The Road to Rowanbrae (21 page)

The toddler scowled. ‘Me hungry.'

‘It'll soon be teatime.'

As soon as Mysie's attention was off her, Gina's hand crept out again and whipped a perkin off the bottom plate, and Jess, who had been waiting to answer Mysie's question, pretended she didn't see. ‘You was askin' aboot Gavin Leslie. No, he never come back, but I dinna ken if he was killed, or if he was just bidin' awa' fae Freda Mutch.'

Without warning, a great nostalgia swept over Mysie. ‘Oh, I wish I was back in Burnlea. I wish Rowanbrae had never …' Horrified at what she had nearly said in front of Sandy, she stopped and swallowed. ‘It's seein' you again, Jess. I'm happy here, for Miss Wallace has been awfu' good to us.'

‘Poor auld wumman, tied to that chair a' the time. But tell me, does her nephew still come to see her?'

‘Aye, he comes every week.'

‘What's he like?'

‘He must be aboot forty-five, an' he's tall, awfu' thin, an' nae very good-lookin', but he thinks the world o' Miss Wallace.'

‘Has he got a wife?'

Mysie coloured in spite of herself. ‘No.'

Jess waited, the blush whetting her curiosity, but after a moment, she realised that nothing more was to be forthcoming. ‘I clean forgot to tell you, though. Meggie Duff an' Drew White got wed in April, an' him aboot ten year aulder than her, but they're biding at the mill, for Andra hasna been awfu' weel.'

‘Oh, I'm pleased for Meggie, for she was awfu' ta'en wi' Drew when I was workin' wi' her.'

‘Drew made her gi'e up her cook's job, of course, but her an' Pattie get on fine, an' she's real good wi' Nessie. They're goin' to ha'e to put
her
awa', for she's worse than ever she was. There's nae a man safe if he goes near her, for …' Jess broke off as the door opened.

‘Oh, I'm sorry, Maisie.' Gregor hesitated and stepped back. ‘I didn't know you had company.'

‘Come in, Gregor,' Mysie smiled. ‘This is a very dear friend of mine from Burnlea. Jess – Miss Wallace's nephew.'

He held out his hand. ‘I'm very pleased to meet you, Jess. I'm sorry, but Maisie didn't tell me your surname.'

‘Findlater,' Jess said, rather flustered, ‘an' I'm pleased to meet you, as weel. I've ken't Mysie for aboot sixteen year, an' we havena seen each other for a lang time, so we've just been ha'ein' a right good gossip.'

‘A good gossip is what Maisie is needing, she's been working too hard for months. My aunt can be a real slave-driver.'

‘I don't mind, and she's not as bad as that,' Mysie protested, slipping back into English automatically.

‘I don't know what Aunt Beatrice would do without her,' he told Jess. ‘Nor without the children. I'm sure they are what keeps her going.'

‘Aye, they're fine bairns.'

‘They're part of the family, and Maisie, too, Mrs Findlater.'

Jess noticed the affection in his eyes as he looked at Mysie, and asked, when he went out, ‘Is there a romance in the air?'

Mysie blushed again. ‘No, naething like that, an' he doesna ken half the truth aboot me. If he did, he wouldna ha'e …'

The abrupt stop told Jess that Gregor had already revealed to Mysie how he felt about her. What a chance for her – she'd be daft not to accept him if he proposed marriage, for she'd be settled for the rest of her life, her and her bairns … but maybe she didn't feel the same way about him. Oh, well, Jess thought, this was something to tell Jake. After Jess left, Mysie scrambled some eggs, wondering how she could parry the questions that were bound to be asked when she took in Miss Wallace's tea. It might be better to confess everything, with one crucial omission, and she could only hope that she would not be dismissed for being so deceitful.

Gregor, having gone back to talk to his aunt in the hope of getting Mysie alone later, was still there when she carried in the tray, but that didn't stop the old lady from saying, her eyes hard, ‘You have a very loyal friend, Maisie.' Doubly ashamed because of the man's presence, Mysie mumbled, ‘Yes, Jess would do anything for me.'

‘Even lie for you?'

‘She thought she was helping me, but it
was
a lie. Doddie wasn't my husband. His name was Wilson, and he was the finest man I ever knew. After Jeems … left me, Doddie came to the croft to help me for months before he came to stay.'

The grey eyes glittered. ‘You lived as husband and wife?' Gregor stood up angrily. ‘No, Aunt Beatrice. You've no right to ask her that. It's none of our business what Maisie did before she came here.'

‘I don't mind telling you.' Mysie was resigned to exposing her past life now, and it was probably just as well that Gregor would learn the truth at the same time.

‘Don't say anything else,' he warned. ‘There's no need.'

‘Yes, there is. I should have been honest from the day I came here. Yes, we lived as husband and wife, though everyone knew we weren't. We'd only a few months together before our house burned down, and Doddie enlisted in the Gordons, and he went away just days later. That was in February 1915, and he was going to take Sandy and me away after the war to a place nobody would know we weren't married, but he was killed at the end of November, 1917, and I was expecting his child.'

Miss Wallace's face had relaxed a little, so Mysie went on. ‘Doddie was the only man I ever loved, and I still love him.'

‘So you didn't love your husband? Why did you marry him, if he was an ugly old stick, as your friend said?'

This was something Mysie
did
mind talking about, but it was as well to explain it, too. ‘My father sold me to Jeems for thirty pounds when I was hardly sixteen.' The shocked silence made her hurry on. ‘He was drunk, of course – he was always drunk – and my mother tried to make him change his mind.' She stopped, remembering that awful day in 1905. How could these people understand what life had been like for the Lonies at that time? How would Miss Wallace have dealt with a drunken husband? It was useless to try to explain any more. ‘I'm very sorry I didn't tell you before, but I'll pack my things, and Sandy's, and we'll leave tonight.'

But when Mysie looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, she saw that Miss Wallace was drying her own eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I do not want you to leave, Maisie. I should not have judged you before I knew the circumstances. I had no right to ask, it was none of my business, and I am very sorry if I have upset you. Gregor, you had better see her back.'

Silently, Gregor followed Mysie out, but when they reached the kitchen, where Sandy was still studying, he said, ‘Sandy, I want to talk to your mother in private for a few minutes, so would you please take Gina into the scullery and close the door? I'll let you know when to come back.'

Sandy stood up with bad grace, took Gina's hand and stamped out carrying his book. When the scullery door banged behind them, Gregor turned to Mysie, who was trembling apprehensively. ‘Please sit down, my dear. You must feel terrible – that was a dreadful ordeal for you.'

‘I don't know what you must think of me,' she wailed.

‘I think exactly the same of you as I did before. If I had known what my aunt meant to say, I'd have tried to prevent it, but I'm glad I know. It has explained quite a lot to me. How long is it since your husband left you?'

‘It was January 1914.'

‘Didn't you know that you could have him presumed dead after seven years? This is July 1921, so it's seven and a half.'

Mysie didn't need to presume that Jeems was dead. His body might be found if another search was made, although the police hadn't found it after the fire. ‘What difference would that make?' she asked, timidly.

‘You would be free … free to marry again.'

‘I don't want to marry again.'

‘You might, one day.'

She knew what he meant, but she could never marry him. She liked him, and he'd been very understanding, but she didn't love him. In any case, if he ever found out that Jeems was lying under the byre at Rowanbrae, he would think that she had killed her husband, and there was no way to prove otherwise. Aware that Gregor's eyes were on her, she said, ‘No, I'm quite sure I'll never want to marry again.'

Shaking his head, he stood up. ‘Put your past life out of your mind, Maisie. I'll never mention it again, and neither will my aunt. We will go on as before, and we will still be friends, though I hope that we can be more than that some day.'

Before he left, Gregor called to Sandy that he and Gina could come back, so Mysie had no time to think until she was in her own room. There was no romance, whatever Jess believed. It was Doddie she loved, even four years after his death, even though he had killed Jeems. He had done it because he loved her, but why hadn't he confessed to her? If he had, they could have been married … no, it would still have been impossible, since everyone else had thought that Jeems was still alive.

Why did Jeems have to go to the Turriff Show that day? Why did her father force her to marry him? Wishing with all her heart and soul that she could change the past, it suddenly hit her how foolish she was. If she hadn't married Jeems and gone to live at Rowanbrae, she would never have met Doddie, would never have known those few short months of bliss, would never have had his child.

Giving up the struggle to fathom things out, Mysie put up a silent prayer of thanks that Miss Wallace had not thrown her out, then turned over to try to get some sleep.

Chapter Twenty

1925

Having worked at Ashley Road for seven years, Mysie knew all the visitors and was surprised when Miss Wallace said, ‘I am expecting a Mr Coutts and his two … friends at two o'clock this afternoon.' She gave no further explanation, which made Mysie all the more curious when she admitted the two men and the forbidding-looking middle-aged woman, all soberly dressed.

After an hour with no sign of them leaving, Mysie grew very anxious. The old lady was easily tired these days, and even Gregor and his sister didn't stay as long as this, not that Mrs Phillip came often. Not normally inquisitive, Mysie hung around the hall waiting, and when the sitting room door opened, she moved forward to show the callers out. The young man and the woman smiled absently as they passed her, but the older man turned as he came through the door to look back into the room. ‘That is everything in order now, Miss Wallace, but remember, if you should change your mind …'

‘I will not change my mind!' The emphatic retort made Mysie smile. Miss Wallace's temper had not improved over the years.

As he walked past her, the man – probably the Mr Coutts – said, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duncan. Your employer's mind is still as clear as ever, and she knows what she wants.'

‘Yes, sir.' Shutting the door, she wondered how he had known her name, and presumed that Miss Wallace had mentioned it in passing. Some people were quick at noticing things like that.

Still curious as to who Mr Coutts was and what business he had been doing here – it must be business though he hadn't looked like a tradesman – she tapped at the door of the sitting room and went in. ‘Are you all right, Miss Wallace? I hope your visitors weren't too much for you?'

A hint of a crafty smile crossed the old lady's face. ‘My visitors were here at my request, but I do feel rather tired. Perhaps you would be good enough to take me to my room?'

‘Yes, of course.' Mysie could see that Miss Wallace did not intend to tell her anything, and, of course, there was not the slightest reason why she should.

A particularly nasty cold had made the old lady take to bed, but when Mysie went into her bedroom one afternoon, she found Gina dancing in time to the old lady's hand-clapping. ‘Gina!' she exclaimed angrily. ‘You'll tire Miss Wallace out.'

The seven-year-old came to a halt and looked sullenly at her mother, but Miss Wallace said, ‘Do not scold her, I was enjoying it. But perhaps you had better go now, Gina, my dear. I am still a bit weak.'

When the girl ran out, the old lady said, ‘She would like to learn how to dance properly, and I think you ought to arrange for her to have lessons, Maisie. She is very graceful.'

‘It's time she learned that she can't have everything she wants. Now, do you need anything before I go? Maudie bought some nice haddock from the fishmonger when she was out this morning, so I can poach it or bake it in egg for your tea … unless you would rather have something else?'

‘I am not hungry, Maisie. A cup of tea will be sufficient.'

‘You don't eat enough to keep a sparrow going. You'll have to eat properly, or you'll never get over this cold.'

‘One doesn't need to eat so much as one grows older.'

‘You need more than a cup of tea.'

Mysie closed the door softly, her anxiety for her employer deepening. Miss Wallace was so frail she looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away, her head was inclined to shake and even her voice had lost its bite. Maybe it was just the effects of the heavy cold she had, but it was worrying.

The minute Mysie went into the kitchen, Gina pounced on her. ‘When can I start my dancing lessons?'

‘You're not having any dancing lessons.'

‘But Miss Wallace said …'

‘Never mind what she said. She's very old and doesn't know how much things like that cost.'

Stamping her foot, Gina cried, ‘She's got plenty of money, and I'm sure she doesn't care what things cost. She wants me to learn how to dance properly.'

‘That's enough! I said no, and I mean no.'

‘You never want me to get anything!' Gina's bottom lip stuck out pettishly. ‘I wish Miss Wallace was my mother. She would never be as nasty to me as you are.'

‘She doesn't know you like I do, so stop carrying on. You are not getting dancing lessons and that's final!'

Tossing her head, the little girl thumped down in a chair. ‘All the girls in my class at school get dancing lessons,' she mumbled, but Mysie pretended not to hear. She shouldn't have entered into an argument in the first place, and she would have to be firmer, before her daughter got out of hand altogether. It was a pity that Miss Wallace had insisted on putting her in a private school, for she was getting ideas above herself, and her mother had enough to worry about without that.

When Gregor called in – as he did every day on his way home now – and learned of Mysie's concern for his aunt, he said, ‘She's eighty-eight and we can't expect her to be as sprightly as she used to be. She's lucky having you to look after her, Maisie. I only wish I had the same luck.'

She looked away. Although he had never mentioned marriage again, he often came out with things like that, and it still made her feel uncomfortable. ‘She didn't eat any of her tea, and she'll die if she doesn't eat.'

‘Perhaps she would be quite happy to die.'

Shocked, she looked back at him again quickly. ‘Oh, no! It's not as if she has nobody of her own. She's got you and your sister.'

‘And you and Sandy and Gina. I'm sure she thinks more of you and your family than she does of Margaret and me.'

‘She thinks the world of you and your sister.'

‘One day, you'll find out that I am right.' Leaning forward, Gregor planted a kiss on her cheek.

She was too dismayed to say anything, and the enigmatic look he gave her as he went out puzzled her. There had been the usual disquieting affection in it, the affection she could never return, but there had been something different about it, as if he knew something that she didn't, or thought he did.

She was still pondering over this when Sandy came home. At eighteen, he was much taller than he had been at twelve, and his body had broadened out. His light brown hair was darkened by the pomade he used nowadays to tame it, and his deep voice always came as a surprise to her. He was in his first year in Law at Aberdeen University, and was more reserved than he had been before. Whilst Mysie was grateful to Miss Wallace for giving him this opportunity, she was a little afraid that he would come to despise his mother for the lowly position she held, but so far, there had been no sign of that.

‘You'll never guess who I ran into today?' he said, sitting down at the kitchen table, and before she could answer, he went on, ‘I was crossing the quad and there was Bobby Phillip going the other way. I haven't seen him for nearly eight years, but we recognised each other right away. This is his second year.'

‘Fancy that,' Mysie said, busy dishing up.

‘He goes to the Tivoli every week with some friends, and he asked if I'd like to go with them tonight, so could you …?'

Mysie had experienced a moment of unease at the thought of the old alliance being resurrected, but Sandy had changed, so perhaps Bobby had quietened down, too. ‘You want your pocket money early, is that it?'

‘If you can, please. I don't suppose I'll be making a habit of this, but Bobby says the Tivoli is good relaxation after studying hard for five days a week.'

Considering that he couldn't get into any trouble by going to a theatre, Mysie gave him a half-crown out of her purse. ‘I hope that's enough?' She didn't spend much on herself, and Miss Wallace hardly allowed her to pay for anything that Sandy and Gina needed, but two-and-six was always two-and-six.

‘Oh Lord, it's more than enough. Thanks.'

‘Why does Sandy always get what he wants and I don't?' Gina asked, petulantly.

Sandy's glance was scathing. ‘Because I'm older.'

‘But that shouldn't make any difference.'

‘Maybe Mother doesn't love you as much as she loves me.'

‘I don't care if she doesn't, then.' The girl's eyes flashed. ‘Miss Wallace loves me better than you.'

Mysie stepped in now. ‘I love you both the same and so does Miss Wallace, so stop being so silly, Gina.'

Later, after everything had been tidied away, and the oldest and the youngest members of the household had been settled for the night, Mysie sat down. There was always darning to do, for both her children were hard on their socks. Pushing the wooden mushroom into the toe of one of Sandy's, she recalled what Gregor had said about his aunt and wondered what would happen to her when Miss Wallace did die. She would have no home, no job, no money to keep Sandy at university nor Gina at the Girls' High. It was too awful to think about. The poor woman wouldn't live for ever, of course, and it would have to be faced some time, but surely not for years yet?

Sandy had told her that he was going to the first house of the Tivoli, but it was well after ten before he came home. ‘It was marvellous,' he burst out. ‘Dancers, acrobats, comedians, everything, and we went to the Criterion afterwards.'

‘That's a bar, isn't it?' Mysie looked aghast. ‘You're far too young to be going into a …'

‘I'm not, and we only had a beer each. I didn't like to say anything, but I didn't like it all that much.'

‘I should hope not. Oh, Sandy, what were you thinking of?'

‘The Criterion's respectable enough, and Bobby's asked me to go with them again next week.'

Knowing that forbidding him to go would only make him more determined, Mysie sighed. ‘As long as you stop at one drink, then. Now, be quiet when you go upstairs.'

Before she went into her own room, she peeped in to check on her employer and was pleased that she was sleeping peacefully. If the poor woman got one good night's rest, her appetite might pick up and her health would improve.

When Mysie took in Miss Wallace's breakfast the next morning and saw her lying in exactly the same position, she laid the tray down on the chest of drawers and hurried across the room in consternation. Her fears were justified – when she touched the woman's brow, it was ice cold. Realising that the old lady could have been dead when she looked at her the night before, Mysie panicked and raced downstairs in such a state that Sandy had to calm her before she could tell him what had happened.

He took charge then. ‘I'll telephone the doctor first, and I suppose you want me to let Mr Wallace know? He always seems to be hanging around you.'

When Gregor arrived Mysie was still in shock. ‘If I'd only made sure she was all right last night …'

Scarcely realising what she was doing, she let him take her in his arms and cried against his shoulder, as he murmured, ‘Don't upset yourself like this, Maisie, dear – it wouldn't have made any difference, and we should be thankful that she died peacefully.'

At last, catching sight of Sandy's disapproving expression, she pulled away. ‘I'm sorry, Gregor, but it was such a shock finding her like that. Oh, there's the doctor.'

‘I'll go. You had better sit down, my dear.'

Over the next few days, Mysie kept herself from thinking by scrubbing and polishing until she was fit to drop, paying no attention to Gregor, Sandy or Maudie, who all told her to take it easy. ‘I must get everything clean for the funeral,' she half-sobbed. ‘You know Miss Wallace would hate people to see the place if it wasn't clean.'

Gregor did push her into a chair at one stage. ‘It was clean enough before,' he said, gently, but she was on her feet again in a few minutes and he let her carry on.

On the day of the funeral, she prepared sandwiches, washed already-spotless dishes and arranged furniture to make room for extra chairs for the mourners. Twenty minutes before the service was due to begin, she went upstairs to dress, putting on a parson grey skirt and a dove grey jumper because she had nothing black to wear. People had started to arrive before she came down again, so she showed them into the sitting room as Maudie let them in. At three o'clock, when the minister began speaking over the open coffin, she stood at the back, near the door, so upset that she hardly heard a word. Beatrice Wallace may not have been most of her maids' idea of a good employer, but her housekeeper, for one, could vouch that her sharp tongue and short temper had masked a heart of pure gold.

As the flat voice droned on, Mysie was remembering the old lady's kindnesses to her – paying for everything at the time of Gina's birth; sending her son and daughter to good schools and buying their uniforms and other clothes; and, more generous than anything else, keeping her on despite her confession after Jess had unwittingly revealed her secret. She hadn't confessed everything, of course – she could never bring herself to do that – but most women would have sacked her on the spot, and Miss Wallace had never mentioned it again and had treated her the same as she had always done.

The throat-clearing and shuffling of feet made Mysie aware that the eulogy was over, and before the undertakers had even begun to screw down the coffin lid, she had gone back to the kitchen. The funeral tea would have to be served when those who were going in the cortege to Allenvale Cemetery returned to the house. It wasn't like in the country, of course, where the men – and any women who wished – walked behind the hearse to the kirkyard, in some cases a distance of several miles; in Aberdeen they had motor cars to transport them in comfort.

In a few moments, Mrs Phillip came in, looking very smart in a black coat and hat with just a touch of colour provided by a purple feather. ‘It's the end of an era, isn't it?' She lifted a cup idly then laid it down again. ‘What will you do now that my aunt has passed on, Mrs Duncan?'