ambience.

  He thought, with a faint sense of humour, that if only he was a camel, he could then eat enough to last him to the end of the week.

  He reached his lodgings at Number 24 Half Moon Street.

  The porter opened the door to him.

  ‘Oh, there you be, Mr. Marsham,” he exclaimed. “There’s a gentleman askin’ ’ere for you.”

  “A gentleman?” Talbot exclaimed. “Who is it? Did he give you his name?”

  “Nah,” the porter replied, “but ’e says as ’e were very anxious to ’ave a word with you, so I takes ’im upstairs, knowin’ you’d be in sooner or later.”

  “I wonder who it can be?” Talbot pondered.

  He never encouraged any of his friends, with the exception of Henry, to visit him in Half Moon Street.

  He just knew that they would be shocked at the grubby attic where he was living.

  They would perhaps make a joke about it, which he would find entirely embarrassing.

  “’E be upstairs, Mr. Marsham,” the porter said. “A Scottish gentleman I thinks ’e be from the way ’e talks.”

  Talbot stared at the porter and was about to ask him a question.

  Then he thought that the best thing he could do was to go and find out for himself.

  He climbed the stairs to the attic.

  He thought that few men of his acquaintance would enjoy the last flight of stairs, which were very steep.

  Turning the handle, he opened the door, bending his head to enter the attic.

  The doorway was only a little over five feet from the ground and he was a tall man.

  The ceiling slanted in on both sides of the room and there were several stalwart wooden posts to hold it up.

  The only redeeming feature was the sloping window at the North end.

  Many years ago it had been enlarged for an artist who had chosen to live there and it had an excellent North light, which he had required for his painting.

  It certainly made the attic more cheerful than it would otherwise have been.

  From the window there was a good view of the many roofs of Mayfair and, in particular, of Shepherd Market.

  Sitting in an upright chair near the window was an elderly man whom Talbot had never seen before.

  He was wearing a plaid cloak, which seemed strange and out of date in London.

  Although he was bare-headed, he was holding in his hand what appeared to Talbot to be a tam-o’shanter.

  As Talbot came into the room, the man rose to his feet.

  “I think,” he said with a strong Scottish accent, “you’ll be Mr. Talbot Marsham?”

  “That is indeed correct,” Talbot replied, “and I am curious to know why you have called on me.”

  “I came to London,” the Scotsman answered, “to look for your mother, the Lady Janet.

  “I know you will be sorry to learn that my mother is dead,” Talbot replied, “and, as I am sure that you have come from Scotland, will you please tell me your name?”

  “It is Andrew McCairn,” the Scotsman replied.

  “Then you are one of the Clan that my mother belongs to.”

  “That is very true,” Andrew McCairn replied. “And ’tis bad news, very bad news that her Ladyship’s no longer alive. We were not aware of that in Scotland.”

  “It was three years ago,” Talbot said, “but I naturally did not notify her father, the Earl, because he has never communicated with her since she married my father.”

  “I knew that, Mr. Marsham,” Andrew McCairn said. But the Earl of Cairnloch, who was your grandfather, died two months ago and we, the Elders, have been trying ever since to find your mother.”

  It then suddenly occurred to Talbot that perhaps, although it seemed extremely unlikely, the Earl had left his mother some money.

  In which case it would certainly be a Godsend if it was now his.

  “My grandfather died three years ago,” he said aloud. “He must have been very old?”

  “Aye, nigh on eighty-five, but a fine man for all that! He was deeply respected by the Clan.”

  “My mother often spoke of him,” Talbot said, “and I suppose her only brother, who was a few years younger than her, must now be your Chieftain.”

  “Lord Donald died many years ago,” Andrew replied. “He was never very strong and he was only sixteen when he succumbed to pneumonia during one very cold winter.”

  “My mother was not aware of it,” Talbot said. “As you know, she had no communication with her family for many years.”

  “That is why I had a really hard job finding you,” Andrew answered. “They told me at the house where her Ladyship once lived that you were here.”

  “Then I am afraid, although it is very kind of you to come so far,” Talbot said, “that your journey has been in vain.”

  He looked round the small attic a little helplessly before he added,

  “I feel I s
hould offer you some refreshment, but unfortunately I have nothing up here at the moment.”

  “No, no,” Andrew said quickly. “I’ve eaten a good meal and I have no need of anythin’ more than to talk to you aboot the future.”

  “The future?” Talbot questioned.

  “I came South to England to find her Ladyship,” Andrew explained, “and to tell her that, as her father, the Earl, is dead, that she was now the Chieftain of the Clan.”

  Talbot looked at him in surprise.

  “I had forgotten until you said that,” Talbot exclaimed, “that my mother told me that in Scotland inheritance can go through the female line if there is no male heir. But, of course, she would have assumed, once her father had died, that her brother would become the next Chieftain.”

  “The place,” Andrew said solemnly, “would have been filled by Lady Janet, but now that she’s no longer with us, it is, of course, Mr. Marsham, yours!”

  Talbot stared at him.

  He could not for a moment believe what he had heard.

  “Mine?” he said after a long silence. “But how can I be your Chieftain?”

  “You are now already,” Andrew McCairn said solemnly, “the Earl of Cairnloch. And I’m beggin’ you on behalf of the Elders of the Clan to return with me to Scotland and take up the place that has been left vacant by your grandfather’s death.”

  He spoke as if he was proclaiming from a pulpit like John Knox at the time of the Civil War.

  Talbot was stunned.

  Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought that there was any chance of him going to Scotland.

  He had never imagined for one moment that his mother would be called back to be the Chieftain of the Clan.

  Yet he could understand that, as she was dead and could not become the Countess of Cairnloch, the title and the Chieftainship would go to him.

  It was such a shock that, hardly knowing what he was doing, he rose to his feet.

  He walked to the window to stand looking out with unseeing eyes over the roofs.

  The sun was shining and it seemed to him that everything glimmered and glistened.

  He felt as if he had been suddenly wafted from the darkness of despair into a light that came from Heaven.

  He could almost believe that his mother was looking down at him and telling him that it was just what shehad wanted for him.

  She wanted him to look after the people who she belonged to.

  Andrew McCairn did not speak.

  His eyes were on Talbot’s back.

  What he had seen of the young man so far had pleased him.

  He was tall, good-looking and broad-shouldered just like a typical Scotsman.

  There was something frank and straightforward about him that Andrew had liked from the first moment he came into the attic.

  After some time Talbot turned back.

  “Are you really saying,” he asked in a low voice, “that you want me in Scotland? You are sure that there is nobody else that the Clan would rather have?”

  “You are the rightful heir,” Andrew said, “and the Cairns who are old enough have never forgotten your mother.”

  Talbot longed to reply that the Scots never forgot anything and that definitely included his grandfather’s animosity towards his father.

  It had made him never forgive his daughter for daring to marry a Sassenach.

  Aloud he said,

  “I could come back with you, in fact I would like to do so, but I want to make sure that I am accepted by your people.”

  “They are your people too, my Lord,” Andrew corrected him.

  Talbot drew in his breath at the way that Andrew had just addressed him.

  “Am I really the Earl of Cairnloch?” he asked. “I find it very hard to believe.”

  “It be your right, accordin’ to Scottish law,” Andrew assured him, “and the Elders will accept you, although I should tell you that there be another applicant.”

  “Who is that?” Talbot asked.

  “Perhaps your mother told you that she had a sister?”

  “Yes, of course,” Talbot replied. “My mother often spoke of her. She was, however, very hurt that her sister, Heather, never wrote to her from the time that she had left The Castle for good.”

  “She would have obeyed her father’s strictest orders,” Andrew said, “In fact he issued instructions to everybody that Lady Janet was no more his daughter and should not be spoken of by anybody who called himself a McCairn.”

  “I think that is what my mother expected him to do,” Talbot answered, “and I think in such circumstances it was very brave of her to run away with the man she loved.”

  He spoke somewhat aggressively as if he thought that Andrew would contradict him.

  But the old man merely said,

  “Feelings against the English run very deep in Scotland and your grandfather was a man who never forgave anyone who disobeyed him or his orders.”

  “Feelings against the English,” Talbot responded. “Then do you seriously believe that they will accept me? And who is the other applicant?”

  “That is what I was about to tell you,” Andrew replied. “It is the son of Lady Heather. She married a cousin, a McCairn. The son is now aged twenty. His name is ‘Alastair’.”

  “And the McCairns would not rather have my Cousin Alastair than me?” Talbot asked.

  Andrew shook his head.

  “It is you who are the rightful heir and the McCairns want things done in the traditional way. As your mother is now with God, I know well that I am right in taking you back as our Chieftain.”

  Talbot drew in his breath.

  Then he said,

  “Very well, Andrew. I shall be very glad to go with you. But you will understand that I have various friends I must see before I leave and perhaps I should also point out that I do not possess a kilt!”

  Andrew laughed.

  “That can be easily remedied, my Lord, and I will, of course, await your convenience. After all, it’s already taken me two weeks since I reached London to find out where your mother lived and to meet with you.”

  “Very well,” Talbot agreed. “We will go in three or four days’ time. However, I think I should tell you that I have no money to pay for my expenses on the journey.”

  “I have all the money needed,” Andrew said. “And, as the Earl, you’re a very rich man. I’ll advance you anythin’ you may require, my Lord.”

  Talbot stared at him.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “I have an account at the Bank of Scotland,” Andrew explained. “So I can cash a cheque there for any sum your Lordship may care to mention.”

  Talbot put his hand up to his forehead.

  He wondered if he was dreaming and if he would suddenly wake up.

  If he did, he would find himself in the small rather uncomfortable bed tucked away in a corner of the attic.

  As if Andrew followed the way that he was thinking, he said,

  “I admit I’m surprised, my Lord, to find you awa up here in the clouds if there be no reason for it. But perhaps you have a reason and you’re an artist?”

  It flashed through Talbot’s mind that it would not augur well for the Clan if Andrew was to say that he was sleeping in a garret because he could not afford anything better.

  It also cast aspersions upon his father, who had carried off his mother from the comfort and beauty of The Castle.

  With an effort he forced a smile to his lips.

  “I am not at all surprised,” he replied, “that you thought I might be an artist and in fact an artist lodged here before me. But my reason is rather different.”

  He saw that Andrew was listening and so he went on,

  “I am in fact writing a book and I wanted somewhere where it was quiet and, you might almost say, amongst the clouds. I found, because I could look over the roofs and up at the sky, that this place was inspiring, while it would be very difficult for me to write in more formal surroundings.”

 
“I’ve always understood, my Lord,” Andrew replied, “that authors, like artists, must have the proper background when they are seeking inspiration.”

  “You are right,” Talbot said, “and I hope when finally my book is published that you will read and enjoy it.”

  “I shall be very proud to do so,” Andrew said quietly.

  Feeling a little guilty, Talbot said quickly,

  “I would ask you to dinner with me tonight, but I have already promised to dine with the Countess of Warwick and you will understand that it would upset her Ladyship’s numbers if I was unable to turn up.”

  “I do understand, my Lord,” Andrew said. “And you must not worry aboot me. I believe that I know of a Scottish tailor here in London and tomorrow we will go there and see if he can provide you with a kilt. It is somethin’ special I think you should have before you arrive in the North.”

  “Thank you. That would be very helpful,” Talbot said.

  He escorted the old man down the stairs, feeling embarrassed because he had difficulty descending the very steep steps from the attic floor.

  There was no carriage waiting for the Scotsman.

  He assured Talbot, however, that he could find his way to Albemarle Street where he was staying in a quiet hotel.

  “Don’t trouble to come to me tomorrow morning,” Talbot said. “I will arrive at your hotel at ten o’clock, if that is not too early for you?”

  Andrew chuckled.

  “In Scotland we rise with the sun,” he said, “and sleep when it goes doon.”

  “Thank you for coming. Thank you very much for finding me,” Talbot said as he shook him by the hand. “I will try to be ready to leave with you on Friday morning. Will we be travelling by train?”

  Andrew shook his head.

  “’Tis easier by ship,” he said.

  “Very well,” Talbot replied. “I will leave you to make the bookings.”

  “I will do that, my Lord, and I’m thankin’ God that I have found you and now the Clan will no longer be without a Chieftain.”

  He then walked away briskly away down Half Moon Street towards Piccadilly.

  Talbot watched him for some minutes.

  He could hardly believe what he had just heard.

  He knew that his whole world had turned upside down and the future was no longer bleak and frightening but golden.