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Authors: Fiona Kidman
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own vulnerable state. He spoke now, in a low and rapid voice. ‘Miss Ramsey, I will never be ordained, so long as I live in this country, so long as the Church of Scotland and its clergy are so much in error in their interpretation of the Scripture and so lax in their moral behaviour. There are some people, ma’am, who consider me strangely singular, or even a touch fanatical, because I will not pronounce their shibboleth. I’m seen as a proud and insolent man, but that is as I am, and there is no other way. I will not seek favours or benefits, I will not flatter anyone in order to find an easy way. I chose not to go into the ministry after seven weary years of training for it, and I’m nothing more that a stickit minister, d’you know what that is? Aye, I’ll tell you: a man without power or authorityin the eyes of the law. But in God’s name, I have no shame about this matter, and I know what is best for the people.’
‘You’re so very sure. I wish that I could be so certain of myself and what I believe.’
McLeod had by now recovered himself and his manner was again haughty. ‘Then take advice from me. You are fallen, Miss Ramsey. You have only one recourse open to you if you wish to save your immortal soul. You must marry Duncan MacQuarrie.’
‘I have done nothing. I’ve committed no sin.’
‘Miss Ramsey, I saw you at the communion service with him, close to a year ago. You have led him to despair.’
‘That’s his peril. He’s brought himself to that through a misunderstanding.’
‘Then you should right it.’
‘I have no duty to Mr MacQuarrie.’
‘Man is head of the woman.’
‘When she has chosen to be his wife.’
‘Madam,’ he said, and now it was as if they had barely passed more than a few words between them, ‘you are past free will.’
The light on the alders was thickening into darkness. The young woman looked from side to side, seeking to escape McLeod. He stepped aside without bowing, wrapped his dark cloak more closely around him and began to walk away from her.
… Louise, it is hard to tell you this, and you may think I am abominable and strange, but I wanted to go after him. I wanted to tell him that I understood, and that when he spoke of free will I knew that he spoke for both of us. He and I are two of a kind, what’s known as our own worst enemies. And we are due to make a closer acquaintance with each other, I suspect, for I hear today from Mother that he has been appointed schoolmaster at the parish school.
Sister, McLeod raises a fire in me.
Dispose of this letter. Burn it. Eat it. Well, at least, I implore you, don’t show it to my brother.
Louise, would marriage really make me a better woman?
I hope all is well with you in London. We have heard echoes of the battle up here, and of course will all sleep sounder in our beds for knowing Bonaparte has been despatched at Waterloo. I gather that we may expect no further trouble on that front.
And I hear you are in a certain condition again, which of course gives Mother great delight. Bear up, my dear.
Yours, with love, Isabella.
P.S. Whatever strange passion McLeod invokes, I do not like him. That is quite different from what I have been describing of my feelings for him. But he is that strange kind of fellow who some would follow to the ends of the earth. I can imagine how it could happen.
In the year that followed, Isabella was consumed by a great industry, which she tried to explain to Louise:
Ullapool, 16 September 1815
… I can just imagine how busy you are with three little ones on your hands. I do intend to come south and see young Master Robert for myself, but it is surprisingly difficult to get away these days. Mary McLeod is with child again. I help her out with John Luther, quite a handful of a boy. Mary is such a slight person, and she looks worn already. Her ten-year wait for McLeod meant a late beginning to her childbearing. Do you know, she used to sit and spin wool for
‘You’re so very sure. I wish that I could be so certain of myself and what I believe.’
McLeod had by now recovered himself and his manner was again haughty. ‘Then take advice from me. You are fallen, Miss Ramsey. You have only one recourse open to you if you wish to save your immortal soul. You must marry Duncan MacQuarrie.’
‘I have done nothing. I’ve committed no sin.’
‘Miss Ramsey, I saw you at the communion service with him, close to a year ago. You have led him to despair.’
‘That’s his peril. He’s brought himself to that through a misunderstanding.’
‘Then you should right it.’
‘I have no duty to Mr MacQuarrie.’
‘Man is head of the woman.’
‘When she has chosen to be his wife.’
‘Madam,’ he said, and now it was as if they had barely passed more than a few words between them, ‘you are past free will.’
The light on the alders was thickening into darkness. The young woman looked from side to side, seeking to escape McLeod. He stepped aside without bowing, wrapped his dark cloak more closely around him and began to walk away from her.
… Louise, it is hard to tell you this, and you may think I am abominable and strange, but I wanted to go after him. I wanted to tell him that I understood, and that when he spoke of free will I knew that he spoke for both of us. He and I are two of a kind, what’s known as our own worst enemies. And we are due to make a closer acquaintance with each other, I suspect, for I hear today from Mother that he has been appointed schoolmaster at the parish school.
Sister, McLeod raises a fire in me.
Dispose of this letter. Burn it. Eat it. Well, at least, I implore you, don’t show it to my brother.
Louise, would marriage really make me a better woman?
I hope all is well with you in London. We have heard echoes of the battle up here, and of course will all sleep sounder in our beds for knowing Bonaparte has been despatched at Waterloo. I gather that we may expect no further trouble on that front.
And I hear you are in a certain condition again, which of course gives Mother great delight. Bear up, my dear.
Yours, with love, Isabella.
P.S. Whatever strange passion McLeod invokes, I do not like him. That is quite different from what I have been describing of my feelings for him. But he is that strange kind of fellow who some would follow to the ends of the earth. I can imagine how it could happen.
In the year that followed, Isabella was consumed by a great industry, which she tried to explain to Louise:
Ullapool, 16 September 1815
… I can just imagine how busy you are with three little ones on your hands. I do intend to come south and see young Master Robert for myself, but it is surprisingly difficult to get away these days. Mary McLeod is with child again. I help her out with John Luther, quite a handful of a boy. Mary is such a slight person, and she looks worn already. Her ten-year wait for McLeod meant a late beginning to her childbearing. Do you know, she used to sit and spin wool for
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