‘You’re probably right,’ Peter agreed, looking down sadly at the shrunken figure in the bed. Gertrude Maxwell had never been a friend to him and he had little to thank her for – but she was Meg’s mother. ‘I will get back home to the children, but I will come again first thing in the morning.’ Meg walked with him to the door. He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.
‘Take care, Meg. It would break my heart if anything happened to you,’ he whispered softly.
It was Peter’s parting words which persuaded Meg to go to bed later that night. Her father refused to leave his wife’s side. Doctor Jardine had returned late in the afternoon.
‘I’ve given her something to ease the pain. I’ll be back in the morning. Any word of Ross’s return?’ he asked as he moved to the door.
‘No,’ Meg answered, unable to hide her own disappointment, ‘Only a telegram from Mr MacDonald promising to contact him.’
‘Pity,’ the doctor commented cryptically. Sleep claimed Meg almost immediately in spite of her anxiety. It was still very dark when she awoke but the February days were so short the nights seemed to last for ever. She lay listening to the creaks of the old house where she had been born, where she had lived most of her life. Her mind moved back to her childhood, but her thoughts were interrupted. She had left her bedroom door open in case her father called for her. Had she heard voices? She listened intently. Yes, at least it was her father’s voice apparently making a response now and then. Had Ross arrived? Meg reached for the matches and lit her candle. She had not undressed properly the night before and she pulled on her wool dress, shivering in the cold night air. She lifted a blanket from the bed and crept down to the kitchen. She had not been mistaken.
She paused in the doorway but there was no sign of Ross. In the glow from the fire she could see her father’s chair close beside the bed as he had requested. Her mother seemed to be speaking more coherently. Her voice was low and weak, and there were long pauses, with her father supplying a word of encouragement or comfort. Meg listened, then moved forward soundlessly. Cameron saw the flicker of her candle on the wall. He turned his head stiffly, lifting his one good arm he put a trembling finger to his lips, willing her not to speak. He pointed to a chair near the fire and Meg crept towards it.
Her mother seemed to be recalling events from the past. A shudder passed through Meg. Her father was listening intently to the low, halting voice. The mention of Josh’s name caught her attention, but what could her mother mean?
‘I cheated you, Cameron … I should have told you. You loved Josh like your own son?’
‘Aye. Everybody loved Josh. Dinna worry, Gertie.’
‘The good Lord took him … to pay for my sins. I loved him too well. I’m a wicked woman, Cameron.’
‘No, no lass …’
‘Ross?’ she whispered fretfully. ‘Must speak to him,’ She tried to rise up in her agitation and subsided with a long low moan.
‘Hush, hush, Gertie. He’ll be here when it’s light.’
‘Not – much – time – left for me. I sent him away. The money his grandfather left … only gave him fifty pounds. Didn’t tell him … it was … his inheritance.’
‘He’ll get the rest soon enough,’ Cameron comforted.
‘No. I-I gave fifty pounds to Josh. Shouldn’t have …not my money. He – he spent it … on pleasure …’ Her voice wavered and for a while there was silence. Again Cameron looked towards Meg but he put his finger to his lips when she would have spoken.
At length her mother began to speak again.
‘I was jealous of Cathie. Always happy, smiling. Everybody loved her …’
‘Aye,’ Cameron agreed sadly.
‘She never knew her bairn lived, Cameron … I hated Ross after … my Josh was taken,’ Her voice seemed stronger and her hand fluttered agitatedly. ‘I let her down... your own sister.’
‘It’s past. Rest now, Gertie. Dinna worry, lass.’
‘I do … I do. Wicked …to be jealous …’ She shivered. Cameron clasped her hand more closely but words seemed to burst from her colourless lips. ‘Terrible sin … sent Ross away … tricked him. His … birthright had to use it. Can’t go on …’
‘Hush, Gertrude. Dinna trouble your head about the farm. We’ll survive, never fear.’
‘Fear … Cameron …much to repent...’
‘Hush, rest now.’
‘Ross doesn’t know …a bairn.’ She was silent gathering strength. ‘Mhairi’s flesh … and Connor’s – made her suffer. She is …’ There was a strange guttural noise in her throat. Meg half rose, thinking she was choking. Afterwards she wondered if it was a sob. She had never seen her mother cry, not even when Josh died. Then more whispered, faltering words.
‘Beat her. Turned her out.’ Suddenly her voice seemed stronger. ‘The Lord sought His revenge. He can’t forgive my sins. So many …’
‘Don’t distress yourself, Gertie,’ Cameron urged anxiously, clasping her restless fingers in his good hand. ‘Remember what it says in your bible, lass? “Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.” There’s not many in this world without something to be forgiven.’ He sighed heavily. Meg realised he was very weary. She knew now that her mother had needed to talk. He had understood that. Would her mother die in peace now? Tears stung her eyes.
So many secrets hidden from them all. She thought her mother had gone to sleep at last but she uttered one last request, her voice weak. ‘Tell Connor’s lassie … sorry … Please forgive …’
Meg must have dozed in her chair. Her father’s words made her wake with a start.
‘I think she’s gone.’ His voice trembled. ‘Your mother is at peace at last, Meg.’
The next few hours passed in a blur for Meg. There was much to be done and she performed each task automatically. Ruth and Willie came together.
‘If Ruth will stay with Father and make the breakfast, I’ll help you with the milking, Willie,’ Meg said. ‘I’d like to.’ She waved away his protest. ‘It has to be done. The cows don’t stop milking however we feel. The girl can carry the pails to the dairy for me. I shall just be sitting. Come on …’
In the warmth of the byre Meg talked quietly to her brother as the milk thrummed steadily and frothed up the sides of the piggin. She had always enjoyed the satisfaction and the soothing routine of milking.
‘So,’ Willie said slowly, unable, or unwilling to take in Meg’s revelations. ‘You are telling me that Rachel’s father must have been Josh’s father also?’
‘It seemed so. After all Mother’s grudge against Rachel was unnatural from the beginning. She must have reminded her of the past. I don’t think I was meant to hear. Father may tell us more, but I don’t think he will. He is very loyal.’
‘Poor Ross,’ Willie sighed.
‘Now that I know the truth I can easily believe that Ross was Aunt Cathie’s baby. I remember Mother going away to stay. When she returned she had this tiny baby. Even then I thought it was strange. She had never grown fat or prepared baby clothes and the crib. You just accept whatever your parents tell you when you are young – or at least I did.’
‘No wonder Ross always felt Mother resented him.’
‘She seemed to think Ross was a blot on the Maxwell name because Aunt Cathie was not married. I suppose she pretended he was our brother to prevent us, and other people, asking questions.’
‘I wonder when he found out? It must have been a shock.’
‘Yes.’ Meg frowned. ‘He’s in for another shock if he comes back. Mother said he did not know Rachel was expecting a child.’
‘He will know nothing of young Conan then? I suppose we cannot blame him if he does not return at all.’
‘It’s all such a muddle! Mother wanted his forgiveness – and Rachel’s.’
It was just after midday when Ross cycled up the road to Windlebrae. His feelings were a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Everything was
the same – and yet different. He was dismayed at the signs of neglect.
When he entered the familiar kitchen Willie and Ruth were seated on one side of the table, Meg and Peter Sedgeman on the other, with his father – no, his uncle – at the head. The seat opposite him was empty. His eyes briefly skimmed over the circle of upturned faces, with their varying expressions of amazement, welcome and pleasure – but where was Rachel?
‘Ah, laddie, but I’m pleased to see you!’ Cameron Maxwell tried to rise but Ross gently pushed him back and clasped the gnarled old hand in both of his.
‘It’s good to see you too,’ he said huskily, striving to control a sudden flood of emotions. He looked to the far end of the table, his eyes speaking the question he could not voice.
‘Mother died during the night,’ Willie said gently. ‘Father and Meg were with her.’
‘I see.’ Ross’s voice was tight as he struggled with an unexpected knot in his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I could not get here any earlier.’
‘We are all pleased you have come now, Ross,’ Meg said warmly. ‘Come and have a seat.’ She stood up. ‘You must be tired as well as cold and hungry. Did you get a lift from the station? Peter says the roads are still treacherous, although it is thawing.’ At last Meg stopped chattering to catch her breath.
‘I’ve bought a bicycle. I brought it with me. I … Meg!’ He was staring at her rounded stomach now that she had risen and moved around the table. Meg’s pale face flushed a little but she smiled up at him.
‘I am married – to Peter. There’s so much to tell you, but now is not the time.’
‘Married! Well I’m glad for you, Meg. But where is Rachel? I wrote to her. She never replied. I wrote to you too, at Christmas.’
‘Rachel is living with us at Ardmill,’ Peter told him quietly. His eyes sought Meg’s and by mutual consent they left the rest of the news until later.
‘Have some soup and some bread,’ Meg urged. ‘You must be famished and Mother would not have wanted us all to starve.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. Eat up Ross,’ Cameron urged. Ruth served him a dish of soup and Meg brought more scones and butter and cheese.
‘I thought I was hungry.’ Ross shook his head in bewilderment, ‘but I don’t think I can eat anything.’
‘Oh you must!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘Afterwards we will leave you with Father. He has much to tell you and it will give me time to go home with Peter to see the children.’
‘Aye, lassie, you get back to Ardmill. You have been away long enough.’
‘But you will think over what we were saying, before Ross arrived, Father?’ Meg asked anxiously.
‘Yes, please do,’ Peter urged. ‘We have plenty of rooms and you are very welcome to come and live with us.’
‘Aye, I have thought about it already,’ Cameron said hastily. ‘And I thank ye kindly for your offer, Peter.’ He turned to look at Willie and Ruth. ‘But this is Willie’s place now, and Ruth says she’s willing to move in here, and look after me. This is where I would like to stay for the rest of my time.’
Meg met Ruth’s eyes anxiously.
‘I am sure, Meg.’ Ruth assured her quietly. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time with your father since you left Windlebrae. We get along fine together, and it’s better for Willie to be where the cattle are. Besides, my own father has been spending more and more time down here. I reckon he will be pleased to take over the cottage. I know he will always keep some of his interests in the city, because he is a city man. He will always want to go back there now and then, but he does enjoy the country, and seeing more of his grandchildren.’
Meg nodded, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Peter took her arm.
‘Come on home, Meg. The children and Rachel will be longing to see you. We’ll come back tomorrow,’ he promised.
When they were alone together Cameron and Ross had a long talk. Ross asked all the questions he had been longing to ask about his parents. Cameron answered patiently and truthfully.
‘Your Grandfather Ross left you all he had – two hundred pounds. I tried to keep it for you,’ Cameron told him. He was reluctant to admit Gertrude had given some of it to Josh.’
‘I have had fifty pounds already. I have scarcely spent any of it. I would like to buy a few cows of my own if Mrs Beattie will agree.’
‘Have a look in the bottom drawer of the bureau. There’s a false bottom in it. Press the raised bit. It releases the spring.’
‘I ought to send a telegram to Mrs Beattie, to let her know I am staying for the funeral. Maybe this is the time to write a letter and tell her the truth about myself.’ He shrugged dejectedly. ‘If she rejects me as well then there will be no point in returning.’
As he said that he realised how much Lochandee had come to mean to him. It would be a terrible blow if Alice Beattie rebuffed him. In his heart he did not believe she would. He felt he had earned her trust and respect. She was not a hypocrite about religion, though her standards were high and she was a staunch supporter of the Kirk.
‘What do you mean – if she rejects you? As well?’ Cameron was frowning at him. ‘Why should anyone reject you? Cathie was a good girl. It was fate prevented her getting married before you were born,’ he said defensively. ‘Fate.’ He stared wistfully into space ‘Take whatever life has to offer. Make the best out of it that you can. It’s what I tried to do,’ he added almost to himself, then he looked Ross in the eye. ‘Now open that cash box and see what there is left. There should be a bit put by for our funerals as well.’
‘Very well,’ Ross nodded. ‘But Rachel rejected me you know – and Meg. I wrote to both of them. They never replied.’
As he talked he fumbled around in the drawer of the bureau amongst the papers, but suddenly a small flap opened and in the cavity he saw a cash box and a few letters. He drew them out and carried them to the table beside Cameron Maxwell.
It was Cameron who opened the box. While he was doing so Ross thumbed idly through the papers. He gasped aloud.
‘These are the letters I sent to Rachel, and here’s the one to Meg. They have never been opened!’
Cameron glanced up. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. Eventually he raised his eyes to Ross’s.
‘I didn’t know, laddie. They must have come after Meg and Rachel had moved to Ardmill. Gertrude was very … bitter then. She must have put them away and forgotten.’
They both knew she had not forgotten, but there was little to be gained now that Gertrude Maxwell was dead. What had Rachel thought of his silence all this time? Had she forgotten him? He had an overwhelming desire to see her.
‘There’s only seventy five pounds left … Take it, Ross, and keep it safe.’
‘You fed and clothed me all those years,’ Ross said quietly. ‘I cannot …’
‘And you worked long before you left school. No, laddie this money is yours.’
‘Where is the money for your funerals then?’ Cameron frowned. Slowly he pushed two envelopes across the table, each marked in thick black ink. One, still sealed, bore the name Cameron Maxwell. The other, Gertrude Maxwell, had been opened and emptied.
‘She said things were bad. We’ve been paying a neighbour’s lassie to help since Meg left. Gertrude must have used the money to pay the debts. She would think she could replace it when things got better …’ He sighed and bowed his head wearily. Ross put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
‘I wish I had known the truth, then I’d have understood … things. But you could have put me in an orphanage and I’m grateful you didn’t do that. What money should I have had then? None. So you use some of this money to pay for the funeral, and whatever you need.’
Reluctantly Cameron accepted some of the money. He kept shaking his head.
‘Let me help you to lie down,’ Ross said. ‘You must be exhausted. A sleep would do you good. I saw a new red telephone kiosk at the crossroads. I will cycle down there and send a telegram to Mrs Beattie.’
‘Aye, you do that, Ross. I am m
ore tired than I thought.’
When Alice Beattie received the telegram from Ross her heart sank.
‘He has arrived safely,’ she told Beth and her father who were clearly waiting for news as the telegraph boy cycled away. ‘He was too late but he is staying to the funeral. Will you be able to help with the milking for a few more days, Andy?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Indeed I can, Mrs Beattie. I am enjoying being back on the farm again.’ Alice Beattie made no comment. Her mind was on Ross. The telegram had said, “Letter following.” Why did he need to write her a letter if he was coming back in a couple of days? Did his mother’s death mean other changes? Would he be needed there?’ Her heart pounded. She liked Ross Maxwell and Lochandee needed him. She needed him.
Chapter Fifteen
AFTER ROSS HAD SENT the telegram he looked around him as he came out of the telephone kiosk. The greyness of the February day was relieved by a glimmer of golden-edged light on the horizon. It would be a keen frost again when darkness fell. He knew he ought to return to Windlebrae without delay but he longed to see Rachel again.
He peddled along the snow rutted roads, scrunching the remaining icy pockets as he went. It was a good three miles further to Ardmill from the crossroads but he had reached the village almost before he was aware of it. He scanned the row of shops and cottages on either side of the deserted street. He saw the shoemaker sitting in the window, making the most of the remaining daylight.
Sam Dewar glanced up, aware of movement outside. He saw the tall young man peddling slowly, so slowly that he almost wobbled off balance. Suddenly he put both feet on the ground, waving an arm and calling excitedly to someone.
Rachel had been gathering in the washing. It had never dried all day. She carried the heavy basket on one hip as she made her way over the icy puddles at the end of the short track between Sam’s premises and Peter’s. She looked up at the sound of her name. She nearly dropped the washing basket at the sight of Ross.
The Laird of Lochandee Page 16
