A Maxwell Maligned (Laird of Lochandee) (6 page)

‘Come on I’ll help you on with your breeches and across to the closet.’

‘I’m not ready to go to the closet,’ Cameron mumbled, slurring his words even more than usual.

‘Well I’ve work to do. Rachel isna well. She’s staying in bed. I’ll take you now before I start churning the butter. I’ve hung up some fresh squares of newspaper behind the door. You can read some of them until I come back for you. Cameron felt too groggy to argue. He allowed himself to be helped into his boots. His head was swimming and he would have lost his balance in spite of his two sticks if Gertrude had not grasped him under the arm.

She settled him onto the wooden seat and placed a few of the paper sheets near at hand, then she removed his walking sticks and closed the door behind her.

There was little time to waste if she was to get the girl well away from Windlebrae before Meg returned. She whisked into the house, snatching the long horsewhip from the stand behind the door as she went. Dolly never needed a whip so it was rarely used. Its leather thong was sharp. She paused only to unlock the bedroom door. She was beside the bed, the whip raised. Rachel was sleeping like a child, on her stomach, her face cradled in her hand and she was the image of her mother. Gertrude’s teeth clenched at the sight of her. The lash of the whip scorched through her thin night-gown, instantly drawing a raw weal across her shoulders. Rachel yelped with pain but before she could gather her senses the thong descended again, and again. Rachel tried to shield herself. She managed to pull a blanket over her head. Gertrude was breathing hard. She flung the whip aside and pulled the blankets off the bed.

‘Get up! Get out of my house! You wicked, ungrateful wretch,’ she hissed. She tugged at Rachel’s slight figure. ‘Get dressed!’ Her voice rose shrilly as she pushed and pulled, scarcely giving the bewildered Rachel chance to put on her petticoat and dress. ‘I took you in. I gave you a home. How do you repay me? You sin! You sin!’ She was almost screaming now. ‘Fornication is a sin! A sin, do you hear me?’

In her mind she was reliving her own sin, and the penalty she had paid. At that moment Gertrude was scarcely sane as she sought to take her revenge. This girl was the daughter of the man who had used her. He had cast her aside for another. Rejected her! The anguish. The terror. Memories rose in her like bile. She forgot the part she had played. The scheming to steal Connor from the girl he loved, Mhairi Maclean.

‘Please, please do not hit me again,’ Rachel pleaded, shielding her face with an upraised arm, trying to pull on her boot with the other. ‘Ross!’ she called, ‘Ross, please help me!’

It was her shout, and Ross’s name, which brought Gertrude back to the present. There was no time to lose. She grabbed the cover from the pillow and bundled Rachel’s few belongings into it, almost flinging it at her.

‘Now get out of my house! Don’t ever come back!’ Gertrude’s words were a hiss of venom as she hustled the helpless girl down the stairs and out of the house. Rachel barely had time to cast a hopeful glance towards Cameron Maxwell’s chair, then the box bed beside the fire. He was not there. Where was Meg? Where was Ross? Surely he would save her. But Gertrude had raised the dreaded horsewhip again. Rachel hurried out into the chill October drizzle.

‘Ross …?’ she faltered when she was several paces away from her persecutor.

‘He’s gone,’ Gertrude gave a nasty laugh. ‘Just like your father. He’s let you down.’ Rachel turned then and stared at her.

‘M-my father?’

‘Your father was no saint, whatever your mother believed.’

‘M-my father was a good man. Ross …’

‘Ross won you over with his silver tongue. He’s just like your father. He’s had his way with you. Now he’s gone. Taken the pony and trap and gone off on the train. Away from here. A long way away.’

‘I-I don’t believe you …’ Rachel gasped, feeling the blood drain from her face. Gertrude shrugged. ‘Please yourself. He will never be back in these parts again.’ She turned on her heel and closed the door firmly. Rachel stared at the unyielding dark brown wood.

Then she turned and walked slowly out of the farmyard, down the road, away from Windlebrae. What could she to do? Surely Ross had not gone away? Where would he go? As she walked she listened, praying he would call her name, come running after her. Surely she would waken and discover this was a bad dream?

The pangs of hunger were no dream, nor the faintness which accompanied them. She had no money, no food. She had nowhere to go. She did not even know which road to take to the nearest village or to the station. The whole world was a vast grey blanket of mist and rain. She shivered but she plodded on. She dare not go back.

Chapter Seven

R
ACHEL WALKED WEARILY, LOST
and alone, on roads which appeared to have no ending, but which must surely take her away from Mistress Maxwell and her wild eyes and the dreaded whip.

Meanwhile Ross was experiencing a jumble of emotions as he climbed aboard the train which would take him to Dumfries. He had never been further than Kilmarnock before. He could not control the fluttering in his stomach. Feelings of apprehension and foreboding mingled with excitement. The whole adventure was a surprise, and a shock. There had been no time to think, to ask questions, to consider. No time to talk to Rachel, or even to Meg.

It had all been such a rush. Why hadn’t his mother told them yesterday? When had the telegram arrived? Could that be the reason for her trip with the pony and trap?

Her help, her encouragement, astonished him. She had never shown any interest in his future before. Yet today she had organised everything, even thrusting a packet of sandwiches into his hand and wedging his suitcase between the milk churns.

‘Your ticket is in your waistcoat pocket and there’s half-a-crown in the other and the key for the case. There’s a letter for Jim MacDonald. Er – there’s a package for you as well. Find them before you go to bed.’ Maybe she thought they would not feed him, he thought with a grin.

It had all been such a bustle, loading the milk onto the platform, turning the trap and heading the pony for home with a slap on the rump. He had felt a pang of regret, a sinking in his stomach, as he watched the empty trap disappear. Sternly he reminded himself that he would be back at Windlebrae by tomorrow night.

As the train gathered speed, with great huffs and puffs of black smoke, his anticipation mounted. He watched the fields flying by and wished Rachel could have come with him. He grinned wryly to himself. His mother would never allow that – two of them away. He still couldn’t believe she had made all these arrangements for him. He would have liked to tell Rachel though. She must have felt very ill to miss the milking.

The green fields gave way to bleak hills and moor where rocks seemed more plentiful than sheep and cascades of water sprang from nowhere to fall down the sides of the hills. He felt his spirits sink but the train puffed ever onward away from Ayrshire, away from Windlebrae, away from Rachel. Why did he have this awful feeling of dread when he thought of her and of his home?

As the train headed south the drizzle gave way to patches of blue sky and the hill and moorland became greener and more kindly again. Little whitewashed farmsteads nestled into the lea of green slopes, sheltered here and there with the darker green of woodland. Ross began to daydream. Maybe by next year he would have established himself with a few cows and a couple of pigs, some hens and a pair of good Clydesdales horses for the ploughing and carting.

He sat up straight, frowning. His mother had not mentioned how he would stock a farm of his own, even if Jim MacDonald could get him one for a year without rent, as she believed. They ought to have discussed it with his father. Surely it would be easier to have a farm nearer to Windlebrae so that he and Willie could share some of the tools and implements? His mind raced, but his thoughts kept returning to Rachel. He felt vaguely troubled without knowing why.

Could she be seriously ill? His life had taken on a new light since she came to Windlebrae. She had become his friend and confidante – and more. His cheeks flushed and he felt his insides clench at the thought of her in his arms, held close to his heart.

Ross changed trains at Dumfries without trouble. So far, so good. The see-saw of his spirits rose again. There were a number of people waiting at Lockerbie station when the train lurched to a halt but Ross and Jim MacDonald recognised each other at once.

‘You’re just like your mother. I thought that when I saw you at Connor O’Brian’s funeral. That’s what made me speak to you.’ Jim nodded. ‘Aye, I’d recognise you anywhere’

‘Like my mother?’ Ross was surprised. ‘Most people say I am a Maxwell. Maybe that’s because I’m the only one who plays the fiddle.’

‘Aye, that’s what I …’ Jim MacDonald floundered. He stared intently at Ross. Then he gave an exasperated sort of sigh. ‘Anyway, there’s a neighbour of mine over there. He would like us to give him a hand to get some Ayrshire stirks out of the railway wagon and turned onto the road for home. Throw your case into the trap – the big one over there with the red and green wheel boards.’ Ross quickly obeyed as Jim MacDonald shouted, ‘Here they come!’

The stirks trotted briskly onto the wide main street, guided by an eager collie dog and Bill Murdoch’s teenage son. Ross sprinted after the animals. He caught up just in time to prevent them turning onto the wrong road. He learned later it went south towards Annan, the Solway Firth and on to Carlisle.

Jim MacDonald drove over the railway and up a steep road out of the town. According to his mother the MacDonald family had prospered since they moved south. It seemed incredible that she was encouraging him to improve his own prospects after all the years of repressing every idea or suggestion he ever made.

At first Jim MacDonald was silent, apparently deep in thought, as the trap jogged along narrow country roads, bright hued with the autumn leaves, some still clinging to the branches, others strewn in a russet carpet on the road beneath. They passed over a bridge and Ross saw the river below.

‘The land seems fertile,’ he remarked.

‘Aye, there’s some of the best, and some of the worst, on the estate.’

‘Do you live in this direction?’

‘No. Our land is down the road Bill Murdoch took. We are about two miles from him. The farm we are going to see has been without a tenant for some time. The Factor, Mr Shaw, will be meeting us there. He’s offering the farm for a year rent-free. He says it needs a young man, a strong one, who is not afraid of hard work. I have not seen it myself, but …’ He broke off frowning and Ross felt he had something on his mind.

After a short silence he flicked the horse’s reins. His name was Flash and he was a strong young gelding with a hint of Clydesdale in his breeding. He broke into a smart trot, although the road was beginning to rise and bend first one way and then the other like a giant corkscrew. The land on either side rose with it. Patches of rushes and heather began to appear. The fields were less green. Jim MacDonald turned to look at Ross, his eyes shrewd and thoughtful.

‘Look, laddie, what did Gertie say exactly? I mean to bring you here today?’

‘Why, just that you knew of a suitable farm for me,’ Ross shrugged, puzzled. ‘And that it was an opportunity I must seize if I wanted to farm on my own.’ Jim MacDonald seemed to be waiting for more. ‘That’s all,’ Ross told him. ‘Is there something else? Something more she should have told me?’

‘I’d say there was a lot more,’ Jim muttered darkly, ‘A whole lot more – but then I never did understand how Gertie’s mind worked.’ They both fell silent but as the road curved round one bend after another with the land rising ever more steeply in front and on either side, Ross sat up stiffly.

‘I think, Mr MacDonald, I am beginning to understand why she wanted me to come so far away.’ His lean jaw clenched, his eyes were bleak with disillusion. He felt sickened. ‘I think you should turn around and get me back to the station. I will take the next train back to Kilmarnock. This land is worse than anything around Windlebrae. Our neighbour’s farm will be vacant soon but she would not even consider letting me tender for that. I would not move so far away to rent this kind of land if it was rent-free for ten years!’

‘Ah, don’t be too hasty, laddie,’ Jim MacDonald soothed. ‘It’s good enough sheep land, even if it is a bit steep in places.’

‘There’s even less money in sheep than there is in milk! We can scarcely give them away!’ Ross tried not to shout. ‘Surely you know they are bringing in mutton from the other side of the world now?’ He felt angry and let down. His mother did not wish him well at all he thought bitterly. Was she trying to make a fool of him? Sending him on such a journey? Or did she just want rid of him? Anywhere, at any price? ‘I do not want a farm in this area. I will not stay! Turn around, please Mr MacDonald. I’m sorry you have been put to so much trouble.’

‘We’ve come this far. We might as well take a look now. It’s not much further and the Factor will be waiting for us. We canna leave him in the lurch. I would not like to offend him.’

‘I suppose,’ Ross took a deep breath, ‘that’s the real reason I am here – because you want to help the Factor find a tenant. You and your family want to keep on the right side of him?’ He knew he sounded blunt, arrogant even, but he was bitterly disappointed. Jim MacDonald’s eyes flashed and an instinctive jerk on the reins brought the horse to a sudden halt. He turned to glare at Ross.

‘I have no need to keep in with the Factor. He knows well enough how I farm my land. No, young man, I have no need to curry favour with anyone.’

‘Then why did you insist I came today – not yesterday, or tomorrow, or next week. You wanted me here today. Why?’

‘I …? I wanted you here?’ Jim stared at him in disbelief. ‘Look here, laddie, I reckon we have got things wrong somewhere. I got a telegram from Gertie yesterday, asking – no, telling me – to meet you off the train today. As a matter of fact it was not very convenient. I had promised to help Bill Murdoch get his stirks from the station. It’s quite a walk for frisky young cattle. I didn’t have any option but to meet you with so little warning. You are lucky the Factor could see us at such short notice. I had to go down to the village and ask Doctor Lawson to contact him on his new contraption. A telephone, he calls it. Amazing thing it is. He talked just as though Mr Shaw was in the same room. They made arrangements for us to meet.’ He rubbed his temple. ‘Where were we? Oh, yes, I told Gertie about the farm being vacant when I was up there. I was just agreeing with Cameron that farming was in a bad way and poorer farms were falling derelict for want of tenants in every area. It was not in my mind to set you up here. I’d say you were a bit young to be considering taking on a farm of your own yet. You must be ...’ He paused while he did some mental arithmetic. ‘Aye, you must be about twenty.’

Ross nodded absently. He was still puzzled and angry. Jim MacDonald seemed to sense his mood and his expression grew less stern.

‘Gee-up, Flash,’ he urged the horse forward. ‘Put this down to experience, laddie. It will be good for you to meet the Factor and talk with him. Don’t be too critical. It’s not his fault if you have come on a wild-goose chase. There’s a lot of farmers struggling to keep going. I’ve heard of a couple who are emigrating to Canada.’

‘Maybe that’s what I should do,’ Ross muttered disconsolately.

‘In the telegram Gertie said she would write me a letter. Maybe I’ll know better what is in her mind when I get it.’

‘She put a letter in my case,’ Ross remembered. ‘Do you want it now?’

‘No. When you get to my house will be time enough. My wife’s looking forward to meeting you. I have two laddies of my own. They rent farms just a few miles away. I wouldn’t be surprised if they come over to meet you too.’ Ross felt a little comforted by the idea that someone welcomed him.

He was silent as he walked beside the Factor and Jim MacDonald over the boundaries of the farm. It had certainly been neglected. There were pools where the drains should have been repaired and vast patches of rushes, whins and bracken. Huge gaps yawned in the stone walls which bordered many of the fields.

‘It looks to me as though the sheep must have run wild,’ he commented at last.

The Factor and Jim MacDonald came to a halt.

‘Well I’m glad you have not lost your powers of speech altogether,’ Jim grunted.

‘I get the feeling you are not very impressed, young man?’ Mr Shaw raised his bushy eyebrows questioningly.

‘No, Sir, I am not.’ Ross was civil but firm. ‘I expected the land would be a great improvement on our own, but this is much steeper and wetter. I would dearly like a farm of my own, but not just any farm.’

‘You mean you want to start with the best,’ Mr Shaw commented wryly. Ross flushed.

‘No. If a farm had room for improvement I would not mind hard work. I’m used to that. I can do most things – hedging, ditching, ploughing, sheep shearing, milking. Father insisted we learned to do everything, but I like dairy cattle best.

‘And you think this place cannot be improved?’

‘Even I could improve it!’ Ross exclaimed, ‘but I could never make it fit for milk cows. We must be fairly high above sea level up here?’

‘We are and I can’t say I blame you, especially if you have set your heart on milking cows.’

‘I’m more familiar with cows. I’m sorry if I have wasted your time.’

‘That’s all right. There was always a chance I might have found a tenant.’

‘Well I must say it’s even worse than I had expected,’ Jim MacDonald admitted. ‘We may as well be getting back. Ross is staying with us tonight and taking the train back to Ayrshire tomorrow,’ Jim explained.

The two men chatted amiably as they walked back to the farm steading where the horses were enjoying a nosebag of oats to revive them both for their homeward journeys. Ross felt too deflated to join in the conversation. He wished he could have gone straight back to Windlebrae and shared his disappointment with Rachel. She was always gentle and understanding.

Ginny MacDonald was a plump motherly woman who welcomed Ross with genuine warmth and plied him with food until he thought he would burst. Her two sons were blithe and cheerful. They told him about their own farms. Both wanted to breed pedigree Ayrshire cattle but agreed with their father that in the present farming doldrums they would be happy just to pay their way and survive.

They plied him with questions about Windlebrae and any of their distant relations with whom he might be acquainted. Eventually they rose reluctantly, pushed their chairs back from the large kitchen table and declared they must make their way back to their own homes and beds if they were to be up in time for the milking.

‘I enjoyed meeting your family,’ Ross told Jim MacDonald. ‘It has made the journey seem almost worthwhile after all.’