The House of Lyall (2 page)

Her thoughts now ventured further ahead. She hadn't had the cash for very long, but it gave her a feeling of power, of not being at anybody's beck and call. It was a good feeling, and she wanted to be like this all her life. It wouldn't be easy to get a position where she would come in contact with the upper classes in Aberdeen, but she was prepared to work her way up until she landed amongst people with lots of money, and then … then she could marry a rich man and live in luxury until she died. Love didn't come into her scheme of things – though it would be nice if it did turn up somewhere along the way. Whatever, in future Marion Cheyne would make sure that her every action would be to her own advantage.

When Alfie Cheyne went home at mid day, looking much older than his forty-one years after six hours' hard work at the mill, his wife, nudging thirty but with the hourglass figure of a twenty-year-old due to the tight lacing of her stays, was not her usual flirtatious self.

‘That lassie o' yours has run off.'

His greying brows plummeted. ‘Run off? Dinna speak daft, wumman! She's at the Moodies' where she's supposed to be … is she nae?'

‘She left there this morning. She was goin' into the station this foreneen when Mary McKay saw her, an' she never come oot again, for Mary waited half an hour an' more, so she said. An' when she went up an' asked Dod Cooper, he hummed an' hawed then said she was awa' to Dundee. So I went an' asked Mrs Moodie if she kent onything about it, an' she said there was money missing.'

‘But my Marion wouldna steal!' Alfie gasped.

‘Well, Mr Moodie had left twelve sovereigns for his wife to pay for a new table an' chairs she was gettin' delivered, an' when the cart came from Aberdeen an' she went to pay the man, there was only seven left. Marion must have ta'en the other five, for there was naebody else there. Oh, she'd said she wasna feeling well, an' Mrs Moodie sent her hame, but she didna come back here.'

Her triumphant sneer annoyed Alfie. Why had she thrust this worry on him when all he wanted was to eat his dinner in peace and have a wee nap before he went back to work? He'd got precious little sleep at nights since he'd wed Moll. He'd thought he was the luckiest man on God's earth the first month or so, and told himself many a man would give his right arm to change places with him, but by Govie, you could get too much of a good thing.

‘Have you nothing to say about her?' Moll demanded suddenly.

‘What can I say?' he mumbled. ‘If it was her that took that money, an' it looks like she must have …' He halted, rubbing his hand over his wiry beard. ‘If it was just a shillin' or two, it wouldna be so bad, but five sovereigns! That's near what I get for a twelve-month slaving in the mill an' filling my lungs wi' sawdust.' Thinking that it might be as well to keep on his wife's good side – he might fare a lot worse if he got her dander up – he said quite decidedly, ‘Well, a' I can say is good riddance to her!'

That made her beam with pleasure. ‘It'll just be me an' you, noo, Alfie.'

He nodded. ‘Aye, Moll, just you an' me.' And if she carried on the way she'd been doing, he thought morosely, he'd be a wizened old man before he was fifty, his manhood drained off him. Looking at it from the other side, though, she was a damned good-looking wench who knew how to please a man, and there were worse ways to end his days than taking full advantage of what was legally his.

‘You'll be ready for your stovies now, then?'

She had almost purred the words, and Alfie's saliva was flowing as he watched her filling a bowl with creamy milk, heaping his plate and then sticking a quarter of oatcakes in the middle. This was the traditional way to eat this dish, the milk being necessary to wash down the dry triangle of oatcake and barely moist stoved potatoes. For dinners like this every day he would gladly put up with Moll's nightly appetite.

Something else struck him as he took a quick sip of milk to clear his gritty mouth. ‘Are the Moodies going to report her to the bobby?' he asked, wiping his moustache and picking up his fork.

‘She says he'll likely want to, but she's goin' to tell him it was his ain fault for leaving so much money where Marion could get her hands on it, an' ony young girl would have been tempted. Eat that up afore they're caul' now, for I've got a apple dumpling for after.'

When Marion came out of Aberdeen railway station, her ears were assaulted by the bustle and din, and her nose by the strong smell of fish. Not that she didn't like fish – she got it once a week at home – but she wasn't accustomed to the stink of it all around her. Horses clopped over the granite setts, their carts piled high with wooden fish boxes leaking streams of brine on the road, or loaded with big beer barrels looking as though they would come toppling over at any minute. The leather-aproned carters whistled blithely, and mostly untunefully, as they flicked the reins to show their trusty steeds who was master.

Errand boys flashed past her on their bicycles as she stood gaping, the parcels in the baskets on their handlebars wobbling precariously when they rounded the corner, bells shrilling in warning. The pedestrians must have been aware of the danger, but the women were more concerned with striving to hold their skirts down against the wind, which made Marion recall a rhyme one of the old men in Tipperton had taught her brother.

The devil sent the wind to blow the ladies' dresses high,

But God was just and sent the dust to blind the bad man's eye.

Eight-year-old Kenny had kept chanting it till their father had given him a good clout on the lug. Memories of Kenny made Marion think fully about what she had done. If she hadn't run off – if you could call going on a train running off – she could have gone back and returned the five sovereigns before anybody noticed they were gone, but it was too late now. She had left her home and would have to stay in this huge unfriendly city, and she had no idea of where to go or what to do, though it might be wise to get away from the horrible stink of fish.

She had noticed that most of the carts coming from her right were empty, while the ones going in the opposite direction were piled high, so it didn't take very much gumption to tell that the docks were to her left. To be certain, however, she went to the edge of the pavement and craned her neck leftwards. Yes, she could see an array of masts with their sails tied up, so there
were
ships there, loading or unloading.

She set off now away from them, turning a corner in seconds and going up a street of shops with houses above them, but even with money in her pocket, she resolutely kept her eyes away from the windows; she might need every penny before she got settled.

At the top of the hill, a black and white tiled sign on the wall of the last granite building told her this was Bridge Street, which didn't surprise her, though there was no water under the bridge she'd just crossed, only another road. The thoroughfare she had reached – it was the only way to describe it, it was so grand – was Union Street, according to the nameplate on the far side, and having heard of that before, she knew it was more or less the backbone of Aberdeen.

Curiosity overcoming all her other senses now, Marion turned right and wandered round several of the large shops, stores really, and it was very much later when, emerging from one absolute wonderland, she caught sight of a clock on a building some way ahead. Twenty-five past five! No wonder it was getting dark and her belly was rumbling. She'd had nothing to eat since breakfast time. She was considering going back to the last place she'd walked round, where she'd seen people sitting having meals at the tables, when it dawned on her that all the shops she could see were now emptying before the doors were closed for the day.

Disappointed, and hungry, she trudged on, Union Street changing to Castle Street and widening into a kind of large square, which soon narrowed again and became Justice Street. Halfway down here, wonder of wonders, she came across a pie shop, where several men in working clothes were waiting to be served. They were obviously buying things to eat somewhere else, and came out in ones and twos, each carrying so large a bundle that it looked as if they were preparing for a siege, but she went inside when one of them politely held the door open for her.

The short stout man behind the counter saw her perplexed expression. ‘They're night shift at the gas works,' he informed her. ‘If you want, you can sit down an' eat yours here,' he added kindly. ‘You look worn oot.'

‘I've been walking a lot,' she admitted, sinking down gratefully on one of the benches at the side. She was even more grateful when he set a plate down on the stained table in front of her, for there was a large mouth-watering pie on it, smothered in gravy and a big mound of juicy peas. There was also a big chunk of bread on the side for mopping up the last drops of moisture.

‘Was you makin' for some place in partikler?' the man asked, having no one else to serve at that moment.

Dog-tired physically, Marion was as alert as ever mentally. ‘I was supposed to be goin' to my auntie in Bridge Street,' she fibbed, naming the first place that came to mind, ‘but she wasna in. She musta forgot I was comin', so I've been shovin' in time till I was sure she'd have to be hame for my uncle's supper. But, if she hadna minded aboot me, she'd only be cookin' for the two o' them, and that's why I come in here.'

The man nodded, satisfied that she wasn't in any kind of trouble, but the entrance of more customers took his attention off her. When a quarter of an hour later, she stood up to leave, he said solicitously, ‘You'll manage to find yer wey back to yer auntie?'

‘I'll go back the wey I come,' Marion assured him, holding out a shilling because she didn't know how much he charged.

He waved it away. ‘Na, na, lass, that's a' richt.'

‘But I must pay for the pie.'

‘My treat, m'dear. Us Aberdonians are nae as mean as folk mak' oot.'

‘Well, thank you very much then.' It crossed her mind to ask if he needed any help in the shop, but he'd been so good to her already it wouldn't be right to take advantage of his good nature.

Of course, she did not go back the way she had come, but went on down Justice Street, then turned into Constitution Street, lined with an assortment of houses, big and small, but sadly she discovered in a few minutes that it took her down to the beach. It was much darker now, with just a scattering of tiny stars twinkling over the wide expanse of water. She'd heard more than one person in Tipperton saying that it didn't matter what kind of weather it was, or what time of day, when you went to Aberdeen beach you'd be sure to find other folk there, but
she
couldn't see a blessed soul!

October was long past the season when the well-off from Glasgow and Edinburgh took holidays, and who on earth would come here at the back end of the year if they didn't have to? Well, she was too tired to trail back to find a place to stay the night, but she'd have to have a rest. She'd feel better in the morning, more able to look for lodgings, and maybe a job, though she did have enough money to keep her going for a few weeks – months if she was careful.

She was lucky to find, a short way along the front, a three-sided brick erection, likely for the use of mothers or nannies to keep a watch on their children playing on the sands, which afforded some shelter although it was fully exposed to the icy night wind howling in across the North Sea from the Arctic. It was bitterly cold, but she was so exhausted that she did eventually fall into a deep sleep from which she was rudely awakened in a few short hours by the screaming of the gulls circling overhead, probably hoping she'd some scraps to give them.

‘You're unlucky this time,' she shouted at them to scare them off. ‘I haven't anything for myself to eat, so you'd better go and look somewhere else.'

Standing up was an almost impossible task. Her whole body felt as if it were frozen stiff, and once on her feet, she stood looking miserably around her. With the dawning of the day came the realization that she would never survive if she didn't find somewhere to live, and she didn't know how to do that. She'd made a dreadful mistake when she ran away from Tipperton, an even worse when she stole the money. Was this God's way of warning her that unless she went back and confessed to her crime, He would have to punish her? Deciding that it was better late than never to do the right thing, she still felt a great reluctance to move. Why didn't she just lie down again and let the elements finish her off?

But Marion was not a pessimist by nature, and it wasn't long before she shook off her despondency. Far better to face up to her sin than cause trouble by practically committing suicide on a deserted beach.

Nevertheless, by the time she had retraced her steps of the day before, her feet and legs still aching agonizingly, her spirits had taken another downward spiral. How could she face the Moodies again, after the banker's wife had been so kind to her? And what about her father? He'd never been a violent man, though he'd often given her brother a wallop when he misbehaved, so what if he lost his temper with her? What she had done was an awful lot worse than anything Kenny ever had.

To stop her imagining the leathering she would get, Marion came to a halt to find out where she was. Without noticing, she had got back to Union Street and, if her memory served her right, she wasn't far from the top of Bridge Street. Should she go home … or not? Still a child at heart, she gave herself a choice. If the next street she came to was Bridge Street, she'd go down to the station. If it wasn't, she wouldn't. That was fair, wasn't it? Surely God wouldn't argue with that?

Not sure whether to be pleased or not, she found that the next street was indeed Bridge Street and, resigned to her fate now, she turned down it, her steps determined. At the entrance to the station, however, she was assailed by sudden misgivings. She had told Dod Cooper at Tipperton that she was going to her auntie in Dundee, and maybe that's what she
should
do. Her mother's sister did live there, and it would be a lot easier to confess to Auntie Bella than to her father.