The Road to Rowanbrae (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Because Mabel had an afternoon off, Mysie had to answer the doorbell herself at half-past three. When the caller – a tall, very thin man in the uniform of the Scots Guards – saw her, he exclaimed, ‘It's Mrs Duncan, isn't it? I didn't expect to find you here. My sister must have lost what little sense she had before she let you go.'

Conscious of her bulky figure, and of the hot flush stealing across her face, she murmured, ‘Miss Wallace was looking for a housekeeper, and Mrs Phillip recommended me.'

‘Aunt Beatrice was delighted, I'm sure.'

Desperate to get away, Mysie said, ‘You'll have to excuse me, Captain Wallace, but I'm in the middle of making the tea. Will you be staying?'

‘I hadn't intended to, but the memory of your delicious meals has made me change my mind. Yes, thank you, I will stay.'

‘I expect you know your own way to the sitting room.' Her legs shook as she returned to the kitchen. She had forgotten all about him, but Miss Wallace was his aunt, too, of course. Still, even if the old lady told him about Doddie's death, he wouldn't try to flirt with her, not when she was so uncomely. If he did start anything, she would just let him know that she hadn't time to be bothered with that kind of nonsense – didn't even want to be bothered with it – and he would soon stop.

At ten to five, she went to the dining room to set the table for two – when Miss Wallace was alone, she usually ate off the small table in the sitting room – but the old lady heard her and called to her to come through. ‘We will have tea in here, Mrs Duncan. I don't think you have met my nephew?'

‘I met Mrs Duncan at Burnlea,' he said, smiling to Mysie. ‘Has your husband been home on leave lately?'

‘Oh, Gregor, I should have told you.' His aunt looked quite upset. ‘Mr Duncan was killed in action.'

His smile vanished. ‘I'm very sorry to hear that. Many fine men have lost their lives.' His eyes had hardened. ‘I feel ashamed sometimes at only having been slightly wounded.'

‘You never told me about that,' his aunt scolded.

‘I didn't want to worry you, and it was only a scratch.'

‘Excuse me,' Mysie ventured, ‘I'll have to go. I've left Sandy watching the potatoes don't boil in, and I don't trust him.'

‘Yes, yes, off you go,' Miss Wallace said, rather impatiently, then added, ‘Gregor will do the carrying for you, since Mabel is not here to help you. I will send him through shortly.' It was the last thing Mysie wanted, and she turned on Sandy in a bad humour when she went back to the kitchen. ‘Have you not set our table yet?'

By the time she had dished everything up, she was a little calmer, but when Gregor came in, she pointed to the tray and said, coldly, ‘It's all ready.'

‘I am really sorry about your husband, Mrs Duncan,' he said, compassionately. ‘His death must have been much worse for you when you were expecting his child, and I expect you have not got over it yet?'

‘I'll never get over it.' Mysie wished that he would go away. She didn't like speaking about it, for there was always the chance that she would inadvertently say something that would reveal more than she intended.

‘It must have been a bad time for you, and I suppose my aunt intimidated you when you first saw her, but she isn't as bad as she would have people believe.'

‘I was a bit worried at first, but she'd been very good to me, and to Sandy.'

‘How old is your son now? I remember Margaret telling me of the tricks he and Bobby played.'

‘Sandy's eleven past January.'

The boy spoke up himself. ‘I'm in the qualifying class and Miss King says I'll pass the control exam easy … easily.'

‘I'm sure you will. Now, I'd better take this tray through before my aunt starts thinking she'll never get her tea.'

His old cheerfulness had vanished, Mysie thought, watching him going out. His back wasn't as straight as it used to be, his face was haggard and he didn't tease any more. It was as if he had lost a loved one himself, although she didn't know if he had ever had a wife. It could be the war having an effect on him, though – maybe he had seen one or more of his friends killed, and that would be enough to change any man. The Captain didn't say much when he took back the dishes and collected the dessert, and Mysie couldn't help feeling sad that he was so subdued. She carried the coffee through herself, and was surprised to find that he wasn't there.

Miss Wallace looked up. ‘Gregor had to go, he has to meet someone at six, but he said to tell you how much he enjoyed his meal. He usually only visits me once during his leave, so I suppose I shall not see him again this time.'

An unexpected pang of disappointment touched Mysie. ‘Doesn't he live near here?'

‘Not far, but he has his own life to lead. He was left the house in Forest Avenue when my brother, his father, died, and lives there when he is on leave. A housekeeper looks after it while he is away, but I often wish that he would marry. He led quite a gay life while he was at university, taking home lots of girls but never wanting to settle down with any of them. Perhaps he will meet his heart's desire after the war. He is forty-two now, and seems more serious than he used to be.'

So his aunt had noticed it, too, Mysie thought, hoping that he
would
find his heart's desire after the war. He was too nice to end up a lonely old bachelor.

On the following day, Sandy came home with a note from his headmaster, saying that the boy was capable of going on to a secondary school rather than an intermediate, and enclosing a form to be signed. Mysie showed it to her employer, who said, ‘Tick which school you prefer, Mrs Duncan, and sign the form.'

‘But I can't afford to buy a uniform for him,' Mysie pointed out, without thinking.

‘I will provide his uniform,' Miss Wallace said, firmly.

Mysie looked at the form again. ‘Gordon's College and the Grammar School are both private and charge fees.' The old lady frowned. ‘I am aware of that, and I will see to the fees, too. Is it to be the Grammar, where Lord Byron was educated, or Gordon's where Gregor went?'

‘I can't let you pay uniforms
and
fees,' Mysie protested, amused that Miss Wallace could place her nephew in the same category as the great poet. ‘The Central School's free, so he'd better go there … if it's good enough.'

‘I believe the Central is a very good school, but I feel we should send Sandy to Gordon's, like Gregor.' Mysie put a tick in the appropriate box and signed the form. Miss Wallace had made the decision for her, and Miss Wallace's word was final.

In May 1918, Mysie was delivered of a daughter whom she named after Doddie, but Georgina seemed incongruous for such a tiny scrap, and when Sandy called her Gina one day, the diminutive stuck, being considered by all to be much more suitable. The nurse, the temporary housekeeper and Miss Wallace all drooled over the dark, curlyhaired infant, and Mysie sometimes felt that she was only tolerated as a source of food for Gina.

Miss Wallace wasn't happy with the woman she had engaged to stand in for Mysie, but she wouldn't allow the new mother to leave her bed for two weeks after the birth, and only let her do light work for the next two. Mysie wasn't pleased with this arrangement, but wisely kept that to herself. The old lady was only trying to be kind.

As it happened, Miss Wallace didn't have to pay Sandy's fees for Gordon's College after all – he won a bursary – but she paid for all the books that were prescribed, his jotters and pencils, and provided the money for Mysie to buy his uniform.

In late August, when Sandy was dressed for his first day, he looked so smart that his mother's heart swelled with pride. He was taller than she was, and already looked like a young man, though he wasn't yet twelve. She had often wondered about her recent good fortune, but never so much as on that day. In her previous life, she had become so used to being buffeted by fate that it was hard to believe what had happened since the night, not quite ten months ago, when she learned of Doddie's death. Perhaps the tide had turned for her, the tide of catastrophes and heartache that had beset her for years. Perhaps God had felt He had punished her enough and was trying to make up for what He had done before.

Sandy's homework took longer now he was at secondary school. ‘I had forgotten how to do algebra,' Miss Wallace told Mysie after one rather gruelling session, ‘but Sandy kept me right. He is very bright, there is no getting away from that.'

‘I don't know where he gets his brains,' Mysie remarked, then added, ‘though I was quite good at school myself.'

There had been a succession of maids to help Mysie since she came to Ashley Road. Some had stayed longer than others, but all had left because of Miss Wallace's sharp tongue. Mysie herself was often at the receiving end, but she was much more perceptive than the girls and recognised that it was the old lady's worsening arthritis that made her so irritable. Miss Wallace still supervised Sandy's homework, smiling when she told his mother if there had been any contretemps, although that didn't happen very often. He had buckled down to serious study since he had started at Gordon's and seemed to be quite popular, if his chattering about what went on in the school playground was anything to go by. Miss Wallace absolutely doted on Gina, and early in October, when the baby was only five months old, she sprang a surprise on Mysie. She began by saying, ‘Mrs Duncan, you have been here for a year now. Do you ever miss your friends in Burnlea?'

‘Jess Findlater's the only one I miss. She was my nearest neighbour and my best friend, and we write now and then.'

‘Why not visit her? I could look after Gina, and Pearl could make a salad for my lunch. Think about it, then write to your friend to find out which day would suit her best.'

Somewhat taken aback, Mysie considered the suggestion for a moment. ‘I don't think Jess … she's like all the other crofters' wives, she doesn't have much spare time.'

‘She could surely spare an hour or two for an old friend?'

‘She'd likely be happy to see me.'

‘Well then. Write today and let me know what she says.'

Mysie thought it over all evening, and decided against it. Returning to her old home area would bring everything back, everything she had tried so hard to forget. At Ashley Road she was Mrs Duncan, a widow with two children, but at Burnlea she would always be Mysie, wife of Jeems, who had lived in sin with Doddie Wilson. She had a different kind of life now, a better life … a life of deceit. She would only have to make one little slip to set Jess wondering what had really happened on that awful night in January 1914.

When her employer rang at nine, Mysie went through and told her what she had decided. ‘I don't want to go to Burnlea. It's not a good thing to go back to a place where you've known deep sorrow as well as great happiness.'

Miss Wallace gave her an odd look. ‘It is up to you, Mrs Duncan, but I … oh, I think we could dispense with that formality now. What is your Christian name?'

About to say that it was May, Mysie remembered that, apart from her schoolteachers, only one person had ever called her that, and she didn't want to be reminded of the cause of all her troubles. ‘I was always called Mysie.'

The aristrocratic nose wrinkled. ‘Mysie? I presume that is a distortion of Maisie?'

Mysie had never thought of it like that. ‘I suppose so.'

‘I cannot understand your reluctance to visit your friends, Maisie. I thought you would have jumped at the chance to go back and revive memories of your dear husband.'

Mysie's insides gave a jolt. Her dear husband? If the old lady only knew what she had thought of her husband! ‘No, I've made my mind up,' she said, louder than she meant.

‘Very well. I will not pry into your affairs any longer.'

A great relief swept over Mysie because the subject had been dropped, but when she went back to the kitchen after helping Miss Wallace to her bedroom, she wrote a long letter to Jess to ease her conscience.

An answer came three days later. ‘Burnlea is a sad place just now,' Jess had written. ‘Robbie and Jackie Duff has both been killed. You maybe do not know about Jackie, he was away working near Peterhead before you came here, but he enlisted after Robbie. Belle says Rab is near demented, though I some think she is not much better. Jean Petrie is very quiet. I suppose she is minding about Denny. I was pleased to get your letter, and I am glad you are still getting on fine. Gina will be growing big now. Give my love to Sandy, and tell him to keep working hard at the school.'

Mysie laid down the two sheets of paper, thankful that she had refused to take up her employer's suggestion. If she had gone to Burnlea, she would have been in the middle of all that mourning, and she was done with mourning.

When the Armistice was signed in November, Miss Wallace and Mysie wept together with happiness that the strife was over. ‘I always worried about Gregor,' the old lady admitted, ‘but he has survived and will soon be coming home for good.'

Mysie dabbed at her eyes. ‘I was worried that the war would carry on for years and Sandy would have to go and fight, but I wish it had finished a month ago – that's when a woman I knew in Burnlea lost both her sons.' She thought sadly of the other men she had known who would never come home: Davey Robertson, Denny Petrie and, more special than any of them, Doddie.

Just before Christmas, Miss Wallace had some good news to tell Mysie. ‘Gregor's coming home for a few days. He has not been discharged yet, but he has to attend to some matters in Edinburgh, and will arrive in Aberdeen on Christmas Eve, so I think we should have a proper celebration.'

‘Turkey and all the trimmings?' Mysie laughed, recalling her first Christmas at Burnlea House.

‘Yes, if it is possible, and I will invite Margaret and her family. Oh, and you and your children must join us.'