Moorland Mist

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Emma!’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’re expecting a baby?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ Emma gaped at her as though she was speaking in a foreign language. Maggie’s mind was in a whirl but even while she gazed in dismay, several things were falling into place.

  ‘You are expecting a baby, aren’t you, Emma?’ she said.

  ‘I d-don’t think so. I havena got a husband.’ She stared at Maggie in bewilderment.

  ‘I should have guessed,’ Maggie said dully. ‘So that’s why you haven’t had any monthly rags to wash lately …’

  ‘No, I haven’t and I’m glad. I hate the monthly times. Mother said I’d get more regular as I get older.’

  ‘Your mother knows?’ Maggie stared at her. ‘She knows about the baby?’

  ‘What baby? O-oh!’ she gasped again and pressed her hand against her stomach.

  ‘I think that’s the baby kicking. I believe that’s what they do. No wonder you’ve put on weight, especially round your waist. You’ve hidden it well but we all wear so many layers in winter. You’ve never been sick, have you, Emma?’

  ‘Sick?’

  ‘Yes, like my sister. Bess was sick in the mornings.’

  ‘But she’s got a husband. Mother says girls need a husband and boys need a wife before they can have babies …’

  Maggie chewed her lower lip and gave her a pitying look. Emma was far from stupid but she seemed to be totally ignorant of the facts of life. She had no sisters to tell her things and it seemed likely her mother was as reticent as her own mother when it came to such things. Maggie was the eldest girl in her family but she remembered Agnes explaining to her and to Bess about babies. Maggie still felt quite ignorant on many aspects.

  ‘Who is the father, Emma? When do you meet him? Does he walk back here with you when you go home for the day? Is that when it happened?’

  ‘When what happened?’ Emma asked with a frown. ‘Dad or Richard always bring me back when I’ve been home.’

  ‘I know you don’t have much spare time for boys.’ It was Maggie’s turn to frown. ‘So who is the father?’ she asked gently. ‘Can you tell me, Emmie? I promise I will do my best to help you, but I’m afraid we shall have to tell Mother. I think she will send you home to your parents. Did someone force you, Emmie?’

  ‘I–I dinna ken what ye mean, Miss Maggie,’ Emma’s eyes were round and frightened now. Her voice shook and she was near to tears as she stared at Maggie. ‘Wh-why will the mistress send me h-home?’

  ‘When is the baby due?’ Maggie asked kindly.

  ‘How do you know it’s a baby? Do you mean when will it come out? How would I know?’

  ‘Oh Emmie …’ Maggie bit her lip. ‘I think it’s time you talked to your mother. She should have warned you. These things can’t just happen, whatever it says about the Virgin Mary in the Bible. You must have slept with a boy.’

  ‘No, I never.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth, remembering the night she and William had fallen asleep on top of the hill in the mist.

  ‘Emmie?’ Maggie said softly. ‘You must tell me. I promise I’ll help you, if I can.’

  Emmie stared at her then shook her head. She couldn’t tell Maggie she and William had fallen asleep on top of the hill. They hadn’t meant to sleep and they had agreed it was their secret. Maggie was getting more agitated and she sat down on the low stool and bowed her head with a groan. Emmie felt frightened by her reaction.

  ‘It takes nine months to make the baby, Emma. Nine months from the time you went with the boy. You must know who …when …’ They heard footsteps approaching.

  ‘The mistress is coming,’ Emma whispered. ‘She’ll be angry when we haven’t got the blankets out to dry.’ She began to turn the mangle as fast as her strength allowed, far more worried about a scolding from Mistress Sinclair than by her own predicament. Slowly Maggie got to her feet and guided the blanket through the rollers.

  ‘We shall have to tell Mother, Emmie,’ she said dejectedly, her voice low.

  ‘Tell Mother what?’ Mary Sinclair demanded. They both spun round to face the door to the kitchen. ‘Haven’t you got the blankets out to dry yet? The day will be over before …’

  ‘Oh, Mother …’ Maggie said in distress. She turned to Emma. ‘Hang these, Emma. I’ll tell her.’ Emma eyed them both fearfully, then gathered the blankets into the large wicker basket and carried them out to the orchard.

  ‘What is it, Maggie? What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Emma is – she’s expecting a baby. She doesn’t …’

  ‘She’s what?’ Mary Sinclair stared at her daughter as though she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Are you sure? When did she tell you? When?’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to realize. She’s so – so innocent about th-things,’ Maggie said desperately. She saw the patches of indignant colour staining her mother’s cheek bones and her heart sank. Her mother was even more strict about morals than her father.

  ‘Innocent! Don’t talk rubbish.’

  ‘Well, ignorant about – about how babies are made and it does say in the Bible …’

  ‘How can she be innocent if she’s expecting a child?’ Her mother went to the washhouse door. ‘Emma, come in here this minute! Maggie, you finish hanging the blankets. I shall deal with this.’

  ‘But you don’t understand. The father …’

  ‘I don’t want to know who the father is. That’s no business of ours. A girl is responsible for her own actions. It’s her body.’ Standing white-faced in the open door, Emma gulped. She had never seen Mistress Sinclair so angry, not even the time when she over-churned the butter and made it into a greasy yellow football.

  ‘Emma, pack your things and leave this house this minute.’ Emma stared at her in stunned silence. ‘Well, get on with it, girl! You’re a disgrace. You’re not fit to stay under my roof. Maggie, don’t stand there. Get on with the blankets.’ Emma gave a sob and ran from the washhouse, through the kitchen and into her own room.

  ‘Mother! You don’t understand.’

  ‘Enough! Get on with the blankets. We shall have to ask Angus Taylor’s wife to help until we can train another maid. She used to work for me before she married. Her children are all at school now. She will be glad of the money, I expect.’ Mary Sinclair’s first priority would always be the smooth running of her household.

  Sobbing, with tears running down her cheeks, Emma pushed her clothes into a carpet bag and the remainder of her belongings she tied in her old shawl. Mary Sinclair watched in grim silence, thwarting any ideas she may have had of talking to Maggie.

  Eliza Greig was in her garden, bringing in some of her washing when she saw Emma toiling up the road. She knew at once that something was wrong. This was the middle of the week and she was carrying her carpet bag and a bundle of her belongings.. She had been getting on so well and was happy up at Bonnybrae. Three years she had been there so why was she coming home now? It was still three months to the term day and the hiring fairs when men and maids moved to other farms. She met Emma at the gate and relieved her of her bag and bundle when she saw her tearstained face.

  ‘Come away in, my lamb, and tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ Emma sobbed and clung to her mother. ‘I’ve l-lost ma place. M-Mistress Sinclair … sh-she says I’m w-wicked and-and …’

  ‘Why are ye wicked, ma bairn? What can ye have done?’ Eliza asked, uncertain whether to be indignant or alarmed.

  ‘Maggie told her I’m going to have a baby and she …’

  ‘A baby? Emma!’ Her mother took her by the shoulders and held her away, staring into her daughter’s face. ‘How can she say such a thing?’

  ‘Because it keeps punching inside me and Maggie felt it and she says it’s a baby.’

  ‘Oh dear Lord above,’ Eliza whispered and she dropped onto a chair the moment they were into the cottage, her face white. ‘Oh Emma, how could you do such a thing? Your father and me are struggling to bring all of you up in a decent hom
e.’

  Emma sobbed uncontrollably. The full implications of her situation still hadn’t registered.

  ‘Surely ye canna have been with that new laddie in the bothy up yonder? He’s no more than a schoolboy.’ Emma shook her head. ‘Did somebody force ye, lassie?’ Again Emma shook her head, but she was beginning to see there were going to be a lot more questions. Fear clawed at her insides. She clamped her mouth tight shut and stared at her mother. Eliza stared back. ‘Do you realize the shame you’ve brought to this house, Emma? There’s Richard keeping company with a lovely girl from a decent God-fearing family. And Davy has begun walking out with the minister’s younger daughter,’ she added with a note of pride, ‘and the Reverend Jamieson is helping him with his books, encouraging him to better himself. Now this!’ Anger and anxiety vied with each other. ‘What will your father say? What decent girl will want any part of this family when they hear of the disgrace you’ve brought?’

  Still Emma didn’t speak. She had been up since dawn for the milking, she was exhausted with the blanket washing, then the long walk home, carrying her baggage and now the knowledge that her own mother was as angry as Mistress Sinclair had been was devastating. Her mother sighed heavily. She could see the exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders and her pinched pale face, so different to the blooming girl she had been on her last visit. In her heart, Eliza knew she should have warned her daughter about men and their desires and what happened if you gave in to them, but it wasn’t something she’d ever discussed with anyone. She hadn’t known what to expect until she married Bert. It had been something of a shock but at least she had been lucky because Bert cared deeply for her and he was not a rough man.

  ‘Go to your room, Emma. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink. You’d better stay there. I don’t know what the lads will say when they hear about this. If they don’t kill the fellow, they’ll beat him within an inch of his life for doing this to you.’

  Emma stared at her mother, her eyes wide with shock. She shuddered. Her mouth opened and shut, but she made no sound. She would never tell them she had slept with William Sinclair if that’s what they would do to him. She would never tell, even if they beat her to death. She was sure William had not meant to harm her. It was true he had hurt her a little but he had been gentle and he had made her feel so wonderful. She went to her room, her head bowed.

  When she had eaten she undressed and climbed into bed, weighed down by the traumas of the day.

  ‘You’d better stay in here, out of sight,’ her mother said through tight lips. ‘I’ll wait until the lads have gone up to bed and then I’ll tell your father. He’ll decide what’s to be done. If the baby is moving as ye say, ye must be well on, and to think I never guessed.’ She shook her head in disbelief.

  Exhausted and bewildered, Emma curled up like a child and slept.

  There was little sleep for Bert and Eliza Greig that night. Bert had guessed there was something troubling his wife as they ate their evening meal but it had always been their way to wait until the house was silent and they were snuggled up together in the box bed on one side of the kitchen range. At first Bert couldn’t take it in. He loved all his family but he’d always had an extra tender spot for his wee Emmie. She reminded him of his mother with her thick wavy hair and wide blue-green eyes, her high cheek bones and pert nose. How could she have let him down so badly? It was nearly rising time when he decided on a plan.

  ‘You’ll have to tell the lads I’m not going to work. I’ll stay here with the curtains drawn. Tell them I’m ill. When they’ve gone, I shall take Emma to the station and we’ll go to my brother Dick’s. She can stay with them until … until it’s born.’

  ‘Dick’s?’ Eliza echoed.

  He was Bert’s younger brother and she liked him well enough but his wife was the meanest, miserable and complaining woman Eliza had ever met. She sighed. Poor Emma. Even now Eliza couldn’t believe her bairn had meant to be wicked or bring shame on them all.

  ‘Aye, I know Vera is as mean as they come but if I pay for Emma’s keep, she’ll take her in. They’re far enough away to prevent any gossip and Emma is used to the farm so Dick’s boss might find her some work with the milking and the hens, and she’ll help Vera with the bairns. We’ll get her up as soon as the lads leave for work. If we go by the back roads we can walk to the station in an hour and a half. Thank God for the new railway line. It should take us to within a few miles of Dick’s place and maybe somebody will offer a lift. I’ll stay overnight and come back in the morning.’

  ‘You mean to leave her in Vera’s care to have the bairn?’ Eliza’s lip trembled and she bit down hard. This was no time for tears and Bert was doing his best to find a way and avoid gossip for the sake of the lads.

  ‘What else can we do? Dick will call in a midwife when the time comes.’

  ‘What about the babe?’

  ‘That’s up to Emma. If she won’t say who the father is, or if he’s married and canna wed her …’ He broke off, lowering his eyes. ‘It will have to go to an orphanage.’ He gabbled the words because he didn’t want to say them. ‘That’s what I’ll tell her anyway.’

  Eliza struggled to keep back her tears. Surely Emma would tell them more when she came to her senses and realized what she had done.

  ‘I shall have to buy some wool and post it to her. She’ll have to knit some clothes for the poor mite.’

  ‘She’ll not need a lot if she’s not going to keep the bairn. She’ll need to find work as soon as she’s over the birth. If I could get my hands on whoever did this to ma lassie!’

  ‘Aye, I darena think what Richard and Joe would do to him. As for Davy, he was getting on so well with the Minister and his lassie but this could ruin everything.’

  Five

  That evening William trudged home beside his horses, tired but satisfied with his long day behind the plough. They had two pairs of Clydesdales at Bonnybrae, as well as an elderly mare who had proved herself to be an excellent breeder and was presently rearing another filly foal. They also had two young geldings which he and Jim were breaking to the cart, ready to sell to a Glasgow brewery. He was proud of his father and the way he ran things but he longed for a place of his own so that he could breed his own stock, make decisions and plan for the future. He had to admit that he and Angus Taylor, their horseman, were making better progress with the spring ploughing than most of their neighbours. He had a competitive spirit and Bonnybrae was the largest tenanted farm on the estate. It had always been an example since his grandfather first took it on as a young man, but he enjoyed variety and he could turn his hand to any task on the farm.

  The farm yard at Bonnybrae was arranged in a square with an entrance from the road at the northern corner. There was a long horse trough along the wall between the back door to the house and the stables, and it was always kept full with a pump which brought water up from a deep underground well. The horses instinctively made for the trough as soon as they entered the yard; they too had earned their food and rest. Once they had been groomed and fed, both Angus and William returned to the trough and each filled a bucket of fresh clean water. Stripped to the waist, they were glad to dip their heads into the bucket to rid themselves of dust from the newly turned furrows. Maggie always left a coarse towel ready for them in the washhouse.

  After a hard day’s work, sustained by a short lunchtime snack of cheese and scones and a bottle of cold tea, William longed for nothing more than a good plate of food and bed. As usual, Maggie had left his meal ready and he was thankful to eat his supper and fall into bed after a long day behind the plough.

  He was always up at dawn when they were ploughing or sowing, especially when they were working in the more distant fields. Consequently he was completely unaware of the turmoil in the house.

  Jim noticed Emma’s absence from the milking that first afternoon but he assumed she was helping his mother with other tasks. He liked the cheerful young maid and she was a hard worker so when she was still absent at the mi
dday meal the following day, he became concerned.

  ‘Where is Emma? Is she ill?’ Even as he posed the question he noticed the stern demeanour of his mother, the stiffening of her erect posture. He glanced at Maggie. Her face was pale and pinched. There were circles under her eyes as though she had not slept. ‘What’s wrong, where is she?’ Jim persisted. ‘We missed her at the milking last night, and again this morning. Is she ill?’

  ‘Emma has gone home in disgrace,’ his mother said abruptly. ‘You will not mention her name again in this house.’ Jim raised his eyebrows but his father frowned him into silence.

  It was evening before William returned from another long day’s ploughing and Jim waylaid him on his way from the closet. He drew him into the pantry. He knew Maggie was in there skimming the cream.

  ‘What are ye doing?’ William asked with a grin and a look of surprise as Jim shut the pantry door.

  ‘Mother has sent Emma home. She says she’s in disgrace,’ Jim announced.

  ‘Sent her home? But why? Emmie is the best maid I can remember us having here at Bonnybrae.’

  ‘Mother sits there regal and grim-faced and insists we’re not to mention her name.’ Jim was the most tolerant of the Sinclair family but there was a note of irritation in his voice now. ‘Father scowls us into silence. We’re not bairns to be hushed without explanation. Maggie, do you know what’s wrong with Emma? What can she have done for Mother to turn her off like this, without a character reference and months before term day and the hiring fairs?’

  Maggie turned from skimming the cream and glanced at her brothers.

  ‘She’s expecting a child,’ she said flatly. ‘She didn’t even realize what was wrong with her,’ she added with a catch in her voice. ‘It’s all very well reading in the Bible about the Virgin Mary but Emmie’s mother should have explained about – about things. She’s intelligent and quick to learn everything about the house and the animals, she can add up a row of figures quicker than I can, and she’s good at spelling, yet she’s unbelievably ignorant about life. She’s never experienced anything outside the schoolroom, and then her life here. She barely believed me when I told her the movements in her stomach were a baby kicking. Her mother told her girls only have babies when they have a husband.’