Violet’s Journal

M ONDAY , 9 TH A PRIL , 1928

Home at Ardtuath for the Easter break. It feels so very strange to be back. I hadn’t realised how much the distance has grown with having been away and experiencing such a different world in the city.

Callum is here too. I persuaded him to come as I wanted to introduce him to Ma and Pa. A momentous step, and one that both of us faced with a good deal of trepidation. Correctly so, it turns out, because it’s been something of a disaster. Rather than being welcomed as a guest of the house, Callum has been put in the keeper’s cottage, given a bed in the attic room there, and it has been made very plain that my parents see him as nothing more than another labourer.

Ma insists on calling him ‘your friend the gardener’. And when we first arrived, sitting uncomfortably in the drawing room with teacups – not the best ones, I noted – perched precariously on the wobbling side tables at our elbows, Pa asked him what wage he’d expect if he were to be employed up this way. As if it was a job interview, presumably because that could be the only possible reason for him to be here at Ardtuath House. It was mortifying. Callum is taking it all with good grace, though I can tell it wounds him.

Today we went to Inverewe, where we both felt far more at home in the gardens. Mrs Hanbury was her usual interesting and interested self and I could tell she warmed to Callum. His knowledge of Himalayan plants rapidly earned her respect as we walked amongst the rhododendrons and sweet-scented azaleas, with the bristly leaves of the blue poppies beginning to show alongside the path leading to the shore. We could almost imagine ourselves in the mountains of Nepal or Bhutan and I knew Callum was in his element.

He always seems more at ease outdoors, pursuing his passion for plants. He’s not had much in the way of formal schooling, but his natural thirst for knowledge and sharp, enquiring mind have made me realise that education is of secondary importance: it’s innate intelligence that really matters. I love that in him. I love a lot of other things about him as well. But most of all, I love him because he is so completely and utterly himself, unburdened by the veneer of social strictures, and that speaks straight to my heart.

After showing us the latest plantings in the walled garden, Mrs Hanbury left us to walk at leisure and told me to bring Callum back every day whilst we’re here. I think she’d guessed how we would be being treated at Ardtuath.

We walked through the woodland to the point, and I showed him Cuddy Rock and the hidden bay. We sat there for a while, turning our faces to the sun, and I felt – for the first time since arriving back home – that I could breathe again. Ardtuath is stifling, with Ma and Pa’s unspoken disapproval of ‘my gardening friend’ all too apparent, and Charles worse than ever with his headaches and moods when he condescends to call in. I do love Helen, though, she’s such a kind and gentle sister-in-law, and little Alec is a delight. I don’t think Charles realises how lucky he is to have them there to brighten his dark moments.

There’s more news on the wedding front, too. Hetty is to marry Rufus Ogilvy. She saved the news to tell me herself, coming to my room on my first night back. I feigned delight, of course, although I’m sure she can guess my reservations. He’s so much older than she is, a widower with two grown children and I doubt he will be wanting more. It seems a sad sacrifice to make. I asked Hetty if she is truly happy and her smile was just a little too bright when she replied, ‘It’s a good match, Vi, and he’s a kindly man.’ He offers her financial security and the promise of a good home, of course, but I was left feeling that what I share with Callum – our true intimacy and mutual understanding – is worth more than all of those worldly considerations.

As Callum and I sat side by side on the rocks by the shore at Inverewe, he talked about the caste system in India, which he’d read about. I realised he was relating it to his situation here, being made to feel a second-class citizen, his ‘place’ being made all too apparent by the treatment he’s received at the hands of my parents. I worried he was trying to tell me that we cannot be together, that society conspires against us in ways too powerful to overcome. To reassure him, I pointed out that he and I are at exactly the same level in society because of our chosen profession. He laughed a little hollowly at that.

‘What you mean to say, Vi, is that you have taken a step down to join me.’

‘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 overstepped the 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 hardly appropriate 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.