‘I believe the Central is a very good school, but I feel we should send Sandy to Gordon’s, like Gregor.’ Mysie put a tick in the appropriate box and signed the form. Miss Wallace had made the decision for her, and Miss Wallace’s word was final.
In May 1918, Mysie was delivered of a daughter whom she named after Doddie, but Georgina seemed incongruous for such a tiny scrap, and when Sandy called her Gina one day, the diminutive stuck, being considered by all to be much more suitable. The nurse, the temporary housekeeper and Miss Wallace all drooled over the dark, curlyhaired infant, and Mysie sometimes felt that she was only tolerated as a source of food for Gina.
Miss Wallace wasn’t happy with the woman she had engaged to stand in for Mysie, but she wouldn’t allow the new mother to leave her bed for two weeks after the birth, and only let her do light work for the next two. Mysie wasn’t pleased with this arrangement, but wisely kept that to herself. The old lady was only trying to be kind.
As it happened, Miss Wallace didn’t have to pay Sandy’s fees for Gordon’s College after all – he won a bursary – but she paid for all the books that were prescribed, his jotters and pencils, and provided the money for Mysie to buy his uniform.
In late August, when Sandy was dressed for his first day, he looked so smart that his mother’s heart swelled with pride. He was taller than she was, and already looked like a young man, though he wasn’t yet twelve. She had often wondered about her recent good fortune, but never so much as on that day. In her previous life, she had become so used to being buffeted by fate that it was hard to believe what had happened since the night, not quite ten months ago, when she learned of Doddie’s death. Perhaps the tide had turned for her, the tide of catastrophes and heartache that had beset her for years. Perhaps God had felt He had punished her enough and was trying to make up for what He had done before.
Sandy’s homework took longer now he was at secondary school. ‘I had forgotten how to do algebra,’ Miss Wallace told Mysie after one rather gruelling session, ‘but Sandy kept me right. He is very bright, there is no getting away from that.’
‘I don’t know where he gets his brains,’ Mysie remarked, then added, ‘though I was quite good at school myself.’
There had been a succession of maids to help Mysie since she came to Ashley Road. Some had stayed longer than others, but all had left because of Miss Wallace’s sharp tongue. Mysie herself was often at the receiving end, but she was much more perceptive than the girls and recognised that it was the old lady’s worsening arthritis that made her so irritable. Miss Wallace still supervised Sandy’s homework, smiling when she told his mother if there had been any contretemps, although that didn’t happen very often. He had buckled down to serious study since he had started at Gordon’s and seemed to be quite popular, if his chattering about what went on in the school playground was anything to go by. Miss Wallace absolutely doted on Gina, and early in October, when the baby was only five months old, she sprang a surprise on Mysie. She began by saying, ‘Mrs Duncan, you have been here for a year now. Do you ever miss your friends in Burnlea?’
‘Jess Findlater’s the only one I miss. She was my nearest neighbour and my best friend, and we write now and then.’
‘Why not visit her? I could look after Gina, and Pearl could make a salad for my lunch. Think about it, then write to your friend to find out which day would suit her best.’
Somewhat taken aback, Mysie considered the suggestion for a moment. ‘I don’t think Jess … she’s like all the other crofters’ wives, she doesn’t have much spare time.’
‘She could surely spare an hour or two for an old friend?’
‘She’d likely be happy to see me.’
‘Well then. Write today and let me know what she says.’
Mysie thought it over all evening, and decided against it. Returning to her old home area would bring everything back, everything she had tried so hard to forget. At Ashley Road she was Mrs Duncan, a widow with two children, but at Burnlea she would always be Mysie, wife of Jeems, who had lived in sin with Doddie Wilson. She had a different kind of life now, a better life … a life of deceit. She would only have to make one little slip to set Jess wondering what had really happened on that awful night in January 1914.
When her employer rang at nine, Mysie went through and told her what she had decided. ‘I don’t want to go to Burnlea. It’s not a good thing to go back to a place where you’ve known deep sorrow as well as great happiness.’
Miss Wallace gave her an odd look. ‘It is up to you, Mrs Duncan, but I … oh, I think we could dispense with that formality now. What is your Christian name?’
About to say that it was May, Mysie remembered that, apart from her schoolteachers, only one person had ever called her that, and she didn’t want to be reminded of the cause of all her troubles. ‘I was always called Mysie.’
The aristrocratic nose wrinkled. ‘Mysie? I presume that is a distortion of Maisie?’
Mysie had never thought of it like that. ‘I suppose so.’
‘I cannot understand your reluctance to visit your friends, Maisie. I thought you would have jumped at the chance to go back and revive memories of your dear husband.’
Mysie’s insides gave a jolt. Her dear husband? If the old lady only knew what she had thought of her husband! ‘No, I’ve made my mind up,’ she said, louder than she meant.
‘Very well. I will not pry into your affairs any longer.’
A great relief swept over Mysie because the subject had been dropped, but when she went back to the kitchen after helping Miss Wallace to her bedroom, she wrote a long letter to Jess to ease her conscience.
An answer came three days later. ‘Burnlea is a sad place just now,’ Jess had written. ‘Robbie and Jackie Duff has both been killed. You maybe do not know about Jackie, he was away working near Peterhead before you came here, but he enlisted after Robbie. Belle says Rab is near demented, though I some think she is not much better. Jean Petrie is very quiet. I suppose she is minding about Denny. I was pleased to get your letter, and I am glad you are still getting on fine. Gina will be growing big now. Give my love to Sandy, and tell him to keep working hard at the school.’
Mysie laid down the two sheets of paper, thankful that she had refused to take up her employer’s suggestion. If she had gone to Burnlea, she would have been in the middle of all that mourning, and she was done with mourning.
When the Armistice was signed in November, Miss Wallace and Mysie wept together with happiness that the strife was over. ‘I always worried about Gregor,’ the old lady admitted, ‘but he has survived and will soon be coming home for good.’
Mysie dabbed at her eyes. ‘I was worried that the war would carry on for years and Sandy would have to go and fight, but I wish it had finished a month ago – that’s when a woman I knew in Burnlea lost both her sons.’ She thought sadly of the other men she had known who would never come home: Davey Robertson, Denny Petrie and, more special than any of them, Doddie.
Just before Christmas, Miss Wallace had some good news to tell Mysie. ‘Gregor’s coming home for a few days. He has not been discharged yet, but he has to attend to some matters in Edinburgh, and will arrive in Aberdeen on Christmas Eve, so I think we should have a proper celebration.’
‘Turkey and all the trimmings?’ Mysie laughed, recalling her first Christmas at Burnlea House.
‘Yes, if it is possible, and I will invite Margaret and her family. Oh, and you and your children must join us.’
Mysie was shocked. ‘Oh, no, Miss Wallace! For one thing, I wouldn’t have time to sit down, and for another, it’s … it’s not the done thing for servants to …’
‘I do not care about that,’ the old lady smiled, ‘and I could engage someone to serve …’
‘I’d rather not. I wouldn’t feel right.’ Having patronised only one butcher since she’d taken over as housekeeper, Mysie had no difficulty in obtaining a turkey, and set about preparing a feast fit for the returning hero. It was good to be cat
ering for so many people again.
After the Christmas dinner, both Mr and Mrs Phillip came to the kitchen to tell her how much they had enjoyed it. ‘My aunt says she is grateful that I passed you on to her,’ Mrs Phillip added. ‘I knew anyway, because you and your family are all she ever writes about in her letters.’
Mysie could detect a hint of jealousy in her ex-employer’s voice, but told herself that she was imagining things because she was hurt that the Captain hadn’t come himself to thank her for the effort she had made for his benefit. ‘Miss Wallace has nothing else to write about, and I’m happy here,’ she said.
‘I’d have liked to see your daughter – Gina, isn’t it? – but I expect she’s sleeping by now?’
‘Yes, Gina’s sleeping, and Sandy has just gone upstairs.’
‘Bobby is still full of energy, but it’s time we got Beatrice home to bed. She is quite tired. Goodbye, Mrs Duncan.’ Mrs Phillip pulled the fur collar of her coat up as she swept out, but the laird – as Mysie would always think of him – lingered for a moment. ‘I think that my wife is a trifle put out that her aunt thinks more of your Gina than of our Beatrice, but she will get over it.’
‘I hope so,’ Mysie said. ‘I’d hate to think I was causing any trouble between them.’
The man’s eyes danced as he grinned, letting Mysie see where Bobby had inherited his mischievous temperament. ‘There has often been trouble between them. There is a nasty streak in Margaret somewhere.’
‘I’d never have thought that,’ Mysie said, as he turned to go. ‘Mrs Phillip was always very kind to me.’
‘She can be, when it suits her, but if anyone upsets her, woe betide him – or her.’
On Boxing Day, while Mysie cleaned up the sitting room, Miss Wallace amused herself by watching seven-month-old Gina trying to pull herself up by holding the leg of a chair then falling down with a bump. ‘What a clever girl,’ the old lady said each time, standing her on her feet again and hugging her.
‘You’ll tire yourself out,’ Mysie scolded. ‘She’s too heavy for you to be lifting like that. Come on, Gina, I’m taking you back to the kitchen.’
‘Oh, leave her here, Maisie. I love watching her.’
‘Just for a little while, then.’
To help his mother because they were between maids at the time, Sandy volunteered to set Miss Wallace’s small table for lunch. ‘She’s playing with Gina like she was a little girl playing with a doll,’ he said, in disgust, when he came back. ‘Kissing her and cuddling her.’
‘And Gina laps it up.’ Mysie sighed as the doorbell rang. ‘Answer the door for me, Sandy. My hands are all floury.’
‘It was Captain Wallace,’ he told her in a minute.
‘You’d better go and take Gina out of their way, and ask if he’s staying for lunch. It’s just leftovers from yesterday.’
Gregor wasn’t staying, and Miss Wallace said to leave Gina, much to Mysie’s relief, for she was behind schedule already. She shouldn’t have started baking, but Miss Wallace loved home-baked bread. She was pounding the dough for the second time when a quiet voice startled her. ‘Are you taking your anger out on that? I can almost see sparks flying from your eyes.’
‘I’m not angry, Captain Wallace,’ she snapped, not looking round at him, for she hadn’t time to talk.
‘You’re giving a very good impression of it.’ Giving a laugh, he placed his hand over hers.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ she explained. ‘I want to set this dough to prove before lunch, so would you please leave me in peace?’ She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too strong.
‘I came to thank you for yesterday’s lovely meal.’ He turned her hand palm up and stroked it. ‘I should have done it last night but I had an appointment, and when Aunt Beatrice told me just now that you did it specially for me, I was very touched. Could it possibly be that you like me a little bit?’
Mysie was flustered. She didn’t want to encourage him if he was flirting, but her hand was tingling from his touch, and he was rather nice. ‘I don’t dislike you,’ she hedged.
‘That’s something, I suppose, but I’d better leave you now – in peace.’ He brushed the nape of her neck lightly with his lips before he went out.
Kneading her dough again, Mysie did feel angry. What right had the man to come in here upsetting her? What right had he to kiss her like that without any warning – and in front of Sandy? She shot a suspicious glance at her son, but he was so busy reading that he probably hadn’t noticed. Brushing some strands of hair out of her eyes, she decided that the Captain’s neck-kiss had meant nothing to him … but it had felt good, all the same.
Chapter Nineteen
Having been discharged from the Scots Guards in June 1920, ex-Captain Wallace came to Ashley Road every week to visit his aunt, popping in to talk to Mysie as he was leaving. She grew used to his gentle teasing – in fact, she rather enjoyed it – but occasionally, when she caught him looking at her wistfully, she wondered if it was more than just plain teasing.
‘I’ve organised myself now,’ he said, one day in August. ‘I couldn’t decide whether or not to go back to what I was doing before the war, but I’ve made up my mind now.’
‘What did you do?’ Mysie asked, remembering that his aunt had once said he had been at university.
‘I worked with a firm of solicitors, but I didn’t feel like going back. I’ve been in a position of authority too long to knuckle down under a boss, so I am starting up on my own.’
‘That’s good.’
‘I won’t be able to tell for some time if it’s good or not,’ he laughed. ‘It all depends on the great public.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll be a success.’
‘I’m glad you have faith in me, Mrs Duncan, because I am not too sure about it myself. How would you feel about trusting me with your innermost secrets, if you had any? Do I give you the impression of a man who is capable of unravelling other people’s problems?’
Her heart pounding guiltily, Mysie said, ‘I’d say you were quite capable.’ But he could never unravel her problem, she reflected. Even the most competent, highly-qualified solicitor in the world would not be capable of doing that.
‘Have you anything to hide, I wonder?’ he persisted, cocking his head to one side. ‘I get the feeling that you have.’
‘Stop teasing me,’ she mumbled, terrified that her eyes would give her away.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help it. You always look so fetching when you’re confused. I want to gather you in my arms and …’
‘Oh, you’re doing it again!’ She averted her crimson face.
‘I wasn’t teasing that time,’ he said, gently, ‘and I think it is time I left, before I say anything else.’
Sandy came home from school as Gregor left, so Mysie had no time to worry about what he had already said.
Over the next few months, Miss Wallace’s legs stiffened even more, her temper becoming correspondingly shorter, and it was fortunate that fifteen-year-old Maudie Low, the current maid, did not easily take offence. When the old lady barked at her, she just laughed and said, ‘Now, now, Miss Wallace, watch your blood pressure,’ and her employer would just give a wry smile.
‘That Maudie is a pert one, Maisie,’ she observed, one day, ‘but I can’t help admiring her spirit.’
Mysie nodded. ‘And she’s a good worker. I hope she doesn’t leave in a couple of months like the rest of them.’
‘Do not be too hard on her, then.’
Mysie smiled. It wasn’t her fault that the others had left, but she couldn’t say that to her crotchety employer. As she went into the hall, the front doorbell rang so she turned to answer it before going back to the kitchen. It was Gregor, who hadn’t visited for a few weeks. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duncan.’
‘Good afternoon, Captain Wallace.’
‘Not captain,’ he corrected. ‘I’m plain Mr Wallace, as you very well know, but I would prefer you to call me Gregor.
’
Still smiling, she let him in and closed the door. ‘Your aunt’s in the sitting room, Mister Wallace.’
‘You’re very stubborn. We’ve known each other for at least four years, yet you’re as distant as ever.’
‘Not distant, surely? Remembering my place, that’s all.’
Twisting his mouth into a frown, he walked into the sitting room, Mysie following to take Gina out of the way. She would never feel on equal terms with him, and that was how it should be.
As he always did, he went to the kitchen before he left, and sat down by the fire to watch Gina play with her dolls. ‘I’ve been very busy lately,’ he sighed. ‘Setting up an office needs a bit of organising, and I couldn’t face my aunt for a while. She is not the most relaxing of women, as you must know, Mrs Duncan. You must get very tired of her, day in, day out.’
‘No, I don’t. She’s been very good to Sandy and me, and she treats little Gina like her own child – spoils her, in fact.’
He laid his hand over hers so quickly that she didn’t have time to move it. ‘I would treat your children as mine, if you would only let me.’
It took her by surprise though she had sometimes suspected that his teasing covered deeper feelings, but he believed that she was a widow, free to do as she liked, and she couldn’t tell him it wasn’t that simple. In any case, she didn’t love him – she could never love anyone else after Doddie. Looking up, she found him regarding her questioningly. ‘If I didn’t make myself clear,’ he said, softly, ‘I was asking you to marry me, and I am still waiting for an answer.’
Her eyes dropped again. ‘You know I can’t marry you. I’m your aunt’s housekeeper, what would she say?’
‘She could say what she liked, it wouldn’t change my mind, and in any case, I don’t think she’d be against it. She thinks a great deal of you.’
‘And I think a lot of her, so I wouldn’t want to upset her. I’m sorry, Mr Wallace, but …’ She was stopped by a great gust of laughter.
The Road to Rowanbrae Page 20
