My Heart's in the Highlands
Copyright© 2024 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 3: Hector Ross
“A man of integrity, sincerity and good nature can never
be concealed, for his character is wrought into his countenance.”
Marcus Aurelius.
ROWENA and Di were on the lawn in front of the house when Hector Ross arrived.
The children were all out on the loch with Donald. It was a very hot afternoon; Rowena was sewing, and Di was lazily reclining in a hammock under the old cedar tree. The car had gone to the station to meet an earlier train, but he had not come by that. Now he walked up to the house, and came striding across the lawn directly he saw the white-gowned figures under the old cedars.
Rowena rose to meet him in her usual happy way.
“My husband had to attend a quarterly parish meeting this afternoon,” she said, “or he would be here to welcome you. You must accept my welcome instead.”
She introduced him to Di, who was rather taken aback by his youthful figure and brisk alertness of his speech and manner.
Hector Ross was a good-looking man, with blue eyes and fair hair. His face was tanned and rather weather-beaten. One could see he had had an open-air life for many years. As Rowena looked at him, the determination of his mouth and chin, the resolute look in his eyes, and the quick short way in which he clipped his words, showed her that, whatever else he might be, he was very wide awake.
“Couldn’t wait to be driven,” he said, “so I left my baggage to follow. I’m not a stranger in these parts, you know.”
Then he turned to Di.
“Can you be Hugh’s daughter?”
Di laughed frankly and freely.
“My good man, his daughter is still in the submissive stage. Her years demand it. Can you see me as the General’s daughter, Rowena? What high jinks I would lead him! I’m just a stray visitor, Mr. Ross; and your cousin will be more relieved than otherwise when I’ve gone!”
Then she swung herself lightly out of the hammock and, leaning against the tree, took out her silver cigarette case and began to smoke.
“Have one?” she said, offering her case to the newcomer.
He shook his head with a smile.
“I go in for a pipe.”
He looked at her reflectively, then at Rowena.
“I’m taking stock of you both,” he said pleasantly. “Mrs. Macdonald is the old order of woman, and you are the new. I’ve come across plenty of the modern girls, but the old-fashioned ones are rare.”
“I suppose I am old-fashioned,” said Rowena laughing, “but it gives me rather a shock to hear you say it. I used not to be considered so a few years back.”
“It’s good manners does it,” said Hector tersely.
“Complimentary to me,” laughed Di.
In a few minutes he was talking to them as if he had known them all his life. Incidentally he touched upon his ranch life.
“Why have you given it up?” Di asked. “If you were making your pile, and having a jolly free life out, there, why on earth didn’t you keep on a few years longer?”
“I sold up when I went over to France—or, rather, when I went over to Canada to train. I went out with the Canadians, and had a stiff two years at the Front. Then I went back, for I’d a few things to settle up; and I came over here three months ago. I meant to look up Hugh when my aunt had had enough of me. I’m going to my people’s old place. It came into the market the beginning of this year, and I was able to buy it in the nick of time.”
“And you’re going to settle down as a laird, I suppose?” said Di. “Everybody is a laird over here. I’ve seen some funny specimens.”
“And here’s another,” he returned. “My good aunt told me solemnly, when I left her, that she had never seen my like before. I was a complete bewilderment to her—I believe that was the word she used. I’m going to take her in my pocket when I go back to Kestowknockan; she’ll keep house for me and look after my morals and manners.”
Rowena looked at him with fresh interest.
“You’d better get a wife to keep house for you,” said Di carelessly. “Aunts are out of fashion.”
“Same as parents, I suppose,” he said, with a slight curl coming to his lips. “I came over with some flappers all intent upon a high old time in London. I asked them if they were orphans. You should have heard them yell.”
“Oh, the world is out of gear,” said Rowena, “but the pendulum will swing back again. And here, amongst our lochs and glens, we do not see much to puzzle or alarm us. Here come the children! Now you will see Hugh’s little daughter. And shall we go indoors to tea? We are having it in the hall to-day. It is cooler than out here.”
They moved towards the house. The children met them on the way. Mysie looked up frankly into Hector’s face when she was introduced to him.
“Did you know Dad when he was a boy? He says you did. What was he like? Always good, or did he sometimes get into scrapes?”
“Ah! Ask him to tell you about Adolph and the cave, or the night he was left alone, and his parents were in town.”
“What cave?” gasped Mysie. “Mine? Oh, do you, know the caves about here? Do tell me all about them.”
She seized hold of him, and during tea he enlivened them all by tales of boyish pranks in the holidays.
Towards the close of it General Macdonald came in, and the younger members of the household slipped out into the garden again.
Before the evening was over Hector was a universal favourite, and his hearty laugh and cheery talk caused Di to say to Rowena—
“Make him stay on, do; I like him, and he wakes the General up!”
But she and he had some pitched battles about the present generation. Di was for progress and liberty of speech, and action for all women; he was by way of relegating them to the back shelf. Sometimes he amused himself by rousing her ire, and would be dogmatic in denouncing modern habits with which he was really in sympathy.
Rowena listened to the two, and smiled to herself. It did not hurt Di to hear a man of the world’s impression of the present race of girls. She had had very few who had hitherto dared to criticize and contradict her. One bond they had in common was their love for horses. Hector said he meant to breed them when he took possession of his place.
“I’m having proper stables built before I get in,” he said. “I’m sick of these cars. Give me a horse, and I want nothing more.”
“Hear! Hear!” said Di, and the next morning she and he rode off together. Hector was very sociably inclined—a marked contrast to the General. In a few days’ time, he was friends with the Arnold Rashleighs, and with several of the other neighbours round. He had invitations to shoot and fish and to dine and sleep, and sometimes his host did not see him for three or four days.
But on Sundays he invariably turned up at the morning service in the little church of Abertarlie.
Di laughed at him for it one day.
“You are going back to the training of your youth,” she said. “Church-going is not the fashion now.”
“Neither is heaven or hell,” he retorted; “but I’m not a man of fashion—never was.”
She looked at him meditatively.
They were smoking together on the terrace. It was Sunday afternoon, and there was a peculiar stillness in the air and scene. Rowena always had Mysie for an hour after lunch in her boudoir upstairs. She had told her frankly that she was going to try to teach her to love her Bible. Milly and Bertha had asked to come too, so the hour’s Bible reading was now quite an institution. Sometimes George joined them, but upon this occasion he had gone for a walk with the General. Hector raised his eyes, and when they met Di’s, he smiled.
“Well, what’s the verdict?”
She shook her head.
“You’re too complex for me!”
“I’ll give you a chink of light to help you on. I was three years in the war. As you say, religion is now not the fashion, and it isn’t good form to talk about it; but in the trenches we did a good bit of talking, and we didn’t care a hang if a chap started a yarn about life and death and hereafter, for we were all interested in it. Of course we were. We were shot out of this world into the next all day long. We all had our theories; but in my section at one time there was a parson who knew his job, and did it; and he was a jolly good fellow all round. He made us believe in him, and then he got us to believe in the things he believed. And my belief has stuck ever since; see?”
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