Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  Remembering Henrietta Johnstone’s kindness to him, Albert said, quietly, ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘Four or five hundred would help, if you could manage.’

  Albert felt a slight irritation. An outright request for money was not the same as asking for a loan. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford to hand over what Donnie wanted, but he didn’t like beggars. If it was unavoidable, he’d give his son what he’d asked, but, if he didn’t offer to pay it back, that would be the finish.

  They regarded each other warily for a moment, Donnie’s eyes pleading and Albert’s calculating, then the younger man burst out, ‘I’m not asking for a gift, Father. I intend to pay you back as soon as I get on my feet again. It might take a while, but I give you my word I’ll repay you as soon as I can.’

  Albert’s breath came out slowly with relief. ‘I’ll have five hundred transferred from my bank to yours tomorrow. It’s not a loan, so you won’t have to worry about paying me back.’

  ‘I won’t take it. I was asking for a loan, but maybe I didn’t make myself clear.’

  ‘It’s a loan then.’ Albert paused. ‘You’ll get your share of your mother’s money once her estate’s settled. When she was young, her grandmother left her two thousand, which I never let her touch, and she inherited quite a lot when her mother and father died, so with interest on it, I’d say the seven of you’ll get quite a tidy sum. Maybe two or three thousand each.’

  ‘My luck must be turning.’ As soon as he said it, a look of horror came over Donnie’s face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean that, not when it’s because Mother died, but . . .’

  Smiling, Albert said, ‘I’m sure your mother would be glad her money was helping you, but don’t use it to repay me.’

  When Gracie joined them, Albert was saying, ‘Always keep something behind you in case of emergencies.’

  She walked over and handed him an envelope. ‘I found this in Mother’s jewellery box. It’s not Hetty’s latest letter, but when you read it, you’ll understand why Mother kept it. I hope you’ll tell me why Bella Wyness left here, because we all have a right to know.’

  Albert’s frown deepened as he read it. ‘God Almighty!’ he exploded, as he passed it to Donnie. ‘The worry of this must have been the reason for the massive heart attack the doctor said she’d died from. She aye said Bella Wyness would take her revenge, and, by Christ, she’s done it. She murdered my Bathie just as sure as if she’d plunged a knife into her.’

  Curling his hands into fists, he moved his crazed eyes wildly from his son to his daughter.

  ‘But what did she do to Charlie?’ Gracie’s voice held curiosity as well as alarm.

  Donnie said, ‘I was too young to realize what was going on, but Charlie’s only a year older than me, so he couldn’t have raped her?’ He looked helplessly at his father.

  ‘He didn’t, and what he did do, wasn’t done willingly. He was only about eight, and he didn’t know any better.’

  Baring his teeth, Albert went on. ‘She made him do it, touching him and . . . oh, Bella Wyness was a trollop, as your mother always said. She even tried to get me to serve her.’

  Gracie’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh, Father, you didn’t commit adultery with her, as well, did you?’ She hadn’t forgotten about the woman in Queen’s Road, but the pain in his eyes made her sorry for reminding him. ‘No, Gracie, I didn’t. I know you’ve a poor opinion of my faithfulness to your mother, but it was only that one woman, and I’ve regretted it bitterly ever since. I never bedded Bella Wyness, and she must have turned to Charlie out of spite.’

  ‘What I can’t understand,’ Donnie said, thoughtfully, ‘is why he went to Wanganui. Bella was Hetty’s mother-in-law, and he must have known he’d be bound to meet her.’

  ‘I don’t think that even crossed your mother’s mind. I know she was worried, when the girls went out first, in case Bella would take her spite out on Hetty, but I’m sure her mind was at ease by the time Charlie went.’ Albert sat up suddenly. ‘This letter was written a while ago, and there’s been nothing in any of Hetty’s other letters, or Charlie’s or Flo’s, so maybe we’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’ He turned to Gracie hopefully. ‘We’d have heard if something else had happened, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father, but I’m sure something else has happened,’ Gracie said, slowly. ‘Charlie didn’t answer the cable about Mother’s death, and he couldn’t have told Flo or Hetty, or surely one of them would have replied. I think he’s had to leave Wanganui and our cable never reached him.’

  They mulled over this supposition for a few moments, then Donnie said, ‘The next letter from New Zealand might give you a clue, whoever it’s from.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Gracie sat up. ‘It shouldn’t be that long before one of them writes, then we’ll know.’

  Both his son and his daughter sympathized with Albert when he remarked, sadly, ‘I don’t think I want to know. I’ve had enough misfortune to do me for the rest of my days.’

  Flo’s letter came first, and reading ‘Mrs A. Ogilvie’ on the envelope made Gracie’s stomach lurch uncontrollably. She was reluctant to open it, but had to find out what it said so that she could shield her father from any more bad news, if necessary.

  ‘Dear Mother,’ Flo had written, ‘I don’t really know what’s been going on, but Charlie’s disappeared, then Vena was put out of their house, it went with his job, and we don’t know where she’s gone. They haven’t got in touch with any of us, and I don’t think they’re together. We’re very worried, especially about Vena, because it’s not long till her baby’s due.

  ‘Leonard’s growing fast, I wish you could see his podgy little arms and legs, you’d just love him, I know. He’s not taking notice of anything yet, but another few weeks should make a difference.

  ‘Will sends his love to you all, and so do I. Please try not to worry too much about Charlie and Vena, and I promise to let you know as soon as there’s any news of them. Your loving daughter, Flo. P.S. Love and kisses to Granny from Leonard.’

  Gracie decided that she might as well let her father see the letter. It explained why there had been no answer to the cable she’d sent to Charlie, but it told them nothing, really. She wished now that she’d sent one to Flo, as well, but she’d thought that he would tell his sisters.

  There was something far wrong somewhere, and she wished she knew what it was. Or had Charlie quarrelled with Vena and walked out? It must have been bad before he would have left his wife in her condition.

  Gracie was still puzzling over it when her father came up for his dinner, so she gave him the letter and stood beside him while he read it.

  His frown grew deeper and deeper, and when he looked up, his eyes were almost hidden by his eyebrows. ‘They must have had a fight, Gracie, and Charlie had just left. If he’d been upset, it wouldn’t have struck him that the house went with his job and Vena would be put out.’

  ‘But why did she disappear, as well? Flo or Hetty would have taken her in, or even Mary or Jeannie, come to that.’

  He twirled one end of his moustache, then ran his thumb down the cleft in his chin. ‘Maybe she went to look for him. I’m near sure it’s got nothing to do with . . . Bella Wyness, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’

  Considering briefly, Gracie said, ‘Do you really think that, Father, or are you just trying to make me feel better?’

  Albert looked at her sadly. ‘I’m trying to make us both feel better, lass.’

  She felt more and more uneasy, however. She had written to Flo, Hetty and Charlie after the funeral, so her sisters should get her letters any day now, even if Charlie didn’t, and there was nothing she could do except wait for their replies.

  Next morning, at breakfast, Albert looked so gaunt that Gracie decided to tell him what she’d been discussing with Joe Ferris the previous evening. Her father couldn’t carry on like this, or he’d worry himself into his grave.

  ‘Joe was saying, last nig
ht, that we should give up the house in George Street,’ she began carefully.

  ‘Oh? A touch of hope brightened his eyes.

  ‘Well, you need somebody to look after you, and . . .’

  ‘I need nobody to look after me.’ He glowered at her for a moment, then his eyes softened. ‘I’ve always got Ishbel, and the two of us can manage fine.’

  ‘No, you can’t, and it seems silly to have just two of you in this big house, and us being all that distance away. Joe says it would be handier for him if he was here.’

  She’d struck the right note this time, and Albert agreed that it would be much better for Joe if he was living on the premises, but he knew that she’d only used that as an excuse, for the house in George Street wasn’t more than seven minutes’ walk away.

  Ishbel was upset at first that Gracie and Joe meant to take over the entire middle floor, but when she learned that she was to have the two attic rooms to herself, there was no more grumbling. She’d have a bedroom and a room to study in.

  Furniture was shifted, wallpaper and curtains were hung, new linoleum was laid on the floors. A new double bed was delivered and the unneeded single beds were shifted down to one of the stores at the back. Albert let them please themselves. As long as he was left in peace, he didn’t mind what Gracie and Joe did with the rest of the house.

  Mary’s annual letter arrived on the morning of Hogmanay, addressed to Bathie, but Gracie opened it with no qualms. It told her nothing she didn’t know already. Only the last part made tears come to her eyes.

  ‘It’s funny to think me and you are both grandmothers to the same child, Mrs Ogilvie, I just wish you could see him. Your old friend, Mary.’

  At dinnertime, Albert read out a cable which had been delivered as he was coming up from the shop.

  ‘Arriving 1st February. Hetty.’

  ‘Oh,’ Gracie moaned, ‘there must have been a terrible row among them all. I hope she hasn’t left Martin.’

  ‘That Bella Wyness has something to do with this, anyway, I’m bloody sure,’ her father exploded. ‘She’s waited a long time, but she’s got her revenge a thousandfold, on me, on your mother and on Charlie, but why the hell did she pick on Hetty? The poor lassie wasn’t even born at the time. It’s a good thing Mary’s there to protect Flo.’

  They had no time to discuss it further, Hogmanay being the busiest day of the year for Albert. As usual, the shop was open until eleven o’clock, women always running in for things they’d forgotten to buy, and Gracie sat down thankfully after she’d washed her face. She’d asked Joe to stay in the house all night, in case her father broke down on this the first New Year after his wife’s death, so there were four of them sitting round the parlour fire when midnight came.

  ‘1922.’ Albert shook his head in disbelief as the Town House clock started to strike. ‘It’s twenty-two years exactly since Hetty was born and Gavin warned me that your mother wasn’t fit to . . .’ As he stopped, overcome with grief, Joe stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘I wish you a happier New Year, Albert, and I hope . . .’ He floundered awkwardly, trying to think of something suitable to say. ‘I hope you get better news from New Zealand soon.’

  Albert nodded his head gravely. ‘I hope so.’

  Pulling a half-bottle of whisky from his pocket, Joe said, ‘You’ll have a dram with me?’

  Gracie jumped up and kissed her father. ‘I know you don’t feel happy, but please have a drink with Joe, to wish us . . .’

  Running his hand over his eyes, Albert lumbered to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I forgot you and Joe were on the threshold of marriage. The eighteenth, isn’t it?’

  He accepted a small glass of whisky. ‘I promised Bathie, once, that I’d never touch another drop, but she didn’t object as long as I kept it to one, on special occasions.’

  Holding the glass up, he made his toast. ‘Here’s to your future, Gracie and Joe. May it be long and fruitful. I hope you’ll be as happy as I was with my wife, Joe, and Gracie, I hope to God you never have to put up with the anguish I made your mother suffer.’

  She knew what he was meaning, and, in an unexpected flood of tenderness towards him, forgave her father at last.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  On the last night of January, 1922, Albert Ogilvie hardly slept at all. He was excited about seeing Hetty the next day, after almost three years, but he was hoping against hope that she and Martin hadn’t separated altogether.

  He’d even made up his mind to pay her fare back if she’d left her husband over a little tiff, although he couldn’t really believe she’d do anything so drastic unless it was serious. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Bella Wyness was at the root of it. Somehow, the bitch must have come between her son and his wife, and Hetty was safer out of her clutches.

  When, at last, he dozed off, he dreamt of the young Bella Wyness – fair hair, blue eyes looking at him invitingly, full lips slightly parted – bending over him with only her nightshirt on. She’d wanted him to bed her before, and he’d roused a diabolical anger in her by refusing, but now she’d returned, determined that she would bed him.

  She pulled back the blankets, laying her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she made to lie down beside him, but he thrust her away. He couldn’t let her go into Bathie’s place. He didn’t want her to go into Bathie’s place.

  ‘No! No!’ he shouted.

  His flailing hands knocked against the tray which Gracie was holding. ‘Oh, Father, be careful.’ She noticed his wild eyes then, and said, gently, ‘Were you having a nightmare?’

  ‘Aye.’ He was trembling, not with passion but with anger, anger that the trollop had dared to . . . no, it was a nightmare, it was only a nightmare.

  Gracie laid the tray down across his knees. ‘If Hetty’s on the night train from London, she’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘I’m going to the station to meet her.’

  ‘You won’t have time, you’re not washed or dressed.’

  He drank the tea in one long draught, scalding his mouth and gullet in the process, then swung his feet to the floor. ‘I’ll not take long to get myself ready.’

  He was pulling his shirt over his head when a few loud knocks sounded on the outside door, but by the time he drew on his trousers and ran out on to the landing, Hetty and Gracie were weeping on each other’s shoulders at the foot of the stairs. Then he noticed another figure standing behind them, and his heart leapt with relief that Martin was there with his wife. At least their marriage had survived whatever had happened.

  The hugs, handshakes and introductions to Joe kept all their minds occupied for the next few minutes, until Hetty said, ‘Where’s Mother? Is she still in Edinburgh with Ellie?’

  It was Albert who said, quietly, ‘Your mother died on the twenty-second of November. Did you not get Gracie’s letter?’

  His voice broke when Hetty burst into tears, and Martin Potter drew her close to him, his eyes wide with shock.

  Albert turned to his other son-in-law. ‘Joe, will you go down and open the shop? I’d better stay here with Hetty.’

  When Joe went out, Gracie told them how Bathie had died, and waited until her younger sister stopped weeping before she said, ‘Now, tell us why you’re here. What happened in Wanganui that made you come away like that?’

  Hetty sent a glance of appeal to her husband, who began the explanation. ‘Did you know that Charlie went away?’

  Gracie nodded. ‘Yes, Flo and Mary both wrote and told us, but we didn’t know why.’

  Martin hesitated then squared his shoulders. ‘I’ve a strange feeling that it was my mother’s fault, though I don’t really know what drove him to it. She laughed to me about what she did to him in our house . . .’

  ‘I told Mother about that in a letter,’ Hetty interrupted.

  Albert couldn’t reprimand her for sending that letter to Bathie, having known Bathie’s weak condition, not now. ‘We’ve read it.’

  ‘Well,
’ Martin went on, ‘she said that her revenge on the Ogilvies wasn’t over yet.’

  He looked earnestly at Albert. ‘I thought she’d gone out of her mind, and I believed she meant to do some harm to Hetty. I was so angry, I told her I couldn’t look on her as my mother any longer, and she . . .’ He swallowed noisily.

  ‘She demanded the money back she’d lent us.’ Hetty’s eyes were full of cold fury. ‘She wouldn’t let us have any time, so we’d to sell the house and nearly everything else to pay her, and we’d just enough left to pay our passage home.’

  Silence fell – an uncomfortable, brooding silence, while all of them harboured evil thoughts about the woman who had caused them so much heartache.

  Finally, Albert said, brokenly, ‘You’ve heard nothing about Charlie? Or Vena?’

  Hetty’s eyes flooded with tears again. ‘Vena’s dead. She died in childbirth in Wellington. She hadn’t been eating, and we never found out where she’d been.’

  Martin took over again. ‘The police notified us because they’d found an address book in her bag, and we were nearest. I had to go to identify her. The baby was dead, too.’

  ‘Why didn’t you write and tell us?’

  ‘I couldn’t.’ Hetty looked at him pathetically through tear-filled eyes. ‘Everything was in a mess, and I didn’t want to upset Mother any more than I’d done already. I didn’t know she had . . . died. Why didn’t you let us know?’

  Before Gracie could explain, Martin burst out, ‘Mr Ogilvie, I’m very sorry for what . . . my mother did to you and your family.’ His earnest face was scarlet with embarrassment, but his eyes met Albert’s squarely. ‘I know that won’t change anything – I only wish it could – but it’s all I can say.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Albert said, sharply. ‘Bathie always said Bella’s mind was twisted.’ He sat up abruptly. ‘I’m glad she didn’t live to hear about Vena.’

  He looked apologetic for saying it, and Gracie laid her hand over his. ‘We understand what you mean, Father, and we’re glad, too.’ She turned to her sister. ‘I think that’s enough, just now. Do you want to go up to your room? You’ll have some unpacking to do. Where’s your luggage?’