The Road to Rowanbrae Read online

  ‘At least you had a wee while thegither,’ she soothed.

  ‘Aye, I’ll be thankfu’ for that for the rest o’ my life. Oh, God, I dinna want to leave her, nae noo, nae when she’s lost everything she had.’

  ‘You’ll get ower this, Doddie. You’ll nae think that this very minute, but you will, an’ so’ll Mysie an’ the bairn. They can bide here till she mak’s up her mind what she’s goin’ to dae, but we’ve only the one bed, an’ …’ Jess cleared her throat and moved over to the range. ‘I’ll mak’ some fresh tea. This pot’s been standin’ that lang it must be stewed.’

  When she had poured out three cups, she said, ‘Do you want me to tell her aboot you enlistin’, Doddie?’

  ‘No, I’ll tell her mysel’ when she wakens up, but, oh Jess, I wish I’d had mair sense.’ He tipped his whisky into his tea.

  ‘It’s ower late noo for regrets. What’s done is done, as the sayin’ goes. I think we should a’ try an’ get some rest, an’ maybe things winna look so black in the mornin’.’

  ‘Maybe no’.’ He gulped down his laced tea.

  Settling back in their chairs, the Findlaters soon dozed off, but Doddie’s troubled thoughts kept him awake. He still had to tell Mysie what he had done and why, and it was so painful to think about that he gave up and turned his mind to the fire. How could it have started? A spark from a stick or a bit of peat would have smouldered for a while, and the smell of smoke would surely have wakened Mysie and given her time to dowse it before the whole place went up in flames like that. It must have happened very quickly, for she and her son had been slightly burned before they got out. There was something damned queer about it.

  Jess looked up as he moved his feet in agitation. ‘I ken you’re upset, Doddie,’ she whispered, ‘but things’ll work oot for you in the end, I’m sure. Try an’ get some sleep.’

  He closed his eyes obediently, and was astonished when he woke up some time later and saw Jess standing beside the range stirring a pot. ‘What time is it?’ he murmured, drowsily.

  ‘Near seven already. Jake’s awa’ to Rowanbrae to see aboot the coo, but Mysie an’ Sandy’s still sleepin’, poor things.’

  Having been so concerned about Mysie, Doddie had forgotten about Brownie. ‘You should ha’e wakened me, Jess.’

  ‘You was dead to the world, an’ I hadna the he’rt. Ony road, Jake was wantin’ something to dae. He was awfu’ annoyed at himsel’ for nae kennin’ aboot the fire in time. Ah, there you are.’ She turned as her husband came in.

  ‘It’s a good thing the wind was blawin’ awa’ fae the byre last nicht,’ Jake observed. ‘Mysie’s coo wasna touched, an’ I’ve put her in the park aside oor Betty. I’ll leave you to milk her, Jess.’

  ‘Aye, after we’ve had oor porridge.’

  When they sat down at the table, Doddie said, ‘I’d best tak’ the hens here, as weel, Jake, if you dinna mind?’

  Jake agreed and scratched his head. ‘There’s a puckle things lyin’ aboot ootside, an’ if we asked Andra for a lend o’ his cart, we could shift a’thing here that’s ony use. I’ll see to them till you come hame fae the war.’

  ‘Aye, that’s the very thing,’ Jess chipped in, ‘for Mysie’ll nae ha’e nae place to put them.’

  At that moment, Mysie came through from the other room, her eyes dull and sunken, her pinched face still pink with scorch marks, and Doddie jumped up. ‘How are you feelin’, lass?’

  ‘Oh, Doddie,’ she burst out, ‘I dinna ken how the fire started, but I’d ha’e been burned alive in my bed if it hadna been for Sandy. He must ha’e smelt it and shouted at me, but we’d an awfu’ job gettin’ oot. A’thing was blazin’ roon’ aboot us.’

  Feeling that his heart was being compressed in a vice, he held her gently in his arms. ‘Thank God you’re a’ right.’

  Jess, whose own heart felt constricted with emotion, was glad when Sandy came through, and filled a bowl for him. ‘Here’s some porridge,’ she said, rather brusquely, brushing her eyes with her hand. ‘Sit doon an’ sup it afore it’s cauld.’

  Sandy sat down but made no attempt to eat, and realising how shaken he must be, she shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Come oot wi’ me to gather the eggs, my loon, an’ Jake, you’ve your work to dae.’

  Aware that she had left them to talk in private, Doddie said, ‘Mysie, I’ve something to tell you.’

  His grave expression alarmed her. ‘What is it, Doddie?’

  ‘Weel, it’s like this … oh, Mysie, I canna think o’ a easy way to tell you. I enlisted in the Gordons yesterday when I was in the toon.’ Her stunned face made him hurry on. ‘I just couldna go on like we were, lass. I wanted you to be my wife, an’ as lang as we dinna ken where Jeems is, we can never be wed. I’ve to report at the Barracks on Wednesday, but I’ll come an’ see you when I get leave, an’ when the war’s finished, we’ll go right awa’ fae Burnlea an’ tak’ a croft some place where folk dinna ken us, an’ they’ll think we’re man an’ wife.’

  Still slightly in shock, Mysie said nothing for a minute. If she told Doddie now that Jeems was dead, would he tell her the truth? Would he admit to having killed him? If it hadn’t been him, though, he would want to know how Jeems died, why they had been fighting, how she had come to be carrying a bairn that wasn’t her husband’s. Oh, God, what a mess her life was, and she couldn’t even be sure of Doddie. The only thing she was sure of was that she loved him, no matter what. At last, she looked at him longingly. ‘Oh, I wish we could go right awa’ fae Burnlea an’ live as man an’ wife.’

  ‘We can, Mysie, once I come hame again. We’d be wed in the sight o’ God, and we’d be a real family, you an’ me an’ Sandy, an’ ony others that come.’

  A faint ray of hope appeared in the lack-lustre eyes. ‘Oh, I love you, Doddie.’

  ‘An’ I love you, mair than I can ever tell you.’ He crushed her to him, then remembered something else he should have told her, and said, rather shamefacedly, ‘I near forgot, though. I didna like to tell the recruitin’ sergeants aboot us nae bein’ wed, an’ I put my father doon as my next o’ kin, so you’ll nae get an allotment. I’m sorry aboot it, Mysie, but …’

  ‘I dinna care, Doddie,’ she assured him, then added, ruefully, ‘I dinna suppose I’d ha’e got onything if you had tell’t them aboot me. They wouldna gi’e onything to a fancy woman.’

  ‘Oh, Mysie,’ he groaned, ‘you’re nae my fancy woman. You’re my wife, nae matter what other folk think. Dinna forget that.’

  Realising that she had hurt him, she kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll never forget it, Doddie, dinna fear, an’ I’ll be your wife for as lang as we baith shall live.’

  Outside, Jess said, ‘Sandy, you go on wi’ the basket, for I want to speak to Jake for a minute.’ She turned to her husband when the boy moved away. ‘I canna help thinkin’ it’s a good thing Doddie’s leavin’.’

  Jake’s eyebrows rose. ‘Are you nae sorry for Mysie?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sorry for her, just when they’d got thegither an’ were happy, but she hasna got Rowanbrae noo, an’ she’ll need to get things sorted oot. Her an’ Sandy canna bide wi’ us till Doddie comes back fae the war, for we’ve only got the one bed.’

  ‘Somebody would maybe let us ha’e the lend o’ a bed,’ Jake suggested, hopefully, ‘an’ we could sleep in the kitchen.’

  ‘But we canna feed twa extra mooths, an’ she’ll ha’e naething comin’ in to pay for their keep. It’s nae that I dinna want them here,’ she added, sensing her husband’s displeasure, ‘but it’s just the way we’re placed an’ … och, you’re right enough, Jake. I couldna put her oot, for she’s been like a sister to me ever since I ken’t her.’

  ‘She hasna had muckle good oot o’ life,’ Jake observed, sadly. ‘Gettin’ sell’t to a man auld enough to be her father, lossin’ her auldest bairn doon the quarry, an’ yon bugger o’ a packman landin’ her wi’ a bairn. What’s mair, Jeems turned on her when she was needin’ a’ the comfort she could get. Nae wonder she lost her
head an’ … did what she did.’

  Jess said nothing to this, still quite sure in her mind that it had not been Mysie who killed Jeems although she had never come up with another solution. She didn’t think it had been Doddie, either, yet who else was there? Giving a long sigh, she crossed the yard to help Sandy collect the eggs.

  When they went inside, Doddie and Mysie were sitting at the fireside, silent and morose, so Jess said, brightly, ‘Awa’ you go oot to Jake, Doddie. He’s needin’ a hand wi’ a palin’ post.’

  ‘But him an’ me was to be goin’ to the mill for …’

  ‘You can go later on. There’s nae hurry. You’d best go oot, as weel, Sandy, an’ see they put the post in straight.’ Waiting until they had gone, she said, ‘I suppose Doddie’s tell’t you, has he, Mysie?’

  ‘That he’s enlisted? Aye, he’s tell’t me.’

  ‘It’s maybe for the best, lass. He wouldna be able to bide wi’ you, ony road, noo Rowanbrae’s doon. You an’ Sandy can bide here for as lang as you like, lass, but we havena room for …’ Jess was interrupted by a loud knock and when she went to the door and brought in a policeman, Mysie’s terror almost stopped her heart beating.

  The sergeant, Wullie Milne from Inverurie, spoke to them in an officious tone of voice. ‘Mr Mutch of Fingask telephoned to the station early this morning to tell us about the fire, and I have just come from Rowanbrae. Which one of you ladies would be Mistress Duncan?’ His eyes regarded them sternly.

  ‘Me,’ Mysie whispered, faintly.

  ‘I was glad to hear you and your son was safe. Was anybody else in the house at the time?’

  ‘No, Doddie wasna there.’

  ‘Doddie?’

  ‘Doddie Wilson. He … he bides wi’ me.’

  ‘Could it have been him that set fire to the place?’

  Mysie was stunned by this assumption, but Jess said, ‘Doddie went to the toon early yesterday wi’ Andra White an’ Rab Duff, an’ Rowanbrae was burnt doon afore they come back.’

  ‘Oh, weel, then,’ the sergeant muttered, slightly disappointed, ‘it hadna been him. I just asked, for you never ken; some men dae some awfu’ things.’ Realising that he had lapsed into his off-duty language, he corrected himself. ‘I take it the boy and you were in your beds? Have you any idea how it started?’

  Mysie found her tongue again. ‘That’s what’s been puzzlin’ me, an’ I canna tell you.’

  ‘It’s none of my business why Mr Wilson was biding with you,’ Wullie said, looking embarrassed, ‘but your man will have to be informed that the croft has burned down. We have notified Mr Phillip of Burnlea House, and he told us Mr Duncan is still the rightful tenant. Now, if you will just tell me where I can get in touch with him …?’

  Mysie cast a glance of appeal at Jess, who said, with more confidence than she felt, ‘Jeems Duncan walked oot on her mair than a year ago, an’ naebody kens where he is.’

  Screwing up his face for a moment, the sergeant looked at Mysie sympathetically. ‘You didna report him missing?’

  ‘She doesna want to ken where he is,’ Jess declared, before Mysie could say anything, ‘an’ she’s better aff withoot him.’

  ‘Aye, but we still have to find him – it’s a matter o’ the law – and I’d like a word wi’ Mr Wilson. Is he aboot?’

  ‘He’s ootside wi’ my Jake.’

  ‘He’ll likely not be able to tell me nothing, but …’ Wullie Milne sighed. ‘I can’t find out how the fire started, and I’ll be reporting it as a accident.’

  When the sergeant went out, Mysie collapsed against the back of her chair. ‘Oh, God, Jess, this is awfu’. What am I goin’ to dae? If they start lookin’ for Jeems, they’ll maybe find him an’ start askin’ a lot o’ questions, an’ I’ll get a’ mixed up, an’ I’ll maybe tell them that it wasna …’ Her hand flying to her mouth, she stopped abruptly.

  Curious as to what Mysie had been about to say, but afraid that she could blurt everything out to the policeman in her present state, Jess gripped her shoulder. ‘Naebody’s goin’ to find Jeems, lass, nae unless you tell them where he is.’

  Jake poked his head round the door in a few minutes. ‘That’s the bobby awa’, an’ he says we can tak’ whatever we want oot o’ Mysie’s place, for he’s satisfied there was nae arson. So me an’ Doddie’ll get aff to the mill to ask Andra for his cart.’

  Jess sat up. ‘Ask him if he’s a spare bed when you’re there.’

  Andra White was quite willing when Jake asked for the loan of his horse and cart, but had no bed to give them. ‘I can let you ha’e an auld mattress, though, an’ seein’ Doddie’ll be awa’ on Wednesday, he can sleep on oor couch – as lang’s he watches himsel’ wi’ oor Nessie, for she’s an awfu’ case for the men.’

  This agreed upon, Jake and Doddie went back to Rowanbrae in the cart, and spent the rest of the forenoon loading it. There was nothing worth salvaging in the house itself, but they took the hand plough and most of the other implements from the big shed, and all the bales of hay and straw.

  ‘You can use oor tatties fae the pit,’ Doddie said, ’an’ the carrots an’ neeps. If you’ve plenty o’ your ain, you can gi’e them to Dougal to sell, for it’s a shame to waste them.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I’m helluva sorry aboot a’ this.’

  Swallowing, Doddie said, ‘If only I hadna been awa’ …’

  ‘You canna change things.’

  They shooed the hens into the crate Andra had lent them for the purpose, Doddie saying, ‘The run’s nae worth takin’. I did buy nettin’ wire yesterday to mak’ a new ane, but it was left on the cart wi’ the rest o’ the stuff, so I suppose Andra’s got it. Oh, you might as weel tak’ this paraffin. There’s nae sense in leavin’ it here.’ He lifted the two-gallon tin, then laid it down with a hoarse cry. ‘It’s near empty!’

  ‘It doesna matter.’

  ‘Aye, it does. I bought it fae Dougal last Tuesday, an’ I just used it once, to fill the lamps on Tuesday night.’

  They stared at each other in astonishment, then Jake said, ‘You must ha’e used it for something else. Think, man.’

  ‘I suppose Mysie filled the lamps again when I was in the toon, but she wouldna ha’e used as muckle as that.’

  ‘But naebody else would ha’e used it.’

  ‘Somebody else must ha’e used it, aboot a gallon an’ a half o’ it, but what for?’ Doddie’s face darkened. ‘It could ha’e been the bugger that set fire to the place.’

  ‘For God’s sake, man, naebody would set fire to Rowanbrae. Your brain’s turned, an’ you’ll mind later on what you used the paraffin for. Or maybe Mysie used it to wash something doon.’

  ‘I never thought o’ that.’ Doddie’s anger was slowly fading, but there was still a trace of doubt in his voice.

  After the can was loaded, well away from the old mattress, they mounted the cart and Jake took the reins. ‘I wouldna say naething to Mysie aboot this, if I was you, Doddie,’ he said, as the horse set off. ‘She’s got enough to worry aboot as it is, withoot thinkin’ somebody set fire to her place.’

  From the expression on the other man’s face, Doddie could see that there was doubt in his mind, too, but, by common consent, the subject was not mentioned again. Mysie and her son were safe, and that was the main thing.

  The fire, of course, was the main topic of conversation in the area that day, and although no one could shed any light on how it had started, it was generally accepted that a piece of stick or peat had fallen on to the hearthrug.

  Jean Petrie had voiced her opinion to Belle Duff and Alice Thomson when they met at the well. ‘It’s a judgement on Doddie an’ Mysie, that’s what it is. The good Lord doesna tak’ kindly to them that br’ak his commandments, an’ I darena think what Jeems Duncan’ll say aboot it when he comes hame.’

  Regarding her warily, Belle muttered, ‘I dinna think Jeems’ll ever come hame.’

  Rather taken aback by this uninvited, and most unexpected, contradiction, Jean said, �
��What mak’s you think that?’

  ‘Weel, the day after young Jamie fell doon the quarry, the miller’s wife tell’t me Jeems blamed himsel’, an’ my Rab says he was a changed man right up till he disappeared, awfu’ quiet, an’ if he’d been broodin’ aboot it, weel … he was aye a queer man, nae very stable, nae wi’ a temper like yon … an’ maybe he did awa’ wi’ himsel’ … maybe he jumped doon the quarry?’

  This had never occurred to Jean Petrie, whose mouth fell open as wide as Alice Thomson’s in surprise. For at least twenty seconds, the three women pondered silently over this dreadful possibility, then Jean said slowly, as if it hurt her to admit it, ‘You ken, Belle, I think you’re maybe nae far wrang.’

  She could hardly wait to tell Eck, and refused to go in with Alice for her usual cup of tea in order to get home as quickly as she could. Leaving her two pails at the door of her cottar house, she carried on to Fingask, where her husband and the farmer were debating the need for new drains.

  Eck looked up frowning, annoyed at his wife for interrupting so important a discussion. ‘What are you needin’?’

  ‘Belle Duff thinks Jeems Duncan did awa’ wi’ himsel’,’ she burst out, his ill humour going straight over her head.

  ‘Belle Duff’s aye got some queer notion or other.’

  Frank Mutch scratched his nose. ‘It’s funny she should say that, though, for I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing mysel’.’

  As far as Jean was concerned, the oracle had spoken, and by that afternoon it was widely known that Jeems Duncan was lying at the bottom of the old quarry. No one, however, thought of informing the police – they had to do their own dirty work – but it must be true enough, for Eck Petrie’s wife had got it from Frank Mutch himself.

  With the mystery of Mysie’s husband’s departure now solved to their satisfaction, the women cast no further aspersions on her association with Doddie Wilson. She was a widow and was free to take another man if she wanted … but for the sake of decency, she might have waited a while longer. Only a few of the women, less gullible than the rest, kept their opinions to themselves – it was too easy to jump to conclusions.