The Shadow of the Sycamores (7 page)

This latest business wasn’t funny, though, she chided herself as she pounded a great lump of dough. The lad could be ill – or his sister – or his grandmother, if that was where he’d gone. They would surely have heard by this time if he’d had an
accident – so he could still turn up and there would be no job for him. Young Harry was managing fine in his place and the ploughman’s laddie had now been taken on as orra loon. It was as if Jim Legge had thrown Henry on the midden.

For the rest of that day, the cook got more and more depressed worrying how he would feel when he learned what had happened and, by the time she went to bed, her heart was as sore as his would be when he did make his appearance.

She found herself drifting in and out of a troubled sleep and rose even more tired and upset than she had been the night before – even remembering that it was Sunday and her afternoon off did nothing to cheer her. Her brother had promised to take her to see their mother and she was actually dreading the confrontation there was bound to be but, once she rose, she had no time to brood on her own problem – or Henry’s.

At twelve o’clock, with everything left ready for Maidie to serve at one on the dot, Janet went up to her room to make ready. She dressed in her winter dress, a black bombazine with a line of black pearl buttons marching from the high neck to just below her waist, and black satin ribbon highlighting the pin tucks. She usually felt her spirits lift when she wore it but not today. She took her best bonnet listlessly from its tin box, giving the curled feathers a blow before putting it on and studying her reflection in the tilting mirror. She supposed she would pass in a crowd but what did it matter where she was going?

She still felt guilty at having put Ma away but, as Roderick had said, they couldn’t have left her on her own. She was over eighty, though she didn’t like to admit it, and her mind had been going for some time now. She had nearly set the house on fire once – only her next-door neighbour’s keen sense of smell had prevented it. She had broken practically all her dishes – whether by accident or on purpose was difficult to know for she had a vile temper when something upset her.

It was heart-breaking to see the once fastidious, hardworking woman in the state she’d been that last time, unwashed for weeks on end, thin as a knife blade for want of the food
she believed she had eaten, yet not a morsel could have passed her lips.

Janet had had to draw Roderick’s attention to that, she recalled sadly, for men never see what they don’t want to see and they had talked over what they should do – talked and talked without coming to any decision. Luckily, the same neighbour had mentioned her worry about the old woman to her doctor and it was he who had solved the problem.

Hearing the sound of a light carriage crunching on the gravel, Janet put on her cape and went out at the back door, where Roderick helped her into his little gig. As manager of a drapery shop in Oldmeldrum, he was always dressed in a smart suit and dark homburg which, with his neatly trimmed moustache, made him look quite distinguished. Janet felt quite proud to be sitting beside him as they bowled along.

‘I wonder how she’ll be?’ he asked suddenly.

Janet made a wry face. ‘I hope she’s settled in.’

‘They would have let us know if she had not.’

‘Aye, I suppose so.’

No more was said for another few minutes until Janet burst out, ‘I hope they treat her all right. I’d hate to think they were ill-using her. I’ve heard stories about what goes on in madhouses.’

Roderick tutted loudly. ‘Nonsense! The doctor said The Sycamores is nothing like an asylum.’

‘But it’s for mad folk.’

‘They are not mad in the sense that you mean. With some, like Ma, it is just the effect of old age but there are others who have had some sort of bad experience that has knocked them off balance for a time.’

‘But it’s costing such a lot o’ money, Roderick. I feel terrible that I canna help.’

‘I do not begrudge it. She made sure that I had a good education.’

Janet was well aware of that. Her brother’s schooling had been the reason for her lack of it, for her having to go out to work at such an early age to help pay for his books, but she
wasn’t one to hold a grudge either. ‘What’ll happen if she’s in there for years? Her body’s good for a long time yet.’

‘What a worrier you are, Janet. I would not have let her be sent there if I had not given thought to that. As long as my business keeps up and the fees are not increased too much, she can stay there for as long as she lives.’ He patted her hand. ‘Does that ease your mind?’

‘Roderick, I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been able to pay …’

‘I know that you had to make sacrifices for my sake when we were younger so look on this as me returning that kindness. Put your mind at rest now, my dear sister; there is nothing more for you to worry about.’

Janet was in a far better mood on the way back to Craigdownie – even though her mother had not recognised either her or Roderick. There was such an improvement in her – her cheeks rosier and not caved in, as they had been, her movements and speech much more decisive. She had held a sensible conversation with them about the daily routine; she had described some of the women she seemed to have made friends with; they had learned about the changing menus, the choices they had. ‘And they won’t let us wash any dishes,’ she had beamed, proudly. ‘There’s women to do all that and keep the place clean and all and there’s nice girls to look after us.’

They had not known what to say to her but obviously, under the impression that they were strangers, she did not expect them to say much. Even when they rose to leave, she showed no sign of recognition. ‘It was nice to speak to you,’ she had smiled, holding her hand out. ‘Will I see you again?’

Roderick had lifted the veined hand to his lips. ‘Yes, of course. We will be back, be sure of that.’

Janet had bent over to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m sorry I can only manage to come once a month, Mother.’

The old lady’s eyes had clouded in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ she had stated, coldly, ‘so don’t pretend I’m your mother.’

The leave-taking had not really upset them. In fact, they were relieved that she was happier now. ‘She will not miss us if we do not go every month,’ Roderick smiled. ‘She is living in a different world now, with people to look after her and attend to her every whim.’

Janet nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have believed she’d be so at home. Did you see how her face lit up when Innes Ledingham came over to speak to her?’

‘I was meaning to ask about that. I didn’t know that it was he who ran the place.’

‘Neither did I,’ Janet smiled. ‘I got a right shock when I saw him.’

‘You had quite a tête-à-tête with him. What was that about?’

‘Nothing much. I hadn’t seen him for years and years but we were just speaking about Ma. He says she’s settled in fine, she’s well liked and she’s eating three good meals a day. So I needn’t have worried.’

‘I told you.’

Janet didn’t want to tell him what had also transpired during her conversation with Innes, who had been a very close friend at one time. She’d even had the feeling that he was on the verge of courting her but she had met Tom Aitken and that was that. Anyway, Innes had gone away, down to England somewhere, and, the last she had heard of him, he was married. When she asked him how he came to be in charge of The Sycamores, he had just said that he loved the challenge. Then he had added, with a wry smile, that his biggest problem was getting staff.

‘Cleaning women are easier to come by but finding girls willing to tend to needful patients is quite difficult. Once they have been here for even a day, however, they find that they quite enjoy making life easier for those under their care. At present, I am looking for a young man who can turn his hand to anything, repairing doors or windows, fixing loose screws, a bit of painting – maintenance work in other words.’

The upshot of this was that, on her recommendation alone, he had hired young Henry Rae without even seeing him. Janet
pulled her cape closer round her as if hugging herself for being so clever. She pushed aside the thought that the boy may never return to Craigdownie – she had faith in him.

Her first words to Maidie when she went into the kitchen were, ‘Is Henry back?’

‘Oh, Janet, it was awfu’! You werena long away when he turned up and Mr Legge gave him a right telling aff! And when he was finished ranting, he said Henry had better leave for there was no job here for him and Henry ran oot wi’ tears rolling doon his face.’

‘Oh. Lordy!’ Janet thumped down on the chair by the range with her hand on her chest. ‘The poor laddie and I wasna here.’ For a few moments, she breathed heavily, then gave her head a little shake and sat up straight. ‘Where is he, Maidie? Where did he go?’

‘I couldna tell you that, Cook, but I some think he went across to the bothy to collect his things.’

Forgetting, in her anxiety for the boy, that some hours had passed since he learned the brutal news, Janet went out as fast as her tired legs would carry her and burst into the bothy without even knocking.

‘God a’michty, Janet!’ A startled Mick looked up from cutting his toenails. ‘I could’ve been changing my drawers.’

‘I wouldna have seen nothing I hadna seen afore,’ she barked. ‘Where is he?’

‘Where’s who?’ Understanding dawning, he said, ‘He’s nae here.’

‘I can see that. He took his things?’

‘Aye, afore we come in and I dinna ken where he went.’

It was young Harry who gave Janet at least some information. ‘I saw him speaking to the grieve for a while.’

With no word of thanks, Janet rushed out again and made for the grieve’s house, one of the four cottages built for the married workers, and, when Ina Sim answered her knock, she gasped, ‘Is Henry here?’

The woman’s cheery face sobered. ‘He was but he wouldna bide. Davey was that sorry for him when he said what had
happened, he offered him a bed for the nicht but he wouldna hear o’t. Are you coming in?’

‘I’ll nae come in, thank you. I need to speak to him for I found him a new job. Have you nae idea where he …?’

‘Maybe he said something to Davey. He
did
say his Gramma had died – that was what kept him away.’

‘I ken’t there was something!’ There was no triumph in Janet’s words.

‘You’ll be asking aboot Henry?’ The grieve himself, a tall stout man in tweeds and a flat cap, had walked up the path not far behind her. ‘You’d best come in.’

She followed Ina into the cosy kitchen where a large lurcher was sprawled on the hearth. ‘Shift yoursel’, Davey grinned, giving the dog a nudge with the toe of his boot. ‘Other folk need to get in aboot for a heat.’

Clearly accustomed to this order, the animal didn’t move as much as an eyelid and the three ‘folk’ sat down, careful not to disturb him. ‘Did Henry tell you where he was going?’ Janet couldn’t wait another minute.

‘He was real upset, hardly ken’t what he was saying, poor loon, but he let slip his grandmother had died sudden and he bade wi’ his sister till the frunial was by.’

‘He’ll have gone back to his sister, then. Did he tell you where she bade?’

‘I never thocht to ask.’ The grieve looked ashamed for his lack of interest.

A brooding silence fell during which Ina got up to make a pot of tea. She busied herself further by taking three enamel mugs from the dresser and laying them on the well-scrubbed wooden table. Then she took a flagon of milk – one of the perquisites of farm employment – from the pantry where there was a marble slab to keep perishables cool and poured a little into each mug. She was in the act of swirling boiling water in the brown china teapot to heat it when her husband banged his fist on his knee. ‘Dammit! I clean forgot!’

‘You daft beggar!’ she exclaimed. ‘You near made me burn mysel’.’

Janet was more interested in what the man had said than in the wife’s imagined catastrophe. ‘What did you forget? Did he gi’e you a hint?’

‘I tell’t him to tak’ oor Doddie’s auld bike to save him walking and he promised to send it back wi’ the carrier in the morning.’

Ina, still recovering from the fright he had given her, was none the wiser but Janet gasped, ‘You think the carrier’ll be able to tell you?’

‘I wouldna be surprised and it’s worth a try. I’ll keep a look-oot for him – and you and all, Ina.’

‘And me!’ declared Janet.

She stayed in the cottar house for another fifteen minutes or so, then went back to her upstairs room in the farmhouse. She felt a good deal better now. At least there was a chance of learning what she wanted to know, though she’d have to wait till the morrow morning. Her mind turned to The Sycamores. Innes Ledingham was still a handsome man, just over six feet, body still as lean as it had been when he used to see her home from the kirk all those years before. His dark hair, worn brushed right back off his face, was shot with grey now and his moustache was lighter than she remembered but still as thick. There were a few lines etched on his forehead yet his brown eyes still held something that made her blood flow faster in her veins. And his mouth was still turned up at the corners in a smile. Oh, Lordy! What was she thinking about? They were both well over forty – and he had a wife.

Switching her thoughts to Henry Rae again, she hoped that the carrier who took back the bike came from the same place as Henry’s sister, otherwise he wouldn’t know where she lived. That would be the end of it for there was no other way she could find the boy.

It would have been natural if Janet had spent another troubled night but she was so tired – so much had happened that day and her emotions had see-sawed so dramatically – that she fell into a deep sleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

‘Henry! You did lose your job, then?’ Abby held out her arms and her fourteen-year-old brother ran into them with a sob.

‘I didna really think Jim Legge would sack me,’ he gulped.

‘Dinna worry,’ she soothed. ‘He’d been angry but he’ll likely tell you to come back once he cools down.’

‘No, he’ll not ask me back.’ He moved over to sit down on what had been his Gramma’s chair, although that didn’t cross his mind, he was so depressed. ‘Davey said I was doing well as second horseman,’ he sighed, ‘but Harry’s got my job. Mr Legge said he didna ken if I had left for good or what.’