‘Oh, my dear girl. It’s so ridiculous. I have just proposed to you, yet we still don’t call each other by our first names. I’ve heard Aunt Beatrice calling you Maisie. Won’t you allow me the same privilege?’
‘I can’t stop you, Mr Wallace,’ she faltered.
‘I can’t call you Maisie if you still call me Mr Wallace.’
His eyes were dancing now, and she had to smile. ‘Come on, then, Maisie. Let me hear you say my name.’
‘Oh … Gregor, you’re an awful torment.’
‘Not at all, just in love, but I can see I’ve embarrassed you. How is Sandy getting on at school?’
Relaxing, she said, ‘Quite well, I think. All his teachers gave him very good reports.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that, because I have plans for him.’
‘Plans?’
‘I won’t tell you yet, but Aunt Beatrice approves.’
‘Can you not give me some idea?’
‘Not an inkling. Have patience, my dear Maisie.’ He stood up and swung her little girl up in his arms. ‘I’ll take you to the door with me, Gina, if you promise to wave goodbye to me.’
He was nice, Mysie thought, as he carried her chuckling daughter out, but his proposal couldn’t have been serious. A man like him, a solicitor in his own firm, would never dream of marrying a servant. No, it was just the way the gentry had, joking about everything.
Gina came running in from the door. ‘Will Thandy be home thoon? He promithed to buy me a thugar mouth today.’
‘You’re getting spoiled, little madam,’ Mysie scolded, for everyone in the house, and even those who visited, petted the lisping toddler and gave her whatever she asked, and it wasn’t good for her. She would have to learn that the world didn’t revolve around her.
Just before Christmas, Miss Wallace fell as she was dressing, and when her doctor was leaving, he told Mysie that it could have been a slight stroke. The old lady believed that it was the fall which had affected her legs and asked Mysie if she would mind sleeping in the room adjoining hers – the dining room – until she felt better. It entailed some rearranging of furniture, but Gregor helped, and they were all much easier in their minds when the house-keeper was within call. Eighty-four now, Miss Wallace had been doddery on her legs for a year or more, and Mysie had often felt anxious when she heard her walking about, The fall – or stroke – took a heavy toll on the old lady, and even when she was fit enough to be out of bed, she couldn’t walk without someone supporting her, so her doctor advised her to buy a wheelchair. It made Mysie sad to see her tied to a chair, and it meant a lot of extra work, but Beatrice Wallace’s spirit was unbroken and her tongue was as sharp as ever, except to the children. ‘Come up on my lap,’ she would say to Gina, and the little girl would give a gurgling laugh and wriggle around until she found the most comfortable position on the knobbly knees. To Sandy, too, the old lady’s manner was gentle. As soon as he went in to do his homework, she propelled her wheelchair nearer to the bureau. She talked to him as if he were an adult each time he turned spontaneously to discuss something he wasn’t sure of.
Mysie couldn’t get over the change in her son since they had come to Aberdeen. He was much older, of course, and probably had more common sense than when he got up to mischief with Bobby Phillip. Perhaps his high spirits had been a means of seeking attention, or had they covered his guilt about the fire? He was different, whatever it was, and now spoke perfect English, with no trace of the dialect that had caused him to be ridiculed when he first went to Ashley Road School.
Because of Miss Wallace’s infirmity, Mysie hardly ever left the house – the tweed skirts and jumpers she had bought before would last for years yet, and Maudie could be trusted to buy in the provisions – but, after several months, Mysie began to long for even a short respite from duty, something to brighten at least one day. The letter from Jess Findlater late in July, therefore, seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.
‘Dear Mysie, Jake says he is tired of hearing me saying how long it is since I saw you, and he telled me I should go to see you. Will this Saturday be all right for you? If it is, do not bother to write. I will get the one o’clock bus into the town, and the half past five bus back. Jake sends his love. Your friend, Jess.’
‘I look forward to meeting your friend when she comes,’ Miss Wallace remarked, when Mysie asked if she could have a visitor. ‘Only for a little time, of course, because I know you will want to be alone with her to catch up on all her gossip.’
‘Jess will have plenty to gossip about. You’ll like her, even though she speaks as broad as I did when I came here first.’
‘It will be a diversion for me. I have very little to amuse me these days. It will be Maudie’s afternoon off, which is all the better, and you can just give me something quick for tea after your Mrs Findlater leaves.’
When Jess appeared on Saturday, the two old friends clasped hands tearfully – they hadn’t seen each other for three years – then Mysie led her in to the sitting room to get the ordeal of meeting Miss Wallace over before they let their hair down in the kitchen. At first, Jess appeared to be uncomfortable in the ‘lady’s’ presence, but was soon telling her about Jean Petrie and her malicious tongue, about Andra White, the miller, and all the other people in Burnlea. ‘They got a shock when they saw Mysie first, for she didna look auld enough to be onybody’s wife, never mind a ugly auld stick like Jeems.’
Mysie’s blood turned to ice. When Miss Wallace asked about her husband, she had described him as young and handsome, and there was nothing wrong with the old lady’s memory. What on earth would she make of this? Her friend’s patent unease made Jess realise that she had put her foot in it, and she did her best to put things right. ‘I was just jokin’ aboot him bein’ a ugly auld stick, for we used to say some awfu’ things to each other just in fun. His name was … James George Duncan, an’ we’d aye ken’t him as Jeems, but Mysie aye called him Doddie. It was a kind o’ pet name she had for him, you see.’
Grateful to her for trying, Mysie could see that the rather lame explanation hadn’t fooled Miss Wallace, who said, suddenly, ‘I feel quite tired. Take Mrs Findlater to the kitchen, Maisie, and remember to offer her a cup of tea.’
‘I’m sorry if it was my lang tongue that tired her oot,’ Jess said, as they went along the hall. ‘I never ken when to haud it. Did she nae ken you was wed to Jeems?’
Mysie shrugged and sighed. ‘Mrs Phillip tell’t her Doddie was my man, an’ I didna see only reason to tell her different.’
‘I think she believed what I said aboot his name bein’ James George though, so likely nae harm’s been daen.’
The subject had to be dropped when they entered the kitchen, where Sandy was sitting in a corner with his head as usual buried in a book, and Gina was kneeling on the hearthrug building up her wooden blocks. ‘She’s got Doddie’s nose, Mysie,’ Jess exclaimed, delightedly, as the little girl giggled and knocked the pile over again. ‘She’s a wee darlin’ an’ I could tak’ her hame wi’ me – nae bother.’
‘She’s gettin’ spoiled, an’ she’s got a temper, for as young as she is.’
‘A’ bairns ha’e tempers, an’ naebody could help spoilin’ her, the little lamb. An’ Sandy, what a big loon you’ve grown.’
‘I’m fourteen and a half,’ he said, offhandedly, without even bothering to look up.
‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ Mysie said, ‘but he’s ower ta’en up …’
‘Dinna worry aboot that, lass. Let the laddie be. I’m nae easy put oot, as you should ken.’
Over their cup of tea, Jess gave Mysie all the latest news from Burnlea. ‘Jinty Mutch is goin’ steady wi’ a doctor she met in the Infirmary, and Kirsty’s been seen oot wi’ ane o’ the men fae Waterton. Oh, an’ Effie Petrie’s gettin’ wed to a lad she met at her work in the toon. It’s a rush weddin’ though, for she’s expectin’.’
Mysie laughed. ‘What’s her mother sayin’ aboot that?’
‘Och weel, you ken Jean
. It’s nae a scandal when it’s at her ain door. She just says, “He’s a fine man an’ they were waitin’ till they got a hoose afore they got wed, but you canna blame them for lettin’ their feelin’s run awa’ wi’ them.” ‘
Jess had imitated Mrs Petrie’s clipped tones well, and Mysie could just picture the woman trying to defend her daughter. ‘Effie was a nice wee lassie, an’ I hope things work oot for her. Did Gavin Leslie ever come back to Fingask?’ She turned quickly to take her daughter’s hand away from the cakestand. ‘No more, Gina. You’ve had enough biscuits.’
The toddler scowled. ‘Me hungry.’
‘It’ll soon be teatime.’
As soon as Mysie’s attention was off her, Gina’s hand crept out again and whipped a perkin off the bottom plate, and Jess, who had been waiting to answer Mysie’s question, pretended she didn’t see. ‘You was askin’ aboot Gavin Leslie. No, he never come back, but I dinna ken if he was killed, or if he was just bidin’ awa’ fae Freda Mutch.’
Without warning, a great nostalgia swept over Mysie. ‘Oh, I wish I was back in Burnlea. I wish Rowanbrae had never …’ Horrified at what she had nearly said in front of Sandy, she stopped and swallowed. ‘It’s seein’ you again, Jess. I’m happy here, for Miss Wallace has been awfu’ good to us.’
‘Poor auld wumman, tied to that chair a’ the time. But tell me, does her nephew still come to see her?’
‘Aye, he comes every week.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He must be aboot forty-five, an’ he’s tall, awfu’ thin, an’ nae very good-lookin’, but he thinks the world o’ Miss Wallace.’
‘Has he got a wife?’
Mysie coloured in spite of herself. ‘No.’
Jess waited, the blush whetting her curiosity, but after a moment, she realised that nothing more was to be forthcoming. ‘I clean forgot to tell you, though. Meggie Duff an’ Drew White got wed in April, an’ him aboot ten year aulder than her, but they’re biding at the mill, for Andra hasna been awfu’ weel.’
‘Oh, I’m pleased for Meggie, for she was awfu’ ta’en wi’ Drew when I was workin’ wi’ her.’
‘Drew made her gi’e up her cook’s job, of course, but her an’ Pattie get on fine, an’ she’s real good wi’ Nessie. They’re goin’ to ha’e to put her awa’, for she’s worse than ever she was. There’s nae a man safe if he goes near her, for …’ Jess broke off as the door opened.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Maisie.’ Gregor hesitated and stepped back. ‘I didn’t know you had company.’
‘Come in, Gregor,’ Mysie smiled. ‘This is a very dear friend of mine from Burnlea. Jess – Miss Wallace’s nephew.’
He held out his hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Jess. I’m sorry, but Maisie didn’t tell me your surname.’
‘Findlater,’ Jess said, rather flustered, ‘an’ I’m pleased to meet you, as weel. I’ve ken’t Mysie for aboot sixteen year, an’ we havena seen each other for a lang time, so we’ve just been ha’ein’ a right good gossip.’
‘A good gossip is what Maisie is needing, she’s been working too hard for months. My aunt can be a real slave-driver.’
‘I don’t mind, and she’s not as bad as that,’ Mysie protested, slipping back into English automatically.
‘I don’t know what Aunt Beatrice would do without her,’ he told Jess. ‘Nor without the children. I’m sure they are what keeps her going.’
‘Aye, they’re fine bairns.’
‘They’re part of the family, and Maisie, too, Mrs Findlater.’
Jess noticed the affection in his eyes as he looked at Mysie, and asked, when he went out, ‘Is there a romance in the air?’
Mysie blushed again. ‘No, naething like that, an’ he doesna ken half the truth aboot me. If he did, he wouldna ha’e …’
The abrupt stop told Jess that Gregor had already revealed to Mysie how he felt about her. What a chance for her – she’d be daft not to accept him if he proposed marriage, for she’d be settled for the rest of her life, her and her bairns … but maybe she didn’t feel the same way about him. Oh, well, Jess thought, this was something to tell Jake. After Jess left, Mysie scrambled some eggs, wondering how she could parry the questions that were bound to be asked when she took in Miss Wallace’s tea. It might be better to confess everything, with one crucial omission, and she could only hope that she would not be dismissed for being so deceitful.
Gregor, having gone back to talk to his aunt in the hope of getting Mysie alone later, was still there when she carried in the tray, but that didn’t stop the old lady from saying, her eyes hard, ‘You have a very loyal friend, Maisie.’ Doubly ashamed because of the man’s presence, Mysie mumbled, ‘Yes, Jess would do anything for me.’
‘Even lie for you?’
‘She thought she was helping me, but it was a lie. Doddie wasn’t my husband. His name was Wilson, and he was the finest man I ever knew. After Jeems … left me, Doddie came to the croft to help me for months before he came to stay.’
The grey eyes glittered. ‘You lived as husband and wife?’ Gregor stood up angrily. ‘No, Aunt Beatrice. You’ve no right to ask her that. It’s none of our business what Maisie did before she came here.’
‘I don’t mind telling you.’ Mysie was resigned to exposing her past life now, and it was probably just as well that Gregor would learn the truth at the same time.
‘Don’t say anything else,’ he warned. ‘There’s no need.’
‘Yes, there is. I should have been honest from the day I came here. Yes, we lived as husband and wife, though everyone knew we weren’t. We’d only a few months together before our house burned down, and Doddie enlisted in the Gordons, and he went away just days later. That was in February 1915, and he was going to take Sandy and me away after the war to a place nobody would know we weren’t married, but he was killed at the end of November, 1917, and I was expecting his child.’
Miss Wallace’s face had relaxed a little, so Mysie went on. ‘Doddie was the only man I ever loved, and I still love him.’
‘So you didn’t love your husband? Why did you marry him, if he was an ugly old stick, as your friend said?’
This was something Mysie did mind talking about, but it was as well to explain it, too. ‘My father sold me to Jeems for thirty pounds when I was hardly sixteen.’ The shocked silence made her hurry on. ‘He was drunk, of course – he was always drunk – and my mother tried to make him change his mind.’ She stopped, remembering that awful day in 1905. How could these people understand what life had been like for the Lonies at that time? How would Miss Wallace have dealt with a drunken husband? It was useless to try to explain any more. ‘I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I’ll pack my things, and Sandy’s, and we’ll leave tonight.’
But when Mysie looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, she saw that Miss Wallace was drying her own eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I do not want you to leave, Maisie. I should not have judged you before I knew the circumstances. I had no right to ask, it was none of my business, and I am very sorry if I have upset you. Gregor, you had better see her back.’
Silently, Gregor followed Mysie out, but when they reached the kitchen, where Sandy was still studying, he said, ‘Sandy, I want to talk to your mother in private for a few minutes, so would you please take Gina into the scullery and close the door? I’ll let you know when to come back.’
Sandy stood up with bad grace, took Gina’s hand and stamped out carrying his book. When the scullery door banged behind them, Gregor turned to Mysie, who was trembling apprehensively. ‘Please sit down, my dear. You must feel terrible – that was a dreadful ordeal for you.’
‘I don’t know what you must think of me,’ she wailed.
‘I think exactly the same of you as I did before. If I had known what my aunt meant to say, I’d have tried to prevent it, but I’m glad I know. It has explained quite a lot to me. How long is it since your husband left you?’
‘It was January 1914.’
‘Didn
’t you know that you could have him presumed dead after seven years? This is July 1921, so it’s seven and a half.’
Mysie didn’t need to presume that Jeems was dead. His body might be found if another search was made, although the police hadn’t found it after the fire. ‘What difference would that make?’ she asked, timidly.
‘You would be free … free to marry again.’
‘I don’t want to marry again.’
‘You might, one day.’
She knew what he meant, but she could never marry him. She liked him, and he’d been very understanding, but she didn’t love him. In any case, if he ever found out that Jeems was lying under the byre at Rowanbrae, he would think that she had killed her husband, and there was no way to prove otherwise. Aware that Gregor’s eyes were on her, she said, ‘No, I’m quite sure I’ll never want to marry again.’
Shaking his head, he stood up. ‘Put your past life out of your mind, Maisie. I’ll never mention it again, and neither will my aunt. We will go on as before, and we will still be friends, though I hope that we can be more than that some day.’
Before he left, Gregor called to Sandy that he and Gina could come back, so Mysie had no time to think until she was in her own room. There was no romance, whatever Jess believed. It was Doddie she loved, even four years after his death, even though he had killed Jeems. He had done it because he loved her, but why hadn’t he confessed to her? If he had, they could have been married … no, it would still have been impossible, since everyone else had thought that Jeems was still alive.
Why did Jeems have to go to the Turriff Show that day? Why did her father force her to marry him? Wishing with all her heart and soul that she could change the past, it suddenly hit her how foolish she was. If she hadn’t married Jeems and gone to live at Rowanbrae, she would never have met Doddie, would never have known those few short months of bliss, would never have had his child.
Giving up the struggle to fathom things out, Mysie put up a silent prayer of thanks that Miss Wallace had not thrown her out, then turned over to try to get some sleep.
The Road to Rowanbrae Page 21
