The Road to Rowanbrae (15 page)

‘She's a poor thing,' Mysie agreed, ‘but what aboot Drew?'

‘Pattie says it was shrapnel in his leg, but he's nae bad enough to be sent hame.'

‘I hope Doddie never gets wounded.'

Little of the Christmas dinner was sent back to the kitchen, and further proof of its success came when Mrs Phillip went downstairs the next morning. ‘All my guests thought that the meal was just perfect, Mrs Duncan, and Gregor, my brother, even said that the oatmeal stuffing was a heaven-sent inspiration. He was always something of a gourmet, so that was indeed a great compliment, and I think you could consider yourself a fully-fledged cook now.'

Mysie felt very proud, but as soon as her employer went out, she turned to her kitchenmaid, who had prepared most of the vegetables and even helped with the dishing-up. ‘I'd never ha'e managed withoot you, Meggie.'

The girl glowed with pleasure. ‘I'd like to learn to be a cook, though. Would you show me, sometimes?'

‘Aye, once Hogmanay's past.'

Hogmanay passed uneventfully. Maitland had gone to see his parents, and old McGregor saw the New Year in quietly with the cook and the kitchenmaid. There were none of the wild parties Mysie had imagined the gentry holding, and if the laird and his wife did take a few drinks, they had kept it very quiet.

On the fourth of January, a letter from Doddie made Mysie sit down and weep, and Meggie, coming in from the scullery, ran across to her full of concern. ‘What's wrang?'

‘Doddie's comin' hame on leave,' Mysie sobbed.

‘You should be happy, then.'

‘I am happy, it's just that I havena seen him for near a year an' … oh, I'm just bein' daft.'

‘Aye are you.'

At Downies, Mysie's good news was rather blunted when Jess told her that Davey Robertson, the eldest son of the farmer at Waterton, had been killed.

‘Oh, that's terrible,' Mysie exclaimed. ‘He surely wasna auld enough to be in the war?'

Jess shook her head. ‘He cheated his age when he enlisted, an' I'm near sure he's nae even seventeen yet.'

‘I dinna ken his mother and father, but I'm sorry for them.'

‘They never mixed muckle, thought themselves a bit above the rest o' us, but death comes to us a', rich or poor.'

‘But nae so often when folk's as young as Davey Robertson.' Mysie's heart cramped suddenly. ‘I hope naething happens to Doddie afore he comes hame.'

‘He'll be here, dinna fret, lass.'

Perking up a little, Mysie said, ‘He'll likely come to Downies first, so tell him to come to me as quick as he can, for I'm desperate to see him.'

Going back to Burnlea House, she didn't even glance at the blackened walls of Rowanbrae as she cycled past, she was too intent in praying that Doddie was safe.

Chapter Fourteen

1916

Early on Tuesday afternoon, a loud rap at the servants' door sent Mysie running to answer it, almost sending Meggie flying in her haste. Flinging the door open, she felt herself go weak at the knees and stood for a second drinking in the familiar features of the man she loved. He looked older – there were lines on his face that hadn't been there before – and paler, more serious … but he was still … ‘Oh, Doddie!'

He had been waiting uncertainly, but now the khaki arms went round her, holding her as if they would never let her go, and while they stood locked together, he murmured her name against her cheek. ‘Mysie, my ain dear Mysie! I can hardly believe I'm wi' you again. It's been such a lang time.'

Meggie was weeping unashamedly at the emotional reunion, but after a moment – a very long moment – she said, ‘Look, Mysie, I'll bide in the scullery an' you can tak' your lad into the kitchen an' shut the door.'

Few sensible words were spoken over the next quarter of an hour, embraces and kisses being sufficient to show how much each had missed the other, but at last they broke away. ‘Oh, Mysie, I love you mair than ever,' Doddie breathed, sitting down at the side of the large range. ‘I've thought about you every day, an' pictured your bonnie broon hair an' blue een.'

‘I must look a mess,' she protested. ‘I've still on my auld apron an' cap.'

‘You could never look a mess,' he told her, devouring her with his eyes. ‘I'd forgot how bonnie you really were.'

Love for him overcoming her, she sat on his knee to kiss him again, a kiss which kindled long-denied desire in both of them, and Doddie's caresses were growing quite passionate when Mrs Phillip came in. Mysie jumped up, her face scarlet. ‘Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am, but Doddie's new hame on leave …'

Her employer smiled indulgently. ‘You should have told me he was coming, and I'd have arranged some free time for you, but if you prepare dinner before you go, Meggie can dish up, so you may have the rest of the day off – provided that you do not stay out too late.'

Romantic Meggie was more than willing to see to the dinner and to supervise Sandy when he came home from school, but it was almost an hour before Mysie was satisfied that she had done all she could to leave the kitchenmaid as little work as possible, and she felt able to leave the house with Doddie.

When she first saw him, she had been shocked at the change in him and couldn't get over how thin and drawn his face was, how dull and deep-set his eyes. It was difficult to remember how handsome he had been when he left, rosy cheeks shining with good health, eyes clear and bright, and she was anxious for him to tell her what had wrought the change.

Strolling so slowly between kisses that a snail could have overtaken them, it took them over thirty minutes to walk down the avenue. The grass was too wet to sit on – sleety rain had been falling steadily since early morning – but everything they passed seemed beautiful to them, even the rusty, creaking gate on to the road when they finally came to it.

‘We'll just ha'e to go to Downies, there's nae place else we'll get a seat.' Mysie was bitterly disappointed that love-making was out of the question, but at least they were together, and there would be other days.

As they walked, she told him about Nessie White's baby, about the men who had enlisted after him, about Drew White's wounded leg, about the Christmas dinner, but not about Davey Robertson. Death was a subject that shouldn't be brought up to a serving soldier who would have to return to the front line. At last, with him telling her nothing about the war, she said, ‘You must be tired listenin' to me goin' on an' on.'

‘I could listen to you for ever.' He squeezed her arm. ‘I'm storin' it up in my mind, so when I go back I can picture the kind o' things you'll be daein', an' a' the folk I used to ken. Weel, that's if I get ony peace to think. There's whiles we dinna even get a chance to sleep.'

‘Is it awfu' bad ower there, Doddie? Is that why you havena tell't me onything aboot it?'

‘Aye, it's bad, lass.'

‘Tell me aboot it. I want to picture you when you're awa', like you'll be picturin' me. I want to ken the places you've been an' what happened to you.'

‘Mysie, I want to forget it.'

‘Please, Doddie?'

‘It's naething but trenches an' shells an' …' He turned towards her, sighing. ‘A' right, I'll tell you. It'll maybe dae me good, for it eats awa' inside me sometimes, an' I swear I'll never forget some o' the things I've saw. When I went ower first, we was in a place called Neuve Chapelle. That wasna so bad, for we had a twelve-day tour o' duty – two days in the trenches, two oot, two in, two oot, an' so on, then six days rest in reserve. Even though, a lot o' the men were killed or wounded. When we were pulled oot o' there, we were marched to St Julien, just a little place nae much bigger than Burnlea, an' a' we saw was dead horses an' men lyin' aboot. The shell-fire was the worst we'd had, an' one o' the Canadian divisions wi' us was near wiped oot.'

Mysie, absolutely horrified by what he was saying, let him carry on, knowing that if she interrupted, he would clam up. ‘The nichts was the worst, white flares goin' up a' the time, an' machine-guns you couldna see though you ken't they were there for there was lang bursts o' firin' whiles, an' shells whistlin' ower your head – if you was lucky. But the worst place, for me ony road, was Loos. A terrible battle was ragin' afore we got there, an' the Northumberland Fusiliers were goin' in for the attack. Nae very mony o' them survived.' He halted there, overwhelmed by the memory of it. ‘Oh, Mysie, I shouldna tell you things like that – I didna mean to tell you onything.'

‘I wanted to ken, Doddie. Will you be goin' back to Loos?'

Full of remorse for what he had already said, he felt obliged to reassure her. ‘No, I shouldna think it. We've daen mair than oor share.' He knew perfectly well that he would be back in the front line soon, but it was best that she didn't know.

When they arrived at Downies, Jess said, ‘You're blue wi' the cauld, baith o' you, sit doon at the fire. The supper's in the oven, but Jake wants me to help him wi' …'

Standing up, Doddie cried, ‘No, let me help him. You sit doon an' speak to Mysie.'

Jess pushed him back into his seat. ‘Mysie's seen me every second week since you went awa', an' it's you she wants to … speak to. Tak' the chance when you've got it.' She marched out, smiling broadly.

‘I thought I'd best offer to help,' he told Mysie, ‘though I didna want to leave you. Ony road, I can help Jake the times I canna see you. I must work for my keep.'

‘Aye,' she murmured, shy now that they were alone inside, and still recovering from the horrors he had described, although she suspected that it had been much worse for him than he had told her.

Her slight blush made him feel like sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her through to the Findlaters' bed, but that was impossible, so he drew his chair up next to hers and took her hand. ‘I've dreamed aboot this for months, Mysie. I used to think aboot you when we was on guard duty, or back aff the line for a rest, and I sometimes planned what we'll dae when we're in oor ain place.'

They were still planning for their own small croft – Mysie even saying she wanted honeysuckle round their porch – when Jess came in again, stumbling intentionally over the back step to warn them. ‘He looks real good in the kilt, doesn't he?'

Mysie nodded. ‘Aye, does he.' Doddie
was
an exceptionally fine figure of a man in the kilt, she thought, his legs firm and sturdy, his back so erect that the pleats fell straight down to his knees, but his khaki jacket was hanging loosely on him. Had it always been like that, she wondered, or had he grown that much thinner since it had been fitted? Maybe they didn't fit them, though. Maybe they just handed out whatever sizes were available.

After supper, they all sat round the fireside talking, Jake stepping in to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation, but Doddie couldn't stop himself from looking frequently at Mysie, his eyes telling her that this was not how he had envisaged them passing their precious time together. The evening was well advanced when Mysie noticed the time and gasped. ‘Oh, I should ha'e been awa' ages ago.' Standing up, she felt ashamed that she had never given one thought to Sandy for hours, nor to how Meggie Duff was coping on her own.

Doddie held her coat up for her. ‘I'll walk you back.'

‘But you'll ha'e to walk back here again.'

‘I'd walk to the ends o' the earth for you, Mysie,' he told her earnestly, not caring that Jess and Jake would also hear.

It was far too cold now to linger on their journey, but it was after ten before they arrived at Burnlea House. ‘I'm goin' to Fyvie the morn, to see my father,' Doddie said at the door, ‘but I'll come for you on your next time aff.'

‘I've got the afternoon on Thursday, but I havena a whole day till the Sunday the week after.'

‘That's the day I've to leave,' he said sadly. ‘Oh, weel, it canna be helped. What time will I come on Thursday?'

‘I could maybe manage half-past one, an' I've to be back at six, for their dinner's at seven.'

‘Half past one, then.' He kissed her and hurried away.

Mysie went through her kitchen and ran up the back stairs. Meggie was in bed, but not asleep. ‘I got on fine,' she said, proudly, ‘an' Sandy was as good as gold, so I could let you oot ilka nicht Doddie's here, if you like?'

‘But Mrs Phillip wouldna …'

‘If you wait till the dinner's past she's nae needin' to ken. She never comes doon the stair at nicht, you ken that fine.'

Mysie longed to accept the offer, but wasn't too sure about it. ‘We'll see. Doddie's goin' to Fyvie the morn, an' I'll be aff on Thursday afternoon ony road, but maybe on Friday.'

With having nothing to look forward to on Wednesday, Mysie was all the more irritable with Sandy when he did not eat his breakfast. ‘Wastin' good food like that! Get it doon you!'

It was not until he said, ‘When will Doddie be goin' awa'?' that she realised what was wrong with him. ‘He's to go back a week on Sunday,' she told him, her voice much softer.

‘I didna ken where you were when I come hame fae the school yesterday, nae till Meggie tell't me.'

‘I didna ken mysel' that I'd get oot. Oh, Sandy, you're nae angry that I was wi' Doddie, are you? I thought you was big enough for me to leave you a while, an' Meggie was there.'

‘I am big enough, I'm nae a baby.' He lifted his spoon and began to sup his porridge, in an effort to show her that her short desertion had not upset him.

‘I dinna ken what to dae aboot Sandy,' Mysie told Meggie when they sat down at half-past ten to have a cup of tea. ‘I think he's nae very pleased at me goin' oot wi' Doddie.'

The kitchenmaid pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘He didna say naething last night.'

‘No, but maybe I should tell Doddie I canna get oot …'

‘Dinna be daft, Mysie! Sandy an' me got on fine, he's just puttin' it on wi' you.'

‘I suppose so.' Mysie had too much work to do to worry any more about Sandy. He was only a bairn and he would soon get over it, and it wasn't as if she was doing anything wrong.

On Thursday afternoon, she and Doddie meandered round the grounds of the house, stopping to kiss behind a tree every now and then, and she would willingly have let him make love to her standing up if he had tried. They were almost back at the house when he stopped once more and looked at her earnestly. ‘Mysie, maybe you think I dinna want you, but I just canna tak' you like a beast, though I'm desperate for you.'

‘I wouldna mind, Doddie,' she whispered, shyly.

‘No, lass. I love you mair than ever I did, but I dinna want to spoil things atween us. I would feel as if I was treatin' you like a whore, an' it's nae just for that I love you. Can you understand what I mean?'

‘Aye, I can, an' I suppose you're right.'

‘If only we had some place to go … och, Mysie, I'm bein' selfish. I can wait.' He drew her into his arms again, his kisses showing how much he wanted her, but in no time, he drew away abruptly. ‘I'll nae be able to wait if we go on like this. Afore you go in, will I see you again?'

‘Meggie says it should be a' right if I took an hour or so aff ilka night, so come at the back o' seven the morn's nicht.'

For the rest of Doddie's leave, Mysie closed her eyes to her son's pique, and allowed herself some time off every evening. Unfortunately, the weather was against them, it being January, but even the snow and hail beating down on them didn't lessen their happiness at being together.

All too soon, the day of his departure came, and at eleven o'clock on Sunday forenoon, she sat tearfully in Downies with Jess, Jake and Sandy, trying not to let them see that her heart was breaking. Of course, she had to carry on as usual when she returned to the Big House, and, within a week, it was as though Doddie had never been home.

Mrs Phillip's father died unexpectedly in Aberdeen in May, so everyone crept about sadly for a few days, but Mysie was more upset when Jess told her that Denny Petrie had been killed. For as much as she had disliked Jean, she wouldn't have wished that on her, and it made her more concerned for Doddie – two deaths connected with the place already, there was bound to be a third, sooner or later.

Before she knew it, the school summer holidays were on them and Bobby Phillip and Sandy were on the loose again. Little Beatrice knew to steer clear of them, but they still got into scrapes. Finding the mower McGregor had left out while he had a mid-morning cup of tea, they ran around the lawn with it, pushing it off the grass eventually and decapitating a whole row of colourful dahlias. Being threatened with confinement to the house if they went near the gardens again, they dared each other to climb one of the stately oaks that lined the curved avenue, and, sitting on a slim branch which snapped under the combined weight, they ended up with a broken leg apiece.