The Shadow of the Sycamores Page 14

  ‘Aye, you’re right. It takes two to keep up a quarrel.’

  In Oak Cottage, Nessie could see that her husband was brooding over something. ‘What’s troubling you, Willie? Henry’s got himself a real nice wife.’

  ‘That’s nae what’s worrying me. Tell me, did he say anything to you about … his birth certificate?’

  ‘Not a word but he must have got it or he couldn’t have got wed.’

  ‘So he kens.’

  ‘Kens what? Is there something queer on his birth certificate? Was your first wife not his mother? Was it some other woman?’

  ‘Nothing like that. Bella was his mother. She died giving birth to him.’

  ‘Well, what …? Are you not his father, then?’

  ‘Of course I’m his father but …’ Willie shook his head hopelessly. ‘I’d best tell you but it’s a long story.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

  Nessie had been apprehensive, wondering what on earth could have been wrong with a birth certificate but, as the tale unfolded, she couldn’t help smiling. ‘You believed the Session Clerk when he said it was a Russian name? Oh, Willie Rae, that’s the funniest thing I ever heard and I’m not surprised Isie sent you back to get it changed.’

  The final touches, the whisky drinking, John Gow’s refusal to alter the name, made her double up with laughter. ‘I had the feeling you’d been a boozer before we wed,’ she gurgled after a while. ‘That’s why I wouldn’t let you out on your own if I could help it but I know you used to sneak out to The Doocot when you got the chance.’

  Deeply put out by his wife’s reception of what he considered a big problem, it did not occur to Willie to warn her to keep it to herself so Nessie, quite innocently, passed the hilarious story around her small circle of friends who, in turn, circulated it to a much wider audience. In just a matter of days, therefore, word had gone round most of the inhabitants of Ardbirtle, backed up, if proof were needed, by Mrs John Gow, who had been the first to know – after her husband. Unfortunately, like all gossip, the basic facts were inevitably embroidered upon and grew to be a story of Bella’s adultery with a Russian sailor – although where the poor soul could have met a Russian sailor was never explained.

  There were, happily for Willie, still some stalwarts who did not believe a word of it. Geordie Mavor fell out with his wife over it and his brother Tam threatened to punch his next-door neighbour for slandering the dead woman, ‘innocent as the day she was born’.

  It was some weeks before Ben Roberts, during a visit to the smiddy, told Willie what was being said. ‘It might be a good thing if you came to The Doocot and put an end to the rumour,’ the Londoner advised. ‘I hardly knew your first wife but I do know that she would never have done what they think.’

  Willie’s first feeling was anger at Nessie for ‘clyping’ so, as soon as Ben had taken his newly shod horse away, he stamped into the house to have it out with her. ‘I thought you would’ve had more sense than tell outsiders what’s on my son’s birth certificate!’ he roared. ‘Ben Roberts says everybody thinks my poor Bella had been taking up wi’ a Russky.’

  Nessie had turned pale. ‘Oh, Willie, I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything like that. I only told some of my friends about the mix-up over the name to give them a laugh. I never thought they’d twist things round to suit themselves.’

  ‘You should’ve ken’t …’

  She nodded sadly. ‘Aye, I should.’

  ‘Ben Roberts says I should go to The Doocot and put an end to the rumour so I’ll go there after supper – no matter what you say.’

  Nessie had congratulated herself on stopping his drinking but this was different. This was a necessity – to undo trouble she had unwittingly caused. ‘You’d best go, Willie, if that’s what Ben Roberts says.’ She issued not one word of caution as to the amount he could consume and prepared to turn a blind eye if he came home drunk.

  Geordie Mavor gave his brother a kick on the shin. ‘Look who’s just walked in.’

  Tam looked round and smiled. ‘Aye, aye, Willie. We havena seen you for a good while. Sit doon and gi’e’s your …’

  ‘I’ll keep standing if you dinna mind.’ Willie’s eyes went round the small room and he smiled with satisfaction at the number of men already there. ‘I’ve something to say,’ he announced loudly, making every head turn in his direction. ‘I’ve been hearing what folks is saying about my Bella and I’m here to tell you the true story of the name on Henry’s birth certificate.’

  Desperate to hear this, every man in the room cocked his ears – most were so interested that they forgot about the glass in front of them. ‘Some o’ you can maybe mind,’ Willie began, ‘I was celebrating here the day my son was born but I went hame to find by wife had died. Isie McIntyre, my mother-in-law, sent me to register the birth and the death and I came back here for I’d been drinking wi’ John Gow and I ken’t he’d still be here.’

  Geordie clapped his hands with glee. ‘That’s right, Willie, I can mind that. And you and him was stottin’ fu’ when you went oot.’ A chorus of ‘Wheesht, man,’ wiped the grin from his face.

  Willie told them everything that he could remember about his first visit to the vestry and his glare, circling the entire room, dared anyone to say a word. Then he said, ‘Now I’ll tell you the bit that naebody seems to ken.’

  By the time he was halfway through this account, most of his listeners’ faces bore some degree of smile and, when he came to the end, they, like Nessie had been, were doubled up with mirth.

  ‘Oh, man, Willie,’ Tam sniggered, ‘what a idiot you was. You minded hearing Isie say Chookie to the bairn, and you thocht …’

  ‘My brain was pickled wi’ whisky,’ Willie reminded him, humbly now.

  ‘That’s the best laugh I’ve had in years,’ Ben Roberts told him. ‘Sit down, Willie, and I’ll give you a dram on the house.’

  Needing no further persuasion, Willie sat down beside his two old cronies but Geordie said, nose wrinkled in puzzlement, ‘But you’ve never tell’t us where Bella met this Russian lad.’

  Outraged, his brother picked up his cloth cap and gave him a wallop on the ear. ‘Geordie, you never had much o’ a brain fae the time you was born and what you had was pickled afore you was twenty. Did you nae listen to what Willie said? Chookie was what Isie McIntyre cried to her hens when she went oot to feed them …’

  ‘Aye but where did the Russky come in?’

  ‘Godalmichty, Geordie! There never was a Russky. Willie got a bit mixed-up … Ach, what’s the use? Get back to sleep, man, it’s the only thing you’re good at.’

  There was quite a buzz of conversation going on around them, as Willie had expected, but what he had not expected was the numerous tots of whisky laid down in front of him with comments such as, ‘My God, Willie, I dinna ken if I could’ve stood up and tell’t the truth like that.’

  And, ‘It takes courage to own up to a mistake like you made.’

  Or, ‘I admire a man that can say something like that.’

  At closing time, Willie discovered that, in spite of his intention not to take any liquor, he had drunk as much as he used to take when he was a regular at The Doocot and it was having an even worse effect on him. Ben Roberts, fully aware that Willie’s condition was actually his fault, left his wife to lock up the bar while he helped the incapable man home.

  Nessie accepted his help to get her husband to bed, an almost impossible task, which ended in him being practically thrown on top of the bedclothes with all his clothes on, a bulky, floppy bundle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rae,’ Ben said as she saw him out. ‘You’d be quite right to blame me for the state he is in but I do think every man there got the message he gave out. None of them thinks ill of his first wife now.’

  ‘I’m glad of that, then, and I’m grateful to you for making him do it but now they’ll be laughing at him.’

  Ben shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘They had a good laugh about it but they all admired him and w
anted to treat him for having the nerve to make it public. That’s why he is in his present condition. Don’t hold it against him, Mrs Rae. He is a hero.’

  ‘I understand, Mr Roberts, and thank you for making sure he got home.’

  The men who had been present that night were all convinced that Willie’s story was true – he would never have set himself up for ridicule if it were not – but there were others, the teetotallers who had never let a drop of liquor pass their lips, the prim ‘Holy Willies’ who condemned any kind of alcohol, who murmured to each other that it was a ruse to put people off the scent. Willie Rae had been cuckolded by his wife and he had tried to pull the wool over folk’s eyes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  1890

  It was the second night of their marriage before something occurred to Henry and he wondered why he had not realised it before. As his wife now, Fay was legally known as Mrs Henry Rae so, if she had to sign her name, she would have to write Fay Rae. Fairy! She was so small and dainty, her face, figure and temperament perfect in every way; it was an ideal pet name for her.

  ‘Fairy,’ he murmured, turning to her yet again. ‘My own darling Fairy.’

  She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Have you just newly noticed? I worked it out even before you asked me to marry you.’

  Her quiet giggle sent delicious tingles all through him but he tried not to notice them. ‘You knew I was going to ask?’

  ‘I hoped you were going to ask.’

  Another giggle made him move back from her so that she wouldn’t feel how much they affected him.

  ‘Do you think less of me for that?’ she asked, sounding slightly hurt.

  ‘No, no! It’s not that. I could never think badly of you.’

  ‘You are afraid I’ll know that you want us to make love again?’

  ‘Yes … oh, you must think I’ve nothing else in my mind.’

  The giggle became a hearty chuckle. ‘To be quite honest, Tchouki darling, neither have I. Does that disgust you?’

  ‘It makes me want you even more but we can’t – not again. We might have made a child already.’

  ‘I hope we have.’

  ‘We can’t start a family yet, my Fairy. Living in one room like this? I’ll have to find a better job and a house and …’ He broke off as she snuggled closer.

  ‘Other people have to bring up a family in one room,’ she whispered. ‘If they can manage, so can we.’

  ‘I don’t want you to have to scrimp and save to put food in our children’s mouths, to give them decent clothes.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, my darling. As long as I have you, I would scrub floors, take in washings, do whatever I could to earn some money. I’m much stronger than I look.’

  The thought of such a future drained every iota of his reviving passion and he lay round on to his back. ‘We shouldn’t have got wed. Like your father said, we were too young, we hadn’t thought things out … I can’t provide for you as I would like.’

  ‘Oh, Tchouki, my darling Tchouki, forget about ordinary things. We are man and wife now, we love each other more than any other man and wife ever did or ever will and we are young enough to enjoy it – so we must make the most of it.’

  With her warm body pressed against his, he groaned, ‘My own, dearest Fairy.’ Flinging caution – reserve, fear, everything that had held him back – to the winds he made the most of it.

  Nessie could tell that her husband was having a hard time of it. He had been in this dark mood ever since he had made his confession in The Doocot. ‘They’ll forget about it, Willie,’ she comforted. ‘Another week or two and they’ll stop tormenting you. You did the right thing.’

  Willie looked at her sadly. ‘I’m nae so sure o’ that. If I’d never admitted what I did when I was as drunk as a lord, naebody would’ve ever found oot.’

  Nessie shook her head. ‘John Gow told his wife before he died and Nora Jane wouldn’t have held her tongue for much longer. In fact, I don’t think she did keep it to herself. Some of the women have been hinting at something queer about the Raes for months now but I had no idea what they were getting at – not till you said. To be fair, Willie, you’ve only yourself to blame – making such a muck-up of registering your only son.’

  He regarded her piteously. ‘That’s the worst o’ it, Ness.’

  That afternoon, Willie was so engrossed in moulding a new iron rim round the mangled wheel of a cart, that had come to grief when its drunken driver had made his horse go too fast, that he wasn’t conscious of another presence in the smiddy until a voice said, ‘Aye, aye, then, Willie.’

  Startled, he looked up into the face of the town’s Provost, whom he had known since they were boys, though Augustus Fleming never usually did his own errands. It was always one of the hired hands who came to have a horse shod or whatever needed to be done. ‘Good afternoon to you, Mester Provost,’ he said, wiping his hands on his canvas apron and then running them across his brow to remove the sweat. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Never one to shirk a duty – the reason for him being voted in as Provost – Gus Fleming came straight out with it. ‘There’s talk in the town about your boy, Willie.’

  ‘Ach, that!’ Willie said sharply, indignant that the top man in Ardbirtle was poking his long nose into something that didn’t concern him, something that had happened near eighteen years ago.

  ‘Now, don’t fly off the handle, I’m not criticising you or your son. I suppose you have heard about Phil Geddes?’

  More puzzled than ever, Willie nodded. ‘He’s laid up wi’ some kind o’ disease?’

  ‘An incurable disease, I am afraid. He has been told he will never be fit enough to return to work, which means we are without a Town Officer. We prefer this post to go to an Ardbirtle man who comes of good stock, someone old enough to take on the responsibilities the job carries and young enough to have many years of service ahead of him. Do you understand what I am getting at, Willie?’

  ‘Are you saying … you think my Henry …?’

  ‘I can think of no one else as well qualified. You have a good reputation as a blacksmith and, although you were quite a heavy drinker at one time, as I recall, you have conquered the demon and become a model citizen. I admire that in a man and I admire you even more for what I hear you did recently in The Doocot. You must have known that you were holding yourself up for ridicule yet you did not hesitate to clear your late wife’s name. Your son should be proud of you.’

  ‘I … dinna th … think he would look on it like th … that, though,’ Willie stammered, overcome by embarrassment.

  ‘He will when he thinks about it objectively. But I diverge. From what I hear of him, he would be perfect for the post. I am told he has married recently and he will, no doubt, be anxious to settle down and provide a decent home for his wife. I believe she is Joseph Leslie’s daughter? The Drymill pharmacist?’

  Rather more composed now that he knew the score, Willie said, ‘Aye, Gus, and my lad couldna have found a better wife.’

  ‘I am glad to hear that. What I require of you now, William, is the address of the farm where he works so that I can write to offer him the position.’

  This subtle use of his full Christian name reminding him of his lower status, Willie answered respectfully. ‘He left Craigdownie a few year ago, Mester Provost. He’s odd-job man at The Sycamores. You’ll ken it?’

  ‘The Sycamores? Yes, of course, I know the place you mean. Odd-job man, is it? So much the better. He will be used to turning his hand to anything.’

  ‘He’ll not be scared to tackle anything you ask o’ him.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, it was good speaking to you, Willie, and keep up the fine work here in the smiddy.’

  Too excited to work now, Willie said, ‘You’ll come into the house for something to warm you up afore you go out into the cauld again?’

  ‘Well, thank you, Willie, a cup of tea would be very acceptable.’

  Willie closed the corrugated iron doors behind them, to s
ave heat being lost, and ushered the Provost through the back door of his cottage proudly. Nessie was a perfect housewife, keeping every stick of furniture polished and every inch of the place sparkling clean so there was nothing to be ashamed of. ‘This is Nessie, my wife,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘Ness, this is the Provost come in for a cup o’ tea.’

  She had seen the man several times, going about the town, but had never been introduced to him before and she was surprised by the strength of pressure in his handshake. ‘Sit yourself down, Provost,’ she said, turning to the range and glad of the excuse to hide her burning face. Watching her as she set the kettle on the fire, swilled out the large brown teapot then spooned in tea from the caddy on the mantelshelf, Augustus Fleming told her his reason for coming to see her husband.

  Thirsty from working in such a hot atmosphere, Willie swiftly emptied his cup and stood up. ‘Tak’ your time, Mester Provost,’ he smiled, ‘I’ve a good few jobs to get through afore I lock up for the day, but Nessie’ll look after you.’

  He strode out without waiting for any reply, leaving them looking at each other in some dismay – the woman because she didn’t know how to deal with anyone holding such high office and the man because he had been attracted to her from the moment he walked into her kitchen.

  Nessie pushed a plate across to him. ‘You’ll have another scone, Mister Provost?’

  He helped himself with a smile. ‘Your own baking, obviously. They’re absolutely delicious. And the strawberry jam, you made that, as well?’

  Flattered, she felt more at ease. ‘Does your wife not bake, Mister Provost.’

  ‘My wife died almost twenty years ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Nessie couldn’t think what else to say.

  ‘I have a woman who comes in to clean for me but she never has time to do any baking. Willie is a lucky man.’ His gaze deepened in intensity. ‘A very lucky man.’