by Adams, Alisa
Heather reflected, as she had done so many times before, that animals were so much nicer than people. She sighed.
"It's just you and me, Tommy," she murmured, "you and me against the world.
The reason that Heather had kept Kenneth waiting was not because she was angry with him. She had been interviewing a candidate for the post of the extra teacher she needed. She had put out an advertisement in the Aberdeen Press and Journal newspaper for the post.
There was a good postal service which had been started in the Lowlands at the beginning of the century and she had been able to not only post her advertisement but receive a reply within a week. The applicant was Miss Jessica Farquhar, a former governess to a fairly rich family in Aberdeen. The Chisholms were happy to give her a glowing reference and were very sorry to see her go, but they were moving to Glasgow and she had decided not to go with them.
"Their loss is our gain," Heather said, smiling.
Jessica smiled back nervously. She was a thin, but pretty girl with an oval face, green eyes and straight dark hair drawn into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. "You will take me on then?" she asked hopefully.
"I will try you for a month," Heather stated, "and if you give satisfaction you can consider your appointment permanent."
"Don't worry, mistress," she replied firmly, "you will not be disappointed."
"I have arranged for you to lodge with Mr. and Mrs. McFarlane while you are here," Heather informed her, "and you can start on the first of the month, on Wednesday. That will give you time to pack your belongings in Aberdeen and I will order a carriage for your journey both ways. As for your wages, what were you getting at the Chisholms?"
Jessica named a sum and Heather wrote it down.
"We will begin with that for the first month," Heather said, "then raise it a bit if you are a capable teacher. Does that suit you?"
Jessica nodded. She was too overcome to speak.
"Board and lodging are free for the first month," Heather went on, "and thereafter you must pay rent. You may move wherever you wish. Is there anything you need to ask me?"
Jessica shook her head. "You are very generous, mistress," then, timidly, "and very beautiful."
Heather looked up from her papers, surprised and pleased, blushing a little. "That," she said, smiling, "is the nicest thing anyone has said to me for weeks. Thank you, Jessica."
Somehow Heather knew that she had just made a friend for life. Jessica thought so too, and in the years to come, they were proved right.
11
James
James woke up one March morning with the mother of all headaches and a throat that felt as though he had swallowed the Sahara Desert. It was freezing outside, too cold to sit in the saddle for any length of time, so hunting was out of the question that day. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep again, which was easier said than done. His valet, David, came in with his breakfast and set it down beside his bed, but James looked at the eggs, bacon, and bannocks then turned away. The last thing he felt like doing was eating.
"David, get me some whiskey, please," he croaked.
David opened the curtains with a merciless flourish. Sometimes James thought he was a sadist. "I think a cup o' willow bark tea wid be more advisable, Sir," David said, somewhat smugly. He had an accent and vocabulary that vacillated wildly between Aberdeen and Edinburgh and a dry, slightly vicious sense of humor. Usually, James found him very entertaining, but not on a hangover day—today he was just one more problem.
"I want whiskey," James said petulantly, "I want a hair of the dog that bit me."
David sighed inwardly and wondered why he did not just give the stupid spoiled individual what he wanted and be done with it. "Shall I bring both?"
James opened his eyes and shut them again very quickly. "All right!" he screamed, "anything for a bit of peace!"
He groaned and put one of his pillows over his face to shut out the light. David stifled an evil laugh and went out, leaving James to bitterly regret some of the worst excesses of the night before. He must have drunk a gallon of whiskey, he thought. He had lost a pile of silver at the cards (or 'De'il's Books,') as Mrs. McFarlane called them. He knew that he had spent some time with a lady who had paint and powder about an inch thick on her face.
Probably to hide the wrinkles, he thought. He had better not let his father see him in this state. He had lectured James often enough about his dissipated ways, so he was not going to stand for another lapse. It was all Heather's fault. Why hadn't she just got wed like every other sensible girl of her age? No, she had to marry herself to the God of charity and stand up for the rights of the poor and downtrodden. This would never have happened if she had behaved like a normal rich woman. Nobody would have even noticed him. It had never occurred to James for one moment to put the blame on himself.
Just then David came back in with the tea and the whiskey.
"Drink the tea first, sir," he said solicitously.
James threw it down his throat in one gulp and gagged at the bitter taste.
"And I am instructed tae tell ye, sir, that your father wants to see you as soon as ye are up."
James froze, his eyes comically wide. "What does his face look like, David?" he asked apprehensively.
David drew in a breath. "A bit grim, sir," David replied, frowning.
"He always looks a bit grim!" James said irritably, "how grim?"
"Very grim, sir," David replied, with an inward spurt of relish. He felt like rubbing his hands with glee. James had become impossible lately and his father was the only one who could do anything with him.
James groaned. He had known it was coming but tried to pretend that it wasn't, so he was not surprised. David dressed him and he threw down the glass of whiskey, swilling it around his mouth a bit to get rid of the sour taste of last night's debauchery.
He squared his shoulders and, with a sickly grin, said, "Wish me luck, David."
"Good luck, sir!" David replied with a small bow. He lingered for a few minutes then tiptoed out. He was going to listen at the keyhole.
When James went into his father's office he felt as though he were naked. The Laird motioned him to sit down in a chair in front of his desk then steepled his hands and skewered James with the steely glance from his ice-blue eyes. James swallowed and looked down at his lap, feeling that if he looked up his father would lean over and throttle him. At last Laird Gordon McVey spoke.
"What were you doing last night?" he asked levelly, toying idly with a quill on the desk.
"You know what I was doing." James frowned. "I went to Duncan's house for a game of cards."
"And then?"
"I had a glass of whiskey."
The Laird looked up at him. "You had six, to be precise," he said calmly, "and after that?"
"I played a few more hands then I came home." James's hands were ice cold and trembling. "What is this about, Father?"
The Laird put the quill down and steepled his hands again. "Please don't think you can lie to me, son," he said, but his voice was patient rather than angry. He sighed. "You were seen with a—well, I am sure you don't need me to tell you what kind of woman she was."
There was a pause.
"I had you followed," Gordon said matter-of-factly, "do not ask me his name because I will not tell you. I will tell you that this has got to stop. Please look at me, James. I am not going to shout at you because it does no good."
James looked up and his father's eyes were not grim, or angry, but sad. "I am sorry, Father," he said softly, "I won't do it again."
The Laird shook his head. "That is what you said last time," he said sadly, "and the time before that."
James hung his head.
"If you were I, what would you do?" the Laird asked, "I love you and want the best for you. I don't want you frittering away your life in idleness and debauchery."
James sighed and shrugged. "I do not know, Father," he replied, "what do you suggest?"
"I suggest this.
" The Laird leaned back in his chair and looked at him levelly. "You are a very intelligent man, James. You have a quick mind. I could send you to the army," he suggested, "I was a soldier and it's not a bad life for a lad. It teaches you discipline and the skills you need to survive on your own, but I think it would be a waste of your talents. When I die - and who knows when that will be – this estate will come to you. Yes, you will have managers to help you - probably very good ones - but you need to know how to do things yourself, so I will make that happen.
“First, you shall ride with me to meet all our tenants and villagers and visit the school. For too long you have looked down on these honest people—indeed we all have, except Heather. I am proud of her, and I want to be proud of you too. After that, we will tackle the business side—the accounting, ordering of supplies delivery of products to markets and so on.
“And I want you to sit in with me when I have discussions with my tenants when we go through their complaints and suggestions. Some of these people are astonishingly intelligent. I do this once a month. Any questions?"
"Only one, Father," James answered.
"Yes, son?" Gordon raised his eyebrows.
"When do I start?" He grinned.
The Laird came around the desk and drew his son into a tight embrace. "Maybe you've just grown up now," he said gruffly.
"I think I should give up whiskey," James said decisively.
The Laird looked alarmed. "No, son!" he cried, "sometimes it is the only thing that keeps us sane. They do not call it the 'water of life' for nothing!"
James laughed heartily. "What do we do first, Father?" he asked, smiling.
"The day after tomorrow we will see some farms," the Laird replied, "today you will rest and get rid of the bear on your back. Sleep well tonight, for we rise very early."
James smiled at his father and went out, surprising David, who had been too slow to react and was standing outside the door.
"I trust you heard something to your advantage, Davie?" he asked innocently.
"I was coming to see if you needed anything, sir." David said indignantly, "I was not eavesdropping."
"Yes, you were, Davie." James laughed. "It takes a liar to spot a liar. Don't worry—I forgive you."
12
Jessica
Jessica was ecstatic. It was one thing to be a governess to two well-bred children who had had the best of everything, but it was another to teach thirty or so tykes who were used to working on a farm or running about in the fresh air. Nevertheless, she relished the challenge, and could not wait to get started. On the way to the church, she began to shiver with apprehension, however.
Am I going to freeze and make a complete fool of myself? she thought, are they going to laugh at me?
On that first day, Heather made the children line up and present themselves to Jessica, to introduce themselves, and to shake hands. The boys bowed and the girls curtsied as Heather had taught them. It was a very solemn occasion.
"Ladies and gentlemen." Heather always called them this, because it made them feel grown up and dignified. "We have a very new teacher, Miss Farquhar, who doesn't know you very well. Please make her feel welcome by being on your best behavior, listening to what she says, and not interrupting. I will be right next door so I will know. If I hear any trouble there will be more trouble, I promise. Good morning, class."
Heather gave Jessica an encouraging smile as she left. She was teaching the older class and this morning's subject was arithmetic. Heather had a mind like an abacus, so she and the class were all quickly absorbed in the lesson, so much so that she forgot to ring the bell at the end of the morning.
Jessica, with a mischievous smile, came in to remind her.
"I am so sorry," Heather apologized, "I just got carried away."
"A true sign of a born teacher." Jessica laughed.
"How did you get on?" Heather asked.
"They are a good lot," Jessica replied, "well behaved and willing to learn, though I have already spotted the ones I will have to watch."
Heather sighed theatrically. "I know exactly the ones you mean," she said, then she put her arm around Jessica's shoulder. Laughing, they went into the minister's house, where Sadie had cooked a gargantuan lunch for them.
"Sadie," Heather said, aghast, "are you feeding an army?"
Sadie smiled her kind smile and patted her ample stomach. "I forgot you ladies need tae look efter thae tiny waists o' yours!" She sighed regretfully. "My tiny waist is long gone. Eat whit ye can. My twa menfolk, especially my son Dougie, eat like plow horses, so I am used tae cookin' double. Men!"
They ate as much as they could, then took the rest outside to the few children that were left outside waiting to be collected by their parents. They descended on the food like a flock of hungry pigeons and in a few moments, it was gone.
"I must start giving them some really good food at lunchtime, Sadie." Heather sighed. "It's not enough to give them bread and milk."
"Oh, no ye don't, lass!" Sadie wagged a finger at her. "Once ye start that we'll hae beggars and a' sorts roon here."
Heather sucked her lower lip thoughtfully. "I will think about it," she mused, then changed the subject. "What are you doing this evening, Jessica?"
"Reading a book, mistress," she replied, "and planning lessons for tomorrow."
"No, you're not!" Heather said bossily.
"Really, mistress?" Jessica asked, eyes twinkling. "And just what am I doing?"
"You are coming to dinner with my family and me in the castle."
Jessica looked aghast, then terrified. "But what am I going to—"
"Wear?" Heather finished for her. "Sadie! Bring the dress, please!"
Sadie came bustling out with a simple but beautiful dress in pale blue linen. It had a scooped neckline and velvet insets in the skirt. Jessica's eyes widened and she gasped with pleasure when she saw it.
"It isnae new," Sadie said, "it used tae be my wee lassie's but she moved tae Edinburgh an' left it behind. The clothes moths will get it if you dinnae want it."
"Oh, it's lovely!" Jessica put out a hand to touch it then jerked it back as if she would scorch it. "It's too good for me though."
"Rubbish," Heather said firmly. "It is a gift and I insist you take it. My maid Agnes will see to your hair. I am not taking no for an answer."
"But—"
Heather cast her eyes heavenwards. "What now?" she asked, half smiling.
"I'm not—" Jessica paused, searching for words. "I will be the plainest one at the table even with this pretty dress on. Please, Mistress—"
"Heather."
"Please—I'm only a schoolteacher and you are nobility," Jessica pleaded.
"We are just people," Heather said firmly, "like you. And do not tell me you are plain. You have beautiful green eyes, a swan-like neck, a tiny waist, and you carry yourself like a queen, so don't belittle yourself."
At that moment there was a firm knock on the door, and Sadie opened it.
"Hello, Bruce!" Her voice was high and welcoming. "Come in and hae some tea! Have ye met Miss Farquhar, the new teacher?”
"Naw," he said pleasantly, smiling. "Bruce Ferguson, blacksmith." He gave a curt nod to Heather, who gave him an equally curt one back.
"Excuse me," she said, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I have some things to do." Then she disappeared into the schoolroom.
Bruce handed over a spade to Sadie. "There ye are, Sadie. Good as new."
"Thank ye, Bruce." She hauled out her purse and paid him his usual fee. "Tak the weight aff yer feet, son. How are ye keepin'?"
Bruce smiled sadly. "I still miss her, Sadie." He sighed. "But no' like before, so I think ye can say I'm gettin' better."
Jessica kept quiet. She had a feeling that this was a tragic affair in his life and did not want to pry. He sipped the cup of tea Sadie had just put down for him and Jessica tried not to stare. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He caught her eye and she blushed, turning away.
<
br /> "Ca' me Bruce. An' how are ye findin' oor wee place, miss?" he asked, "by the way, I'm sorry aboot the dirty face an hauns, but soot'll dae that tae ye."
Jessica laughed. "Call me Jessica, please," she replied, "and there is nothing wrong with dirt that has been honestly earned. I have been warmly welcomed, the lodgings are very comfortable and Lady Heather is a wonderful employer. So, I am enjoying it very much, thank you. Do you have any children at the school?"
"Naw," he replied, "my wife died recently shortly before oor child wis born." He shrugged. "It happens an' there is naethin' tae be done. 'Tis God's will."
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently.
Bruce drained his teacup and Jessica thought how strange the delicate little cup looked in his big, work-roughened hands.
"I must go," he said regretfully. He stood up and stretched, showing an impressive set of muscled biceps. "Cheerio, Sadie!" he called.
"Ta-ta, son!" she called back.
"Nice tae meet ye, Jessica," he smiled again.
Jessica went weak at the knees. "You too, Bruce," she replied. She noticed that he had not once referred to Heather and had hardly acknowledged her presence. As soon as the door closed behind him, she came out of the schoolroom and poured herself a cup of tea.
"I may be very forward, Heather," Jessica asked tentatively, "but is there bad blood between you two?"
Heather grimaced. "Let us just say that there is no love lost between us," she replied grimly, "or to put it plainly, we cannot stand each other."
Jessica looked outside where she could still see Bruce running quickly down the hill towards the forge. "What a pity," she murmured.
