Time Shall Reap Page 11

  She realized herself that things could not go on like that, and, knowing that it would not take much to ignite the power keg, bit her lip until she drew blood when her aunt went on and on at her. Janet had the sense not to go too far in front of her husband, so Harry was not aware of what the girl was suffering, although he did notice that she looked ill. Not having any experience of how women looked during pregnancy – Janet’s two miscarriages had both been at three months – he put Elspeth’s gaunt looks down to her condition and hoped that the infant would not be long in coming.

  The inevitable explosion between the two women occurred late one afternoon in August, days before Elspeth believed her confinement to be due. She had been feeling off colour all morning, and was taking twice as long to do things as she normally did. Janet watched her closely for some time, then said, sarcastically, ‘You couldn’t go any slower, could you? A snail could work faster than that.’

  A red flash burst inside Elspeth’s head. ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ she spat out, ‘as you would understand if you had even a spark of humanity in you.’

  Janet’s head jerked up. ‘How dare you speak to me like that, you little slut!’

  ‘I’m not a slut!’ the girl screamed. ‘I’m a red-blooded woman, something you’ve never been! You’re just a dried-up old maid ... you couldn’t love anybody if you tried, for you don’t know what love is!’

  Janet, in spite of her alleged sore back, leapt to her feet and struck the girl full in the stomach. ‘You bitch! You speak about love, when you’re just a whore?’

  Doubled up with pain, Elspeth lashed out with her foot, although she was not near enough to do much damage. ‘I’m not a whore, but at least a whore’s got feelings, and you’re so ... so wooden, you ...’

  Hopping on one leg, her other smarting from the light blow it had received, Janet screeched, ‘If Geordie Gray heard what you’re saying to me, he’d kill you, you ... ungrateful bitch! I’ve a good mind to write and tell him you’re in the family way, and let him see what kind of a girl his precious daughter is.’

  ‘Write then! I don’t care what you do, for my father can’t touch me now.’

  ‘Your mother’s turned her back on you, any road! She never answered any of your letters, did she? And she’s never come to see how you are.’

  This taunt, instead of deflating the girl as Janet had hoped, only served to enrage her further, because she had been extremely hurt that her letters to her mother had gone unanswered. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to have written to my father already, and he’ll have forbidden my mother to write to me.’

  Janet bridled. ‘You can think what you like! I’m a good God-fearing woman and ...’

  Common sense having deserted her altogether, Elspeth retorted, ‘More like God’s feared at you, for you’ve just got a stone where your heart should be. You’ve had me working for you from morn to night when you could see I wasna fit, and it’s a wonder to me your man didna leave you years ago. You’re no proper wife to him, and havena been for a long time, according to what he told me.’ Her hand flew up as if to still her runaway tongue.

  The woman’s chest was heaving now, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish, but, in a moment, her eyes glittered dangerously. ‘So that’s the kind of thing you and him speak about? It’s maybe all you think about, but I’m above the sins of the flesh. You’re a filthy-minded harlot, and you’ll get out of my house this minute! I never want to see you again ... or your bastard, either!’

  Holding her head high now, Elspeth marched through to her room, her fury keeping her from crying. It did not take her long to throw her few belongings into the old Gladstone bag, and she slammed the door behind her as she went out, drawing on her coat as she lumbered down the stairs. Once on the pavement, she went as fast as she could to get away from the terrible woman who was her aunt ... had been her aunt, for she did not regard her as such any longer, and it was not until she was halfway along Union Terrace that she realized that she was home-less now.

  Slowing down, she felt the tears coming to the surface and, rather than have anyone see her weeping in the street, she went down the steps into the gardens which ran along the railway line, for there were seats there, where she could think what to do. She needed her mother, more than she had ever done in her life, but she could never go home again. Collapsing on to a bench, she let her tears out in harsh strangled sobs, ignoring the increasing discomfort in her belly, presuming it was the result of Janet hitting her. A few old men, taking advantage of the sunshine to have a stroll, eyed her with some concern, but she was not aware of them and they did not stop.

  At last, the cramp grew so bad that she realized she was in labour, and her tears stopped with the shock. She couldn’t sit here ... she couldn’t let her baby be born out in the open like a tinker’s. She tried to think where she could go, but her brain would not function properly. John Forrest had no right to get himself killed. He should have come back to her and they would have been married and he would have looked after her ... but he couldn’t help being killed. Oh, God, what was she to do? She didn’t know anyone in Aberdeen except Janet and Harry Bain, and she wouldn’t go back there though she was dying on her feet, which was exactly what she would be if she couldn’t find somewhere else to go.

  When the answer came, she wondered why she had forgotten for so long. The woman she’d met on the train – Mrs Watson! The middle floor of the middle house in Quarry Street! She would be made welcome there, for she’d been told to go if she was in trouble, and she couldn’t be in deeper trouble than she was now.

  Heaving herself to her feet, Elspeth made her ungainly way up the steps again, having to stop every now and then to wait for the wash of pain to subside. She had no idea where Quarry Street was, but she had a vague recollection that Mrs Watson had said she took the number four tram, and the conductor would be able to tell her where to get off.

  She was so dishevelled and so obviously in labour that the conductor looked anxious when she asked him to tell her when they came to Quarry Street. ‘We only go as far as Bayview Road, and you’ve a good bit to walk after that.’

  She didn’t care how far she had to walk, as long as she reached Mrs Watson before it was too late. ‘You’ll tell me where to get off?’

  ‘You’ve to go right to the terminus.’

  She held her bag tightly against her stomach, gripping herself in to stop the pain, but her mind was easier. She was on her way to a friend, someone who would make sure she was all right ... that her baby was all right.

  When they came to the terminus, the conductor helped her off, and pointed up the street. ‘Carry right on and when you come to a lane, turn in and go along past the quarry, and you’ll see Quarry Street in front of you. You can’t miss it, it’s just one big block of tenements.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Elspeth murmured, then cringed as another pain struck her.

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘I’ll ... be ... fine,’ she gasped, waddling forward, for she could feel the baby slipping farther down and wanted to get there as quickly as she could.

  Having to stop every few minutes, it took her some time to reach the lane, and she turned off the main road thankfully. There was no sign of the block of tenements the conductor had spoken about, however, and she was so tired, both physically and emotionally, that she sank down on the grassy bank, sure that she could go no farther. After about five minutes, she had the presence of mind to move behind a tree out of sight of anyone who might chance to walk along the lane, and her last conscious thought was that Janet Bain would be sorry when she learned that her niece had died in a lonely lane all by herself.

  It was dusk when she wakened, chilled and frightened at finding herself in such an eerie spot. Where was she and why was she here? A familiar sensation beginning in the pit of her stomach brought the awful memories back, and she picked up her bag and struggled to her feet. The spasms she’d had before must have just been the first stage of her labour, and she
must find Mrs Watson before the final stage began.

  Carrying on in the direction she had been going, she passed one or two small cottages then saw the dark outline of a large building standing on its own some way ahead. It must the block of tenements, it must. She crossed a small wooden bridge over a burn, and found a path going off the lane to the right, appearing to lead straight to the tenement block. Her goal so near, she stumbled on until she came to the front of the building, where she saw three doors. Making for the middle one, she glanced up to see how many storeys there were, and was glad that there were only three, for it meant that she would only have to go up one flight of stairs.

  Dragging herself painfully up each step, she leaned against the door on the half landing – the lavatory, likely – until she got her breath back, then went up the next set and peered at the two nameplates. The first said ‘Murdoch’ but her heart lifted when she saw ‘Watson’ on the other, and she rapped loudly on one of the panels.

  It seemed an eternity to her before the door was eased gently open, then flung wide when the woman recognized her. ‘Oh, my God! It’s the lassie on the train. Elspeth, isn’t it? You look worn out, come in, for any sake.’

  Mrs Watson ushered the girl into a little lobby, then asked, ‘What’s happened?’

  Elspeth did not try to explain anything, stating, baldly, ‘I’d a row wi’ my auntie and she put me out.’

  ‘And you so far on? That wasna very Christian o’ her, but never mind, you’re safe here. But I shouldna be keeping you standing, come ben to the kitchen.’

  The room was even smaller than the kitchen of the cottar house. A man was sitting in an old leather armchair reading a newspaper, but he rose stiffly at their entrance, and Elspeth saw that he was stockily built and not much taller than his wife. His mousey hair was combed straight back off his brow, and his ruddy face was smiling a greeting to her.

  ‘This is Elspeth, Jimmy, an’ she’s going to be biding in our Donald’s room.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Jimmy Watson inclined his head towards the girl then sat down to continue reading, and Elspeth was amazed at his lack of curiosity. Her father would have wanted to know all the whys and wherefores before he permitted a stranger to lodge in his home.

  ‘Ben here, Elspeth.’ Helen Watson led her through the tiny hall into an equally tiny room containing only a single bed with a white Alhambra bedspread, a tall chest of drawers with a cheval mirror on top and a low basket chair. It wasn’t all that different from her own room at home, Elspeth thought, but she’d had a marble-topped wash-stand with a floral basin and ewer on it. This place wasn’t even big enough for that.

  ‘Hang your things up in the press.’ Mrs Watson indicated a cupboard door between the foot of the bed and the window wall. ‘I’ll clear a couple o’ drawers in the kist once we’ve had a cuppie tea.’

  ‘I minded you said to come to you if I ... I hope it’s all right me turning up like this?’

  ‘I’m pleased you did. You shouldna be wandering about the town in your state.’ She gave Elspeth a searching look and added, ‘I some think you’re about ready to drop the bairn. Have you had any pains?’

  ‘Some, but not that bad, and I’m not sure if they were labour pains at all. They’ve stopped now.’

  ‘It sometimes takes a while. That had been just a warning, likely, to get you prepared for it. You maybe havena noticed yet, but I’m expecting, and all.’ She gave a light chuckle. ‘You must have given me the smit that day on the train. I thought it was the change, but I wasna feeling very great, so I went to see a doctor, and I’m over seven month now.’

  Elspeth clapped her hands with glee. ‘If you’re that far on already, you’d been expecting before you ever met me.’

  They both laughed, then Helen said, ‘It’s not laughing, really. I’m over forty, and what’ll my Donald think?’

  ‘Are you not pleased about it?’

  ‘I’m delighted, and so’s Jimmy. It’s just ... we’re maybe a bit old to ... no, a bairn’ll keep us young, eh? Now, I’ll leave you to hang up your things, but come ben for a cuppie when you’re ready.’

  Elspeth smiled to herself as Mrs Watson went out – another woman with the teapot always at hand, it made her feel less strange. In fact, she was much easier in her mind now about everything. Opening her holdall, she unfolded her skirts and blouses and hung them in the cupboard along with her coat, but left her underclothes and the small parcel of baby things in the bag until the drawers were made ready for her.

  Mrs Watson, meantime, had filled the kettle at the sink under the window, and lit the gas ring on the cooker, talking all the time to her husband. ‘It’s the lassie I met on the train when I was coming back from Portkillie, mind, I tell’t you about her? The poor thing’s in the family way, but the laddie that fathered the bairn was killed in the war. She was supposed to be biding wi’ her auntie, and I tell’t her to come to me if they didna get on, seeing our Donald’s room’s sitting empty. Well, they’ve had a row and the woman’s put her out, and she’d no place else to go, and she minded what I’d said, so she came here.’

  Jimmy nodded agreeably. He was an easy-going man and quite accustomed to his wife’s impulsive actions. ‘She’s only a bairn herself,’ she went on, ‘and she needs somebody to be a mother to her, poor thing.’

  Jimmy scratched his head. ‘Aye, you’ll look after her well enough, but are you fit for the extra work?’

  ‘Ach, I’m as strong as a horse, and she’ll not be that much bother, for I some think her bairn’s started its journey. Once she’s on her feet again, she can give me a hand in the house, though I wouldna want to work her too hard, for she’s only a young lassie.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you.’

  While she set a wooden tray on to the chenille table cover and laid a dainty embroidered traycloth over it, Mrs Watson conjectured aloud about the row Elspeth had had with her aunt, her husband paying no heed to her ramblings, and only Elspeth’s appearance put a stop to them. ‘You’ll have a cuppie the now, Elspeth, but have you had any supper yet?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You have to eat, lassie. Jimmy’ll pare some tatties, and there’s a bittie boiled ham left.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a bother to anybody.’

  Jimmy stood up. ‘It’s no bother, Elspeth. I’m a dab hand at boiling tatties.’

  ‘That’s about all he can do,’ his wife laughed, and sat down to winkle Elspeth’s story out of her.

  Once she began, the girl spilled out everything from the time she had gone to Rosemount Viaduct, making Mrs Watson wax loudly in condemnation of Janet Bain’s heartlessness, and even Jimmy tutted in the background as he set a pan on to boil. When Elspeth had eaten, and it had all been discussed outside in, the woman said, ‘Well, it’s all past, and best forgotten about. I’m sure you’re ready for your bed, so I’ll clear the drawers in the morning, but, mind, if anything starts to happen, come right ben here and tell me, though it’s the middle of the night.’

  A few minutes later, Elspeth lay down in bed, feeling safe at last. The pains had not started again, but when they did, Mrs Watson would look after her. She wished that she could let her uncle know that she was all right, for Harry had been good to her, but she didn’t want Janet to know. It would do the woman good to be kept wondering what had happened to her, though the old hag probably didn’t care.

  It was just as well that events had taken the turn they had, the girl reflected. Janet would have been worse than ever when the baby arrived, and life would have been even more intolerable, but at Quarry Street she could bring her child up the way she wanted, with no one to interfere. She was so tired that it never crossed her mind to wonder what would happen when the little money she had left ran out.

  In the high bed in the kitchen recess, the Watsons were trying to decide – or, rather, Helen was trying to decide – how to explain her to their neighbours. ‘I’ll say she’s a cousin o’ yours, Jimmy, in from the country.’

  He looke
d dubious. ‘But they’ll see she’s ...’

  ‘We’ll need to make an excuse for her being in the family way, to save any scandal, but something’ll come to me. We’ll just have to take it as it comes.’

  ‘Imphmm,’ agreed her husband, drowsily.

  Chapter Twelve

  Next morning, Elspeth went through to the kitchen looking most astonished. ‘I slept like a log,’ she informed Mrs Watson, ‘and I havena had any more pains.’

  The woman smiled. ‘Aye, well, it’s been a false labour. That often happens. It could be days yet before it starts in earnest. Sit you down there, and have some porridge. Jimmy’s in the lavvy the now, and he’ll be going to his work in a minute or so and then we’ll get peace to speak things over.’

  Sitting down at the set place, Elspeth said, ‘What does your man work at?’

  ‘He’s on the crusher at the quarry. That’s the machine that breaks up all the bits o’ granite that’s no use for anything else, and makes them into chuckles for paths in folks’s gardens. It’s a messy job, and his clothes are grey wi’ dust when he comes home, but ... och, well, it’s a good enough job, and it’s steady.’

  Having heard the last part of his wife’s remarks as he came in, Jimmy took his jacket off the hook at the back of the door and observed, ‘This block o’ tenements belongs to the quarry, you ken.’

  ‘Rubislaw Quarry,’ Helen said, over her shoulder. ‘A lot o’ famous buildings is made wi’ Rubislaw granite, but I think Marischal College here’s the bonniest in the world. Near all the houses in the town’s built wi’ granite, that’s why it’s ken’t far and wide as the Granite City.’

  ‘The folk in Quarry Street are a grand lot.’ Jimmy seemed to be prouder of his workmates than of the edifices created from the stone they quarried.