Bel Lamington

by D. E. Stevenson

  Rhoda had spoken of Effie, the cow-man’s daughter, in derogatory terms but Bel found her quite a useful assistant. She required supervision, of course, but when told what to do she did it to the best of her ability. Effie was sixteen, she was the eldest of a very large family and the cares of the world sat heavily upon her shoulders. She was tall—much too tall for her age—and very pale and droopy. Everything about Effie drooped. Her lank hair drooped over her forehead, the corners of her mouth drooped and her skirt drooped at the back. Bel decided that Effie was half-starved and made her drink milk. This was not easy, for Effie despised milk, in her opinion it was a beverage suitable only for very young children, so Bel was obliged to stand over her every morning at eleven o’clock and see that the half pint went down Effie’s throat and was not emptied into the sink.

  At first Effie tried to converse with Bel but she soon found that it was hopeless for Bel had the greatest difficulty in understanding a word she said. Fortunately Effie understood Bel without the slightest trouble. This seemed inexplicable to Bel. Why was it? If the girl could understand her so easily why couldn’t she understand the girl?

  “Ye talk Bibby Cee,” explained Effie.

  “I talk Bibby Cee!” asked Bel in bewilderment.

  “Ugha,” said Effie.

  (By this time Bel had discovered that “Ugha” meant yes. When she asked Effie to peel the potatoes Effie said “Ugha” and peeled them forthwith).

  The mystery was intriguing. Bel puzzled over it all morning and finally asked Rhoda about it.

  “Effie says I talk Bibby Cee,” said Bel. “She says that’s why she can understand me.”

  “Oh yes,” said Rhoda. “They’ve got a wireless. They listen in every evening.”

  “B.B.C.!” exclaimed Bel. “How silly of me!”

  They looked at each other and smiled. Already they understood each other and had discovered that they had a great deal in common; chiefly a sense of fun—which is quite a different thing from a sense of humour and more rare.

  *

  3

  Bel had heard a good deal about “Rhoda’s boys” but she did not see much of them. She saw them at breakfast but after breakfast they went off to school in the school-bus and did not return until tea-time. After tea they rushed out to play with the cow-man’s children or, if it were wet, they settled down to a game of tiddly-winks until it was time for bed.

  It was one of Bel’s duties to put the boys to bed. She had been looking forward to this for she had thought it would be amusing to bath them and have fun with them, but it was not in the least amusing. They took advantage of her inexperience and were uncontrollable. When they liked they could speak reasonably good English but quite often they conversed with each other in the local dialect, which they had picked up from their playmates. It annoyed Bel when she could not understand what they said and one evening when she was struggling to bath them—and to wash their ears, a process which they both disliked intensely—she remonstrated with them.

  “It isn’t a bit pretty,” said Bel. “Why don’t you talk like Mummie? You can talk so nicely when you like.”

  “You’re silly,” replied Harry. “You’re not as nice as Flockie.”

  “We don’t like you,” added Nicky frankly.

  “We don’t need to worry,” said Harry. “She’ll get the boot when Flockie comes home.”

  “She’ll get the boot when Flockie comes home!” chanted Nicky gleefully.

  Bel found this slightly discouraging. She was not used to children.

  Rhoda was not used to children either; she had said that she was “learning on her own”; she had bought various books which described the correct method of bringing up children and studied them carefully. She had a whole shelf of little green books on the subject.

  “You should never whip children,” said Rhoda. “Sometimes I feel inclined to give them a spanking—especially Nicky, he really is so terribly annoying—but all the books say you should reason with them. We must reason with them, Bel.”

  This was one evening when the boys had been particularly uncontrollable in the bath, had absolutely refused to have their ears washed and had drenched Bel from head to foot with soapy water.

  It was rather surprising that Rhoda, who was so sensible about other matters, could be so foolish about her children. If she had burnt all the books and had managed the boys according to her own good sense they would have been easier to live with. At least that was what Bel thought.

  “You should never take anything away from them by force,” continued Rhoda earnestly. “You should just ask them kindly but firmly to give it up—and of course you should never say ‘don’t do that’. You should take their minds off by suggesting something else. I must say I find that very difficult.”

  Bel found it difficult too. In fact she found it impossible. When she saw Nicky was about to throw a wet sponge at her she found herself shouting “Don’t do that!” She found herself snatching the sponge out of his hand. When the boys came in to the kitchen whilst she was preparing breakfast and Harry made a bee-line for the stove and began to clatter the lid of the porridge-pot, Bel shouted “Don’t, Harry! You’ll burn yourself!” On occasions like these there was no time to take their minds off by suggesting something else.

  Curiously enough the boys were much better with Effie who had read none of the books. If Harry bothered her when she was scrubbing the larder she merely said, “Are ye wantin’ a clout on the lug, Hawrry?” and if Harry persisted in annoying her she dealt him a cuff on the side of the head which sent him staggering across the floor. This was dreadful of course—all the little green books would have turned red with horror at the bare idea—but, instead of reprimanding Effie severely, Bel went on beating up eggs and pretended she had not seen.

  Effie had very little trouble with Harry after that Of course Effie was used to children, she had innumerable brothers and sisters. There was no time to reason with them. If they were troublesome they got “skelped” or “clouted” so they learnt quite quickly that it was better not to annoy their elders. Bel had a feeling that Harry and Nicky would have learnt quite quickly too.

  One of Nicky’s most annoying habits was to burst into floods of tears. The corners of his mouth went down and enormous tears spurted from his eyes like fountains. He could turn on the waterworks whenever he liked—at any moment. He turned them on when he was sent to wash his hands or if he were denied an extra piece of chocolate. He turned them on when Harry beat him at tiddly-winks and when Bel was trying to wash his ears.

  “I don’t know why he cries like that,” said Rhoda anxiously. “The books all say you should keep children happy.”

  “But he must have his ears washed,” Bel pointed out.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Apart from her trouble with the boys Bel found her new job very much to her liking. Once order had been established in the kitchen premises the work was comparatively easy. She got up early, made the breakfast and tidied the house. She cooked the midday meal and helped Effie to wash the dishes. After that she was free to go out and do what she pleased. Occasionally she went with Rhoda to Drumburly to do the shopping and one day she went to The Shaw Arms and had tea with Mrs. Simpson in her private sitting-room.

  Some people might have found Tassieknowe very dull indeed, for certainly it was “at the back of beyond”, but Bel did not find it dull. She was interested in the farm and she enjoyed exploring the country and the Dering Johnstones were so kind to her that she felt very happy in their company.

  Louise wrote to her several times—her letters were always a joy—and one morning Bel received a letter from Mark Desborough which had been forwarded to her from Coombe House. She was surprised to get it for she had not expected to hear from Mark; he had vanished from her life and to tell the truth she would have been better pleased if he had vanished entirely.

  Bel unfolded the letter with reluctance, noting that it was from London—so Mark had returned!

  The letter was quit
e long and very friendly. Mark explained that Edward had been very tiresome and selfish so he had decided to leave Florence and was now back in his old studio in Mellington Street ‘painting like mad’. He had sold several pictures and had got good prices for them. He had been climbing about on the roofs and had gone down to Bel’s garden but had found the flat shut. The garden was in a horrible condition, very dirty and untidy with bits of paper blowing about; most of the plants were dead and one of the window-boxes had fallen to pieces and the earth was leaking out all over the stones. Mark had peered in through the sitting-room window and everything was covered with dust.

  The letter continued:

  I wish you would come back. I want you to pose for me. I have got a wonderful idea for a picture. Let me know your plans as soon as possible. I rang up Louise but for some reason she would not give me your address—silly little owl! But she consented to forward a letter if I sent it to Coombe House. Dear little mouse, do come back soon. I miss you dreadfully.

  Much love from

  Mark

  The letter disturbed Bel for several reasons; but principally because it mentioned “plans”. She had no plans. Of course she would stay on at Tassieknowe as long as Rhoda needed her, but when Miss Flockhart came back she would have to go—and Miss Flockhart was reported to be making good progress. After that Bel did not know what she would do. Perhaps the best thing would be to return to her flat and try to get some sort of job, but not an office-job, thought Bel. Dr. Armstrong had told her that he might be able to get her a post as receptionist to a doctor—something like that. It had seemed quite a good idea at the time, but with Mark in residence in his studio—popping in to see her whenever he felt inclined—it did not seem a good idea at all. She did not want to see Mark and, quite definitely, she did not want to pose for one of his strange pictures. She would have to take a firm line with Mark—and how Bel hated taking a firm line!

  Oh, what a bother! thought Bel. What a frightful nuisance Mark is! Why on earth couldn’t he have stayed in Florence with Edward What’s-his-name?

  Mark would have been considerably surprised if he could have known of the feelings which his letter had aroused in the bosom of his dear little mouse.

  *

  2

  Tassieknowe was a sheep-farm but the Dering Johnstones kept a few cows to supply the house and the cottages with milk. They did not go in for a modern cow-parlour with all its hygienic appurtenances and they had no electric milker. The cows were milked by hand; they were out all day in a pasture near the river and spent their nights in an old-fashioned byre. Bel loved the byre, especially in the evening. Quite often after supper she put on her coat and went out for a stroll round the farm and she always visited the byre. Sometimes she sat there and enjoyed the peaceful feeling it gave her. It was dim and mysterious, warm with the warmth of the beasts, full of the scent of hay, silent except for soft breathing and the rustle of straw.

  It was in a place like this, thought Bel, that Mary and Joseph had found refuge and Jesus had been born. There was no room at the Inn, but there was room here—in a place like this—and surely it must have been a more peaceful refuge than a hot over-crowded hostelry with people coming and going all the time, shouting and laughing and making a lot of noise. There would have been no peace at all at the Inn.

  This was quite a new idea. At least it was new to Bel.

  There was another place in the farm which she liked to visit and where she was always sure of a welcome. This was the shepherd’s house. It stood a little apart from the other buildings, higher up the hill.

  It was a delightful little house, bright and cheerful and clean as a new pin. The furniture was good solid stuff and there were a great many ornaments—some of brass and some of china—all shining and glittering as if they had been washed and polished that very day. There was a book-shelf full of books and above it a shelf of china dogs. The books belonged to Sutherland and the china dogs to his wife. The dogs were of all shapes and sizes, some were pretty and others extremely ugly but Mrs. Sutherland loved them all; she showed them to Bel, taking them down from the shelf and retailing their history. This one had belonged to her grandmother; that one had been picked up by Sutherland at a sale and given to her for their silver-wedding anniversary. The one she loved best of all was a hideous little Pekinese which had been sent to her by her son from China.

  “Ian’s in the Merchant Service,” explained Mrs. Sutherland. “He’s got his First Mate’s Certificate,” she added proudly.

  Bel was suitably impressed.

  Sutherland was quite different from the other people on the farm; he was a giant of a man, big and bony with a weatherbeaten face and light blue eyes. He spoke differently too, his voice was deep and slow. There was an impressive dignity in his whole demeanour. Originally he had come from the north—from Helmsdale—but he had been in the district for more than thirty-five years.

  “All the time at Tassieknowe?” Bel wanted to know.

  “Most of the time,” replied Sutherland. He hesitated and then continued: “I was here with Mister Brown and then the place was sold to a man from London, Mister Heddle his name was, but Mister Heddle was not a good man to serve. There was no pleasure in serving a man like him.”

  “We had to go,” put in Mrs. Sutherland. “We had to leave our nice wee house that we’d been in ever since we were married. It was a heart-break, Miss Lamington. We went over the river to Hawkbrae and there we were in a miserable wee cottage, just a but and a ben—away up on the hill—with no hot water and no light!”

  “Och, it was not so bad,” declared Sutherland. “And anyway it could not be helped.”

  “You were as pleased as me when Mr. Johnstone bought Tassieknowe and we came home to our own wee house,” declared Mrs. Sutherland.

  “Och yes, I was pleased,” agreed her husband. “I know the hirsel here as if it was my own back-garden and Mister Dering Johnstone is a fine man to serve. It was a good day for us when we came home to Tassieknowe.”

  “Mistress Dering Johnstone is nice too,” said Mrs. Sutherland.

  “A grand lady!” agreed Sutherland smiling. “There is not a finer lady in the whole of Scotland than Mistress Dering Johnstone. Do you know this, Miss Lamington, she painted my picture and it was real good. It was sent to Edinburgh and they hung it up in yon big picture gallery at the foot of the Mound.”

  “We went all the road to Edinburgh to look at it,” said Mrs. Sutherland proudly. “And there was Sutherland, his very self, among all the other pictures. It was as like him as two peas. There was a gentleman spoke to Sutherland about it. He knew it was him in a minute. A very nice gentleman, he was, very free and friendly-like, and the end of it was he bought the picture.”

  “He gave fifty pounds for it,” declared Sutherland in tones of awe. “Fifty pounds for my picture!”

  “It was Mistress Dering Johnstone’s picture,” Mrs. Sutherland reminded him. “It was because it was so well painted that the gentleman gave all that money for it.”

  “That’s true.” agreed Sutherland, slightly deflated.

  *

  3

  Few people came within the orbit of Rhoda Dering Johnstone without being seized by the short hairs and dragged up to her studio at the top of the house. Rhoda was first and foremost a portrait painter—probably because she was intensely interested in human beings—and unfortunately there were not many human beings at Tassieknowe for her to paint. Thus it was that when the kitchen had been put in order and things had settled down a bit she decided to paint Bel.

  They went up to the studio together and Bel was surprised to see that it was extremely tidy and clean. Rhoda, who had wrought havoc in the kitchen premises, was very particular indeed in her studio. It was her own proper milieu—that was the reason of course.

  There were quite a number of canvases stacked against the wall. Rhoda seized one and put it on an easel.

  “Oh, it’s Mr. Johnstone!” exclaimed Bel in delight.

  “Yes, it�
��s Jock,” agreed the painter, putting her head on one side and surveying the portrait critically. “I did it for Mamie’s birthday—it’s a secret. You mustn’t tell.”

  “It’s wonderful,” declared Bel. “I like the way he’s leaning forward in his chair. He looks as if he were going to speak to you!”

  Rhoda nodded, “Of course he’s a very good subject with that nice, kind, craggy sort of face. This is one I did of Flockie,” she continued, producing another portrait. “I’ve done several of Flockie but this is the best. Of course you don’t know Flockie.”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s like her,” said Bel.

  Rhoda had painted James and the two boys and several other people on the farm. She had painted Sutherland, but his portrait had been hung in the Scottish Academy and had been sold. Rhoda explained this to Bel and was somewhat surprised to hear that Bel knew all about it already.

  “Oh, they told you, did they?” said Rhoda. “They’re awfully funny about it. Between you and me and the bedpost it was rather a good picture; I wouldn’t have let it go for fifty if the Hoover hadn’t suddenly gone phutt.”

  Bel laughed. Her new employer amused her considerably.

  “Well, we had better get on with it,” said Rhoda, suddenly assuming a serious business-like manner. “I want you to sit a bit sideways because I simply must have your ear.”

  Bel sat as directed; she had posed for her portrait before but this was a very different affair. Rhoda did not invite her subject to kneel upon a stone floor but settled her comfortably in a very large armchair and told her to relax. It was Rhoda’s habit to chat to her sitters and encourage them to talk, for in this way she got them in their natural state; not all keyed up and rigid.

  There was a good deal to do in the house so the sittings were limited and the portrait did not get on very quickly but Rhoda managed to entice her model out of her shell of shyness and learnt a great deal about her affairs. She heard about the flat in London and about the little roof-garden, which had been neglected for so long that it was little more than a rubbish heap. She heard about Bel’s worries. She even heard about Mark.