Page 11 of The Sky Beneath Us
‘Not at all,’ I retorted. ‘As a woman, I’m already a second-class citizen. One could argue we were born equals. And I should much prefer a marriage on that basis to one such as Helen or Hetty have opted for.’
I flushed as pink as the wind-blown azalea flowers scattered amongst the stones at our feet, realising I had surely oversteppedthe mark with my reference to marriage. But Callum simply turned to face me and took hold of my other hand too. ‘You would consider such a union then, would you, Miss Mackenzie-Grant? A marriage far beneath your station?’
I shook my head and laughed. ‘I would only ever consider a marriage to a man I loved, heart and soul, one who loved me back in the same way. That, surely, is the only equality that matters.’
He was quiet then, and the only sounds were the hush of the waves and the sighing of the wind in the trees. Then he said, ‘I want to be worthy of you, Vi. I want to be able to give you the life you deserve. And I shall work every day God gives us to be able to offer you that.’
He put his arm around my waist, and I rested my head on his shoulder. For those few blissful minutes as we sat there like that in the sunlight, cocooned for a while in a world beyond the strictures of social hierarchies, it felt as if nothing could ever tear us apart.
When I got back to the big house, having left Callum at the keeper’s cottage, a delegation was waiting for me in the drawing room. My parents sat stiffly on the over-stuffed sofa facing the door and my brother Charles stood in front of the fire, shoulders squared, his hands clasped behind his back. Nervously, I smoothed down my hair and smiled, trying to ignore the atmosphere in the room, which seemed so heavy it made it hard for me to breathe. Why was Charles here, and where were Hetty and Helen?
‘Is there any tea left in the pot?’ I asked, with a pretence at nonchalance.
‘Sit down, please, Violet,’ Pa said.
‘Is something the matter?’ I said, perching on the edge of an armchair, although I knew full well exactly what it was.
‘The matter,’ said my brother, his tone caustic, ‘is that gardener you’ve brought here. What on earth were you thinking? It’s hardlyappropriate for you to be running about the place with him. People will jump to conclusions.’
I lifted my chin and met his disgusted gaze with defiance. ‘Let them. Who knows, perhaps those conclusions are correct?’
My mother gasped, raising a hand to her chest, and Charles’s face flushed deep puce with fury.
‘This is exactly what we were afraid of, Violet.’ My father’s voice was deliberately calm, trying to sound reasonable. ‘And that’s why we need to have this talk. I want to make absolutely certain that you understand our position.’
I tried to interject, but he raised his palm to stop me. ‘No, let me speak.’ His words were sharper now, edged with steel. ‘Your mother and I have humoured you in your whimsical desire to do this gardening course in Edinburgh. Knowing how headstrong you can be, we thought it might be wise to allow you to get it out of your system. But if you are to continue, we expect you to be more discerning in the company you keep there. So when you return, you will no longer see that young man.’
‘Really, Vi,’ my mother added, ‘Edinburgh must be full of people who’d make suitable husbands. I thought it might do you good to be in the city and meet a wider circle than is available to you here. But this ... boy ... is most certainly not what any of us had in mind. Please, dear, listen to your father.’
‘Because if you don’t,’ said Charles, unable to refrain from butting in again, ‘you will either come home or we will send you off to a finishing school where you’ll be taught to behave properly.’
I looked from one to the other. My mother’s expression was pleading and scared; my brother’s was straining at the seams with his barely suppressed rage; but my father’s was the worst. He simply watched me in a manner so cold and detached that I realised nothing I could say would make any difference. It was as though all pretence had fallen away in that moment and I saw myself through his eyes.He didn’t even see me as a human being, let alone an equal. I was worthless to him – the second daughter and the third child. The most I could aspire to was not to be a burden on the family. I was nothing. And all he wanted me to do was make a suitable marriage, in which I would continue to be nothing for the rest of my life. Nothing but a good and biddable daughter. Like Hetty.
I got to my feet. ‘I see,’ I said, as levelly as I could. ‘Well, you’ve made the position absolutely clear.’
‘I mean it, Violet,’ said my father, in that same even, emotionless tone. ‘We’ve given you more than enough leeway. This is your final chance and if you disobey me then I will take the appropriate steps.’
‘You’d do well to remember who pays your allowance,’ Charles added. ‘We can stop that straight away if you don’t do as you’re told. Life won’t be much fun if you’ve been cut off without a penny.’
My mother reached across the space between us and patted my hand. ‘Go and get yourself tidied up, dear, and then come down for dinner. We’ll say nothing more about this unpleasantness, as long as you see reason. We just have your best interests at heart, you know.’
I walked out and climbed the stairs to my room, moving automatically, stunned by my father’s coldness. I sat down at my dressing table and picked up my hairbrush, then put it down again, unable to move. Earlier, I’d cut a sprig of cherry blossom and put it in a vase, setting it where it would be reflected in the mirror of the vanity table. A few of the petals had fallen on to the marble top, scattered between the brush set and my little Wedgwood trinket box. I was frozen with the sudden icy clarity of my situation. Until now, I’d imagined I had choices, a degree of self-determinism about where my life would lead. But now I saw it through my father’s eyes. He and Charles held all the power. I was merely another one of their belongings, and rather an inconvenient one at that.
I raised my eyes to the mirror. The flowers reflected there were delicate and fleeting. And yet each one held within it the potential to form a fruit, containing a seed from which a whole new tree might grow.
So much potential.
I brushed the fallen petals lightly with my fingertips, feeling the softness of decay already upon them.
Such a waste.
And then I lifted my chin and smiled at my reflection, knowing what I would do.
Because I, for one, simply cannot bear waste.
Daisy – March 2020
Violet’s words and the sound of the rain on the roof of the teahouse transport me back to the shores of Loch Ewe – the childhood home I too dreamed of leaving for a wider world and finding love and respect such as she and Callum seem to have shared. Her descriptions of Ardtuath and Inverewe stir up a tidal pull within me, a flood of longing for my childhood home. It’s a familiar feeling. I remember walking along the shore with Jack just before I left for London, taking leave of the place and the people who’d given me so much.
