A Maxwell Mourned

by Gwen Kirkwood

  Rachel noticed a change in Ross’s attitude too. He did not criticise when she gave Conan her attention and he seemed more patient and attentive. Conan responded with enthusiasm. Ross’s attitude to his child had troubled Alice and she was relieved to see him making more effort.

  ‘I never had any doubt that Conan was Ross’s son,’ she told Rachel one day when they were working together. ‘In his heart I don’t think he has any doubts either, but he did seem very resentful of Conan, almost jealous.’

  ‘I think the shock of thinking Conan had drowned made both of us appreciate him more,’ Rachel agreed. Deep down she knew Ross would always be a little jealous of her love for Conan. Although he was a grown man, and well-respected by those around him, she knew there was a chink in his armour and she blamed Gertrude Maxwell’s lack of loving for making him vulnerable.

  ‘How did Conan fall into the hole?’ Alice asked.

  ‘He had been playing with a worm. I told him Mr Worm lived in a tunnel underground. He thought he had found Mr Worm’s house and he fell in.’

  Rachel did not accompany Ross to the Rent Dinner with the other tenants and their wives. She had made herself a dress, with Alice’s help, determined that Ross should be proud of her but when the day came she was suffering from a stomach upset and blamed the fish which Ross had brought home after a visit to the market in Annan. Two weeks later, in mid June, she knew it was not the fish which made her feel so squeamish every morning. This time she knew the cause of the sickness.

  She hugged her secret to herself, wanting to be certain before she told Ross. She was delighted they were to have another baby, but she worried whether he would share her happiness.

  Although Alice had no children of her own she guessed the reason for Rachel’s frequent bouts of sickness. When the haymaking started in July and Rachel had not confided in her she broached the subject herself.

  ‘I don’t think you should work so hard at the hay-making this year, Rachel,’ she voiced her concern. ‘You must consider your health.’

  Rachel looked at her sharply, then she smiled.

  ‘You have guessed?’

  ‘Yes. You are usually so brisk and fresh in the mornings. There had to be a reason for the change in you, and for that secret glint of happiness in your eyes in spite of the sickly spasms. What else could do that except a baby?’

  ‘I can’t keep my secret very well,’ Rachel smiled ruefully. ‘I do hope Ross will be pleased. You don’t mind another baby to disturb your household?’ Rachel asked anxiously as the thought occurred to her.

  ‘No. We all enjoy Conan, but it would be a pity to spoil him. I do think you should tell Ross though. Haymaking is hard work, especially forking hay up into the lofts.’

  Rachel took Alice’s advice and confided in Ross before they went to sleep that night. He was delighted and concerned and full of questions. Sadly she remembered how much of Conan’s birth he had missed. This baby would be like his first born to Ross. Later she had reason to be thankful she had told him before they had an unexpected visitor.

  The last two short rows of hay from the low meadow had made up barely half a load.

  ‘The boss says we should start the milking as soon as we get this into the loft,’ Sandy Kidd announced. ‘He’s taking the horse and rake into the next field. We are to start carting in again as soon as milking is finished.’

  ‘I’ll fork this to the loft then,’ Beth volunteered. ‘It’s so hot up there now that it’s nearly full.’

  ‘All right, lassie, Alfie and me will deal with the loft, if you’re sure you can manage.’

  ‘I’ll take Bonny from the shafts and water her at the trough before I bring in the cows,’ Rachel said. ‘They will be ready for milking as soon as you have all finished unloading the cart.’

  There were two hay lofts at Lochandee, both with stone stairs leading from the main yard to a full-size door. Each loft had a trapdoor in the floor for pushing the hay to the byre or to the stable below. The backs of these buildings faced into a small stack yard with fields beyond. In the high unbroken walls were two small half-size doors into which the hay was forked when the carts were brought in from the field.

  It was always quiet on this side of the farm. Visitors rarely found their way round about, so Beth was startled out of her wits when a man’s voice boomed beside the almost empty cart.

  ‘Surely Maxwell has men to fork up the hay?’

  Beth stared down at the portly figure. She had never seen him before.

  ‘It was only half a load. Anyway I offered. Needed a bit of fresh air. If it’s Mr Maxwell you are wanting, he’s still in the hayfield.’

  ‘I know. I saw him from the road as I was riding by.’

  ‘Mistress Beattie is at the house.’ Beth was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the man’s close scrutiny. She flung up the last forkful of hay. Alfie caught it and dragged it into the loft. ‘That’s the last of this load, Alfie,’ she called. His only reply was a sort of cackle followed by the shutting of the little door to let her know he had understood. Beth drew a sigh of relief and wished the man would go away. Forking up so high was harder work than she had imagined, in spite of the fresh air.

  ‘Let me help you down.’

  ‘That’s all right I can manage.’ Beth was reluctant to take the man’s hand. It looked white and flabby. His eyes seemed to be boring through her cotton frock.

  ‘Come on. Give me your hand.’

  Beth could scarcely avoid him, standing so close to the side of the cart. Frowning, she gave him her hand. He gave her a little jerk forward almost pulling her off balance, but instead of putting his other hand up to support her, he pushed it unerringly up the inside of her skirt. Beth gasped and tried to jump back but the hand gripping hers was stronger than it looked.

  ‘Let me go! Take your hand away from me!’ Beth flared, more angry than frightened.

  ‘Come now, that’s no way to speak to the Factor. I could make life easy for a pretty lass like you …’ His eyes narrowed at her glare of contempt. ‘Or I could make it difficult for a mere maid.’

  ‘You! The Factor?’ Beth was incredulous. She felt his fingers groping for the top of her drawers and kicked out at him furiously. ‘I don’t care who you are,’ she panted. ‘Let me go! Stop it! Stop it!’

  Elder laughed, an ugly, leering sneer. It made Beth squirm. His red face and big yellow teeth were awful. She tried again to kick at his face but he caught her ankle. He jerked ruthlessly and she fell with a hard thump onto the bottom of the cart. In seconds he was in beside her, his speed belying his hefty body. All the breath had been knocked out of her and Beth could only pant. Elder seized his chance, flinging himself over her. She was too small to push such a heavy weight away. She could feel his fingers groping under her skirt. She screamed. He yanked one hand free and clamped it over her mouth.

  ‘That’s better.’ He spoke through his teeth, his thick lip curling. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay quiet. You’ll have had this often enough to know what we’re about.’

  ‘No …’Beth mumbled against his flabby hand. She tried to shake her head. Tears of frustration, anger and pain welled into her eyes.

  ‘You haven’t? A virgin? By all the Gods! Didn’t think I’d get another so soon. More fun than I would have got with Maxwell’s wife after all.’ He lifted his hand. Beth screamed instantly. He clamped her mouth cruelly but his free hand was groping more urgently now and there was a terrible lusting gleam in his eyes. Terrified Beth bit his thumb as hard as she could. He yelped at the unexpected pain. She screamed again and again. There was no one to hear on this side of the farmyard and she struggled desperately.

  In the byre Rachel was tying the cows into their stalls. There were ventilation holes in the walls which faced the outer side of the yard. She thought she heard a scream as she was fastening the chains. Then she decided she must have imagined it. When it came again, then again, she dropped the chain and ran down the byre and out of the narrow door at t
he end.

  She could only just see the hump of a man’s back, scuffling in the empty cart but she guessed Beth must be there too. She ran towards them. Neither of them heard her. She knew could not drag the man off Beth. She saw the shafts of the cart and lifted them. They were heavy with the weight of two bodies in the cart, but desperation lent her strength.

  ‘What the devil! The cart moved …’

  Rachel gave one more heave and cart went up on its end, shafts in the air. She knew it would break the extra tailboard which Ross had fixed for carting hay, but Beth’s safety was more important.

  Fear, and her natural agility, gave Beth an advantage. She rolled to her feet and was sprinting away before the big man could gather himself to his knees. Briefly she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Rachel was following.

  ‘Run, Beth,’ Rachel gasped. A painful stitch made her bend double for a moment. Then she also turned to run. Elder threw himself full length along the ground catching her skirts from behind. Seconds later she was lying face down with the stranger panting over her.

  He seized her arms and twisted them cruelly up her back. She gasped with pain. That seemed to please him. Holding her wrists up her back with one hand he flung her over, onto her back, pinning her down by her shoulders so that she could not release her arms. The pain was excruciating. Rachel thought she would faint. She could feel the perspiration gathering on her brow. The man seemed to have recovered his breath and was leering down at her. His prominent yellow teeth and thick lips made her feel sick.

  ‘Don’t curl your lip at me, you bitch. Jealous of your maid were you? Well you can have it instead.’

  ‘No! Who are you?’

  ‘Bert Elder is the name – your Factor.’

  ‘The Factor! F-for the estate? You c-can’t be. Let me go! You’re breaking my arms …’ Cruelly he pressed her shoulders harder. Rachel closed her eyes so that he would not see her pain and fear.

  ‘Now you listen to me, Madam. I could do a lot for your husband if you co-operate …’

  ‘Never!’ Rachel’s eyes flew open.

  ‘Have it your own way.’ He shrugged. ‘I’d heard you had spirit, as well as looks. Suits me. I like my women with a bit of fight.’ He reached down, yanking the hem of her skirt up, groping at her underclothes.

  ‘No! You c-can’t do that. I-I’m expecting a child.’

  ‘Are you now? Well maybe I can get rid of it for you, eh.’

  ‘No! No!’ Rachel began to scream and scream. She could not stop, even when he slapped her so hard she felt he must have knocked her neck out of joint.

  It was an unwritten law that the milking never started with cow dung in the channels. Usually the cows were very clean and came eagerly to be milked, though they frequently left dung behind them on their way back to the field. Today one of the cows had been startled when Rachel had flung aside its chain. Nervously she had sent a fountain of dung across the clean path between the two rows of cows waiting to be milked. Alfie cackled and patiently brought his big shovel. He scraped up the mess. He did not need the wheelbarrow for only one cow. He went out of the narrow door at the end of the byre which led to the midden and flung the dung over the side. As he turned he heard Rachel’s screams from the back of the wall and went to investigate. He did not understand what was happening but he knew the young mistress was being hurt. He loped up to her and without hesitation he whammed his filthy shovel over the back of Elder’s head.

  The Factor keeled over without a sound. Rachel could scarcely move for the pain in her arms. She rolled onto her side and held a hand out stiffly. Alfie pulled her to her feet and with one brief glance at the Factor’s prone figure sprawled amidst the hay and dust, she clutched Alfie’s hand and ran, pulling him with her.

  ‘Stay here. Pretend you saw nothing,’ she gasped when they reached the byre. She sped through the opposite door, across the main yard and into the house. She knew the dung had spattered from the shovel onto her face and dress as well as over the Factor’s head and down his tweed jacket.

  Alice Beattie gaped at the sight of her. Rachel sank onto a stool, clutching her side, gasping for breath. She began to cry and to laugh at the same time.

  ‘Oh, lassie, you’re hysterical. Stop it. Rachel, stop that.’ Rachel couldn’t, her relief was so immense. Alice slapped her none too gently bringing tears to her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass, but I had to bring you back to your senses. I’ll make a cup of tea for you. Then you had better change your dress and wash your face.’

  Alice was deeply perturbed. She had found Beth sobbing in the wash-house and had only just calmed her down and persuaded her to drink some tea. She kept shaking her head as she made tea for Rachel. What sort of a man was that to employ? And to employ him as a Factor – with power and authority and influence? She shivered and stroked Rachel’s head instinctively, as though she was a little girl.

  Rachel was washed and changed and settled down at the milking by the time Ross returned. They had seen Mr Elder riding away on his horse, his dirty jacket rolled into a ball behind him. She decided not to mention his visit to Ross. She was not at all sure what his reaction would be.

  She had reckoned without her subconscious. Her last waking thoughts that night were for the safety of her unborn child. Her arms still felt as though they had been pulled from their sockets and she had the muscles across her stomach had strained beneath the weight of the cart as she lifted the shafts. She prayed for the safety of her baby.

  Ross was alarmed by Rachel’s muffled scream and her cries. She was kicking and pushing him away with all her strength. He grasped her arm and shook her awaken. She groaned aloud and shuddered. Ross leaned over and lit their candle, holding it up to see her face.

  ‘My dearest lassie! Are you fevered? Your brow is wet with sweat and you’re as pale as a ghost.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I-I had a dream …’

  ‘Dream? I’d say it was a nightmare. You kicked my shins hard. I shall be black and blue tomorrow.’ He grinned ruefully.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again, but she could not control her shivering. Ross set the candle down and stroked the curling tendrils of hair from her brow.

  ‘Something is troubling you, Rachel. What is it?’ Rachel bit her lip. There was always the possibility that Alice might tell him, especially when Beth had been so badly frightened too.

  ‘Blow out the candle and hold me close. Then I’ll tell you what happened.’ Slowly, haltingly she told him of the Factor’s visit. Ross was furious.

  ‘You sure he didn’t …’

  ‘No, no. He didn’t …’ she shuddered. ‘Thank God for Alfie,’ she muttered feelingly. ‘He really did save me. If it had not been so frightening I suppose we could have laughed at Alfie hitting him with a shitty shovel. I expect he’ll find an excuse for his dirty jacket when he gets home to his wife. Does he have a wife, Ross?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know that I would like to break his neck and every bone in his body.’

  ‘Oh no, Ross, please! Don’t seek revenge.’ She shuddered. ‘As it is I’m terribly afraid he will make us all pay if he gets a chance. He – he is that sort of spiteful man I think. I’m so sorry, Ross.’

  ‘Dear Rachel, you have nothing to be sorry about. Anyway I don’t think he can do us much harm.’ Had it not been so dark Rachel would have seen his troubled frown. He had heard a lot of rumours about the Factor and if only half of them were true he was a man to mistrust.

  ‘What about the tenancy?’ she asked.

  ‘Thanks to Mr Shaw the joint tenancy was signed and sealed before the old Laird died. There is nothing he can do about that until the lease is finished – just so long as we stick rigidly to the terms anyway.’

  ‘How long is the lease?’

  ‘Seven more years.’

  ‘I hope we have a new Factor long before then. I don’t want to see that man again – not ever. Mr Shaw was such a kind man – such a gentleman.

  In the silence of the night Al
ice Beattie’s thoughts were running along the same lines. She resolved to visit her lawyer without delay. She would do everything in her power to secure the future of her beloved Glens of Lochandee, and the young couple she had come to regard as the next best thing to a family of her own. She had two cousins in Canada but she had not seen them for years. Her future was bound up with Ross and Rachel. She must try to protect them.

  She decided she must write a letter of complaint to the Laird. From all accounts he was rarely at home but surely he must attend to such a serious matter. Sandy Kidd’s wife had mentioned rumours of the Factor’s attack on a young girl on the other side of the glens. Alice had only half believed the story but Dolly’s words came back to her now.

  Chapter Ten

  ON THE TENTH OF February, 1925 Ross waited in an agony of impatience and anxiety. The midwife had been well recommended by several women in the village but the birth was long and difficult, quite the opposite of Rachel’s experience with Conan. Ross hated being banned from his wife’s room. He felt the women were treating him like a child, hiding things from him.

  ‘I want to see my wife,’ he demanded when Mrs Semple appeared in the kitchen for yet more hot water.

  ‘Patience!’ she commanded brusquely. ‘Men were far behind when the good Lord handed out that virtue.’

  ‘But she’s my wife …’

  ‘Aye, I should hope she is! Ye’ve certainly given her a packet o’ trouble anyway. Now just bide a while and let me get on with setting her right.’ She made to bustle past him with the heavy kettle of hot water.

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ Ross asked faintly. His face had lost its ruddy colour. The midwife glanced at him. She liked the men to get a bit anxious. They deserved to worry she reckoned, but she relented a little.

  ‘The babe is taking its time. I’d say it will be a good size and Mistress Maxwell is finely made. But she’s no one tae complain and scream her head off, poor lass. I’m thankful for that and so should you be, my man.’ She nodded her grey head vigorously. ‘Now just be patient and I’ll bring ye some news in a wee while. Make us all a cup o’ tea – if ye ken how.’