Lady Magdalen Read online

  ‘Painted by one of the finest artists in the world,’ said Mintlaw. ‘I bought it for you, Magdalen, because she reminded me of you.’

  So, thought Janet, it must be of a woman: with her clothes on, she hoped.

  ‘It’s very beautiful, Francis,’ said Magdalen. Her voice trembled.

  Unable to subdue her curiosity, Janet went over, ostensibly to rearrange the cushions behind her mistress but really to steal a look at the picture.

  It was even more shocking than she had feared, though only the child was naked, not counting, of course, the lamb and the deer. The woman wore a blue-and-white robe. This was how Papists portrayed the infant Jesus and His mother. It should have been, therefore, in Janet’s eyes, the vilest of blasphemies, and she tried hard to be properly offended; but she could not help seeing a resemblance to Lady Magdalen: goodness shone from her face too, as it did from the woman’s in the painting.

  ‘Thank you very much, Francis,’ said Magdalen, ‘but you know I may not be able to accept it.’

  ‘You mean, Jamie will object?’

  She shook her head. ‘My father,’ she murmured.

  ‘Surely Lord Carnegie will not think that having such a painting in his house will compromise his Presbyterian principles?’

  She did not like him sneering at her father.

  Little Lord John then woke up and began to cry.

  ‘Take him to Annie now, Janet,’ said Magdalen.

  Janet picked up the child and tried to soothe him but she did not leave the room. She was not going to leave her young mistress alone with this dangerous heretic.

  ‘Do what I told you, Janet,’ said Magdalen.

  She spoke quietly but Janet had learned to recognise the note of authority in her voice. It was not simply that of an earl’s wife but also that of a young woman whose character was forming and who was determined to say what she felt to be right and true.

  In a huff Janet left, carrying the baby.

  ‘You should be careful what you say in front of people like Janet,’ said Magdalen.

  ‘Is she one of Mr Henderson’s spies?’

  ‘They all are.’ Then, with a shiver, she returned to the subject of his marriage. ‘Tell me about your bride-to-be.’

  ‘The shopkeeper’s daughter, with a face like a horse?’

  ‘Be serious, Francis. Does she like paintings?’

  There was, alas, intended malice in the question. It was not likely that a woman inordinately fond of horses also liked painting and music.

  ‘I saw, and heard, Jamie and his troop in the distance. They seemed to be in pursuit of some wretched animal. Practice, I suppose, for the day when he goes to war.’

  ‘He will only go to war if his honour requires it.’

  ‘Ah yes, I forgot. Jamie always was such an honourable fellow.’

  She knew what was happening. They were saying goodbye to each other. This was probably the last time they would be alone together. She did not want to be bitter, and neither, she was sure, did he, but neither of them could help it.

  ‘When we are settled in at Mintlaw we would like you to come and visit us. If they allow you, that is to say.’

  Like Jamie, and her father, he too misjudged her. The time was coming soon when she would do whatever she considered right, no matter who opposed it. She would not be contumacious, she would be true to her nature and remain gentle, but she would not easily yield.

  ‘I would be very pleased to visit you at Mintlaw. I hear you are making great improvements.’

  ‘An oasis of beauty, in the midst of a desert of bigotry and spiritual blight.’

  Soon afterwards he took his leave, but not before hanging the painting on the wall where the light from the window fell on it.

  13

  USUALLY WHEN JAMIE returned from hunting he went straight to her room, eager to see his son and heir, and though John was still not two to bring him some trophy of the hunt. Today it was a wood pigeon, its feathers soiled with blood. Instead of crowing with delight the infant was frightened and began to cry.

  ‘Are you making him a milksop, Magdalen?’ asked Jamie, not altogether in jest. ‘Like Mintlaw. We saw him coining here. What did he want?’ Then he caught sight of the painting. ‘Did he bring this?’

  ‘As a present for me.’

  He swaggered over to it, his hand on his dagger.

  If he slashes it, she thought, I shall never forgive him.

  ‘He’s got a damned impudence, bringing my wife a present without asking my permission.’

  She let that pass.

  ‘Has your father seen it?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I hope you realise that if he and Mr Henderson get together they’ll order it to be destroyed.’

  She shook her head, meaning that her father wouldn’t; but she wasn’t sure.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I think it’s very beautiful.’

  ‘A piece of idolatry, they’ll call it. But as your husband I’m the one to say what you may hang on your wall and what you may not.’

  ‘Yes, Jamie.’

  ‘I don’t see what harm it’s doing. So you may keep it.’

  ‘Thank you, Jamie.’

  ‘Mind you, it would be different if Lord John was older. I don’t think I’d want him exposed to such feminine stuff. That’s all right for a little girl, not a boy who might have to be a soldier one day.’

  She would pray all the more that the child in her womb would be that little girl.

  Next day her father came to her room. He brought a bunch of daffodils but his purpose was to inspect the painting.

  ‘How are you keeping, my pet?’ he asked. ‘You do not look well.’

  ‘Sometimes I do not feel well, Father.’

  ‘You do not eat enough.’

  ‘I don’t have an appetite.’

  ‘Well, the better weather will soon be here, and you will be able to get out more.’

  ‘I would like Dr Allen to come and see me.’

  He frowned. Dr Allen was no longer the family physician. He had been replaced by Dr Muirkirk, a younger man whose methods were more modern and whose patients were all men and women of noble birth. Magdalen much preferred the frank and kindly old man.

  ‘I understand he finds travelling difficult these days, because of his rheumatism,’ said her father.

  ‘I would like him to be present when my baby’s born.’

  ‘Well, we shall see. Is that the painting young Mintlaw brought you?’

  ‘Yes, Father. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  He gazed at it.

  What thoughts, she wondered, were going on in that calm, austere, intelligent head, with the beard turning white? He had read many books and debated with the wisest men in the kingdom. Was it possible that he could see in this small innocent painting a danger not only to his soul and to hers but to the whole country’s? She knew that in his heart he did not approve of the burning of witches but put up with it so as not to offend the ministers of the Kirk. Whatever would keep the peace he espoused, even though he might think it ignoble. He did not let himself be bound too tightly by honour, like Jamie.

  ‘Should it be on public display?’ he asked, reasonably.

  ‘This is my private room, Father.’

  ‘Still, anyone might see it. Why not keep it hidden and take it out and look at it as often as you wish, when you are alone? In that way it would be safe from any crazy fool with a knife.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  He smiled. ‘I wonder at your preferring Dr Allen. He is rumoured to be an unbeliever. He has been before the Presbytery. Moreover, James is not pleased with him.’

  Dr Allen had done nothing about setting up a hospital for Jamie’s wounded soldiers.

  When her father was gone she sat staring at the painting. How was it possible for anyone not to believe in God? There were so many proofs of His existence. How would the doctor explain his disbelief? Was it some malignant pride that prevented him fr
om acknowledging his Creator? Yet he was one of the kindest and most honest persons she had ever known; whereas Mr Henderson, who believed in God fiercely, was implacable and devious.

  14

  THE SECOND BIRTH, though not as long-drawn-out as the first was painful and difficult enough. Again the outcome was a male child. Rejoicings and congratulations quite drowned out the moans of the exhausted mother. Dr Muirkirk took the credit but it was Dr Allen who did most of the work and it was his hand that Magdalen held on to tightly. Mr Henderson was, of course, present, praying and exhorting. No one noticed, least of all himself, that Lady Magdalen, in much need of comfort and support, not only did not look to him for it but turned her head away whenever he approached. Perhaps Dr Allen noticed but then he made little attempt to hide his own opinion, which was that the minister was an intolerable nuisance. Once he pushed him out of the way,

  When the child was safely delivered and the mother was resting after her ordeal, Dr Allen scandalised the ladies present, Lady Magdalen’s sisters and aunts, by advising her, if she felt able, that was to say if she had a good supply of milk and her breasts were not too tender, to suckle the child herself and not hand it over to a wet-nurse, as had been done with his brother Lord John. Not only would it be good for him to be held close to his mother, it might also prevent her from becoming pregnant again too soon, to the detriment of her health.

  Liking the idea, Magdalen smiled and nodded but her sisters, Margaret and Agnes, were so outraged that they rushed off to complain to their father. That inveterate compromiser shrugged his shoulders and muttered what was the harm in it if it was done in private and Magdalen herself wished it. Besides, if it did have the effect of delaying a third pregnancy, would that not be desirable? Magdalen had now provided her husband with two heirs and deserved a rest, did she not? Let them remember that she was not yet 19 and had a delicate constitution.

  Thus had the Privy Councillor helped to keep the kingdom at peace, and the King when he came north for his coronation would reward him for it, but his daughters had always found his shilly-shally, as they called it, exasperating. Never more so than now. They decided to rebuke the insolent doctor themselves, with Mr Henderson as their ally. He was still indignant at being pushed out of the way.

  They summoned the doctor to appear before them. He came hirpling, with the aid of a stick. There were specks of blood on his cuffs and he was unshaven. How dared he, they cried, both speaking at once, treat their sister as if she was the wife of a cowherd and not of an earl.

  He listened in silence and then had the impudence to defend himself. Had not Nature, or if they preferred it God, made the wives of cowherds and earls, not to mention kings, alike in the matter of motherhood by giving them breasts full of milk for the benefit of their offspring? For his part there was no sight more beautiful than that of a mother suckling her child.

  He then hobbled off without waiting for permission. They could hardly have given it, for he had left them speechless.

  They looked to the minister, who so far had contented himself with portentous glowers and grunts. Now he cried: ‘Such is the arrogance of infidels!’

  They frowned, not quite seeing the relevance.

  ‘When he arrived, did you not see him dismounting from his horse?’

  They had not. They had better things to do than watch an old doctor getting off his horse.

  ‘He had to be lifted off. Otherwise he would have fallen on his face.’ Mr Henderson laughed triumphantly.

  They did not see what there was to laugh at.

  ‘So let the servants be instructed not to assist him. Thus shall he be taught proper respect for his superiors.’

  The minister thought so highly of his idea that he hurried off to have it carried out.

  The ladies were not so sure. They would have been satisfied with a display of abjectness on the doctor’s part, they did not want to see him put in danger of physical injury. Besides, if Magdalen heard about it, she would be very angry. So too might their father. Also, if the truth could have been told, they regarded the minister’s own arrogance as more offensive than the doctor’s.

  Servants kept hidden and watched in silence and shame as the old doctor tried to climb up on to his horse. They liked him but they feared the minister more. The wise old beast did its best to help by standing very still.

  It so happened that Montrose came into the courtyard and saw the old man in difficulty. Roaring with anger at the servants, he rushed forward to help.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Allen calmly, lifting his hat and ambling off.

  Montrose turned to the servants who now crept out. They hung their heads as he upbraided them. One muttered that they had been obeying orders.

  ‘Whose orders, for God’s sake?’ he cried, but he had already guessed.

  He did not wait for an answer. It would not have been fair to them. With furious face he repaired to his own quarters where he sat fuming: he couldn’t bear to live much longer in that house, where he had less authority than an upstart priest.

  15

  ONE MORNING MAGDALEN was in her room suckling her baby, with only Janet and Annie, John’s wet-nurse, present, when she was summoned to her father’s study. She let the child finish its feed. She could not help it but he was her favourite. He was a Carnegie, whereas John was a Graham. She was resolved to bring him up herself. Jamie could have John to make a soldier of, she would teach James to abhor bloodshed and love the arts of peace.

  Always, with her child at her breast, she felt content and absolved. She was also, as Janet often told her, at her bonniest. ‘Like the woman in the picture,’ Janet had once admitted, grudgingly. Yet today, as on other days too, she noticed Annie staring at her with what looked like pity.

  Surely if ever there was a woman who did not need pity from the likes of Annie Brodie it was she. Her husband owned two large houses and estates, whereas Annie’s had only a rented one-roomed hovel that had to be shared with pigs. She ate venison and grapes while Annie had to be content with oatmeal and brambles. She dressed in silks and taffetas, Annie in rough hodden grey. She slept on a feather bed, Annie on sacks stuffed with straw. Magdalen’s relatives and friends were gentry, Annie’s peasants. Not only was it a great impertinence of Annie to pity her, it was a great stupidity too.

  Yet, in the great hall, on her way to her father’s study, as she looked up at the portrait of Jamie painted by Mr Jameson of Aberdeen, she had an inkling of what Annie meant. Annie’s husband wanted only to stay at home and look after his family. There was Jamie, in his splendid olive-coloured doublet, gazing not at her, nor at anyone, but at some exciting perilous future in which she would have no part. Was he not now planning a tour of the Continent?

  Her father got up from his desk to take her hand and bring her over to the fire. All her life he had been anxious about her health. Now, seeing her so pale and thin, and so like her mother in the latter’s last days, he felt guilty and gloomy. He had sacrificed her for the sake of his political plans, as like as not fruitlessly, for it was beginning to look as if young Montrose would be a liability, not an asset, as a son-in-law.

  ‘As soon as the weather’s kinder,’ he said, ‘you must get out of doors more often. I would like to see roses in your cheeks again.’

  She smiled. She had never been rosy-cheeked. ‘What did you want to see me about, Father?’

  ‘This Continental tour of James’s, has he discussed it with you?’

  ‘He has just told me that he is going.’

  Her father could not help feeling let down by her. She had made little effort to acquire influence over her husband. A cleverer woman would have used cunning, a more sensual one her body, a stronger-minded one her will. But then she was still very young.

  ‘There can be no objection to his going. He is now of age and can please himself. What alarms me, and Lord Napier too, is that he insists on going before the King’s coronation in June. Every nobleman in Scotland will be present, except, it seems, James. His ab
sence will be noted. Frankly, I find it incredible that so ambitious and self-regarding a young man as he is should deliberately choose to miss so important an occasion and run a very serious risk of antagonising the King, from whom all honours flow. In God’s name, why the urgency? What is driving him away? Why cannot he wait another month or two?’

  ‘He says he has to look for his sister Katherine.’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘To bring her home perhaps.’

  ‘More likely to assault Colquhoun. I would have thought him only too glad to let that vicious dog lie.’

  Yes, for if Katherine was brought home, all the shame and misery of her elopement would be revived.

  ‘Perhaps he thinks that if he were to attend the coronation people would laugh at him behind his back.’

  ‘As no doubt they would. He will have to learn that inordinate pride like his attracts such reactions. No one blames him for what his sister did. If he knew how to be humble he would be given sympathy, not ridicule.’

  That was true. Jamie just could not bring himself to be humble. That was a lesson life had not yet taught him.

  ‘Perhaps I am to blame,’ she said.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He finds me dull.’

  ‘Dull?’ Her father would have said quiet or reserved or meditative but, yes, to a young man who saw himself as a second Alexander, dull might be the word.

  ‘He thinks I’ve got no imagination.’

  But what woman had? Their minds seldom rose above everyday trivialities. That was how God had meant them to be.

  ‘Many would say he has too much himself.’ Carnegie then sighed and gave way to pessimism. He was tired too, having ridden yesterday from Edinburgh in pouring rain. ‘I’m afraid the world that James is bent on conquering is not as glorious a place as he appears to imagine. I would be happier myself staying at home with my books and family.’

  ‘Why don’t you, Father?’

  ‘The State must be governed. Order has to be kept. What little of civilisation we have achieved we must hold on to. If I gave up, worse men might take my place. Better men too, no doubt, but in the end it is the best who are corrupted most.’