Beyond Reason

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Joe?’ Foster gave a guffaw. ‘Come on now, do as I say and open the door. ’Tis time ye earned your keep and learned how to pleasure a man.’

  Fear propelled Janet from her bed. She pushed her fists into her boots and hammered against the small window. It was her only chance of escape. There were gaps at the bottom and side but the top was firmly wedged. Even if she opened it she would struggle to squeeze through, but Foster would not be able to follow her. The swollen frame would not budge but the four slender struts holding the glass were rotten. Two of them broke, shattering the glass and making a jagged cut along Janet’s arm. She was oblivious to the pain as she heard Foster burst the latch at the top of the door. His sheer strength would move the trunk, and the bed, enough for him to squeeze into her room. She grabbed her cloak from the bed. Fingal’s book fell at her feet. She picked it up and stuffed it in one of her boots. She threw them both out of the window. She heard Foster grunting as he heaved against her door.

  ‘Open it up, you bitch. You’ll pay for this.’

  Desperation made her squeeze through the small aperture head first, ignoring the cuts from the glass splinters left in the frame. There was nothing she could do to steady herself. Her window opened onto the sloping roof of the wash house, which had been built as a lean-to. Everything was covered in snow and Janet could not stop herself from sliding head first down the roof and onto the ground. A hundred fleeting thoughts crowded her mind in those desperate seconds. Even if she broke her neck it was better than her fate in Foster’s hands.

  ‘Oh, Fingal,’ she sobbed beneath her breath. She remembered Molly. She had drowned herself because of the fiend who was her father. She landed in a heap of snow, spluttering but with no more than a bruised hip bone from a boulder hidden beneath the snow. She groped for her boots and shoved her wet feet into them, clutching her poetry book as though her life depended on it. She dare not stop to do up her laces in case Foster came out with his lantern. She tucked them in, pulled her cloak round her and ran. To reach the track to Molden she needed to go through the farmyard. Foster might seize her as she passed the door. Tom Friar had taken her across the fields to the Crillion road. She ran that way, stumbling in the darkness, hampered by drifts of snow. She passed the privy and scrambled through the hedge into the field beyond. Her blood seemed to freeze when she heard Foster’s furious roar from her window.

  ‘Come back here! You stupid bitch. D’ye hear me? Ye’ll freeze to death. Come back inside, you silly wench. I’ll warm ye.’

  There was only a silver sliver of moon and Janet prayed he could not see her as she cowered against the hedge. Then she heard him bellow again.

  ‘All right, stay out there. Ye’ll be glad to come back.’ Did he mean he would not pursue her? Janet didn’t believe he would give up easily. Was he waiting for her to crawl back into the house? Or was he already pulling on his clothes to haul her back again? She had to run as far and as fast as she could.

  Swearing to himself Foster regarded the broken window and vowed to board it up in the morning. She would not get away from him that way again. He had known she had spirit. He was going to enjoy mastering this one.

  The hedge hid Janet from view but the snow was deeper where it had blown off the fields. It would be easier to see her in the open field but the night was dark and speed was what mattered. She dare not imagine what Foster would do to her if he caught her, but her heart almost failed her as she remembered the long distance to the road, even in daylight with Tommy to guide her. Flurries of snow kept falling and her cloak was already damp and heavy. She ran on, holding her side when she developed a stitch, determined to keep going. She scrambled through another hedge. How many fields had she crossed with Tommy?

  Sometime later, she saw the side of a wood loom into view. They had definitely passed a wood. She breathed a sigh of relief. She must be heading in the right direction. It would be more sheltered in the wood, beneath the trees.

  ‘I must stop and lace up my boots,’ she muttered to herself, ‘and catch my breath.’ She had nearly lost one of her boots several times and she knew there were blisters on her heels. She crouched against the trunk of a sturdy tree. Her fingers throbbed with cold and it seemed to take forever to lace her boots tightly. Her toes were numb with cold. She was beginning to get her breath back when she heard the snapping of a twig.

  Janet did not wait to discover whether it was a fox, or Foster. She ran on as fast as the undergrowth allowed. She reached another hedge and knew she had not come this way with Tom. Still her only desire was to put as much distance between herself and Braeheights as possible. No one would hear her scream here, and no one would find her starved to death beneath a hedgerow. She pushed her way through the hedge, oblivious to the scratches from the thorns. Her strength was waning now and the deepening snow hampered her. Fortunately the field was sloping downhill. She came to another hedge, and another field. Janet lost count of the fields; she was lost. She was freezing cold and exhausted. Instinct told her Foster would have caught her by now if he had pursued her as far as the wood. She was tempted to curl up in a ball and wait until daylight. She thought of Fingal: he would never give up. Without warning she almost stumbled into the burn. The banks were covered in snow and it was difficult to tell how wide it was. Relief warmed her temporarily. At least she was heading in the right direction even if she had arrived at a different part of the burn.

  She put a boot tentatively onto the ice-covered water but it shattered, not yet thick enough to bear her weight. She must jump and hope she would reach the other side. She did her best but one foot went into the water before she managed to crawl up the side of the burn. Her feet were so numb already she was barely aware of the freezing water. She paused to ease the pain in her side, but she had to summon her strength and keep moving.

  It was several hours later before Janet saw the road down to Crillion Keep. All thoughts of reaching her mother had long since vanished. She plodded up the familiar road like a homing pigeon, putting one foot before the other by sheer force of will. At last the dark shape of the stables loomed into view. She could go no further. She had not the strength to climb the ladder to the hayloft. She fell onto the small pile of hay at the bottom as oblivion claimed her.

  It was Mark Wright, the undercoachman, who found her.

  ‘Mr Baird! There’s a body in the stable,’ he shouted hysterically. ‘C-come and see.’

  ‘Is’t a tramp, laddie? It was a rough night. He’ll do ye no harm.’

  ‘N-no. ’Tis a lassie an’ I think she’s dead.’

  ‘Surely not!’ Donald Baird hurried from the coach house and followed the shivering youth into the stable next door. ‘Oh my God!’ Donald fell to his knees and touched Janet’s cold cheek with a gentle finger. ‘It’s Janet! Oh, lassie, whatever can have driven ye tae this on such a night?’ he muttered, his voice gruff with emotion. ‘Open the door wide, laddie. I’ll carry her to my wife.’

  ‘Is she dead, Mr Baird?’

  ‘She’s not far off,’ Donald said grimly. ‘You be getting on with the horses, laddie.’

  As he approached the cottages, he met Maggie McLauchlan, his mother-in-law, coming out of hers, on her way to the Keep to start cooking breakfast.

  ‘Whatever has happened?’ she gasped.

  ‘It’s Janet. She was in the stables. She’s near frozen to death.’

  ‘Carry her into my house. Peggy will be upset and the bairns….’ She pushed her door open. ‘I’ll need to light the fire. Will ye go and tell Mr Saunders what has happened and I’ll come as soon as I can. I must get her out o’ her wet clothes and rub some warmth into her.’ Donald was relieved to leave Janet in the capable hands of his mother-in-law, though he feared there was little hope for her and his kindly heart was heavy with sorrow.

  ‘Janet Scott? The dominie’s granddaughter?’ Josiah Saunders echoed incredulously. ‘You found the child in the stable?’

  ‘Aye, sir. She’s no a child now but I doubt if she’ll survive this nigh
t’s freezing.’

  ‘Bring her up here. There is no time to lose and Mrs Mossy already has the fires burning here. Ask Mrs McLauchlan to come as quickly as she can. We shall attend the girl here. There is water boiling in the kitchen and a fire in the small sitting room.’ No one questioned Josiah Saunders when he issued orders. An unconscious Janet was carried into Crillion Keep and laid on a thick rug before the fire in Josiah’s own sitting room.

  ‘She lives, but only just,’ Maggie McLauchlan whispered hoarsely in answer to his question.

  ‘This is the warmest room in the house. She must stay in here.’

  ‘But this is your own room, sir. You dine in here when you are alone.

  ‘The child’s need is greater than mine. Do as I say and tell me what else we might do to revive her.’

  Janet stirred but did not regain consciousness as Maggie McLauchlan towelled her damp hair and gently bathed her face and hands in warm water. She tried to rub warmth and life into her limbs. She had been amazed to find Janet was dressed only in her nightgown beneath her sodden cloak. It was clear she had made a sudden flight and she pondered anew what could have possessed her to flee from Braeheights on a night like this. Had she heard how frail her mother’s health was? Was she on her way to see her? But no, she would not set out at night, in the snow, dressed in her nightgown.

  ‘Her poor feet are raw frae the blisters,’ Mrs Mossy said, interrupting her conjectures. She was gently drying first one foot and then the other, to restore Janet’s circulation as Mistress McLauchlan had bade her. ‘D’ye think she’ll live?’

  ‘I pray she will. I’ve never seen Mr Saunders so distressed, but he and the old dominie were good friends.’

  ‘Aye, they passed many an evening together talking about books and playing that game on a board,’ Mrs Mossy said.

  ‘Dear God, the bairn is beginning to shake,’ Maggie said. ‘Pass me more blankets.’ She clasped Janet in her motherly arms, hugging her, willing the heat from her own body to suffuse Janet’s with warmth and life. ‘Why, oh why, does she not open her eyes?’

  ‘Can I come in?’ Josiah called through the closed door.

  ‘Aye, we have rolled her in a blanket for now. When it is daylight I will bring one o’ my own nightgowns for her. It will be too big but it will do for now.’

  ‘I’ll get her own nightgown washed and dried as soon as I can,’ Mrs Mossy said. She was a kind-hearted woman and she didn’t like to see suffering in man or beast.

  ‘I have asked Donald and the gardener to bring my own bed in here for her,’ Josiah Saunders said. ‘Will you have one of the other beds brought downstairs and aired for me before tonight, Mrs Mossy?’

  ‘Y-yes, sir, if ye’re sure you should give the lassie your bed, and – and this room. It has always been the warmest and your favourite, especially in winter.’

  ‘I shall survive. I am not so sure about the child. We must do all we can. I shall ask Donald to bring the doctor when we can get through the snow. Why is she shaking?’

  ‘I d-don’t know. I think it is the circulation returning to her limbs. She has not opened her eyes or spoken a word yet.’

  ‘And you are trying to instill the warmth from your own body into hers?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I – I don’t know what else to do until we can get her into bed and warm it with a shelf frae the oven.’

  ‘Then I will sit before the fire and hold her close while you supervise the making of a bed for her.’

  Maggie McLauchlan’s eyes widened. ‘Y-You sir? Are ye sure? I-I mean she’s not exactly a bairn now. She is nearly sixteen. I shall never forget Janet’s birth. She brought such comfort and joy tae Peggy after she had lost her own babe. The poor wee lamb, her mother lavished all her care on Andrew. Since he died Mary Scott is more in need o’ care herself, frae what I hear.’

  ‘That is true. Mr Cole is at his wits’ end to know what to do about her. He was telling me about his predicament the last evening we spent together. His own wife is an invalid. He cannot care for two of them.’

  ‘Aye, I heard he doesna ken which way to turn, but it grieves me to think o’ Mary Scott, the dominie’s only daughter, ending up in the poorhouse. I wondered if the lassie had heard o’ her mother’s plight. She must be sorely troubled to leave in her nightgown.’

  ‘She was dressed in her night clothes?’ Josiah stared at Mistress McLauchlan, then his eyes flashed with anger. ‘I heard vile gossip about the man Foster when his own daughter died. Surely Mistress Scott would not have allowed her daughter to stay there if there was any truth? Can you pass the child to me?’ He seated himself in his large armchair before the fire and held open his arms.

  ‘There was nowhere else for the bairn to go when Mary Scott went to work for Mr Cole. Janet was good friends with Molly Foster so we all hoped she would be happy at Braeheights. Hannah Foster was always a kindly woman, but they say Foster himself is a brute of a man.’ She placed Janet in his arms cocooned in her blankets.

  ‘I shall do my best to get her warm and keep her safe while you and Mrs Mossy make a bed for her. Maybe you could arrange to stay here for a few nights, until she recovers. or until we can get someone to nurse her?’

  ‘Aye, I can stay, sir. Peggy will help to nurse Janet. She has aye had a tender heart for the lassie.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to help,’ Mrs Mossy offered.

  ‘Thank you,’ Josiah Saunders said with genuine gratitude. ‘The dominie was a good friend to me from the first week I came to Crillion Keep. I shall do everything I can to help his granddaughter. I wish I had known she was unhappy, or in danger. We rarely saw her at the kirk in recent months.’

  ‘No. Foster hardly ever brought any o’ his brood to the kirk after they found the body o’ young Molly,’ Maggie McClauchlan said darkly. ‘There’s some reckon he was responsible for her death.’

  ‘What is this? Where did it come from?’ He lifted a small leather-bound book from a table beside the fire.

  ‘It belongs to Janet. She was clutching it as though her life depended on it when Donald carried her in frae the stables. Fingal gave it to her brother, Andrew. He must have passed it on to Janet before he died. She always loved reading.’

  ‘Yes, I remember the dominie telling me she was as intelligent as any of the boys he had ever taught. Well there are plenty of books here for her to read if only we can make sure she survives, and I pray to God we can.’

  There were several days and nights when both he and Mistress McClauchlan doubted whether that was possible. Janet drifted in and out of consciousness for the next ten days, alternatively burning with fever, then shivering as though with ague.

  As soon as the snow had begun to thaw, Josiah sent Donald Baird to bring Doctor Carr.

  He shook his white head. ‘You’re doing all that I could do, Josiah, you and Mistress McLauchlan. I brought the lassie into the world. I’d hate to see her leave it before her time.’

  ‘So would I, so would I,’ Josiah said heavily. ‘If I had known she was so unhappy at Braeheights I would have made a place for her here. When I came to Crillion Keep I was glad of her grandfather’s help to guide me through the tangled threads of local society, the gentlemen and the supposedly righteous elders of the kirk.’

  The old doctor cocked an eyebrow at his cynical tone and accepted a tot of best French brandy.

  ‘I am an elder of the kirk. Some of them are good men but a few are hypocrites. I’m sure the Reverend Drummond must have told you some of us try to be good Christians. I hear he often spends an evening here with you, especially since Dominie McWhan’s death.’

  ‘Yes, he does, but I prefer to judge for myself now that I know them better. Mr Cole, now, he is genuine; almost a saint, I think. He is making a suit for me but he is extremely worried about his wife since Mistress Scott has become an added burden rather than a help to him. He is reluctant to ask her to leave when she has no one to care for her.’

  ‘Mary Scott lived for Andrew. Her reason for living died with
him.’

  ‘But she has a daughter!’ He glanced towards the bed where Janet was tossing feverishly. ‘Even if she did not realize the danger she was in at Braeheights, surely she must have known how hard her life was.’

  ‘Mary Scott put everything out of her mind when her laddie died. I don’t think she has long in this world but that is no consolation to Luke Cole in his present circumstances and I see no solution.’

  ‘No.’ Josiah stared into the fire in contemplation, then he looked at the doctor. ‘If her daughter survives I may be able to provide a solution.’

  ‘You, Josiah? How so?’ But Josiah would not be drawn further, even by the good doctor, discreet though he knew the old man to be. Josiah was startled by his next question. Had the doctor guessed what was in his mind?

  ‘Does your sister know you’re nursing a young woman back to health?’ Archie Carr raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I know she disapproves of your acts of charity.’

  ‘Whatever I do it is none of Eliza’s business. It is better if she does not hear. On the occasions she has visited the Keep she has caused trouble. I almost lost the good services of Maggie McLauchlan and Jacob, a fine cook and the best horseman I ever knew.’

  ‘Aye, you were fortunate to inherit your uncle’s staff as well as his estate. He was a good judge of men and they respected him, as they do you now, if I may say so, Josiah. I heard the manager at the Home Farm trudged through the snow himself to bring fresh eggs and milk and make sure you have all you need.’

  ‘He did indeed. Hugh Bell is a fine man and I shall not forget.’

  ‘Aye, be thankful you don’t share the same blood as Eliza, despite her claim to be your sister.’

  Chapter Nine

  Fingal was concerned about his mother with the harsh winter weather, so he hired a horse to ride to Crillion Keep on the first Saturday afternoon the roads were passable. Maggie was not at home so he called on Peggy next door.