The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Minnie did not have much money,’ Rachel defended her old friend. ‘The vase was the thing she loved more than anything else in her little cottage. It was a wedding gift to her parents. It was very pretty. Mistress Chalmers says she will keep it safe for me until I can collect it.’

  ‘Aye, weel I reckon it’s real nice of the old lady to leave the lassie something to remind her of an old friend,’ Tam nodded vigorously. He looked shrewdly at Rachel. ‘You canna have too many friends, lassie.’

  ‘Tam’s right. If I’m invited over that way to play the fiddle I will collect it for you, Rachel.’

  ‘Oh, would you, Ross? Really?’

  ‘A-ah,’ Tam gave a knowing wink at Ross, ‘I reckon you’ll be collecting it before long then if Widow Fawcett has anything to do with arranging the entertainment over there.’ Ross scowled silently at Tam, but Cameron saw the guilty flush which coloured his fair skin. He felt a twinge of uneasiness. He knew only too well the temptations which could fall into the path of entertainers after a good evening of merriment.

  Gertrude sniffed impatiently and made a noisy clatter of collecting the porridge plates, a pointed hint that Tam should get on his way.

  Memories were awakened by the letter and Rachel could not dispel the brooding melancholy which descended on her during the days which followed. The last true and trusted friend from her old life had gone and she felt deserted and alone in an alien world. Cameron Maxwell noticed her preoccupation and the haunting sadness which filled her eyes.

  ‘A-ah, lassie you’re like your mother, and no mistake. I remember how upset she was when one o’ the girls in our school died with scarlet fever. You need a bit of a change.’ He scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘Gertie will be going to market tomorrow to sell her butter and eggs. If you can finish your tasks you might enjoy a wee visit to Ruth’s cottage to see the bairns.’ He frowned. ‘No, on second thoughts you’d better not do that. Wee Annie might tell tales now she’s beginning to chatter. It’s real bonnie up the burn at this time of the year.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Rachel smiled at the old man. She knew he was doing his best to make up for his wife’s constant criticism. ‘But I must not idle my time away.’

  ‘What’s that about idling time away?’ Ross asked, coming to stand at the dairy door, grinning down at them.

  ‘I was just telling Rachel to take herself for a walk by the burn. It’s a lovely spot where the two burns meet – on the far side of the top meadow.’ He sighed heavily. ‘What I’d give to be able to walk up there now. I’ve spent many an hour guddling for trout, and helping you laddies collect frogspawn. The wild roses will be out and the air …’ he drew in a long breath as though he could smell it still, ‘it will be filled with the scent of the honeysuckle.’

  ‘Father is right. It is beautiful, especially on a summer’s day,’ Ross agreed. ‘We’ll hurry up with the work and take a basket of food. Meg will help us. We shall be back long before the bus brings mother home.’

  ‘Aye, you and Meg go with her,’ Cameron nodded. ‘You’ll see great golden King Cups, and dainty Milkmaids, and Cowslips. There’s a little wood a bit further up the hill. There’s always something of interest there, even in winter.’

  Meg decided to stay with her father, despite his protests, but Rachel knew she would remember the tranquil beauty of that day for as long as she lived. The peace seemed to fill her heart and help her set aside the pangs of loneliness and loss.

  ‘Mistress Ferguson must have been a very good friend?’ Ross remarked as they walked side by side across the low meadow.

  ‘Oh, she was, she was my one true friend in all the world.’

  ‘But you have us now – Meg, Willie, and me – and I know my father is pleased you came to Windlebrae. You seem to bring back memories of his youth.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, but she was frowning at some inner thought.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Ross asked curiously.

  ‘My father always said you could never be certain people would not let you down – even your closest friends. But I knew in my heart that Minnie would never let me down. Even though I was no kin to her, I knew she loved me as though I had been hers. I said that to Father once …’ She frowned again.

  ‘Didn’t he agree?’

  ‘Oh yes. He believed Minnie was a rare person with a truly honest heart. But he said even a parent could sometimes let down his own flesh and blood.’

  ‘I’d say he was right about that,’ Ross muttered glumly. Rachel glanced up at him. She knew he was thinking of his own mother.

  ‘Father said even parents are human beings with weaknesses, the same as everyone else.’

  ‘But surely he didn’t mean you could not trust him?’

  ‘When he was dying he felt he was letting me down. I expect it was because he could not protect me any more, or leave me any money. But I didn’t feel he had let me down. He was a wonderful father.’ Her blue-green eyes were luminous with remembered affection. ‘He seemed troubled towards the end, though. He kept saying he had betrayed someone’s trust.’ She rubbed her brow as though the matter still perplexed her. ‘Yet he said he would still have made the same choice. I hate to think he may have died with a troubled conscience. Minnie said he was just trying to warn me not to be too trusting.’

  ‘I suppose we are all human,’ Ross reflected. ‘There’s a bit of bad in the best of people. No one is perfect.’ He grimaced. ‘I think Mother would have gone through fire and flood for Josh, but I know she would not do much for me if I needed help. She has always regarded me as the black sheep, even when I tried my best to please her.’ Rachel caught a fleeting glimpse of pain and bewilderment in his blue eyes, before he lowered his lids and flicked impatiently at a clump of grass with a hazel wand he had taken from the hedge earlier.

  ‘I don’t believe any mother could really favour one of her own children more than another.’ She had intended the words to comfort him but they seemed to make him angry.

  ‘Well, my mother must be unique then, because she has always made me feel like a cuckoo in the nest.’

  ‘I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Och, let’s forget the rest of the world. The day is too beautiful for dark and serious thoughts.’

  ‘All right.’ She knew Minnie would not have wanted her to grieve. She smiled as she remembered the old lady’s dry humour. Seeing the tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth Ross knew his father was right to get her out of the dreary atmosphere at Windlebrae. He clasped her hand in his.

  ‘Come on, we’ll run to the top of the brae.’ Without waiting for her consent he loped away, pulling her with him. She bunched up her skirts with her free hand and did her best to keep up with his long legs.

  She was light and fleet of foot but she was gasping for breath, her cheeks flushed as they breasted the hill and sank down together onto the soft turf. Just below them there was the tinkle of running water where a silver spangled cascade tumbled over some rocks. It swirled into a pool where two burns met, before flowing onward, a little deeper, a little wider than before. They were sheltered from the north by the gentle rise of the hill behind them. In front, beyond the meandering burn, a green patch of fields and hedges stretched away to meet the sky. At their feet wild flowers spread their petals and a little further up the burn she could see the edge of the wood.

  ‘It’s just as pretty as your father promised.’ She laughed with delight. She had scarcely seen anything except the farmyard and the kirk since she arrived at Windlebrae. Today she felt free and light as the summer air.

  ‘It is good to see you smile, Rachel.’ Ross was fascinated by the tiny dimple which came and went at the corner of her mouth. ‘You were meant for laughter. No wonder my father is pleased to have you at Windlebrae. Somehow I can’t imagine my mother ever being young and truly happy. Even Meg does not sing to herself and laugh aloud as she used to do. It is as though there is a dark cloud over the whole house. It was different when Jos
h was alive.’ He turned onto his stomach, propping himself up on an elbow, his eyes studying her intently. ‘It’s strange, but you remind me of Josh in a way. He had a little dimple at the corner of his mouth that seemed to flicker in and out.’ His finger traced the contour of her cheek wonderingly, coming to rest on the spot where the dimple was hidden. He looked down at her, shaking his head. ‘Josh was meant for laughter too. He could charm the birds off the trees. Even when he was up to mischief, he never roused mother’s anger. She was not always as grim as she is now.’ He sounded almost apologetic.

  ‘It must have been dreadful to lose a son. It was kind of your parents to give me a home. I don’t know what I would have done if they had refused my father’s request.’

  ‘Well they didn’t refuse,’ Ross grinned. ‘And Meg and Willie and I are all thankful for that. When a little more time has passed and your heart is less sore, I think you will be a ray of sunshine in all our lives. Now shall we eat the food Meg packed for us?’

  ‘Mmm, I’m ravenous!’ Rachel agreed. ‘Meg is so kind to me. I feel in my heart that she is just as trustworthy as Minnie.’

  `Then follow your instincts. Meg is one of the best. She deserves more happiness herself.’ As they ate his eyes wondered to the distant fields. Eventually he turned his head and stared morosely up at the hill behind them.

  `Are you worried about something, Ross?’ Rachel ventured as the silence lengthened between them.

  `What?’ He seemed startled, almost as though he had forgotten she was there. `No, no I’m not worried – just dreaming impossible dreams.’

  `Are your dreams impossible? Tell me about them?’ She lay back on the grass, shielding her eyes, her appetite assuaged, her skin caressed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of an ash tree.

  ‘The farm just over the hill will be vacant at the term. Mr Willis is giving up. He says prices are so bad he can’t pay the rent. He is probably right but I wish someone would just give me the chance to rent a farm of my own. If only I had enough money to buy a couple of cows and a few hens and a horse.’ He sighed. ‘I’m young. I’m strong. I work hard. If only …’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no point in dreaming. Mother will never let go of the purse strings now that Father is an invalid. She’ll keep Meg and me tied to Windlebrae as long as she lives. Speaking of Mother!’ He jumped to his feet. ‘Come on young Rachel. We had better hurry back and pretend we have both been slaving hard all day.

  ‘Ah, the fresh air has put a real glow in your cheeks, lassie,’ Cameron Maxwell remarked as soon as they entered the house. ‘You’ll need to get your work done in good time every Wednesday and have a bit of time to yourself.’

  ‘Father is right,’ Meg smiled. ‘And if Mother asks, you can tell her the bottom hen house has been cleaned out.’

  ‘But I couldn’t tell a lie! Or claim to have done the work you have done, dear Meg.’

  ‘No-o,’ Meg smiled conspiratorially, ‘I’m not suggesting you tell a lie, but there are ways and ways of saying things …’ Her dark brows rose humorously.

  ‘You are so good to me,’ Rachel chuckled in response. ‘One day I hope I can repay your kindness, Meg.’

  When Gertrude Maxwell returned home she was too tired and anxious to notice the glow of happiness which seemed to cloak Rachel like a mantle. It had been almost impossible to sell the butter. In the end she had had to let it go to Taffy for six pence a pound, and the eggs had not been much better. She had barely made enough to purchase the week’s flour and oatmeal and the other few essentials for her household. Taffy’s comments on her butter had not helped either.

  She had known the little Welshman since he moved to the town twenty years ago. His real name was David Lloyd but from the beginning he had been known as Taffy. Consequently he had put the name above the grocer’s and general store he had opened. Like herself he was getting older. Life was getting harder for him too. People wanted to buy food but many of them had no work, and therefore no money. He was a staunch Methodist and on that account alone he and Gertrude had always had a love-hate relationship, or maybe it was more of a cut and thrust. Despite her wariness Gertrude knew he was basically a fair trader and she respected his opinion, though she would never have admitted it.

  ‘It is a just man, I am, Mistress Maxwell,’ he would chant in his sing-song voice, and cocking his head on one side and with his forefinger wagging, he always added, ‘Not a generous man, maybe, but a just one.’ It was true too. Even Gertrude had to admit that. Why should he pay more for her butter and eggs when he could get them cheaper from a dozen other farmers’ wives, eager to sell their week’s produce.

  Apart from the poor price she had been forced to accept, Gertrude Maxwell was still reflecting on Taffy’s shrewd observation about the high quality of the butter she had sold to him two weeks ago.

  ‘You never grumbled about the quality before,’ she told him.

  ‘A-ah, no, but then you never let me have your best butter before – at least not recently. A mistake was it? Taffy got the wrong batch, eh? I expect you sell your best butter to the fellow Sedgeman? Fancies your daughter, does he? That’s what I hear ...’

  ‘I sell nothing to Peter Sedgeman!’ Gertrude bristled. ‘I would not have him and his grocer’s cart near my house.’

  ‘So, a fluke it was then, a fortnight ago? Beautiful butter it was. Churned to a grain and worked just enough – neither greasy nor still holding the water. Two pounds of it I was keeping for me and my girls.’

  Gertrude knew the butter had been good. She had been surprised by its quality. She had set Rachel to churn and work the butter, fully expecting to take over herself and give the girl a thorough tongue-lashing. She had kept a watchful eye on the dairy and been surprised at the easy rhythm with which the girl churned, and the songs she hummed as she worked. She had even gone down to the burn to get the coldest water she could obtain to keep the perfect grain of the butter. She had worked it as deftly and lightly as a woman twice her age. It was clear that she enjoyed the dairy work too, and Rachel O’Brian’s enjoyment of life at Windlebrae had no part in Gertrude’s scheme. She dispatched her to the fields to hoe turnips and made the butter herself after that. The galling thing was that Taffy had noted the difference.

  Chapter Five

  ‘YOU’LL HAVE TO MOVE out, girl.’ Gertrude issued the order abruptly as soon as supper was over. ‘We need the coldest room for setting the cream.’ Rachel met her fierce glare with startled eyes. Guilty colour flooded her cheeks. Had Mistress Maxwell discovered she had spent her afternoon idling with Ross in the sunshine? Where would she go? What would she do? Panic gripped her.

  ‘What do you mean, Gertie?’ Cameron asked sharply.

  ‘What I said. We need to keep the cream cooler. The butter must be the best we can make. And the milk cows need the clover pastures to get the best flavour.’

  ‘But you have never set the creaming pans in that wee room before.’

  ‘The market for butter has never been as bad before,’ Gertrude retorted. ‘People can’t afford to buy it. Besides there’s stuff called margarine in the Co-operative store. Taffy says some of his customers are buying it instead of butter because it keeps longer.’

  ‘So that’s it!’ Cameron exclaimed. ‘I wondered why you’ve been looking so grim since you came home.’

  ‘Grim!’ Gertrude’s eyes flashed, her mouth opened …

  ‘All right! All right, m’dear,’ Cameron soothed, holding up a placating hand. ‘Though I can’t see what difference it will make setting the cream in that wee room where Rachel sleeps. It’s no cooler than the dairy in summer. If that’s what you want I expect Rachel will soon clear out her bed and her box.’

  ‘It is what I want. If she wants to go on staying here she’ll have to sleep in the loft above the byre. It’s hard enough to keep our own family.’ She spoke as though Rachel was invisible.

  ‘Mother! She can’t sleep there!’ Meg and Ross protested in unison. Cameron’s eyes narrowed. There was so
mething irritating Gertrude. He knew the signs, but why did she vent her spleen on a bit of a lassie who more than earned her keep?

  Rachel flushed unhappily. She knew Gertrude did not like her, or want her here, but where else could she go?

  Ross had told her the farmers round about barely made enough to keep their families. He said the ground above the neighbouring farm rose steeply and their neighbour’s was the last farm up the glen which was suitable for keeping dairy cattle. He had explained that Windlebrae was better situated because it was on a south facing slope and it had more fertile land beside the burn which ran right through the farm.

  ‘Perhaps I should look for other work?’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘Indeed you will not, lassie,’ Cameron objected strongly. ‘We made a promise to your father. This is your home for as long as you want it.’ He glared at his wife. Her thin mouth grew even thinner.

  ‘The May term was the time to look for work if you’d wanted it,’ she snapped. ‘The twenty- eighth of November will be the next hiring day. You’ll need to get a bus into the town to get there.’

  ‘She will not be getting there. You will go to no hiring fair, lassie, not while I have breath in my body.’

  ‘Rachel can easily sleep in my room.’ Meg wondered how her mother could be so cold and unfeeling towards a girl who had no family of her own. The cream would not keep any better in Rachel’s tiny room, cheerless though it was. Why did she make her so unwelcome? Why did she want to get rid of her? Why did she dislike her so?

  Meg and Ross were especially kind and sympathetic in the weeks which followed. Cameron Maxwell did his best to liven up the atmosphere with his gentle humour. She was growing fond of the old man and she looked forward to Wednesdays when his wife went to market. Since that first afternoon in the High Meadow she and Ross had spent any brief spell of leisure together, finding contentment and an easy companionship.

  Sometimes they walked hand in hand wandering aimlessly, chattering like school children, then rushing back when Gertrude Maxwell’s return from market loomed perilously near. Often they had no more than half an hour together because the tasks she had set claimed all their time. They were happy just sitting in harmony on a grassy knoll, or racing breathlessly against a stiff breeze to find a blessed calm in the shelter of the ancient beech tree. They were kindred spirits, filling an unacknowledged loneliness in each other. They found pleasure in small things, like the simple perfection of a dainty flower, or the heady perfume of a hedgerow. The exquisite song of a bird above their heads hushed them instantly to silence. The simple delights of nature took on a new meaning when they were together.