The Crofter's Daughter

by Eileen Ramsay

  ‘Won’t the lasses all be working on the land, Mairi?’

  ‘There’s still plenty in the tied cottages with more mouths to feed than money coming in, Dad.’

  ‘Well, we can hope for a bad day and a cancellation,’ sighed Colin and his children looked at him, Ian with a heart full of guilt.

  It is difficult to be noble if your nobility causes distress to the people you love. Ian decided to be very circumspect. He would be a good and dutiful son. He would take part in all the competitions, even the shooting, and if he shot well and Miss Huntingdon saw his success, no doubt Colin would be pleased.

  Ian was not the only one who was making resolutions about the Tenants’ picnic. Because it was to be held in October which can be a lovely month in Angus or a wild one, depending on its mood, Mairi decided to buy a light-weight woollen suit that she had seen advertised in the Courier for three guineas. D. M. Brown’s was offering the suit in blue, green, or a light grey and so Miss McGloughlin took the train into Dundee with not three but four guineas in her purse. The suit, which she wanted in green, had a very masculine line and needed, she decided, a soft feminine blouse to make it just perfect. This time she allowed nothing to dissuade her from her self-appointed task and a very happy young lady swept, with head held high, from the Dundee shop a mere two hours after entering it. Buying the suit, although she had tried on one in each of the colours, had taken only thirty minutes but oh, the difficulty of buying a blouse.

  She sat on the train and looked, not at the countryside, but at the two brown paper parcels on her tweed-covered lap. She could hardly wait to show off her purchases. The McGloughlins would present a united, and even elegant, front to their neighbours.

  And so they did, for Colin and his son were both well-set-up men who wore their Sunday suits with easy assurance, and Mairi looked lovely both because she was pretty and perhaps more importantly because she felt good.

  Her pleasure in her suit was diminished a little when she saw the ravishing outfits worn by the laird’s wife and niece. A three-guinea off-the-peg suit is no match for haute couture when it is worn by elegant women and Arabella Huntingdon and her aunt were both tall and slender. They greeted their guests politely although Mairi felt sure that Miss Huntingdon’s eyes grew warmer when she addressed Ian.

  They would make a lovely couple, thought Mairi but sensibly kept her opinions to herself.

  Even if Ian had wished, they could not linger and the family went off to enter the competitions and to wander around the gardens, no longer in full flower, but tidied and prepared for winter.

  ‘Sir Humphrey is such a good gardener,’ sighed Mairi as she bent down to smell some of the bushes that had replaced the summer flowers. ‘The last time I was here, this garden had a wealth of colour. Now look, it’s all green, or bits of yellow, but it’s still lovely and some of these leaves have a pleasant smell. I bet they would be especially nice after rain.’

  She looked up and saw Edith, Jack, and their parents walking towards them.

  The families saw one another at the same time but it was too late to pretend that they had not. The two farmers, of course, felt no qualms about greeting one another. The fact that their children were no longer friends meant nothing.

  ‘Nice to see you, Mairi,’ said Jack. ‘I like your new costume, you look very . . .’

  ‘Nice,’ said Edith, waspishly.

  ‘I was going to say, sophisticated,’ said Jack and then turned to Ian. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages, Ian. Come on and I’ll take you on at the shooting.’

  ‘It’s only men I have a problem shooting, Jack, if you were looking for an easy prize. I have no qualms about targets.’

  Jack blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I wasn’t thinking about your politics, more what you were like when we left the school.’

  ‘I’ve improved,’ said Ian simply. ‘Come on then. Sorry I was so touchy. Are you going to watch us, girls?’

  ‘Rupert Grey-Watson is home on leave,’ said Edith. ‘Mother and I were on our way to pay our respects.’

  ‘Away you go then, Edith,’ said her loving brother. ‘But he’ll not look at a bean pole like you when the juicy Arabella is around,’ he added unkindly.

  ‘Are you coming, Mairi, or do you want to swoon over the delicate Rupert?’

  ‘She’d much rather swoon over his father,’ teased Ian. ‘Isn’t that right, Mairi? Unless, of course, young Rupert can grow peaches.’

  Mairi fell into step beside them. ‘I don’t know why you men have to pretend to be so tough all the time. And Rupert isn’t delicate,’ she added as she caught a glimpse of the young cavalry officer who was walking with his mother and cousin on the other side of the garden. Edith and her mother were hurrying towards them and, for a moment, Mairi thought that Rupert might pull his mother and cousin into a path that would take them away from the advancing women but, if he had considered it, he changed his mind and bravely stood his ground and waited.

  ‘Captain Grey-Watson, we are so proud of you.’ She could hear Mrs Black’s voice. So too could Jack who was looking extremely uncomfortable.

  ‘Our Edith’s given up hope of catching Robin Morrison; he hasn’t written to her in months. Now she’s after bigger game.’

  Ian stopped and turned Jack around to face him. ‘Jack, if you can’t stop being nasty, find yourself someone else to play with,’ he said and stalked off in the direction of the shooting range.

  ‘Touchy, touchy,’ said Jack. ‘Come on, Mairi. I’ll take you for tea and scones.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, but I’m having tea with my dad.’

  She went to walk off after her brother but Jack looked so lost and he had once, after all, been quite dear to her. She took pity on him. ‘How have you been though? I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Fine, but I’m thinking of joining up. It’d be great to see a foreign country and have a crack at Jerry. I’m nearly twenty-five, Mairi, and I’m still living with my parents, being told what to do.’

  ‘You’re a partner now?’

  ‘Name only. My dad is so used to being the boss, it never occurs to him to ask anyone else for advice. Truth is, he’s usually right.’

  Mairi thought of her father and brother who worked harmoniously together season after season. Any blemishes in their relationship had been smoothed out long since and even Ian’s pacifism would not change their respect for one another.

  ‘It would be worse to be the younger Harper though, Jack, wouldn’t it? It must be awful to have your brother tell you what to do all day.’

  Jack looked round and saw an ironwork garden seat. ‘Come and sit down for a bit.’ When Mairi did so he added, ‘You haven’t heard then?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Tam’s gone for a soldier. Left Jim as tenant. Wanted to get away from his wife, I think.’

  Mairi ignored that reflection on domestic harmony. Every farm was changing. Who would have thought that Tam Harper, thirty if he was a day, would have enlisted?

  ‘It’ll just be the Blacks and the McGloughlins without serving soldiers,’ she said.

  ‘Not if I go and, besides, two of our lads have gone since the news of Loos came through. They were so angry at our losses they just disappeared overnight. My dad’ll keep their jobs for them. He’ll be decent that way. Mairi, if I go, will you write to me? Everyone else I know is keeping company or married.’

  Mairi laughed. ‘That’s hardly a compliment, Jack.’

  ‘Ach, you know fine what I mean and we always got on.’

  ‘If you go, Jack, I’ll think about it.’ She got up from the seat. ‘Come on. Ian will be waiting to take your money.’

  ‘All prizes to our brave lads in uniform,’ smiled Jack and he took her arm.

  They walked off between the beech hedges and came face to face with Rupert and Arabella. Rupert smiled and stepped back to let them walk before him and Arabella said, ‘Are you enjoying the picnic, Miss McGloughlin?’

  Mairi blushed. It had not occurred
to her that the young aristocrat would remember her among so many tenants, but before she could answer Arabella showed who was really remembered by adding, ‘My cousin here tells me that Mr McGloughlin is the finest shot in the area. We hoped to see him compete, perhaps against Rupert.’

  ‘My father and brother are both excellent shots, Miss Huntingdon, and so too is Mr Black.’

  ‘Then we’ll have a wager, Bella,’ said Rupert. ‘Five guineas tells me that I can beat either Mr McGloughlin.’

  ‘Done,’ said Arabella, clapping her gloved hands together. ‘Either way the charity will profit. Come along, Miss McGloughlin; let us find your brother and, of course, your father.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Afterwards, Mairi could never remember how a day that had started so agreeably could have ended in such an unpleasant way. She went with Arabella past the front of the great house and into the side gardens, followed by Rupert Grey-Watson who was making heavy weather of light chit-chat with the nervous Jack, until they came to the area that had been set as a shooting range.

  Two of the laird’s grooms were in charge of the guns, the shot, and the targets which were old chipped plates and saucers that had been collected for weeks by the children of the local primary school. The younger undergardeners took turns throwing a target into the air; it was all very light-hearted because, while most of the boys had no skill in throwing, one of them was the leading light of the local cricket team. His plates went higher and wider than those thrown by the others and were usually harder to hit because he threw as he bowled, a different route every time.

  First Ian shot against Jack. They appeared to be evenly matched and Mairi stood beside Miss Arabella and watched her as she, with shining eyes, watched Ian.

  ‘This,’ Mairi decided, ‘is a very unexpected and exciting new development.’

  ‘Mr McGloughlin is very good, isn’t he?’ breathed Arabella.

  ‘He gets lots of practice shooting crows.’

  ‘No doubt harder to hit than pheasant, Bella,’ said Rupert. ‘I think I may lose my bet.’

  Ian won the first match and then Rupert shot against Jack, who was so nervous at having been singled out for attention by the local aristocracy that all his shots went wide.

  ‘Bad luck,’ said Rupert generously. ‘It’s that gun, you know. I meant to tell my father to have it looked at. We’ll have another go after your friend has trounced me.’

  Rupert looked around at the crowd who were gathering to watch the excitement. ‘Where’s the senior Mr McGloughlin?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to shoot against him.’

  But Colin had wanted no part of a sideshow in which he was a component of the entertainment and had gone off to throw horseshoes with several other farmers.

  ‘Bad show,’ smiled Rupert. ‘One hears what a first-rate shot he is; it would have been jolly good fun to shoot against him.’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Ian McGloughlin is just as good,’ said Arabella, looking at Mairi for confirmation.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mairi simply. ‘Shooting crows is just part of his job.’

  ‘Like being a soldier,’ said an unknown voice from the crowd.

  Rupert laughed. ‘I do hope there’s more to soldiering than shooting. Will you shoot against me, McGloughlin?’

  ‘Aye, sir, for the charity.’

  ‘Splendid. We’ll have ten plates each, and we’ll have Gus throw for us.’

  Mairi could tell nothing of what Ian was thinking from his face, which was set and almost cold.

  The first plate was thrown – and was immediately shot out of the sky. The second, the third. On and on it went and the crowd grew louder and louder as they cheered, but it soon became obvious that they were shouting only for Rupert Grey-Watson.

  Mairi, who had been standing quietly beside Miss Huntingdon, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands, began to shout encouragement to her brother, and then Arabella, too, dropped all pretence of being neutral and joined her. The girls forgot for a moment that they were aristocrat and peasant and they yelled naturally for the young man in whom each had an interest. They looked at one another and laughed.

  The first match was a draw.

  ‘Shall we try again, McGloughlin?’

  ‘There’s many here could give you a good match, sir,’ said Ian, who hated being in the limelight, today more than ever.

  Rupert looked at the young farmer shrewdly. ‘There’s more going on here than a shooting match. Why is no one, apart from my cousin and your charming sister, cheering you on?

  ‘Never mind,’ he added quickly as Ian struggled for a truthful answer. ‘I need to beat you.’ He turned to one of the undergardeners. ‘Run up to the house and ask Mrs Potter for some kitchen cups; the plates are too easy.’

  The cups were brought by Rupert’s parents and the crowd moved back respectfully. Sir Humphrey was a popular landlord.

  ‘I’m putting a wager on McGloughlin,’ he told his son, ‘and Mama is backing you. We have twenty-four cups; Mrs Potter won’t let you have any more but I have brought these in case we have a second draw.’ He took two tiny bone-china egg cups out of his jacket pocket. ‘Think you can hit that, young Ian?’

  ‘He can hit anything but a Hun,’ came that voice from the crowd and Mairi gasped.

  Ian stood stock-still and looked into his landlord’s eyes.

  ‘That the way the wind blows, is it?’ asked Sir Humphrey. ‘Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. Let the match begin.’

  Rupert had lowered his gun and was looking at it as it pointed to the ground as if it was the most important thing he had ever examined.

  ‘Rupert,’ said his father.

  Rupert looked from his father to his mother who was pointedly looking into the distance, then back to his cousin, who was white and shaking, and then to Ian.

  ‘C.O.?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe this war to be wrong, sir.’

  ‘And what will you say when we come for you, because we will, you know?’

  ‘I will say what I have just said.’

  ‘That’ll take guts, McGloughlin. You shoot first.’

  He stepped back and Ian moved forward to the firing line and then, with a soft rustle of silk petticoats, Miss Arabella Huntingdon ran forward and spoke softly to Ian. He smiled at her but said nothing and she stepped back beside Mairi.

  Ian missed the first cup and the crowd went wild with enthusiasm. Rupert fired and scored. Ian then hit three in a row and Rupert hit two and missed his fourth. Three all.

  Five all. Seven six to Ian. Nine seven to Rupert. Nine eight. Nine all. Ten all. Eleven ten. Twelve eleven to Ian and Rupert still to fire.

  ‘Save the last shell for the coward,’ yelled that horrid hidden voice.

  Ian turned white, but not with fear, and Rupert stepped forward.

  ‘I see no cowards on this side of the line,’ he said. ‘I do not agree with Mr McGloughlin’s views but I am prepared to fight for his right to express them, not only with the enemy but with anyone here who dares to show his face and make his challenge.’

  There was muttering from the crowd but for once it was not against Ian.

  ‘Throw your egg cups, Father,’ said Rupert, and, as Sir Humphrey did so, both young men fired and the shattered china fell to the ground.

  They stood looking at one another. Ian held out his hand. Rupert looked at it until Ian flushed and withdrew it.

  ‘I have lost too many friends,’ said Rupert. ‘We should have met in happier times.’ He turned and walked away.

  Arabella stood looking after him. Her aunt and uncle still stood, obviously disagreeing, and then Lady Grey-Watson called, ‘Arabella,’ and, without waiting, began to walk after her son.

  Mairi was with Ian who was now white with distress.

  ‘Well done, lad,’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘Forgive my son.’

  ‘Forgive him, sir, for what?’

  ‘You have chosen a hard path, young man. There will be conscription within the next few months.
If you need help, at any time, don’t hesitate to use my name.’

  ‘I’ll plough my own furrow, Sir Humphrey, but thank you, sir.’

  This time it was Sir Humphrey who extended his hand and Ian took it and found his fingers grasped in a hand that reminded him uncomfortably of his father’s.

  ‘Bella,’ said Sir Humphrey as he turned away.

  She stood for a moment and then she turned again to Ian. ‘I do think you’re perfectly splendid. I should like to give you my scarf but . . . I suppose that’s quite silly.’

  ‘Not silly,’ said Ian. ‘I am going into battle, Miss Huntingdon.’

  Her scarf was of the finest silk and must have cost more than Mairi’s entire outfit but Bella slipped it from her neck and held it out to Ian, and Mairi saw her shy, gawky brother take the scarf, kiss it gently, and slip it inside his shirt.

  *

  ‘Well, we’d better go and find Dad afore he hears all about this little fracas from someone else,’ said Ian, as if the most momentous event in his life had not just occurred.

  Mairi went with him and they followed in the wake of the crowd. She was frightened and exhilarated. Ian had won, or at least, since Rupert had not tried to hit his last cup, he had equalled the shooting of the young army officer; that was gratifying. Then there were Arabella’s muttered words – how she would love to know what they were, but knew that she could not ask – and the giving of the favour. But there had been Rupert’s reaction to the news that Ian was a conscientious objector, and more horrifying, for Rupert had behaved with gentlemanly self-control throughout, the shouted words from the heckler.

  ‘Save the last shot for the coward.’ Surely no one would want to kill Ian for his stance? Rupert was prepared to fight for Ian’s beliefs, which was amusing in a twisted kind of way since Ian, who was the stronger of the two, would not fight for himself. But the man in the crowd had to be someone known to them, someone who had perhaps shared their table or their fireside at some time over the years.