The Road to Rowanbrae (20 page)

Mysie was shocked. ‘Oh, no, Miss Wallace! For one thing, I wouldn't have time to sit down, and for another, it's … it's not the done thing for servants to …'

‘I do not care about that,' the old lady smiled, ‘and I could engage someone to serve …'

‘I'd rather not. I wouldn't feel right.' Having patronised only one butcher since she'd taken over as housekeeper, Mysie had no difficulty in obtaining a turkey, and set about preparing a feast fit for the returning hero. It was good to be catering for so many people again.

After the Christmas dinner, both Mr and Mrs Phillip came to the kitchen to tell her how much they had enjoyed it. ‘My aunt says she is grateful that I passed you on to her,' Mrs Phillip added. ‘I knew anyway, because you and your family are all she ever writes about in her letters.'

Mysie could detect a hint of jealousy in her ex-employer's voice, but told herself that she was imagining things because she was hurt that the Captain hadn't come himself to thank her for the effort she had made for his benefit. ‘Miss Wallace has nothing else to write about, and I'm happy here,' she said.

‘I'd have liked to see your daughter – Gina, isn't it? – but I expect she's sleeping by now?'

‘Yes, Gina's sleeping, and Sandy has just gone upstairs.'

‘Bobby is still full of energy, but it's time we got Beatrice home to bed. She is quite tired. Goodbye, Mrs Duncan.' Mrs Phillip pulled the fur collar of her coat up as she swept out, but the laird – as Mysie would always think of him – lingered for a moment. ‘I think that my wife is a trifle put out that her aunt thinks more of your Gina than of our Beatrice, but she will get over it.'

‘I hope so,' Mysie said. ‘I'd hate to think I was causing any trouble between them.'

The man's eyes danced as he grinned, letting Mysie see where Bobby had inherited his mischievous temperament. ‘There has often been trouble between them. There is a nasty streak in Margaret somewhere.'

‘I'd never have thought that,' Mysie said, as he turned to go. ‘Mrs Phillip was always very kind to me.'

‘She can be, when it suits her, but if anyone upsets her, woe betide him – or her.'

On Boxing Day, while Mysie cleaned up the sitting room, Miss Wallace amused herself by watching seven-month-old Gina trying to pull herself up by holding the leg of a chair then falling down with a bump. ‘What a clever girl,' the old lady said each time, standing her on her feet again and hugging her.

‘You'll tire yourself out,' Mysie scolded. ‘She's too heavy for you to be lifting like that. Come on, Gina, I'm taking you back to the kitchen.'

‘Oh, leave her here, Maisie. I love watching her.'

‘Just for a little while, then.'

To help his mother because they were between maids at the time, Sandy volunteered to set Miss Wallace's small table for lunch. ‘She's playing with Gina like she was a little girl playing with a doll,' he said, in disgust, when he came back. ‘Kissing her and cuddling her.'

‘And Gina laps it up.' Mysie sighed as the doorbell rang. ‘Answer the door for me, Sandy. My hands are all floury.'

‘It was Captain Wallace,' he told her in a minute.

‘You'd better go and take Gina out of their way, and ask if he's staying for lunch. It's just leftovers from yesterday.'

Gregor wasn't staying, and Miss Wallace said to leave Gina, much to Mysie's relief, for she was behind schedule already. She shouldn't have started baking, but Miss Wallace loved home-baked bread. She was pounding the dough for the second time when a quiet voice startled her. ‘Are you taking your anger out on that? I can almost see sparks flying from your eyes.'

‘I'm not angry, Captain Wallace,' she snapped, not looking round at him, for she hadn't time to talk.

‘You're giving a very good impression of it.' Giving a laugh, he placed his hand over hers.

‘I'm in a hurry,' she explained. ‘I want to set this dough to prove before lunch, so would you please leave me in peace?' She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too strong.

‘I came to thank you for yesterday's lovely meal.' He turned her hand palm up and stroked it. ‘I should have done it last night but I had an appointment, and when Aunt Beatrice told me just now that you did it specially for me, I was very touched. Could it possibly be that you like me a little bit?'

Mysie was flustered. She didn't want to encourage him if he was flirting, but her hand was tingling from his touch, and he was rather nice. ‘I don't dislike you,' she hedged.

‘That's something, I suppose, but I'd better leave you now – in peace.' He brushed the nape of her neck lightly with his lips before he went out.

Kneading her dough again, Mysie did feel angry. What right had the man to come in here upsetting her? What right had he to kiss her like that without any warning – and in front of Sandy? She shot a suspicious glance at her son, but he was so busy reading that he probably hadn't noticed. Brushing some strands of hair out of her eyes, she decided that the Captain's neck-kiss had meant nothing to him … but it had felt good, all the same.

Chapter Nineteen

Having been discharged from the Scots Guards in June 1920, ex-Captain Wallace came to Ashley Road every week to visit his aunt, popping in to talk to Mysie as he was leaving. She grew used to his gentle teasing – in fact, she rather enjoyed it – but occasionally, when she caught him looking at her wistfully, she wondered if it was more than just plain teasing.

‘I've organised myself now,' he said, one day in August. ‘I couldn't decide whether or not to go back to what I was doing before the war, but I've made up my mind now.'

‘What did you do?' Mysie asked, remembering that his aunt had once said he had been at university.

‘I worked with a firm of solicitors, but I didn't feel like going back. I've been in a position of authority too long to knuckle down under a boss, so I am starting up on my own.'

‘That's good.'

‘I won't be able to tell for some time if it's good or not,' he laughed. ‘It all depends on the great public.'

‘Oh, I'm sure you'll be a success.'

‘I'm glad you have faith in me, Mrs Duncan, because I am not too sure about it myself. How would you feel about trusting me with your innermost secrets, if you had any? Do I give you the impression of a man who is capable of unravelling other people's problems?'

Her heart pounding guiltily, Mysie said, ‘I'd say you were quite capable.' But he could never unravel her problem, she reflected. Even the most competent, highly-qualified solicitor in the world would not be capable of doing that.

‘Have you anything to hide, I wonder?' he persisted, cocking his head to one side. ‘I get the feeling that you have.'

‘Stop teasing me,' she mumbled, terrified that her eyes would give her away.

‘Yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it. You always look so fetching when you're confused. I want to gather you in my arms and …'

‘Oh, you're doing it again!' She averted her crimson face.

‘I wasn't teasing that time,' he said, gently, ‘and I think it is time I left, before I say anything else.'

Sandy came home from school as Gregor left, so Mysie had no time to worry about what he had already said.

Over the next few months, Miss Wallace's legs stiffened even more, her temper becoming correspondingly shorter, and it was fortunate that fifteen-year-old Maudie Low, the current maid, did not easily take offence. When the old lady barked at her, she just laughed and said, ‘Now, now, Miss Wallace, watch your blood pressure,' and her employer would just give a wry smile.

‘That Maudie is a pert one, Maisie,' she observed, one day, ‘but I can't help admiring her spirit.'

Mysie nodded. ‘And she's a good worker. I hope she doesn't leave in a couple of months like the rest of them.'

‘Do not be too hard on her, then.'

Mysie smiled. It wasn't her fault that the others had left, but she couldn't say that to her crotchety employer. As she went into the hall, the front doorbell rang so she turned to answer it before going back to the kitchen. It was Gregor, who hadn't visited for a few weeks. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duncan.'

‘Good afternoon, Captain Wallace.'

‘Not captain,' he corrected. ‘I'm plain Mr Wallace, as you very well know, but I would prefer you to call me Gregor.'

Still smiling, she let him in and closed the door. ‘Your aunt's in the sitting room,
Mister
Wallace.'

‘You're very stubborn. We've known each other for at least four years, yet you're as distant as ever.'

‘Not distant, surely? Remembering my place, that's all.'

Twisting his mouth into a frown, he walked into the sitting room, Mysie following to take Gina out of the way. She would never feel on equal terms with him, and that was how it should be.

As he always did, he went to the kitchen before he left, and sat down by the fire to watch Gina play with her dolls. ‘I've been very busy lately,' he sighed. ‘Setting up an office needs a bit of organising, and I couldn't face my aunt for a while. She is not the most relaxing of women, as you must know, Mrs Duncan. You must get very tired of her, day in, day out.'

‘No, I don't. She's been very good to Sandy and me, and she treats little Gina like her own child – spoils her, in fact.'

He laid his hand over hers so quickly that she didn't have time to move it. ‘I would treat your children as mine, if you would only let me.'

It took her by surprise though she had sometimes suspected that his teasing covered deeper feelings, but he believed that she was a widow, free to do as she liked, and she couldn't tell him it wasn't that simple. In any case, she didn't love him – she could never love anyone else after Doddie. Looking up, she found him regarding her questioningly. ‘If I didn't make myself clear,' he said, softly, ‘I was asking you to marry me, and I am still waiting for an answer.'

Her eyes dropped again. ‘You know I can't marry you. I'm your aunt's housekeeper, what would she say?'

‘She could say what she liked, it wouldn't change my mind, and in any case, I don't think she'd be against it. She thinks a great deal of you.'

‘And I think a lot of her, so I wouldn't want to upset her. I'm sorry, Mr Wallace, but …' She was stopped by a great gust of laughter.

‘Oh, my dear girl. It's so ridiculous. I have just proposed to you, yet we still don't call each other by our first names. I've heard Aunt Beatrice calling you Maisie. Won't you allow me the same privilege?'

‘I can't stop you, Mr Wallace,' she faltered.

‘I can't call you Maisie if you still call me Mr Wallace.'

His eyes were dancing now, and she had to smile. ‘Come on, then, Maisie. Let me hear you say my name.'

‘Oh … Gregor, you're an awful torment.'

‘Not at all, just in love, but I can see I've embarrassed you. How is Sandy getting on at school?'

Relaxing, she said, ‘Quite well, I think. All his teachers gave him very good reports.'

‘I'm pleased to hear that, because I have plans for him.'

‘Plans?'

‘I won't tell you yet, but Aunt Beatrice approves.'

‘Can you not give me some idea?'

‘Not an inkling. Have patience, my dear Maisie.' He stood up and swung her little girl up in his arms. ‘I'll take you to the door with me, Gina, if you promise to wave goodbye to me.'

He
was
nice, Mysie thought, as he carried her chuckling daughter out, but his proposal couldn't have been serious. A man like him, a solicitor in his own firm, would never dream of marrying a servant. No, it was just the way the gentry had, joking about everything.

Gina came running in from the door. ‘Will Thandy be home thoon? He promithed to buy me a thugar mouth today.'

‘You're getting spoiled, little madam,' Mysie scolded, for everyone in the house, and even those who visited, petted the lisping toddler and gave her whatever she asked, and it wasn't good for her. She would have to learn that the world didn't revolve around her.

Just before Christmas, Miss Wallace fell as she was dressing, and when her doctor was leaving, he told Mysie that it could have been a slight stroke. The old lady believed that it was the fall which had affected her legs and asked Mysie if she would mind sleeping in the room adjoining hers – the dining room – until she felt better. It entailed some rearranging of furniture, but Gregor helped, and they were all much easier in their minds when the house-keeper was within call. Eighty-four now, Miss Wallace had been doddery on her legs for a year or more, and Mysie had often felt anxious when she heard her walking about, The fall – or stroke – took a heavy toll on the old lady, and even when she was fit enough to be out of bed, she couldn't walk without someone supporting her, so her doctor advised her to buy a wheelchair. It made Mysie sad to see her tied to a chair, and it meant a lot of extra work, but Beatrice Wallace's spirit was unbroken and her tongue was as sharp as ever, except to the children. ‘Come up on my lap,' she would say to Gina, and the little girl would give a gurgling laugh and wriggle around until she found the most comfortable position on the knobbly knees. To Sandy, too, the old lady's manner was gentle. As soon as he went in to do his homework, she propelled her wheelchair nearer to the bureau. She talked to him as if he were an adult each time he turned spontaneously to discuss something he wasn't sure of.

Mysie couldn't get over the change in her son since they had come to Aberdeen. He was much older, of course, and probably had more common sense than when he got up to mischief with Bobby Phillip. Perhaps his high spirits had been a means of seeking attention, or had they covered his guilt about the fire? He was different, whatever it was, and now spoke perfect English, with no trace of the dialect that had caused him to be ridiculed when he first went to Ashley Road School.

Because of Miss Wallace's infirmity, Mysie hardly ever left the house – the tweed skirts and jumpers she had bought before would last for years yet, and Maudie could be trusted to buy in the provisions – but, after several months, Mysie began to long for even a short respite from duty, something to brighten at least one day. The letter from Jess Findlater late in July, therefore, seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

‘Dear Mysie, Jake says he is tired of hearing me saying how long it is since I saw you, and he telled me I should go to see you. Will this Saturday be all right for you? If it is, do not bother to write. I will get the one o'clock bus into the town, and the half past five bus back. Jake sends his love. Your friend, Jess.'

‘I look forward to meeting your friend when she comes,' Miss Wallace remarked, when Mysie asked if she could have a visitor. ‘Only for a little time, of course, because I know you will want to be alone with her to catch up on all her gossip.'

‘Jess will have plenty to gossip about. You'll like her, even though she speaks as broad as I did when I came here first.'

‘It will be a diversion for me. I have very little to amuse me these days. It will be Maudie's afternoon off, which is all the better, and you can just give me something quick for tea after your Mrs Findlater leaves.'

When Jess appeared on Saturday, the two old friends clasped hands tearfully – they hadn't seen each other for three years – then Mysie led her in to the sitting room to get the ordeal of meeting Miss Wallace over before they let their hair down in the kitchen. At first, Jess appeared to be uncomfortable in the ‘lady's' presence, but was soon telling her about Jean Petrie and her malicious tongue, about Andra White, the miller, and all the other people in Burnlea. ‘They got a shock when they saw Mysie first, for she didna look auld enough to be onybody's wife, never mind a ugly auld stick like Jeems.'

Mysie's blood turned to ice. When Miss Wallace asked about her husband, she had described him as young and handsome, and there was nothing wrong with the old lady's memory. What on earth would she make of this? Her friend's patent unease made Jess realise that she had put her foot in it, and she did her best to put things right. ‘I was just jokin' aboot him bein' a ugly auld stick, for we used to say some awfu' things to each other just in fun. His name was … James George Duncan, an' we'd aye ken't him as Jeems, but Mysie aye called him Doddie. It was a kind o' pet name she had for him, you see.'

Grateful to her for trying, Mysie could see that the rather lame explanation hadn't fooled Miss Wallace, who said, suddenly, ‘I feel quite tired. Take Mrs Findlater to the kitchen, Maisie, and remember to offer her a cup of tea.'

‘I'm sorry if it was my lang tongue that tired her oot,' Jess said, as they went along the hall. ‘I never ken when to haud it. Did she nae ken you was wed to Jeems?'

Mysie shrugged and sighed. ‘Mrs Phillip tell't her Doddie was my man, an' I didna see only reason to tell her different.'

‘I think she believed what I said aboot his name bein' James George though, so likely nae harm's been daen.'

The subject had to be dropped when they entered the kitchen, where Sandy was sitting in a corner with his head as usual buried in a book, and Gina was kneeling on the hearthrug building up her wooden blocks. ‘She's got Doddie's nose, Mysie,' Jess exclaimed, delightedly, as the little girl giggled and knocked the pile over again. ‘She's a wee darlin' an' I could tak' her hame wi' me – nae bother.'

‘She's gettin' spoiled, an' she's got a temper, for as young as she is.'

‘A' bairns ha'e tempers, an' naebody could help spoilin' her, the little lamb. An' Sandy, what a big loon you've grown.'

‘I'm fourteen and a half,' he said, offhandedly, without even bothering to look up.

‘I'm sorry, Jess,' Mysie said, ‘but he's ower ta'en up …'

‘Dinna worry aboot that, lass. Let the laddie be. I'm nae easy put oot, as you should ken.'

Over their cup of tea, Jess gave Mysie all the latest news from Burnlea. ‘Jinty Mutch is goin' steady wi' a doctor she met in the Infirmary, and Kirsty's been seen oot wi' ane o' the men fae Waterton. Oh, an' Effie Petrie's gettin' wed to a lad she met at her work in the toon. It's a rush weddin' though, for she's expectin'.'

Mysie laughed. ‘What's her mother sayin' aboot that?'

‘Och weel, you ken Jean. It's nae a scandal when it's at her ain door. She just says, “He's a fine man an' they were waitin' till they got a hoose afore they got wed, but you canna blame them for lettin' their feelin's run awa' wi' them.” ‘

Jess had imitated Mrs Petrie's clipped tones well, and Mysie could just picture the woman trying to defend her daughter. ‘Effie was a nice wee lassie, an' I hope things work oot for her. Did Gavin Leslie ever come back to Fingask?' She turned quickly to take her daughter's hand away from the cakestand. ‘No more, Gina. You've had enough biscuits.'