In Loving Memory (6 page)

Chapter 11

On the day of their departure, Maggie let them leave the cottage in stony silence having not heard as much as word of apology from Fergus for abandoning her as he had those years ago dumped Sheena for her.

Scarcely had Fergus and his entourage left than Maggie, already suffering the agonies of doubt, indecision and the most hellish all-enveloping black cloud of guilt, would fain have called him back, back into her waiting arms. At one point, and although knowing it to be hopeless, and too little, too late, even so she went to the door and peered out. But the coal-cart with its load of hopeful emigrants and her own beloved husband had gone, long gone beyond any possible recall.

At the nearest end of the street, Maggie spotted a knot of gossiping women, one of whom sensing Maggie’s eyes on her, suddenly turned her head meaningfully in the direction of Maggie’s home.

Humph! So they’ve got hold of all the latest gossip already, have they? Thought Maggie. Here I am, my guid man has left me, gone off somewhere in the wilds to a new life with his first love, his childhood sweetheart Sheena and her brood of now fatherless bairns. And here am I left at the mercy of every sensation-seeking gossip-monger.

At these thoughts, determined not to give them fuel to add to their gossipy consultation, Maggie drew back her head, then equally hastily she shut the door before anyone would approach. She retreated into her now husbandless haven of the weaver’s cottage.

But tormented thoughts kept racing through her head. Why couldn’t I at least have embraced Fergus one last time, shaken hands with Sheena and bade them all God speed and a safe journey. It wouldn’t have killed me to do that and at least keep up the pretence that this entire plan has been to help Fergus escape the Law; to help the bereft Sheena and her family to a new life with free land out on the Prairies; to go along with the idea that yes, and all in good time, my husband would indeed send for me and our children to join him in Canada. There, no longer a hunted Radical leader, he would be free. And I would be free of all this terrible worry, the dread of his being captured. God knows I suffered such hellish worry for too many years.

Maggie put her hands up to her face as an even more upsetting thought occurred to her. Perhaps in his deepest heart, Fergus had all along hated the very idea of ever bringing up Ewan. It was fine to get out of my predicament what he wanted and needed materially at the time, but as to seeing another man’s bastard to full manhood... over long years of pretence...? Aye, maybe Fergus was escaping from more than the forces of Law and Order.

Deliberately turning her thoughts to another tack, Maggie then found herself reflecting on the gossiping woman she had so recently witnessed at the street corner and she could feel her lips tighten in resolve.

So, those tittle-tattling women they think they’ve got all the gossip, do they? Mind you, what they don’t know for a fact, sure as hell they’ll make up anyway. Probably they think Fergus and his lady-love Sheena – his first-love, for God’s sake – are off to live a bidie-in lifestyle in some hovel in Greenock or in Port Glasgow. I wonder what they’d make of the juiciest bit of news of all... forget Scotland, bonnie or otherwise they’re off to be pioneers in Canada, aye, Canada. Fergus and his bidie-in woman. Uch tae hell with it all. Just wait till one of those nosey neighbours comes speirin at my door for news. News? Humph I’ll give them news all right. Just see if I don’t.

It was some two hours or so later when Mistress Weir turned up at Maggie’s door. As Maggie admitted the woman, her neighbour took one look at Maggie’s tear-stained face, a hasty glance round at the chaos in the room, at the still unlit fire and at once all motherly concern she said, “Right then, Ewan stop that noisy game ye’re playin, ye’re the man of the house now, so take yer sister, Fiona, across the street to yer Auntie Jess. As Ah passed her window, she telt me she’s making puff candy for ye weans, so best get across there before she gives the wee treat to some other bairns. Stay over there, enjoy the puff candy and Auntie Jess will see ye home later on the day. Right noo, skedaddle the pair o ye.”

With the children safely despatched, Euphemia Weir then turned her attention to Maggie with the words, “Sit ye down, lass, in that comfy chair and while Ah’m brewin us up a pot of tea, if ye’ve any tears left, weel then jist have a real guid greet tae yersel, Nothin like it, and ye’ll feel better.”

Like an obedient child, once seated with a cushion at her back by the still unlit fire, Maggie ¬¬- now that, as it were, permission had been given to cry her heart out - she found suddenly her copious tears of half an hour ago, were gone, dried up.

With a new resolve in her heart and determined not to become a helpless victim, but rather to maintain her independence at all costs, Maggie managed to get out the words, “Look, Mistress Weir, it’s very kind of you, really it is and knowing how much you’re still missing your own son Davie, but honestly there’s no need for you to rescue me in this way... I’ll manage fine on my own, that I will. Anyway, as we both know, it’s not exactly as if you and I were ever what you might call bosom pals, is it? So why on earth should I want to, far less expect to, lean on you now?”

The older woman raised her eyes to heaven.

“Listen, hen, ye’re a neighbour in trouble, Ah want tae help ye; it’s what neighbours do. Ah’m mibbe a bit older and wiser in the ways of the world than you. And as for us no ever being like bosom pals, well Ah’m telling you now... all that changed for me yon happy day that your guid man took me intae his confidence. Him, a high rankin Radical leader and me jist a penniless auld neighbour. Ah tell ye now, Ah felt honoured. Aye honoured that he trusted me with his secrets.”

Remembering that day, Maggie’s memories were rather different from the rose-tinted hues of those held by Euphemia Weir.

Maggie gave a wintry smile. “Ah don’t know so much about high ranking, more like a hunted Radical, that’s Fergus, but certainly a born Radical to his fingertips.”

Her would-be home helper nodded. “And a gentleman, he helped my Davie; helped him tae see how he could better himself, think for himself and not allow any bosses tae grind him underfoot intae the dust of Scotland. But listen, all that aside, one thing Ah must say tae ye, lass... As Ah’m sure ye’re weel aware, Ah’m as fond of a juicy titbit of gossip as the next one, but see me, these days Ah’ll not hear a word said against ye or yer guid man. So whatever ploy he’s up to... and Ah repeat it’s nane of my business... but chances are it’s all in the Radical Cause, the Radical Cause that was aye dear tae my Davie... so we’ll say nae mair.”

She smiled across at Maggie. “But here’s another wee secret atween you and me that we’ll no be tellin tae naebody... Ah’ve sneaked a noggin of the watter of life oota my man’s medicinal bottle, so a splash of the craitur in oor cups of tea, eh no? It’ll dae us baith guid and help seal oor new understanding and friendship, what dae ye say? It’ll be oor secret, twa women haein a wee bit tipple at this time of day... disgraceful is it no, and the stuff of local gossip, if only they knew.”

Chapter 12

1821

Daily reports of the latest shipping disasters were a common feature of newspapers, but unaware of the name of which particular coffin ship was carrying Fergus, Sheena and her children, each time that Maggie read such a list she was filled with dread. Any one of these ships which had gone down in the Atlantic dragging hundreds of hopeful would-be emigrants to a watery grave, might indeed be the very one in which her husband had been sailing.

But as the long days became weeks and the weeks passed, and still she’d heard nothing, neither good nor bad, gradually Maggie began to relax.

No news is good news, so hold that, my girl and chances are they’ve all made it safely to Canada. Not that it matters when all’s said and done, it would be a miracle if ever I were to get a call to join Fergus over there in the new world. Ah well, so much for my dreams, best get on with that pile of dirty washing still awaiting my kind attention for Mrs Steven ... that’s what brings in the sillar these days. Humph, and all a far cry from when I was an upstairs maid in that swanky house, mind you, for all the good that ever did me.

1825

It was now four years since that memorable day when Sheena’s bairns, having been saved from a watery grave, came knocking at Maggie’s door with their pitiful tale of woe.

Maggie could never forget how Rory, Sheena’s eldest boy had told her in the most graphic detail.

“That’s right, Auntie Maggie, the ship caught fire in mid-Atlantic, all the men and women on board – they were all drowned – but somehow we children were saved. And here we are, back again in Glasgow.”

As Rory’s tale had unfolded, it turned out the survivors had been returned to the dockside in Greenock. The orphans amongst them summarily dispatched to the nearest Workhouse, and those with relatives - blood-related or not - but those with extended family in Glasgow had been transported to the City to deliver themselves as so much flotsam to their unsuspecting relatives.

In a reflective mood and with that day’s piles of washing now blowing in a stiff breeze out in the kailyard, Maggie allowed herself the luxury of an extra cup of tea without the need again to plunge her arms into yet another tub of soapy water.

Aye, she thought, a lot has happened these past years... Mrs Weir has gone to her maker; Jess Johnson has been a rock in helping me so often and so willingly with my extended family and...

Thinking of her family, Maggie was reminded that with each year he grew towards manhood, her son Ewan was bearing an ever more striking resemblance both in looks and in stature to the gentleman who in raping her at his host’s elegant home, had thus fathered, all unknowing, her son Ewan.

Even so, thought Maggie, I had forgotten quite how much I hated, actually loathed the very sight of my son until this morning. With Fergus’s death I’d managed to put all that history to the back of my mind.

It had been their heated confrontation that very morning as he and his cousin Rory were heading out the door for another day’s work that brought it sharply into focus for her.

Ewan, a pit boy at Dixon’s coalmine, and Rory, a rope-catcher at Govan Ferry.

Maggie had said, “Right then, lads, off ye go.”

Ewan turned to her with the totally unexpected words, “Mother, something Ah’ve often wondered aboot... how is it that ye sent me doon the mines when Ah was ten and yet ye managed tae get a much better job for yer dear Rory when he came back frae the sea? Ah’m yer son, yet ye always seem tae favour Rory, yer favourite in everything frae food, kind words, tae jobs.”

Maggie stopped, dishcloth in hand. “Ewan, that’s a terrible thing to say to me, your own mother. I don’t have favourites; you’re both special to me, as indeed are all the other children under this roof. And that’s a fact.”

Still looking unconvinced, Ewan curled his lips in a gesture of disdain and utter contempt for what his mother had just told him.

At once Maggie hastened to explain as best she could to get herself out of this tricky situation.

“Listen, son, favouritism just doesn’t come into it... the fact is you are small and wiry, so like it or not, you’re ideal stature as a pit-boy. Whereas Rory is...”

Ewan snapped angrily, “Oh aye, we all know fine weel what your wonderful Rory is... he’s tall, handsome and strong enough to be a boat-handler. No like me, wee, shilpit and just right for burrowin like an animal doon in the bowels of the earth.”

Maggie stared at the angry contorted face of her first-born.

“Uch Ewan, fine well you know...”

Her words faded away as she thought to herself in all honesty, Actually what does he know? Clearly he knows instinctively that there are days when I can barely thole the sight of him the older he gets. And yes, it is true, I do favour Rory, he is everything that my own son is not. And if I’m being honest with myself, considering all the years of jealous spite I threw at Sheena, another reason I favour Rory, perhaps it’s in memory of his own mother and in some way, to assuage my guilt .Oh my God, what a mess, but I’ll really have to be more careful in future and keep my loathing of Ewan in my mind rather than out in the cold harsh light of day. And at the same time, try to disguise my favour of Rory. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, that has to be the way forward, and for the sake of the other children as well, before they too start noticing a split in my love, devotion and loyalty. What a hell of a life.

Later that same evening when the boys returned from their respective jobs, Maggie was surprised to find that unlike his usually blackened-by-coal-dust face, for once Ewan’s face was as clean as that of his cousin Rory, albeit Ewan’s face was a ghostly pale hue, rather than the healthily weather-beaten tan displayed by dear Rory.

Suddenly aware that despite her previous resolve, she was yet again mentally comparing her own son unfavourably with his cousin, to mask her guilt and embarrassment, before she could stop herself, Maggie blurted out, “Oho, so what’s this, Ewan? No need to try to curry favour with me by scrubbing your face clean at the pithead before coming home for your supper.”

Had she struck him a blow, Maggie realised she could not have hurt him more deeply than she clearly had with her hasty, ill-advised choice of words.

He stared at his mother, took a step back from her, gulped, then said, “If ye must know, Mother, there was a bit of an accident down the mine today, five men dead, others badly injured and carted off to the Infirmary and others like me stunned and blackened by the force of it all. So the bosses took me and some of the other pit boys intae the office, cleaned us up, to see if any real damage had been done. They declared me fit tae keep on tae finish my shift, but tae make sure, they let me finish my shift at the pit-head.”

Before Maggie could reply, Rory said, breathless with excitement, “An accident doon the pit? Did ye see the dead men? Ah can still remember the dead folk Ah saw in the lifeboats. Dead frae burns and exposure tae the Atlantic storms, but see a pit disaster, that’s something else again, some excitement that.”

Ewan nodded. “Aye, dead men and the dyin, Ah saw all that and more. But listen, Rory, Ah really don’t want tae talk any more aboot it, at least no the night. But there was one thing that was really strange, weird and a bit creepy, if ye like...”

Maggie leant forward, all the while nervously twisting the dishcloth she held in her hands.

“Something strange, you say? And what might that have been, if I may ask?”

Ewan appeared to consider then said, “It was while we were in the office, once Ah’d been cleaned up a bit, like, that’s when it happened. One of the high heid yins that they’d sent for, in fact, somebody telt me later that he was actually one o the owners of the mine –  wid ye credit that, me meetin an owner, no less.”

“Get on with it Ewan, if this owner really did speak to you, what did he say?”

Ewan gave a sheepish grin. “It wisnae sae much that he spoke tae me... although at the finish he did ask me my name and where Ah stayed, but it was mair the fact that all the time Ah was in the office, he kept on staring at me, kept on lookin at me as he’d jist saw a ghost.”

Rory gave a delighted laugh and slapped at his thigh. “Nae wonder he stared at ye... Ah shouldnae think it’s all that often that he gets tae see a cheeky wee white-face peering oot at him from a coal-blackened pit-boy. Shouldnae think that yer high-falutin owners come intae contact wi ower mony apparations like that.”

Taking it all in good part, Ewan joined in with his cousin’s laughter.

“Well, son, just forget about it,” Maggie said. “Pit owners and gentlemen like that are nothing whatever to do with us, I expect he has a son of his own and was grateful that his son has a better life than that of a being a pit-boy. And as to his asking where you lived, that’ll just be for their official records, about the accident.”

Ewan grinned. “The good news there, Mother, seems the man’s wife a real do-good gooder, so mibbe she’ll come callin with a basket of food for us. Anyway, seems he hasne got any children, but my boss said with my height, colourin and my face cleaned, Ah could easily pass as his kith and kin. Some chance that, eh, Mammy?”