A Maxwell Mourned (3 page)

Chapter Three

I
T WAS ALMOST MIDDAY
when the telegraph boy cycled up the track to Briarbush. Jim MacDonald saw him as he was crossing the yard and he opened the yellow envelope immediately, his heart thumping. Telegrams rarely meant good news.

‘Well!’ he gasped. ‘Gertie asking for Ross. Wonders never cease.’ He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘Send this reply,’ he instructed the boy. ‘Ross not here. Will contact him.’ He frowned. ‘Maybe I should send a telegram to Lochandee,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Have you any idea what the roads are like over there, laddie?’

‘They’re not good anywhere, Pa says. He’s a postman.’

Meg’s heart sank when Willie brought the reply to the telegram. Her mother was drifting in and out of consciousness. Doctor Jardine had warned them what to expect. Willie wanted to take his father down to the cottage in the cart but Cameron refused.

‘I can’t leave her now, laddie – not after all the years we’ve been together. I’ll be all right with Meg and Ruth. You do what you have to do. Your mother wouldna have wanted you to neglect the animals.’

It was mid-afternoon when Alice got the message which the Factor had phoned through to the village post office. How frustrating it was receiving cryptic messages via several people, she thought irritably. One thing was clear – Ross was wanted by his family, and urgently. It would soon be dark. How would he get to the station? Would there be a train tonight? Would there be anyone to meet him at the other end?

She went to search for him and found him and Alfie just finishing loading the cart with turnips from the pit.

Alice gave him the message and watched his face grow pale, and then flush – but with pleasure, anger or indignation she could not tell. He looked up and met her gaze.

‘I cannot go.’

‘You must.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘It’s urgent.’

‘Well, I can’t go today. I don’t even know whether there will be a train by the time I can get to the station. We must …’

‘Beth and I will manage the milking,’ Alice said automatically, though she knew it would take them until bedtime without Ross. She realised how much she had come to depend on him. Never once had he let her down, or neglected his duties. An awful thought occurred. What if he went home to his own people and decided to stay there?’

‘It’s too much for you, especially at this time of year. We will start early and get the milking finished. After supper I will cycle down to the village and see if I can get someone to help with the milking and feeding the cows while I am away. We really need someone who could take the milk to the station in the morning too.’

‘I’m sure my Dad would help,’ Beth suggested eagerly. ‘He used to work on a farm before Mother died. He only stopped because
she
didn’t like him milking cows and getting smelly clothes.’ Beth always referred to her step-mother as “she”.

Ross looked at Alice Beattie. She shrugged.

‘We can always ask. Even if Beth’s father can’t help he may know someone else. How will you get to the train, Ross?’

‘I will cycle. I could go straight to Dumfries from here. That would save time with a connection. In fact I could take my cycle with me. It would be useful at the other end. I will send a telegram from the village straight after milking.’

When Peter returned to Windlebrae that evening he found Meg torn between staying with her mother and her duty to the children.

‘Rachel is coping,’ he assured her, ‘and Mrs Jenkins has offered to stay the night. You’ll never believe this, but Sam Dewar milked the cows and fed them for Rachel. She says he has been a great help.’

‘I am glad. I really would like to stay here. Do you understand, Peter?’

‘I have already put a warming pan in the bed,’ Ruth told him. ‘I guessed Meg would not want to leave. I will do my best to see she gets some rest. I don’t think she would sleep much even if you took her home.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Peter agreed, looking down sadly at the shrunken figure in the bed. Gertrude Maxwell had never been a friend to him and he had little to thank her for – but she was Meg’s mother. ‘I will get back home to the children, but I will come again first thing in the morning.’ Meg walked with him to the door. He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.

‘Take care, Meg. It would break my heart if anything happened to you,’ he whispered softly.

It was Peter’s parting words which persuaded Meg to go to bed later that night. Her father refused to leave his wife’s side. Doctor Jardine had returned late in the afternoon.

‘I’ve given her something to ease the pain. I’ll be back in the morning. Any word of Ross’s return?’ he asked as he moved to the door.

‘No,’ Meg answered, unable to hide her own disappointment, ‘Only a telegram from Mr MacDonald promising to contact him.’

‘Pity,’ the doctor commented cryptically. Sleep claimed Meg almost immediately in spite of her anxiety. It was still very dark when she awoke but the February days were so short the nights seemed to last for ever. She lay listening to the creaks of the old house where she had been born, where she had lived most of her life. Her mind moved back to her childhood, but her thoughts were interrupted. She had left her bedroom door open in case her father called for her. Had she heard voices? She listened intently. Yes, at least it was her father’s voice apparently making a response now and then. Had Ross arrived? Meg reached for the matches and lit her candle. She had not undressed properly the night before and she pulled on her wool dress, shivering in the cold night air. She lifted a blanket from the bed and crept down to the kitchen. She had not been mistaken.

She paused in the doorway but there was no sign of Ross. In the glow from the fire she could see her father’s chair close beside the bed as he had requested. Her mother seemed to be speaking more coherently. Her voice was low and weak, and there were long pauses, with her father supplying a word of encouragement or comfort. Meg listened, then moved forward soundlessly. Cameron saw the flicker of her candle on the wall. He turned his head stiffly, lifting his one good arm he put a trembling finger to his lips, willing her not to speak. He pointed to a chair near the fire and Meg crept towards it.

Her mother seemed to be recalling events from the past. A shudder passed through Meg. Her father was listening intently to the low, halting voice. The mention of Josh’s name caught her attention, but what could her mother mean?

‘I cheated you, Cameron … I should have told you. You loved Josh like your own son?’

‘Aye. Everybody loved Josh. Dinna worry, Gertie.’

‘The good Lord took him … to pay for my sins. I loved him too well. I’m a wicked woman, Cameron.’

‘No, no lass …’

‘Ross?’ she whispered fretfully. ‘Must speak to him,’ She tried to rise up in her agitation and subsided with a long low moan.

‘Hush, hush, Gertie. He’ll be here when it’s light.’

‘Not – much – time – left for me. I sent him away. The money his grandfather left … only gave him fifty pounds. Didn’t tell him … it was … his inheritance.’

‘He’ll get the rest soon enough,’ Cameron comforted.

‘No. I-I gave fifty pounds to Josh. Shouldn’t have …not my money. He – he spent it … on pleasure …’ Her voice wavered and for a while there was silence. Again Cameron looked towards Meg but he put his finger to his lips when she would have spoken.

At length her mother began to speak again.

‘I was jealous of Cathie. Always happy, smiling. Everybody loved her …’

‘Aye,’ Cameron agreed sadly.

‘She never knew her bairn lived, Cameron … I hated Ross after … my Josh was taken,’ Her voice seemed stronger and her hand fluttered agitatedly. ‘I let her down… your own sister.’

‘It’s past. Rest now, Gertie. Dinna worry, lass.’

‘I do … I do. Wicked …to be jealous …’ She shivered. Cameron clasped her hand more closely but words seemed to burst from her colourless lips. ‘Terrible sin … sent Ross away … tricked him. His … birthright had to use it. Can’t go on …’

‘Hush, Gertrude. Dinna trouble your head about the farm. We’ll survive, never fear.’

‘Fear … Cameron …much to repent…’

‘Hush, rest now.’

‘Ross doesn’t know …a bairn.’ She was silent gathering strength. ‘Mhairi’s flesh … and Connor’s – made her suffer. She is …’ There was a strange guttural noise in her throat. Meg half rose, thinking she was choking. Afterwards she wondered if it was a sob. She had never seen her mother cry, not even when Josh died. Then more whispered, faltering words.

‘Beat her. Turned her out.’ Suddenly her voice seemed stronger. ‘The Lord sought His revenge. He can’t forgive my sins. So many …’

‘Don’t distress yourself, Gertie,’ Cameron urged anxiously, clasping her restless fingers in his good hand. ‘Remember what it says in your bible, lass? “Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.” There’s not many in this world without something to be forgiven.’ He sighed heavily. Meg realised he was very weary. She knew now that her mother had needed to talk. He had understood that. Would her mother die in peace now? Tears stung her eyes.

So many secrets hidden from them all. She thought her mother had gone to sleep at last but she uttered one last request, her voice weak. ‘Tell Connor’s lassie … sorry … Please forgive …’

Meg must have dozed in her chair. Her father’s words made her wake with a start.

‘I think she’s gone.’ His voice trembled. ‘Your mother is at peace at last, Meg.’

The next few hours passed in a blur for Meg. There was much to be done and she performed each task automatically. Ruth and Willie came together.

‘If Ruth will stay with Father and make the breakfast, I’ll help you with the milking, Willie,’ Meg said. ‘I’d like to.’ She waved away his protest. ‘It has to be done. The cows don’t stop milking however we feel. The girl can carry the pails to the dairy for me. I shall just be sitting. Come on …’

In the warmth of the byre Meg talked quietly to her brother as the milk thrummed steadily and frothed up the sides of the piggin. She had always enjoyed the satisfaction and the soothing routine of milking.

‘So,’ Willie said slowly, unable, or unwilling to take in Meg’s revelations. ‘You are telling me that Rachel’s father must have been Josh’s father also?’

‘It seemed so. After all Mother’s grudge against Rachel was unnatural from the beginning. She must have reminded her of the past. I don’t think I was meant to hear. Father may tell us more, but I don’t think he will. He is very loyal.’

‘Poor Ross,’ Willie sighed.

‘Now that I know the truth I can easily believe that Ross was Aunt Cathie’s baby. I remember Mother going away to stay. When she returned she had this tiny baby. Even then I thought it was strange. She had never grown fat or prepared baby clothes and the crib. You just accept whatever your parents tell you when you are young – or at least I did.’

‘No wonder Ross always felt Mother resented him.’

‘She seemed to think Ross was a blot on the Maxwell name because Aunt Cathie was not married. I suppose she pretended he was our brother to prevent us, and other people, asking questions.’

‘I wonder when he found out? It must have been a shock.’

‘Yes.’ Meg frowned. ‘He’s in for another shock if he comes back. Mother said he did not know Rachel was expecting a child.’

‘He will know nothing of young Conan then? I suppose we cannot blame him if he does not return at all.’

‘It’s all such a muddle! Mother wanted his forgiveness – and Rachel’s.’

It was just after midday when Ross cycled up the road to Windlebrae. His feelings were a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Everything was the same – and yet different. He was dismayed at the signs of neglect.

When he entered the familiar kitchen Willie and Ruth were seated on one side of the table, Meg and Peter Sedgeman on the other, with his father – no, his uncle – at the head. The seat opposite him was empty. His eyes briefly skimmed over the circle of upturned faces, with their varying expressions of amazement, welcome and pleasure – but where was Rachel?

‘Ah, laddie, but I’m pleased to see you!’ Cameron Maxwell tried to rise but Ross gently pushed him back and clasped the gnarled old hand in both of his.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ he said huskily, striving to control a sudden flood of emotions. He looked to the far end of the table, his eyes speaking the question he could not voice.

‘Mother died during the night,’ Willie said gently. ‘Father and Meg were with her.’

‘I see.’ Ross’s voice was tight as he struggled with an unexpected knot in his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I could not get here any earlier.’

‘We are all pleased you have come now, Ross,’ Meg said warmly. ‘Come and have a seat.’ She stood up. ‘You must be tired as well as cold and hungry. Did you get a lift from the station? Peter says the roads are still treacherous, although it is thawing.’ At last Meg stopped chattering to catch her breath.

‘I’ve bought a bicycle. I brought it with me. I … Meg!’ He was staring at her rounded stomach now that she had risen and moved around the table. Meg’s pale face flushed a little but she smiled up at him.

‘I am married – to Peter. There’s so much to tell you, but now is not the time.’

‘Married! Well I’m glad for you, Meg. But where is Rachel? I wrote to her. She never replied. I wrote to you too, at Christmas.’

‘Rachel is living with us at Ardmill,’ Peter told him quietly. His eyes sought Meg’s and by mutual consent they left the rest of the news until later.

‘Have some soup and some bread,’ Meg urged. ‘You must be famished and Mother would not have wanted us all to starve.’

‘No, she wouldn’t. Eat up Ross,’ Cameron urged. Ruth served him a dish of soup and Meg brought more scones and butter and cheese.

‘I thought I was hungry.’ Ross shook his head in bewilderment, ‘but I don’t think I can eat anything.’

‘Oh you must!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘Afterwards we will leave you with Father. He has much to tell you and it will give me time to go home with Peter to see the children.’

‘Aye, lassie, you get back to Ardmill. You have been away long enough.’