Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  Albert’s obstinate expression was fixed. ‘I’ll only go in if you come in with me. I want to see for myself which one of us she wants now. If it’s you she turns to first, I’ll leave and never bother her again.’

  ‘You’d do that for her, would you? All right, Albert, we’ll go together, but don’t be disappointed if it’s not Bathie.’

  It was Bathie. Not the vital beautiful woman they both knew and loved, but a white, unconscious figure who couldn’t turn to either of them. Her dark hair was lank, her alabaster skin was almost transparent, the bedclothes scarcely moved when she breathed, but she was breathing.

  Albert’s heart turned over. ‘Are we too late?’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find a doctor.’

  Tears trickled down Albert’s haggard face. He didn’t touch his wife nor go near her – that would have been unfair to the other man – but he could imagine his hands stroking her brow and her eyes opening to reveal love for him. Oh, dear God, would her eyes ever open again, and if they did, would they show the same hatred and disgust he’d seen in them last? What a mess he’d made of his life – and hers – and if Bathie still wanted him he’d be true to her supposing he had to let Gavin castrate him, as he’d once threatened to do.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned round.

  ‘This is Dr Sangster.’ Gavin indicated the tall grey-haired man who had come in behind him.

  ‘She is your wife, I believe, Mr Ogilvie?’

  ‘Yes, doctor. Is she . . . ?’

  ‘She has been unconscious since she was brought in, and the likelihood of her pulling through is very slender.’ He continued in spite of Albert’s shuddering intake of breath. ‘She was soaked through and stone cold, so there’s the danger of pneumonia in addition to the shock her system has received. We haven’t yet found out what caused her collapse, and she could slip away without regaining consciousness.’

  Gavin stepped forward. ‘She’s had bad headaches for some time. I believed that they were caused by tension, but . . .’

  The older doctor nodded gravely. ‘It could be a tumour or a blood clot. On the other hand, it may have been hemicrania, a severe migraine, in which case, we will just have to worry about the effect of her exposure to the cold for so long. Four hours, you told me? I can tell you nothing more, meantime, Mr Ogilvie, so I suggest you go home.’

  ‘No, I can’t leave her, now I’ve found her.’

  The doctor stroked his chin. ‘I’ll allow you half an hour, but I’m afraid you will have to leave then.’

  ‘Dr McKenzie’s an old friend – can he stay with me?’

  ‘I hope he can persuade you to go when I come back, even if there’s no change.’

  Gavin gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll do my best, but he can be a stubborn devil when he likes.’

  He looked mournfully at Albert when the other man left. ‘There’s nothing we can do, you know. You’d be better to let me drive you home, to tell the girls we’ve found their mother, and we can come back later on, in the evening some time.’

  ‘I want both of us to be here when she comes out of it,’ Albert said, doggedly, ‘so she can tell us which one . . .’

  ‘I wish you’d put that stupid idea out of your head, man. I’ve told you already, it’s you she’ll want.’

  Albert shook his head, but said no more, and they sat on the chairs one of the nurses brought them. Their eyes were riveted on the woman in the bed, their bodies were tensed with the hope and fears inside them, but they watched for the next twenty minutes in silence.

  Gavin stretched out his legs to ease them. ‘We’ll have to leave soon, Albert, even if I’ve got to knock you senseless and carry you out.’

  ‘That’s the only way I’ll go.’ Albert folded his arms without moving his eyes.

  A few minutes later, they both sat up alertly, at a very faint movement of Bathie’s fingers.

  ‘She’s coming round,’ Albert breathed.

  ‘Don’t build your hopes up too high.’

  When Bathie’s eyes opened, two minutes later, they both leaned forward. Her eyes fell on Gavin, her mouth curving up slightly as she recognized him.

  ‘Gavin.’ It was the merest breath.

  ‘Yes, Bathie, it’s me.’

  Albert leaned back, feeling as though he’d received a kick in the stomach. His suspicions had been proved correct, after all. It was Gavin she’d turned to first.

  But her troubled eyes were moving restlessly, and he held his breath, hardly daring to hope that they were searching for him. He was longing to say, ‘I’m here, my love,’ but she had to make her own decision, without any prompting from him.

  When she located him eventually, no sound came from her bloodless lips as she formed the words, ‘Albert, I love you.’

  Almost choked with love and relief, he bent towards her and lifted her icy hand. ‘Thank you, my love.’

  Her bewilderment reminded him that she couldn’t possibly know what he was thanking her for, and he added hastily, ‘I love you, Bathie, more than you’ll ever know, and I’m thanking you for still loving me.’

  Gavin touched his elbow. ‘I’m happy for you both, Albert, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I’ll go now, to let your family know we’ve found her. It’s up to you, now, but don’t tire her, she’s very weak.’

  Albert didn’t move. Bathie’s eyes had closed again, but he kept holding her hand – she was going to recover.

  Dr Sangster came back, took one surprised look at the two hands clasped over the counterpane, and hurried forward.

  ‘Did she come round?’

  ‘She knows I’m here.’ Albert murmured. ‘She looked at me and told me . . .’ He choked and couldn’t finish.

  ‘How did your wife come to be wandering about outside in the middle of the night like that?’

  Keeping his emotions under a tight rein, Albert told him the whole story, holding nothing back, although he was bitterly ashamed of the events before and after the quarrel.

  Dr Sangster looked at him incredulously when he ended. ‘If you believed that Dr McKenzie loved your wife, it wasn’t very wise of you to tell her to go to him, was it?’

  ‘Wisdom’s not my strong point,’ Albert said sadly. ‘And she only got as far as the foot of the Gallowgate.’

  ‘Where does Dr McKenzie live?’

  ‘Froghall.’

  There was a short pause, then Dr Sangster’s mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘She was found at the opposite end of the Gallowgate, Mr Ogilvie, near Broad Street, so she couldn’t have been on her way to Froghall, not if your house is on the brow of the hill, as you told me earlier.’

  Albert’s face registered his astonishment. ‘She was going in the wrong direction. Thank you for telling me that, it’s made me feel much happier.’

  The doctor’s expression darkened suddenly. ‘Don’t feel too happy, Mr Ogilvie. Your wife’s condition is critical.’

  ‘I understand that, but my Bathie’s got stamina, and I can feel in my heart that she’s going to pull through.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. You may stay for perhaps another thirty minutes, on condition that you don’t talk to her.’

  ‘I promise I won’t do anything but pray for her,’ Albert vowed. ‘Thank you very much, Doctor.’

  It might be weeks before Bathie came home – she would come home, he was certain – but from now on, his life would be centred on his wife. She meant everything to him, and he would never stray again, no matter what temptations came his way. He had almost lost her through his own folly, but he had learned his lesson, and it was a lesson he could never forget.

  Let Gavin McKenzie keep on loving Bathie in his own quiet way. Let Flo marry her Will, if that was what she wanted. Let Gracie despise her father for the rest of his life, if she felt like it. Nothing else mattered, now he knew his wife still loved him, even after all he’d done.

  That was true love. Love that passeth all understanding, as it said in the Bible.

  Chapter Twenty-sevenr />
  ‘Albert, have you seen the Journal this morning?’ Bathie’s eyes were wide with alarm.

  ‘Not yet. Why?’

  ‘Read that.’ She handed over the newspaper.

  Fishing in his pocket for the spectacles he had to wear now for reading, Albert looked at the news splashed across the front page.

  ‘“Gallipoli evacuated”,’ he read out. ‘“January nineteenth.” Oh, that’s not a very good start to 1916, is it?’

  ‘Carry on.’ Her voice was urgent.

  ‘“After fierce fighting for weeks, British and ANZAC troops were forced to evacuate Gallipoli.”’

  ‘ANZACs, Albert. Will Dunbar could have been there.’

  ‘Aye, I see what you mean. Well, we’d better not let Flo see this, or she’ll worry herself sick.’ He folded the sheets of paper and placed them in the top drawer of the big dresser, just before his daughters came downstairs.

  The girls’ chattering prevented any further discussion between Bathie and her husband, but when he went down to the shop with Flo and Gracie, and Hetty and Ishbel were clearing up the breakfast things, she opened the drawer, extracted the newspaper and took it into the parlour with her.

  There was no mention of which section of the ANZACs had been involved, but an inner sense told her that Will had been there, and she prayed that he was still alive.

  When Flo came upstairs at dinnertime, she already knew. ‘A customer told me the ANZACs were at Gallipoli. Something’s happened to Will, I know – I dreamt he was screaming.’

  ‘He maybe wasn’t even there, and I’m sure he’s all right.’ Bathie tried to reassure her daughter, but inside she wasn’t so sure. Flo and Will had been like twins when they were small. Was it possible that one of them could tell if the other was in trouble? Were they telepathic?

  ‘Dear Mother, I’m meeting Charlie in Paris next Tuesday, at long last. It took a bit of doing, but we’ve got leave at the same time, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we’ll both be there. Sorry I haven’t time to write more, and I wish I could see you again, Your loving Vena.’

  Checking the date on the top of that day’s morning paper, Bathie realized, with a sinking heart, that Charlie should have been meeting his wife last week, and it was too late to pray that they’d both kept the appointment.

  Charlie’s letter arrived next day. ‘I’m spending a leave with Vena. It’s the first time we’ll have seen each other since I came here. I just wish all this business was over, and we were back home, for I’m heartsick of every damned thing here.’

  Week after week went past with no word from Will, and Flo’s face became pinched and white, her eyes staring out of deep, dark sockets with such hopelessness that Bathie longed to throw her arms round her to pet her like she used to. She held back only because she was afraid it would make Flo break down altogether.

  Donnie hadn’t written for some time, either, so his mother was concerned about him, too, but couldn’t voice her fears in front of poor Flo, it didn’t seem right.

  Sometimes, sitting on her own, Bathie reflected sadly on what the war had done to her family. Charlie and Donnie had been first to go, then Vena, then Jack Lornie. Will Dunbar had come back and had taken Flo’s heart with him when he left, and Gavin McKenzie had volunteered while she had still been so ill in hospital, and she’d never had the chance to say goodbye.

  Flo was wasting away, Ellie was living for letters from her husband, Hetty, at sixteen, was going out with all kinds of servicemen, and causing her mother a great deal of anxiety. Thank goodness Gracie wasn’t interested in boys and Ishbel was still too young to bother with them.

  Donnie’s letter, when it came, told her only that he was still alive, but there was still nothing from Will Dunbar. It was almost six months since Gallipoli, and poor Flo, who had steadfastly insisted that he couldn’t have been killed, was slowly beginning to accept that he would never write again.

  An unexpected letter from New Zealand made Bathie wonder why Mary was writing at this time, and she was almost afraid to open it. What would it do to Flo if Will was dead? Her fingers fumbled with the flap of the envelope and shook when she drew out the folded sheet of paper.

  ‘Dear Mrs Ogilvie, Will was wounded at Gallipoli. He is home now, but he has lost an arm, and I haven’t told him I’m writing, for he doesn’t want Flo to know. He said it would be better for her if she thought he’d been killed, but I know he still loves her. If she writes to him, maybe he’ll see how cruel he’s been. That is, if she still loves him. We were delighted when he wrote to us that he’d fallen in love with her, and I don’t want to see it finished like this. I hope you don’t mind me writing this way, but I thought it was the only thing to do. Your friend, Mary Dunbar.’

  Bathie’s relief forced her to sit down, but after only a moment, she jumped to her feet again and shouted up the stairs. ‘Flo, come down. This minute.’

  When her daughter came running into the kitchen, her face puzzled, Bathie handed her the letter, and watched her as she read it, her pale face crumpling before she burst into tears – from happiness that Will was still alive, or with sorrow for his affliction, her mother couldn’t be sure. Probably both.

  ‘Will’s alive, Flo, and it’s not surprising that he didn’t want you to know what had happened.’

  When the girl stopped weeping, she said, ‘I’m going to write to him this very minute, so I can catch the first post.’

  Albert emerged from the bedroom as Flo ran upstairs. ‘What’s wrong? I heard you shouting to her to come down.’ He spotted the envelope lying on the table and turned it over. ‘A letter from Mary? Oh, Will hasn’t been . . . ?’

  ‘No,’ Bathie said hastily. ‘He’s lost an arm, and he’s back home, but he didn’t want Flo to know anything about it. She’s gone to write to him, so she’ll be a bit late going to the shop. It’ll be all right, won’t it?’

  ‘Aye, we’re never that busy first thing. Poor Flo, but at least she knows he’s still alive.’

  ‘I hope he sees sense, though.’ Bathie was rather worried about the boy’s state of mind. She’d heard some rumours about amputees becoming changed personalities. ‘It’ll break Flo’s heart if he doesn’t answer her letter.’

  Over the next few weeks, the post brought short scrawls from Vena, Charlie and Donnie.

  ‘Up to my elbows in filth, as usual,’ Vena wrote. ‘The few days I had with Charlie in Paris were heaven, but it feels like years ago already.’

  Charlie’s letter told how tired he was of the fighting. ‘The days go past, and nothing changes. I miss Vena, and the time we had together was so short and sweet, everything felt worse when I came back here.’

  As he always did, Donnie had written only a few lines, but this was the shortest yet. ‘Dear Mother and Father, I am still well. Hope all of you are the same. Love, Donnie.’

  Bathie was thankful that he’d written at all, but wished that he would tell them something about himself. It wasn’t enough for his mother just to know he was well. What was he doing? What was he thinking? What was happening out there, wherever he was?

  Will didn’t answer Flo’s letter, so she wrote again, after waiting for almost two months. Her mother was pleased that the girl looked happier than she’d been before Mary’s letter came – her hollow, sunken cheeks had filled out again, her dark brown hair had recovered its sheen, her blue eyes smiled along with her lips when she laughed.

  ‘I’m just as determined as Will is,’ Flo told her mother after she posted the second letter. ‘If he doesn’t answer this time, I’ll keep on writing till the war’s finished, then I’ll go to New Zealand myself. He can’t brush me off so easily.’

  Bathie’s eyebrows went up. ‘It’s you he’s thinking of, Flo. He doesn’t want to tie you to a man with only one arm.’

  The big eyes clouded a little. ‘It must be terrible for him, but I’d marry him even if he’d no arms at all.’

  ‘I know you would.’ Bathie’s laugh was somewhat sad.

  ‘If h
e doesn’t write soon,’ Flo remarked, when there was still no letter from Will, ‘I’m going to stow away on a boat and go to him. Let him try telling me to my face that he’s stopped loving me and doesn’t want me any more.’

  ‘You know that’s not why he doesn’t write, and you can’t stow away in wartime.’ Bathie tried to make her see reason, but she couldn’t help smiling at the senseless things girls said when they were in love.

  A sailor friend of Hetty’s had taken some photographs of her and her sisters, so when he presented them to Hetty one night, she ran upstairs in great excitement.

  ‘He says he loves this one of me,’ she burst out, ‘and he’s going to get another one of it, and keep it with him when he goes back to sea. But Flo, there’s a really good one of you, so why don’t you send it to Will and . . .’

  ‘Oh, Hetty! That’s the very thing.’ Flo caused much amusement amongst the others when all she wrote on the back, in large letters, was, ‘I love you, Will’.

  When she ran to find an envelope for it, Bathie picked it up and studied it. As Hetty had said, it was a really good likeness of Flo. Her eyes were pensive and appealing, her mouth was slightly open and attractive fronds of dark hair framed her oval face. She looked beautiful, and Will Dunbar would surely fall in love with her all over again when he saw it. If this didn’t melt his heart, nothing would.

  All the next forenoon, Bathie felt in good spirits, and was very pleased when Ellie came in that afternoon carrying Kathleen.

  ‘Flo’s sent a pho . . .’ She stopped, dismayed by the glazed look in her eldest daughter’s eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Ellie took a yellow envelope out of her pocket, and handed it mutely to her mother whose heart contracted. She knew what the telegram would say before she read it.

  ‘Oh, no! Oh, Ellie! My poor, poor Ellie.’ Bathie moved quickly to embrace the young widow, then took the fatherless child in her own arms. ‘And poor little Kathleen,’ she crooned, ‘but Grandma’ll look after you both.’