The Shadow of the Sycamores Page 10

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After walking out with Fay once a week for over a month, Henry still hesitated about giving her any hint of how deeply he felt about her. For one thing, he suspected that her father was anything but happy about the courtship. No doubt Joseph Leslie had anticipated having a son-in-law he’d be proud to present to his friends – tall, handsome and, most importantly, with a business of some kind at his back, a man who could provide a home even better than the one she would be leaving. A short, scruffy odd-job lad like himself could never hope to equal, never mind better, the house over the pharmacist’s shop.

  This feeling of uncertainty and inadequacy wasn’t all that held Henry back. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Fay – he worshipped the very ground she walked on – but he was afraid that he could have inherited his father’s outrageous needs. He was determined not to cut his wife’s life short like his mother’s had been but would he be able to withstand the temptations of the marriage bed?

  On returning from Drymill one night, he relived the thrill of just being with Fay and having his arm round her slender waist. He had tried this for the first time that very evening and she hadn’t objected. The thing was, he reflected sadly, he had better not go any further than that. It would be so easy to lose his head altogether, which would put a full stop to their relationship.

  His workmates, of course, teased him about his lass and Max was desperate to meet her but he meant to prevent that at all costs. He wasn’t going to run the risk of her falling for his friend who had much more charm than he had. None of the lassies at The Sycamores had ever turned Max down – they even seemed content to share him for he made no secret of the fact that he didn’t stick to one.

  Not for the first time in his life, Henry felt a flicker of jealousy at his friend’s good looks. Apart from standing six feet two in his socks, he had a slim, yet muscular, body, his skin was healthily tanned from working out of doors, his fair curly hair had been bleached by the sun and his eyes, a piercing blue, always had the glint of mischief with a hint of passion lurking within. There was no comparison between the two of them, the dejected Henry concluded. His own mousy hair was dead straight, with a bit sticking up at the back no matter how much he brushed it or dowsed it with water – a cow’s lick, his Gramma had called it. His fair skin didn’t tan so his face was as red as … a turkey cock. He was too short and, although not really fat, he was undeniably chubby. The minute Fay set eyes on Max, she would be lost.

  There were other times, thankfully, when Henry laughed off his fears, when he was sure that Fay wasn’t the kind to jump from one lad to another, that she at least liked him, which was a good foundation, a solid foundation, for a courtship.

  The two youths were taking a stroll one frosty night in November, before going to bed, when Max said, ‘I can tell you’re serious about your lass but you never tell me any of the … you ken … the juicy bits.’

  Annoyance at what he took as a gross indelicacy passed over Henry’s face. ‘There’s no juicy bits to tell.’

  Max’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Dinna try to tell me that! How d’you feel when you kiss her? Does she kiss you back? Does she?’

  ‘I havena kissed her.’

  Screwing up his nose now, Max gasped, ‘Govey Dick, man, what d’you do when you’re out wi’ her?’

  ‘I put my arm round her waist a couple o’ weeks back and …?

  ‘You mean it took you a’ this time to put your arm round her waist?’

  ‘I’m not like you, Max. I respect her, you see.’

  ‘You’d best hurry up and let her see you mean business, then, or some other lad’ll turn her head and you’ll end up losing her.’

  In bed, Henry gave this statement deep consideration and came to the conclusion that Max was right. Whatever sacrifices he had to make in the future to avoid filling her belly, he would have to court her properly and let her know that he was serious. He would have to ask her to marry him as soon as he could – next time he saw her.

  During the two days he had to wait, Henry’s courage ebbed and flowed several times but, fortunately for him, when Fay came out in answer to his knock, it was at its peak. He slid his arm round her waist in just a few minutes and once they were clear of the houses, he pulled her towards him. ‘I’ve something to ask you, Fay,’ he began, his wavering voice gaining strength as he went on, ‘and I’d thank you not to say anything till I’ve finished.’

  Her trusting eyes were almost his undoing but he carried on after a brief hesitation. ‘We’ve only been going out for a few weeks, but … well …’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘What I’m saying … what I mean … you’ll likely think I’m too forward but … it’s like this …’

  She laid her finger over his lips. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Henry, and I know you’re scared to come out with it but I’d really like to hear it. Would it help if I told you that I love you, too?’

  With a strangulated moan, he held her tightly and kissed her soft, sweet lips as he gathered the strength to utter the words she wanted to hear. Then, letting her head rest on his shoulder, for she scarcely topped five feet, he murmured, ‘Aye, I love you and all, Fay Leslie, and I want to wed you but …’

  She lifted her head to look at him. ‘No buts, Henry. If you want to marry me, ask me properly. Ask me now!’

  ‘Dearest Fay,’ he whispered, his lips against her cheek, ‘will you … do me the … honour of becoming my wife?’

  ‘My darling, darling boy,’ she said softly, but triumphantly, ‘it was easy, wasn’t it?’ She gave his ear a teasing nibble. ‘And the answer is yes so there are no buts.’

  ‘But there is a but. What will your father say? I’ve nothing to offer you …’

  ‘All I want is you,’ she breathed, her kiss proving the truth of it.

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘It might be better if you ask him but we are both over sixteen and we don’t need parental permission – not as the law stands.’

  When Henry returned to The Sycamores, Max took one look at his smug expression and burst out laughing. ‘You sly dog! You’ve done it, haven’t you? You’ve actually gone and done it?’

  Henry couldn’t help puffing out his chest. ‘I have that.’

  ‘Tell me, then! What happened? How does it feel? Is it as good as they all make out? Did she just let you do it without trying to stop you?’

  Gradually realising that they were talking at cross-purposes, Henry blushed a deep crimson. ‘I didn’t do what you’re meaning … I wouldn’t do anything like that to her … I just … asked her to marry me … and she said yes.’

  ‘Och, you!’ Disappointment oozing from every pore, Max shook his head as if despairing at his friend’s lack of backbone. ‘Well, you’ve done it now, lad, and there’s no going back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to go back,’ Henry said spiritedly. ‘We love each other and it won’t matter what her father says or …’ He paused, then added pensively, ‘So you don’t know what it’s like? You that spins stories about what the lassies say and do and …’ Throwing back his head, he roared with laughter. ‘The great Max Dalgarno, lover of more than half-a-dozen … or so he says … and he’s never done it once.’

  Max did have the grace to look shamefaced. ‘It was them tormenting me, the other lads … you ken. I couldna let them think I was … scared to touch a lassie …’

  Henry could scarcely believe this. ‘Scared? You? The things you said … Were you never even tempted?’

  ‘If there had been a lass I really fancied, I suppose I’d have been tempted but … well, it was all just a bit o’ fun, just kittlin’ an’ larkin about.’ Max turned his powerful blue eyes on his friend in appeal. ‘You’ll not tell?’

  Feeling that he had the upper hand for once, Henry smiled beatifically. ‘I’ll not tell … if you stop asking things you’ve no business asking.’

  ‘You’re right, Henry. It was none o’ my business and I’ll not tease you again. I’m pleased for
you, honest I am, and I hope everything works out for you.’

  Joseph Leslie, however, was not pleased. The apprehensive, white-faced Henry had hardly finished speaking when he burst out, ‘Marry Fay? Has the madness in that place rubbed off on you or were you born an idiot? What made you think I would agree to my daughter marrying a … a … how old are you, boy?’

  ‘Newly seventeen.’ It was said through chattering teeth.

  ‘A seventeen-year-old who does not have a decent job or a home to take her to! Or were you intending to make her share your bed at the asylum?’

  ‘That will do, Joseph.’ His wife laid a restraining hand on his sleeve. ‘Nothing will be gained by ranting and raving. Listen to the boy before you say anything else. Surely you can see that he loves our Fay.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Leslie,’ Henry said quietly, faltering a little as he turned his head again and met the force of the man’s venomous eyes. ‘I love Fay as I could never love any other girl and she says she loves me so it’s useless to try to split us up. We’re both old enough to marry without your permission but I would have liked, for her sake, if you’d been more … amenable to the idea.’

  ‘More amenable?’ Joseph roared. ‘You insolent young …’

  Fay, having stood all she could, now butted in. ‘We do love each other, Father, and nothing you say will make us change our minds. We shall marry with or without your blessing and even if Henry does expect me to share his bed at The Sycamores – something we have not yet had time to discuss – I would willingly do so. In fact,’ she added hastily, as the man was clearly building up to another explosion, ‘I am even prepared to go with him right now and share his bed, married or not! So there!’

  Clearly shocked by this, her mother endeavoured to stay calm. ‘There is no need for that, Fay, dear. You are at liberty to live here for as long as … Your father and I need time to come to terms with this and Henry needs time to plan what he has to do.’ She smiled kindly at the boy. ‘I get the impression that you have given no thought to the material things in life. You will have to provide a proper home for a wife, money to buy food and clothes for yourselves … and for the children you will no doubt produce.’

  Henry nodded wretchedly. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, Mrs Leslie. I haven’t thought it out but, as long as I know Fay is willing to wait, I’ll do my utmost to find a better job so I can give her everything she needs.’

  ‘I was sure you would see sense so we have no objection to you carrying on seeing Fay but I must warn you …’ Catherine halted, turning a delicate shade of pink. ‘There must be no … intimacy, no “accidents” … do you understand me?’

  His own face deepening to puce, Henry muttered, ‘I understand and I can assure you there’ll be nothing like that. I respect Fay far too much to shame her.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it and I am quite sure that I can depend on you to keep your word. Now, I think you should go so that my husband and I can discuss the matter.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ On his way to the door, Henry turned and said, ‘I’m truly sorry to have caused you so much distress, Mr Leslie, but I do love Fay.’

  The girl pulled him outside and they walked a few yards from the doorway before he moaned, ‘I knew it wouldn’t be any use. I knew your father didn’t like me.’

  ‘He does like you. It’s the fact that you have no prospects that he doesn’t like but I don’t mind what you work at. I meant it when I said I’d marry you tomorrow and share your room at The Sycamores, you know, and I will if the worst comes to the worst.’

  ‘I couldn’t let you do that. I’m sorry, Fay, my dearest, I didn’t think things through but I’ll find a better job, with a house along with it, I promise.’

  She pulled him to a stop to kiss him and, after a few minutes, she whispered, breathlessly, ‘I’d better go back now … before you break your promise to my mother.’

  He was ashamed of the passion her kisses had aroused in him which was plainly the reason for her last remark. ‘I’m sorry. I’m all … at sixes and sevens. Oh, I know that’s not really an excuse and I won’t let it happen again.’

  She stroked his cheek. ‘I wouldn’t object if you did but it’s better that we don’t tempt fate, don’t you think?’

  Max was astonished when he heard what had happened but he relieved Henry’s tension by laughing, ‘I wouldna mind if you took your lass here. She could share my bed for I’d be glad to do the needful for her if you were feared.’

  Despite his bitter disappointment and his chagrin at not having planned ahead, Henry was forced to smile at this … and boast. ‘If there’s any needs on her side, I’ll be the one to fulfil them and be damned to her father.’

  Janet Emslie had wrestled with her fears for several weeks. As Innes kept telling her, there was nothing to stop them being married now but she still held back. The deaths – first her mother’s and then his wife’s – bothered her. They were far too convenient to be coincidences – one, perhaps, but not two. Gradually, however, his persistence wore her down. There really were no encumbrances so why shouldn’t she grab what would likely be her last chance of happiness?

  Innes, naturally, was absolutely delighted, announcing their betrothal at breakfast the day after she had told him of her decision. His thoughts were concentrated now on making arrangements, asking their own chaplain to carry out the ceremony. He also insisted on accompanying her to Aberdeen to buy a wedding gown for her, although she told him it was unlucky for the groom to see it before the wedding.

  ‘Old wives’ tales,’ he laughed. ‘How could it be unlucky when I have waited so many years to make you mine?’

  This confession that he had loved her since they were in their teens made her uneasier than ever but the die had been cast. He had invitations printed, giving one to every employee and patient at The Sycamores, with wives or lady friends welcome.

  ‘You must take your girlfriend with you, Henry,’ Janet smiled. ‘We all want to meet her.’

  The wedding day dawned amid grey clouds, which Janet took to be a bad omen, but, even before breakfast was over, the sky had cleared and the sun was sending out rays of comforting heat as well as light. The bride, despite being forbidden to enter the kitchen that day, had gone down to cook breakfast as usual but felt quite embarrassed by the banter round the table, although nothing truly outrageous was said.

  Then her groom-to-be ordered her to go to her room and rest until it was time for her to get ready and she was quite glad of the hour she lay down on her bed. Then one of the maids brought up a kettle of hot water for her to wash, asking, rather cheekily, if she wanted a hand to get dressed.

  ‘I’ve dressed myself for over forty years,’ Janet smiled. ‘I think I can manage today.’

  She managed very well as she discovered an hour or so later. She had gone down the top flight of stairs in the Albert wing, which was mostly occupied by staff – the other wing, for the patients, was called Victoria – and had reached the main wide staircase when there was a burst of applause from the people gathered below and murmurs of, ‘Oh, isn’t she bonnie?’ and, ‘She’s a perfect picture.’

  This gave her flagging spirits a tremendous boost, which intensified when she caught sight of herself in the huge mirror on the middle landing as she went slowly down. She had said she just wanted a nice new dress, nothing fancy, but Innes had chosen, and paid for, a trousseau fit for a society wedding. The deep ivory of the dress, absolutely plain and shaped to make her look slimmer, was lightened by the paler, almost white lace veil, which was embroidered with tiny sprigs of pale pink rosebuds. Instead of the usual tight bun at the nape of her neck, she had fashioned her long hair into an elegant chignon, round which she had pinned a small strip of similarly embroidered lace as a headdress. She wore elbow length gloves, matching the gown, and dainty ivory satin shoes. She not only felt like a queen, she also looked like a queen.

  When she was on the last step, Innes stepped forward, handed her a white bible with a small spray of rosebuds the same pin
k as on her veil, then tucked her arm under his. He, too, was in formal wedding attire – black tailcoat, grey striped trousers and matching top hat. He smiled at the ripple of admiration that went round the assemblage. ‘We do make a lovely couple,’ he whispered.

  The bride and groom led the way to the quaint little chapel behind the house itself. It was the place of worship the original owner of The Sycamores had built for his family. The ceremony itself was fairly short, fairly basic, with Roderick Emslie giving his sister away and the oldest nurse as the other witness. Most of the guests had made some effort to be wedding-like, their best clothes decorated with posies or single flowers – whatever they could find.

  Having been pronounced husband and wife and signed the register, Mr and Mrs Innes Ledingham led the party back to the large dining hall which, in its former glory, had once been a ballroom, although there was nothing so grand planned for this occasion. The meal had been prepared beforehand by Janet, who was not allowed to raise a finger while it was being served, and everything passed off without a hitch.

  There was no dancing, no real frivolity, but no one seemed to mind. It was enough for the staff that they could circulate through each other, being idle and still being paid for it, and the patients were obviously enjoying watching what was going on – whether they understood that it was a wedding, of course, was debatable. Fay Leslie found herself shaking dozens of hands, although the smile raised by the first, ‘It’ll be you and Henry’s turn next,’ became somewhat fixed after the umpteenth time of hearing it.

  Her one big surprise, quite a shock really, had been when Henry introduced his friend. She’d had no idea that the only other boy she had ever gone out with also worked at The Sycamores and she was extremely thankful when he gave no indication that they had met before. His dark eyes had twinkled mischievously each time they met hers for the rest of the afternoon yet, when he managed to speak to her on her own at one point, all he said was, ‘Henry’s a lucky beggar but he deserves some happiness. He’s a right decent lad.’