The Laird of Lochandee (19 page)

Chapter Nineteen

R
OSS HAD HIRED
A
man named Sandy Kidd and his wife, Dolly. They had moved into the cottage at the May term with their two sons. The younger was a year older than Conan and his elder brother was almost four. They accompanied their parents to the byre in the afternoons, but were left in bed, alone in the cottage, during the morning milking. This arrangement troubled Rachel.

‘Och, they are used to being left in bed while I'm at the milking,' Dolly said placidly. She loved her boys but she was casual in her care of them – or at least Rachel felt she was. Ross saw nothing wrong in the arrangement and was inclined to think she pampered Conan too much.

‘Don't you worry about him,' Alice said quietly one afternoon, after hearing them arguing about Conan's welfare. ‘I do not agree with children being left alone in the house either. I will make sure Conan is safe. I confess I am pleased I do not need to go to the milking every morning since you came, Rachel. I shall prepare your breakfasts instead.' Rachel felt reassured to know she had an ally and Conan was happy to have the Kidd boys as his new friends during the days which followed.

During the turnip hoeing the three small boys played together in the shadow of the hedgerows while all available hands strove to make the best of a spell of dry weather before haymaking began. Sandy Kidd was a quiet, rather dour man, but he was patient with Alfie and they were all grateful for that.

The highlight of Rachel's summer was when Ross bought her a bicycle from old Mr Pearson. The old man had fixed a small seat on the back for Conan. As soon as she was competent to ride well enough she cycled down to Lochandee village with him to thank Beth's grandfather. He was delighted to see them.

‘Beth told me you had a fine boy,' he chuckled. ‘She didna think you would want to leave him behind.'

‘We brought you some fresh eggs and a pound of butter for your trouble,' Rachel smiled at him.

‘Och, that's verra kind o' ye, but my Beth tells me what a fine woman ye are. She hasna had an easy life, losing her own mother when she was just a wee lassie. She was content up at Lochandee though, and now you and the wee fellow have come she is as happy as a skylark. She loves bairns.'

‘She is certainly patient with Conan. He goes with her to feed the chickens and collect the eggs whenever he can – but look at him!'

‘Och, the wee rascal,' Mr Pearson chuckled, seizing Conan by the seat of his pants, just in time to prevent him pulling a can of thick black oil from a work bench. It was the first of many visits. Conan always asked to go to the bicycle shop whenever Rachel set out with him. She had no idea of the seeds she was sowing in his young mind when he continually asked the old man to show him how things worked.

Beth's grandfather praised the butter and eggs all around the village and Rachel soon had several regular customers, including the Reverend Simms and his wife, Doctor McEwan's wife, the cobbler, and the blacksmith, as well as some of the people from the cottages. By the end of the summer she was cycling to Lochandee village twice a week with deliveries. Mr Pearson fixed her a wicker basket on the front of her machine.

Rachel decided to get a pair of clogs made for Conan for the winter. He was very disappointed when they called at the cobbler's workshop.

‘Not Dewy!' he screamed. ‘Not like … No go!' When Rachel wrote to Meg she described her small son's reaction.

‘I was surprised that he still remembers Mr Dewar so well at his age.' Meg relayed this snippet to her elderly neighbour and his pleasure at being remembered was immense.

‘How sad it is that Sam has no family of his own.' She wrote in her reply to Rachel. ‘It's such a lonely existence for him, but I am pleased to say he still has long chats with Peter. They are grateful to you for “breaking the ice” between them. It sounds as though you are getting to know lots of people in your new surroundings too. I am so pleased Mrs Beattie treats you more as a friend than as a maid, Rachel. I am sure you will prove to be a very loyal friend to her – just as you are to me.'

Rachel and Meg continued to write regularly and it was the highlight of Rachel's week when the postman brought her a letter.

Ross had built up regular customers for milk deliveries on his way to the station. The better prices helped their income, but attending to their needs took far more time and effort than unloading churns of milk at the station. During harvest he began to take Beth with him, dropping her off with a churn of milk and the measure in the middle of the little hamlet. Several other customers came to buy from her and some of the older women enjoyed a chat and invited her into their homes for a cup of tea. Beth looked forward to these trips in the milk cart.

Just before Christmas an unexpected shadow fell on their lives. Mr Shaw had become a regular caller now that Alice had more time to talk with him. He knew she liked to have news of the Laird, who had been her childhood companion. It was not the Laird's death which cast the shadow, however. Mr Shaw's own wife died in her sleep at the beginning of December. She had enjoyed robust health all her life.

‘He is shattered, the poor man,' Alice confided to Ross and Rachel. ‘He seems to have aged overnight. And as if losing his wife was not enough to bear, he's having trouble with the young Laird. Apparently he cannot wait to get his hands on his father's money.'

‘I heard rumours about him at the market,' Ross said. ‘I hoped they were not true or it will not be good for any of us.'

‘I fear there may be some truth in them,' Alice nodded. ‘Mr Shaw told me – in confidence remember – that the young Laird has already run up debts and is planning to sell some of the farms when his father dies. He and Mr Shaw have had several disagreements already. The young Laird does not even listen to his wife, and Mr Shaw says she is an intelligent young woman who could be a great asset to him. He will not allow her near the estate office. Mr Shaw thinks he may resign when the young Laird inherits the estate. His only daughter is married to a factor but they live on an estate up north and Mr Shaw owns a house up there. I suppose we cannot blame him for moving nearer to his grandchildren.'

‘I shall be truly sorry if he leaves,' Ross said. ‘He has treated me very fairly.' Rachel silently echoed his thoughts. She had great respect for Mr Shaw. She felt strangely protected and safe with him in charge.

Early in the new year of 1924 Mr Shaw arrived with a gift for Alice. It was from the Laird. He brought Lady Lindsay and one of her young sons with him.

‘They have just come for the ride.'

‘Would they like to come in?' Alice asked, feeling a little flustered at the unexpected callers.

‘Not today. We ought to be back before her husband gets home. It was his Lordship who suggested they come along to see The Glens of Lochandee. He has told her so much about the farm, and about its Mistress.' Alice blushed but he went on. ‘He wanted you to have a wireless set so I am just dropping it off.'

‘A wireless? But we have no electricity. It has not come this far up the glens yet. He must have forgotten.'

‘No, he remembers well. His mind is very alert. It is his body which is frail. He says you always had a lively and enquiring mind as a girl. He has had great pleasure from his own wireless so he hopes you will enjoy this one. It works from a battery. See, it sits in the back.'

‘That square jar full of water?' Alice asked incredulously.

‘It's acid. He instructed me to buy two so that you can still use the wireless while the other battery is being topped up.'

Alice and Rachel watched, agog with excitement as Mr Shaw tuned into the station. Suddenly a man's voice filled the room.

‘This is the Home Service. It's a very good way of getting news, but you will need to keep it out of reach of young Conan.' Mr Shaw warned.

One of the first pieces of news which Alice heard over the wireless was the announcement of the death of Lenin, the man who had brought about the revolution in Russia. A day later it was followed by the news that King George V had appointed Ramsay MacDonald as the first Labour Prime Minister of Great Britain. Ross and Rachel listened as avidly as Alice.

‘Well at least he is a Scotsman,' Ross approved. ‘I don't think he will carry out the plans the Red Clydesiders are urging.'

‘No. He's in a weak position. His new cabinet is such a mixture. He will not have an easy task whatever policy he pursues.' Alice sighed. ‘It's amazing to hear a man who is hundreds of miles away.'

‘His voice is so clear,' Rachel marvelled.

‘Yes, I will write to his lordship tonight and send all our thanks for such a thoughtful gift.'

It was the last gift the Laird would send to anyone. A few weeks later all the tenants on the estate assembled to pay their last respects. Many of the older tenants shared Alice's foreboding.

‘There'll be death duties to pay for a start,' Murdoch Rogers muttered gloomily over Alice's shoulder.

‘Aye, and some reckon the coffers are nearly empty already.' Henry Mackay joined in. ‘Ever since the young Laird had his coming of age celebrations he has been spending money – horses, motor cars, gambling in London and abroad, or so I've heard.'

‘Well he'll need a fat purse to go far in his motor cars now,' another tenant muttered. ‘Petrol is going up to two shillings a gallon.'

‘Don't talk daft, Edward.'

‘Just repeating what I've heard.'

‘Aye, well I'm more concerned about Mr Shaw leaving. The Factor is the man that matters as far as the tenants are concerned. You can't get anywhere if you can't get on with the Factor. The Laird only watches over the money.'

‘Or spends it!'

‘Aye, well it seems the young Laird is doing that well enough. I've heard rumours that he and the Factor plan to sell some o' the farms to raise money for the death duties. We are on the edge o' the estate up at Nether Fauchan.'

‘Och, even the young Laird would surely have the sense to sell the land to the east if he has to sell any …'

‘That's not what I heard. My family have been in Nether Fauchan for nearly a hundred years. It's in good heart so it would fetch a better price.'

‘It might, if there was anybody daft enough to throw money away on buying a farm!'

Ross listened to the conversations but at the mention of the new Factor he could not help himself.

‘Has a new Factor been appointed already then?' he asked.

‘Aye, laddie. Have ye not heard? Mr Shaw is moving out as soon as the funeral is over. He'll be on his way north by tomorrow morning. They say he had some fine bits o' furniture. It has all been packed and sent ahead by rail.' The farmer looked keenly at Ross. ‘You must be new to these parts, are you? Takes time to hear the gossip …'

‘Och, this is the young fellow frae The Glens o' Lochandee,' another tenant joined the conversation. ‘Geordie Marchbank is the name.' He thrust out a hand and shook Ross's in an iron grip. ‘I've seen you putting the milk on the train at the station. You seem to be doing well enough, judging by the number o' milk churns anyway.'

‘We are building up the herd again,' Ross nodded.

‘Well you should be safe enough. Even a silly young Laird wouldna sell the farms nearest his own doorstep – at least not until he reaches the final fling – and he will if he doesna get himself killed first. You mark my words.'

‘Don't talk like that! That would mean another lot o' death duties to raise,' his companion muttered morosely. ‘As it is I've heard the new Factor is a ruthless idiot. He'd sell his grandmother's last pair o' drawers if it suited him.'

‘Who is he?' Ross asked curiously.

‘Bert Elder is his name. I take it you haven't seen him around then?'

‘No.' Ross shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.'

‘It would be better if none of us had,' the man named Edward grimaced ominously. ‘He's a big fellow, red-faced, big yellow teeth.' He pulled back his lips in a toothy grin to demonstrate. He used to have red hair but he hasna' much left. He still thinks he's God's gift to women though. I wouldna let him near my old lady, I can tell you – and she's no spring chicken. Anything in skirts and he'll give chase. Put a skirt on an old cow and he'd be after her, if you ask me.'

‘Whisht!' His neighbour dug him in the ribs. ‘He's over there. He'll hear ye if ye dinna keep your boomer down.'

Ross felt uneasy as he drove Alice Beattie back to Lochandee in the trap after the funeral. She was silent too, saddened by the passing of a well-respected landlord and an old friend. Mr Shaw had made a point of bidding her a final good-bye after the funeral. She knew she would miss his visits and the news he had brought her, as well as his wise advice.

The weeks passed into months but neither the new Factor nor the Laird came to The Glens of Lochandee.

‘You will meet them both if you go to the tenants' dinner when rent day comes round,' Alice told Ross.

‘Oh, I'm not anxious to meet either of them from what I've heard so far.'

‘I think you and Rachel should attend the dinner. Such gatherings hold no attraction for me anymore. Rachel would enjoy seeing Valantannoch, the laird's house. It's beautiful and in a lovely setting. Yes, it would be good for you both.'

Long before the Rent Dinner was due at the end of May, Rachel and Ross set out on their bicycles for a rare few hours of pure pleasure. Conan waved his arms excitedly to Alice and Beth as he perched in his bicycle seat behind Rachel. It was a beautiful spring day and Rachel's heart soared as they bowled along the leafy lanes, down to the village and out again on the track bordering the loch. They aimed to reach a small wood on the very far side before they stopped to eat the picnic which Ross was carrying on his back. Some of the wild rhododendrons were beginning to open with splashes of purple amidst shiny dark leaves. Above them a delicate filigree of birch leaves trembled on graceful silver trunks. Here and there an ancient beech tree towered towards the sky and ash trees still held their sooty flattened buds. The sky was a backdrop of clear blue with a few white puffs of cloud sailing slowly before the gentle breeze.