On their way out, Jess paused. ‘I’ll be back afore that bugger o’ a packman comes, for I’m feared you let a’thing oot to him, an’ it’ll gi’e me the chance to tell him to bide awa’ fae you.’
After they had left Mysie didn’t move. What was the use of going to bed? She wouldn’t sleep anyway. She didn’t think she would ever be able to sleep again. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see Jeems lying on the floor with the knife in him, and she would never forget her last glimpse of him as she had flung the earth over him, his face almost hidden by the leg of his Sunday trousers. A cold hand clutched at her heart. When Jake flung the body in, the trousers must have whipped round the head. Had it not been limed, after all? Had Jake been in too great a hurry to make sure? Had there not been enough lime in the bag?
At first, Mysie paid no attention to the deep ache which had started in the pit of her stomach, thinking it was still the effect of the body-blows Jeems had given her, but, as it grew worse, it dawned on her that she was miscarrying. Her womb was ejecting the packman’s child, and all the pain and mental anguish she had suffered that night had been unnecessary.
Chapter Ten
The crowing of the old cockerel in the back yard made Mysie start up in bewilderment, then the awful memories crowded in, like a nightmare returning to haunt her. But it was over now. It was all behind her. There was nothing more to worry about.
Standing up, she felt the unaccustomed bulk between her legs and bent down to remove the blood-saturated sheeting she had packed there when she aborted. She gripped it together, not looking at it, and flung it into the heart of the fire. Then she took the tin bath out of the porch, filled it with water from the kettles sitting by the fire, stripped off her clothes and stepped in. She scrubbed until she felt cleansed of shame, both inside and out, and had just dressed herself when Sandy came through from the other room.
‘Get yoursel’ washed,’ she ordered, ‘for you’ll ha’e to get a pail o’ water fae the well for me afore you go to school.’ His puzzled eyes resting on her face made her wonder how bad her injuries were, so she went over to the looking-glass at the back of the dresser. The skin around both eyes was badly discoloured, dark bruises were beginning to creep down her cheeks, and her nose was twice its normal size. Turning to the gaping boy, she tried to excuse her appearance. ‘I slipped on the ice last nicht when I went oot to the wee hoosie an’ I fell against the midden wa’. Noo, get on and dae what I tell’t you.’
When he came through again, she said, softly, ‘You’ll get your breakfast when you come back, an’ dinna fill the pail ower fu’, or you’ll nae be able to lift it.’ When he had run off, Mysie went outside to mash some turnips for Brownie before she milked her. Her heart hammered when she neared the byre, and she half expected to see Jeems looming up at her out of the darkness when she opened the door, but only the cow moved, turning her head placidly as she munched her hay. Sitting down on the milkingstool, Mysie felt her eyes drawn inexorably past the bulging udder to the straw-strewn floor below. Astonishingly, it looked the same as usual. Nothing showed of the terrible secret it now concealed.
It seemed only a few minutes before her son returned. ‘Are you back already?’ she asked, in some surprise.
His face suffused with pride. ‘I run there an’ back. I could milk Broonie for you, Mam, if you show me what to dae.’
She gave a few sharp tugs on the teats to demonstrate. ‘It’s easy when you ken. Come on, then, loon, ha’e a try.’
They changed places, but the strange fingers made the beast moo in protest, and Sandy jumped back, squealing in disgust. ‘Ach, Mam, her sharny tail near went in my mooth.’
‘Keep it shut, then.’ A ghost of a smile crossed her face.
The first few jets of milk landed on the floor and on the boy’s trousers, but he was soon aiming expertly at the pail. Watching him, it crossed Mysie’s mind that it was lucky he was old enough to help her, though he was only seven; some wives had to run their crofts single-handed if they were left without a man. With a sickening lurch in her stomach, she remembered that she still had to explain his father’s absence to Sandy, but she would leave it for now. ‘Watch an’ nae mak’ yoursel’ late for the school,’ she warned as she left the byre. Inside she poured boiling water over some oatmeal – she had been in such a state last night that she’d forgotten to soak any for porridge – and when he came in, she waited until he supped the brose then said, very quietly, ‘Your father’ll nae be in, for he’s went awa’ an’ left us, but dinna tell naebody.’ Sandy was obviously surprised, but after a moment’s thought, he said, ‘Me an’ you’ll manage oorsel’s twa, Mam, will we nae?’
‘Aye, we’ll manage fine.’
The boy had just left for school when Mysie heard a knock at the door and opened it without thinking. ‘Good mornin’ to you, lass, I hope I’m nae ower early for you? Will you be needin’ onything oot o’ my pack the day?’ Her shock at seeing a strange face made her grab the jamb of the door, and the man stepped forward anxiously. ‘Are you a’ right, lass?’ Helping her inside, he made her sit down.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, ‘I dinna ken what come ower me.’
‘You maybe jumped up ower quick to answer the door, but sit there till you feel better, an’ I’ll open my pack, though you’re maybe nae needin’ onything the day?’
Mysie’s thoughts were so confused that she couldn’t answer. Jess had said she’d be there before Larry Larry came, but she hadn’t appeared yet and it wasn’t him anyway.
‘You’d had a different man roon’ the last time?’ The man had taken her silence to mean she didn’t want to buy, and laid his pack unopened on the floor. ‘He was an awfu’ lad, yon. He tell’t me he was a trawlerman, but he’d missed his boat aboot four month afore through him bein’ drunk. Weel, he said he’d been drunk, though it wouldna surprise me if he’d been bedded up wi’ ane o’ yon weemen that hang aboot the Aberdeen harbour. God, I’ve got my een open since I took ower fae him. Near ilka young wife I’ve been seein’ tells me he’d tried to …’ Mysie’s gasp made him glance round at her – he had purposely avoided letting his eyes rest on her bruised face before. ‘Oh, lassie,’ he said, sorrowfully, ‘I hope you didna let him.’
Keeping a tight grip on herself, Mysie said, hastily, ‘No, no.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it, but you’re nae looking very weel.’
She stood up shakily. ‘I’ll mak’ some tea.’
‘I’d best introduce mysel’,’ he said, as she filled the teapot. ‘The name’s Peter Lamont, an’ I’m fifty-nine year auld. My wife died eight month ago, an’ I lost interest in things for a good while. I gi’ed up my job – I was a linesman on the railway – but I went doon to the harbour one day to …’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Weel, I suppose I was goin’ to throw mysel’ in, I was that low, but this English lad come up an’ said he was wantin’ to sign on a boat, an’ he wanted me to tak’ his pack. You see, when he was oot o’ a job, he’d met this auld packman that said he was gi’ein’ it up, and the lad had agreed to tak’ ower his round, seein’ he’d naething else to dae. But he tell’t me he missed the sea something terrible, and near forced his pack on me so’s he could get awa’.’
‘How do you like bein’ a packman?’ Mysie asked, faint with relief that she would never have to face Larry Larry again.
‘I feel as free as the birds in the air when I’m oot on the open road. I’m happier than I’ve been for a lang time.’
When he had drunk the tea, he stood up. ‘Dinna worry aboot nae buying onything,’ he said, kindly. ‘I can see you’re nae yoursel’, an’ I’ll be back in three month again.’
Stunned by what he had told her, Mysie sat on until, about fifteen minutes later, the door was flung open. ‘It wasna the same packman,’ Jess burst out, ‘an’ he was a lot earlier than Jockie or the other ane. I hope you didna say onything. Losh, Mysie, you look worse than you did last nicht.’
‘I’m feelin’ better, though, for he’s awa’ on
a boat, so he’ll never be back – an’ the bairn come awa’ after you went hame.’
‘Thank God! You’ll nae need to worry nae mair aboot that.’
‘But if it had come awa’ quicker, I wouldna ha’e had to tell Jeems aboot it, an’ … och, you ken what I mean.’
‘It was likely the shock o’ a’thing that did it, Mysie.’
‘Aye, I never thought on that. I was in a awfu’ state.’
‘Weel, as my mother used to say, “Ilka cloud’s got a silver linin’ “, an’ you’ll nae ha’e a ill-begotten bairn to remind you. Did Sandy say onything when he saw your face this mornin’?’
‘I tell’t him I fell last nicht, an’ he was awfu’ good. He went for the water, an’ milked the coo for me.’
‘Did he nae ask where Jeems was?’
‘I tell’t him his father had went awa’ an’ left us, an’ he just said the twa o’ us would manage fine oorsel’s.’
‘He maybe heard you fightin’ and he’ll be thinkin’ that’s the reason Jeems went awa’.’
‘No, he hadna heard naething, for he was sleepin’ sound when I looked ben at him afore I come to you.’
‘Och, weel, you’d best leave it like that. I’ll never tell a soul, an’ Jake’ll keep his mooth shut, as weel. Try to forget aboot it, for what’s by is by.’ In an effort to help Mysie to put it out of her mind, Jess chattered about whatever came into her head until she went home to make Jake’s dinner.
On Thursday morning, Mysie discovered that she had run out of tea and paraffin and braced herself to go to the shop. Dougal averted his eyes as he served her, but when Rosie came through, she burst out, ‘God preserve us, Mysie. Your face is a awfu’ mess an’ you’ve twa right blue keekers. Did Jeems dae that?’
‘Aye, but he’ll nae dae it again.’ It was out before Mysie thought, but she covered her slip with an ease that would not have shamed a practised liar. ‘He’s left me.’ It didn’t occur to her that, by early afternoon, wild speculations would be going on in the village about which man had been at the back of it, and by evening, even veiled suggestions that something sinister had taken place at Rowanbrae.
As Dougal observed to his wife when they went to bed, ‘Jeems Duncan wouldna walk oot an’ leave his croft like that. It’s been in his family for generations, an’ he used to say his sons would get it after him.’
‘But Jamie’s nae here noo,’ Rosie pointed out.
‘I ken that!’ Dougal was still annoyed with his wife for telling the customers what Mysie had said. ‘But Sandy is, an’ he’s nae auld enough yet to tak’ it ower. No, there’s mair to this than Mysie’s lettin’ on.’
‘There was aye something queer aboot Jeems, though.’
A similar conversation was taking place in the mill. ‘I can believe Jeems punched Mysie,’ Andra said, thoughtfully. ‘I’ve thought afore that she’d bruises on her, but for him to walk oot on her … weel, that’s harder to believe.’
‘Mysie would never tell lees.’ Pattie didn’t really know what to think, but she didn’t doubt that Mysie had told the truth, or the truth as she saw it. ‘Maybe Jeems went aff his head – he’s never been the same since poor Jamie was lost, an’ his father was dottled afore he died.’
‘Auld Duncan was dottled wi’ age, that’s a different thing, an’ Rowanbrae was Jeems’s whole life. No, I canna understand it. There’s something damned fishy aboot the whole business.’
Jess Findlater was bombarded with questions when she went to the shop the following morning, but parried them by saying that Mysie was well rid of Jeems and it was nobody’s business but theirs what had happened between them.
Jean Petrie tried to shed some light on the matter. ‘They’d fought aboot Doddie Wilson, likely. He could ha’e been goin’ to Rowanbrae on the sly, for a’ we ken, an’ Jeems found oot.’
The murmurs of agreement incensed Jess. ‘Doddie has never been near Rowanbrae. I ken that for a fact.’
Bridling, Mrs Petrie sneered, ‘Oh, aye, so she tells you, but she could easy ha’e been meetin’ him some place else. She’s a deep ane, Mysie Duncan.’
Jess could take no more. ‘You’re nae deep, ony road, Jean Petrie, for you blab oot whatever comes into your empty head, an’ you’ve a mind like a shitehoose.’ She stamped out, leaving Mrs Petrie gaping after her and the other people in the shop trying to hide their amusement that she had been bested.
Jess’s anger wore off as she strode home, sparks flying from the metal sprigs in the heels of her boots. She was halfway home when Mysie’s words came back to her, ‘Aye, it was me that killed him.’ It was queer her saying that when she had already admitted it. Was it somebody else’s hand that had wielded the knife? Had she and Doddie been meeting on the sly, like Jean Petrie was trying to make out? Could it have been his bairn she’d been carrying, and had she blamed the young packman to save any suspicion falling on Doddie? Surely she wasn’t as daft about him that she would confess to murder to shield him? But Doddie would never have let her take the blame for him, and the packman had sailed away ages ago, so it couldn’t have been him, either.
For the very first time since Jamie’s death, Jess went past Rowanbrae without going in. She had to get things figured out before she could face Mysie again. If it wasn’t Doddie, nor the English lad, there must have been another man in Mysie’s life, though there had never been any word of it – not even from Jean Petrie, who was generally first to uncover anything like that – and sooner or later, unlawful couplings were always found out, no matter how carefully they were conducted. But maybe Jeems had found out. Maybe that was why he was lying stone cold under the floor of his own byre? Well, whoever the man was, he would come back to Mysie, easy in his mind now that he’d sent her man to kingdom come, and with the coast clear, he’d likely move in with her come time. Then, Jess thought, with satisfaction, she would know exactly who had committed the foul deed, for she was positive it hadn’t been poor Mysie.
Over the next few days, Mysie refused offers of help from Rab Duff, Andra White, even from Jake Findlater, considering that they had enough to do on their own places. She was taken aback when Doddie Wilson turned up one night, but told him, as she had told the others, that she was managing fine. ‘Sandy’s a big help, an’ it lets me dae the things … Jeems did.’
Doddie regarded her sympathetically. ‘But there’s jobs you’ll nae be able to tackle. There’s surely something I can dae?’
Mysie could see that he was disappointed by her refusal, and, being a farm servant, he didn’t have a croft or a mill to run. What would be the harm in letting him do a few jobs? ‘Weel,’ she murmured, ‘the palin’ at the far side blew doon last week, an’ I’d be obliged if you’d fix it for me.’
His smile made her blood turn to water, and, as she closed the door, she longed for the comfort of his arms around her, but she had forfeited all hope of that by her wickedness.
When she told Jess that she’d accepted Doddie’s help, Mysie thought that her friend seemed a bit put out, and added, ‘But I never let him inside the hoose, so naebody can say naething.’
‘No, naebody can say naething,’ Jess agreed, but she still didn’t look any happier about it.
From the peculiar looks she received at times, Mysie knew that there were still doubts in some minds about Jeems leaving his croft so suddenly, but as time went on, she felt easier in her mind. No one could prove that he hadn’t just walked out as she had said. Doddie came twice a week now to carry out whatever task she set him, and it was good to see him, even for the few minutes he stood at the door, although she knew that nothing could ever come of it.
‘You look different, Mam,’ Sandy observed, one morning.
‘What kind o’ different, my loon?’
‘I dinna ken, just different. Happy, like.’
‘I am happy. We’re gettin’ on fine, wi’ Doddie helpin’.’ His eyes clouded as he went to walk the two miles to school, and Mysie felt deeply sorry for him for a moment. He was likely missing Jeems and cou
ldn’t understand why she was so cheerful.
When Doddie knocked at the door that evening to say that he was going to repair the thatch, she exclaimed, involuntarily, ‘You canna work on the roof in this weather, it’s ower cauld, but come in for a cup o’ tea.’ She hadn’t meant to ask him in, but it was done now and she could hardly say she had changed her mind. He seemed reluctant, so she coaxed, ‘It’ll nae tak’ a minute to mask.’
Pulling off his flat cap as he went through the door, he sat down on the edge of a chair and watched her filling the teapot. ‘I canna understand Jeems leavin’ you,’ he said, after a while. ‘I ken I’ve nae right to ask, but did you an’ him ha’e a fight?’
‘Aye.’ Her happiness was turning to unease now.
‘I’m sorry, it’s nane o’ my business.’ Doddie sat back in his seat. ‘This is the kind o’ place I aye fancied, but I’m nae bad at Waterton, I suppose. Robertson’s a good enough man to work for.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘I’ll dae the plooin’ for you, if you like. It’s nae trouble, an’ I could plant your seed tatties an’ sow your grain as weel.’
He fell silent as she passed over his cup, and she wondered if he felt uncomfortable in the house. At the meal and ale – it seemed so long ago now – it hadn’t bothered him that she was married, but it was different here. If only she could tell him that Jeems would never be back … but it was safer not to, for she couldn’t tell him why. But maybe he knew? Maybe his had been the hand that struck Jeems down?
Mysie had tried to push that traumatic night from her mind, but the suspicion was still there. If she hadn’t done it – and she was practically certain that she hadn’t – it must have been Doddie, and he would be wondering where the body was. If she told him, he would be pleased that it was safely hidden, but it might be better to let sleeping dogs lie.
When Jess walked in a little later and saw Doddie, her smile vanished. ‘I’m sorry, Mysie, I didna ken you’d onybody here.’
His weatherbeaten face a deep crimson, Doddie mumbled, ‘I come to gi’e her a help, an’ she asked me in …’
The Road to Rowanbrae Page 10
