Fortunes of the Heart

by Jenny Telfer Chaplin

  The girl cast a bitter look over at the sleeping hulk of her father in the wall-bed.

  “But apart from anything else, you know that I hate to have a rush in the morning. I like to take my time and get into the day gradually before I’ve to face another day in that stinking mill.”

  Kate, who had been spreading a dollop of dripping on to a piece of toast, laid down the knife with an air of finality.

  “Well, Jenny, let’s put it this way: if you’re late this morning, then it’s nobody’s fault but your own. I certainly called you in plenty of time. If you were stuck to your mattress like glue to a hairy blanket, then that’s your fault, not mine. So think on that, my fine lady, if you’re apportioning blame.”

  The only answer to this was a tut of annoyance from Jenny as, at the same time, she clattered her spoon on to the porridge bowl, thus causing some of the milk to spurt up and over the wax cloth. Seeing this, Kate pushed back her chair with an angry movement and went over to the sink to get a damp cloth with which she wiped the mess on the table. That done, and with the wet cloth, to which adhered blobs of porridge, still clutched in her hand she pointed a warning finger at the unhappy young woman before her. Then, with each word she spoke, she emphasised her message by shaking an admonitory forefinger, so that Jenny would be left in no doubt as to her meaning.

  “Yes, my fine lady. You can chuck the cutlery about as much as you please. And you can sit there tutting with that mumper face on you that would turn milk sour. But while you’re at it, there’s one more thing. You can sup up the rest of your porridge. For I’m telling you this. You are not leaving this house on a cold morning like this with an empty belly.”

  Fully aware of the warning look still in her mother’s eyes, she again, and with a great show of reluctance, lifted the spoon and half-heartedly chased the now-congealed porridge around the bowl. That done, she lifted a tiny spoonful to her mouth, but as the cold porridge touched her lips, she retched and had to replace the spoon hurriedly, albeit more carefully than before. There was a silence between them during which Jenny sat with her head in her hands and Kate mulled over what she had just witnessed. The noise of a spent coal clunking into the ash-can had the effect of rousing them both. It was Jenny who was the first to speak.

  “Mammy, honestly. I’m just not hungry this morning.”

  But Kate, by now the incensed housewife, the very one who had been up at five-thirty that morning to clean the fire, set it and make the porridge in good time for Jenny’s early start at the mill, finally saw red. She banged the flat of her hand on the table with such force that even more milk and porridge splashed over on to the table. However, this time there was no rush to mop up the mess, even though the wet cloth was still in her hand. Intent on teaching Jenny a lesson, she lifted the spoon and, shoving it close to Jenny’s face, in a voice quiet with menace she said: “Jenny Kinnon. You are not – I repeat NOT going out of this house this day until and unless you have eaten at least a few spoonfuls of that porridge. It might not seem much to you, but apart from anything else, having your welfare at heart, the fact remains that not only have I spent good hard-earned money to buy the oats in the first place, but I’m the one that’s been slaving away since break of day ... in fact even earlier, for it was still dark when I got up at half-past five. And for what? So that your ladyship can sit there, turning up her nose at the wholesome food. And not even put both to the damned stuff. Oh no you don’t, my fine lady. Now, not another word, moan, or retch. Get it down you into that belly of yours.”

  In amazement, Jenny looked at her mother, for Kate in a temper was indeed a rare occurrence in the Kinnon household. Jenny frowned, suddenly aware that what they were talking about here was more than just a few spoonfuls of the hated porridge. However, to try to defuse the situation, she lifted the spoon to her lips. She managed, with a supreme effort of will, to get the first three spoonfuls down. It was when she attempted to swallow down the last of the slithery mess that she again started retching and just could not stop. Lifting a handkerchief to her lips, with porridge already spilling from her mouth, she rose quickly from the table and raced from the kitchen. Kate watched the departing girl and then heard her bolt the door of the water-closet. The sound of retching could be heard in the kitchen even over the noise of the running tap which Kate had hurriedly turned on in an attempt to keep the noise of her daughter being violently sick away from Pearce, who was already stirring restlessly. It was at this point that Pearce woke up and from the cosy warmth of the wall-bed at once demanded to know what all the racket was about.

  “Is my mug of tea ready yet, woman? And I’ll have some hot toast and dripping, if you please, and quick about it too.”

  Kate immediately skewered a slice of bread on to the toasting fork, and without so much as an answering word to her husband, was bending down to the bars of the grate when she beard a sound at her back. Swivelling round, she was in time to see a white-faced Jenny re-enter the kitchen. That the girl was distressed was plain to any but the most casual observer. However, before Kate could comment or even question her further, Jenny quickly snatched up her coat, scarf, and Tam O’Shanter beret with its knitted, bobbled top-knot. With her eyes fastened to the floor, Jenny mumbled the words, ‘Right. That’s me. I’m off to work’, and without so much as a farewell ‘cheerio’ or even a wave of the hand, she sped out of the door.

  Kate, with a sigh and a sorrowful shake of her head, turned back to the task in hand. She had just finished scraping some dripping on to the freshly-toasted slice of bread when she happened to raise her eyes in response to an impatient call from the still-waiting and hungry Pearce. She frowned at what she saw. Draped over the chair in front of her was the long, grey cardigan which Jenny always referred to as her mill cardie. As a rule, and no matter what the season of the year, she took it with her every day, since in the chill of early morning, it was always cold and damp in the mill. Seeing this essential item of clothing thus left carelessly behind, Kate shook her head and gave a tut of annoyance. She laid down the plate of toast on the table then, after having first wiped her hands down the front of the sack-cloth apron, she lifted the cardigan, intending to run down the stairs with it, in the hope of catching up with Jenny. But as she lifted it, Pearce called from the bed, demanding to have his toast while it was still hot. In a spurt of irritation, Kate threw the cardigan back down on to the chair and turned to attend to her husband. It was when she was returning to the table that she happened to glance down and saw a scrap of paper lying on the floor. She frowned, then, realising it must have fallen from the pocket of Jenny’s mill cardie, she bent to retrieve it. On the point of tossing the torn-off piece of paper into the fire, since it offended her housewifely eye, she noticed what appeared to be a message of some sort printed on it. This at once stayed her hand, but fearing to attempt to read it in front of Pearce, she grabbed up her glasses, and without further ado, retreated at high speed for the seclusion of the water-closet.

  Once safely installed there, with the door snib firmly in place, she smoothed out the paper and struggled to read it in the dim borrowed light from the transept window overlooking the hallway. The letters appeared, as if of their own volition, to jump off the page and hit Kate between the eyes. She gasped in horror, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to believe the evidence of her eyes. She scanned the words yet again, as if in this way trying to re-form the letters into a different and more acceptable meaning. But no matter what her hopes and wishes, and try as she would, the message remained the same.

  I’LL WAIT AT THE TOLLGATE TILL NINE ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT. WE’LL RUN AWAY TOGETHER. IF YOU DON’T COME, JENNY, THIS IS GOODBYE. YOUR LOVING, ROSS.

  As the full implication of the words sank into her brain, Kate gasped and she thought, ‘No. It can’t be true. Not my Jenny and that no-good womaniser, Ross Cuthbert.’

  Then, realising that she could not stay in the water-closet for ever, she got slowly to her feet from where she had been perched on the edge of the toilet-pan. With her
now-trembling fingers, it was all she could do to unsnib the metal fastener on the door. Then she trailed one foot wearily after the other, back into the kitchen.

  Every minute, every hour of that endless day she went about doing her chores at Mr McGregor’s in a wooden, mechanical fashion, not her usual cheery self with her customers. The words, as if branded on to her brain, kept hammering away, Wednesday night. We’ll run away: Wednesday night. Run away. Your loving, Ross. We’ll run away. How she got through that day without betraying by either word or look the inner turmoil she felt, she would never afterwards know. But survive it she did, as indeed she had already survived so much in her life. Later, on her way back with a laden shopping basket, she suddenly stopped as she turned the corner into Garth Street. By the time she had reached her own close entrance, she had it clear in her own mind as to exactly what she would do.

  The thoughts raced. Right. My so-called intelligent Jenny, you that was the pride and joy of the family with your brains and your aspirations to be a school-teacher. Now all set to run away with a married man. And him with a child, and all. Well, I’ll soon see about that.’

  In a more determined, if not exactly happier, frame of mind, Kate climbed the stairs to her top flight flat. As she pushed open the outer door with her right shoulder, she had a final thought: `No, Jenny. We’re having no truck with that daft carry-on. Not only would the disgrace of that go with me to my grave, even worse – the scandal of it all would drive away my good paying lodger. And that would never do.’

  When Jenny returned from work that same evening, she found a lovely hot meal awaiting her, her mother happily bustling around the kitchen, and her mill cardie still hanging over the chair exactly where she had left it. Casting a surreptitious glance at her daughter’s anxious face as she hunted through first one pocket, then the other, Kate had the satisfaction of knowing her suspicions had been proved right, especially at the look of intense relief on Jenny’s face when she withdrew the scrap of paper safely from its supposed hiding place. Kate quickly averted her eyes as Jenny advanced to the fireplace and tossed the paper into the fire, where the flames soon devoured it. However, the words of the message were engraved not only on Jenny’s heart, but also on that of her anxious, disappointed, but nonetheless determined mother.

  Chapter 15

  When the next evening, Jenny arrived home, tired-out as usual from her day’s work at the mill, the tea table was already set. And much to Jenny’s surprise, her Mammy had obviously made a special effort in that the meal consisted of all Jenny’s favourite foodstuffs. There was a steaming plate of delicious, savoury-smelling Irish stovies, rich with the flavour of onions, carrots and mutton stew, which had obviously been simmering on the hob for the entire day. Despite it being her favourite, it was clear to Kate’s experienced, motherly eye that her daughter was having some difficulty in finishing her portion. Seeing this, Kate made neither sign nor comment, but kept her innermost thoughts to herself. The stew was followed by a helping of clootie dumpling apiece, which Pearce tucked into with great energy and aplomb. As she watched in fascinated horror her father’s determined attack on the mound of moist, fruit-laden pudding, Jenny, by now looking somewhat pale around the gills, was forced to replace her spoon on the table with pudding still untouched.

  “Mammy, it looks lovely. But after all that stew, I honestly don’t think I could manage another mouthful. Sorry, but my belly’s full.”

  With great self-restraint, Kate refrained from commenting on this last observation, but even so, the fleeting thought went through her head: So, your belly’s full, is it, my girl? Aye, indeed. And maybe even fuller than you realise.

  With the sweetest smile she could summon, given the circumstances and her own secret knowledge, Kate looked at her daughter and nodded.

  “No need to worry your head, Jenny. Dadda will soon demolish your helping as well as his own.”

  Pearce, with bulging cheeks and busily chewing teeth, merely nodded his delighted acceptance of the generous offer.

  Kate turned to face her daughter. Then, keeping strictly to her previously well thought out and prepared plan of action with which to combat this latent family crisis, she smiled sweetly and in the voice of a caring, considerate mother, she said: “Well, then, Jenny. If you’ve had enough to eat, away with you into the hall and get ready. Take your time, dear, for I’ll do the tea things tonight. You’ll want to look smart for this special occasion.”

  Jenny jerked her head up and, with a look of alarm on her face, stuttered in some confusion: “Special ... special occasion? But what do you mean, Mammy?”

  Kate shook her head, as if gently reproving her daughter.

  “Jenny, lass. What a memory. Do you not remember? You mentioned it to me only the other day.”

  But still Jenny looked not just puzzled, but also downright scared at what she was about to hear. Kate laid a hand on her daughter’s arm and was not in the least surprised to find that it was trembling.

  “You said you were going out tonight to .... to help with a new activity group, or some such ... for unemployed youngsters.”

  Jenny had the grace to look somewhat shamefaced, but before she could speak, Kate hurried on.

  “That’s why I prepared your favourite tea tonight. Least I could do, if you are doing a fine charitable act like that for the deprived. Now then, off with you and get ready. Give me a shout once you’ve changed and you and I will have a wee cup of tea together before you go. All right, dear?”

  By the time Jenny came back into the kitchen some half hour or so later, Dadda, replete with the excellent meal just consumed, was already noisily dozing off.

  From where she stood at the sink, Kate swivelled her head round to speak to Jenny. But the words froze on her lips. In some weird way, it suddenly appeared as if Jenny had gained an inordinate amount of weight within the last thirty minutes or so. In a flash of inspiration, the truth dawned on Kate.

  Of course. So that’s it. Why, the devious little bitch. Well now. If that’s your game, we’ll soon settle your hash.

  She walked over to the range and piled on to an already bright fire, extra coal which she then prodded with a long-handled poker into life. That done, she then insisted that Jenny take the seat nearest to the fiercely burning fire while Kate poured them both a cup of tea. A swift glance was enough to show Kate that already her daughter was sweating profusely. But even so, she still could not believe that her daughter would really be so devious. Excusing herself briefly, Kate went out into the hallway where she at once opened the cupboard which did double duty as a wardrobe. The row of empty coat-hangers was the final proof that she needed.

  Kate’s lips pressed together into a thin, straight line, as a firm resolve took hold.

  Right, my girl. If that’s your sneaky little game, two can play. Two can play at lying, cheating, and devious conniving. And I know exactly what my first move is going to be.

  Kate crept along to the end of the hall where, with great secrecy and speed, she worked to put the first spoke in the wheel of her daughter’s escape plan.

  Once back in the safety of the over-warm kitchen, she again sat down, having first of all given a ritual tap to the pocket in front of her floral apron.

  No sooner had she sat down, than her daughter rose to her feet.

  “Well, Mammy. I’d best be off now.”

  Kate made no verbal reply, but simply nodded and watched Jenny leave the room. In two seconds flat, the girl was back in the kitchen beside her, a look of amazement on her still fire-flushed face.

  “Mammy. I don’t understand. I can’t get the front door to open. And the key that always hangs on the wall, it seems to have disappeared.”

  Kate said not a word, but held out her hand, in the palm of which rested the key which she had earlier taken from its usual perch.

  “This what you’re looking for, Jenny?”

  With mouth agape, Jenny stared down at the key. “But you never lock the door. Far less lock it and remove the key
. What’s the big idea?”

  For reply, Kate laid the key on the table between them, but with the tip of her forefinger resting lightly on the fulcrum. Slowly, she rose to her feet. Then with great deliberation and with every syllable crystal clear, she said: “The idea is really quite simple, Jenny. Yes, I have indeed locked the door. I have the one and only key and I have decided that you are not leaving this house tonight. Do you understand?”

  Jenny frowned.

  “Oh, I understand the words you’re saying, but what escapes me is their meaning. What about the club for the unemployed?”

  Kate smiled grimly and nodded her head.

  “Yes. What about your grand Christian mission? If you think I’ll believe that, my girl, then you must think I came up the Clyde on a barrow. And if as you say, the meaning of my words escapes you, then that’s the only thing that will be escaping this night. Perhaps you can understand that?”

  “But I promised ... I said I’d meet Lizzie and we’d both go together and ...”

  Kate looked in disgust at her daughter, still lying in her teeth. She leant forward, holding a bunched fist under the girl’s nose.

  “Listen, Jenny. As far as your dear pal Lizzie is concerned, I happen to know that you promised her nothing. Nothing, do you hear? You see, my darling daughter, it so happens I know what you’re up to.”

  Jenny’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

  “But how ... What ...?”

  This was to be Kate’s big moment and she resolved to relish her victory.

  “The only one you’ve promised anything to – and quite a lot at that, as I understand it– is that bloody wife-deserter, Ross fuckin’ Cuthbert.”

  Jenny paled and for a moment, she looked to be on the point of collapse.

  “Mammy. What’s got into you? I’ve never heard you swear before.”