Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  ‘She shook hands with Vena, but she gave Charlie a long kiss on the mouth. I didn’t think anything much about it at first, but she went on and on, like he was her lover, and we were all embarrassed.’

  Bathie’s chest felt tight, afraid of what might be coming, but she had to read on.

  ‘When she stopped, she said, “That’s just to remind you, Charlie”, and he went red as a beetroot. I don’t know what she meant. He must have been quite young when she left Aberdeen, so they couldn’t have been having a love affair, but she kept looking at him the whole evening. I could tell he was very uncomfortable about it, and he hasn’t been here since.

  ‘I’ve been trying to puzzle it out, and I think she must have done something to him when he was a boy, something he doesn’t want to remember. Is that why you sacked her? I can’t ask Martin, for he wouldn’t know, but he was very angry at her that night. I’m sorry to pour it out to you, Mother, but there was nobody else, and I feel a lot better now I’ve written it all down. Lots of love, Hetty.’

  Bathie let the last page slip from her shaking fingers. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock. She’d known all along that Bella Wyness could never change, but it had been Hetty she’d been afraid for, and she’d forgotten about her fears by the time Charlie went over there.

  Thankful that Gracie had gone upstairs, she folded the letter and returned it to its envelope, then went through to the bedroom and put it under her pillow. By good luck, a letter from Donnie had arrived by the same post, so she could say it was the only one the postman had delivered.

  She read Donnie’s scrawl, then went over to the fireplace, but the warmth did nothing to thaw the icy fury that gripped her. If thoughts could kill, Bella Wyness would be dropping dead that very minute at the other side of the world.

  At dinnertime, she couldn’t give Albert any indication that anything was wrong, not while Gracie and Ishbel were at the table with them, but she meant to tell him in bed, if she didn’t get a chance before that.

  Scanning Donnie’s letter quickly, Albert said, ‘He never tells us much, does he?’ His eyes narrowed when he glanced at his wife. ‘You look a bit peaky, my love. The excitement of Flo having her baby has been too much for you. If you don’t watch, you’ll be having one of your headaches again.’

  She realized then that she already had a bad headache. She’d been concentrating so much on what Hetty had written that she hadn’t noticed before. Now she became aware that her whole body was aching, her very thoughts were aching, with the worry and alarm churning inside her.

  ‘Bathie?’ Albert half rose from his seat in concern.

  ‘I do have a bit of a headache,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s nothing at all.’

  ‘Put your feet up and take things easy,’ he ordered, then turned to Gracie. ‘Stay with your mother this afternoon.’

  ‘Stop fussing,’ Bathie snapped. ‘I don’t need Gracie, or anybody else.’ How could she face the girl all afternoon with this on her mind?

  When they went out, she let her thoughts drift back to the day she’d dismissed Bella Wyness. She could still see the sneering face and untrammelled breasts as the girl stood in front of her, laughing, and remembering how guilty eight-year-old Charlie had been, when he admitted what Bella had made him do. She could imagine his shame when it had been recalled to him in that vile manner in Hetty’s house.

  With a sickening lurch of her stomach, it came back to her that Albert had been involved with Bella, too, although that hadn’t come out until much later. He’d said that he had only ‘tickled her up’ and had ‘stopped short of going all the way’, but she couldn’t believe, now, that he had held back if he’d been roused enough to make advances in the first place.

  She was certain that he’d betrayed her just as fully with Bella Wyness as he’d done years later with the widow in Queen’s Road, and God knows how many others in between that she knew nothing about.

  She struggled out of her half-doze, and tried to sit up, but her head was throbbing so painfully that she abandoned the attempt. Calm down, she told herself. She’d be bringing on another heart attack as well if she wasn’t careful. Albert’s philanderings were over and done with, and Charlie was old enough to deal with his own problem. In any case, that evil woman could do nothing more to hurt him.

  At quarter to five, when she came up to start preparing the supper, Gracie was pleased to find her mother sleeping peacefully, and didn’t disturb her. During the evening, Bathie found Albert’s anxious eyes on her several times, and smiled to reassure him. She couldn’t say anything with Gracie in the room, and was dreading what he’d say when she gave him Hetty’s letter to read. Maybe she shouldn’t let him see it, after all.

  Her headache was growing fiercer by the minute, so she decided to take two aspirins before she went to bed, and not to tell Albert anything. She couldn’t cope with his anger as well as her own.

  Hetty’s next letter, which Bathie opened with trembling fingers, just enthused about Flo’s baby, so a great tide of relief washed over her. Charlie had seemed his usual self in the letter which had arrived a few days before, and it must have all been a storm in a teacup.

  The new grandchild had been named Leonard – L, as Gracie had predicted – and Bathie, thankful that her headache had not recurred, looked forward to the coming of Ellie’s baby.

  A few nights later, however, she was dismayed by a sharp pain which started at her temple when Joe Ferris told her he’d rented a house in George Street. She’d known that Gracie would be leavings and it was stupid to be so upset.

  ‘We can go ahead with our wedding plans,’ Joe was telling Albert. ‘Now we’ve got the house, there’s nothing to wait for.’

  ‘Mother’s not fit to have the wedding here,’ Gracie said, hastily, ‘so we thought maybe one of Wiseman’s Rooms – I’ve heard they do a lovely meal, and we don’t need anywhere big, there’s not that many people.’

  ‘Just my mother and father, and my young sister,’ Joe put in. ‘That’s all on my side.’

  ‘We’ll invite Donnie and Helene, if they’ll come,’ Gracie went on, ‘and Ellie and Gavin and Kathleen. It won’t be till after her baby’s born, so they should manage, and there’ll be plenty of us to take turns in looking after it. Then there’s Mother and Father, and Ishbel, that’s eleven, plus Joe and me.’

  ‘But that makes thirteen,’ Bathie pointed out anxiously. ‘It’s an unlucky number.’

  Gracie laughed. ‘That’s superstition, Mother, and Donnie and Helene likely won’t come, so that’s only eleven.’

  Joe found that Wiseman’s Rooms were fully booked until well after the New Year, so the wedding was set for the 18th January, 1922, still more than eight weeks away.

  When a telegram boy delivered a telegram the following morning, Bathie was extremely flustered.

  ‘Ellie’s had another daughter,’ she told Gracie. ‘And that means I’ll have to go to Edinburgh.’

  Her agitation made Gracie giggle. ‘Not for a week yet, and you’ll be in your element fussing over Ellie and the baby. Will I go and tell Father, or do you want to do it?’

  ‘You can go. I’m still shaking.’

  Picking up the telegram, Gracie took a quick glance at it. ‘You didn’t tell me the rest. “Ellie fine, Morag perfect”.’

  She looked up, beaming broadly. ‘Morag McKenzie. What a lovely name. It’s exciting, isn’t it, seeing the names the babies get. Vena’s one’ll have to be N.’

  Vena, Bathie thought, as Gracie went out. It was Vena and Charlie who were the cause of her worrying, not the journey to Edinburgh, although she’d been fooling herself it was that. Would Vena’s body be capable of producing a healthy child, or would there be a repetition of the first time? Had she been jealous when Bella Wyness kissed Charlie, and had she found out what had happened between them years and years ago?

  And what about Charlie, himself? Would he be content to ignore what Bella had done to him recently, or was he planning some horrible revenge on her for
what she did to him when he was a child? He was so quiet, but he could be very deep at times, and God knows what desperate measures he might take if he was driven to it.

  Her headache had started again, and she put her hands up on each side of her forehead, as though her fingers could massage away the inner torture. Bewildered by the suddenness of the onset, and how quickly it gathered momentum, she also became aware of a paralysing pain spreading across her chest.

  She’d have to do something – get an aspirin – shout for Gracie to get the doctor. Closing her eyes, she dug her fingers into her temples. She doubted if she could move, but had to get something to relieve the agony, for she couldn’t bear it much longer. She staggered blindly to her feet, found she was unable to stand and grabbed at the table for support, but her fingers, like her legs, had lost their power.

  Gracie heard the muffled thud as she was coming up the stairs, and ran panic-stricken into the kitchen where she found her mother sprawled on the floor. She struggled vainly to lift the unconscious woman, then raced down to fetch her father.

  ‘Mother’s fainted, or something,’ she shouted as she opened the side door of the shop, and Albert sped past her.

  His gut twisted when he saw his wife lying so still, but he gathered her up in his arms to carry her through to the bedroom, pushing Gracie aside as she reached the landing. ‘Get the doctor! Quick!’

  Laying his wife down gently on the unmade bed, he pulled the blankets up over her, then ran back to the kitchen for the smelling salts. The glass stopper seemed to be jammed, and he muttered, ‘Come out, damn you’, his trembling fingers fumbling, fumbling. At last, he waved the dark green bottle under her nose, but there was no reaction.

  ‘Oh, God!’ he moaned. ‘Come on, Bathie! Please?’

  After a minute, he flung the bottle aside, and began to rub her limp hand, but still there was no response. What else could he do? Brandy! That should bring her round. But when he tried to force the glass between Bathie’s white lips, the liquid just dribbled down her chin.

  Sinking to his knees, he laid his head on the bed, great shuddering sobs breaking from his throat, hot tears falling on his dead wife’s hands.

  Part Four

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  On the morning after the funeral, Gracie still hadn’t made up her mind. Should she tell, or shouldn’t she?

  The letter she’d found in her mother’s drawer had shocked her almost as much as her mother’s death. She’d thought that the jet brooch would be ideal to fasten the neck of her blouse, and had gone into her parents’ bedroom about an hour before the service was due to begin. She knew exactly where to look for it – in the polished wooden jewellery box which was kept in the top drawer of the nearest chest – but she’d opened the lid rather guiltily.

  She’d found the brooch – a slim, figured gold bar set with lovely glistening black stones – and noticed an envelope tucked in against the velvet padding. Not really thinking what she was doing, she’d taken it out and recognized Hetty’s hand-writing. On an impulse, she slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, then went up to her room.

  What she read mystified her at first, then understanding came, and she felt so sick that she had to grasp the bedpost.

  She couldn’t remember Bella Wyness, but Mother and Father had spoken guardedly about her after Martin Potter had been here in 1918, and she’d gathered that there was some mystery about why his mother had left the Gallowgate. If she’d been interfering with Charlie when he was a boy, it was no wonder she’d been sacked.

  Several times, after the funeral, she’d been on the point of producing the letter, but something had held her back. Then Gavin had driven back to Edinburgh and Donnie had gone to bed early, and she hadn’t had the courage to tell her father on her own. She needed someone as a buffer in case he lost his head, but she still wasn’t sure if she should say anything.

  Her father had been a broken man, and had wept all that first day, and it had been Joe who had sent the telegrams and cable she had drafted out. He’d even offered to keep her company if she wanted to sit up all night with her father, but Albert had brusquely told them that he wanted to be on his own. She hadn’t been able to sleep herself, and heard him pacing the floor all night like a caged lion.

  Gavin had arrived the next day – Ellie was still too weak – and the two men had disappeared into the bedroom together. It had been some time before they came out, but her father had seemed more in control of his grief.

  When Donnie made his appearance that night, it had been Albert who comforted him, and Gavin had taken Gracie through to the kitchen to leave them alone for a while.

  She had been amazed at how well her father had kept up yesterday, though he’d needed Donnie’s and Gavin’s support to follow the hearse to St Peter’s Cemetery, so it would be awful if this letter upset him again. But she couldn’t keep it to herself. She had to know the truth . . . and so did he.

  Donnie heard Gracie going downstairs. He still hadn’t decided if he should ask his father to lend him money, but he was going back on the night train, so it would have to be done today if he wanted his business to survive.

  It was funny how nobody ever wanted to admit defeat, and it had been hanging over him for a long time, but he’d ignored it until his creditors started clamouring.

  They’d both been to blame, of course, himself as much as Helene. She’d always been buying new clothes and gadgets for the house, but he shouldn’t have bought that Armstrong-Siddeley when he knew they couldn’t afford it. It had been superior to the Fords which were ten-a-penny now, but he’d had to sell it eventually, at a great loss. Their biggest mistake had been the house – it was the repayments of their mortgage which took most of his profits, but neither he nor his wife wanted to part with it now.

  He heaved a deep sigh. They wouldn’t have to, if his father coughed up, and the little newsagent/tobacconist would be coming into its own shortly, with all the new houses being built round about. He’d been too ambitious, starting up in Norwood, where most of the men worked in the City and brought their Financial Times and their cigars home with them, but it should work out in the end. The new council scheme would bring increased business, and he’d be able to repay any loan.

  Having convinced himself of this, Donnie rose and dressed, then went downstairs.

  Albert turned over, his arm automatically reaching out for his wife, until an agonizing pang in his heart reminded him that she wasn’t there. How could he go on without her? It was only days since she died, but already his life was barren.

  That was Gracie coming down. Poor Gracie, she’d worked like a Trojan, preparing for the funeral tea, but something about her yesterday had worried him – had made him feel that another calamity was hanging over them.

  It had started when she’d come through here for Bathie’s jet brooch. She’d gone straight up to her room afterwards, and her face had been ravaged by grief again when she came down, much later. He’d thought that she was upset at looking through her mother’s jewellery, but there had been something else there. Puzzlement? Anger? Even apprehension?

  He’d been angry and puzzled himself about Bathie’s death, and also because Charlie hadn’t answered the cable Gracie had asked Joe to send. Neither Flo nor Hetty had acknowledged it, either, and that must be what was troubling Gracie.

  It was good of Gavin to come – his wife still recovering from childbirth – but he’d always loved Bathie. After the war, of course, he’d fallen in love with Ellie, but he’d still been deeply attached to her mother. Gavin hadn’t made him feel jealous yesterday, though. The gnawing jealousy that he’d felt for years had been laid to rest when Bathie regained consciousness in the Infirmary, on that terrible day in 1915. He’d been told, later, that a blood clot must have passed across her brain, and that she’d contracted pneumonia, too, but had fought for weeks. She hadn’t wanted to leave him then, but this time she’d had no choice.

  Another set of feet on the stairs? They were too heavy for Ishb
el – it must be Donnie. Poor lad. He must feel guilty at not having come to see his mother before she died.

  Albert stretched himself. He’d better rise, too, another day to get through. That was all he would ever do now.

  While Gracie and Ishbel were tidying up after breakfast, Albert and Donnie went into the parlour. They were slightly ill-at-ease with each other, and sat looking sadly into the fire which Gracie had kindled when she rose.

  At last, feeling obliged to make conversation, Albert remarked, ‘You’ve a long journey in front of you tonight.’

  Donnie nodded, then looked directly at him. ‘I don’t like having to ask this, Father, but . . .’ His head went down again.

  ‘Out with it. The worst that could ever happen to me happened four days ago. Nothing can affect me now.’

  Albert studied his son as he struggled to form the words he needed. Donnie’s red hair was brighter than his own, which had dulled down to a sandy-greyish colour. The young man’s face and body had filled out, and he looked much older than the twenty-three-year-old who had gone off so blithely to war seven years before. Was his temperament changed, too?

  Lifting his head, Donnie caught his father’s gaze. ‘Do I look like a successful business man?’

  Considering briefly, Albert said, ‘Aye, I suppose you do, but there’s something . . .’

  ‘Yes, there’s something.’ Donnie gave a rueful smile. ‘I may as well tell you – I’m up to my ears in debt.’

  Comprehension came to Albert. The lad was just trying to pluck up courage to ask for a loan. Well, his father knew all about that, and how it felt to be beholden to somebody. ‘Have you been declared bankrupt? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘Not yet, but unless I can pay something soon, I will be. The ironic thing is, in a few months I’ll have dozens of new customers from the council houses they’re building.’