Wild Heritage

by Wild Heritage (retail) (epub)

  Robertson bent over her, exhorting her, encouraging her and eventually, after two days of labouring the child was delivered. When the midwife took charge of the baby, the doctor hovered anxiously over the mother, marking her laboured breathing, listening to her faltering heart, prescribing a variety of drugs, some of which helped while others did not.

  Sydney and Miriam had been with Bethya through the whole ordeal, taking turns sitting by her bed and holding her hand. Her lovely silken eyelashes lay flickering on her white cheeks and her husband whispered to her, ‘I’m sorry, Bethya. Don’t die, my dear. Don’t die.’

  She could not answer him but she heard and the intensity of his voice gave her strength to go on fighting.

  When Miriam watched over her, Bethya was only conscious of a brown hand holding hers and thought she was back in India, at Kandala in the hills above Bombay where her family used to go in the hot weather and where she had once had a severe bout of fever, her first brush with death. Their bungalow in Kandala was rambling and ramshackle, dusty and needing paint, but always full of the people she loved – her parents and her sisters, the old servants who had brought her up, the three-legged pye-dog that used to come to the verandah every morning and beg for scraps. In her mind she was there, while her body fought for breath.

  At last, on the fourth day, she recovered her strength sufficiently to ask about her baby and whispered faintly, ‘Is the baby all right? Where is it?’

  Miriam leaned over and told her. ‘The baby’s with a wet nurse. He’s a fine boy.’

  They brought in the child and Sydney was summoned so there was a crowd round the bed when she held her son for the first time.

  Miriam pulled back layers of white wool to show his face and he yawned widely like a sleepy kitten showing a pink tongue and Bethya managed a little laugh as she looked up at Sydney.

  ‘Oh my dear, he’s your living image. Look at that nose!’ she exclaimed. Even though he was so young, the baby had his father’s prow-like beak but the stubble of hair that covered his head was jet-black. He looked like a little pirate.

  ‘We’ll call him Alexander because he looks like a conqueror,’ she said and her hand went up to Sydney’s face, patting his cheek. Then she closed her eyes and drifted back into her dream-world, but they knew now that she was going to live.

  The news that she was out of danger soon reached the district and among the letters that poured into the house was one from Marie Benjamin. ‘I prayed for your recovery’, it said. And indeed Marie had prayed both for Bethya and for herself but her prayers for herself asked that she clear her mind of self-interest.

  When she read Marie’s letter Bethya made a little note in a pad that lay by her on the bed. The note was to remind herself to make provision in her will for Marie Benjamin’s painting fees for two more years. By that time, she reckoned, the girl would have launched herself on a career.

  It worried Sydney and Miriam that she had such a fixation with making a new will, but she told them, ‘A brush with death such as I’ve had makes you realise what can happen unexpectedly. I’m not planning to die soon, my dears, I’m just tidying things up that’s all.’

  There was something on Sydney’s mind and when he and Bethya were alone together he said to her, ‘When you make your will, my dear, I don’t want you to leave anything to me. I want you to divide your fortune among the children. I’ve enough for myself and I remember that when I was growing up money was the cause of the trouble with my father. I don’t want that obstacle to come between me and my children because I realise that there’s enough of my father in me to make the same mistakes as he did…’

  She did not argue. ‘If you think you have enough, I’ll leave everything to the children, to the girls as well as the boys because women should be independent, I think.’

  ‘I have enough,’ said Sydney.

  When she was asleep, Dr Robertson came in and told Sydney, ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that over-exertion, or over-excitement could kill your wife. The utmost care must be taken to keep her quiet and happy. Her cardiac insufficiency is marked, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And how long has she got?’ asked Sydney stonily.

  ‘It could be a long time. These things are very unpredictable.’

  The two men looked at each other and Sydney said at last, ‘Thank you, Robertson. You didn’t say anything to her sister, did you?’

  The doctor shook his head.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Sydney. ‘We’ll keep it to ourselves then, shall we?’

  To beguile himself at Bella Vista he passed his time hunting with the pack of his friend Allandale, who was still in London.

  While she worked in the fields below the lower slopes of the Three Sisters hills, Kitty often heard the sound of his horn and watched him dashing headlong over rough country as if he was daring Fate to break his neck.

  The cold was intense and even though she was young, Kitty’s bones ached with the bite of it. At last the frost broke and the rain came, which meant that the problem was no longer cold but mud. The bondager women wound ropes of straw into leggings which they wrapped round their calves above the boot-tops. All of them except Kitty knitted thick woollen stockings and she was presented with two pairs because she could not knit. No one had ever taught her.

  As the end of February drew near, the talk on the farm was all of Maddiston Fair, which was due to take place on the 28th. It was the biggest event of the year, the annual hiring fair where farm servants went if they wanted another place or if their current employer was not keeping them for another year.

  Laidlaw went round the cottages on a chilly evening, rapping on the doors of the people he was prepared to take on for another term. Anyone whose door was not knocked at knew they would have to go to the fair, carrying some symbol of their expertise – a hayfork, a carter’s driving whip, or a shepherd’s crook. Bondagers in search of a new place went arrayed in their traditional costume, in petticoats starched like boards, hats newly varnished and boots blackened till you could see your face in them.

  MacPhee took Kitty aside one morning and said in a kindly voice, ‘It’s no’ that we dinna want you on the place, but I think you should go somewhere else at the hiring fair. Laidlaw’s keeping Liddle because he’s good with the horses. He doesnae care about the trouble between you and him, so it’s best if you go.’

  Kitty nodded. The news did not upset her because for some time she had been fretting to get away. Every time she stared southwards at the blue outline of the line of hills that formed the border between England and Scotland, she longed to see what was on the other side. Her feet itched with her desire to travel. Wanderlust was a legacy from her father, had she but known it.

  ‘I’ll put in a good word for you wi’ folk I ken at the fair. I’ll see you get a good place and a better house to live in than Liddle’s,’ said kind MacPhee.

  ‘Thank you,’ Kitty replied. ‘I was thinking of going anyway.’

  That night, when her work was finished, she went back to Townhead and found Wee Lily making straw ropes for herself and her mother to wear in the fields. Big Lily sat silently smoking her pipe by the side of the fire. She saw Kitty enter the bothy but said nothing, for a wonder.

  The girl sat down beside her mother and kissed her cheek. Wee Lily’s belly was grossly swollen and Kitty hated the idea of the child inside it. ‘Are you all right, Mam?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Grand, grand,’ said Wee Lily.

  ‘Where’s Jake?’

  ‘Oot shutting up the hens.’

  ‘He’s not hitting you now, is he?’

  ‘No, my ma doesnae let him. He’s gey quiet. Jo says he’s got another woman in Rosewell.’

  Kitty lowered her voice even more, sharply conscious of Big Lily’s listening ears. ‘Mam, if I was to go away, would you come with me?’ Wee Lily looked astonished. ‘Go, where to? I’ve never been off Townhead except to go to Rosewell noo and again.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m going to be looking for a place a
t Maddiston Fair next week.’

  Big Lily spoke up with satisfaction in her voice. ‘So you’re being sent off then. Has Falconwood got rid o’ ye?’

  Kitty did not answer, just kept on asking her mother, ‘Would you come with me, Mam? I’d look after you. You wouldnae need to stay here with Jake.’

  Big Lily loomed up at the side of them. ‘Get out of here. Your mother’s staying where she is. Her bairn’s due any day now and then we’ll be safe, we’ll have another pair of hands to do the work when I’m old.’

  Before she went away, Kitty turned to her mother for one last appeal. ‘When I get a place, I’ll come back for you.’

  But Wee Lily shook her head and whimpered, ‘I cannae leave, bairn. I cannae leave here. I’d be feared…’

  ‘You heard what she said,’ shouted Big Lily, pointing at the door. ‘Get oot o’ here before I throw you oot. And dinna come back.’

  Kitty thought about going over to Tibbie’s and making it up with Marie but anger over the fall-out on the night of the dance still rankled with her. Marie had made no effort to contact her, so why should she be the one to make the first move? If she found a place at Maddiston, she’d tell Marie, but in the meantime, she’d wait.

  Back at Falconwood, she was surprised to see a man standing in the lee of the cattleshed. His presence was given away by the glow of the cheroot he was smoking and the smell of it drifting across the yard to the girl told her that the lurker was not one of the labourers, who all smoked clay pipes. She drew back, for the trouble with Liddle had upset her more than she realised.

  To avoid him she walked round the outside of the yard and headed in an oblique way for MacPhee’s cottage but a voice called out her name. ‘Kitty!’ it said.

  She stopped and looked round, ready to run if she had to. Laidlaw the steward came out of the gloom and walked towards her.

  ‘Kitty,’ he said again, ‘wait a minute. I want a word with you.’

  She stood very still and said nothing.

  ‘I hear from MacPhee about the trouble with Liddle and that you won’t be staying on for the next term,’ he said when he was closer.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Kitty.

  ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you,’ said Laidlaw.

  ‘I feel like a change,’ Kitty told him.

  ‘Maybe I could offer you another change,’ he said.

  She looked at him in surprise, wondering if he had another farm in his charge.

  ‘What sort of change?’ she asked cautiously.

  He was smiling. ‘A change for the better. A very comfortable place with not much to do.’

  ‘I’m not scared of work,’ she said.

  I know that,’ said Laidlaw. ‘I’ve been watching you. I’m looking for a girl for the house.’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I’ve no house skills, Mr Laidlaw. I wouldnae ken where to start in a house.’

  He smiled again. ‘I’ve maids to do that work. I’m looking for a girl for myself, for my bed.’

  She stepped back. Of course, that was what he was after. She knew that until a few months ago, he’d had a mistress living in, an ex-shopgirl from Maddiston, but she’d upped and run away to get married. Now he was looking for a replacement.

  ‘I couldnae do that job either, Mr Laidlaw,’ she said stiffly.

  He wasn’t put off. ‘I’d give you money for yourself and I’d buy your clothes. You could have your folk over to the big house any time you liked. You’re a bonny lassie and you and I would get along grand, I think.’

  ‘Would you marry me?’ asked Kitty boldly.

  He threw the stub-end of the cheroot onto the cobbles and trod on it with his booted foot. ‘You’re anticipating a bit, aren’t you? We’d have to see how we get on first.’

  She knew perfectly well that marriage had never entered his head. If he ever did wed, it would be to the daughter of some respectable farmer who could bring him a dowry in money or land.

  ‘I’ll go to the hiring fair,’ said Kitty.

  Laidlaw was not too put out. ‘Think about my offer. It’s the best one you’re likely to get,’ he said as he walked away.

  Kitty watched him go and knew that she’d burned her boats. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stay at Falconwood now.

  She had never been to the hiring fair because her mother and grandmother did not need to attend them and Big Lily would not take a day off work even for a major event like that, though all the other farms gave their workers holidays.

  When MacPhee talked about the fair, Kitty told her, ‘I’ve never been to it. I’ve been to the sheep fair at Rosewell but no’ to Maddiston.’

  ‘My word, lass, Rosewell’s nothing! You’ll be dumbstruck when you see the hiring fair, such a crowd o’ folk and all the stalls and sideshows. It’s an entertainment, I can tell you. You meet folk you havenae seen for years.’

  If staid MacPhee went starry-eyed over the fair, it must be something special, thought Kitty.

  The bondagers were all saving their money for the big day and spent hours discussing what they intended to wear. Because she was looking for a new place, Kitty had to wear traditional uniform and her friends all contributed something towards this so that she could look extra-smart — she was to wear MacPhee’s new hat, Effie’s best boots and May’s cotton blouse because the one she got from Rosie was faded.

  Effie was in a great state of excitement because the man she intended to marry would be looking for a new place at the fair and their future depended on what he found. She talked about this endlessly and what was worse, speculated on and on about the dress she should wear in order to back him up, until MacPhee’s tolerance snapped.

  ‘That’s it, not another word about fancy claes. Get on wi’ your work, Effie, or I’ll give you a bad character and your lad’ll never get a place with you in tow,’ she shouted.

  So Effie was reduced to whispering to Kitty in bed at night… ‘What do you think, Kitty? Should I wear blue or green? Maybe I should dress very plain so’s not to make any farm wife jealous. I’m going to have blue satin for my wedding dress. That’ll make up for not looking grand at the fair…’

  ‘I’m no’ a specialist in dresses,’ Kitty murmured as she drifted off to sleep and her dreams were haunted by memories of the dreadful green dress that she’d worn on the night she’d had her break-up with Marie. She spent a lot of time wondering what was happening to her friend and wishing she had gone to see her when she was last in Camptounfoot. Before she went off to her new place, she resolved, she’d seek out Marie and make up the trouble between them.

  By 1872, Maddiston Fair had been in existence for six hundred years. Until thirty years previously it was a very small affair, for the hiring of agricultural workers only, but the prosperity brought to the town by the railway and its booming mills had caused a one-hundred-per-cent rise in the population in less than twenty years. The fair, which was traditionally held on the last Thursday in February (when it usually poured rain), became a mill holiday too.

  On fair day, weavers, loom mechanics, spinners and darners turned out with their families, all dressed in their best, to spend money at the side shows, roundabouts and shooting ranges which came to Maddiston from all over the country.

  On the eve of the fair David Benjamin took himself down to Camptounfoot to invite his sister to attend the festivities with him. He found her in the kitchen with Tibbie, preparing for an early departure to Edinburgh next morning.

  ‘Surely you’re coming to Maddiston Fair?’ asked David, eyeing her leather case and travelling cloak lying on a chair by the fire. There was another small portmanteau with it and that made him very suspicious.

  Marie looked guilty. ‘Oh, dear, I’d forgotten about it. I said I’d go to Perthshire with Amy’s family.’

  Her brother’s expression darkened. ‘Perthshire?’ he asked incredulously. ‘What are you going there for?’

  ‘The Roxburghs usually go to the country for a break at this time of the year,’ she said.

 
; David sneered. ‘They all go to the country? What do you want to go to the country for? This is the country. Don’t you get enough of it? According to you, the city’s much better.’

  She flushed as she always did when she was trying to stop herself from showing anger and said reasonably, ‘They’ve invited me to go with them so that I can do some drawings. The scenery is spectacular near their house at Killin, I believe.’

  He knew he should have been pleased that his sister had been taken up by people with a house in Perthshire and the leisure to enjoy it, but he wasn’t. He was bitterly jealous and terrified of losing her. He almost shouted, ‘I think those people are leading you astray. They’ll make you want things you’ll never have.’

  Marie’s tolerance ran out. ‘What makes you so sure I’ll never have them?’ she snapped.

  As he stared at her a horrible suspicion took root in his mind. Someone was trying to take her away from him.

  ‘I don’t want you to go. I want you to come to the fair with me,’ he said with a quaver in his voice. But Marie was no longer so easy to manipulate. She shook her head and said firmly, ‘I’m going to Perthshire with the Roxburghs. I’m sorry I forgot about the fair. I’ll go to it with you next year.’

  ‘You might not get the chance!’ he yelled and stormed out of the cottage door.

  All that night resentment festered in his mind as he lay in bed, building and embroidering on his suspicions until he could almost see the villain who was enticing his sister away from him.

  ‘And I’ve worked so hard, I’ve planned so hard for us to be independent! I’m doing everything I can to make a home for her. How can she be so ungrateful?’ he told himself over and over again.

  Next morning he knew that he could not bear to go into the fair alone, to watch the crowds of happy people wandering around with their families. Mental anguish drove him to the counting-house where he could submerge himself in work.

  Henderson’s Mill was deserted as he sat at his desk with his head down over a sheaf of order forms, laboriously checking and rechecking that everything had been sent out correctly. One of the things that had brought increased prosperity to mill in the past few years was his insistence that orders be fulfilled as quickly and as correctly as possible. He devised a system for making sure that parcels and even big bales of tweed were despatched by train to the south on the same day as the order landed on his desk. No other local mill could match this speed of turn-round and delighted customers passed the word that you couldn’t beat Henderson’s for speed and efficiency.