The Road to Rowanbrae Read online

  Chapter Twenty

  1925

  Having worked at Ashley Road for seven years, Mysie knew all the visitors and was surprised when Miss Wallace said, ‘I am expecting a Mr Coutts and his two … friends at two o’clock this afternoon.’ She gave no further explanation, which made Mysie all the more curious when she admitted the two men and the forbidding-looking middle-aged woman, all soberly dressed.

  After an hour with no sign of them leaving, Mysie grew very anxious. The old lady was easily tired these days, and even Gregor and his sister didn’t stay as long as this, not that Mrs Phillip came often. Not normally inquisitive, Mysie hung around the hall waiting, and when the sitting room door opened, she moved forward to show the callers out. The young man and the woman smiled absently as they passed her, but the older man turned as he came through the door to look back into the room. ‘That is everything in order now, Miss Wallace, but remember, if you should change your mind …’

  ‘I will not change my mind!’ The emphatic retort made Mysie smile. Miss Wallace’s temper had not improved over the years.

  As he walked past her, the man – probably the Mr Coutts – said, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duncan. Your employer’s mind is still as clear as ever, and she knows what she wants.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Shutting the door, she wondered how he had known her name, and presumed that Miss Wallace had mentioned it in passing. Some people were quick at noticing things like that.

  Still curious as to who Mr Coutts was and what business he had been doing here – it must be business though he hadn’t looked like a tradesman – she tapped at the door of the sitting room and went in. ‘Are you all right, Miss Wallace? I hope your visitors weren’t too much for you?’

  A hint of a crafty smile crossed the old lady’s face. ‘My visitors were here at my request, but I do feel rather tired. Perhaps you would be good enough to take me to my room?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mysie could see that Miss Wallace did not intend to tell her anything, and, of course, there was not the slightest reason why she should.

  A particularly nasty cold had made the old lady take to bed, but when Mysie went into her bedroom one afternoon, she found Gina dancing in time to the old lady’s hand-clapping. ‘Gina!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘You’ll tire Miss Wallace out.’

  The seven-year-old came to a halt and looked sullenly at her mother, but Miss Wallace said, ‘Do not scold her, I was enjoying it. But perhaps you had better go now, Gina, my dear. I am still a bit weak.’

  When the girl ran out, the old lady said, ‘She would like to learn how to dance properly, and I think you ought to arrange for her to have lessons, Maisie. She is very graceful.’

  ‘It’s time she learned that she can’t have everything she wants. Now, do you need anything before I go? Maudie bought some nice haddock from the fishmonger when she was out this morning, so I can poach it or bake it in egg for your tea … unless you would rather have something else?’

  ‘I am not hungry, Maisie. A cup of tea will be sufficient.’

  ‘You don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow going. You’ll have to eat properly, or you’ll never get over this cold.’

  ‘One doesn’t need to eat so much as one grows older.’

  ‘You need more than a cup of tea.’

  Mysie closed the door softly, her anxiety for her employer deepening. Miss Wallace was so frail she looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away, her head was inclined to shake and even her voice had lost its bite. Maybe it was just the effects of the heavy cold she had, but it was worrying.

  The minute Mysie went into the kitchen, Gina pounced on her. ‘When can I start my dancing lessons?’

  ‘You’re not having any dancing lessons.’

  ‘But Miss Wallace said …’

  ‘Never mind what she said. She’s very old and doesn’t know how much things like that cost.’

  Stamping her foot, Gina cried, ‘She’s got plenty of money, and I’m sure she doesn’t care what things cost. She wants me to learn how to dance properly.’

  ‘That’s enough! I said no, and I mean no.’

  ‘You never want me to get anything!’ Gina’s bottom lip stuck out pettishly. ‘I wish Miss Wallace was my mother. She would never be as nasty to me as you are.’

  ‘She doesn’t know you like I do, so stop carrying on. You are not getting dancing lessons and that’s final!’

  Tossing her head, the little girl thumped down in a chair. ‘All the girls in my class at school get dancing lessons,’ she mumbled, but Mysie pretended not to hear. She shouldn’t have entered into an argument in the first place, and she would have to be firmer, before her daughter got out of hand altogether. It was a pity that Miss Wallace had insisted on putting her in a private school, for she was getting ideas above herself, and her mother had enough to worry about without that.

  When Gregor called in – as he did every day on his way home now – and learned of Mysie’s concern for his aunt, he said, ‘She’s eighty-eight and we can’t expect her to be as sprightly as she used to be. She’s lucky having you to look after her, Maisie. I only wish I had the same luck.’

  She looked away. Although he had never mentioned marriage again, he often came out with things like that, and it still made her feel uncomfortable. ‘She didn’t eat any of her tea, and she’ll die if she doesn’t eat.’

  ‘Perhaps she would be quite happy to die.’

  Shocked, she looked back at him again quickly. ‘Oh, no! It’s not as if she has nobody of her own. She’s got you and your sister.’

  ‘And you and Sandy and Gina. I’m sure she thinks more of you and your family than she does of Margaret and me.’

  ‘She thinks the world of you and your sister.’

  ‘One day, you’ll find out that I am right.’ Leaning forward, Gregor planted a kiss on her cheek.

  She was too dismayed to say anything, and the enigmatic look he gave her as he went out puzzled her. There had been the usual disquieting affection in it, the affection she could never return, but there had been something different about it, as if he knew something that she didn’t, or thought he did.

  She was still pondering over this when Sandy came home. At eighteen, he was much taller than he had been at twelve, and his body had broadened out. His light brown hair was darkened by the pomade he used nowadays to tame it, and his deep voice always came as a surprise to her. He was in his first year in Law at Aberdeen University, and was more reserved than he had been before. Whilst Mysie was grateful to Miss Wallace for giving him this opportunity, she was a little afraid that he would come to despise his mother for the lowly position she held, but so far, there had been no sign of that.

  ‘You’ll never guess who I ran into today?’ he said, sitting down at the kitchen table, and before she could answer, he went on, ‘I was crossing the quad and there was Bobby Phillip going the other way. I haven’t seen him for nearly eight years, but we recognised each other right away. This is his second year.’

  ‘Fancy that,’ Mysie said, busy dishing up.

  ‘He goes to the Tivoli every week with some friends, and he asked if I’d like to go with them tonight, so could you …?’

  Mysie had experienced a moment of unease at the thought of the old alliance being resurrected, but Sandy had changed, so perhaps Bobby had quietened down, too. ‘You want your pocket money early, is that it?’

  ‘If you can, please. I don’t suppose I’ll be making a habit of this, but Bobby says the Tivoli is good relaxation after studying hard for five days a week.’

  Considering that he couldn’t get into any trouble by going to a theatre, Mysie gave him a half-crown out of her purse. ‘I hope that’s enough?’ She didn’t spend much on herself, and Miss Wallace hardly allowed her to pay for anything that Sandy and Gina needed, but two-and-six was always two-and-six.

  ‘Oh Lord, it’s more than enough. Thanks.’

  ‘Why does Sandy always get what he wants and I don’t?’ Gina asked, petulantly.

 
Sandy’s glance was scathing. ‘Because I’m older.’

  ‘But that shouldn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Maybe Mother doesn’t love you as much as she loves me.’

  ‘I don’t care if she doesn’t, then.’ The girl’s eyes flashed. ‘Miss Wallace loves me better than you.’

  Mysie stepped in now. ‘I love you both the same and so does Miss Wallace, so stop being so silly, Gina.’

  Later, after everything had been tidied away, and the oldest and the youngest members of the household had been settled for the night, Mysie sat down. There was always darning to do, for both her children were hard on their socks. Pushing the wooden mushroom into the toe of one of Sandy’s, she recalled what Gregor had said about his aunt and wondered what would happen to her when Miss Wallace did die. She would have no home, no job, no money to keep Sandy at university nor Gina at the Girls’ High. It was too awful to think about. The poor woman wouldn’t live for ever, of course, and it would have to be faced some time, but surely not for years yet?

  Sandy had told her that he was going to the first house of the Tivoli, but it was well after ten before he came home. ‘It was marvellous,’ he burst out. ‘Dancers, acrobats, comedians, everything, and we went to the Criterion afterwards.’

  ‘That’s a bar, isn’t it?’ Mysie looked aghast. ‘You’re far too young to be going into a …’

  ‘I’m not, and we only had a beer each. I didn’t like to say anything, but I didn’t like it all that much.’

  ‘I should hope not. Oh, Sandy, what were you thinking of?’

  ‘The Criterion’s respectable enough, and Bobby’s asked me to go with them again next week.’

  Knowing that forbidding him to go would only make him more determined, Mysie sighed. ‘As long as you stop at one drink, then. Now, be quiet when you go upstairs.’

  Before she went into her own room, she peeped in to check on her employer and was pleased that she was sleeping peacefully. If the poor woman got one good night’s rest, her appetite might pick up and her health would improve.

  When Mysie took in Miss Wallace’s breakfast the next morning and saw her lying in exactly the same position, she laid the tray down on the chest of drawers and hurried across the room in consternation. Her fears were justified – when she touched the woman’s brow, it was ice cold. Realising that the old lady could have been dead when she looked at her the night before, Mysie panicked and raced downstairs in such a state that Sandy had to calm her before she could tell him what had happened.

  He took charge then. ‘I’ll telephone the doctor first, and I suppose you want me to let Mr Wallace know? He always seems to be hanging around you.’

  When Gregor arrived Mysie was still in shock. ‘If I’d only made sure she was all right last night …’

  Scarcely realising what she was doing, she let him take her in his arms and cried against his shoulder, as he murmured, ‘Don’t upset yourself like this, Maisie, dear – it wouldn’t have made any difference, and we should be thankful that she died peacefully.’

  At last, catching sight of Sandy’s disapproving expression, she pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, Gregor, but it was such a shock finding her like that. Oh, there’s the doctor.’

  ‘I’ll go. You had better sit down, my dear.’

  Over the next few days, Mysie kept herself from thinking by scrubbing and polishing until she was fit to drop, paying no attention to Gregor, Sandy or Maudie, who all told her to take it easy. ‘I must get everything clean for the funeral,’ she half-sobbed. ‘You know Miss Wallace would hate people to see the place if it wasn’t clean.’

  Gregor did push her into a chair at one stage. ‘It was clean enough before,’ he said, gently, but she was on her feet again in a few minutes and he let her carry on.

  On the day of the funeral, she prepared sandwiches, washed already-spotless dishes and arranged furniture to make room for extra chairs for the mourners. Twenty minutes before the service was due to begin, she went upstairs to dress, putting on a parson grey skirt and a dove grey jumper because she had nothing black to wear. People had started to arrive before she came down again, so she showed them into the sitting room as Maudie let them in. At three o’clock, when the minister began speaking over the open coffin, she stood at the back, near the door, so upset that she hardly heard a word. Beatrice Wallace may not have been most of her maids’ idea of a good employer, but her housekeeper, for one, could vouch that her sharp tongue and short temper had masked a heart of pure gold.

  As the flat voice droned on, Mysie was remembering the old lady’s kindnesses to her – paying for everything at the time of Gina’s birth; sending her son and daughter to good schools and buying their uniforms and other clothes; and, more generous than anything else, keeping her on despite her confession after Jess had unwittingly revealed her secret. She hadn’t confessed everything, of course – she could never bring herself to do that – but most women would have sacked her on the spot, and Miss Wallace had never mentioned it again and had treated her the same as she had always done.

  The throat-clearing and shuffling of feet made Mysie aware that the eulogy was over, and before the undertakers had even begun to screw down the coffin lid, she had gone back to the kitchen. The funeral tea would have to be served when those who were going in the cortege to Allenvale Cemetery returned to the house. It wasn’t like in the country, of course, where the men – and any women who wished – walked behind the hearse to the kirkyard, in some cases a distance of several miles; in Aberdeen they had motor cars to transport them in comfort.

  In a few moments, Mrs Phillip came in, looking very smart in a black coat and hat with just a touch of colour provided by a purple feather. ‘It’s the end of an era, isn’t it?’ She lifted a cup idly then laid it down again. ‘What will you do now that my aunt has passed on, Mrs Duncan?’

  Mysie had not allowed herself to think about it. ‘I’ll have to find another job. Other ladies must need housekeepers.’

  ‘I am willing to provide a reference if you need it.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Phillip. I’ll remember that.’

  ‘One thing I ought to mention, however – I cannot possibly let you have your old job back. I have found an exceptionally good cook meantime, and …’

  ‘Oh, I never even dreamt you would take me back.’

  A slight sigh escaped the painted lips. ‘I thought I should make it perfectly clear. Well, I suppose I must go and talk to all the old ladies who are still in the sitting room. I trust that you have everything organised here?’

  ‘Yes, everything’s ready.’

  On her way to the door, Mrs Phillip turned round. ‘Mr Coutts will be reading the will afterwards. This place will likely have to be sold, since my brother and I both have houses of our own, so I would advise you to find new employment as soon as you can, both of you.’

  So that’s what Mr Coutts was, Mysie thought – a solicitor. When he was here that day, about seven or eight weeks ago, he must have been helping Miss Wallace to make out her will, and the other two people would have been there as witnesses, likely a clerk and clerkess. As the sound of Mrs Phillip’s footsteps receded, Maudie whispered, ‘I wouldn’t like to get on her wrong side. She sounds a right tartar to me.’

  ‘She’s not really. She was good to me, and she recommended me for this job.’ Thinking that the maid might wonder why she had ever left Burnlea House, Mysie cast a quick glance at her, but Maudie was filling another milk jug.

  When the cars returned, and while she and Maudie made sure that everyone had something to eat and drink, Mr Coutts drew Mysie aside. ‘Mr Wallace and Mrs Phillip are to be remaining behind for the reading of the will, and I want you and Miss Low to be present, too.’

  Knowing that Gregor and his sister had no other relatives left alive, Mysie had taken it for granted that their aunt’s estate would be divided between them, but supposed that the old lady had left Maudie and her a little memento. She was glad, for it would be nice to have something
to remember her by.

  It was fully an hour later before the chattering neighbours and friends left and Gregor rang the bell. Going along the hall, Maudie nudged Mysie and whispered, ‘I hope Miss Wallace has left me the little clock on her dressing table. I think she knew I always liked it.’

  Mysie said nothing. Whatever she got, she would treasure it for the rest of her life. In the sitting room, she sat on the edge of a seat and twisted her hands nervously as Mr Coutts laid a document on the table. ‘As you all know,’ he began, looking round them with a faint smile, ‘Miss Wallace knew her own mind. This will, drawn up only two months ago, revokes her previous will, and she insisted that it be made out the way she dictated so that no confusion would arise over complicated legal terms – her words, not mine. However, you are free to ask me at any time about anything you cannot understand.’

  ‘I am sure we will understand if Aunt Beatrice dictated it,’ Margaret Phillip said, impatiently. ‘Go ahead, Mr Coutts.’

  He bent his head to read. ‘To Maud Low, who remained with me for longer than any of my other maidservants, and who never grovelled nor snivelled, I leave my dressing table clock, which I know she has always admired, also the sum of £300, which I am sure she will put to good use.’ Maud’s gasp made him stop briefly to smile to her. ‘For the children of my housekeeper, Alexander and Georgina Duncan, I wish the sum of £500 each to be placed in trust until they attain the age of twenty-one.’

  ‘That’s just like Aunt Beatrice,’ Margaret Phillip observed with a forced smile at her ex-cook, who was so overcome that she could not speak. ‘She thought a lot of your children.’

  ‘For Robert and Beatrice Phillip, my grand-nephew and -niece, £500 each to be placed in trust until they attain the age of twenty-one.’ Observing Mrs Phillip’s stony face, the solicitor rushed on. ‘To my housekeeper, Maisie Duncan, who looked after me so devotedly and kept my household running so smoothly, and who was like a daughter to me, I give the sum of £2000, with a further £500 to be used to complete her children’s education.’

  Numbed by the large amount, Mysie was taken aback when Mrs Phillip said, her mouth working spasmodically, ‘Congratulations, Mrs Duncan. You and your family have done very well out of my aunt, haven’t you?’