A Maxwell Mourned (11 page)

‘I only hope we do not pay too dearly for it. The Factor is an evil man.

‘Mr Elder will reap the punishment of his own evil doings one day.

“
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.”
’ he quoted gravely.

Alice grimaced wryly at the lines from Longfellow’s Retribution.

‘“
Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.”
I certainly hope it will prove true in Mr Elder’s case,’ she said without charity. ‘When I witness the plight of Bill Carr and his daughter, I find it hard to see God’s justice.’

‘He works in mysterious ways,’ The minister nodded, ‘Sometimes His ways are beyond our understanding.’

Six weeks later the minister and his parishioners sought a return favour from Ross. It was the occasion of the kirn to celebrate the finish of the harvest. Everyone in the parish was welcome to share the harvest supper in the new village hall. This was always provided by the women of the parish. Many of them jealously guarded their recipes and their reputation for their jams or pies, or some other delicacy and woe betide the minister or his wife if one of them was omitted from the list of helpers.

Much the same applied to the men of the parish who organised the entertainment which followed. There were those who were famous – and sometimes infamous – for their songs and recitations. Equally the musicians jealously guarded their reputations for providing the liveliest jigs and reels. Merrymakers travelled from several parishes, coming on bicycles from as far afield as Lockerbie, to enjoy the Lochandee dancing.

Unfortunately their best fiddler, a man by the name of Henry MacPhail, had fallen off a corn stack while thatching. He had broken his arm. It was the morning of the kirn and by noon a group of gloomy men gathered around the smiddy and pondered the situation.

Seeing them, and guessing their business, Mr Pearson left his bicycle shop and went to join the discussion. It was short notice and fiddlers as good as MacPhail were hard to find.

‘Beth told me Mr Maxwell frae The Glens is a fair hand wi’ the fiddle,’ he offered tentatively, knowing the reputation of Lochandee parish was at stake. Better to have no fiddler at all than a bad one.

After serious deliberation, the Reverend Simms was delegated to Glens of Lochandee to ask Ross to play his fiddle in the village for the first time. Ross had not played in public since he came to Lochandee so he was reluctant to agree. He often played in the kitchen at Glens of Lochandee on winter evenings though and when the Reverend Simms made it clear it was a crisis and the reputation of the men of Lochandee was at stake he agreed to do his best.

‘I’m sure they will be obliged to you,’ the minister murmured, though he was a trifle uncertain about that, knowing how much the Lochandee men prided themselves on their music.

Beth was excited. She wished Emmie could accompany her to the Kirn. The two were becoming good friends and Beth wanted to introduce Emmie to the village people.

‘I will look after the bairn,’ Bill Carr offered, thinking it would do his wee lass good to have a bit of pleasure for a change. Still Emmie demurred on account of her scanty wardrobe.

‘I’ve a skirt you could borrow,’ Beth offered.

‘And I have a blouse you can have,’ Rachel told them. The blouse was too tight across her chest since she had been feeding Bridget, yet it would probably be too large for Emmie’s skinny frame.

Rachel had left her own three children in Alice’s care, making sure they were all tucked up in bed before she left, but Conan could wind Alice around his little finger and she had no doubt he would coax at least three extra bed time stories from her.

‘Don’t worry, Rachel,’ Alice smiled as she admonished Conan once more. ‘To tell the truth I have felt a great deal better since Bill Carr came to work. I am not so tired.’

‘Yes, he is a good worker,’ Rachel agreed. ‘He looks so frail it’s hard to believe he can get through so much, and he’s really patient with Alfie.’

‘I think we may bless the day he came to Glens of Lochandee – so long as Mr Elder does not find a way of wreaking revenge.’

So Rachel’s heart was lighter than usual as she cycled down to the village. Her heart swelled with pride when people praised Ross’s skill with the fiddle. She did not lack for partners either when the dancing really got going. During a break for refreshment Ross came to find her, smiling broadly.

‘I am glad you are my wife or I think some of these Lochandee men would be claiming you,’ he grinned. Rachel blushed at the glint in his eye. She knew that look, knew they would love each other well tonight, however late the hour. She gave him a dimpling smile.

‘If I might interrupt a man flirting with his good wife?’ a gruff voice interrupted. Ross turned and recognised Andrew McNish. ‘We have not seen much of each other to say we are nearly neighbours,’ he boomed. ‘The bloody Factor warned Jim Douglas and me to keep our distance. He wanted Mistress Beattie out o’ The Glens o’ Lochandee but the pair o’ ye have shown him a thing or two.’

‘We manage to keep the place tidy and pay our rent anyway,’ Ross agreed warily. McNish flushed, and gave a forced laugh.

‘A man who can play the fiddle like you wouldna starve, I’ll wager.’

‘Thank you,’ Ross acknowledged mildly. He had little respect for McNish’s haphazard farming methods but he knew he had a reputation for being sociable and fond of a dram.

‘Aye, ye’ll be really part o’ Lochandee now so I reckon you deserve to know what’s going on. Had you heard Elder is trying to sell our corner o’ the estate?’

‘Sell?’ Ross’s face paled.

‘He tried to sell my land and Jim Douglas’s.’

‘But he can’t do that, can he?’

McNish reddened and Ross guessed he was probably owing rent.

‘Elder says the Laird needs the money. There’s rumours he keeps a woman in France as well as his wife in Scotland. Elder says he has authority to raise cash any way he chooses. Glens of Lochandee is one place he’s determined to sell. Give him a dram next time he calls on you. That soon softens him up.’

‘He never calls on us, and I’m not sorry.’

‘He never calls? But how can he make his report and what about repairs?’

‘Repairs! We’ve asked but the estate have not done any since Elder came,’ Ross said coolly. ‘We do our own.’

‘Well, you might get a stay of execution, as they say.’ McNish grinned, eyeing Rachel’s anxious expression. ‘He needs to sell Jim Douglas’s farm and mine before he can sell land in the middle o’ the estate and he’s had no offers so far. I heard two farm sales were cancelled because the tenants hired a clever lawyer frae Lockerbie. Elder couldna prove they were breaking the terms o’ their lease. He lost his case so he sold two other farms instead.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘Temporary I’d say. Anyway the truth o’ the matter is, I canna afford to keep paying the rent for the extra land we took over frae Lochandee. Neither can Jim Douglas. We’d be greatly obliged if you and Mistress Beattie would take it back? Restore the old boundaries to Glens o’ Lochandee. Maybe ye’d have a better chance o’ hanging on to it, so long as the rent’s paid.’

‘I see …’ Ross bit back a smile. That was really the crux of the matter, he guessed. ‘Well thanks for telling me what’s going on. See, they’re calling me to start the dancing again.’

Alice was delighted at the prospect of restoring the former boundaries of Lochandee when Ross told her about McNish and Jim Douglas.

‘The problem is I can’t see the Factor agreeing to it,’ Ross warned. ‘It seems he would rather have McNish and Douglases owing rent.’

‘According to the Reverend Simms, the Laird will be making one of his fleeting visits to Valantannoch in about ten days. Perhaps we could make an appointment to see him? We may stand a better chance of getting the land back from the Laird himself?’

‘That would be a much better idea,’ Ross agreed. He had not relished the idea of dealing with Elder.

Chapter Twelve

R
ACHEL TURNED OFF THE
alarm clock feeling she had never been to sleep. Margaret was the most angelic of children with her happy smile and sunny nature and she rarely cried as she had done most of the night.

‘She seems to be sleeping now,’ she whispered anxiously, ‘but she is very restless. Her cheeks are hot and flushed.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Ross comforted. ‘It’s probably the candlelight.’ Rachel made no reply. Every instinct told her Margaret was ill. She was coughing and fretful, brushing continuously at her head. Fortunately Bridie slept on undisturbed and Conan was in a room of his own now.

Reluctantly she crept down stairs and followed Ross and Beth out to the byre. Alice was a light sleeper and she had heard Rachel pacing the floor during the night but she assumed it must be Bridie cutting teeth.

Her mind turned to the appointment which she and Ross were to keep with the Laird later that morning, but it was impossible to ignore the fretful whimper from the next bedroom. She lit her candle and carried it through to peer into the two cots. Bridie was sound asleep. It was Margaret who turned and tossed, her little cheeks flushed with fever.

Alice returned to her room to dress, then gathered Margaret in a blanket and carried her down to the kitchen. The fire was burning cheerily in the big black-leaded range but Margaret seemed to be having difficulty getting her breath. She looked up, her blue eyes bright – too bright, Alice thought anxiously. She was relieved to hear Rachel kicking off her clogs at the back door.

‘I just had to check if Margaret was all right.’ Rachel’s anxiety was plain to see. ‘I’m so sorry if we disturbed you, especially today of all days.’

‘You didn’t disturb me, Rachel but I’m concerned for the wee mite myself, and your maternal instincts are the best guide. She is so hot and she doesn’t seem able to swallow.’

‘I’m afraid,’ Rachel whispered, moving closer, her eyes wide and troubled. ‘It’s so unlike Margaret.’ She felt the tiny burning forehead. ‘Don’t you think her neck seems swollen.’

‘I’ll take good care of her,’ Alice promised. ‘If she’s no better when you have finished milking we’ll telephone for Doctor MacEwan.’ Rachel nodded. Alice loved the little girl like a second mother. She never showed favouritism but Rachel knew there was a special bond between the two. Reluctantly she hurried back to the byre and the milking.

Margaret was no better when Rachel sped back to the house after milking her last cow. If anything her breathing seemed to be getting more laboured. To make matters worse, Conan had trailed down to the kitchen dragging a stuffed toy horse and whimpering about his throat.

‘I’ll get you a drink and tuck you up in bed again,’ Rachel promised.

‘Don’t want in bed.’ He sipped a little warm milk. ‘It hurts. The milk hurts,’ he moaned. Alice met Rachel’s eyes.

‘Bill says Emmie had a bad night with baby Frances,’ Rachel said ‘I think there must be something going round. Could it be measles?’

‘Telephone Doctor MacEwan,’ Alice said. ‘He will know best.’

Rachel went to the telephone and called the operator. It was Joan.

‘The doctor has been called out three times in the night. You sure you really need him?’

‘Was he called out to children?’ Rachel asked urgently. Joan was not supposed to listen in but everyone knew she did. She hesitated.

‘The Lanes wanted him for one o’ their boys. Then the Browns called him for the twins.’

‘I must speak to Doctor MacEwan,’ Rachel insisted.

‘I’m on my way,’ he said before Rachel had finished describing Margaret’s condition. ‘Keep her warm and away from the other two children.’ Rachel stared at the silent instrument. The two little girls slept in the same room. Conan was lolling against Alice’s knee, right next to Margaret at this very moment. What did the Doctor fear?

‘Diphtheria,’ Doctor MacEwan pronounced grimly as soon as he saw the choking white membranes rapidly blocking Margaret’s tiny throat. The doctor’s own face looked white and strained. Dark shadows ringed his eyes, but his manner was calm, his instructions clear and decisive.

All three children were to be taken to the isolation hospital without delay.

‘Emmie’s baby had a bad night but she has not been in contact,’ Rachel remembered tearfully.

‘Then I will look at her while I am here. I must wash my hands first.’

Rachel poured hot water from the kettle into an enamel bowl and carried it to the long stone sink. She handed him a tablet of carbolic soap and a white towel.

Doctor MacEwan came back from the Carr’s little cottage almost at a run.

‘The baby must go to hospital too. She is so frail. She will have little resistance I fear.’ He shook his head dejectedly. ‘I must be on my way. I have several more calls to make.’

Neither Ross nor Alice remembered their appointment with the Laird in the torment of preparing the children and getting them to the hospital. Rachel did her best to contain her tears as she cradled Margaret in her arms. Alice nursed a sleeping Bridie in the back of the little car with Conan cowering into her in silent fear. Emmie sobbed uncontrollably as she clung to her baby, her tears falling onto Frances’s hot little face.

As soon as they reached the hospital the children were ushered away from them. Rachel bit her lip so hard to stifle her own sobs that she was unaware of the blood until a single scarlet drop fell onto her hand. The matron said she would let them know when they could return to see the children through the window of the hospital ward.

When they returned home the house was silent and forlorn. Beth did her best to comfort Emmie but she was upset herself. She loved the children and they were a part of her daily life.

Rachel felt like a lost soul wondering from room to room, while Alice Beattie looked old and tired. Her heart was filled with dread. She had seen the ravages of diphtheria and scarlet fever several times in her life and she was well aware of the possible consequences, but she had never been so personally involved before. She realised how deeply attached to Ross and Rachel’s children she had become.

When the telephone call came through from the hospital Rachel felt her heart race. An impersonal voice checked that the contact number was correct then briefly announced that Frances Carr had died at 4 a.m.

It was Alice who broke the news to Bill Carr and Emmie. Quietly she told Bill she would pay for the tiny coffin and the funeral. Emmie was inconsolable and Bill Carr left her by the fire and ushered Alice outside so that they might talk.

‘I can find the money to pay for the funeral, Mistress Beattie, but I thank ye kindly. Do you think it would be in order to bury the bairn beside my wife? The minister’s name was Reverend MacCreadie. He buried my Hannah. He was a fine man.

‘I’m sure he would conduct the service. Would you like me to ask the Reverend Simms to contact him. I know they are acquainted.’

‘I’d be grateful, Mistress. Just a short service by the – the grave. There’ll only be me and Emmie …’

‘No, Bill.’ Alice patted his arm. ‘You are not alone in this. Our hearts ache for you and Emmie. We shall all attend baby Frances’s funeral. Only God knows what we may all have to bear before this is over.’

‘Thank ye, thank ye, Mistress.’ Bill’s voice was gruff , his eyes over-bright, but he clearly wanted to get something off his chest and Alice waited patiently. He swallowed hard, then went on. ‘Maybe this is God’s way of punishing me. I havena entered the kirk since my poor Emmie was brought to such shame and suffering.’

‘Oh Bill! The shame was not Emmie’s.’

‘The Factor told me to knock the babe on the head when it was born but I could never do sic a thing. I prayed to God He’d provide a solution to our troubles but the bairn was born alive and perfect – not even a wee finger, or a toe out o’ place. I-I didn’t think I could love anything that – that b …, that man had begotten. But I couldna help but love a helpless, innocent babe …’ His voice broke. ‘And now God is teaching me a lesson. He’s taken her away and it will break Emmie’s heart. May God forgive me for ever wishing her dead.’

‘Don’t Bill. You can’t blame yourself for this. It’s an epidemic and it has taken two of the children in the village already. Doctor MacEwan told me.’

‘Ah, but in my ain heart I was feared the bairn might inherit evil frae the man who sired her.’ Alice knew Bill was a great believer in traits being inherited in animals. Why should human beings be any different? ‘It aye seems to me it’s the bad bits that come out. I was feared the bairn would break Emmie’s heart if she grew up like her father. Now the Lord has taken her and I’m the one to blame for Emmie’s grief.’

‘No, Bill. Please do not blame yourself. God works in mysterious ways. I confess they are often beyond my understanding. At least baby Frances will never suffer from the cruel jibes which might have been her lot. The Factor seems to me to be more beast than man.’

Grieved though he was by the death of his first grandchild Bill Carr consoled himself with Alice’s words.

Doctor MacEwan called in on his way home from the fever hospital the following morning. Rachel stared at him fearfully. She could read the message in his tired eyes.

‘Bridie?’ she breathed, believing her baby to be the frailest of her three children.

‘I-I have to tell you … Margaret died a few hours ago …’

‘Dead …. Margaret ….’ Rachel repeated woodenly. The doctor nodded.

‘Not Margaret. Oh no …’ Alice whispered from the chair where she was rocking beside the fire. It had been her grandfather’s chair and she always seemed to find comfort in it when she was distressed.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Doctor MacEwan looked and sounded deadly tired. ‘Your young son is putting up a brave fight. He’s a sturdy lad.’

‘What about Bridie?’ Rachel whispered hoarsely over the knot of tears.

‘Bridget? Amazingly she is still resisting the infection.’

‘Can’t I bring her home then? Oh, please, Doctor MacEwan? Please? She’s only a baby?’ She rang her hands in despair as he shook his head gravely.

‘We have to try to keep the infection from spreading. The baby has been in contact with the others. She may be incubating the disease.’

‘What can we do, oh what can we do to help?’

‘Pray, my dear. There is little else I can offer by way of comfort.’

The funeral was arranged for Frances Carr in the grave beside the grandmother she had never known. The Reverend MacCreadie conducted the simple service. No one noticed the lurking figure who prowled in the small copse which bordered the grave yard. Bert Elder gave a nod of satisfaction as the tiny wooden coffin was lowered.

So, my interfering Lady Lindsay, he thought malevolently, you will find no proof for your suspicions now. The business with the Carr girl had caused him more trouble than he had bargained for and he had no idea how her Ladyship had become suspicious. He gave a smirk of satisfaction. If he had his way he would put a stop to the Laird’s wife taking so much interest in the estate’s affairs. In the early days his Lordship had forbidden her to interfere but he no longer seemed to care if his wife discovered his lavish expenses.

Elder gave one more glance towards the little gathering now moving away from the graveside. He patted the letter in his pocket and his thick lips curled. This would teach Madam Beattie and her henchman Maxwell not to go behind his back in future. He had known nothing of their appointment with the Laird until they failed to keep it.

It was Lady Lindsay who had come into the office and informed them of a diphtheria epidemic and the deaths of several children on the estate, including two children from The Glens of Lochandee.

‘Ah, that will account for them missing their appointment with me,’ His lordship announced. Elder had pricked up his ears. ‘I thought it was strange. My father had great respect for Mistress Beattie. Mr Shaw considered Maxwell an excellent tenant too. The deaths explain their absence. ‘Write to Mrs Beattie, Elder. Ask her to pass on my condolences to the Maxwells, and to their employee. Explain that I could not delay my return to France but I shall be pleased to restore the original boundaries to The Glens of Lochandee. I shall be damned glad in fact. They seem to be one of the few tenants who are not in arrears with their rent,’ he added gloomily. ‘See to it without delay.’

‘As you wish, your Lordship,’ Bert Elder nodded. Inwardly he was fuming. The devil Maxwell had dared to go behind his back. He would pay for this.

He was convinced the Laird would not give a thought to Lochandee, or any of the farms and their tenants, once he returned to France. He would make sure the land would never be restored to The Glens of Lochandee as long as he was Factor. He derived great satisfaction from writing the letter to Alice Beattie, but not in accordance with the Laird’s instructions.

‘I completely forgot about our appointment with the Laird,’ Alice gasped when she opened the letter. ‘Oh dear, he is extremely displeased that we wasted his time. He has returned to France. Surely he cannot have heard of our sorrow? Surely he would have understood …? He should have postponed his visit to France and called on all the bereaved families. His father always visited people on the estate when they were in distress – whether they were tenants or cottagers.’

‘It seems he’s not so compassionate as his father?’ Rachel said dully.

‘He has no compassion at all! There’s not even a mention of condolence. He’s more concerned with telling us not to waste his time in future. If we have any business to discuss we must proceed through the same channels as other tenants and make an appointment with his Factor.’

‘We know what good that will do us,’ Ross muttered cynically, but for once his mind was not on Lochandee. He missed the children more than he had believed possible. He knew Rachel was not sleeping well or eating enough to keep a bird alive. Conan and Bridie were still in the hospital. They had been allowed to visit but only to see Conan through the window and wave to the pallid little boy who was just one in a row of other white-faced sickly children. Seeing the wobbly little chin and his determination not to cry had seemed worse to Ross than not seeing him at all. As for Bridie, she showed no recognition of her mother and Rachel had wept all the way home.