Light & Dark Read online

  To my agent and friend

  Fiona Morrison

  Acknowledgements

  There are many people whom I would like to thank for their kindness in helping me with my research—most especially Mr Joseph Beltrami, who so generously gave of his time and expertise to authenticate the legal aspects of the story and the courtroom scene.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PART 1 INNOCENCE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  PART 2 DISILLUSIONMENT

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  PART 3 REBELLION

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  PART 1

  INNOCENCE

  1

  Lorianna wondered how she could seduce Gavin. Was it right to go to him now with her dark brown hair piled up and secured with ivory combs? Was she looking her best in her enormous cartwheel hat festooned by two winged birds and posies of spring flowers to match the season? Would her elegance attract him as she paraded slowly along the path her furled parasol piercing the soft earth? She hoped he would prefer her like this, silent and stately, her tightly laced corset emphasising her curves, forcing bosom forward and hips back under her violet velvet dress and short cape.

  She paused for a moment to listen for the light clip-clop and heavy rattle of his horse and trap, but there was nothing; silence brooded over the lane, deeply rutted with carriage wheels, that led between Blackwood House and the Drumcross Road. It was as if the place had been forgotten by humanity and was now the sole domain of the animal world. The white tails of rabbits bobbed in and out of the hedgerows. A stoat with swift, stealthy movement scurried across her path. Birds flitted high over trees alive with darting squirrels. Butterflies like rainbow-coloured fans fluttered low.

  Eventually the trees thinned out and it was possible to see some of the fields of the home farm on the left. Further on, where the lane met the Drumcross Road, there would be the signpost pointing right to the village of Littlegate and the market town of Bathgate further on at the foot of the hill. To the left the signpost pointed to Edinburgh.

  For the moment Lorianna felt a reluctance to move from this silent forgotten place with the high beech hedges, the woodruff sparkling in damp places under the trees and everything sweet-smelling. Here she would like to make love with Gavin—here she would enjoy blending with nature. A vision came to excite her… . She saw herself, hair unpinned and flowing wild around her face and body, her skirts enveloping him, sucking him into her. She revelled in the wave of sensuousness fanned by the animal movements around her and by the earthy smell of the place. With the sensuousness came the memory of the farm where she had spent her childhood. Great shaggy-fetlocked carthorses stamped across her mind’s eye, led by great shaggy men, walrus-moustached and walnut-skinned.

  She forced herself to continue walking, the rustle of her taffeta petticoats dominating the silence. Reaching the crossroads at last, she gazed along the Drumcross Road shading her eyes with a white-gloved hand. There was no sign of anyone. She stood uncertain now of what to do, the cool breeze teasing the birds’ wings on her hat making them quiver as if about to take off, and lifting her cape and gently ballooning it out. She was tempted to go on walking and only with difficulty managed to resist the temptation. It would only make Gavin angry with her. She had a regrettable streak in her nature which often pushed her beyond her limits of physical endurance. Her instincts were always to walk too far, even to run; to talk too much, to give too much, to try to please too much, to want to make love too often. As far as possible she controlled these instincts, but it was a constant uphill battle.

  Lorianna’s dignified elegance was a fragile shell through which harsh and desperate longings were forever struggling and all too often succeeding in smashing through. She envied the poise and serenity of her friends and their contented acceptance of their role as lady of the manor. She felt guilty and ashamed because she was not content with the quiet daily routine of her life. She knew she ought to feel grateful that she was so respected and cherished. From morning to night she was cossetted and tended like a fragile hot-house plant. Gemmell, her personal maid, opened the curtains in the morning and allowed the daylight into her bedroom. Then Gemmell helped her to sit up in bed and arranged the pillows to support her back before giving her a tray set with delicate fluted china. While she was sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin pieces of bread and butter, the housemaid would attend to the fire so that the room would be warm and her clothes heated before she rose and dressed. Gavin—out of consideration for her, he said—slept in a bed in his dressing room. He would have risen earlier and now be downstairs in his study choosing the morning readings from the bible.

  When she appeared downstairs to join him for prayers he would greet her with his usual polite, ‘Good morning, my dear. You slept not too badly, I hope?’ And she would murmur, ‘Yes, thank you, dear.’

  It was understood that she suffered from nervous restlessness which prevented her from sleeping.

  After breakfast, when Gavin and Gilbert had left for the factory, the carriage would come round to take her on routine calls to other ladies in the area. Or they would arrive to pay calls on her. Either way, the time would be passed sipping tea and tutting over local gossip or discussing the latest fashions. Other than that there was absolutely nothing to do all day but embroidery and a little piano playing and singing to herself to practise these accomplishments.

  All the time, a secret part of her rebelled, rioted recklessly about and was in constant danger of escaping. She terrified herself. The rawness of her emotions bewildered her and for self-protection she had acquired a habit of keeping her eyes modestly lowered. By looking directly at anyone she feared they might detect the wanton creature she was struggling so desperately to conceal and then she would be shamed.

  Every morning at prayers she pleaded with God to purge her of her wicked longings and unladylike hungers. But God never answered her prayers and she was left to struggle alone with the traitor inside her. Today she had been fighting a losing battle. She could not bear to remain a moment longer at her embroidery in the sitting-room of Blackwood House. She wanted to scream out loud and crash the
wretched frame into the fire, or lurch madly about the room sending all the silver-framed photographs flying from the tables and all the ornaments splintering to the floor. Yet she had nothing against the place. Indeed, what could be more pleasant than her large sunny sitting-room at the back of the house with its wide windows looking across the croquet lawn and fields to the distant shimmering waters of the Firth of Forth? Often she flung down her embroidery to gaze through Gavin’s powerful binoculars at the ships passing on the Firth. Sometimes she found pleasure in this and dreamed of being whisked away on one of the ships to romantic faraway places where exciting and erotic adventures awaited her. But at other times, like today, watching the ships only increased her restlessness and frustration.

  Lorianna sighed. If only Gavin would come … she wanted him. Her need stretched through her veins, tightened in the pit of her abdomen and tormented her with its lack of fulfilment. She could have doubled up and nursed herself in anguish with it as she had often done alone in bed.

  In one of the fields across the road from where she stood, sheep slowly moved, heads down and intent on keeping the grass clipped neat. Around them lambs gambolled. In another field cows came ponderously jostling towards the fence in order to have a closer look at her. And still there was neither sight nor sound of Gavin! In the cows’ field a great hawthorn tree, its many flowers making it look like a giant ball of snow, filled the air with exquisite perfume and increased her feeling of sensuousness until she could hardly endure it. Then faintly in the distance she heard the scraping of horses’ hooves and wooden wheels on the loose stones of the Drumcross Road. Her heart began to pound with confusion and distress as well as with passion. Gavin was a man of uncertain temper, a stern man, who might not take kindly to her coming to meet him like this and loitering at the crossroads like a common milkmaid. Nervously she retreated to the shelter of the high beeches. Blind now to the beauty of her surroundings, divorced from any sensitivity to the animals, she walked quickly; her velvet skirts brushed against the grass and bushes, caught on twigs and had to be jerked by hand and swished free. A fox, curled up asleep in a ditch under thick overhanging greenery, awakened at her passing and quickly disappeared.

  But as the sounds of the approaching horse and trap came nearer Lorianna slowed her pace. It wouldn’t do for Gavin to see her rushing either. He would consider it unbecoming and unladylike, as indeed she knew it was.

  At last she stopped and turned to face him.

  ‘Gavin, my dear! How fortunate to meet you. I was out for a stroll, but became somewhat fatigued I’m afraid.’

  Without replying he put down his hand and helped her on to the seat beside him. As usual his silence made her feel more guilty than any words he might have said. With a clicking noise of his tongue and a jerk of the reins he set the horse in motion again. His silence was a reprimand.

  She stole a glance at him. He was a thin, neat man with expressionless blue eyes behind gold-rimmed pince-nez, yet there was an anger about him that simmered continuously beneath his quiet manner.

  As she sat beside him, aware of the heat of his body even through the velvet skirt and the taffeta petticoats, she was unsure whether it was fear or passion which made her pulse keep fluttering unevenly. He sat very straight, his legs together, his hands resting on the reins as he held them. The thigh nearest to her had a hypnotic effect as it moved to the jerky rhythm of the trap and eventually she slid her hand over it, at the same time glancing sideways at Gavin’s face. She saw it tighten under his pointed red beard, but could not be sure if this was with passion or disapproval. She almost broke the silence by asking him how things had been at the factory, but stopped herself in time—he would only tell her that the factory was no concern of hers and there was nothing about it that she would understand.

  What could she tell him about her day? It had been so dull! There had been no visitors and when she had called on Euphemia Argyll there had been no one at home and she had merely left her card and then returned to Blackwood House and her embroidery. How wearisome it had been. Nurse had taken Clementina out for the day, and Gavin’s two sons by his previous marriage were away about their business. Gilbert managed the factory under his father’s supervision and Malcolm was at university in Edinburgh where eventually he hoped to take a divinity degree.

  Gavin’s first wife, Kirsty had died of consumption when Gilbert was ten and Malcolm was nine, only a year older than Clementina was now. Once, on her way to school in Bathgate Academy, Lorianna had seen Kirsty sitting in this same carriage beside Gavin as she was sitting now. She still remembered the tiny shrunken figure, and the haunted look about the large, sad eyes.

  A year after Kirsty’s death and still barely more than a schoolgirl at sixteen, she had become Mrs Gavin Blackwood.

  At the time, she had been almost as flattered and excited as her mother at such a wealthy man’s attentions. And the thought of breaking free from parental restriction and being mistress of her own had proved a very attractive proposition.

  Now, all too often she felt as she did today, that her life had become empty and hopeless. Yet it was spring. The sun was shining and life was stirring outside and everything was new and fresh.

  ‘Is Gilbert still at work?’ she murmured eventually.

  ‘The least he can do is a full day at the factory. I seldom ask him to help me run the estate.’

  Gavin had a solemn voice that would have suited a minister and she had noticed that already Malcolm was trying to copy it. Gavin would have made a good preacher; he was a very devout religious man, who regulated his household along strictly Christian lines. All the family and staff gathered early every morning for prayers which he led and each day he gave verses of the Bible to study. He said she was much in need of self-discipline as well as a husband’s firm hand and of course she agreed. She admired his strong character and his capacity for self-denial. Her weaknesses and unruly passions were a constant source of concern to them both and guilt forever dogged her heels. Ladies did not feel passion, Gavin said. Only low and vulgar women had sexual appetites.

  Then the woods on either side of the road suddenly cleared and they were at the open gates of Blackwood House and speeding up the curving drive. At first the drive was like a country lane between meadows with grazing cattle. Then the trees closed in again. On the left a chestnut tree dipped towards a pool in the hollow formed by an old quarry. On the right a path led to the glade, thickly surrounded by rowans and hollies, lilacs and rhododendrons.

  The drive curved round by the pool and there was the house with its two distinct periods of architecture: the tall, sturdy, sixteenth century tower house with its tiny slits for windows, and the two-storey wide-windowed extension built in the nineteenth century.

  Gemmell, smart in her long black dress and frilly white apron and cap, had the door open for them both before Gavin had pulled the horse to a halt. Lorianna swept past her, into the tiled entrance hall, up the stone stairs, across the small landing, through the open doors with their stained-glass panels and into the reception hall. Gemmell pattered after her with skirts hitched and once through in the bedroom divested her of cape and hat and gloves. She impatiently dismissed the maid, who seemed to be taking an excruciatingly long time to hang the cape in the wardrobe, smooth the gloves into a drawer and arrange the hat in its box. Lorianna felt she could never forgive Gemmell if the maid’s lingering presence caused Gavin to go to the sitting-room or his study instead of coming to the bedroom. But just as the maid left, Gavin entered; it was then that she saw the maniacal fire in his eyes and knew she was afraid. She had forgotten what he could be like, perhaps because she had wanted to forget. It was nearly a year since they had made love and, like the pangs of childbirth, time had diminished the anguish of it.

  Only her passion remained, growing gradually over the weeks and months like a torturous thirst that had to he assuaged. With fumbling fingers she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress and stepped out of it, then her petticoats, every now and again smiling
across at her husband coquettishly and yet with an underlying shadow of timidity and apprehension in her eyes.

  She wanted to plead with him to tell her he loved her. She longed for him to take time to be tender. She needed sweet words and caresses. But her pleas withered in her throat as Gavin came towards her and she saw something more like fury than love contorting his face.

  ‘Oh Gavin, please don’t hurt me,’ she gasped as he knocked her back against the bed and came on top of her.

  ‘Gavin …’

  She opened her mouth, soft and yielding, but he immediately savaged it with teeth and tongue. His hands were hard and bruising too and, gasping now and giving high-pitched moans, she tensed against them, struggling to protect herself from injury in her softest and most vulnerable places. Soon in mindless turmoil as Gavin’s brute force and animal grunts became wilder, her passion disintegrated to his animal level. They became like a couple of wild beasts, writhing and growling and squealing and groaning until she was rampaged into an orgasm that left her sick and exhausted. But Gavin went on and on without mercy. All the time it was as if he was punishing her rather than making love to her, until she was sobbing and then crying out in pain. His hand immediately clamped over her mouth, silencing her as her agony continued. Eventually she must have fainted, because when she opened her eyes he had gone. She lay for a long time with waves of pain tumbling over her, drowning in hopelessness.