True, she was a child of high spirits and determination. He half smiled as he remembered how often she had followed him and Andrew on their boyish pursuits, how she had fallen in the burn when they went to gather frogspawn. She had even climbed to the top of the old tree where he and Andrew had their secret meeting place. They had told her it was a wishing tree and she had insisted on making her wish. She had refused to tell them what it was in case telling spoiled the magic of the tree.
As he gazed down at her he realized her face was paler and thinner than he remembered. Fear struck his heart. Surely Janet had not developed the same racking cough which troubled Andrew? Consumption. He would not say the word aloud. He could not bear to lose both of his friends, and Janet was closer than a friend: she was almost a sister to him. Yet as he looked down onto her sleeping face, his boy’s heart stirred with tenderness and something more than the feelings of a brother. She was so young, so innocent. Janet stirred and turned her head. Fingal gasped. Across her cheek were two angry lines, one of them running right down her neck and disappearing beneath the neck of her dress, torn when the dominie had grabbed her. There were three more stripes across her other arm. She opened her eyes as he moved closer. He watched them widen as he came into her line of vision.
‘Fingal! Is it really you? I wished and wished you were here last night.’ Her delight and trust warmed him. He reached down to help her to her feet. As soon as she moved, the pain and the horror of the previous evening returned. Fingal saw her wince.
‘What has happened, Janet? Who has hurt you so?’
‘The – the dominie. I took a message for Mama. I was late for supper. He – he was so angry, Fingal.’
He could see the disbelief in her eyes as the memory came rushing back.
‘He even hit Mama.’ She bit back a sob.
‘Oh, Janet, my lassie.’ Fingal drew her tenderly into his arms and she clung to him, sobbing against his father’s dusty waistcoat which he had donned to help Donald in the stables. Anger flared in Fingal’s young heart.
‘I have heard of dominies who like to use the cane too freely. Some of the fellows at university tell tales of cruelty – but to beat you, a girl? And so cruelly….’
‘He – he’s horrid. I hate him. Mama says we are never going back.’
‘I see … I’m glad you are not returning to the house of such a man, but—’
‘Fingal?’ Donald Baird’s voice came from the stable below. ‘Is the wee maid all right? Have you wakened her?’
‘Yes. We’re coming down. Can you help her, Donald? She has been badly beaten.’
‘Beaten?’ Donald reached up two muscular arms and lowered Janet gently to the floor of the stable. He watched her move her stiff limbs and try to flex her shoulders. ‘Beaten?’ he repeated. ‘Who has done such a thing, lassie?’
‘The dominie,’ Fingal told his brother-in-law grimly.
‘So it’s true! Angus and Beth say he takes pleasure in using the cane. We thought they must deserve it. They told us he caned Miss Janet every day. We did not believe them.’
‘It’s true,’ whispered Janet. ‘And I tried so hard.’
‘I’m sure you did my lamb,’ Donald’s voice was gruff. ‘No wonder our two bairns say they will walk to school through the snow rather than stay in the dominie’s house.’
‘You only have to look at Janet. See her face. She was not even in school. She had been obeying her mother’s instructions to go on an errand.’
‘The letter!’ Janet gasped in dismay. ‘I forgot to give Mama the reply from Mr Cole.’ She pulled a thick white envelope from her pinafore pocket.
‘Your mother is with Peggy, lassie. You take her up to the cottage, Fingal. We’ll be getting on with the horses.’
‘How is Andrew?’ Janet asked as they walked side by side.
‘He has the cough still, but he is working hard at his studies. Most of the students believe he will get the trophy for the best mathematics student next year. He works so hard….’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Sometimes Janet, I fear for his health. I believe he would forget to eat if I did not insist.’
‘You are a good friend to him.’ Janet stopped and seized his hand. ‘We are grateful to you, Fingal.’
‘I hope I shall always be a good friend, to both of you, Janet. You are as dear to me as my own family. You will promise to tell me if ever you are in trouble? If ever you need my help? If only I could take care of you. One day….’ He broke off and bit his lip. ‘I hate to think of the dominie caning you so,’ he said vehemently. ‘I would like to – to….’
‘No one can help with that. He – he takes pleasure in caning all of us. B-but he seemed to have a grudge against me.’
‘I would like to give him a caning….’
Janet looked up at him and he caught a glimpse of her old, impish smile.
‘I wish you could. You are certainly as big as he is now. I think you could cane him very well. Has Andrew grown as tall as you?’
‘No. He is very thin…. I do worry about him, Janet, but I don’t like to trouble your Mama, especially now when she has more trouble than ever.’ He pushed the door of his sister’s cottage open for her to enter.
Mary and Peggy broke off their conversation.
‘Come in, lassie, and have some porridge,’ Peggy greeted Janet warmly. ‘Oh, my bairn! What has that monster done to you? Your poor face….’ Peggy turned Janet’s face to the light, and then examined her scarred hands, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You could never have deserved such caning! You were never a bad wee bairn.’ Janet did not answer. There was nothing to say and she was ravenous for the plate of steaming porridge Peggy set before her with a bowl of cream.
‘Now, you two,’ Peggy turned to Angus and Beth, ‘it is time you were on your way or you will be late for school.’ Six-year-old Beth sidled up to Janet and put her hand in hers.
‘Can’t I stay here with Janet today? She could help me with my numbers.’
‘No, Beth, you cannot stay at home today, but it is Saturday tomorrow and you will be at home then. Now off you go.’
‘You said you had a letter for your mother, Janet,’ Fingal reminded her.
‘Oh yes! I forgot about Mr Cole’s letter last night, Mama.’
‘No wonder, lassie. So did I.’ Mary took the letter and slit open the envelope.
‘I wonder what Mr Cole means by this,’ she said aloud. ‘He says he has a proposition to put before me now that his wife is so frail. He says he will speak to me after the kirk on Sunday. He goes on about the little room at the back of the tailor’s shop being little more than a cupboard but he assumes Janet will be lodging in the schoolhouse for the winter with the other pupils.’
‘No! No, Mama.’
‘No!’ Fingal moved swiftly to put a protective arm around her shoulders, his young face filled with concern.
‘I couldn’t send you back, lassie, even if I wanted to.’ Mary spoke wearily. ‘I can’t afford to pay the dominie’s fees. I can’t make head nor tail o’ Mr Cole’s letter.’
‘Well, it’s only two days until the Sabbath, Mary,’ Peggy Baird said. ‘You could bide here until you have talked with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s wanting you to keep house for him and look after his wife.’
‘Do you think we could stay here in the stables until then?’
‘We’re pleased to help. You could share the bairns’ bed. Mother would have given you a bed but Fingal is sleeping in the bedroom. He’ll stay with her again tonight. When he is not here I stay with Father at night. Mother doesn’t want to leave Mr Saunders in the lurch. She worked at Crillion Keep before he inherited it and he kept her on as housekeeper. Mrs Mossy is a good cleaner but she is a hopeless cook.’
‘I didn’t realize your father was so bad, Peggy. Maybe I can help while I am here? I could give your mother a rest. I’m used to nursing after – after caring for Billy.’
‘Would you do that?’ Peggy’s eyes brightened. ‘I remember Doctor Carr saying
how well you cared for Billy. I don’t know when Mother last had a proper sleep. Father canna help himself and he’s a heavy man to lift.’
‘I’ll go over to the cottage, then. It will be a relief to know I can help.’
‘Eat up some breakfast first then, Mary. You look tired to death.’
Janet had already washed her hands and face in the pail of water Fingal had drawn from the well. It was stingingly cold but it banished the sleep from her eyes and made her feel alert and alive. The exhaustion of the previous evening vanished when she had eaten the large bowl of porridge.
‘It looks to me as though you’re both fading away. Did the dominie no’ feed ye well?’
‘He’s the meanest, most miserable man you could ever imagine,’ Mary declared.
‘Can I go and help Fingal at the stables now?’ Janet asked eagerly.
‘Aye, away ye go, lassie,’ Peggy said fondly. ‘He was aye pleased to have your company and ye’ll take his mind off his own worries. He’ll need to return to Edinburgh tomorrow.’
‘How will he get back?’ Mary asked.
‘Joe Nairn, the carrier, has promised to lift him to the crossroads when he takes a load o’ wood over to The Place. He said he’d ask one o’ the carters to take Andrew as far as Moffat and maybe he’ll be lucky and get a lift or two for the rest o’ the journey.’ She sighed. ‘He’s a good laddie, but he’s worried about my stepfather and mother being in the Coachman’s Cottage. He is going to talk to Mr Saunders when he and Donald have finished the horses.’
Fingal was concerned for his mother and he made his way up to the big house to discuss the situation with Josiah Saunders.
‘I know the cottage is tied and intended for the head coachman,’ Fingal explained, ‘but Mother was born there when her father was coachman. It would upset her to move. I could train as undercoachman with Donald if you will allow us to stay in the cottage, sir?’
‘Ah, Fingal, you have only one more year to do at university. Would you throw it all away to become a coachman?’
‘If it means allowing my mother to keep her home, sir, and if you will employ me?’
‘You’re a good son, Fingal. I know how hard you have worked, and it would be a waste to throw away your education. One day I hope to offer you more than work as my coachman. I value your mother’s care of me and my household as much as I value my coachmen’s care of my horses. Donald tells me young Mark Wright is a good worker and he is careful when driving the pony and trap. He assures me the two of them should manage very well. Mark’s father is horseman at Home Farm so he is happy to live at home with his parents and walk across the field to work each morning. So you see you have no need to worry. You must continue your studies.’ He asked a few more questions about Fingal’s time at university before they parted. Fingal’s heart was lighter than he had thought possible considering the state of his father’s health.
Janet felt sad and alone when Fingal left for his journey back to Edinburgh. She struggled to hold back her tears. Fingal returned her hug, then bent his head and kissed her cheek, muttering fervently, ‘I wish we were older. I wish I could take care of you, Janet.’
As Mary and Janet entered the kirk on Sunday morning, Mr Cole caught Mary’s eye and gave a polite nod. He watched her follow Peggy and her family into their seat, instead of taking the seat she had always occupied with her father and her husband. Dominie Todd sat there alone, his expression grim, his mouth a thin line. He knew he did not have the respect Dominie McWhan had commanded from young and old alike and he resented the dead man’s continuing influence. Gossip spread rapidly in the small community and other members of the congregation were quick to notice Mary Scott and her daughter had relinquished her family’s pew.
‘The rumours must be true,’ whispered one to another. Janet was too innocent to grasp the significance of the change of seats but she sensed that everyone was looking at them. The wheals from Dominie Todd’s cane still showed bright pink on their faces. She shivered and glanced across at him
She was pleased when she saw Molly Foster and three of her brothers. She knew there were more young Fosters who must be at home with their mother. Janet guessed the man must be their father. His stare made her feel uncomfortable. She tried to catch Molly’s eye but the older girl kept her head bowed, her eyes downcast. Janet thought she looked pale and unhappy. She raised her eyes and found Mr Foster looking at her strangely as though he was assessing her in some way. It reminded her of the way her grandfather had looked at the two pigs which he had kept in the pigsty behind the schoolhouse. He had looked that way when he was deciding whether one of them was ready for Mr McPhee, the butcher. She shuddered and lowered her own gaze.
The Reverend Peter Drummond was a good man and a fine preacher but Mary Scott kept her eyes lowered. She knew he, like everyone else, had noticed she was not in the family pew she had occupied every Sabbath since she was a small child. All the congregation would know her disagreement with the dominie was a serious matter when she would not share the same pew.
Josiah Saunders also noticed and concluded the disagreement at the schoolhouse must be as serious as Mistress McLauchlan had reported, but he had no idea how dire the situation had become for Mary Scott and twelve-year-old Janet. He was not a man who mixed in society and he abhorred the sort of idle gossip which his stepsister Eliza and her ilk relished. When Dominie McWhan had arranged for Fingal to win the bursary to attend university, he had assured Josiah he would finance his grandson’s education himself, and his granddaughter’s too if he was spared long enough. So it did not occur to Josiah that those fees had ceased with the dominie’s death. His own concern was for his housekeeper, Maggie McLauchlan, whom he valued and respected. In spite of Fingal’s reassurance that her home was safe, she had looked exhausted and deeply troubled since her husband had suffered a stroke ten days ago.
Although he was only thirty-two, he had known since he was a boy that his own health was precarious, but he had learned to accept the old doctor’s advice to make the best of each day and he had already survived years longer than had been expected. He had been surprised when his great-uncle, on his mother’s side, had died and left him the small mansion house of Crillion Keep, along with the surrounding land. It was not a large estate, but it gave him a secure living and amply provided for his needs. In the letter his Great-Uncle Cedric had left for him, he had bade him enjoy each day which God might grant him and if it gave him satisfaction to ease the burdens of those who needed help then he must follow his heart. There was one proviso: neither Eliza Ross, nor her offspring, were to benefit from the Crillion estate. The old man had been shrewd enough to assess his stepsister’s avarice, just as he had known of his own yearning for knowledge and his ambition to pass on his learning had he not been thwarted by ill health.
Josiah understood his uncle’s wishes because they both remembered Eliza quarrelling bitterly with his father when she could no longer drain his coffers. Josiah’s own mother had died shortly after his birth. When he was four years old, his father had married a widow with a fourteen-year-old daughter, Eliza. Looking back, he realized she had been jealous of him from the first day she arrived in his home. She had resented the kindness and affection her mother had shown towards him.
As the congregation filed out of the little kirk, Mr Cole caught Mary’s eye and indicated his wish to speak with her outside. She drew Janet to one side, reluctant to answer the questions she knew many of the parishioners were longing to ask, and she was thankful Mr Cole did not delay in seeking her out.
‘I see ’tis true, then?’ he greeted her, lifting his bowler hat politely as he reached her and Janet. ‘You’ve left your position at the schoolhouse, Mistress Scott?’
‘Ye-es,’ Mary heard her own voice quaver alarmingly.
‘Well, well,’ Mr Cole was saying, ‘I do believe God has answered my prayers, then. The dominie’s loss will be my gain. As I explained in my letter, my wife is growing increasingly frail. She needs care, help in the house a
nd with the meals, you understand?’ He broke off, frowning at the large, ruddy-faced man who was hovering close by. He was not one of his customers but Cole had seen him in church from time to time. He had a vague recollection that the man lived at the north end of the parish, maybe even in the next parish. There had been some talk about him amongst the elders but this was not the time to dwell on gossip. The tailor turned his attention back to Mary with a questioning glance.
‘Well, would you consider a full-time situation in my home, Mistress Scott?’
‘I would be glad of it, Mr Cole but Janet—’
‘Good, good, I know how neat and correct you are with the ledgers too. I shall be glad of your help with the orders for a few hours each week. You will eat with us but unfortunately I can only offer you the small room at the back for your accommodation….’ He looked towards Janet apologetically. ‘Your daughter will be staying at the schoolhouse, no doubt, and—’
‘No!’ Janet was almost as surprised as Mr Cole when the words burst from her of their own accord. ‘No,’ Janet repeated, ‘I do not want to attend the dominie’s school.’
‘I see. But….’ A look of consternation came into the tailor’s crinkly eyes.
‘Pardon me, ma’am, for interrupting.’ They all turned. ‘I’m Foster from Braeheights Farm. Ye’ll ken ma bairns attend the school. My lads told me you had both left the schoolhouse Thursday night, without warning. They thought your bairn wouldna be going back to school. She was a friend tae my ain lassie, so I’m offering her a wee job up at the farm. She’ll have a roof and enough to eat. Molly would like the company.’ He glanced behind him. They all looked at Molly then. She was hanging back, glowering at the ground as though her life depended on it.
Beyond Reason Page 5
