Lady Magdalen Read online

  The celebrations were still going on, inside and out. She heard laughter and singing. She had been told that the rain had stopped and the moon was shining.

  It was now half-past eight. Was Jamie putting it off for as long as he could because he was as shy as she? Had he drunk lots of wine to give him courage? Aunt Euphemia had said that some bridegrooms got so drunk that they could not carry out their marital duties. It did not matter, she had added grimly, there were plenty of other nights.

  Magdalen had been warned that Jamie would probably be escorted to the door and even into the chamber itself by friends made boisterous by drink and excitement. She was not to be alarmed: it was the custom. It happened to kings and queens.

  But Jamie was prouder than any king. Would he put up with such indignity? She did not think so and, sure enough, when at last he came to the door, he was unaccompanied and, after knocking quietly, crept in, carrying his boots, as she saw through the opening in the curtains.

  ‘Are you asleep?’ he whispered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s damnably cold in here.’ He went over to the fire and poked it, but it was almost out. She heard him grumbling. Then he was silent.

  She could not see him now for the curtains. Was he praying, as she had done? No. Jamie believed in Fate, more than in God. Indeed, she was not sure that he did believe in God, at any rate not without reservations. ‘Is God Mr Henderson’s lackey?’ he had once asked, indignantly. Then again: ‘I find it very hard to tolerate a God that tolerates the presumptions of Henderson and his colleagues.’ Since it would have been presumptuous on his own part to believe God had marked him out to have a glorious future, he gave the credit to Fate. ‘What I mean is, Magdalen, opportunities will be presented to me. It will be up to me to make use of them.’

  He was taking a long time to get undressed, perhaps because he was deliberately putting off getting into bed with her, but it could have been simply that he was not used to doing it himself. All those layers and laces, not to mention the silk stockings uncomfortably tight to show off the shapeliness of his legs, would not be easy to peel off or unfasten, especially by hands made clumsy with wine, cold, and nervousness.

  Should she speak to him, offering help? After all she was now his wife.

  Suddenly he appeared, wearing only a white sark which scarcely reached his middle. With one hand he covered his male parts; in the other he clutched a sheet of paper.

  As he slipped under the clothes his feet touched hers: they were icy-cold. Feeling tender towards him, she put her warm feet against his. Instantly his were withdrawn, and then slowly returned.

  Neither spoke for almost a minute.

  ‘This is a poem I wrote yesterday,’ he said.

  She could not help smiling.

  ‘Would you like to hear it?’

  ‘Is it a love poem?’

  ‘It’s more philosophical, I would say.’

  At least it wasn’t about war. ‘I’d like very much to hear it.’

  He leant away from her towards the candle and began to read in a sombre tone of voice that, as it turned out, suited the subject matter of the poem:

  I would be high; but that the cedar tree

  Is blasted down while smaller shrubs go free.

  I would be low; but that the lowly grass

  Is trampled down by each unworthy ass,

  For to be high my means they will not do;

  And to be low my mind it will not bow.

  Oh heavens! Oh Fate! When will you once agree

  To reconcile my means, my mind, and me?

  He waited for her verdict, with an author’s, not a husband’s, anxiety.

  ‘It is very philosophical,’ she said, ‘but does it say what you really feel?’

  ‘No one knows, Magdalen, the depths of gloom to which I sometimes sink.’

  ‘But aren’t there more times when you feel you are standing on a mountain peak?’

  That was his own expression.

  ‘Didn’t the astrologer in St Andrews prophesy a wonderful career for you?’

  ‘He said I would become a famous general and win many battles. And the one in Edinburgh said much the same thing.’

  But what fortune-teller looking for a fat fee would not foretell a glorious military future for a young earl with eager eyes and a sword with a golden hilt?

  ‘I am to perform great deeds for my country, Magdalen.’

  ‘And what shall I be doing, Jamie, when you are performing your great deeds? Staying at home and praying that you are not killed?’

  ‘There was one fellow,’ he said, indignantly, ‘who had the impudence to foretell that I would be hanged. I learned afterwards he wasn’t right in the head.’

  But someone, very sane, had said the same thing to her, humorously it was true, but not altogether. ‘In dangerous times like the present,’ Francis Gowrie had said, ‘ambitious fellows like Jamie Graham could easily end up on the gallows.’

  ‘But if you are to win battles, Jamie, it means there will be war.’

  ‘So there must be, if the King lets himself be ill advised.’

  ‘My father says there would never be war if men acted sensibly.’

  ‘Men must act honourably, Magdalen, whatever the circumstances.’

  ‘Could it ever be honourable, Jamie, to plunge the country into civil war?’

  He carefully folded up the sheet of paper on which his poem was written and tucked it into a pocket in his shirt. Then he blew out the candle, with a long sigh.

  They lay in silence. Their feet still touched. Magdalen heard her heart beating. She wondered if Jamie had fallen asleep.

  ‘Magdalen.’

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘I expect they’ve told you what the purpose of marriage is?’ He spoke apologetically.

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘People ought to mind their own business.’

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘So you know what has to be done?’

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘One might have thought that God in His omnipotence might have devised some other way, not so repugnant. Less like animals, I mean.’

  She had seen a bull in the field affectionately licking a cow before mounting it.

  ‘It’s not a thing that can be done with much dignity, is it?’ he asked.

  As long as it is done with affection, she thought.

  ‘As intelligent beings we must make allowances.’

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

  But because of nervousness it was more of an attack than an act of love. He was inexpert and, of course, so was she, though she tried to help him. There was considerable pain and she gave a great gasp once. He instantly apologised and desisted.

  At last it was over. His seed was within her. According to the advice she had been given, she must now behave as if nothing had happened. She must not say anything. For a woman there was nothing to say after, or before, or during; and not much either, it seemed, for a man.

  But surely there should have been things, fond things, to say to each other. They were going to spend their lives together and, if God so willed, have several children.

  ‘I hope they explained the situation to you,’ he said. ‘When I was ill in St Andrews I thought, what if I died and left no heir? The earldom would have been lost. As you know, I have no brothers. Well, there’s Harry, but he’s only a half-brother and is illegitimate, so he can’t inherit. So I realised I must have heirs as soon as possible. One son wouldn’t be enough, so many children die in infancy. Daughters, of course, will not do. Unfortunately there’s no way of ensuring that children are males. My father had five daughters and only one son: that’s not counting Harry. Your father had four sons but also six daughters. So, you see, we really have no time to lose. I’d be grateful, Magdalen, if you prayed for sons.’

  But Jamie, she might have said, if we have sons you might want to take them away and make soldiers of them. I want girls to stay a
t home and keep me company. So in my prayers I shall ask for a daughter also, no, for two, because as you said, Jamie, so many children die in infancy.

  8

  ACCORDING TO THE terms of the marriage contract, the young couple were to live at Kinnaird until Jamie came of age, after which they could make their permanent home in his family seat, Kincardine Castle in Perthshire. Though he resented at times not being head of the household since he was, after all, above his father-in-law in rank, Jamie was happy enough hunting, practising archery and swordplay, reading books on military campaigns, writing poetry, and discussing politics with the many visitors. To his great satisfaction, both as an earl anxious for an heir and a young man eager to prove his virility, Magdalen was soon pregnant. She suffered badly from morning sickness and persistent backache but was glad that she was doing her duty as a wife. Like everyone else, she hoped for Jamie’s sake that the child would be a boy. She even drank various potions brought to her by Janet, which, according to the old women who had supplied them, would ensure that the child in her womb would be a perfectly formed male. There was no harm in this, she thought, so long as the mixture did not have a vile taste, but she objected to Mr Henderson’s hectoring prayers in her presence, in which he reminded the Lord that a female child would not do. To Janet she remarked that it would be Mr Henderson’s fault if the Lord gave her twin girls. She often made fun of people who, like Mr Henderson, were pompous and self-righteous. Janet was inclined to be shocked by her gentle irreverence.

  It took Jamie some time to discover that his wife had a talent for humour which now and then was used to make fun of his pretensions. He took himself so seriously that it was very hard for him to realise that he, so clever and knowledgeable, might be having his leg pulled by a mere woman, who like most women of her age was ignorant of everything except domestic matters. Yet he let himself drift into a habit of talking to her about matters that he didn’t think she had any right to be interested in, such as politics and, particularly, the proper place of the Kirk in the country’s constitution. He would never have admitted that he was asking her advice; he would have said that he was simply using her as an attentive audience, but all the same he waited anxiously for her verdict and was often taken aback by the percipience she showed, even if it took the form of disagreeing with him.

  He wrote a treatise, with many illustrations from history, on the principle, advocated by the late King James and now being applied by his son Charles, that since the King owed his eminence to God he had a right to do as he thought fit, even if a majority of his subjects, or rather of his nobles, disapproved.

  He read his treatise to Magdalen. It took half an hour. She listened with satisfactory patience and did not once interrupt.

  ‘Well?’ he said, when he was finished. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Do you really believe the King owes his position to God?’

  He was reluctant to commit himself. ‘There are good arguments in favour.’

  ‘But haven’t lots of kings gained their thrones through winning wars?’

  ‘Yes. But they could have argued that it was God who enabled them to win.’

  ‘But, Jamie, isn’t everything that happens in the world according to God’s will? Doesn’t Mr Henderson tell us so?’

  ‘Interminably.’ Jamie was thinking that when he won his battles he was going to take the credit, not Mr Henderson’s God.

  ‘Doesn’t every nobleman have to swear an oath of allegiance to the King? Won’t you do it yourself when you come of age?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t that mean they have to obey him whatever he does?’

  ‘I have made it clear, Magdalen, that there could be crises of conscience. Circumstances could arise when honourable men would feel justified in setting aside their oath of allegiance.’

  ‘But would they be justified in taking up arms against the King? Isn’t that treason?’

  He frowned. More by luck than by logic she had hit upon the crux of the matter. He had not yet been able to make up his mind whether a subject, even for the most patriotic of reasons, was justified in opposing a tyrannical king by force. Being a woman, she had, of course, no conception of honour. It must have been listening to him that had given her this insight.

  9

  ONE DAY THERE came appalling news from Luss. Katherine had run off with her good-brother, Sir John Colquhoun, to the Continent, it was thought. Colquhoun and his German servant had been accused of seducing her with love philtres. They had been proclaimed outlaws and excommunicated.

  Jamie went almost frantic with anger, frustration, and, above all, shame. He was for rushing off to find Colquhoun and kill him. Poor Kate, he wailed, with his fist tight on the hilt of his sword.

  Magdalen remembered the incident outside the King’s room. She had given a promise then and kept it even now. ‘Poor Lilias,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, of course, we’re all sorry for Lilias, but think of little Kate, at that villain’s mercy, far from her friends. I tell you, Magdalen, it will be my chief purpose in life to seek him out and plunge my sword into his evil heart.’

  Don’t do it in Katherine’s presence, thought Magdalen. She would not take your side, Jamie. If you harmed him she would hate you for the rest of her life.

  He was convinced the love philtres had done it. ‘They must have poisoned her mind.’

  Magdalen could not help shaking her head.

  ‘Well, for Christ’s sake, if it wasn’t that, what was it?’

  Magdalen remembered how Katherine’s passion for Colquhoun had been so much more ardent than his for her. ‘Perhaps she loves him.’

  ‘Love! God Almighty, Magdalen, do not pollute the word. I thought he was my friend too. Who can one trust in this vile and treacherous world? I owe it to my honour and to my family’s honour to kill that adulterous beast. Is that not so, Magdalen? Is that not what you would expect your husband to do?’

  But, Jamie, if you killed Colquhoun somewhere in France, would you bring Katherine home and cherish her? Would you proudly ignore all the sneers and sniggers? Would you protect her from the vengeance of the Kirk? No, Jamie, you would not. You would give her money and leave her where she was.

  So what was likely to happen to Katherine? Sir John, that amiable fool, would soon rue having abandoned his family, his friends, and his comfortable life at Luss for her sake. He would blame her for his predicament. Sooner or later he would forsake her. Influential friends would obtain a pardon for him so that he could come home again. Katherine would be left on her own in a strange land, a young girl with no one to protect her. She was only 18 now. She might have to take up with some other man. He, in his turn, would pass her on.

  ‘Should I go and look for her, Magdalen?’

  She knew him well enough now to tell that he wanted her to dissuade him. No one was braver than he in facing a wounded stag. In battle he would suffer a dozen wounds rather than yield. But this, enduring humiliation for the sake of someone he loved, called for a kind of courage he did not have, at any rate not yet. Few men had it. She could think of only one: Francis Gowrie. Yes, Francis would have gone searching for his sister and would have brought her home, in defiance of the world.

  Tears came into her eyes. ‘Shouldn’t you wait, Jamie, till our child’s born?’

  He misunderstood her tears. It was no wonder. She could not have explained them herself, their source was too deep.

  She had offered him an excuse that he could honourably accept. ‘You are right, Magdalen, as always. I must wait for that. In any case, alas, my ambitions have been stripped from me. How can I ever hold up my head? How can I take part in public affairs? I must put away my sword and put a straw in my mouth. My fate is not to lead armies but to become a bumpkin. Yet, you know, Magdalen, I loved her most of all my sisters.’

  ‘I shall pray for her, Jamie.’

  ‘Yes, please, pray for her. I want you to pray for her, but if that bigot Henderson or any of his dreary-faced colleagues have the te
merity to pray for my sister, I shall tell them to shut their mouths.’

  So he would too, recklessly, but it was hardly likely that Mr Henderson or any other minister of the Kirk would pray for a woman whom they would think deserved not pity and forgiveness, but bitter condemnation and, in the end, the fires of hell.

  ‘Pray for her to die and find peace in death. Better dead than living in dishonour.’

  ‘I shall pray for Christ to forgive her, as I am sure He will, and to protect her from further harm.’

  He turned away then so that she would not see the tears running down his cheeks. ‘You are a good soul, Magdalen. You shame us all.’

  10

  IT WAS A prolonged, difficult, and painful birth, with the lives of both mother and child in great danger. In the midst of it Dr Allen was taken aside by Mr Henderson, who in a hoarse pious whisper instructed him that, if it came to a choice, he was to concentrate all his efforts on saving the child, even though its sex was not yet known. A compassionate man as well as a conscientious doctor, Allen said nothing but looked dour; whereupon he was bombarded with quotations from Scriptures, the purport of which seemed to be that if the young woman was not going to be able to provide her husband with a plethora of heirs, which was her chief function in God’s eyes, then it would be better to let her pass to glory, so that the young earl could marry again, this time a stronger woman to whom child-bearing came easy. The doctor, who secretly doubted the existence of a beneficent God – the likes of Mr Henderson increased his doubts – still said nothing. He knew that blind chance rather than his skill would decide the matter, but he made up his mind to do all he could to save the young mother, even if the child had to be sacrificed.

  In the end, after 20 hours of travail, both were saved. The child was a boy too, apparently healthy and likely to survive. On his knees Mr Henderson loudly gave thanks to God. ‘Braying ass,’ thought the doctor, with a bloody clout in his hand, but he prudently said it to himself.