The Baker's Daughter

by Anne Forsyth

  Might she leave Father and Doug and Rona to shift for themselves? It was a wild, improbable hope.

  This thought had clearly occurred to Aunt Lizzie. ‘I’ll have to go, of course,’ she said, ‘but what’s going to happen here while I’m away?’

  ‘We’ll manage.’ Rona tried to sound as if she were going to cope bravely ‘We’ll do our best.’

  After all, she was nearly 21 now. And look at the responsibilities some carried—some only a few years older. She thought of the new young Queen, only 26, and soon to be crowned.

  ‘Aye,’ said Aunt Lizzie doubtfully. ‘Aye, well . . .’ Already her thoughts were some distance away ‘I could get the bus to Dunfermline, then the train—there’s one goes through Kinross and Glenfarg to Perth. If I got off at Glenfarg . . . I’ll write to her today—say I’ll be up on Friday.’

  ‘I’d better be off,’ said Rona hurriedly. ‘I’ll tell Father.’

  She tried not to skip as she went down the path. All on their own without Aunt Lizzie disapproving of everything. Then she slowed down. Poor Maisie. It was hard on her, but all the same every cloud has a silver lining, she told herself.

  In the past few weeks, Rona had decided not to let herself be upset by Aunt Lizzie.

  She would not fly off the handle again, but would try to be calm and cheerful and ignore her aunt’s sarcastic remarks—after all, she thought, Aunt Lizzie wasn’t going to change, so I might as well accept her ways.

  Callum had been right. There was no point in walking out in a temper. Much better to wait until she had a definite plan for the future.

  For Rona had not given up the idea of becoming a model. She studied the fashion magazines and in the privacy of her bedroom practised walking with a copy of Familiar Quotations—a heavy tome, balanced on her head.

  And she hugged to herself, her big idea. The Coronation of Queen Elizabeth the Second was to be in June. A special window? Maybe she should persuade Father? After all, it would bring more business into the shop.

  * * *

  Angus was taking a tray of new baked rolls from the oven.

  ‘I’ll be off on the deliveries then,’ he said. ‘Seeing you’re here. Where’s your aunt?’

  Rona explained.

  ‘You can tell me later,’ he said. ‘Folk will be wanting their rolls for their breakfast.’

  He looked at her doubtfully. ‘You’ll have to manage the till today—just until we get someone else. Ah, well, we’ll have to cope. See and keep the shop tidy, and don’t drop anything.’

  And with that, he was off on the first delivery to the big hotel overlooking the sea.

  The day was busy as usual. Rona was kept hard at work, explaining that her aunt was leaving for Glencraig the next day. ‘I’ll not be in the shop today,’ Aunt Lizzie had announced. ‘You’ll have to shift without me. This place is like a midden.’ She had glanced round at the kitchen.

  To Rona, it seemed immaculate, the wooden draining board scrubbed white, pots and pans neatly arranged on a shelf, taps polished.

  When Angus returned from his rounds, he noticed approvingly that Rona had swept the floor of the shop and tidied the shelves.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘not bad. Now you think you can manage the till, for a day or so, till I see about things. We’ll need to get someone in to help. I’ll go along to the Labour Exchange if I’ve time. Or I could put an advert in the paper.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Rona airily. ‘Father, can I do a window for the Coronation?’

  ‘Don’t bother me just now, there’s a good girl,’ said Angus.

  ‘Later,’ said Rona to herself, ‘I’ll ask again!’

  Back home, Aunt Lizzie had already packed her suitcase, and now she was scouring the kitchen. She’d drawn up a list of meals for the next few days.

  ‘You can have mince tomorrow,’ she told Rona. ‘And tell the butcher I always have the best quality mince. There’s plenty of potatoes and carrots. And I’ve made a blancmange for your pudding. Oh, and there’s enough soup to do you two or three days!’ She sighed. ‘How you’re going to manage, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Don’t you fret yourself,’ said Angus. ‘We’ll shift fine. Rona here’s a good little housewife already.’

  Aunt Lizzie sniffed. ‘Well, she’ll have to learn.’

  She left the next day with a large leather suitcase and a grim expression. Rona couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Maisie—she was sure there would not be much sympathy from Aunt Lizzie.

  But as soon as she had gone the air somehow seemed lighter. Aunt Lizzie had left stew to be heated up. ‘There’s just the potatoes to peel,’ she had told Rona. ‘You can manage that all right, can’t you?’

  * * *

  Callum called in at the shop.

  ‘I’m just in the town to collect an order at the ironmonger’s,’ he said. ‘What about the pictures or the dancing, maybe tomorrow night?’

  ‘Oh, Callum,’ she said, disappointed, ‘I can’t—not this week.’ She explained about Aunt Lizzie’s departure. ‘And I’ve got to make the dinner for Father and Doug.’

  ‘Maybe Saturday, just a walk along the front? Pity to waste these fine evenings.’

  ‘All right. I’m sure I can manage.’

  ‘Great. I’ll wait for you outside your house—say six o’clock.’

  Rona’s spirits lifted. With Aunt Lizzie away there would be more freedom. She would be able to go out with Callum, she’d have a free hand with the meals, and at the shop, she would be in charge—well, not quite, but at least she would be supervising the new girl when they found someone. Rona knew exactly the sort of person she wanted.

  Someone who never said a word, but was obliging and what’s more, would do as Rona told her.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Angus lit his pipe and settled back in his armchair with the evening paper.

  ‘Grand dinner.’

  ‘Aunt Lizzie left it,’ said Rona. ‘It’s me cooking from now on.’

  His eyes twinkled as he looked at her over his glasses. ‘Well, we’ll need to stock up on the indigestion tablets, won’t we?’

  ‘Oh, you . . .’ she said, pretending to be offended.

  ‘By the way,’ said Angus, ‘where’s your brother? He’s not been in for his meal.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rona and Doug had barely spoken since their row over the car.’

  ‘He’ll be out somewhere.’

  But she was worried—what had happened to Doug?

  It was much later, when Angus had gone to bed, that Doug stumbled through the door.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Rona spoke sharply, trying not to show how anxious she was. ‘Your dinner’s in the oven, but it’ll be dried up by now.’

  ‘I don’t want any dinner.’

  ‘Doug! What’s happened? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ He tried to sound off-hand.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Tell me.’

  ‘Keep your voice down. You’ll waken Father.’

  ‘What has happened?’ said Rona in a loud whisper.

  ‘Oh, well, if you must know, the car crashed into a ditch.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, mocking her.

  ‘But I thought you were a good driver.’

  ‘I wasn’t driving. Neela was. Or rather I was teaching her to drive.’

  ‘And?’ Rona was nearly speechless. ‘Whose car was it? Oh, Doug, you didn’t borrow it, you didn’t—steal it?’

  ‘What do you take me for?’ His voice rose again. ‘I’m not a thief.’

  ‘Then where did you get it?’

  ‘It was Neela’s brother’s car. He’s away abroad for a couple of months. He said I could drive it—if I was careful. But she insisted she wanted to learn to drive. And now, well it’s in a ditch up the Bridge Road. I wish,’ he added bitterly, ‘I had never set eyes on that stupid woman.’

  ANGUS DESPAIRS

  ‘You’re a fool, Doug.’Angus was really angry. It
took a lot to rile him for he was generally a placid man. ‘What on earth possessed you to take up with a girl like that?’

  He sighed and rubbed his brow. ‘As if there weren’t enough nice lassies around.’

  There had been no keeping from Angus the whole business of the car, and it came out too, that he knew of Neela and her reputation in the town as something of a party girl. ‘She’s been nothing but trouble, that girl,’ he went on rubbing salt into the wound. ‘And you’ll have to pay for any repairs—and face up to her brother.’

  It was then he felt he had said plenty. Doug, sitting at the kitchen table, looked miserable enough, but a moment later Angus couldn’t resist adding, ‘If your mother had lived to see the day . . . and it’s maybe just as well your aunt Lizzie’s not here.’

  Doug roused himself to say, ‘The garage got the car out of the ditch and it’s not badly damaged. Just a headlamp dented.’

  ‘Aye well,’ said Angus.

  ‘And she, Neela, said she’ll pay for the damage,’ Doug went on.

  ‘Aye, well. You’ve learned your lesson and you’ll stay away from her in future. She’s nothing but trouble, and you’re not the first one to find out either apparently.’

  ‘I’m away out.’ Doug got up and Rona followed him out of the door.

  She hadn’t the heart to say, ‘You might at least help with the dishes.’

  She had never seen Doug, her cheerful, good-natured brother, look so woebegone.

  Doug, who could always make her laugh with his Charlie Chaplin imitations, or stories of the other lads at the garage—he looked as if his world had fallen apart.

  Rona realised it was not so much the damage to the car that was upsetting him. That could be fixed, but the damage to his pride, the knowledge that Neela didn’t care a bit for him, that she was only out for a good time—that was what hurt.

  ‘There’re other girls,’ she said a little timidly.

  ‘I never want to see her again. Her brother blamed me, for letting her drive the car, and you’d think it was my fault she steered into a ditch. She’s got no sense at all,’ he added morosely.

  ‘Oh, Doug, forget it. No-one was hurt.’ Rona tried to cheer him.

  ‘That’s right. Well, it’s a good thing Aunt Lizzie is away. I’d never have heard the end of it.’ He gave a weak attempt at a grin. ‘I’m away down to the harbour—there’s some of the boats coming in.’

  Rona waved and turned back into the house. Yes, she thought, Aunt Lizzie’s absence was a blessing in disguise, even if it did mean extra work.

  Washing, ironing, cooking—though Father was good and cleaned out the grate before he left for the shop, and made sure there was enough kindling, and the meals, well, they weren’t bad at all. Rona had glowed with pride when Angus had commented, ‘Your mince is just as good as your auntie’s.’

  There had only been a brief postcard from Aunt Lizzie to say Maisie was still in hospital and wouldn’t be home for another week. ‘We’ll need to get someone to help in the shop,’ said Angus thoughtfully. ‘Maybe a lassie to do some of the cleaning and serve, if you can manage the till,’ he told Rona who was rather proud of her position .

  * * *

  Rona was wrapping up a customer’s brown loaf the next day when she heard an apologetic cough.

  ‘Oh, good morning, Mr Grey. A fine morning,’ said Rona politely.

  The lawyer nodded pleasantly. ‘And good morning to you, Miss Maclaren,’ he returned.

  Rona liked Mr Grey, the lawyer who rented the floor above the bakery. He was middle-aged, with sparse greying hair and a neat moustache and she knew that day in, day out, he always ordered a small pan loaf.

  ‘The usual, Mr Grey?’

  ‘Thank you, yes, Miss Maclaren.’

  Rona sometimes wondered what his wife was like. Was she as orderly, or would she perhaps have sometimes liked to throw caution to the wind and order a large brown wholemeal?

  She liked Miss Mackie, Mr Grey’s secretary too—invariably trim and neatly dressed in a heather tweed suit and a grey jumper hand knitted in three-ply, her hair permed in small grey curls.

  It seemed as if Miss Mackie had been there as long as Rona could recall—she remembered coming into the shop as a small girl and meeting the gentle-voiced woman, who’d seemed middle-aged even then.

  Miss Mackie lived with an elderly mother, she knew that. Once or twice a week Miss Mackie would come down from the office upstairs and buy bread and scones. ‘Oh, and I’ll take four pancakes, please—they’re Mother’s favourite.’

  Every Christmas, Angus would send upstairs two boxes of shortbread, one for Mr Grey and one for Miss Mackie, and back downstairs would come a bottle of whisky for Angus—though he drank little and it would probably last a year or more, he appreciated the gesture.

  Last Christmas, too, there had been a bottle of Yardley’s Lavender Water for Aunt Lizzie and a box of handkerchiefs for Rona—chosen, she suspected, by Miss Mackie.

  ‘Will that be all?’ asked Rona politely as she wrapped the loaf.

  ‘Thank you.’ He looked rather preoccupied this morning, she thought. Could there be something wrong?

  He turned and went upstairs again by the outside stair that led to the firm’s rented offices.

  Angus, coming into the shop, nodded to him.

  ‘I’m away on the rounds, Rona,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to send you along with the advert.

  He sighed. ‘It makes extra work, your aunt Lizzie away, we could do with a message girl. Still, we’ll just have to manage as best we can.’

  He didn’t add, ‘with you,’ though Rona could see the thought crossing his mind.

  ‘I’m not that bad,’ she told herself rebelliously. ‘I haven’t made any mistakes for a long time. If he’d only let me do a bit more.’

  ‘Here you are,’ he handed her the slip of paper.

  ‘I don’t know why we put the advert into The Advertiser,’ Rona muttered. ‘It never alters from week to week. Just Maclaren’s Baker’s, High Street and a line above. Rhubarb tarts, strawberry tarts, black bun . . . whatever the season. Father’s got no idea.’

  She took the paper as her father hurried out of the shop. ‘Rhubarb tarts,’ she read. ‘How’s that for an advert? Customers know we have rhubarb tarts. We have rhubarb tarts every year, and we’ll have them till the end of time.’

  She waited till her father had gone out of the shop and it was quiet and she picked up a pencil. After a moment’s thought she scrawled on the paper and looked at it approvingly.

  Then she collected her coat, turned the sign to Closed 1 till 2, and made her way along the street to the offices of the local newspaper.

  ‘Right you are,’ said the girl in the advertising department. She stopped filing her nails and took the piece of paper. ‘Same as usual,’ she said in a bored voice, ‘and invoice at the end of the month.’

  ‘Thank you’ As Rona set off along the street again she began to have misgivings. What if Father was cross with her? Well, she reasoned, it was worth a try. If it brought in new business, he would be only too pleased.

  He kept saying that they had to do their best for the customers. Rona grimaced. That didn’t mean he would allow her a free hand with the window—and those tins of shortbread had been there for ages, she thought, exasperated.

  It wasn’t till the local paper appeared at the end of the week that Angus saw what Rona had done. He was skimming through the pages, past accounts of retirements, town council business, sheep dog trials, that his eye was caught by Maclaren’s advertisement down the page in the same place as usual. But as he read it, his face grew redder and he flung down the paper. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Rona in the front shop, knew what was corning. ‘Yes, Father?’ she said trying to look unconcerned.

  Hardly able to speak, he pointed at the advert. ‘This is your doing,’ he said. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Rona hesitated. ‘I thought it might make it a little more interesting.’<
br />
  ‘Rhubarb tarts—the best you’ll find in Kirkton from Maclaren’s, the best baker in Kirkton! Fit for a Queen!’

  ‘I just thought,’ said Rona in a small voice. She had been rather proud of that line, Fit for a Queen. Of course, it was unlikely that the new young Queen, Elizabeth the Second, would be passing through a small town in Fife and would stop to buy one of Maclaren’s rhubarb tarts, but you never knew. And they were very good.

  ‘And this line, the best baker in Kirkton.’ Angus thumped the paper. ‘We’ll be in trouble—that’s for sure.’

  Trouble arrived a day later when Henry Duncan, owner of Keith’s, the rival bakery in the Square, appeared in the shop.

  ‘Is your father in?’

  ‘I’ll fetch him.’ Rona knew very well what Mr Duncan wanted. Normally a cheerful, good-natured man today he scowled at her and she hurried into the back shop.

  ‘Well, Angus, what’s this about?’ Henry Duncan laid the paper on the counter. ‘I’m surprised at you putting out an advert like this.’

  For once Angus had nothing to say.

  ‘I take it you don’t know much about the law, the law of libel that is, for all you’ve a lawyer upstairs from your shop.’

  Angus started to apologise.

  ‘The damage is done,’ said Henry Duncan. ‘It seems to me you’ve taken leave of your senses.’

  Rona could bear it no longer. She took off her overall and stepped out from the back shop.

  ‘It was me, Mr Duncan,’ she said, her voice quavering.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Father told me to take the advert along to The Advertiser’s office,’ she said, ‘and I thought . . .’ she gulped, ‘I thought I’d make it a bit more interesting.’

  ‘Interesting!’ Henry Duncan roared. ‘And you thought you’d ruin my business on the way?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rona humbly. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘Obviously not,’ said Henry Duncan, and then because he was a fair man and had a sense of humour, he gave a roar of laughter.

  ‘You thought you’d do a bit of good publicity,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Well, you’re an enterprising young lady, that’s for sure. Maybe you should come and work for me.’

  Rona sighed with relief. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ she said again.