Dawn on a Distant Shore (69 page)

"But ye speak
English!" Gelleys squinted even harder, as if something in Hannah's face might
explain the language that came out of her mouth.

"She speaks
Scots, too," Jennet said, quite fiercely. "And her mother's language,
wait till ye hear."

"Dinna fash
yersel', lassie." Gelleys put down her bowl of beans. "I meant nae harm.
Ma grandson Charlie tolt me aboot ye when he came awa frae the
Isis
."

This was a surprise,
but a welcome one. Hannah said, "How is Charlie? Is he well?"

"He's weel
enouch," said the old woman. "Mournin' his brither, as are we aa. Ye
were a comfort tae oor Mungo in his last days, and it willna be forgotten,
lass."

"He was a good
lad," said Hannah. "Is Charlie here?"

"I wish he
were," said Gelleys. "But they called him awa' back tae his ship, and
it will be muny a year afore we see him agin. But ye didna come tae talk o' sic
waerifu' things, I'm sure."

"I broucht her
tae see ye because she's got ever sae muny questions," volunteered Jennet.

"Does she
noo?" Granny Laidlaw looked distinctly pleased. "Weel then, we'll settle
doon tegither and tell a tale or twa."

Hannah could not look
away from Gelleys's hands. She had never seen the like on a woman--as large as
a man's, swollen and red but with fingers nimble enough to snap beans at an
amazing rate. Under grizzled eyebrows she was watching Hannah, too.

"It's a guid
thing ye found baith o' us here," said Granny Laidlaw. "What I dinna
ken aboot Carryckcastle, Gelleys Smaill does."

"Ha!"
Gelleys put back her head. "Listen tae her. Did ye no hear the minister preachin'
on false modesty no' a week syne? There's naebodie wha' kens mair aboot
Carryckcastle than Leezie Laidlaw, no' MacQuiddy--bless his creaky auld
banes--nor the laird hissel'. Certainly no' Gelleys the washerwoman."

"Did you work at
the castle, too?" Hannah asked.

"Fifty
year," Gelleys said proudly, her great fingers stirring the shelled beans
in their bowl. "Went intae service as a wee maid nae bigger than Jennet,
and there I stayed until ma shanks wad carry me nae further." She thumped
on her knee as if to reprimand it for its poor service. "Thirty year was I
heid washerwoman, wi' three guid maids under me. Six days a week did we wash
and press."

Jennet let out a
resigned sigh, but Gelleys took no note.

"On Monanday
table linen, on Tysday bed linen, on Wadensday and Fuirsday claes, on Freday
rags and the like, and on Seturday--" She leaned forward and raised a finger
to the air. "On Seturday we set soap. Just as Fiona is settin' soap this
verra minute, her and the lasses. Is it no' sae, Jennet?"

"Aye," said
Jennet. "They were hard at it when we came doon the brae."

"Ye see. And
nivver a day did I miss except when ma lads came intae the werld, and when ma
guidman left it."

"And sae was
it," said Granny Laidlaw, reaching over to grasp Gelleys by the forearm.

The old lady laid her
own hand over Granny's. "We've seen a thing or twa, ha' we no',
Leezie?"

"That's aye true."
Granny Laidlaw turned her face toward Hannah as if she could see her.
"Ye've come tae ask aboot Lady Isabel, have ye no'?"

Hannah glanced at
Jennet, who simply shrugged a shoulder in surprise.

"How did you
know?"

"Why, it's Isabel
wha broucht ye and yer family here, when aa is said and done. Isabel, and ma
own dauchter Jean. It's nae wunder ye're curious."

"Ye canna find a
soul at Carryckcastle tae tell it," said Gelleys, scowling into her bowl.
"But auld carlines like us ha' naucht tae fear frae the truth. Set ye
doon, lassie, and hark."

"On the morn my
Jean turned ten years old, Isabel came intae the world," began Granny
Laidlaw. "It was Lady Marietta's fourth confinement, ye ken--three sons
she gave the earl, and aa stillborn. Ye can weel imagine what celebratin' there
was at Carryckcastle that day--a healthy bairn, with her mother's bonnie face
and her faither's brawlie constitution. And frae the moment oor Jean saw the wean,
there was a bond between them."

"As close as
sisters ever were," said Gelleys.

"Aye, that
close," agreed Granny Laidlaw. "As soon as Isabel could walk she took
tae followin' Jean aboot. She spent so much time belstairs that she was mair at
hame in the kitchen than she was in the drawing room. I couldna bring mysel'
tae send her awa', sic a bonnie lass she was and sae cheerfu'. But the day
came--the summer she was four --that the laird decided that it wadna do for his
lass tae be spendin' aa her time wi' the servants."

Jennet was following
this story with as much interest and concentration as Hannah. "And that's
when the lady made ma mither Isabel's nurse," she volunteered.

Granny Laidlaw's eyes
seemed to be following some scene only she could see. "Sae it was. At
fourteen, imagine. Nurse and nursery maid, too. It was a verra great honor, wi'
Jean sae young. Some wad ca' it foolish tae give a lass sae much responsibility,
but Isabel wad ha' nae other and it suited the laird as weel--he didna like the
idea o' a strange nurse comin' intae Carryckcastle."

Hannah had been raised
to respect the storyteller's rhythm and not to interrupt, but she was confused
now and she had to ask. "And her mother? Wasn't she there to raise
Isabel?"

"She was,"
said Granny Laidlaw, quite firmly, but Gelleys wrinkled her nose in disagreement.

"She was there in
bodie, aye, but she wasna there in spirit."

A fine tension rose
between the two old women, both of them silent for a moment. Jennet pursed her
mouth, impatient and curious and unable to hide either of those things.

"Will ye no' tell
the whole story, Granny?"

Gelleys sighed,
rubbing the side of her nose with one red knuckle. "It's no' easy tellin' the
truth aboot the people ye love best. Come, Leezie," she said in a
companionable tone. "Shall I tell it?"

The old lady shook
herself out of her daydream. "I'm no' sae auld that I canna tell a tale,
Gelleys. And though I dinna like tae admit it, Leddy Carryck was no' the mither
she should ha' been."

She folded her hands
in her lap. "Now, as young as the baith o' ye are, ye'll ken the truth o'
it when I say this: no' every woman makes a mither. Most can bring a bairn
intae the world, but wi' some it gaes nae further. And sae it was with Leddy
Carryck. The sweetest and maist generous leddy wi' the servants and the tenants
and wi' any puir soul wha micht come tae the door wi' an empty kyte--but she
couldna take her own wean in her lap tae noozle her, or sing tae her, or tae
blether and laugh as aa women do wi' their bairns. And they baith suffered for
it."

"It was losin'
the lads, aa three," said Gelleys. "Every time they buried a son, the
guid leddy put a piece o' hersel' in the grave wi' him. And there was naucht
left ower for wee Isabel."

Granny pushed out a
great sigh. "And sae Leddy Carryck was glad tae gie the raisin' o' her tae
Jean."

"Aye, and Jean
had a way wi' the lassie," said Gelleys. "Isabel was willfu', but for
Jean she'd do anythin'. And aa was weel until--"

"Gelleys
Smaill," interrupted Granny, frowning. "Wha's got the tellin' o' this
tale?"

The old washerwoman
grimaced. "Then get on wi' it, Leezie. Ye're gettin' verra langsome in yer
auld age."

Granny sniffed.
"As I was sayin'. Aa was weel until Ian Hope took note o' Jean one summer
morn, and she o' him." The small head in its white cap turned toward Jennet,
and when she smiled this time a dimple made itself clear on a deeply lined
cheek. "One day, hen, ye'll ken what it is tae ha' a barrie young man look
at ye the way Ian Hope looked at yer mither. As if the mune hung in the sky
just tae shine on her face."

"Yer worse than
Rab Burns wi' yer poetry," said Gelleys impatiently. "Can ye no' say
it simple? Ian Hope was the richt guidman for Jean, and she the richt guidwife
for Ian, and aa could see the truth o' it."

"Ye say it as ye
like, and sae will I," said Granny peacefully. "It was a guid match, that's
aye true. Ma Roddy was muny years in his grave, but it wad ha' pleased him tae
see his lass married tae the son o' Alasdair Hope, just as it pleased the laird
and the leddy and me. Aa were seifu' but Isabel.

"The day o' the
wedding she went intae the fairy wood and wadna come oot, no' when her faither spake
sharp words, no' when her mither spake soft ones. And sae Jean and Ian were
joined wi'oot Isabel's blessing or fellowship, and sae far as she was
concerned, there had nivver been a wedding, and Ian Hope was naucht but a
nuisance tae be ignored. It pained Jean at first tae see the lass sae unhappy,
and wi' time it made her mad, and then, why then, Simon came alang--"

"My
brither," supplied Jennet.

"When Jennet's
brither Simon was born ... noo, ye can weel imagine that Isabel was jealous,
and I suppose the truth o' it was she had cause. For a guid while Jean had nae
time for the lass at aa--that was the year ma ees started tae fail, ye ken, and
between takin' ower for me and caring for Simon she was runnin' aa the day
lang.

"And in her anger
and pyne Isabel marched aff tae her mither and announced that a young leddy o'
fifteen doesna need a nurse, and perhaps Carryckcastle could do wi'oot Jean
Hope aategither. But the leddy wad ha' nane o' that, and sae it was that Jean
came tae me as underhoosekeeper, just when I needed her most. It was a hard
year," she said with a sigh.

"A dark year,
ava," said Gelleys.

Granny Laidlaw's hands
were resting in her lap, fingers twitching slightly. The room had gone silent
but for the sound of the dog's snuffled breathing, the whisper of the floor
rushes, and the crisp snap of beans as Gelleys continued her way through the
great bowl in her lap. This time she did not rush her friend's story, but she watched
her closely, as a mother might watch a frail child.

Granny cleared her
throat and began again.

"That Janwar Lady
Carryck took a fever and slipped awa', so sudden that there was nae time tae--"
She paused and closed her eyes. "Tae take leave o' her. And that was the
start o' the sorrows."

"In the village
ten died o' the same weid," said Gelleys. "And the rains came that spring
and wadna stop. And meece got intae the corn, and--"

"And the
Campbells," prompted Jennet.

"Aye, the
Campbells." Granny's voice rasped with anger or sorrow, Hannah could not
tell which. "Every spring the laird sends his men oot tae see that the
tenants are gettin' on, and that spring he did the same. Ian Hope and his
brither Magnus went west, but Ian nivver came hame again. I had ma guidman for thirty
year, but Jean had Ian for less than three, and the losin' o' him stole her
youth awa'."

Hannah had lost her
own mother when she was very young; she had seen death come suddenly to
Elizabeth's brother Julian and more slowly to her own great-grandfather, all in
the last year. She knew sorrow and she understood how loss cut deep and left
traces that would never fade, but she knew too that something was not right
about the story being pieced together for her. She thought suddenly of Curiosity,
who had asked Jennet so many questions in the garden. And here was a question
she had not thought to ask:

How was it Jennet's
father had died three years before she was born?

Jennet was watching
her closely, and the two old women listened and watched, too, willing to let
this part of the story be told by someone else.

"Ian Hope was
Simon's faither," said Jennet. "But he wasna mine. When ma mither had
been widowed for mair than a year, she took anither."

"The earl,"
said Hannah, seeing now how it all fit together, seeing the way Carryck put his
hand on Jennet's head as she bent over a tulip, and hearing his voice, patient
and responsive and affectionate.
As my father talks to me,
she thought.

Granny Laidlaw was
moving ahead with her story. "Ye're oweryoung tae understan' how sic a thing
micht come tae pass," she said, as if Hannah had been thinking critical
thoughts. "But Jean was a widow, strugglin' with a young son and bent low
by sorrow. And the laird was in mourning for his guidwife, and baith o' them in
need o' comfort. Even half-blind I saw it comin'."

"They didn't
marry?" Hannah addressed this question to Jennet, but it was Gelleys who
answered her.

"Carryck marry
his hoosekeeper? It wadna do."

Jennet frowned into
her lap, but Granny Laidlaw spoke up clearly. "Stranger things ha' passed,
and worse matches ha' been made."

"Och," said
the old washerwoman with a real look of distress. "I didna mean tae hurt yer
feelings. I canna deny that Jean wad make a fine mistress. But if the truth be tolt--dinna
make sic a face at me, we said we'd tell the whole tale--yer Jean was ever an
independent lass, and she likes bein' hoosekeeper better than she wad like
bein' Leddy Carryck. Ye've nivver seen sic a bodie for hard work."