Wild Heritage

by Wild Heritage (retail) (epub)

  ‘Lily, I’ve had a letter from Kitty,’ whispered Tibbie, for she did not want Big Lily, who was nearby, to hear.

  Wee Lily had seemed much more feeble-minded since the birth of her son and Tibbie wondered if she understood what was being told to her. ‘I’ve had a letter from your Kitty,’ she said again.

  Wee Lily’s face crumpled up with tears. ‘My bairn, oh I miss my bairn. My mother never should have sent my bairn away. I miss my bairn, Tibbie,’ she sobbed.

  Tibbie clasped the workworn hands. ‘Kitty’s all right, she’s in London and she’s well. She sends you her love.’

  ‘I miss my bairn,’ sobbed the inconsolable Wee Lily and the noise of her weeping brought out her mother, who shouted, ‘Hush that din. What’re you greetin’ at? Between you and that howling laddie, I’m deived to death. What did you say that’s made her greet, Tibbie?’

  Tibbie wasn’t going to show Big Lily the letter so she shook her head. ‘Nothing, Lily. She’s just sad, that’s all. She misses Kitty.’

  ‘Daft besom,’ snapped Big Lily. ‘She’s lucky to have a laddie instead of that wild lassie. Bad blood, that’s what’s wrong with her. Jake’s no’ up to much but he’s better than that navvy ever was.’

  Tibbie put a hand on the squalling child in an effort to calm it. It had a look of Jake — round head, short neck, low brow, tiny eyes. There was little of its mother in it. Wee Lily was a good-looking woman, or at least she had been, but since the birth she’d lost interest in everything and no longer made an effort to keep herself clean and tidy. She had not even given the child a name and it remained unchristened, a scandal to the villagers, who referred to it as ‘Jake’s bairn’, and Tibbie suspected that it would go through life as nothing else.

  ‘Let me take the baby, Lily,’ she said, holding out her arms.

  It was quickly surrendered and she carried it down the street to a house where she knew there was a club-footed but clever twelve-year-old girl called Peggie, who would find it difficult, if not impossible, to get work either on the land or in a household. She’d look after the child better than its mother.

  Tibbie gave this girl two shillings and promised her the same amount of money every week if she took charge of Jake’s bairn from the moment Wee Lily appeared with it in the morning till she went to sleep with it beside her at night.

  Neither of the bondagers made any comment about this arrangement and sometimes Tibbie wondered if they even noticed that Peggie had taken over as Wee Jake’s mother.

  When she was sure that her stratagem for having the child looked after was going to succeed, Tibbie wrote to Kitty telling her that, because Wee Lily was busy, she’d hired a nursemaid for baby Jake.

  ‘He’s a year old now and taking after his father in looks,’ she wrote carefully, knowing Kitty would realise what she meant. ‘Big Jake’s moved away to Rosewell and doesn’t live at the bothy any more, so things are quieter there. Your mother and grandmother are well. I told Wee Lily you’d written to me and she was happy to hear you’re prospering. You must try to come back and see her one day. She misses you.’ Because she did not realise Kitty was in the dark about what had happened to Walter Thompson, she did not mention Falconwood.

  She finished her letter by saying that Marie was very busy, preparing for a big exhibition in Edinburgh where her pictures were going to be on display.

  ‘I don’t see so much of her these days because she’s got friends in Edinburgh with a big house where she often stays,’ wrote Tibbie. ‘But when she’s home next time I’ll tell her about your letter and I know she’ll be pleased. David’s doing very well. The mill’s thriving under his management and Mr Henderson’s given him a fine dogcart to drive about in. He takes Marie and me out in it sometimes.’

  This was a gloss over the facts. David still visited on Sundays but relations between brother and sister were very bad. Most weekends finished with them quarrelling.

  What was more worrying was that in recent weeks Marie’s mood had been very dejected. Gloom overwhelmed her, she looked white-faced and thin and the smiles that used to animate her and made her delicately pretty had disappeared. Tibbie did not know what was troubling her because when tackled about it, she always denied that she was sad.

  She did show some animation and interest on the night Tibbie passed her Kitty’s letter with the words, ‘This came from your friend.’ It was read eagerly and then Marie said, ‘She sounds well, doesn’t she? And she must be doing well before she can send money for Wee Lily.’

  ‘Kitty’s the kind that survives. I always said that,’ Tibbie told her and Marie’s face clouded, for she was wondering if she too was a survivor.

  The reason for her unhappiness was Murray, whom she had not seen for weeks. She doubted that she could survive the loss of him. After he failed his examinations, they met a few times but he was distant and distracted, till one summer day when they sat alone in a secluded part of the Murrayhill gardens and held hands while he talked about his plans.

  ‘I’ve to go through the exams again. Father says I didn’t try hard enough last time. I’ve to study all the time, Marie. It’s sickening. I won’t be able to see you.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll pass this time,’ she said soothingly. In her estimation he was the cleverest of all his family and she could not understand how he managed to fail.

  ‘I’ll have to pass,’ he said despondently, ‘or we’ll never be able to marry.’

  Then he kissed her and sighed, ‘Will you wait for me? It may be years before I can ask you properly.’

  His kiss sent her into transports. ‘I’ll wait for you for ever,’ she told him.

  But that was nearly six months ago and since then she had only seen him twice and it was impossible to talk because they were surrounded by members of the Roxburgh family. All they could do was look at each other and yearn. Her news of him came through Amy, who consistently said how hard he was working, how determined he was to pass the examinations this time, but also gave out little details about outings and holidays he’d taken, or balls he’d attended. It struck Marie that he was leading much the same energetic social life as he had done the year before.

  It also struck her that weekend invitations to Murrayhill, which used to be frequent, were now rare. She’d not been asked to spend a Friday to Monday for a long time, though she was often there during the week when Amy still took her home on Tuesday afternoons and she stayed till Friday when they went to their last class of the week together.

  There was always a reason for weekend invitations not appearing – the family were having a houseful of guests or they were going away. Marie told herself that she was being over-sensitive, for all the Roxburghs were as kind as ever to her, especially Mrs Roxburgh, who was extremely interested in her painting and spent hours talking to her, encouraging her, telling her of the brilliant future that lay before her.

  Sometimes Amy seemed annoyed by her mother’s interest in Marie and would slam around the room making a good deal of unnecessary noise while they pored over books of engravings of old pictures or discussed Marie’s work. Those moods passed quickly, however, and Marie would end up telling herself that she was being ultra-sensitive about Amy as well.

  She kept all her doubts and fears, and her love of Murray, to herself – at least she thought she did, but she was more transparent than she imagined. Tibbie knew something was wrong with her.

  At first she was afraid that Marie was going into a physical decline, for she remembered the frailty of the girl’s mother. If Mariotta had not been murdered, she would almost certainly have succumbed to wasting illness, for she looked the sort that died young and her daughter had the same ethereal prettiness, like a flower that only blooms for a few days.

  When Marie was at Camptounfoot, Tibbie always plied her with bottles of emulsion or specially nourishing food but, to her disquiet, nothing seemed to make much difference. Marie remained thin and white-faced and her smiles were rare.

  David’s explanation of his sister�
�s malaise was different. It seethed inside his mind, building up to a massive resentment against the people who were ruining her life by leading her into unsuitable circles and giving her expectations that were beyond her grasp. If she would only give up all the Edinburgh painting nonsense and go to live with him, she would become the old Marie again, he thought.

  He arrived in his dogcart one Sunday morning and as soon as he stepped into the cottage, he said with a certain satisfaction, ‘I hear your Lady Godolphin’s come back to Bella Vista and is far from well. Folk say she’s in some sort of decline.’

  Marie was shocked. ‘That’s terrible. I must go up and see her. She’s been so kind to me.’

  He snorted. ‘She’s only kind because it suits her. But go by all means. If she dies, you’ll lose your patron, won’t you? Then what’ll you do?’ His sister whirled on him. ‘That’s not why I go to see her. I like her. She’s a very nice woman.’

  He smiled. ‘And who’d believe you go crawling up there because you like her? She’ll know the real reason and so will everyone else. You’d show more pride if you stayed away.’

  She ignored him and went across the room to look among her drawings for a pretty one to take to Bethya. She’d make a frame for it and take it up to Bella Vista tomorrow, she decided.

  Her brother’s voice followed her, jeering and sneering. ‘And what’ll you do when you don’t have a patron? Your fancy Professor won’t go on teaching you for nothing. Maybe your fine friends, the Roxburghs, will pay for you. Do you think they will?’

  Her tolerance of him snapped. He knew exactly how to needle her.

  ‘You’re jealous of my friends. But you needn’t think that I’ll crawl back to you. I’ve told you before that I’ll never come to Maddiston and live with you, David. I’d sooner take a job as a governess than do that.’

  He began to plead. ‘But I could make you a lady. You’d have servants. I’ve a fine house and that dogcart. Henderson’s going to give me shares in the mill. I’ll be rich soon.’

  She looked at him scornfully. ‘No matter how much money you’ve got you’ll never be a gentleman,’ she said.

  He shouted, ‘And I suppose you know some gentlemen in Edinburgh, do you? Is that why you won’t come back to your own place?’

  Nettled she shouted back, ‘Yes, I do know some gentlemen. They know how to behave. They don’t yell and shout the way you do. They don’t think the way to get what they want is by bullying.’

  His face changed and a sneering smile twisted his lips. ‘I’ll wager you’ve not seen much of your gentleman friend, not since I wrote my letter to the Roxburghs. Have you? Admit it. You’ve not been in their fine house so much recently. That’s why you’re in such a bad mood all the time, isn’t it?’

  She felt her chest tighten with fear and her breath came rasping up from her lungs in spasms so that she felt as if she were about to faint.

  ‘You wrote them a letter?’ she whispered.

  He nodded in demonic glee. ‘Yes, I did. And I should have done it long ago.’

  ‘When did you write?’

  ‘About six months ago. I thought about it for a long time but that friend of yours, the bondager’s bastard, said it was an awful thing to do. I shouldn’t have listened to her. What does she know? When I saw how you were behaving, never coming home, looking down on Tibbie and me, I made up my mind. So I wrote it.’ He seemed pleased with himself, as if he’d done something extremely clever.

  Marie stared at Tibbie from eyes swimming in tears. ‘I don’t look down on you, Tibbie. I’ve never looked down on you,’ she said in anguish.

  Tibbie nodded. ‘I know you don’t, lass.’

  Marie’s voice was quavering as she asked her brother, ‘What did your letter say?’

  ‘I told the Roxburghs about us. I told them about our parents and the navvy camp and our mother being murdered by Bullhead. I also said that I was your only means of support when Lady Godolphin stopped patronising you and that they mustn’t give you ideas that couldn’t be fulfilled. I told them that I’d prevent you going to Edinburgh if I could because I thought it was ruining you, giving you ideas above your station.’

  Tibbie was watching him with the same aghast expression as his sister and it was she who said, ‘But that was a terrible thing to do, David. These people are Marie’s friends.’

  ‘Why was it terrible? They ought to know the truth about her. They ought to know that we’re probably navvy bastards like that friend of hers she’s always defending. She thinks it’s shameful when people look down their noses at bastards so I didn’t imagine her friends would be prejudiced.’ He sounded triumphant.

  Marie recovered herself with an effort. ‘I think you’re mad, David Benjamin, mad and evil,’ she said coldly. ‘Even if I had to go and live in a hovel like that bothy over there, I’d never share a house with you.’

  It took an effort not to burst into a storm of tears or set about him with furious fists but she managed to, control herself and that made her reaction even more telling. He had expected her to back down, to do as he told her, and he was astounded by the way she was behaving.

  ‘Didn’t they tell you I’d written?’ he asked.

  She turned away from him. Now she knew why the Roxburgh family had been so different recently. She wondered if Murray had been told about the letter and if it would change the way he felt about her. Of course it wouldn’t, she told herself, Murray was too sensible and too faithful for that, but it might make things hard with his family.

  Hatred for David burned within her but she did not want him to see how much he had hurt her. ‘The Roxburghs have been as kind to me as ever. Your letter didn’t make a bit of difference,’ she lied.

  For the rest of the day she would not address a word to him. The days were growing short and at about half-past four, when the sky was beginning to darken, David came through from the parlour and lifted his boots off the hearth.

  ‘I’ll be going then,’ he said.

  Only Tibbie spoke to him. ‘Take care. There’s a storm coming. I can smell it in the wind,’ she told him.

  ‘I should be back at Maddiston before it starts. I’ve got a good pony between the shafts of my dogcart,’ he said, pulling on his coat and drawing a hat down over his head.

  Marie watched him stonily and before he left he ventured to say to her, ‘See you next weekend then.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, don’t come back to see me. I don’t ever want to see you again.’

  All her life she’d looked up to and respected her brother, admired him for his determination and dedication to hard work, but now he seemed different and her feelings were different too. He had become shifty and sly, a schemer and a plotter, not a man to be trusted, for he was totally self-centred and would stop at nothing to gain his own ends. She felt sorry for poor Coleman who, she was sure, had been duped by him and wondered if even Adalbert Henderson knew what he was taking on when he put David in a position of power.

  With a grimace she turned away from him and went upstairs to her bedroom under the eaves knowing that he would not dare to follow her there and risk being told some home truths. She was right. He looked with dismay at Tibbie as his sister left the room and the old woman shrugged as if to say, ‘Well, you asked for it.’

  ‘I’m off then,’ he said lamely, pulling on his gloves.

  ‘Like I said, take care,’ Tibbie told him and added, ‘You can’t blame her. That was a terrible thing to do.’

  He didn’t want to think about it, however, he didn’t want to feel remorse because that would challenge his certainty that he was right. All he said was, ‘I’ll come back and see you soon.’

  As he drove along with his head lowered against the cutting edge of the wind, he went over and over the events of the day, justifying himself as if to an accuser.

  ‘I did it for her own good. She ought to thank me. I’m realistic and she’s a giddy romantic. She doesn’t know what the world is like. She doesn’t realise that blood’s the only
bond that counts. Friendships come and friendships go but it’s your family that really matters in the end. She’ll learn that. She’ll come crawling back to me,’ he told himself.

  * * *

  On the following week Marie returned to the painting class full of trepidation, but as soon as she entered the studio Amy came rushing over to her as if there had never been a shadow on their friendship. When she looked into her friend’s smiling face Marie began to doubt that David had told her the truth – perhaps he had only been bluffing, trying to scare her into doing what he wanted.

  Amy’s easel was set up next to Marie’s and as they worked, she talked about what she’d been doing during the weekend.

  ‘Poor Murray,’ she said. ‘He’s been working so hard. Mama was most upset when he said that he didn’t want to go away with us for Christmas. He said he’d rather stay at home and study! Mama won him round though. She insists on having all her children with her at Christmas-time.’

  Marie’s heart sank. ‘Are you going away?’ she asked. She had secretly hoped for an invitation to Murrayhill during the festive period because Amy had told her that the family always held a dance and several parties then.

  Amy’s eyes opened wide. ‘But I must have told you that! I don’t blame Murray for not wanting to go. It’s awful. Cousin Julia has invited us to the Highlands. We’re to stay there for two whole weeks. She has this dreadful castle miles north of Inverness with ghosts and draughts and howling gales in all the corridors, but of course we have to go. I expect we’ll freeze to death,’ she said flippantly.

  Marie managed a laugh. ‘You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure,’ she said but her heart sank at the prospect of weeks without seeing Murray again.

  Amy looked at her sharply and asked, ‘What will you do at Christmas, my dear? Murray is so disappointed that you can’t be with us.’

  In spite of this concern, there was no mention of Marie being invited to Murrayhill that night, however, and she hid her sinking heart with a bright smile as she said, ‘I expect I’ll do a lot of painting. I’m gathering work for the show.’