A Web of Dreams Page 4

  Good God, thought Bobby. So much for the sober industrious Huguenot.

  Jenny was stooping over the inert figure, tugging at his shoulder. ‘Ned! Ned, wake up! Come on, Ned, we’re ready to go home. Oh, wake up!’

  With blunt kindness the postmaster said, ‘I wouldna fash yourself trying to rouse him. He’ll not open his eyes till he’s slept it off.’

  ‘I’m … er … much obliged to you for looking after him,’ Bobby said. ‘Would you give me a hand to load him aboard?’

  ‘Certainly. I took him in, the poor soul, because he was getting drookit by the rain, but I was getting worried whether anybody would take him off my hands this night.’

  Between them they hefted up the body, carried him out, and laid him on the back seat. Jenny hovered around, trying to ensure that her brother wasn’t bumped or bruised in transit. The postmaster brought out a small valise, which obviously held toilet articles and other necessaries for a journey.

  Suitably rewarded, he backed off, with a little salute. ‘Thank you, sir, and safe driving.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jenny said with fervour, her blushes hidden as she was helped to her seat.

  Bobby shook up the horses. They pulled away, the postmaster holding up his lamp to light them past the church on their way east to Aboyne.

  ‘You mustn’t think,’ Jenny began, finding her tongue thick and clumsy, ‘that my brother … my brother …’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve seen drunk men before.’

  ‘But he … he doesn’t …’

  Bobby shrugged. If she liked to believe he didn’t drink, let her. It might even be true. He might have taken a dram to steady his nerves for the proposed encounter with royalty and, if he wasn’t used to it, succumbed. But Bobby didn’t think so.

  They passed one or two carriages, country gentlemen heading home from evening engagements. Behind her, Jenny heard her brother stir. ‘Ned? Are you awake?’

  A muffled groan.

  ‘Stop a moment, so that I can go over to the back seat and look after him, captain.’

  ‘He’s all right,’ Bobby said. He didn’t want to lose her company. It was only a few miles to Aboyne and he still hadn’t had the chance to draw in at the roadside for a little romantic conversation.

  But now the brother was awakening and her attention was totally taken up with him. Bobby cursed the fellow under his breath. He was sorry for him, of course ‒ fellow-feeling told him how wretched he felt. All the same, he wished the third member of the party could have slept soundly until he was pushed on the train.

  Ned dragged himself up to a sitting posture. He pulled off his felt hat, held his head. ‘Is it night-time?’ he quavered.

  ‘Yes, dear, and we’re on our way for the train home.’ She twisted on her seat, put a hand on his cheek. He was very hot. Perhaps he’d caught a fever, sitting out in the rain under the birch trees. She should never have left him … Yet what else could she do? He’d been rolling as he walked, impossible to present at the gates of the castle. And she’d been unwilling to ask if there was an inn where he could sit ‒ at an inn there was more drink to be bought.

  The little town was asleep as they drove into it past the castle. Only at Aboyne station were there lights and movement.

  Sighing, Bobby Prentiss drew up at the entrance, handed the reins to a porter, and helped Jenny down.

  Ned Corvill sat on the bench on the dogcart like a lump.

  ‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand down.’ Bobby held out an arm.

  Ned wavered towards him. It was clear to see that his head hurt terribly, every movement jolting through it like a blow.

  Gingerly he edged to the side of the cart, put his feet down, slithered to the footboard, and as gingerly down to the ground. The moment he was standing there, everything began to swing round him.

  Bobby held him up. ‘Got the tickets?’

  He made a feeble gesture towards an inner pocket.

  ‘Right. On we go.’ He put an arm under his elbow and steered him through the entrance. At the barrier the night stationmaster ‒ the senior porter ‒ was examining tickets.

  Jenny brought up the rear. ‘When is the mail train due?’ she asked the porter.

  ‘She’s signalled now, miss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Aboyne was the end of the line. The train was coming in with the engine pulling but would go out with the engine pushing.

  They had forgotten the little carpet bag with the travel articles. ‘I’ll fetch it,’ Bobby said, and sprinted back to the carriage. As he reached it, he heard the train stop with a clanking and surging of steam. He hurried back.

  The porter was putting mail sacks aboard at a carriage towards the end of the train. Jenny was struggling to open a compartment door for her brother, who was leaning helplessly against the side of the stationary train.

  The smell of steam coal was strong in the night air. Bobby watched Ned Corvill look wildly about him. In a flash he understood what was coming and rushed him along to the end of the platform. There he was heartily and disgustingly sick.

  ‘There now,’ Bobby said, when at last the boy straightened up. ‘You feel a lot better, don’t you?’

  The only answer was a groan. They walked back to the carriage door with which Jenny was still struggling. ‘Are you all right, Ned?’ she asked, alarmed by his sickly pale face.

  Bobby handed her her valise. Then he opened the door of the compartment, turned for Ned, and found him slowly subsiding onto the platform.

  ‘Damnation.’ He bent, put two hands under his armpits, heaved him up, and thrust him in. Ned stumbled forward and landed head first on the floor between the seats. His hat went backwards out of the door and onto the platform.

  Bobby picked it up and threw it after him. Ned, clambering up, caught the hat against his chest, then leaned out, holding on to the door for support. A whistle blew, the train began to move.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Jenny. But the cry was lost in the jud-jud-jud of the piston wheel slowly turning.

  Ned pulled on the door to get his balance. It closed on him. The train moved on, steam billowing as the engine went by. In the dimness of the platform lights Jenny could be seen running, picking up her skirts with one hand and trying to catch at a door handle with the other.

  She tripped over the valise and sprawled headlong. Bobby rushed to help her up.

  He gathered her into his arms. ‘Are you all right?’

  She was gazing past his shoulder, where the rear lights of the train to Aberdeen could be seen vanishing down the line.

  She couldn’t believe it. She stared in helpless incredulity. ‘Oh no …’

  ‘Are you hurt? Can you stand up?’

  ‘Oh!’ She gave an impatient push, and clambered to her feet unaided. ‘I’m perfectly all right, but Ned …’

  ‘Well, he’s all right,’ Bobby said, busying himself brushing mud from her skirt front. ‘He’s safely on his way to Aberdeen.’

  ‘But I’ve missed the train!’

  ‘Never mind. You can take the next one.’

  ‘But Ned will be ‒’

  ‘Never mind your brother. He’s too busy nursing his sore head to worry about you. I should think he might snooze again until he gets to Aberdeen ‒ do him the world of good.’

  ‘Oh, captain …’ He seemed so unconcerned. How could she explain to him that Ned would hardly know how to get himself on to the Edinburgh train at Aberdeen?

  She glanced around her at the station. There was a bench. She moved towards it. ‘Thank you for all your help, captain. I truly appreciate it. But you can leave me now, I’ll just sit here and wait for the next train.’

  ‘You will?’ Bobby said.

  She saw that he was suppressing a smile.

  ‘I’ll be perfectly all right,’ she said, shivering as she sank on to the damp wooden bench.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better wait with you. I hardly like to leave you here on your own.’

  ‘Oh, it’s perfectly safe here, I’m s
ure.’

  ‘A little draughty, perhaps. Wouldn’t you do better to wait at the hotel?’

  ‘The hotel?’

  ‘The Huntly Arms ‒ it’s just a little way up the main road.’

  ‘But, I don’t know … it scarcely seems worth it. And besides, I might miss the next train if I go any distance away.’

  ‘I assure you, you can be brought from the hotel in plenty of time for the train.’

  ‘Well, I must admit, I should like a cup of hot tea …’

  ‘And I’m sure there will be no problem getting you a room.’

  ‘A room?’ She sat erect on the station bench. ‘Why would I need a room?’

  ‘Well, of course, you can always take a nap in the common room. But I feel it would be more comfortable to have a room so that you can be at ease.’

  Understanding began to dawn. ‘When is the next train?’

  ‘Twenty minutes to eight tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh.’

  It knocked the breath out of her. She allowed him to put a hand under her elbow and lead her out of the station. The porter said, ‘Goodnight, mam, goodnight, sir,’ and seemed to be jingling keys.

  Bobby was urging her aboard the dogcart when she stiffened and turned back. ‘Sir, I haven’t any money for a room. My brother has it all ‒ and my train ticket …’

  ‘Oh, sniff, I have plenty of money.’

  ‘But I couldn’t possibly allow …’

  ‘Now, didn’t His Royal Highness tell me to see you safely aboard the train? Naturally I’ll pay the expense of ‒’

  ‘No, no, sir, I can’t permit ‒’

  Bobby knew when to sidestep. ‘Very well, Miss Jenny. Think of it as a loan. You can send me the money at Balmoral when you send the parcel of cloth.’

  She hesitated. But it was perfectly in order to do so. Her father would willingly meet the extra expense and besides, now that they had the commission to weave the Royal Stewart tartan, there would be money coming in, and more commissions would follow when people heard of it.

  ‘Very well, Captain Prentiss ‒’

  ‘Oh, do please call me Bobby. I feel we are such friends already, don’t you?’

  She agreed, but a voice inside warned her not to say so aloud. Instead she mounted on the seat of the dogcart, looking forward with interest to seeing the Huntly Arms Hotel.

  She had rarely been in a hotel and then only to meet some business acquaintance or customer in the salon. She was pleased and flattered by the attention they received when they alighted at the big stone building. A groom hurried out to take the dogcart, greeting Bobby by name. The hotel night clerk looked up in welcome as they came in.

  ‘Good evening, captain. A pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘Good evening, Anstruther. This young lady has had the misfortune to miss the last train to Aberdeen. I wonder if you can provide her first with a pot of tea and a snack, and then with a comfortable bed for the night?’

  ‘Surely, surely.’ He came from behind the desk in his serge uniform. ‘This way, there’s a fire still in the drawing-room. Let me take your bag, madam. The weather’s cleared, I gather ‒ a fine night outside.’ Talking assiduously, he led them into a room lit by one lamp turned low and a glowing fire.

  He turned up the light, offered an armchair to Jenny, knelt to poke the fire. A flame appeared. He fed a little shovel of coal to it, then got up to ring a bell by the side of the fireplace. A waiter appeared, yawning.

  ‘Tea and toast for the lady and gentleman, Davie. Or perhaps you’d like something stronger, sir?’

  Bobby was about to say yes, but then he recalled the staggering figure of Ned Corvill. Jenny wouldn’t like anything to remind her of that. ‘No, tea will suit me fine,’ he said, ‘and if you could find a slice of pie or something of the kind, I’m sure we could both do justice to it.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. You heard, Davie.’ He shooed the waiter away. ‘I’ll just go and get the porter to light the fires in the rooms. It’s chill enough, is it not.’

  When the food came Jenny discovered that for the first time that day she was hungry. She ate with appetite, and drank two cups of hot tea. By that time she was beginning to feel somewhat dazed: fatigue was catching up with her.

  ‘If you would call the clerk, Bobby, I think I should like to be shown to my room.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He rang the bell, Anstruther hurried in. ‘If you’ll just sign the register, sir, madam … You’ve your usual room, captain, and I’ve had your portmanteau brought up from the store room.’

  Jenny turned to him, puzzled, as they began to mount the stairs. ‘He said your portmanteau?’

  ‘Yes, I keep a few things here just in case. Going back and forth as I do, between here and Edinburgh and London, it’s good to be able to tidy up before travelling on.’

  ‘I see.’ It made good sense. She stifled a yawn. Anstruther escorted her to a door on the first landing. ‘Here you are, Miss Corvill.’ He put the key in the door, and opened it. She was shown into a room lit by a softly shaded lamp and with a newly-lit fire sparking and spitting in the hearth. The bed was turned down invitingly.

  He handed her the key. ‘You’ll wish to be wakened in good time for the morning train?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Hot water at the door at seven. Goodnight, Miss Corvill.’

  Beyond him, as she went out, she saw Bobby Prentiss waiting. He smiled and called, ‘Goodnight.’ As she closed the door, she saw him head along the passage while Anstruther turned to go downstairs.

  She had her valise, but it contained only a few articles: comb, washflannel and towel for herself, razor, hairbrush and clean stiff collar for Ned. They had slept in the night train from Edinburgh to Aberdeen on their way north and had intended to sleep in the train again on their way south. Extending the trip by staying in the luxurious surroundings of a hotel had never occurred to her.

  As she began to undress, she found the sprig of white hoya in the top buttonhole of her bodice, wilting now, but still sweetly fragrant. He had plucked it for her. She took it out with gentle fingers, to put it under the pillow.

  As she climbed into bed in her fine lawn chemise she was saying to herself: If we’re going to do business with the likes of the royal family, we’ll have to think about staying in hotels. It’s agreeable …

  She was very tired, but too strung up to sleep, especially in a strange bed. It was comfortable enough, far wider than her little cot at home and with softer pillows. The sheets, stiff with starch, smelt of laundry soap. The fire crackled and sighed as the coals shifted. The light from its dwindling flames danced on the ceiling.

  What a day it had been. She had succeeded where all the rest of her family were sure she’d fail ‒ she had seen Prince Albert, she had sold the Stewart tartan to the Royal Household. And she had been helped by such a handsome young man. So tall, so well groomed, so kind and well-mannered …

  She turned over, gathering a pillow to hug in her arms. She found the sprig of hoya blossoms. Her fingers closed around it. He had been so helpful to her. And he had kissed her, among the strange plants. That had been wonderful. A strange, wild experience, like nothing she had ever known. Would such a thing ever happen again?

  She became wide awake. She had heard a sound at the door. She sat up. In the red light from the fire she saw the door handle slowly turning.

  She snatched the sheet up to her breast. Her heart leapt into her throat. She had forgotten ‒ oh, she had not even thought of it ‒ to lock the door.

  It opened. Her breath died in her throat.

  Someone stepped inside. She saw the firelight glint on strands of fair hair, smelt the familiar pomade. He moved forward.

  ‘Jenny?’

  She could distinguish his figure now. He was clad in a rich silk dressing-gown of figured black and gold. One hand was outstretched.

  ‘Bobby,’ she whispered, and caught his hand in hers.

  ‘Ah, I knew you’d be awake,’ he s
aid, sitting on the side of the bed. He leaned over her. His head, came down so that he blotted out the firelight.

  She felt his lips on hers. She put her arm around his shoulders. She felt the pattern of the silk, she stroked it, felt the muscles underneath as he bent over her.

  They were kissing, and he was close to her, body against body, only the flimsy lawn of her chemise and the thick silk of the dressing-gown in the way.

  Soon even that was gone, and they were together in a closeness beyond anything she had ever imagined.

  Chapter Three

  The journey home was uneventful. But even had the train been attacked by wild Highlanders waving claymores, Jenny would scarcely have noticed.

  Her mind and her heart were too full of other things.

  Chief among these was the wonder and delight of being in love. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined anything so alluring as the ecstasy of physical passion. And Bobby had been a good teacher. The first experience had wounded and frightened her. But he had held her close afterwards, soothing her and wiping away her tears, assuring her that it was always so for a woman, that he didn’t blame her for being hurt, that he only loved her the more for it. She had scarcely dared to believe him, but she was sure that he knew everything, that he spoke the truth.

  A little later, when the caresses with which he had soothed her were changing to something more, she had responded openly, willingly. And though she didn’t experience the bliss that Bobby had found before he at last lowered himself to her side again, still there had been the beginnings of something that came after the initial eagerness.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Then, very early, as the grey September dawn of the Highlands was beginning to outline the curtains at the window, he had wakened her by kisses and murmurings of love.

  Half-asleep, half-awake, she turned to him, arms and legs wide, body soft to his mouth that seemed to touch every responsive curve and crease. She wound herself about him as he took her, answering his need with her own.

  Splendour, joy, delight … ‘A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me: he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi …’ Now at last she understood the Song of Solomon, that mysterious book of the Bible which the minister seemed so reluctant to discuss. Not about the heavenly love between God and the people of Israel, not about the union of Christ with his church, but about man and woman, body and body, physical love.