* * *
Rachel had a fortnight of being pampered by Alice and Beth and spoiled by Ross and Conan. At every opportunity they crept up to her bedroom to sit with her. Conan loved to lie on the bright rag rug in front of the bedroom fire with his feet in the air. He would lay watching the flames dance, or mimicking the shadows on the walls as the short winter days drew to a close. Beth kept the fire alight both day and night to drive away the bleak February chill. She carried up bowls of the chicken soup which the midwife considered the very best restorative for women in Rachel’s circumstances.
Alice had prevailed upon Sandy Kidd’s wife, Dolly, to help in the house and with the washing. The couple welcomed the extra money and Dolly was a brisk and cheerful worker. Although Alice never complained and never admitted to growing old, Rachel worried about her when she looked tired and drawn.
‘The sooner I am up and back to the milking and the buttermaking, the better,’ she said one night to Ross. ‘I think Mistress Beattie is doing far too much while I am lying in bed being treated like a lady. She looks pale and tired.’
‘We all try to spare her,’ Ross said, ‘but now we have extra cows the milking takes a long time, especially without you. You seem to have a natural instinct for handling the most nervous animals. Anyway we would never have been able to afford Dolly’s help in the house if we had not increased the milk we have to sell.’
‘I know,’ Rachel sighed. ‘I shall soon be back to work.’
‘I have heard of one or two farmers installing machines to milk the cows,’ Ross told her. Rachel stared at him, then she laughed aloud at such an idea.
‘A machine will never be able to milk cows – not properly, like we do.’ She chuckled at the thought but Ross looked serious.
‘I saw Jim MacDonald’s son at Lockerbie market. He said he was having one installed.’
‘But how would a machine know if a cow had finished milking? What if one had an infection in her udder? Or if it was sore? How would it know if one teat needed more milking than the rest? No, I don’t believe it’s possible.’
Ross shrugged. If a machine had been invented which could milk cows properly it would save a lot of time.
Barely a year later, the subject of a milking machine arose again. Alice was dismayed. She was not as young and fit as she used to be and Rachel was expecting another baby. Margaret would be just sixteen months old by June, when the new baby was due.
Alice loved children but there was no doubt they made a lot of work and frequently a lot of noise and these days she seemed to get so tired. Rachel and Ross had noticed this and once more Ross broached the subject of buying a milking machine.
‘Could we afford one,’ he asked Alice.
‘Would it be any good?’ she countered, sharing all Rachel’s misgivings about the welfare of their precious cows. One of their neighbours had gone bankrupt and rumour had it that it was due to his new machines and modern ideas. Even so Alice had purchased a motor car at his farm sale so Ross knew she was not entirely against changes.
‘I could drive you over to see the MacDonalds’ machine. We could see it working,’ he suggested. ‘To tell you the truth I would like to see one myself before we wasted any money or risked the health of the cows. Did you hear the Factor is proposing to raise all the rents because the estate needs more money?’
‘I had not heard that, no,’ Alice admitted slowly, ‘but it does not surprise me. The Factor never comes round to see the farms now, but I have heard that the young Laird spends most of his time in France and has no idea what his Factor is up to.’
‘Ah, but the Factor does inspect our land,’ Ross warned darkly. ‘He does it slyly. Sandy and I have seen him riding along the road in his motor car, stopping to peer over the hedges. At other times we have seen him ride around the neighbouring farms on his horse and he always rides along our boundary. If he could find fault I fear he would take his revenge.
He came twice in one week when we were digging drains in the top meadow but he did not venture onto The Glens of Lochandee. I reckon he’s afraid of getting another shovel laid around his ears. After all he never knew who had hit him, did he?’
‘I had not thought of that,’ Alice admitted. ‘Dolly told me months ago that he had attacked a young woman on the estate but I couldn’t really believe it then. I can’t believe the Laird lets him get away with it.’
‘He’s never here to know what’s going on.’ Ross’s fists clenched and Alice saw the muscle throbbing in his lean jaw, before he muttered, ‘He deserves to be hanged.’
‘There seems to be no justice for men like that. Anyway, back to business. I can’t remember when the estate last paid for any of the repairs, as they agreed to do when we pay our rents on time. It takes all the spare money we can make to keep The Glens of Lochandee in good repair, but I would hate to see it with the gates hanging off and the fences broken, not to mention slates sliding off the roofs.’
‘Is that what is troubling you?’ Ross asked. ‘I know there’s something on your mind.’
‘It’s not money exactly,’ Alice sighed again. ‘I suppose I’m just getting old and tired. I have a small legacy which my grandmother left me for my own old age. I have never needed it yet, but I worry about the future for you and Rachel. I wonder whether the Factor will renew the lease when it runs out.’
‘Surely the Laird cannot sell all the farms on the estate? He must need income from the rents?’
‘Maybe he wants the money, but he does not show any other interest. I have been thinking that I ought to show Rachel how to keep the accounts. My concentration is not as good as it used to be and it’s better if a wife understands about the money. Rachel is very sensible about such things.’
‘She is,’ Ross agreed readily. ‘Minnie Ferguson taught her to be thrifty and she is good with figures.
‘I will suggest it to her then,’ Alice nodded. ‘We could go through the accounts together and it would take the weight off her feet now she’s expecting another child.’ Alice was relieved. She had wondered whether Ross would resent his wife taking over the accounts, even though Rachel had kept a careful record of the butter and eggs which she sold in the village. These sales had grown steadily. They paid for the wages of Dolly and Sandy and Beth, as well as their own household expenses and Alfie’s food and clothes. In her heart she knew they were better off than most of the other farms round about. It was her own lack of energy, and her anxiety over the Factor, which troubled her.
A letter arrived from Meg. It was too early for her usual fortnightly news and it bore the ominous black edging around the envelope. It was addressed to Ross. Rachel’s heart sank as he slit it open.
‘Ah,’ he sighed sadly. ‘It’s my father – I mean my Uncle …’
‘The man you regarded as a father?’ Alice prompted gently.
‘Yes. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.’
‘Poor Mr Maxwell,’ Rachel sighed. ‘He was a good man. Meg and Willie will be so sad, and Ruth and the children.’
‘I must go to the funeral …’ Ross frowned, his eyes resting worriedly on Rachel’s rounded stomach.
‘I shall be all right,’ she assured him. ‘You will only be gone two days.’
‘Perhaps Rachel could drive you to the station after the morning milking?’ Alice suggested. ‘I will come too. I have some business to attend. We could take Margaret with us. Beth would manage Conan until we get back.’
On the way home Alice held Margaret on her knee and thought how fortunate she was for a woman who had no family of her own. The little girl curled up on her lap, her rosy cheek against her breast. She was such a pretty child Alice thought happily, with her fair curls, her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, but it was her contented nature and happy smile which made her so endearing. Alice sighed. Twice the lawyer had asked her if she was sure she was making the right decision.
‘I am sure,’ she told him firmly. ‘I never see, or hear from my cousins in Canada, and I should have had to leave
The Glens of Lochandee long before now if Ross and Rachel had not helped me.’ She had known Jacob Niven for more years than she cared to remember. He had been her grandfather’s lawyer, and then her father’s.
‘I will have the documents drawn up and send them to you for a last appraisal then,’ he promised. ‘Before you leave I will introduce you to my son, Jordon. I am retiring gradually. He is taking over any new clients and some of the existing ones. You never seem to get any older, Alice so I expect he will probably be the one to deal with your affairs when the time comes.’
‘You always were one to flatter, Jacob,’ Alice smiled. ‘I just wish you were right. I have felt my age recently. It does not help when there is so much unhappiness in the country either. We thought everyone would live in peace and contentment when the war ended.’
‘We did indeed,’ Jacob sighed, ‘But it has not turned out that way. Who would have believed there would be thousands of men out of work and whole families going to bed hungry. The discontent does not end in Britain either. It’s much the same in Europe, especially Germany. I’m told they have built a new battleship. We expected all that would end with the war … Ah, here comes Jordon. Let me introduce you to Mistress Alice Beattie from The Glens of Lochandee. This is Jordon my son, and my successor.’
The young man shook hands and greeted Alice politely.
‘Glens of Lochandee, you said? Are you having trouble fighting for your tenants’ rights as well then?’
‘No, no,’ his father frowned irritably. ‘Mrs Beattie came to make her will. You are not having trouble with the Laird, or his Factor are you, Alice?’
‘No …not yet anyway,’ Alice frowned. ‘So it is true then? They are putting some of the tenants out? We had heard rumours, but surely if they are paying their rents and the lease has not expired …’
‘The Factor makes out a case that they are unsatisfactory tenants. We have fought for two and won. We do know he has put three other tenants out of their farms though, and sold the land with vacant possession.’
‘I see …’ Alice looked anxious.
‘I’m sure you have no cause to worry, my dear,’ Jacob Niven said reassuringly. ‘Your family has been in The Glens of Lochandee for generations and it has always been one of the best run farms on the estate.’
‘But it is the best farms they are selling,’ Jordon insisted. ‘They make the most money. The Laird does not seem to care what happens to his estates. He spends most of his time in France and leaves his wife and children at home.’ The young lawyer spoke with contempt.
‘It would break my heart if they refused to renew the lease and we had to leave,’ Alice said anxiously. ‘It would upset Ross and Rachel too. They have grown to love Lochandee almost as much as I do. They work so hard, for little return.’
‘Well, you come to me if you need advice on such matters,’ Jordon smiled as he held the door open for Alice. ‘There’s no point in writing to the Laird anymore. Apparently he doesn’t even bother to open the letters. He just leaves his Factor to deal with them. There’s nothing I enjoy better than a confrontation with that obnoxious Bertrand Elder.
The following night Ross stepped down from the train and looked around, thankful to be almost home again. He was disappointed when there was no sign of Rachel with the car. He managed to get a lift almost to Lochandee village but he still had a good three miles to walk, into the village and then up to the farm. He was tired and hungry, and rather sad.
As he drew nearer he was dismayed to see the cows had not yet been turned back into the fields after milking. It was a fine May evening and the milk yields always increased when the cows ate the fresh spring grass. The milking should have been finished hours ago.
There was so much hustle and bustle in the house that no one seemed to notice he had returned. Then he saw Mrs Semple, the midwife, hurrying up the stairs with a white enamel bowl in her hands. His heart hammered against his ribs. The baby was not due for another three or four weeks. He dumped his bag and hurried upstairs but Alice met him at the top, her face pale.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded urgently. ‘Rachel …?’
‘Mrs Semple is with her.’ Alice’s voice was low and strained. ‘Rachel slipped in the dairy while she was reaching up to empty a pail of milk into the D pan above the cooler.’
‘But Alfie always does that for her …’
‘I know, I know …He had been delayed. I suppose Rachel felt she could manage.’ Alice passed a harassed hand across her brow.
‘Are you all right?’ Ross asked, frowning.
‘Fine, just tired,’
‘I’m longing for a drink of tea,’ Ross lied. ‘Will you have one with me?’
‘In a minute,’ Alice nodded wearily.
‘I’ll make it then. I don’t suppose that dragon of a midwife will allow me in to see my wife first?’
‘No. I-I’m afraid the baby is coming. If anyone can save it Mrs Semple will, but she has sent for Doctor MacEwan to come and she doesn’t usually want any men around when she is attending a birth.’
‘I see …’ Ross knew his face had paled. Please God let Rachel be all right, he prayed silently. His first thoughts were always for Rachel.
Two hours later the long shadows of the May evening crept over the landscape. The cows had been milked and were grazing peacefully in the pastures, birds sang their final evening chorus as they settled down for the night. Suddenly a puny cry came from the bedroom. Ross and Alice stared at each other. The thin wail continued. Ross felt he had waited an interminable time. Alice sank onto the window seat to wait but he paced back and forth restlessly and almost collided with Mrs Semple when she appeared at the bedroom door.
‘Ah, Mr Maxwell … The bairn is alive, but frail. A wee lassie. I am expecting Doctor MacEwan.’
‘Rachel? My wife …?’
‘Exhausted. She – she’s a wee bit emotional. Only to be expected in the circumstances. I …I suggest you might want to have the wee one christened? Without delay …’
‘Oh, Mistress Semple!’ Alice hurried to her side. ‘Is she …? Is she so weak?’
‘She’s a mite early and none too robust – but she gave her wee lungs a good exercising. I reckon she’s a fighter, like her mother. I’d just feel happier if ….Ah,’ she gave a sigh of relief as they all heard the honking and spluttering of the doctor’s car. He was the worst driver in the village. Everyone knew when he was approaching but tonight the noise was a welcome sound.
Half an hour later he assured Mrs Semple she had done all she could for mother and child.
‘The rest is in the hands of God, but I will look in again tomorrow. The wee mite has come into a restless world, and no mistake. The strike is to start at midnight tonight – the first General Strike in British history.’ He shook his head bewilderedly. ‘And yet I canna blame some o’ the men.’
The new baby was christened Bridget Mhairi the following day, the third of May 1926. Although small and a slow feeder, Rachel coaxed her daughter with tender patience. As each day passed she held tenaciously to life. By the time the General Strike had been called off nine days later, Doctor MacEwan felt she had a good chance of survival.
Although Bridie Maxwell remained dainty as the months passed she grew in strength and stamina and her happy nature and wide eyed interest more than made up for her lack of size.
Chapter Twenty-two
RACHEL LOOKED FORWARD TO Meg’s weekly letters but at the end of July there were two unexpected items of news.
‘Willie and Ruth are planning to move to England,’ she read aloud. ‘They have given notice to the Laird. Their tenancy at Windlebrae ends at the November term.’
‘Giving up the tenancy?’ Ross was so startled he held his spoonful of porridge poised in mid-air.
‘They intend to rent a farm in Yorkshire or Lincolnshire. Ruth’s father thinks there will be better opportunities for Willie and his family. Apparently the landlords are welcoming Scottish tenants who are willing to keep cattle, especi
ally dairy cows. They are more able to pay their rents.’
‘Well good for Willie,’ Ross’s slow smile crinkled his blue eyes. ‘but I’m more than happy where I am – so long as the Factor leaves us in peace.’
‘Mmm … me too,’ Rachel nodded, turning back to her letter. ‘Oh dear, Meg has been looking after Sam Dewar.’ She looked up from the closely written pages. ‘He’s the cobbler who lives next door,’ she explained for Alice Beattie’s benefit. Her eyes clouded. ‘He has been very ill. He was such a shy, kind man,’ she sighed. ‘Conan adored him. He made his first tiny shoes.’
‘Is he recovering?’ Alice asked. She always took an interest in family news, possibly because she had none of her own.
‘The doctor wanted Sam to go away to convalesce to keep him away from his clogger’s bench for a while. Meg says he refuses to go amongst strangers. It is awful for him being so alone when he is ill.’
‘Yes,’ Alice agreed softly. She could have been like the old cobbler if it had not been for Ross and Rachel. She looked upon them as her family now. She could see how much it troubled Rachel to think of the old man staying alone.
‘You could invite Mr Dewar to stay here for a short holiday,’ she suggested. ‘It may not be the quiet retreat the doctor had in mind but it would be a change for him.’
‘How kind you are!’ Rachel beamed. ‘I wonder if he would be able to travel? I would love to see him again. It is generous of you to offer.’
Rachel was dismayed to see how Sam Dewar had aged when she met him at the station with Alice’s car. He was thin and stooped and his grey hair was almost none existent now. At first Conan was too shy to talk and Sam seemed exhausted as he sat hunched in the front seat beside Rachel.
‘I never thought I would ride in a motor car,’ He said at length.
‘I never thought I would learn to drive one,’ Rachel chuckled. ‘I was terrified at first.’
‘You drive very competently, doesn’t she Mr Dewar?’ Alice approved.
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