The Laird of Lochandee (25 page)

Rachel knew Meg was right but somehow she could not bring herself to bridge the gap she had created. She thought there seemed to be little change in Conan's attitude in spite of his holiday but she was wrong. Mr Hardie waylaid her at the village a few weeks later, beaming with satisfaction.

‘Conan is our star pupil again. I am almost afraid he has gone to the other extreme he's working so hard. I am pleased you have managed to help him overcome his problems. One day you and his father will have cause to be proud of him, I am sure of it.' He hesitated, then added diffidently. ‘Though I do not foresee him wasting his abilities on farming.'

‘You think it is a waste of ability to farm, Mr Hardie? To care for the welfare of animals? To tend the crops? To produce food to keep people from starving? You think all these things do not require skill and intelligence? Arithmetic and budgeting? Calculating how many cubic feet of hay we have left or the size of the corn stack, worrying how long it will feed the animals if winter stretches into spring? You think all these things do not need Conan's intelligence?'

‘No, no. At least I did not mean to make you angry Mrs Maxwell, or infer that farming was easy …'

‘It certainly is not!'

‘Yes, yes. I-I understand … but I simply do not visualise Conan using his talents to farm.'

‘Well I hope you will not voice your opinion to Mistress Beattie. She has set her heart on Conan following in my husband's footsteps and farming The Glens of Lochandee.'

‘Yes,' the schoolmaster sighed. ‘Preservation of her beloved land has always been Alice Beattie's first priority. Indeed I fear she is passing on her enthusiasm to your daughter.' He smiled. ‘Young as she is Bridie can tell us everything that's going on at the farm. She's far less concerned about reciting her multiplication tables than about the number of chickens which might have hatched now that she has to come to school. But have you talked to Conan yourself recently? He told me he would like to build aeroplanes – even fly one.'

‘Ah!' Rachel laughed in relief. ‘Surely all small boys want to drive a train? I suppose Conan thinks aeroplanes are something similar. It's just a little boy's day dream.'

‘Maybe, Mrs Maxwell.' Mr Hardie sighed. ‘Maybe you are right. I am sure you know your own son better than I do.'

This conversation gave Rachel much to think about. She paid more attention to Conan, the books he had begun to read from the local lending library which supplied the school, the way he seized any opportunity to listen to the radio. It was true he performed his tasks around the farm diligently as soon as he returned from school – but did they really interest him?

Although she was only five years old, Bridie already had a calf of her own. She called it Silky Socks because of her smooth red and white hair and dainty feet which looked as though she was wearing four white socks. She fed the calf herself each day. Her two pet lambs had quickly learned to follow her everywhere in the hope of getting a bottle of milk. She would have taken them to bed if Rachel had not been firm. Bridie almost always accompanied them to the milking. Already she knew most of the cows by name. Her pinafores were always filthy long before bedtime but Bridie just tossed her brown curls and wrinkled her little freckled nose. Her wide smile was innocent and would have melted the most stony of hearts.

‘Silky Socks doesn't mind if I'm not clean. She knows my two wee lambs couldn't help it.'

* * *

Long before the summer holidays of 1921 had begun the Government announced restrictions on the movement of animals due to an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease. The very mention of it was enough to fill hearts with fear.

Great preparations had been made to celebrate the Highland Show. The first show had been held in 1822 and the centenary show was to be held in Edinburgh. HRH the Prince of Wales was President of the Society and his attendance was anticipated with enthusiasm and excitement. Large crowds were expected to attend.

When the show officials banned all entries of cattle, sheep and pigs as a precaution against spreading the foot-and-mouth infection there could be no doubting the seriousness of the situation, especially when it was such an auspicious occasion. The Duke himself declared that Edinburgh was weeping in sympathy when the rain came down on the opening day and the cattle and sheep pens lay empty and deserted.

It was every farmer's dread that his precious cattle and sheep would catch the infection, and it was a government regulation that infected herds and flocks must be slaughtered. No one travelled unless the journey was absolutely essential and there were tins of disinfectant at the end of every farm track.

Ross was on edge. A dispute with Jo Scott, a relief postman, upset him even more. He did not like making enemies but Jo was a sullen man when thwarted. Bill Carr had fixed a letter box at the end of their own farm road so no one came in, or out, unnecessarily. Even the pony's feet and the wheels of the trap were thoroughly disinfected after taking the milk to the station each morning. Defiantly Joe was determined to take a shortcut through The Glens of Lochandee and across the field track to the two neighbouring farms further up the hill. He made the return journey via the same route.

‘You could spread the disease from one farm to another,' Ross explained patiently, stopping him halfway up the road.

‘Ye're making a fuss about nothing!' Joe accused. ‘I've never been near any disease.'

‘None of us can be sure of that. Anyway it's not much further round by the public road and it's a lot better for cycling,' Ross said.

‘I dinna want to go that way.'

‘And I'm not taking any chances.' Ross cut the persuasion. He was exasperated and anxious. ‘Our Ayrshire cattle are pedigree and far too precious to risk losing them through being careless, or saving five minutes of your time.'

‘I've half a mind to give you this in your jaw, y' cheeky bugger!' Jo threatened, holding up his clenched fist before Ross's face. Ross did not flinch. His eyes were cold.

‘You can try all the threats you like but no one will cross Glens of Lochandee land until the epidemic is clear. No one.'

Joe Scott glared back angrily. He uttered several oaths but eventually he turned away and went round by the road.

Billy McLaughlan, their regular postman, would never have tried to cross the fields in such a crisis, but Billy was the most genial and obliging of men. Rachel knew Ross longed for her support and reassurance that he had been right to ban Joe. She remained stubbornly silent. Although she felt happier about Conan since her visit to Meg's she could not bring herself to dispel the coolness which had developed between herself and Ross since their quarrel over Sam Dewar's legacy.

She knew Joe Scott would forget the dispute as soon as things were back to normal but in the interval he would express his displeasure to anyone who would listen, and that would include McNish. Their neighbour was notoriously fond of gossip and a dram or two to go with it. The Factor was known to be a frequent caller in spite of rumours that McNish was still unable to pay his rent, even without the land which was rapidly turning into wilderness.

Days passed. Tension increased. There were reports of an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease on a farm on the other side of the village of Lochandee. Then suddenly Conan arrived home from school, his eyes wide and distressed.

‘They are killing all Mr Price's cows and sheep and burying them in a huge hole,' he announced breathlessly. ‘Billy and Jean couldn't come to school. Peter Taylor says the farm on the other side of McNish's have got foot-and-mouth and Patsy Fleming was crying because she says they will kill her pet goat, and...'

Bridie had listened to this breathless account in open-mouthed astonishment.

‘No!' she yelled loudly. ‘You're telling lies, Conan! You are! You are!' She turned tearfully to Rachel. ‘They don't kill pets, do they Mama?'

Rachel could not answer. She felt distraught at the news.

‘No, oh surely not,' Alice whispered. She buried her face in her hands to hide her dismay. Ross sank down on his haunches and put his hands on Conan's shoulders staring into his troubled young face.

‘Tell me exactly what you heard, laddie.?

‘Mr Pearson says it's true,' Conan muttered, forgetting he was not supposed to linger at the cycle shop.

‘I see … And did you remember to dip your clogs on the way home?'

‘Course I did!' Conan declared indignantly. Ross nodded, but he looked up at Rachel.

‘Do you think it would be a good idea to keep him away from school for a while, until we see how things go?'

‘All right.' She laid her arm on Conan's shoulder. ‘You can read your books at home. You will soon catch up.'

‘Meanwhile I will tell Sandy and Bill. I'll warn them not to go near the boundary fields. If McNish's cattle get the disease that stretch of wild land will be a benefit after all. It will make a barrier between us.'

‘Yes,' Alice nodded. ‘We must avoid every possible contact from man and beast.' Everyone agreed.

‘We shall be all right, Bridie.' Ross summoned a reassuring smile for his small daughter. He hated to see anxiety on such a young and innocent face.

Time passed slowly. Each day was fraught. There were rumours of more farms affected on the other side of the glen to the north of the village. Still the cattle and sheep at The Glens of Lochandee remained healthy.

‘You are a good lad staying at home, Conan,' Ross said. ‘It looks as though our precautions are paying off.'

The shadows were lengthening and Alfie had gone for his usual stroll around the animals after the evening meal. Alice always maintained he went to say goodnight to them all before he could go to bed himself. On this particular evening he had not been out long when he came bursting through the door, startling them all. He was gabbling excitedly, jigging his rear end up and down and shaking his wrists.

‘Have you been stung, Alfie?' Ross asked.

‘Na-aw!' Alfie cackled anxiously. ‘Hs-rss.' He beckoned frantically. Ross followed him outside. There was nothing to be seen except a huddle of sheep in the field nearest the farm steading. Alfie hung his head dejectedly.

Alice was quiet for the rest of the evening, but before she went to bed she said anxiously,

‘Alfie understands more than we often give him credit for. I'm sure he was trying to tell us something important. I felt it was some kind of warning.'

Chapter Twenty-five

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
R
OSS
noticed that Ben and Trust, the two collie dogs were uneasy and he remembered Alfie's strange antics of the previous evening. As soon as he had taken the milk to the station he checked all the sheep and cattle, making sure none had strayed. He even checked the boundary fences and for good measure he climbed the ancient oak tree to get a clearer view.

He stared towards McNish's farm in dismay. There was a heap of freshly dug soil and beside it lay several cattle, their legs pointing skywards.

‘Dead! Oh my God, McNish must have got it.' He hurried home to break the news.

‘It is a good thing you stopped the postman, Ross,' Alice said. ‘We have had no contact with McNish or his premises. We should be safe.'

‘I pray so,' Ross breathed fervently.

After the evening milking Ross was making his way across the yard when he saw Alfie waggling towards him. He was doing his peculiar bobbing up motions again as though he was on a horse. A horse! Ross spun round and raced towards the field at the back of the buildings. He was just in time to see Elder on his powerful hunter cantering amongst the sheep. Ross bellowed in fury.

Elder turned in the saddle and gave a mocking salute. Ross ran towards him. Elder gave a sneering laugh.

‘I'm the Factor, remember? Just checking up.' He dug in his heels. The big horse galloped towards the boundary fence, clearing it with ease. He rode away over McNish's land towards his yard. Ross could scarcely believe what his eyes were seeing. He felt sick.

Alfie was cackling triumphantly and nodding his head. It was clear now. He had been trying to tell them about Elder yesterday. How many times had the Factor ridden through the infected farm, or other farms in the area, then onto Lochandee land? Why now? He had never come near The Glens of Lochandee since Alfie hit him with the shovel. He had paraded along the boundary fences, inspecting the fields from there. Even a sadist like Elder would not deliberately try to spread the dreaded foot-and-mouth disease. Would he?

That night Ross lay restlessly beside Rachel. He longed to share his anxiety with her and hear her reassurance. These days her polite manner proved a more effective barrier than a stone wall. He kept his anxiety to himself.

Late the following afternoon anxiety drew Ross to the tall oak tree again. His own sheep were grazing peacefully. He stared towards McNish's farm. The cattle were no longer there but the soil was heaped in a mound and men were still shovelling. Ross buried his head in his hands. He prayed the disease would not spread to Glens of Lochandee. His thoughts were melancholy as he perched in the fork of the broad branches, lost in his reflections.

He was just about to stretch his stiff limbs and return to the milking when he saw the horse and rider coming across McNish's field. They were heading straight towards the only fence which presently bordered The Glens of Lochandee. Horse and rider sailed over without effort. At any other time Ross would have admired the magnificent animal but Elder was deliberately heading towards the flock of sheep. He was dropping bits of fleece! Fury boiled in Ross. He could barely contain himself as Elder cantered through the huddling sheep. He rode in a wide arc. Ross judged he must come within a few yards of the tree. With a supreme effort he curbed his anger and waited, preparing to swing from a lower branch.

Elder was near enough for Ross to see his smug expression. He guessed they would soon swerve away from the tree again. He gave a loud “Halloo-oo and swung himself from the branch to within feet of the startled horse. The big chestnut reared in fright. Elder yanked cruelly on the reins, striving to keep his seat. Ross “halloo-ed” again, then again. Fury prevented him enjoying Elder's fear and anger as he catapulted to the ground with a dull thud. Ross felt no pity. He ran towards him and yanked him to his feet by the scruff of his thick neck. He was not a fighting man but his temper was uncontrollable as he looked into the flabby sneering face. Almost of its own volition, his fist clenched and landed with all the force he could muster into Elder's jaw.

‘You'll pay for this,' the Factor spat venomously. ‘I'll have you out if it's …' Ross's fist struck again, at the same time he released his grip on the Factor's collar. His heavy body sank to the ground like a rock. Ross wiped his hands as though they were filthy, picked up his cap from where it had fallen, and strode away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the horse had jumped back over the fence instinctively and was now cropping grass some distance away. Elder would catch it eventually. He would not explain away his split lip and swollen jaw so easily.

Ross felt no remorse but he was not used to violence and his stomach churned. Elder had deliberately tried to spread the foot-and-mouth disease to The Glens of Lochandee, he was sure of it now. Surely only a man eaten up with evil could do such a thing.

It was some days after Ross's encounter with the Factor when he noticed one of his best milk cows was unwell. He had milked her himself and the piggin had been less full than usual and he stared in sick disbelief. They had taken every possible precaution. In his heart he had not really believed the Factor could carry the disease so easily, even though he had come directly from McNish's infected buildings. Yet here was a cow dribbling saliva like a tap. He called Bill Carr to help him while he opened the animal's mouth. Their eyes met in silent agony at the blisters peeling away, leaving raw tongue.

‘Oh, God!' Ross groaned and felt his stomach heave. ‘How could I believe we might escape.'

‘That's it then, boss?' Bill ventured fearfully. Ross nodded and turned towards the house like a man in a nightmare.

Try as they might to shield Bridie and Conan from the ensuing horrors it was impossible not to tell the truth. Bridie was inconsolable. She simply could not accept that her beloved Silky Socks had to be killed and buried in a big dark hole. Who could hurt her gentle little lambs?

Amidst the confusion no one noticed Bridie had disappeared. Rachel and Alice searched everywhere in the buildings and lofts, even in the little copse. There was no sign of her, or of her two pet lambs.

Rachel felt panic rising in her but she could see Alice was exhausted and anxious. She insisted she return to the house for a drink of cold water and a rest. So Alice was sitting quietly, despair washing over her as never before, her head bowed. In the silence she thought she heard a baby cry. She listened. Not a baby – a lamb! She stood up, listening intently. She followed the faint sound to the pantry but it was empty. Beyond the pantry a door lead to the old cellar. It was only used at pig killing to cure the bacon and hams on the cold stone slabs. The damp stone steps descended into inky blackness. Bridie never went in there. She hated the darkness and the peculiar smell. She was only five years old. She would have to be desperate to go down there alone. Even so Alice opened the creaking door.

‘Bridie,' she called softly. There was no reply but she heard the unmistakable sound of a muffled heart-rending sob. Alice found a candle and matches on the pantry shelf. Carefully she descended the uneven steps. Through the gloom she saw the yellow glitter of eyes as she raised the flickering candle. Bridie's tiny figure was hunched beneath a stone bench in the furthest corner of the cellar. The little girl had an arm around each of the pet lambs, her cheek resting on one soft black head. Tears poured silently down her cheeks and her small shoulders shook with stifled sobs. Not even Alice's gentle coaxing could persuade her to come out.

Eventually it was Conan who came to the rescue. Talking softly, he led Bridie out, hugging her small body tightly against his bony young chest. His hand stroked her long brown curls with gentle fingers as she clung to him, sobbing as though her little heart would break.

Ross knew it was the most difficult task he had ever had when he bent to take the two trusting young lambs to be slaughtered. They had known so little of the joy of living. Please God let those in authority have made the right decisions. Certainly the disease was a dreadful scourge with the affected animals growing more sick by the minute, but he was certain the disease would not have spread without Elder.

Rachel herself had shed more tears than she cared to admit. She felt lost, wrung out and limp, like a piece of old rag. She had done her best to protect Alice from the terrible sight of her cherished Ayrshire cows lying bloated and grotesque beside the huge pit. It was the first time she had seen Alice weep and she felt helpless to offer comfort. What use were words?

Her heart ached for the pain Ross had suffered as he guided his animals to their death, one after the other, each one docile and trusting.

It had been a day none of them would ever forget. Ross was too dispirited to eat by the end of it. He was too tired and sick at heart to relax, even in sleep. Rachel felt him tossing and turning beside her in the darkness. She put out a tentative hand, gently, rhythmically she soothed his restless limbs. She stroked the hard flatness of his stomach, feeling his muscles tense as her fingers moved lower, soothing and seducing. He needed her, they needed each other, now as never before.

‘I do love you, Ross,' she whispered. He turned then, drawing her into his arms, holding her close.

‘I need you, Rachel. God, how I need you!' He groaned and buried his head against the silken warmth of her breast. She felt his eyelashes damp with the tears he was struggling to suppress and she stroked his hair gently as she would a child. Presently he lifted his head and kissed her lips.

‘Thank you, Rachel,' he murmured against her cheek, ‘Thank you for coming back to me today. I don't think I could go on without you. You are my life, my love …'

‘I know, I know …' Their loving was tender, their union slow and beautiful – a shining dream in the darkest of hours.

There were many nights when the only comfort either of them could find was in each other's arms. The hollow silence of the empty sheds, and the bare fields devoid of cattle and sheep, were constant reminders of the awful fate of their precious animals. There was little consolation to be had from the well-cleaned buildings, all of them painstakingly painted with lime both inside and out.

Alice seemed to shrink into a shadow of her former self. Rachel understood and did her best to offer comfort and cheer. She knew many of the cows had been bred down generations of the same families Alice had known as a child. The famous Ayrshires had been as much a part of Lochandee as she had herself. Now they were gone – wiped out.

The milk customers which Ross had built up could no longer be supplied. There was no cream to make butter for the village customers either, no pig to kill for the winter. Only the hens and horses had survived. The eggs were all that was left to eat or to sell to bring in a meagre income and pay the wages of Sandy Kidd, Bill Carr and Beth.

Gone was the rigid routine of twice-daily milking and the awful silence of the byres cast a gloom over everything during the following months. Eventually the Government paid compensation for the compulsory slaughter of the cattle and inspectors decided if and when stock could be replaced.

Alice was dismayed when Ross suggested buying some Friesian cattle. They both knew her own beloved cows could never be replaced and he believed the black and whites would be more productive. Willie and Ruth rarely wrote except at Christmas but they had heard of the Lochandee catastrophe from Meg and wrote to commiserate over the loss of the Lochandee Ayrshires. Willie had mentioned the black and white cows which were replacing many of the dairy shorthorn herds around him in Yorkshire. He said the bull calves made better beef cattle than the dainty Ayrshires, and they were excellent milkers. He knew of six well-bred heifers for sale and offered to negotiate on Ross's behalf, and also to supervise loading them on to the train.

‘He says the herd is free from tuberculosis and he does not think they have any trouble with contagious abortion,' Ross said, knowing that either disease would mean another disaster if they bought in infected cattle. It was one of his greatest worries. Eventually Alice agreed to compromise and have some of each breed.

The Lochandee Friesians were the first in the area and several farmers came to see them and ask about their performance. Bridie had adopted the first Friesian calf to be born at The Glens of Lochandee. She had named it Star on account of the white mark on its face, but even Ross could see it was not so adorable as Silky Socks had been.

The following summer Conan came home from school and proudly announced that he had passed the examinations which would allow him to attend Dumfries Academy. He had the cheeriest grin anyone had seen for a long time.

‘You will tell Aunt Meg, Mother?' he asked eagerly. ‘I promised Polly I would work hard and keep up with her, and I have. I think she will be pleased.'

‘I'm sure she will,' Rachel assured him happily. ‘We all are.'

‘Indeed we are,' Alice added her praises and so did Beth, with considerable teasing about widening the door to get his head inside.

‘You've done well, laddie,' Ross said gruffly. ‘You will have a long day though, with a three mile cycle ride every morning and evening to catch the bus to Dumfries.'

‘I will do Conan's work,' Bridie piped up eagerly. She was seven years old and desperate to learn to milk a cow of her own. She already had her own brood of chicks. Ross smiled fondly. He had never managed to get her another calf as beautiful as her beloved Silky Socks. Bridie was loyal but resilient – even with her pets.

‘All in good time, lassie. You'll be a great help to me soon.'

‘I shall need a bicycle of my own,' Conan said slowly, thinking over his father's words.

‘Don't worry,' Rachel assured him. ‘We shall find the money for that.'

‘Mr Pearson promised to help me make one for myself if you would buy the frame and wheels and the lights and brakes and things …?' He looked hopefully at his parents.