The Road to Rowanbrae (16 page)

‘It's lucky for you Maitland had been into the toon,' Mysie scolded her nine-year-old son afterwards. ‘You could ha'e lain there for lang enough withoot onybody kennin'.'

‘Och, Mam,' Sandy protested. ‘Was you never young?'

No, she thought, ruefully. She had never been young, not in that way, for she'd had the responsibility of looking after her younger brothers and sisters until she'd gone into service, and when she was newly sixteen, her father had forced her into a loveless marriage. Her mind sheered off her marriage. It was Doddie she wanted to see again, Doddie she wanted to share a new life with in a new home, but that day would come, and they would look back on their time apart as a bad memory.

The accident forced confinement on the boys after all, and the holidays were almost over before they were fit to go out to play again. Their experience had had a sobering effect on them, however, so they got up to no further escapades.

Mrs Phillip presented another challenge to Mysie towards the end of November. ‘I am giving a ball in about three weeks. Some officer friends of my husband's and their wives, also some relatives and perhaps the farmers and their wives. I do not care for Mrs Mutch, but …'

‘How mony'll be comin'?' Catering for a large number didn't worry Mysie any more, but she would have to know exactly.

‘Prepare dinner for fifty, that should be enough … or is that too many for you?'

‘No, no, I'll manage that. Will you be makin' oot a list o' what you want served?'

‘I'll leave it to you, but I'd like to see the menu once you have decided. I had better hire two waitresses. Meggie will be needed to help you, and neither Chrissie nor Janey would be very suitable, but they can lend a hand with the washing up.'

Mysie couldn't help smiling as she imagined seventeen-year-old, gawky Janey Paterson carrying trays of plates – they'd be sure to land on the floor – and Chrissie Grant, although she was bold enough for her sixteen years at times, would run a mile if one of the gentry as much as looked at her.

‘By the way,' Mrs Phillip continued, ‘I'm sorry to give you more work, but some of the guests will be staying on for a day or two, so …'

‘That's a' right, Mrs Phillip, if you let me ken how mony folk there'll be for every meal.'

‘Yes, of course.'

The next three weeks passed in a flash. Mysie studied the ‘Special Occasions' section of the old cookery book, choosing recipes for meat, fowl and game which she thought would give a wide enough selection to suit all tastes, and wrote out a menu to show her mistress, who gave it her approval. Then she made a list of what she would have to order, and washed all the utensils and dishes she would need in the preparations.

Meggie, still hoping to be a cook some day, hung on to her every word, watched her every movement, and Mysie was quite happy to instruct her. The girl was quick to learn, and turned out to have a natural hand for pastry and sponges. Everything that could be prepared before-hand had been set on the marble shelves in the coolest pantry, covered to keep flies off. The pheasants, quails, wood-pigeons and hares supplied by the old gamekeeper had been hung for two weeks and were now ready to be plucked, or skinned, and gutted before cooking; the beef, pork and lamb were marinating in large bowls.

The rest of the staff were also kept busy. The housemaids had to make bedrooms ready for guests who would be staying. Maitland cleaned and polished the motor car – a big Daimler – which had recently been bought by Mr Phillip, raked the gravel on the drive and made sure that the front of the house bore no signs of birds' droppings, while McGregor occupied his time by keeping the gardens looking their best.

On the day of the ball, Mysie rose at three in the morning, determined that everything would be ready in time, and young Meggie joined her at four, also anxious that there would be no hitches. They worked silently, preparing vegetables, basting, stirring, seasoning, tasting. When Sandy came down at seven, he was handed a large sacking apron and told to buff up the silver cutlery which Meggie had already rubbed vigorously with bathbrick. A cold luncheon was sent up to the dining room at half-past twelve, but little was eaten in the kitchen.

When the two waitresses arrived late in the afternoon, their faces were almost as forbidding as their stiff black dresses and starched caps and aprons, giving Mysie a moment's panic. What would these women think of her efforts? They were professionals, used to large functions. Had she garnished the dishes properly? Did they look attractive enough? But she hadn't time to dwell on it, and the waitresses did not look at all critical or amused when everything was laid out on the large table ready to be carried upstairs to the dining room.

As time went by and the first trays of dirty dishes were taken down, Meggie, Janey and Chrissie set about washing and drying them, leaving Mysie to concentrate on having the following courses ready. It was only when the empty coffee cups came back that Mysie relaxed, sinking thankfully into the wooden armchair beside the range. Long strands of her dark hair, damp with perspiration, were straggling out from under her cap, her apron was dotted with the multicoloured stains of gravy and juices, her feet were throbbing, but she felt a sense of achievement such as she had never experienced before. The waitresses had said that most of the guests had sent her their compliments, and her hard work had not been in vain.

The fine china washed, Meggie set the scrubbed kitchen table with earthenware plates, and the staff sat down to finish off most of what had been left over. The two waitresses proved to be quite human after all, amusing the others with tales of the catastrophes at previous dinners they had been hired for, and old McGregor unbent enough to describe the peculiarities of the gentry who had employed him over the years.

Mr Phillip had engaged a quartet for the ball, and, as Mysie supervised the laying past of crockery and cutlery, the strains of music filtering downstairs made them all feel less tired. The young maids were desperate to find out what was going on in the ballroom, so Mysie let them go up, one at a time, to have a peep through the open door before they went to bed, and then went up herself for a few minutes. She was amazed that the dress uniforms of the officers almost outshone the colours of the ladies' dresses, and would have liked to watch longer, but was scared that she'd be seen. In any case, she was ready for bed. It had been a long, hard day.

It was after ten the following morning before Mrs Phillip came to the kitchen, accompanied by a tall, gaunt officer in the uniform of the Scots Guards, but her beaming face showed that everything had run smoothly the evening before. ‘This is my brother,' she told Mysie, ‘Captain Wallace. Everyone said the meal was the best they had ever tasted, but he wanted to see my marvellous cook for himself.'

‘I'm impressed,' her brother said. ‘I expected a fat old lady, rather like a bolster tied in the middle, but I find a beautiful girl who can't be more than seventeen, with a figure that would outshine the Venus de Milo.'

Blushing, Mysie looked away. ‘I'm twenty-seven, sir.'

‘Oh,' he said, his eyes dancing although she didn't see them, ‘I suppose you think that's really old? Well, since I am forty, you must think I am in my dotage.'

‘Stop teasing, Gregor.' His sister registered disapproval. ‘You will be turning Mrs Duncan's head. Come away and let her get on with her work, otherwise there will be no luncheon.'

When they went out, Meggie, who had been standing with her mouth open, said, ‘He's nae very good-lookin', is he? An' he's naething like his sister, though he's got her een.'

‘I never noticed.' Mysie had been so overcome by the praise and flattery that she hadn't been able to look at him after the first glance, but he had à sweet tongue, that was sure, telling her that she only looked seventeen.

Gregor Wallace came into the kitchen after breakfast next day, sitting on the arm of a chair and chatting to Mysie as she worked and making her as flustered as Meggie. It was true that he wasn't very handsome, but there was an attractiveness there – his eyes, his smile, she couldn't put her finger on it. His lean upright body had the stamp of a soldier, his hair was the colour of treacle candy, his small, neat moustache just a fraction lighter, with a touch of gold through it. She couldn't help liking him, although he was teasing her a bit.

‘I wish I could take you back with me to cook for us,' he smiled. ‘You'd be a real treasure, but all the other men would go wild about you, too.'

‘Och, you're bletherin',' she said, embarrassed.

‘I'd fight them off, though. Captains have first pick of all the beautiful girls, and I would lay claim to you.'

His admiration made her uneasy. She didn't mind when he was just talking, but she wasn't used to this kind of joking. When he went out, she turned sharply on the grinning kitchenmaid. ‘Stop your laughin', Meggie. Men like him flirt wi' ony woman they come across, an' think servants are fair game to them.'

On the following morning, the Captain came into the kitchen again. ‘I had to come to see you, my fairest,' he murmured, slipping his arm round her waist. You haunted my dreams and made me desperate.'

Mysie extricated herself as firmly as she could, wishing that she could stop the hot flush that she could feel coming into her cheeks. ‘Excuse me, Captain Wallace, but I must get on.'

‘Can you not spare a minute to say goodbye to a poor soldier returning to battle?' Laying his hands on her shoulders, he turned her round to face him, then placed one finger under her chin to tilt her head up. ‘Ah, you are blushing. Does that mean what I hope it means?'

His lips were within half an inch of meeting hers when Mrs Phillip opened the door. ‘Gregor! I will not have you acting like this with any of my servants! Please go.'

Seemingly unabashed, he dropped his hands. ‘Margaret, if you employ such a lovely cook, you can't blame me for …'

‘That is enough. Leave the kitchen at once.' She waited until he closed the door, then rounded on Mysie. ‘As for you, Mrs Duncan, I did not think you would encourage him, and in future, please remember to keep your place.'

‘I'm sorry, Ma'am,' Mysie mumbled, her cheeks deep crimson now, ‘but I didna encourage him.'

‘I am quite sure that you could have stopped him.'

Mrs Phillip flounced out, leaving Mysie almost in tears, and Meggie, having seen everything from the scullery, came through to sympathise. ‘It wasna your blame, an' what a way for a man like him to be carryin' on. It mak's you wonder.'

Feeling guilty although she had done nothing wrong, Mysie said, ‘I tell't you. The gentry think servants are fair game.'

Only half an hour later, the Captain poked his head round the kitchen door. ‘Margaret is busy,' he told Mysie, who had stepped back in alarm. ‘I'm sorry she caught me, but I'm not sorry for what I did. Don't be afraid, though, I am not coming in. I just wanted to let you know that I have to leave this afternoon. I wish I could stay here for ever to be near you, Mrs Duncan, but the war still has to be won.'

‘Aye,' Mysie said, nervously. ‘My Doddie's in France wi' the Gordons, but he's goin' to get his ain place when the war's finished, an' Sandy an' me'll be leavin' here.'

‘Oh.' He sounded quite disappointed. ‘I thought you were a widow. I didn't realise that your husband was in the army.'

She didn't correct him as he closed the door. It was best to leave him thinking that she was married to Doddie, and, in any case, she was, in everything except name.

Chapter Fifteen

Life at Burnlea House had returned to normal after the last guest left – although even Mrs Phillip had admitted that she felt flat for weeks – and the months rolled past relentlessly.

In April, 1917, Meggie returned from a visit home with the news that her brother Robbie had been conscripted. ‘Da tried to get him aff, but it was nae use.'

‘What a shame.' Mysie was sorry for Rab Duff, who would be left to work Wellbrae on his own now. He was not a robust man and Belle wouldn't be much help to him.

Shortly afterwards, Mysie learned that both Frank Mutch of Fingask and David Robertson, senior, of Waterton had gone to tribunal to plead against the conscription of their labourers. ‘Gavin Leslie's awa',' Jess told her, ‘an' the horseman as weel, an' Frankie said he wouldna manage wi' just Eck Petrie an' the young loon, but they just said the other three had to go. They werena so hard on Robertson, for he's lost one son already, an' he's nae very weel himsel', so they've left him wi' three men.'

As Mysie cycled back, she wondered if the war would ever end. It was coming up for three years since it had started, and Doddie had been away for over two of them. She couldn't bear the thought of him being away much longer, but surely he would be home on leave again soon – it was a year past January since she had seen him.

His letters were still coming, very occasionally, and she read them out proudly to Meggie, who sighed with envy at the things he wrote. ‘I dinna think naebody'll ever tell me he can hardly live withoot me,' she moaned one day.

‘You're young yet,' Mysie soothed. ‘You'll meet the lad for you ane o' these days.'

On Mysie's next day off, Jess Findlater told her that some of Doddie's most affectionate phrases were being bandied about in the village. ‘I'm surprised at you for tellin' Meggie what he writes, for she tells her mother an' Belle goes right to Jean Petrie wi' it, you ken how close they are. You'd be as weel gettin' his letters printed in the Press & Journal. I thought Jean would simmer doon a bit after Denny was killed, but she's as bad as ever, if nae worse.'

Mysie could picture both Jean and Belle sniggering over what Doddie had written, but she didn't care. ‘They can laugh as muckle as they like, for he's takin' me an' Sandy awa' wi' him when the war's finished.'

Jess eyed her pityingly. ‘They're sayin' he'll nae come back here to you, Mysie, noo he's had a taste o' freedom.'

‘He will so come back to me,' Mysie declared, confidently, ‘an' I'm surprised at you for listenin' to them.'

‘I'm only tellin' you what's bein' said, lass, but I'm sorry if I've upset you.'

‘I wouldna let onything Jean Petrie said upset me.'

‘Aye, weel.' Jess sighed, then asked, ‘An' what mischief has Bobby Phillip an' Sandy got up to since I saw you last?'

Mysie launched into an account of the latest prank. ‘They sneaked oot ane o' Mrs Phillip's frocks an' a hat, an' you'll never guess what they did?'

‘What would twa laddies be wantin' wi' a frock an' a hat?'

‘Weel, I was choppin' parsley when the kitchen door opened, an' I thought it was Sandy, so I says, “I've new washed that floor, so clean your feet.” He never answered, an' I looked roon' an' near chopped my finger aff. Here was this muckle dog wi' the frock an' hat on, an' lookin' up at me wi' his great een like he was pleadin' wi' me to help him.'

‘Oh, God save us.' Jess held her sides as she laughed, and Mysie, rather belatedly, saw the funny side, too.

‘They'd even put a pair o' her bloomers on him, an' he was that pleased when I stripped him, poor Brutus, he licked a' ower my face an' near knocked me ower. I never ken what that twa loons'll get up to next.'

‘There's naething wicked in them, though.' Jess wiped her streaming eyes. ‘It's just fun.'

It was almost eleven o'clock at night and Meggie hadn't come back from her day off. It wasn't pitch dark yet, being August, but Mysie was beginning to worry that she'd had an accident on her bicycle when she burst in, her face radiant.

‘I was bikin' back, an' I sees Drew White – you mind him, the miller's loon? – an' I shouts, “You'll be hame on leave, Drew?” an' he says, “Stop a minute, Meggie,” an' I didna need twa tellin's, for he's awfu' good-lookin' in his kilt. I gets aff my bike, an' he says, “Put it doon on the grass.” So I laid it doon an' he sits doon an' pulls me doon aside him.'

Mysie's face had darkened. Drew White was far too old for Meggie – twenty-seven to her sixteen – and what had he done to her to make her look as happy as this? ‘Go on, then,' she coaxed, reluctant to issue any warnings unless she was certain that they were needed.

‘Weel, we sits an' speaks for a while, an' he tells me he's been awa' to the toon to meet some o' his sodger chums, then he says, “I've to go back to France in fower days, so you'll nae refuse me a little kiss, will you, Meggie?” Weel, I couldna say no when he's goin' back to the trenches, an' ony road, I wanted to see what a kiss would be like.'

‘An' did it live up to your expectations?'

‘Oh, aye, an' once he started, he wouldna stop, nae that I wanted him to stop, for my he'rt was bangin' against my ribs, an' I thought it would burst only minute. Is that love, Mysie?'

In spite of her misgivings, Mysie had to laugh. ‘I couldna tell you that, Meggie, you should ken yoursel'.' She sobered then. ‘It was love for me an' Doddie wi' the first kiss,' she admitted, after a moment.

‘Weel, I'm near sure I love Drew, an' he wouldna kiss me like that if he didna love me, would he?'

‘A man that's been awa' fae lassies for as lang as him would kiss a coo an' think naething aboot it.' Mysie regretted her flippancy as Meggie's face fell. ‘Did he dae onything else to you, besides kissin'?'

‘He tell't me I'd grown up into a bonnie quine, an' he near squeezed the breath oot o' me.'

A little relieved, Mysie said, ‘Did he ask to see you again?'

‘He said he'll come up here the morrow nicht at eight, if I could get oot. Will you let me, Mysie?'

Mysie couldn't refuse the pleading eyes, and the girl had let her go out when Doddie was on leave. ‘A' right then, but watch yoursel'. You're nae wantin' to land wi' a bairn, are you?'

‘I'm sure Drew wouldna dae onything he shouldna, an' I'm nae as green as I'm cabbage-lookin'.'

Mysie was still laughing when she went upstairs, but as she undressed, she recalled how easy it was to be carried away by a man's kisses, even a man you didn't love.

For the next two nights, it was late before Meggie came in, her face flushed but her starry eyes meeting Mysie's frankly. On Drew's last night, however, as Mysie had been half fearing, there was a new maturity in them. The girl coloured and gave a nervous laugh. ‘I couldna help mysel', Mysie, an' it wasna Drew's fault, for he didna want … nae to start wi', but a' at a sudden, his hands were a' ower me me, an' …'

‘You needna tell me ony mair. I ken a' aboot that.'

‘Was it the same wi' you an' Doddie? Oh, Mysie, there's nae another thing in the world could mak' a lassie feel like that.'

Mysie stood up. ‘I only hope you'll feel as happy in another month or twa. Get awa' to your bed an' let me get to mine.'

On her own day off, she didn't tell Jess about Meggie and Drew White. She knew what it was like to be talked about and wanted to shield the girl from the pain of that for as long as she could, although nothing would hide the mating if anything did come of it. It wasn't the poor girl's fault anyway, for Drew should have known the possible consequences of his act.

Jess had her own piece of news to impart. ‘Jinty Mutch is to be startin' at the Infirmary in Aberdeen in October. She'd tell't Frankie that she wanted to be a nurse so she could help the wounded soldiers, but, my God, I hope the war's ower afore she finishes her trainin'.'

‘Oh, I hope so, but I'm pleased for her. She was aye a clever lassie, Jinty, an' I'm sure she'll …'

A knock on the porch made her stop, but before Jess could stand up, the kitchen door opened and Mysie jumped up with a squeal. ‘Doddie! You never let me ken you were comin'.'

‘I didna ken mysel',' he laughed. ‘We was just tell't we was on leave an' that was it.'

‘I've got some things to dae ootside,' Jess muttered, rising and going out as quickly as she could. The young man and woman melted together, no words necessary to express their feelings, but at last Doddie said, ‘I didna ken you'd be at Downies, Mysie. I was thinkin' I'd ha'e to come to the Big Hoose to see you.'

‘It's my day aff, an' I've to go back the nicht.'

‘Maybe Meggie'll bide wi' Sandy some other nichts?'

‘Aye, will she, for she's got a lad hersel' noo, an' she kens what it is to be in love. Oh, Doddie, I've missed you.'

They made up for lost time as much as possible until Jess's voice, louder than usual, warned them that the world was about to intrude on their reunion, and when Jake came in, he held out his rough, weatherbeaten hand. ‘It's good to see you again, Doddie, man.'

‘It's good to be back, Jake.' After suppertime, Doddie walked with Mysie to Burnlea House, wheeling the bicycle for her, and she couldn't help smiling when he stopped before they came to the gates and laid it down on the grass. She didn't have to be pulled down like Meggie, and lay next him willingly, aching for his love, responding to it as passionately as it was given.

For the whole of Doddie's leave, the kitchenmaid made Mysie go out with him every night – she didn't need much persuading – and they strolled arm-in-arm until mounting desire made them lie down, the harvest moon smiling down on them through the flickering leaves of the silver birches scattered round the grounds as if bestowing a blessing for the future.

It was on his last night that Mysie was made uneasily aware that their future might not be as rosy as she imagined. They had reached the farthest corner of the wall surrounding the house and gardens when Doddie stopped to light a cigarette, a new habit he had picked up while he was away, and she didn't object because she quite liked the manly smell of the tobacco.

After drawing in deeply, he threw the match on the ground and stood on it. ‘I canna stop thinkin' o' the time we'll be in oor ain place. I'd like a wee croft aboot the same size as Rowanbrae, an' there would just be you an' me an' Sandy, an' maybe a wee lassie or laddie come time, or maybe baith?'

Her love for him almost overwhelmed her. ‘Oh, I wish it was right noo, Doddie. I'm tired o' waitin'.'

‘Aye, it must be worse for you than it is for me. I havena had a real home since I started workin', but …' He broke off, looking at her apologetically. ‘I'm sorry, Mysie, I ken I was bidin' wi' you for months, but it didna … it wasna like a … oh, I'm nae meanin' to hurt you, lass, but it was still Jeems Duncan's hoose to me.'

A coldness stole over her. ‘Jeems wouldna ha'e come back.'

‘You couldna be sure o' that?' His voice was sharp. ‘What dae you think happened to him?'

Mysie wondered if she should tell him now, but this wasn't the time nor the place to say that she had killed Jeems. She should maybe give him a hint, though. ‘I dinna ken, Doddie. I think he must be … dead.'

‘What mak's you think that?'

She couldn't bring herself to utter the damning words. ‘He hasna … naebody's ever spoke aboot seein' him ony place, an' he canna ha'e …'

‘He maybe doesna want to be seen. Eh … Mysie, I've often wondered what it was that you an' him fought aboot? You can surely tell me noo? It's been three an' a half year.'

Her throat constricted. ‘It was naething, Doddie. Just a stupid row ower naething.'

‘But Rosie Mennie tell't me your face was a terrible mess o' bruises. He wouldna ha'e hit you like that if it was naething. You can tell me, Mysie, I'll nae judge you.'

She was growing more and more agitated. ‘It was naething, I tell you. You ken what a temper he had. Do you nae mind him hittin' you, an' that was for naething?'

‘It wasna for naething. I'd kissed his wife, an' he'd a right to hit me. Eh … there wasna ony other man, was there?'

‘There wasna … I never loved naebody but you, Doddie. I swear to God I never.' Her evident distress made him say, hastily, ‘Weel, there's nae sense in dwellin' on what's past. When we've got oor ain croft, it'll be different. We could maybe go sooth, to Laurencekirk say, or up north Elgin way. Nae a soul would ken we werena lawfully wed, an' if Jeems ever did come back to Burnlea, he wouldna ken where to look for us.'

‘I'll nae care where it is, as lang as we're thegither.'

‘We'll be the happiest man an' woman in the world …' His voice thickened. ‘Oh, Mysie, my ain dear love.'

She gave herself to him thankfully when he stubbed out his cigarette and pulled her down on the mossy grass, forgetting everything in the joy of their union. Long after it was over, they still clung to each other, not kissing, but each taking comfort from the other for the imminent parting.

At last, Mysie whispered, unwillingly, ‘It must be awfu' late, Doddie. I'll ha'e to go in.'

‘I dinna ken when I'll see you again, or how I'm goin' to live withoot you.' But he jumped up to help her to her feet, and they walked hand in hand to the servants' door. ‘Weel, this is goodbye, Mysie, but never forget I love you.'

‘An' I love you.' Her voice was choked with emotion. As he kissed her, tenderly and lovingly, she tried to push away the thought that it would be the last kiss for a long time, and was actually glad when he tore himself away and walked round the corner of the house. She couldn't have stood much more.