The Eyes of Love. Barbara Cartland
no one?” Vara repeated. “How extraordinary! But perhaps he is in pain.”
She thought that if that was the case the doctors would be attending him with great care.
Any news from Castle McDorn would therefore be relayed from person to person and her father and mother would soon hear it every detail.
Before her mother could answer the questions that came into her mind, the door of the drawing room opened.
The General came in accompanied by the local Minister of the Church of Scotland.
The Minister was an elderly man and he had known Vara since she was a small child.
“I heard that you were home, Vara,” he said as she moved towards him, “and it is very good to have you back here in Scotland with us.”
“I am so happy to be here,” Vara answered. “Mama was just beginning to tell me all the news. It is very exciting that the Earl is now home to The Castle.”
“That is exactly what I came to see you about, my child,” the Minister said, “but let me first greet your mother.”
He walked to Lady McDorn’s chair. She did not rise because she suffered with arthritis.
“You must forgive me for not coming to the Kirk this Sunday,” she said, “but I had a bad night and Alistair insisted that I stayed at home.”
“He was quite right to do so,” the Minister smiled. “But I missed you and I have missed little Vara while she has been away too.”
He looked at Vara as he spoke and then said,
“I have come here on a strange mission, but I think, when you hear what I have to say, you will realise that it is an important one.”
“Let me first offer you some refreshment,” the General invited him. “Will you join me in a glass of sherry?”
“I would be delighted,” the Minister replied.
The General went from the room and the Minister then sat down on the sofa.
“What I have come to tell you,” he said, addressing Vara, “is that the new Earl is in a bad way.”
“Mama was telling me that his eyes are badly afflicted. But what happened to him?” Vara asked. “Was he injured in a battle?”
“I think he suffered no actual injury,” the Minister said, “but the fact is that he cannot see. The doctors have forbidden him to try to use his eyes. He has to keep them bandaged for at least two months.”
“Did this happen in India?” Vara wanted to know.
“I think it happened when he was on the North-West Frontier,” the Minister replied, “but he is most reluctant to speak about it and he is making things very difficult for everybody at The Castle.”
Lady McDorn looked up from her embroidery.
“I did hear a rumour that there was indeed something wrong,” she said, “but I thought it best not to talk about it.”
“You were quite right,” the Minister said. “What we want is that the Earl should realise the importance of his position as Chieftain of the Clan and settle down happily at The Castle, which at the moment is apparently not happening.”
“But why?” Vara asked. “Is it because he cannot see?”
“I think that is the main reason, but he is making life difficult for everybody. He is even refusing to receive the Elders of the Clan.”
Vara looked astonished.
She knew at once that this was something that would deeply upset the Elders, who were very conscious of their standing and importance in the Clan’s hierarchy.
If they were to become dissatisfied with their new Chieftain, it would gradually affect the McDorns adversely wherever they might be.
“What can you do about it?” Vara asked.
“This is exactly why I have come here to see you this morning,” the Minister answered. “I was approached by his Lordship’s secretary, Mr. Bryden, whom I am sure you remember and who has been at The Castle for over twenty years now.”
“Of course I remember him,” Vara nodded.
“He feels that something must be done for his Lordship and the most important thing is for him to have a Reader.”
“Surely, Mr. Bry – ?” Lady McDorn began.
The Minister held up his hand.
“I am just going to explain. Mr. Bryden tells me the Earl cannot understand the Scottish accent. He insisted on having someone who speaks the same sort of English that he does.”
Vara gave a little gasp.
“He does not understand the Scottish accent?” she exclaimed. “But – he is a Scot!”
“Indeed he is or he would not be the ninth Earl of Dornoch!” the Minister replied. “But he was brought up as an Englishman.”
He paused and then continued,
“His father, who had married the daughter of an English Nobleman, had not supposed it was at all likely that he or his son would ever succeed to the Earldom.”
Vara remembered that the late Earl had only one son.
He had been serving in the Black Watch Regiment, as all the McDorns had done for many years and had been posted to the Sudan under Major General Gordon and he was killed by hostile natives in an ambush.
Vara could remember how devastated the Clan had been.
The Viscount’s body had been brought back home and it had been placed in the family vault in the Kirk after a tear jerking Funeral Service.
In Scotland, at any rate, the Earl of Dornoch was of great consequence.
Any disparagement of the Scots by the new Earl would be received with horror and deep resentment.
“You will understand,” the Minister went on, “that because the last Earl was so ill for a long time before he finally died, there was much left undone that should now be put in hand, including repairs to The Castle itself. The only person who can give the orders for this to be carried out is, of course, his Lordship.”
“And he refuses?” Vara asked.
“I am afraid he cannot, or will not, understand the particulars when they are read to him by Mr. Bryden or by anybody else in The Castle.”
“They must feel deeply offended,” Vara commented in a low voice.
“It is something that, if talked about outside, could do him a great deal of damage,” the Minister said. “Everybody has been looking forward to having a young Chieftain with new ideas who will encourage and initiate new local industries to employ the local people.”
Vara was well aware that this was true.
Like most of the ordinary people of Scotland, the McDorns relied on their spinning and their fishing to earn money to live on.
They thought of their Chieftain not only as their Leader but as their shepherd.
To them he was a father-figure, who would inspire and comfort them at all times.
The idea of the Earl being too English even to understand their speech would strike them like a blow.
Vara knew that it would be very difficult for them to accept it.
“What can you do about it?” she asked the Minister.
“The answer to that, Vara, is what will you do about it?”
“Me?” Vara enquired.
“Mr. Bryden wants someone who can read to his Lordship in an English accent, but there is no