A Woman of Spirit

by Nora Kay

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Susan MacFarlane had only a few months with David Cameron, but in tht time he taught her the power of passionate love - its rewards and its punishments. Then she returned to her duty: marriage to a man who could run the family's paper mill, the mill she loved and understood but could not have for herself. Trapped in a loveless marriage with only her children to console her, her ambition and her ability thwarted by the conventions of her time, Susan seems destined to finish her life without ever knowing again the heady excitement of her brief time of freedom. Then David Cameoron comes back to Glasgow. Rich now, ready to avenge the slights of his youth. And the implacable enemy of Susan's family. . . The Bolton Evening News loved this book: 'A rich and rewarding tale.'

Release date: April 11, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 352

Sample

On that last day of January 1885 a bitterly cold, contemptuous wind swept through the Lanarkshire village of Aranvale, flattening outhouses and sending slates crashing to the ground. Perched on the highest ground, Aran Heights braved the storm to suffer no more than a broken stable door left hanging drunkenly by its one remaining hinge.

Hamish MacFarlane, owner of the Aranvale Papermill, had had the house built to withstand the elements. Aran Heights was a grand mansion house without in any way being pretentious. Curved stone steps led up to the heavy oak door. The windows followed a precise pattern even to those in the attic and no unnecessary embellishments or fussiness of stone work detracted the eye from its classic simplicity and grace. Hamish MacFarlane was proud of his home and it would have surprised him greatly to know that his wife, Sarah, found it cold and forbidding. Only their daughter, Susan, shared her father’s love of Aran Heights.

Hamish MacFarlane considered that he and his family were indeed fortunate to have the best of both worlds. Aranvale had all the attractions of a village with its low houses, small shops, its kirk and manse, two public houses and a railway station, yet was no more than fifteen miles from Glasgow. None would deny that this city of contrasts had some of the finest buildings in Scotland. The rich lived in splendid mansions in spacious streets while the poor were housed in disgusting hovels. Slowly these were disappearing and tenements taking their place, but with the owners demanding rents that most could not afford there was a great deal of bad feeling.

Years before, Samuel MacFarlane, Hamish’s grandfather, had come to this part of Lanarkshire and seen the potential for a papermill at Aranvale. With a little money and a great deal of enthusiasm Samuel and a small band of helpers had worked from morning light until darkness to erect a jumble of rough buildings near to the artificial reservoir. Shrewdly he had recognised that the controlled flow of water would ensure a constant supply for manufacturing purposes.

When his son, Thomas, took over, the mill was already showing a healthy profit. New buildings had replaced the old and modern machinery had been added. With more and more orders coming in a larger workforce was needed. The papermill had become the life-blood of Aranvale and the surrounding villages. Now with Hamish in charge the Aranvale Papermill was one of the finest in the country. Even so society was not yet ready to open its doors to the MacFarlanes. The new rich were not yet accepted.

Overnight the wind had almost worn itself out and a weak sun slanted through the curtains of the room where Susan MacFarlane was at the window and her mother warming her hands in front of the log fire.

‘Did the storm keep you awake, Mama?’

‘Of course it did. As you very well know I have difficulty getting to sleep at the best of times. But we were not discussing the storm.’ Then she added irritably, ‘Come away from that window.’

Susan moved slowly away to join her mother at the fireside.

In her younger days Sarah MacFarlane had been considered a beauty but now only a faded prettiness remained and despite a daily battle with ever tighter laced corsets her figure had spread.

Half a head taller than her mother, Susan was slimly built with a lovely figure. She had high cheekbones, a velvety smooth skin and eyes of a deep blue but perhaps her real claim to beauty was the glorious silver fairness of her hair.

‘I’m only nineteen, Mama,’ Susan said quietly.

Seeing her daughter looking so composed brought the angry colour to Sarah’s face.

‘You’ll soon be twenty,’ the voice shrilled. ‘At your age I was married to your papa.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Having heard it all before Susan made the mistake of allowing weariness to creep into her voice and, hearing it, Sarah’s fragile control snapped. From where she was standing her raised hand caught Susan’s face a stinging slap and Susan, taken aback, stared at her mother in wide-eyed shock.

All the colour had left Sarah’s face, leaving it grey and a shaking hand went up to cover her mouth.

‘I’m sorry, so very sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘but it was your manner, your insolence.’

Expelling a shaky breath Susan touched her inflamed cheek. No one had ever raised a hand to her before and she was both outraged and humiliated.

Sarah’s ample bosom rose and fell and when next she spoke her voice was softer and a hint of pleading had crept in.

‘Edward Brodie would make an excellent husband.’

‘For someone else I’m sure he would and don’t misunderstand me: I don’t dislike Edward, in fact I quite like him but I don’t want to get married.’

‘Did you tell him that?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Susan said spiritedly. ‘Better to tell him the truth surely.’

‘Really, Susan, you are quite impossible. At your age I wouldn’t have dared disobey my parents.’ Her lips curled. ‘Would you rather end up a spinster like your Aunt Rachel?’

Susan didn’t take the trouble to answer. Her mother and Papa’s sister had never got on but Susan had a very real affection for her eccentric and often embarrassingly outspoken aunt. Rachel MacFarlane could have married but didn’t. She was a practical, intelligent woman full of energy and she led a full and independent life.

Abruptly Sarah sat down on the couch and leaned her head against the plump upholstery, managing to lose a hairpin in the process.

‘Believe me, Susan, you’ll have to learn and learn quickly that your own inclinations are unimportant.’ She bit her lip. ‘John and Lilian Brodie are going to be very upset at your dismissal of Edward and small wonder.’ She paused and looked bleak. ‘My own position is going to be difficult. Mrs Brodie may decide to exclude me from further invitations to Croft House.’ There was a pinched look about her mouth and Susan guessed that that was what concerned her mother most. The Brodies were accepted by society and through Lilian Sarah was edging her way into that exclusive circle.

‘Surely Mrs Brodie wouldn’t do that, Mama?’

Sarah’s eyes darted to the marble clock on the mantelshelf of the splendid Italian fireplace and she gasped. ‘Oh, dear, I almost forgot. Your papa wants to see you in the library at ten. Get up there now, it’s almost that,’ she said warningly.

The warning wasn’t needed. Hamish MacFarlane demanded punctuality and Susan had no wish to incur more wrath than that which she had little doubt awaited her. The hand moved to three minutes before the hour.

Checking her face in the mirror and relieved to see no tell-tale signs of her earlier distress, she moved to the door then spoke hesitantly.

‘Mama, how is Papa this morning?’

‘Your papa has a touch of bronchitis and Dr Sullivan insists that he remains indoors for the next week or two.’

With the closing of the drawing-room door Sarah continued to sit where she was. Much of the room’s magnificent splendour was due to her unrestricted expenditure. The exquisite gold-inlaid escritoire, Hepplewhite table and delicate Venetian glass were in perfect taste. Paintings and tapestries adorned the walls and in a locked cabinet, on glass shelves, were placed crinoline figures and other treasured pieces of porcelain. The drawing-room at Aran Heights was a showplace. Sarah loved it and spent as much time as possible there but the rest of the family much preferred the more comfortable and smaller rooms at the back of the house.

In those early days Hamish had been loath to curtail his wife’s spending and indeed had admired her choice of furniture and furnishings. Much of the pleasure derived from such a fine display disappeared as the bills began to arrive. Sternly he had reminded Sarah that money did not grow on trees and that one never knew what lay ahead. Sarah had agreed tearfully to exercise restraint in future but it angered her, knowing as she did that the paper-making industry was enjoying a boom in trade.

Amidst all this splendour, as always, her eyes went to the mantelshelf – drawn there to the face smiling out from the gold frame. She could never look at it without her lip trembling and wondered anew if the pain would ever lessen. Here in this same room the news had been broken to her, and closing her eyes she relived the horror of that cruel icy day in January, a year ago now, when tragedy had struck.

Only that previous week her handsome, darling, first-born son had celebrated his twenty-first birthday with a magnificent party. A superb horseman, no one knew how it could have happened but somehow Ralph had been thrown from his horse and in the fall his head had smashed against the stone dyke. The riderless horse had returned to the stables and that same night a distraught and grief-stricken father had ordered the beast to be destroyed.

Before entering, Susan gave a light knock on the library door.

‘Good morning, Papa.’ Knowing it would only irritate him she didn’t ask after his health.

‘Good morning, Susan,’ he grunted, turning away from the window.

‘Mama said you wished to see me.’

He nodded, his expression stern. For some time he kept her standing and with each passing moment her apprehension grew. Only now was she beginning to realise the enormity of what she had done and her mouth went dry. She had dared to disobey her parents, gone against an arrangement made by two powerful men to unite their families. Worse still, Edward had been agreeable, more than agreeable. She shivered.

Though heavily built there was a refinement about Hamish MacFarlane and a certain grace to his movements. He had a square-jawed face framed by a beard and sideburns and his dark brown hair, just beginning to grey, was still plentiful and curled to his collar.

Keeping his daughter standing had not been entirely to add to her discomfort. Hamish was enjoying looking at her, proud of her beauty and at other times he would have been secretly amused at her stubbornness, a trait she had inherited from him. However her refusal to become betrothed to Edward Brodie had come as an unpleasant shock. The marriage would take place, he would see to that, but meantime he would go easy on her. Susan, like most women, could be led but not driven. He would do well to exercise patience.

Carefully lowering himself into the spacious leather chair, he motioned for Susan to be seated and she sat down gratefully in the nearest chair.

‘Well, young woman,’ he rasped, ‘what have you got to say for yourself?’

‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ she whispered.

‘And so you should be.’ He frowned, drawing his brows together. ‘This is going to cause embarrassment between our families. Your mother is most upset.’

‘I know.’

‘What’s wrong with Edward?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’ll soon be twenty as your mother has reminded me, time you were settled.’

Her stomach was churning with nerves but she had to ask now.

‘The last thing I want to be, Papa, is a burden to you and that’s why’ – she faltered – ‘may – may I ask something?’

‘Go on.’

‘I – I know how much you miss Ralph, we all do –’ She saw the pain her words had produced but hurried on. ‘Papa, please let me take on some of the responsibility Ralph was shouldering. More than anything I want to learn about the mill.’

He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. Then she saw that he was struggling for control but whether it was anger at her temerity or grief for Ralph she couldn’t decide.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said at last, ‘the very idea is outrageous.’

Before her courage failed she plunged on. ‘It’s thanks to you, Papa, that I’m well educated. Sharing lessons with Matthew has given me a knowledge of subjects most girls aren’t allowed to study.’

My, but she was a plucky one bringing that up, Hamish thought as he hid a smile. If the truth were known he hadn’t been particularly interested in his daughter’s education but he wasn’t one to waste money. Having the twins educated by one tutor made economical sense.

‘Oh, you have an aptitude for figures, I won’t deny that. It’s just a pity your brother wasn’t similarly blessed.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘Instead I have a son of great charm, little brain and absolutely no ambition.’

‘Papa, that’s not fair!’ Susan rushed to her twin’s defence. ‘Mr Clapperton is very impressed with Matthew and says he has the makings of a fine farmer.’

‘I’m well aware where Matthew’s interests lie,’ he said irritably, ‘and at one time I may have agreed to his taking up farming, but surely even he must see that it’s out of the question now. Matthew’s place is in the mill with me and the sooner he realises that the better.’

‘Then my education has been a complete waste,’ she said angrily and beyond caring now. ‘And you who always say how much you hate waste.’

He glowered across the desk and pointed a stubby finger. ‘If you filled your days with ladylike pursuits it would be better for all concerned. From what your mother tells me you have few accomplishments and your needlework is a disgrace.’

Susan felt a suffocating tightness in her throat.

‘That’s because I hate it and I couldn’t bear to spend my life as Mama does.’

His expression softened but he gave a shake of his head.

‘A woman’s place is in the home, my dear, bringing up a family and organising the servants. Maybe one day society will look at it differently but it won’t be in my time.’

‘You employ women,’ she said accusingly.

‘Women of that class need to earn money.’

‘But Papa –’

‘Not another word, young woman, my patience is exhausted.’ To show it and hasten her departure he lifted his pen and dipped it into the inkwell.

Sick at heart, Susan stumbled from the library, almost colliding with a startled maid in her rush for the privacy of her own bedroom. Once there she gave in to a storm of weeping, pounding the pillow with her clenched fist. It wasn’t fair, nothing was fair. Just because she was a female so many doors were closed. Marriage seemed to be the only escape and in time she was pretty sure that would become its own prison. As she grew calmer she felt ashamed at her outburst and got up from the bed. The covers were in disarray and she smoothed them then went over to the jug on the marble slab. A little water remained, cold now, and she poured it into the china basin and splashed her face. A brisk rub with the towel brought back her colour. Glancing in the mirror above she saw a mouth set in a stubborn line. Nobody, but nobody would force her into a marriage she didn’t want. But even as she thought it she wondered how long she could hold out against her parents’ wishes.

Hamish MacFarlane allowed himself a tired smile. The lass had a lot of character and a good head on her shoulders but that was no answer to his own problem. Hunched over his desk his eyes were troubled and to add to his difficulties he felt drained of his usual energy. Sarah’s insistence on calling Dr Sullivan had resulted in him being confined to the house but truth to tell he didn’t feel able to face a day’s work at the mill.

‘Ease up, man,’ Dr Sullivan had said in his blunt manner, ‘or you’ll drive yourself into an early grave.’ The two had been friends since their youth and believed in plain speaking.

‘A touch of bronchitis is hardly likely to prove fatal,’ Hamish said scornfully.

‘With sensible precautions I quite agree but when have you ever been sensible where that mill is concerned?’

‘Huh!’

‘February is a treacherous month so you keep yourself indoors for the next week or ten days then we’ll see.’

‘Good God, man! You know that’s impossible.’

‘Nonsense. Takes a bit of rearranging that’s all. Nothing to hinder you having the work needing your personal attention brought to you at Aran Heights and have enough confidence in your staff to delegate the rest.’

‘Well, maybe –’ Hamish said doubtfully.

‘No maybe about it.’ His finger pointed to a bottle of brown liquid. ‘Don’t be treating that as an ornament, the dosage is marked, see and take it regularly and I’ll get on my way.’

Overweight and without the height to carry it, the doctor heaved himself up. ‘Mistake to sit too long, Hamish. Could be that age is catching up with us,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Hamish growled. He didn’t like to be reminded that he was already well into middle age.

By late afternoon Susan was anxious to get out of the house and the disapproving atmosphere. Putting an old cloak over her plain dark gown that she wore in the mornings and should have changed, and a bonnet to cover her hair, she let herself out of the side door and into the cobbled courtyard. Aran Heights, set high on the hilliest part of Aranvale, seemed to grow out of the stark and harsh landscape of the hills and caught the full blast of the north wind which for much of the winter months howled and shrieked through the fields. As she moved across the courtyard a single frisky wind caught at her cloak and whipped it about her legs.

Keeping to the paths around the gardens Susan didn’t at first hear the carriage and only when she heard her name shouted did she turn to see Matthew hurrying after her.

‘Where are you off to?’ Then he grinned. ‘No, don’t tell me,’ he said, falling into step. ‘You’re in the dog-house.’

In spite of herself she giggled. ‘You’re an idiot, Matthew, and what are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be hard at it in the mill?’

He scowled. Matthew was over six feet tall, loose-limbed, handsome and well aware of the effect his fair good looks had on young women.

‘Chalmers was bringing some ledgers and stuff for Father and I decided to accompany him home.’

‘You’re absolutely hopeless, Matthew, no wonder Papa despairs of you.’

She saw his boyish face darken and then he burst into a sulky tirade.

‘Would you believe this?’ He sounded horrified. ‘Father is insisting I familiarise myself with each stage of paper-making. Heaven knows the office is bad enough but that God-awful clanking of machinery will slowly but surely drive me mad,’ he said, clapping a hand to his brow.

‘Try to stick it, Matt. After a while you’ll hardly notice the noise and in any case you’ll be spending most of the time in the office with Papa. He wants you ready to take over and you can’t blame him for that, the mill is his whole life.’

‘Exactly! As you so rightly say the mill is his whole life. He enjoys it, he got what he wanted and it would have been the same for Ralph.’ He kicked viciously at a mound of frozen snow. ‘Why did Ralph have to be so stupid as to go and get himself killed?’

‘Matthew!’ Susan was shocked.

‘Sorry, I was thinking out loud. But can’t you see, can’t anyone see I’m different?’ He spread out his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘I’m not interested in the mill or in making huge profits.’

‘You’re quite good at getting through your allowance,’ she said tartly.

He glared angrily. ‘Whose side are you on?’

‘Matthew, I’m not taking sides.’

‘Yes, you are.’

She forced a laugh. ‘You don’t know how ironic this is. What you are rebelling against is what I want. More than anything I want to work with Papa.’

‘Wrong sex,’ he said bluntly.

‘No. Not the wrong sex just the wrong attitude from yours.’

He looked surprised and not a little put out.

‘You’re beginning to sound just like those females – you know, the ones fighting for God-knows-what.’

‘They know what they’re fighting for, the right to make use of their talents.’

While walking they had wandered away from the grounds of Aran Heights and Matthew stopped suddenly. ‘This far enough for you?’

‘I’m in no hurry to get back.’

‘Come on then, we’ll go round by Moorend.’

‘Where else but Clapperton farm?’ she said, amused.

‘We needn’t call in.’

‘We won’t be calling in,’ Susan said firmly as she went ahead to take the road forking away from the farm road. She thought of Winnie Clapperton so obviously in love with Matthew and he only giving her the time of day because of his interest in the farm. Frowning at her thoughts, she turned to look at her brother and was surprised by a look of naked longing in his face as his eyes roved the peaceful country scene. Until that moment she hadn’t fully realised just how deep went his passion for the land. Whatever the future held she couldn’t see Matthew settling in the mill.

‘You gone deaf or something?’

‘Sorry, Matt.’ She laughed, ‘I was miles away. What were you saying?’

‘One day Winnie will have all this.’ His hand swept the surrounding acres and acres of fields and she heard his sigh. ‘Pity she’s so plain but I suppose it’s a small price to pay for all this.’ He gave his sister a sidelong glance.

‘Stop it, Matthew,’ Susan said sharply, ‘Don’t make use of people for your own ends and certainly not Winnie. I happen to be fond of her.’

‘I wasn’t serious.’

‘I’m not so sure. I wouldn’t put it past you but remember this, Matthew MacFarlane, I don’t want Winnie hurt. In fact I might go as far as warn her.’

‘Calm down for any favour and she wouldn’t, you know – get hurt I mean. She’d be getting exactly what she wants,’ he said smugly.

‘Don’t be so disgustingly sure of yourself. Winnie is no fool.’

‘That I do know. When it comes to the farm she’s almost as knowledgeable as old Clapperton and I happen to know that there isn’t very much done without first discussing it with Winnie.’

Nothing more was said as they walked the rough pitted road. In the distance they could see smoke coming from the chimneys of the Old Mill House where Hamish had been born and where his unmarried sister, Rachel, lived with her housekeeper and a small staff of servants.

‘Susan!’ Matthew gripped her arm. ‘I’ve had an absolutely brilliant idea.’ Then as she looked at him enquiringly he loosened his hold. ‘No, I haven’t, you’ve mucked it up by refusing Edward.’

‘Mucked up what?’

‘Edward hates playing second fiddle to that pompous ass Thomas.’ He paused for Susan’s reaction but there was none. ‘What I’m trying to say is that Edward would be happier with some responsibility in the papermill rather than the way he’s placed in the distillery.’

‘Thomas is not a pompous ass, the description pompous applies more to Edward. Thomas is the elder son and naturally he’ll succeed his father; Edward’s trouble is that he doesn’t like taking orders from anyone. That said, where is this supposed to be leading?’

‘Nowhere,’ he said morosely, ‘unless you decide to marry Edward after all.’ He brightened. ‘Why not, Susan? Edward’s all right, plenty after him and you could do worse.’

‘You’re the absolute limit, do you know that?’

‘Just realistic. Married to you Edward becomes family and Father would welcome him with open arms, he’d be an asset to the mill. Later the pair of you will no doubt produce the longed-for grandson and all our troubles will be over.’

‘Meaning you get what you want?’

‘You won’t come out of it so badly.’

‘You’re right I won’t because, my dear brother, I have no intention of marrying Edward,’ she said sweetly.

‘Could be you’ll have to, but speak of the devil, isn’t that the Brodie carriage drawing up in the yard?’

She craned her neck and saw with a sinking heart that it was indeed the Brodie carriage. Even at that distance she could make out Edward’s broad figure moving away from the carriage and walking towards the front entrance.

‘What does he want here?’ she muttered crossly.

‘Come! Come! Susan, you must know that someone as persistent as our Edward won’t be disheartened at the first rebuff. Take it from me he won’t be so easy to shake off.’ Seeing her expression he sobered. ‘Why shouldn’t he call? Much more embarrassing if he didn’t.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘Think of poor Mother if the Brodies were to shun Aran Heights. She’d be inconsolable if her climb into society were to be so cruelly halted.’

‘That’s going too far, Matthew,’ Susan said coldly. ‘Mama has a wide circle of friends.’

‘Agreed, but they’re still way behind the high and mighty Brodies.’

They were hardly inside and closing the vestibule dobr before Sarah MacFarlane, in a pale lavender gown that rustled as she moved, greeted her son warmly and turned to Susan.

‘I do wish, Susan, that you had the good manners to tell me before you go out,’ she said petulantly. ‘Edward is here, he’s with Papa at the moment.’

‘My fault, Mother, don’t blame Susan,’ Matthew said carelessly as he shrugged himself out of his coat. ‘We were both in need of a spot of fresh air.’

‘Very well, but hadn’t you better hurry and change?’ she said, looking with distaste at Susan’s outdoor clothes.

‘I was about to, Mama,’ Susan said, anxious to make her escape but it wasn’t to be. The drawing-room door opened and they heard Edward taking his leave of Hamish. Then, catching sight of Susan, his eyebrows shot up and he was smiling as he took the few strides along the passageway to where they stood in the large square-shaped hall.

Moving away from the heat of the fire, Sarah excused herself with a sweet smile to Edward and a warning look in her daughter’s direction. After a few pleasantries Matthew followed his mother out.

Left together, Susan’s first thought was that no matter when one saw Edward he was always immaculately dressed. Sarah liked such attention to appearance but Susan was slightly put off by it. To her Edward just stopped short of being a dandy.

Reaching for her hand he squeezed her fingers gently. ‘Susan, let’s not be awkward with one another; you were perfectly entitled to give me the answer you did.’ He frowned as a maid arrived to add more logs to the hall fire. ‘Couldn’t we take a short stroll since you’re dressed for outdoors?’

‘Like this?’

He smiled. ‘Not your best I gather but I have to be on my way shortly.’

At twenty-four Edward had the easy assurance of his class and was proud of his family history. His forebears had been Glasgow merchants engaged in the tobacco trade with the American colonies. Huge fortunes had been made and when trade declined the ‘tobacco lords’ as they were called bought other concerns. Seeing potential in the Granton Distillery, Joseph Brodie set about acquiring it and once it became his property began a programme of expansion. Pouring so much money into the hugely competitive whisky trade had not been without its risks, for though popular locally the Granton blend was virtually unknown outside Lanarkshire.

Aggressive marketing spread its fame and the Granton blend became known and approved. Profits soared and the Brodie family became one of the richest and most influential in Lanarkshire.

Once Susan and Edward were clear of the house Edward took her arm.

‘Let me make one thing clear, Susan, the suddenness of my proposal was in no way influenced by your parents or mine.’

She felt laughter bubbling up in her throat. ‘Come on, Edward, be completely honest, it had a good deal to do with it.’

‘You’re wrong about that.’ His eyes met and held hers. ‘Ralph knew how much I admired you. I even told him that you were the girl I was going to marry.’

‘And what did Ralph have to say?’ She couldn’t stop herself asking.

‘I’m happy to say he approved.’

And that was probably true, she thought. Ralph thought a lot of Edward, and Edward had been devastated by his friend’s death. But it didn’t alter anything as far as she was concerned.

‘I wish it were different,’ she said softly, ‘but it’s better to be honest. I like you but I don’t love you.’

‘That would come.’ And when she didn’t answer there was alarm in his voice. ‘There isn’t anyone – I mean you’re not –’

She shook her head. ‘No, Edward, there is no one,’ she said truthfully.

His face relaxed. It was a nice face with well-defined features and light blue eyes but the mouth was too thin and could twist into a cruel line. Both Thomas and Edward owed their sandy colouring to their mother but that was all the brothers had in common. Whereas Thomas was small made with narrow shoulders Edward was built like his father and stood just short of six feet.

‘That’s a relief, you had me worried.’ And as she made to speak he held up his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep badgering you but at least I can go on hoping you’ll change your mind.’

‘You’re a dear, Edward,’ she said impulsively, ‘and I know that for most girls marriage is the most important step in their life. One day maybe I’ll feel that way too.’

‘But not yet?’

‘No, not yet. Before that I mean to do something with my life.’

‘Such as?’ His eyes were amused.

‘Such as persuading Papa to give me some responsibility in the mill.’

Edward looked even more shocked than Papa had.

‘Mr MacFarlane would never agree to that. Take my advice and don’t suggest such a thing.’

‘I already have,’ she said haughtily.

‘May I ask what he had to say?’

‘Oh, he’ll take a bit of persuading,’ she said airily, ‘but I don’t give up easily.’

‘Susan, I’m not suggesting that you are not intelligent –’

‘How kind of you,’ she said sarcastically, ?