The Fosters lived on a farm several miles away at the north edge of the parish. Their land straggled the boundary of the adjoining parish so they could have attended the school there, but their mother had insisted they should attend her grandfather’s classes. During the week they lodged with their Grandmother Fortescue on the outskirts of Rowanbank village. Janet knew there were three younger Fosters at home. After school, the boys confided that their father had ordered Molly to stay at home to help their mother.
‘Our Molly loves school, an’ learning, but Ma’s going to have another bairn.’
‘Aye, our Molly wis greetin’ when Father said she couldna come to school wi’ us no more.’
‘Ma said she ought to have a chance to learn her lessons, but Pa started to shout,’ Joe Foster said. ‘He threw the oil lamp at Ma. He says our Molly has learned enough rubbish frae the old dominie. He needs her to work on the farm and help in the dairy.’
‘Tell Molly I’m sorry and I shall miss her,’ Janet said, blinking back tears.
Fred Bridges was not only stupid, he was lazy. Janet began to dread each day and the cruel beatings the dominie administered with apparent pleasure. She dare not confide in her mother. It would add to her anxiety.
During one of the coldest nights of the winter, Janet was wakened from sleep by the shuddering of her mother’s body close to her own. It was bitterly cold in the attic just beneath the roof. They huddled together for warmth, but it was not cold which made Mary Scott’s thin shoulders tremble. She was near to breaking point and she was trying hard to stifle her sobs. Janet was dismayed. Her mother rarely showed her feelings. Janet cuddled closer, hugging the thin body.
‘What is it, Mama?’ she whispered. ‘Has – has something happened?’
‘No, no, lassie. Go to sleep. Don’t worry.’
‘But why are you crying, Mama?’ She clung to her mother in sudden fear. ‘You’re n-not going to die too, are you, Mama?’
‘N-no! No, lassie. It’s Andrew. I don’t want him to leave his studies, but I’ve no more money left to pay the fees. There’s no pleasing Mr Todd. If a dish gets broken, he takes it from my wages, even when it’s one of his pupils. He – he seems to want to make us suffer, yet we have done him no harm.’
‘He is jealous of Grandfather,’ Janet said with a wisdom beyond her years. Even as she uttered the words, she knew she had stumbled on the truth. She did not understand why Mr Todd should be jealous of a person who was dead, she simply knew he was, and he was making her mother miserable. ‘I hate him!’ she whispered vehemently. ‘Don’t cry, Mama. Please don’t cry.’
‘I just wish your grandfather had let Andrew have Mr Saunders’s bursary, instead of arranging for Fingal to get it.’ As soon as the words were out Mary realized she had broken her promise to her father.
‘But Fingal won the bursary, Mama.’
‘I was not meant to know,’ she whispered. ‘You must keep it a secret.’
‘But Fingal did win, didn’t he?’
‘I promised your grandfather I would not tell anyone. Mr Saunders funded the bursary but your grandfather asked him. The McLauchlans are proud. They would not have accepted charity. Your grandfather set the examination in Fingal’s favour. I guessed what he had done when I saw the papers. He didn’t deny it and Fingal is very clever. He deserved a chance and he has been Andrew’s best friend ever since they started school together. He is strong and loyal. We knew he would look after Andrew. I canna grudge him his opportunity. If only….’ She stifled another shuddering sob.
‘Tell me what I can do, Mama. How can I help?’
Mary was silent for a while.
Should she tell her daughter she could not afford to pay the fees the dominie was demanding for her schooling? Janet loved her lessons, or at least she had until Mr Todd became the dominie. Her grandfather had been proud of her. He had been convinced Janet was just as clever as Andrew and Fingal.
At length she said desperately, ‘Tomorrow, after school, I would like you to t-take a letter to Mr Cole. He – he’s my only hope. If – if he could lend me enough to pay Andrew’s fees I know we could repay him when Andrew finishes university and finds an apprenticeship. Perhaps the Reverend Drummond will help him find work in a bank. Andrew is good at arithmetic and all things with figures. I will tell Mr Cole that, if you could take the letter for me, lassie?’
‘I will go,’ Janet promised.
‘It will make you late for supper. Mr Todd will be angry, but I’ll set you something aside up here. I’ll hide it beneath the bed.’
Janet shivered in the darkness. Dominie Todd took pleasure in beating his pupils, but she sensed he wanted to beat her more than the rest.
This was borne out the following evening. It was a long walk down into the old village, across the fields and past the building where the savings bank committee met, then along to the far end where Mr Cole lived and worked. She had to wait until Mr Cole read her mother’s letter and wrote a reply. On the way home, she met Lucy Hughes, who had been her mother’s neighbour. She was a kindly, chatty woman and Janet did not like to be rude and hurry on, especially when her mother had always spoken well of Lucy as a helpful and kindly neighbour. So she was even further delayed.
Janet was cold and desperately hungry by the time she reached home again. She knew the dominie would have eaten his meal ages ago. He was obsessed by punctuality. Fearfully she crept round the back of the schoolhouse and in through the wash house, hoping to get in without passing the room where he dined and read and enjoyed a glass, or more, of whisky. He must have been listening for her. As soon as she appeared in the kitchen he came across the passage and entered by the opposite door. His pale eyes were alarmingly bright and staring. Janet shuddered.
‘Well, miss, and where have you been?’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother give a quick shake of her head, but she knew instinctively that she must not let the dominie know the reason for her errand. He would find a way of preventing her mother doing any extra work. He was always devising unnecessary tasks to take up her time and energy, almost as though he guessed her plans and took delight in thwarting them.
‘When I ask where you have been, I expect an answer, girl!’ he thundered, his pale eyes bulging, his face growing puce with anger. Janet shivered but she answered civilly.
‘I went for a walk. I – I met a friend. I forgot how late it is, s-sir.’
‘Where did you go? Who did you meet? How dare you be late for meals in my house?’
Janet hung her head. She knew whatever she said he would punish her in some way. She saw her mother, white-faced and trembling, wringing her hands. When she dared to utter a word of defence, Isaac Todd rounded on her in fury.
‘The brat is ruined. It is my duty to teach her to be prompt and mannerly when she lives in my house.’ He reached through the door, then swung to face them. He was grasping the cane. He had it ready. He had intended to use it.
‘No!’ Mary gasped. ‘She is my child. I told her to go to….’
‘In my house I make the rules. She will have nothing tonight except a beating. Nothing to eat! Do you hear me?’ Mary had expected this and prepared, but she had not expected him to beat her daughter. She was not in school now.
‘A-a drink of milk…?’ She played for time, trying to think. ‘The bairn must have a drink.’
‘Nothing.’ He advanced on Janet brandishing the cane, cutting through the air. ‘Nothing except this!’ Mary rushed to intercept. Swift as a flash he struck at her, catching her across her face and shoulder, raising an angry stripe across the tender flesh of her cheek. The pain brought tears to Mary’s eyes, but it brought hatred to her heart, and anger to her brain. Before she could prevent him he had grabbed Janet and was laying the cane about her, uncaring where it struck. He was almost demented in his determination to be master of them both and Mary guessed he was well primed with whisky too. She stared around wildly. The poker lay on the hearth. She grabbed it and brought it down with all her strength. F
ortunately for Isaac Todd, it hit his forearm and not his head. The cane fell from his grasp. Mary seized it. She faced him defiantly, pushing Janet behind her.
‘Go to our room, Janet.’ She spoke over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the dominie. ‘Fold all your clothes into a bundle. We are leaving this house.’ Teeth gritted, she outstared the sallow-faced man. He stood, clasping his throbbing arm, trying to flex his fingers. His bulbous eyes glittered with venom.
‘You are not fit to teach my child, or any other.’ Mary did not try to hide her contempt and loathing.
‘And where do you think you will go, madam?’ he sneered. ‘You have no money. You have no relatives. That I have learned. You have a son to educate, a sickly fellow by all accounts.’ Mary stared at him. So that was it? He had made enquiries about her. He believed she was at his mercy, that she would do whatever he asked.
‘I would rather sleep in the hedgerow than spend another night under the same roof as you. You are a fiend.’
‘You cannot go. You have a duty to do. A duty to the school, to the children!’
‘Find another slave.’ Mary backed carefully towards the door, her eyes bright with anger, the whiplash burning in her cheek. She still held the cane in one hand and the poker in the other. Anger made her vibrant and beautiful. For the first time, the dominie saw her as a desirable woman.
‘Come, come now,’ he wheedled, wincing as he held out his throbbing arm. ‘You cannot leave me in the lurch. Surely we can—’
‘Don’t come one step nearer.’ Mary raised the poker. He knew she would strike him. She had courage. He had seen the same proud defiance in her child’s eyes. He wanted to conquer them both, to be master.
‘I cannot let you—’
‘We shall be out of this house as soon as I have packed our clothes. Do not come near either of us, or I shall not be responsible for my actions.’ Mary’s voice was calmer now, firm and strong. She stepped through the door and closed it, breathing deeply.
She had no idea where she would go, or what they were going to do, but she felt a surge of relief. Whatever happened she was glad. Glad she was free of the mean and evil man who had thought to take her father’s place. Only now did she recognize the fear and oppression he had brought to her, and to her daughter.
In the tiny attic bedroom, she found Janet stifling sobs as she folded their clothes. Mary took Janet’s hands in hers. She felt the ridges, some with broken skin. The dominie must have caned her daily. This time he had struck blindly, uncontrollably. Wherever the cane fell it had pleased him.
‘I-I’m s-sorry, Mama,’ Janet gulped.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, my lassie.’ Mary folded her in her arms and brushed her lips across the small, bruised face. Then she bent and drew a plate of bread and butter and a cup of milk from beneath the bed. ‘Eat this; it will give you strength, Janet. I don’t know where we can go, or where we shall sleep.’
‘I hate him,’ Janet sobbed. ‘Why did grandfather have to die?’
‘His time had come. It was God’s will.’ Mary felt panic rising. She really was alone. But nothing would induce her to stay under the same roof as that devil.
Chapter Four
It was very dark when Mary and Janet left the schoolhouse. Each had a pack strapped to their backs and carried another in their arms. Mary had insisted they must bring the blankets and anything they could carry from their room, as well as their clothes and spare boots.
‘Will he accuse us of stealing?’ Janet shuddered with fear. She was suffering from shock. The dominie had caned her regularly but it had always been with cold precision. Tonight there had been a demon in him. The Devil had entered his brain. The pain of her bruised body would heal but she would never forget the evil glitter in the dominie’s eyes.
‘We are not stealing.’ Mary spoke with new firmness. ‘I sold him all the contents of the schoolhouse and he paid a mere token of their worth.’
‘Even grandfather’s books? Did he buy them too?’ Janet asked wistfully.
‘Everything. He considered the house and everything in it was his. But I do not sell my soul to the Devil,’ she added, half under her breath. Janet saw her clutch her Bible closer to her breast. The big Bible which had belonged to her father’s family had been too heavy to carry; it lay in the tiny attic room.
‘Grandfather promised I could read all his books one day,’ she said sadly. ‘How shall I ever learn all the things he promised to teach me now, Mama?’
Mary was silent. Her daughter’s schooldays had ended – gone for ever. Even if they had not quarrelled with Todd, she could not have continued to pay the school fees.
Automatically, Mary turned her steps towards the old village where she had lived with Billy in the few idyllic years of her marriage, but Janet tugged at her sleeve.
‘Couldn’t we go to Crillion Keep? Mama Baird will help us.’ Janet reverted to the name she had used for Peggy. Mary hesitated.
‘We could sleep in the stable?’ Janet pleaded. ‘Like Jesus did.’
‘We can ask, lassie,’ Mary agreed. ‘For tonight anyway. I –I’m not clear in my head. I don’t know what we shall do.’
‘But you are n-not sorry we’ve left the dominie, Mama?’ Janet asked anxiously. ‘I never want to see him again,’ she added vehemently.
‘Whatever happens we shall never go back,’ Mary promised.
It was a long walk whichever way they went and Peggy Baird’s cottage was in darkness by the time Mary and Janet dragged their weary limbs up the path. The McLauchlans’ cottage was equally dark.
‘They are all abed,’ Mary whispered. ‘I dinna like to disturb them. Do you know where the stables are, lassie?’
‘Yes, we passed them. Look, Mama, that dark shape at the other side of the track down there.’
‘Then we’ll spend the night there.’
Janet led the way, weary enough to lie down and sleep in the hedge after her earlier journey to Mr Cole’s. When they reached the stable all the stalls were occupied with horses.
‘There is a hayloft up above. Mr McLauchlan goes up the ladder.’
‘We’ll go up there, then. It should be warmer.’
Huddled together in the sweet scented hay, both Mary and Janet slept, too exhausted to think, or to plan.
Mary woke first to the sound of a stable boy starting his duties for the day. She crept down the ladder and almost frightened the lad out of his wits.
‘We arrived last night. Mr and Mrs Baird had gone to bed. I did not wish to disturb them,’ she explained, half afraid he might attack her with the fork he was holding. He lowered it and nodded dumbly. ‘Are they awake yet?’ He nodded again and Mary squeezed past him out into the fresh morning air. She did her best to tidy her hair, aware that she must look like a vagrant.
She was astonished to see Fingal McLauchlan walking towards her. He was in serious conversation with Donald Baird, Peggy’s husband.
‘Fingal! What are you doing home? Why are you not at the university?’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Andrew? Is he with you? Has he gone to the schoolhouse?’
‘Hello, Mrs Scott!’ Fingal’s surprise equalled her own. ‘No, Andrew is not with me. My father is ill. I – I was afraid he might die without me seeing him again. As Dominie McWhan did,’ he added in a low voice. ‘I must return to Edinburgh tomorrow.’
‘I see. I – I’m sorry. I did not know your father was ill.’ She looked at Donald Baird. ‘We – we came to see Peggy. You were abed when we arrived last night. We slept in the loft. I – we must not trouble either of you further.’
‘Wait!’ It was clear to Donald Baird that Mistress Scott was distraught. ‘You must see Peggy, now that you are here.’
‘We?’ Fingal asked swiftly. ‘You are not alone?’
‘Janet is with me,’ Mary said more calmly, pulling herself together with an effort. ‘She is still asleep. In the loft. But tell me, Fingal, what news of Andrew? Is he well? The cough?’
‘It troubles him still,’ Fin
gal admitted reluctantly. ‘Otherwise he is – he is as always. He works at his books long into the night. Shall I give him a message, a letter perhaps?’
‘A letter….’ Despair dulled Mary’s gaze. ‘We do not even have a quill.’
‘See Peggy, now, Mistress Scott,’ Donald Baird said gently. ‘She will find you all you need.’ And learn whatever troubles you, he thought silently. He shook his head. Troubles never seemed to come alone. Fingal had done right to make the journey from Edinburgh for he was sure Jacob was dying. His father-in-law had been a good friend to him and to Peggy.
‘Perhaps I had better waken Janet and tell her where I am first….’ Mary said.
‘I will tell her,’ Fingal said quickly. ‘We are on our way to the stables. Today I am helping Donald in place of my father.’ Mary nodded. Fingal’s father was head coachman and Donald Baird worked with him as second coachman. Fingal’s young face was anxious and Mary could guess the reason. His parents lived in a tied cottage, which went with his father’s job. True, Maggie McLauchlan also worked as cook and housekeeper but would she be allowed to stay in the coachman’s cottage?
Fingal climbed the ladder to the loft and found Janet sleeping still. Exhaustion from the two long walks of the previous day, combined with shock and pain, had taken their toll. Rays of early-morning light came through the small window near the floor of the loft. It caught the wild profusion of chestnut curls spread around Janet’s head. She was lying on her back, fully clothed and half-covered with hay but her arm was flung above her head. Along the open palm and fingers Fingal saw the wounds. Caning? Caning for Janet? He frowned. She had been the dominie’s granddaughter through and through. He recalled how bright and intelligent she had been, how far ahead of the other children. She had needed no extra help or favouritism. She had loved learning.
Beyond Reason Page 4
