Mud and Gold (28 page)

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, and she saw a red
tinge mount in his face. ‘She put you up to this, didn’t she?’ he
said in a low growl.

Mrs Coulson struggled to maintain her
composure. ‘She did no such thing. The girl would be terribly upset
if she knew I was speaking to you like this.’

Charlie went on as if she had not spoken.
‘That little bitch with her airs and graces talked you into this.
She’ll not get away with trying to make a fool of me. I know my
rights, and she’ll do as I say. She can just try moaning to me—I’ll
show her what her duty is. I’ll show her what happens if she tries
to get out of it.’

Mrs Coulson felt her self-control slipping
away as he spoke. ‘Mr Stewart, you are the luckiest man alive to
have a wife like that girl. If you were to show her just the
smallest bit of kindness—just the tiniest bit of affection—she’d
cling to you as if you were the most wonderful man in the world.
Instead you make her shrink from you. You’re so busy thinking about
your rights that you’re missing out on the best chance of happiness
this world’s ever going to show you.’

Charlie rose from his chair. ‘You’re a
nurse. It’s your job to get her well enough so she can come home
and start doing her duty again. Beyond that, it’s none of your
affair. I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business.’ He
walked towards the door.

‘Mr Stewart,’ Mrs Coulson called sharply.
Charlie turned in the doorway. ‘You’re a fool, Mr Stewart. And one
day you’ll see it for yourself, if you live long enough to learn
any sense. The trouble is, by the time you do it might be too late.
Too late for you and for that poor girl.’ The slamming of her front
door was the only reply Charlie gave.

December 1887 – January 1888

Amy smiled back at the baby chortling on her
lap.

‘Not sleepy yet, Davie? Never mind, it’s
better if you’re awake now, as long as you sleep well tonight.’

Not that that was usually a problem with
David. At four months old he had already been sleeping through the
night for weeks, much to Amy’s relief. He seemed content to sleep
most of the time. He woke when he was hungry, fed eagerly, then
gurgled to himself until he dropped off to sleep again. Charlie
could not complain about a baby who hardly ever seemed to cry.

‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Davie.’
David gave her a toothless grin. She hugged him, then put him down
on the cradle mattress, which she had brought out to the kitchen.
She raised the pillow a little so he could see her as she moved
about the room.

‘Mama.’ She heard Malcolm call out in the
high-pitched voice that managed to sound imperious for all its
childish tones. ‘Mama!’

Amy crossed the passage into Malcolm’s
bedroom, where she had tucked him in for his afternoon sleep only
half an hour before. ‘What do you want, Mal? You’re meant to be
asleep, you know.’

‘Don’t want to.’

‘Aren’t you sleepy?’ Malcolm shook his head.
Amy studied his face, the lower lip thrust well out as he gave his
mother a sideways look. She sighed. ‘I’ll let you get up, then, but
you have to be good. If you go getting grumpy you’ll go straight
back to bed. All right? Will you be good?’

‘Yes!’ Malcolm said.

He looked so little in a real bed, after
being in a cradle for so long. When Amy had come home from Mrs
Coulson’s, Malcolm had been moved into the cottage’s other bedroom,
giving up his cradle to his baby brother. It had come as something
of a relief to have Malcolm in his own room; it would not have been
much longer before he was old enough to take far too much notice of
what his parents were doing in the big bed.

Amy took off his napkin (Malcolm only needed
them for sleeping now), praising him over its dryness, and dressed
him, then took him out to the kitchen. A mug of milk and some
biscuits kept him amused for a few minutes while she got on with
her work, then she sat him in one corner with a pile of old
newspapers that had been destined to do service as toilet paper,
which he busily ripped to shreds.

When David whimpered, Amy stopped work and
lifted him from the mattress to feed him. Malcolm left his
newspaper ripping to stand close to them. She reached out and
stroked down an unruly tuft of red hair.

‘Do you want a cuddle, Mal?’ She slipped her
free arm around him. ‘I can fit you on my lap, too.’ Malcolm
squirmed out of her embrace and took a step backwards. ‘No? You’re
not much on cuddles, are you? You’re like your Papa.’

Malcolm returned to his newspapers, but when
he had finished making a mess with them he looked up at Amy. ‘Play,
Mama.’

‘I can’t, Mal. I’m feeding Davie, then I’ve
got to finish cooking, then Papa will be here and it’ll be time to
have dinner. Wait a minute and I’ll get you some more papers.’

‘Don’t want them. You play!’

‘Malcolm, don’t be naughty or you’ll have to
go back to bed.’

‘He don’t go to bed,’ Malcolm said, glaring
at David in Amy’s arms.

‘Davie’s just a little baby, Mal. He sleeps
lots and lots.’

‘Stupid baby.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Amy soothed. ‘He’s your
brother. You’ll be able to play with him when he gets bigger.’

‘He too little,’ Malcolm said.

‘He’ll grow up. You’ll see, you’ll like
playing with him soon.’ Malcolm gave her a dubious look. Amy
laughed at his expression. ‘I think you’re a bit j-e-a-l-o-u-s. All
right, then, I’ll play with you for a bit when Davie’s finished
having a drink.’

When the baby stopped suckling she put him
back on the mattress, then knelt on the floor with Malcolm. She
lifted a sheet of paper that Malcolm had missed ripping, and
thought back to games she and Lizzie had played as children.

‘Wait a minute, Mal, I’ll fetch my
scissors.’

She picked a blunt pair out of her sewing
box and sat down on the floor again. ‘Look at this.’ She carefully
folded the sheet concertina-wise and cut a pattern into it. When
she unfolded the paper a row of dolls holding hands was
revealed.

Malcolm exclaimed with pleasure and made a
grab at the dolls. ‘Me!’ he demanded.

‘Yes, they’re for you. Don’t rip them too
fast.’

Malcolm waved the row of dolls for a few
minutes while Amy quickly finished mixing up a pudding and slipped
it into the range. He dropped the paper, walked over to Amy and
tugged at her apron. ‘Horsies, Mama.’

‘What about them? What do you want me to
do?’

‘Horsies!’ Malcolm repeated, tugging harder
at her apron and scowling at her lack of understanding. ‘Make
horsies.’

‘Oh. I’m not sure if I can do horsies, Mal.
I’ll have a go.’ She folded another sheet and looked at it, trying
to visualize a horse-shaped outline, then cut out a form as
horse-like as she could manage. ‘How’s that?’ she asked doubtfully
as she unfolded the result.

‘Horsies!’ Malcolm cried in delight. He
dragged the trail of paper horses around the kitchen, making a
clicking sound with his tongue as he did; imitating the noise his
father made to gee-up the horses, Amy knew.

He was crawling under the table, still
clutching his now bedraggled horses, when Charlie came into the
house for dinner.

‘Horsies, Papa,’ Malcolm said, waving them
at his father as he wrapped one arm around Charlie’s leg.

‘What’s he on about?’ Charlie asked. He
freed himself from Malcolm’s grasp and sat down at the table.

‘Horses. I made him some paper horses to
play with.’

Charlie peered doubtfully at Malcolm’s toy.
‘Are those horses?’

‘Well, he thinks they are. They’ve kept him
entertained while I was busy, anyway.’

‘He hasn’t been playing up, has he?’

‘Oh, no,’ Amy said hastily. ‘He’s been very
good, really.’ She had no intention of mentioning Malcolm’s refusal
to finish his afternoon sleep. ‘He does get a bit bored, though,
with just me to talk to. It’ll be better in a year or two when
Davie can play with him. Come on, Mal, sit up at the table now.’
She lifted him bodily and placed him on the chair at her right hand
before he could argue.

‘He’s growing up,’ Charlie said, watching
Malcolm as Amy served the meal. ‘He’s two now, isn’t he?’

‘Just over. He’s big for his age,
though.’

‘Time you started teaching him a few things.
I don’t hold with bairns talking at the table.’

‘What?’ Amy looked up from encouraging
Malcolm to hold his spoon properly. ‘Why not?’

‘It’s not the right way to bring them up,’
said Charlie. ‘When they’re wee babies it’s different, but once
they’re old enough to know better they should keep silent at the
table unless they’re spoken to.’

‘But Pa and Granny never—’ Amy stopped
herself. Charlie had made his opinion of her upbringing clear far
too many times. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Until they’re how
old?’

‘About twelve, I’d say,’ Charlie said after
some consideration.

‘I think Mal’s a little bit too young to
understand that,’ Amy said carefully. ‘I mean, he’s only been
saying more than two words joined together for a couple of months.
It might confuse him if we say he’s not allowed to talk.’ She
glanced at Malcolm, who was turning his attention from one to the
other as his parents spoke, hearing his name but probably
understanding little else.

‘Hmm. That’s maybe right. Leave it a bit
longer, then. A few more months shouldn’t do any harm.’

Malcolm was so quiet during the meal that
Amy wondered if he had understood more of Charlie’s comments than
she had thought. But it meant she did not have to worry about his
saying anything Charlie might disapprove of.

When she had dished up the pudding she
lifted David onto her lap so he could watch the others at the
table. ‘Davie’s starting to sleep a bit less,’ she told Charlie.
‘He takes notice of everything, too. Look at Papa, Davie,’ she
prompted. David grinned and waved his arms at his father.

‘Aye, they’re fine boys, both of them,’
Charlie said. ‘I’ll have some more pudding.’

Amy rose to take his plate and pile more
custard pudding into it. When she took her seat again she noticed
that Malcolm’s bowl was still half full. ‘Come on, Mal, eat up,’
she encouraged.

‘Don’t want it,’ Malcolm said, giving her a
resentful look. Amy saw him rub his eyes and poke his lower lip
out, and realised with a sinking heart that his lack of sleep had
caught up with him.

‘He’s tired, Charlie,’ she said. ‘It’s my
fault—I should have made sure he had a good sleep this afternoon,
but I got him up too soon. Don’t be silly, Mal,’ she said, trying
to make her voice light. ‘Of course you want your pudding. Eat up,
then you’d better go straight to bed.’

‘Won’t! Won’t go to bed! Don’t want
pudding!’

Charlie looked at his son in amazement, and
Amy knew that this time it would be hard to shelter Malcolm. ‘Hey,
boy, you do as you’re told,’ he said. ‘You eat what’s put in front
of you.’

‘Won’t!’ Malcolm gave his bowl a shove away
from him. It caught a roughness on the wooden table and tipped
over, spilling custard on the table and onto Malcolm.

Amy spoke quickly, anxious to forestall
Charlie’s angry reaction. ‘Malcolm! That was very naughty. You can
go to bed right now—go on, off you go.’

‘He don’t go to bed!’ Malcolm shouted,
glaring at David. He flung his spoon in fury, and by sheer bad luck
his aim was better than it had any right to be.

The spoon struck the baby a glancing blow on
the cheek. For a moment there was a deathly silence in the room
while Amy and Charlie were too shocked to speak, Malcolm absorbed
the enormity of what he had done and David looked astonished. Then
the baby opened his mouth wide and screamed his outrage.

Amy checked his face. ‘Poor Davie,’ she
soothed, stroking the small red mark on his cheek, but a glance
showed her that his screams were from shock rather than pain.

Charlie took an instant longer to recover
his voice, but his expression told Amy it was too late to try and
protect Malcolm. ‘Come here, boy,’ he roared above David’s yells.
He pulled Malcolm from the chair, at the same time undoing the
heavy leather belt from around his waist.

Malcolm had never had more than the token
slaps Amy occasionally gave him. He looked at the belt without any
understanding, but the threat in his father’s face was easily read.
His face crumpled and he began to wail.

‘He didn’t really mean to hurt Davie,’ Amy
said. Charlie turned on her.

‘Don’t you go meddling, woman. I’ve been
leaving it to you to bring the boy up till he was old enough to
need a man’s hand. Look what you’re turning him into—a spoilt brat.
I’ll have to sort out your mischief before you ruin my son.’ He
yanked up Malcolm’s little frock and swung the belt.

Amy turned away from the sight, holding
David close to her to try and soothe him, as the repeated whack of
leather against flesh and Malcolm’s screams filled the room. The
noise seemed to frighten David even more, so that he yelled louder
than ever.

It took her a moment to realise that Charlie
had stopped hitting Malcolm, as both children were still making as
much noise as ever. ‘You’ll get that again if you play up—you
remember that,’ Charlie warned, his voice rising above the
cacophony. ‘Now you get to bed. You can stop that noise, too.’

Malcolm ran wailing from the room and into
his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. His cries were muffled
by the wall, and Amy managed to soothe David so that the room
gradually became quiet once more.

‘The little fellow’s all right, is he?’
Charlie asked, looking at David in Amy’s arms.

‘Yes, he’s fine. He just got a fright.’

‘Good.’ Charlie frowned. ‘I’ve been too soft
on the boy. I should have been keeping a better eye on him—I can’t
expect you to have any sense.’

‘He’s not usually like that, Charlie. He
really did get tired this afternoon, that’s why he was grumpy.’