Anna of Strathallan (11 page)

Anna loved the way he called her grandparents by their first names. It must make them feel years younger. She pulled herself up. It was ridiculous the way her thoughts busied themselves about Calum all the time, now. She must remember she was supposed to gang warily. She mustn't let her runaway feelings blind her to the fact that the Doigs were extremely well entrenched here. Yet, in all fairness, why shouldn't they be? Till a month or so ago, nobody knew the Drummonds had a granddaughter.

As far as they were concerned, this could have been an ideal situation for them, someone they'd known all their lives to manage the estate. And if -
when
- Sophy married Calum, they would love their manager's wife even as they loved him. They already loved her as their minister, a gay and gallant lass.

So naturally Calum, and perhaps Ian and Betty, would have viewed with apprehension the fact that an unknown descendant was coming here, presumably to inherit. But Calum resented her less now. He was a just man.

Today was warmer than before, to Anna's delight, for as yet ,she wasn't used to these knife-edged winds that blew through golden rays of deceptive spring sunshine from the white tops about them. But once you began working with the ewes you became warm enough.

They had a few lambs and ewes to match up in the shed, so they came back a little early. On the way, in the Rover, Calum asked Philip about the service at Balloch. 'Did the older people really like it?'

'Like it? They just lapped it up.'

Anna said, 'I take it that it was a youth service, guitars, a bit of swing, or something? But presented so that the older-'

She got no further. They guffawed. Philip said, 'Wrong tack, entirely, Anna. Sophy's pretty astute. She felt that these days with so many innovations for the young folk, geared to their ideas, the older members were feeling a bit out of it. It's been most noticeable that while winter weather can account for some of them staying in of nights, some who didn't seem to know what bad weather was have dropped off. She didn't want the Balloch service to get this way. Cut off as it is through the Pass - did you know Balloch is a Gaelic name for a pass? - they've been a close-knit community, well mixed in age. So she decided on a short devotional service, with the older ones then taking over and digging down into their pasts, and their parents' pasts for stirring and hazardous tales of other days.

'Central Otago has a history anything but tame, you know, so it was no prunes-and-prisms stuff. Yet through it all they underlined the fact that these daring goldminers and settlers gave the church a prominent, even central, place in the community. Some of them opened their eyes a bit when old Jake Donnelly said that from what his father told him, the permissive society of today had nothing on some of the wild doings of those days. The dance-hall girls came in the train of the forty-niners from California, and it was a real Wild West Show at times. That the oldies with a bit of principle had a deal of temptation to face and to overcome. They're so keen now, the youngsters, they've decided to have a display when lambing's finished, of the relics and heirlooms harking back to those days, at a re-enactment of the old-time soirees the church put on. They want as many as possible to come in costume. Actually it was my mother's idea and she egged Sophy on.'

Calum chuckled in a teasing way. 'Heavens, Philip, that was quite a speech! Must be catching. Before you know where you are you'll be doing a bit of local preaching.'

Philip made a threatening move towards him. Kitty, in a tone of rapture, said, 'Oh, Anna can go in Gilbert's grandmother's best silk gown - Kirsty's. It has a bustle, Anna, and it's brown watered silk with sort of panniers of cream lace, and cream net sleeves from the elbows, frilled at the wrists. It would be just lovely with your brown eyes.'

Calum said, 'Have you any others, Kit? There'll be a great demand for genuine pioneer stuff.'

'Yes, though some not as old as that, but all lovely. Still, as Balloch and Crannog weren't only settled by the first ones to come here, all fashions should be represented. There were some who followed who were just as hard-working, just as determined to wrest a living from this bare, rock-strewn country. So their dresses graced many a later soiree.'

'I had Sophy in mind,' said Calum. 'Not belonging to the district, she won't have anything.'

Anna said quickly, 'She could have the brown moire. I could pick another. With her lovely coppery colouring, the brown would be ravishing on her. I mean she couldn't take rose-pink for instance, so her choice would be more limited. Redheads need the right colouring.'

Calum said very quickly, 'Oh, no, Anna. That's a kind offer, but an early Drummond gown should be worn by a Drummond. Gilbert would be disappointed otherwise. Besides, the parish will fall over themselves to provide their minister with a suitable gown.'

'They already have,' said Philip, grinning. 'My mother's offered Sophy her great-grandmother's wedding-gown.' He turned to Anna. 'My great-great-gran came out on the
John Wickliffe
with the first Scots settlers to Dunedin. The journey took months - long enough for that eighteen-year- old girl who came aboard fancy-free, to fall for one of the ship's officers. He wouldn't let her set foot on shore till she wore his ring. He came back on the next voyage, a year later. She couldn't have a white wedding-dress, of course, but someone on board had a length of the most beautiful blue material. I'm no judge of materials, but it's sort of gauzy. Sophy will look a dream in it.'

Calum said, 'Didn't Victoria want it? I remember your mother mentioning this idea, vaguely, before Victoria took off.'

'No, Mum's got it all in hand, whether Victoria wants to go or not. She's to wear Dad's great-gran's dress. Deep cream*lace. Dad would die if it was anything but a Sherborne gown.'

Calum said, 'We'll have to hog-tie Victoria. She's here one moment, gone the next, Anna. A real career girl. She's an adviser to a firm of New Zealand interior decorators and is more or less a freelance. Philip's mother can always do with her help at home when she's not on the move. But we never know where we are with her. She's a top-notcher in her own line, so the firm usually lets her work to her own time-table. She's up in North Canterbury at the moment, re-designing one of the old homestead interiors.'

It sounded exciting, the soiree. Crannog wasn't the Sleepy Hollow it appeared at first sight. As they reached the shed a rider came up the drive on a superb chestnut mare, a
s
lim
figure in trews, with a yellow polo-necked sweater under a bottle-green windcheater ... a girl with coppery hair not piled smoothly and demurely on her head as yesterday in St. Christopher's pulpit, but tied back carelessly with an emerald green gauzy bow. Sophy.

She rode almost up to them, swung down, opened a gate nearby and sent the mare in with an affectionate slap on her rump, to join two other horses there. Oh, yes, Sophy Kirkpatrick was very much at home here.

She had a bunch of letters in her hand and the morning paper from Dunedin. She had collected them from the mailbox as she came in. There was one for Anna with a Hong Kong stamp on. 'I'll have that for my stamp club, if it's not spoken for, please,' said Sophy.

By the time they got to the kitchen Anna had it open and began to read eagerly. She made an exclamation, read on, then caught her grandmother by the shoulders and danced her madly round the kitchen with Kitty laughing helplessly and imploring her to tell her what was wrong. 'Or right,' she added, 'by the look of you.'

'Isn't it just marvellous? The most fantastic stroke of luck! Grandfather, come in here while I tell you. It's from Magnus and Mother. Instead of going to Auckland when he's finished his year overseas, he's been appointed to a position in the Med. School in Dunedin. It's what he's always wanted. Oh, I'm glad I didn't get my letter posted. Listen to what Mother says: "You must make your own decision, of course, and if you find yourself a job in Auckland that you love, I won't ask you to leave it, but I can't help thinking how lovely it would be if you fell in love with the South Island on your travels and took a position in Dunedin or somewhere near. I'm hoping Auntie Ed knows where to forward this on, so you can look round while you are down South."

'Oh, my dears, isn't it marvellous? We'll be in the same island and only a hundred miles apart. They'll be able to come up for week-ends. I'll be able to spend some with them. Oh, it's the best of two worlds for me. How lucky I am!'

After the excited talking died down, Anna went out to the wash-basin on the back verandah to scrub up. Calum was there, on his own. 'So you really have made up your mind to stay, Anna?'

'But could you doubt it?' she asked, her eyes holding his. She wished she could read that expression. Blue eyes were so inscrutable. Brown eyes seemed to mirror every change of feeling.

She decided on candour. 'Calum, I do understand this was a difficult situation for you. Yours is a life-long association with the Drummonds. You've been as a son to my grandfather. Naturally, you'd expect to carry on when they go. Tell me, because I'd like it clear, hasn't that always been understood?'

He was drying his hands on a hard khaki linen towel, his eyes fixed on hers. 'Yes. So what?'

She said softly, her pansy-brown eyes holding his frankly, 'Then you have nothing to fear from me. I rather think that when my grandparents built that Annexe on it was so that when you get married, you and your wife could take over the homestead and they would live there, part of the homestead still, but leaving a new wife her home to herself. Right?'

'Right. That was the idea. Why?'

'Because that's the way it'll stay. Nothing is changed. I'll probably take a job in Roxburgh Hospital with a bit of luck, and live with Gran and Grandy in the Annexe. If I can't get that sort of job, which I'd like best, I'll see what the hotels can do; it's a tourist area, so I guess I'd find something. I've no diploma for it, but I'm a trained caterer.'

He said slowly, 'You will be Gilbert's heir. It's going to-'

She held up a hand. 'Calum, till six weeks ago the Drummonds didn't even know I existed. They'll probably want to leave me a legacy. It would be only natural. They might even want me to take and treasure some of their pioneer pieces, which I would do for their sakes, and maybe I could inherit the Annexe - more than that I will not take. You've worked for this. You've kept the estate going, you and your brother. I will not be put in the position of the cuckoo-in- the-nest.'

They heard Philip coming and immediately rushed into small talk.

Anna was aware of very mixed feelings during the meal. She so liked Sophy, but was intensely irritated that she could be so indecisive about marrying Calum. He was very gentle with her, surprisingly so when gentleness wasn't something you associated at first with that hawk-like face. Under that beaky exterior must lurk compassion. Pity for all this girl had been through must have softened him towards her.

Suddenly she thought of what Grandfather had said about enjoying verbal sparring when she and Calum had been bickering about her possible aid in the lambing field. He'd said,
'This
one won't agree with all you say.'

But would the Reverend Sophy agree with all Calum said? Weren't ministers given more to debate than sweet accord? Or did they keep that for their pulpits, for their Presbytery or Synod meetings, and was Sophy all sweetness and light when she was with Calum? It was odd. Especially when Grandfather had sounded as if he thought all this agreement was rather dull for Calum.

Oh, what was she pondering on this for? She must stop thinking about him. About them. That way lay emotional disturbance. But she was glad she'd made it plain to him that Anna Drummond would be no stumbling-block to Sophy and Calum taking up residence at Strathallan. Calum wasn't the sort to take no easily from someone he desired for his wife.

After the meal she found Kitty and Philip deep in conversation in the kitchen. They cut off quickly as she came in, looked guilty, then, she thought, relieved. Gran said, 'Oh, we thought you were Sophy. Thought we'd been copped. I'd had an idea. Philip thinks it might work too, if you're sport enough to give it a go. If—' she cut off as Sophy and Calum came in, carrying their dishes.

All Grandmother could say was as they were piling in the truck, and a whisper said in Anna's ear, 'Follow Philip's lead, will you? Play up to him.'

Anna said, 'You mean to - to help things along - with Sophy and—'

'Sh!' said Kitty, and added brightly, 'Ah, here you are,- Sophy, in you go.'

Well, it was obvious Philip and Kitty had decided to throw Calum and Sophy together more. Maybe Sophy was so busy it was all work and no play, and Anna would be roped in with Philip for a little light relief. She'd find out more later. She didn't need to. Like Gran said, she followed Philip's lead.

But Sophy was always fun like this on Mondays, Calum said to Anna during the afternoon, watching Sophy playing a trick on Philip. She'd come up behind him, unseen, with another newly-born lamb just as he delivered a ewe of one and bent to assist its second one into the world. She quietly laid the odd-one-out beside the first and tip-toed away unseen. Philip took quite a time with the second twin. By now they were all watching him, grinning. He managed it at last, the ewe struggled to her feet, and Philip turned round to see how the first had fared. His eyes just bulged, an incredulous look went over his face. They could see the thought clicking into place: 'Triplets? ... but I don't remember—' Then he looked sharply at Sophy who was wearing a too-innocent expression and he shook his fist at her and took after her. He chased her clean round a clump of willows and out of sight.

They emerged eventually, Sophy wiping tears of laughter away, but pretending to be angry with Philip and quoting:

'Oh, it is
excellent
to have a giant's strength,

But it is
tyrannous
to use it as a giant!'

Calum's eyes were alight with laughter too. 'What did you do to her, Philip?'

Philip's dark hazel eyes twinkled into slits. 'What do you think I did? Forgot my reverence for the cloth and clouted her! Sophy, you get that lamb back to its poor demented mother right now. There's enough bleating going on round here without that.'