She had tried suggesting that she might want a life of her own but he did not seem to hear what she said. It frightened her that she was so easily swept along by his stronger will and the prospect of living her life constantly in his shadow oppressed her, though she felt guilty if she allowed herself to contemplate escaping from him. She talked about this with Kitty, who could not see what the problem was… ‘Tell him you want to be left alone. Tell him to mind his own business,’ she advised. If talking didn’t work, she thought, a punch on the nose would make him realise she was serious.
‘But he’s my brother, he loves me, we’ve only got each other… We must stick together,’ said Marie. ‘I don’t have to worry about it all now. Tibbie says I can go on attending the school because David doesn’t want me to go out to work. Mr Arnott’s going to make me a monitor next year and I’ll get to help with the wee ones. That’ll be nice.’
Kitty pulled a face. She’d rather dig ditches than look after little children. ‘I’ll be leaving soon too. The parish won’t pay for me to be schooled after I’m past eleven. I’m no’ learnin’ much anyway,’ she said.
‘Your counting’s very good,’ Marie told her.
Kitty shrugged. ‘I won’t need to count much when I go into the fields.’
‘Do you want to work on the land?’ asked Marie, who had seen the bondagers coming home on wet evenings caked with mud and soaked to the skin. Theirs seemed to be lives of unremitting drudgery.
Her friend was surprised by her question. ‘Want? What’s to want? When my granny dies, there’ll only be my mother and me working at Townhead and I’ll be the heid yin so that won’t be too bad.’
‘But that could be years and years away. Big Lily’s as strong as a horse,’ protested Marie, thinking of the years of being under her cruel grandmother’s thumb that stretched before Kitty.
‘I can wait,’ said Kitty darkly. Then she brightened and said, ‘Look, there’s Rutherford’s pig coming down the street. I ken it’s their’s by the black mark on its back. They’ll be making it into ham and bacon soon. My granny kills it for them because Mr Rutherford’s too soft-hearted to kill it himsel’ and they give us sausages for her trouble.’
Marie shuddered. ‘Poor pig,’ she said. ‘I hope I don’t hear your granny killing it.’
‘You won’t. She’s got a knife that’s as sharp as a razor. I wish I had a knife like that.’ Kitty sounded as wistful as any well-to-do girl talking about a pretty piece of jewellery.
‘What would you do with a knife?’ asked Marie.
‘There’s all sorts of things you can do with a good knife,’ Kitty told her. ‘I’d love that one of my granny’s. It can cut through anything. If I had a knife I’d make us blood sisters like those twae lads in the story.’
Marie protested, ‘But that would hurt!’
‘No it wouldn’t. It’d be easy. I’d cut my finger and then I’d cut yours and we’d mix the blood. It’d make us sisters.’
Marie frowned and Kitty nudged her with a sharp elbow. ‘Are you scared?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Marie rashly but she felt safe because Kitty did not have a knife or any prospect of getting one.
Big Lily always carried the knife in the pocket of her skirt except when she was using it and she rarely forgot to fold it up and slip it back into its place immediately she finished any task in hand. Next day she was cutting open sheaves of hay while Kitty watched intently until Big Lily snapped, ‘What’re you doing standing there gogglin’? Away and feed the hens and mak’ yersel useful.’
After that it seemed to the big woman that the pest of a child was always under her feet, eyes wide, taking everything in. She shouted and swore at Kitty but the little nuisance would not go away and Big Lily became suspicious of the continued attentions of her granddaughter.
‘What are you aye hanging about me for? What do you want?’ she demanded roughly.
‘Nothing. I just want to help. I want to see how things are done because I’m leaving school soon.’
Big Lily frowned. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. It would suit me if Craigie’ll have you on the place because the work’s getting harder for me. I’ll ask him to take you. There’s no point talking about it wi’ his. They’re thrawn bitches and they’d say no just for the joy of it.’
Kitty was surprised. ‘But Craigie’s in Edinbury. Will you send him a letter?’ She knew that Big Lily could barely write her name.
Her grandmother roughly pushed her aside. ‘I’ll no’ be writing any letters. I’ll go to Edinbury to ask him about it.’
‘You’ll go there?’ Kitty could scarcely believe that her grandmother would contemplate such a trip. She’d never been farther than Rosewell as far as Kitty knew and she did not like going there.
‘I’ve been before,’ snapped Big Lily.
‘When?’ asked Kitty.
‘Nane o’ your business. I’ve been, that’s all that concerns you.’
Kitty refused to be rebuffed. ‘Can I go with you?’ she asked, eyes shining. The thought of a trip to Edinburgh enthralled her for she longed to travel.
‘You! Get out of it. I wouldn’t tak’ you as far’s Rosewell with me.’ That reply was what Kitty had expected so she was not too disappointed.
Big Lily’s trip to Edinburgh was planned for the day of the September Sheep Fair at Rosewell, a very special occasion when workers from all the farms round about were given a day off so that they could attend.
Because she was going away, Big Lily could not take any of Townhead’s sheep to the fair and she did not think her daughter or Jake capable of undertaking the task. Even though she was so young, her granddaughter could have done it but Big Lily would not acknowledge her enough to suggest it.
Craigie’s sisters, who stayed in the dimness of their house and never attended the fair anyway, were unaware that their farm would be unrepresented at this important local occasion and that their head bondager was going to visit their brother in the city. That in particular had to be kept from them.
Before she left, Big Lily lectured Wee Lily and Jake over and over again about what they must do in her absence. When she saw that she was only succeeding in confusing them, she was forced to turn to Kitty and ask roughly, ‘Do you hear what I’m saying? I’ll feed the animals before I go but they’ll have to do it again at night. They’ve to milk the cows as well. Tell them not to forget anything. Before it’s dark they’ve to go round every field and check that everything’s all right. You see they do what I say or I’ll belt your ear when I get back.’
On the morning of the fair a ghostly silver mist came drifting through the village. It was hanging in the corners of the bothy and carpeting its floor when Kitty opened her eyes. Her grandmother was standing in the middle of the room dressing herself up in clothes the child had never seen before and which had obviously been stored beneath the bed in a mysterious tin trunk that was always kept locked.
Big Lily looked even larger than usual in the misty light as she put on a white blouse and buttoned it over her huge bosom. Then came a long black skirt with rows of pin tucking round the hem and over that was draped a shawl of green silk with a deep fringe. On her head she perched a coquettish-looking, deep-brimmed cream straw bonnet with green ribbons. The bonnet was of a style that went out of fashion thirty years before and when its ribbons were tied under her heavy chin, she looked like a female impersonator.
Under her grandchild’s fascinated gaze, she delved into the trunk and produced a dainty beadwork purse which clinked as she held it. Then she locked the trunk and put the key in her bag.
‘That’s to make sure you dinna touch anything when I’m away,’ she told the child, for she knew that Kitty was awake and watching her.
What she overlooked was her knife. It was too big for the beadwork bag and she forgot that it was still in the pocket of her striped working skirt which lay in a heap on the floor by the fireplace. Kitty did not allow her glance even to drift in the direction of the skirt in case her gr
andmother remembered that the knife was there.
At last she was ready and strode out into the yard shouting instructions to Wee Lily and Jake in the cattleshed. Kitty lay still for a long time fearing that something would bring her back, but after a bit she felt safe enough to rise and hurried over to the discarded clothes.
The knife felt heavy and reassuring in her hand. Its curved bone handle fitted into her palm as snugly as a nut in the shell. When she pressed the little button that made the blade spring out, she found that it was razor sharp. A gentle stroke was all it would take to cut through skin.
Clutching it tightly she hurried out of the bothy, for she knew she had to hide it before Wee Lily came in for breakfast.
The best hiding-place was of course the hedge root and there she dug up her tin so that the knife could be laid in it beside the half-sovereign. When this task was completed she felt gloriously happy and very hungry. The day that stretched before her offered wonderful possibilities, for she and her mother had arranged to go to the fair together while Big Lily was miles away in Edinburgh.
Skipping, Kitty made her way back home knowing that she was free to eat whatever she chose for breakfast – thick slices of bread lavishly spread with honey from a jar jealously hoarded by Big Lily was what she chose and she consumed half a loaf sitting outside in the sun with the hens pecking for scraps around her feet.
* * *
Though Big Lily looked grim and forbidding to the outside world, she was inwardly quaking with nerves as she walked into the booking office at Rosewell station. Her heart was thudding as she fumbled in her purse outside the ticket office window.
‘Where are you gaun?’ asked the clerk, a spotty-faced youth with a supercilious attitude towards working-class passengers.
‘Edinbury.’ Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak.
‘Third class of course,’ said he, staring at her hat.
She gathered something of her customary menace and asked, ‘Hoo much d’ye want?’
‘Ane shilling and threepence one way. If you’re coming back it’ll be half a croon.’
‘That’s a terrible price!’ Five shillings was the weekly wage for Big Lily and her daughter together.
The clerk glared at her and said, ‘You dinna have tae go. Ye can stay at home like a’ the rest o’ them.’
‘I’m going and I’m comin’ back,’ she said, thumping an assortment of coins on the wooden shelf. He counted them out as if they were unclean and then handed her a ticket.
‘Dinna lose it or you’ll no’ get back,’ he advised.
This exchange temporarily calmed Big Lily’s nerves. ‘I’m no’ in the habit of losing things,’ she told him stonily as she stuck the little square of green pasteboard in her bag.
She needed all her bravado, however, when she arrived in Edinburgh. The hustle and bustle of the city completely intimidated her and for a few moments she fought against a panicky desire to get back on the first train leaving for Rosewell. The crowds seemed like creatures from another world; they even spoke to each other in a language that she could not understand.
From her only previous visit she remembered that the prison lay at the east end of Princes Street so she walked along staring up at the skyline hoping to see its grim outline. The new boots she’d bought for the outing nipped her feet. A blister was rising on her heel by the time she saw the prison, rearing like a citadel on top of a steep crag in front of. She trudged up the hill towards it only to find that the gatekeeper would not let her in without an official pass.
‘Aw man, I’ve come an awfy lang wey,’ she pleaded in her broad accent and this time she was lucky for he was a Borderer himself and recognised the dialect.
‘Whereabouts are ye from?’ he enquired.
‘Camptounfit.’ Miraculously he knew the village, for he was a Maddiston man who could tell at a glance that the woman in front of him could not afford to spend the time or the money travelling to Edinburgh unless for an urgent reason.
‘Dinna tell onybody I let you in,’ he whispered and held the pedestrian gate ajar. The inner courtyard was huge and grim, a sea of grey cobbles surrounded on all sides by high walls in which there were lines of little windows covered with iron bars. Faces peered between some of the bars and every now and again a shout rang out from one of the inmates.
The gatekeeper told Lily to go into the hall, which was floored with chipped black-and-white ceramic tiles. There she asked an attendant in a black uniform if she could see Craigie Scott.
‘Are you a relative?’ he asked.
‘I’m his sister,’ she said. There was no point revealing the Scott family secrets to people like him.
‘I’ll make enquiries. Wait here please.’
It was a relief for Big Lily to sit down on a wooden bench and rest her feet, but she did not have long to wait for soon the man was back with another, even starchier and more disapproving.
‘We didn’t expect any visitors for Scott today. You should have a pass,’ he said in an accusatory tone.
‘I lost it on the train,’ said Big Lily humbly.
‘Oh, I see, well, come this way. He’s been quiet for some time now. It’s possible he can have a visitor. We’ll have to ask the person in charge of him.’
It seemed they walked for miles along corridors lined with more tiles. Their footsteps echoed as if they were in a vault but there was no other sound. At last they reached a door with a brass plate on it saying ‘Interview Room’, and she was shown into what looked like a cell, painted dark brown and containing a chair, a table and a little peephole window covered with an iron grille.
‘Wait here,’ she was told. Perched on the edge of her chair, she’d have given another week’s wages for a cup of tea. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when she was brought sharply awake by sounds from the other side of the grille. She leaned forward and found herself staring at Craigie.
He’d hardly changed. Bristly red-grey eyebrows marked the ridge-like edge of his forehead above sceptical eyes. There were two long, deep lines drawing down each side ofhis mouth and the grizzled auburn hair sprang up from his brow like the comb of a cockerel. As always he looked sharp and sly, a man who liked to drive a hard bargain.
Her heart gave a strange lurch. ‘Aw, Craigie,’ she sighed, putting out a hand towards the grille.
He nodded at her, and his half-smile revealed broken teeth. ‘It’s you, Lily. They said it was my sister but I didnae ken which one.’ His tone was neutral and it was impossible to tell if he was pleased to see her or not.
She sat back in her chair and became as gruff as he because she was very conscious of the listening man in uniform at his shoulder.
‘You’re fine I see,’ she said through the grille.
‘I’m grand, grand, and is everybody at Camptounfoot the same?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Grand too. Wee Lily’s working hard. Your sisters are as thrawn and queer as ever but they’re gathering in the money.’
He laughed his old bitter laugh. ‘That’s good. I hope they’re hiding it in the right place.’
‘They’re putting it where you told them,’ she assured him
‘Has anything else been found recently?’ he asked, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice.
She whispered back. ‘One or two bits. I found a sort of necklace in the neep field and Jake dug up a vase thing made of silver with a big handle when he was ploughing the big field last year. I gave it to your sisters. They hid it.’
Craigie’s farm was on the site of a vanished Roman camp and the richness and variety of the treasures he and his ancestors had found while ploughing their soil was one of the village’s secrets.
He seemed pleased. ‘Right, right, good, good,’ he said.
She let a pause lie between them for a moment and then plunged into the matter that had brought her there. ‘I’ve come about Wee Lily’s bairn. She’s nearly eleven now and she’ll be starting work soon. Can I take her in with us?’
‘W
hat’s she like?’ he asked.
‘Like her father, red-heided and rough. I’ve done my best knocking the devil oot o’ her but Wee Lily’s ower soft. She’s strong though and she’ll be a good worker and not hard to pay.’
‘What do the girls think?’ He always called his sisters ‘the girls’ though they were both in their sixties.
‘I didnae ask them. They’d just say “no” to anything I wanted.’
He did not protest at that. ‘And you’re sure this lassie’s a good worker? We’re no’ wanting to take on any idlers. What about Jake? He’s getting paid now too, isn’t he? The farm cannae afford an army of workers. It’s only a wee place.’ Craigie always pleaded poverty though he had bags of gold and a treasure trove of silver in his cellar dug up from the old Roman camp.
Big Lily shrugged. ‘Jake’s an idle bugger. If you’re wanting to save money I’ll send him off,’ she said.
Craigie’s eyes glinted. ‘Would the girl work for what Jake gets?’ he asked.
‘She’d work for less,’ Big Lily told him and he agreed. ‘All right, get rid of Jake and take her in his place. I’ll write and tell the girls.’
She stood up. Their interview was at an end. Awkwardly, and without any open expression of affection, they took leave of each other and she started back on her journey home.
Meanwhile, Kitty was having the greatest day of her life. To be going out alone with her mother was such a joy to her that she did not even want Marie to go with them, though Wee Lily offered, ‘You can ask Tibbie’s lassie to come with us if you like.’
‘Marie’s going to the fair with her brother. He’d be angry if she didn’t wait for him’, Kitty said. It was only a guess and she was later relieved to find out that David did turn up for Marie.
The sheep fair was always held in a big field on the western slope of the second of the hills behind Rosewell. Dozens of pens full of sheep and half-grown lambs, all bleating away and setting up a tremendous din, were the real reason for the event which was to provide a place where local farmers could display and sell their stock.
Wild Heritage Page 10
