The Shadow of the Sycamores Read online

  He stared into the fire for some time after the door closed. He could never leave Anna, no matter what. He didn’t care if she didn’t want to be a proper wife to him, as long as she got well enough to come home to their cottage and he could see her every day … and night. As he visualised this, the first prickle of doubt set in. Would he really be content with that? Now that he knew the facts of life, could he lie beside her every night and not touch her? His body had needed her before, when he didn’t know what was happening to him, but she had rejected him. Could he withstand rejection now? She had protested that she didn’t want to be hurt. Had Moonie hurt her? Would he ever manage to banish that man from his mind when he was with his wife? Would the spectre of that monster forcing himself on her ever go away?

  The seventeen-year-old realised then that Tina Paul had been right. He needed his family. He needed his mother! She would tell him what to do. She wouldn’t judge Anna for letting Moonie into her house when she’d had no choice. She would likely be angrier with him for not telling her about his marriage. About the baby … her grandson? But he hadn’t been her grandson, of course. God, what an awful mess!

  Jerry’s brain was too active for sleep that night and he sat by the fire going over and over everything that had happened since he had first seen Anna – trying to sort out his true feelings about the events of the last three days. Finally, as the little clock on the mantelshelf struck six, he rose to make himself ready for work. It would be better to keep himself occupied instead of constantly tormenting himself like this.

  Pouring some water from the kettle into the old tin mug he had lately started to use and taking the cut-throat razor Dod Lumsden had given him out of its box, he stood in front of the dresser mirror to remove the downy growth from his chin. He had just made two careful strokes when the door burst open and Tina ran in, her eyes almost popping out of her head when she saw what he had in his hand.

  ‘No, Jerry! Don’t do it! Not you as well!’

  His hand dropped. ‘What d’you mean, not me as well?’

  She thumped down on the old couch, buried her face in her hands and began to sob hysterically, while Jerry sat down beside her to wait for the storm to pass so that she could tell him what had happened. Some minutes later, with no sign of it abating, he put his arm gingerly round her shoulders. ‘You’d better tell me what’s wrong, Tina.’

  The words were barely out of his mouth when comprehension came. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘No! Oh, for God’s sake, Tina, tell me it’s not my Anna.’

  Tears still streaming down her cheeks, the twenty-one-year-old looked up into his face. ‘Oh, God … Jerry … I’m sorry.’ The words were punctuated by great shuddering sobs and he knew before she told him.

  Holding each other for solace, they wept together until they were exhausted, Tina being first to make a move. The kettle Jerry had put back on the swey was singing merrily again, so she rose to make some tea. There was nothing stronger than that to help them.

  While they drank the strong, sweet brew she made, she told him what had happened – or what she thought had happened. ‘She was awful quiet when I put her to bed last night but she hasn’t said much since … Anyway, I sat with her till I was sure she was asleep, then I went down to the storeroom to check if anything needed to be ordered. Mrs Miller likes to know before anything goes done. Anna was still sleeping when I went back but she must have risen while I was out and … she’d got hold of Mr Miller’s cut-throat … she must have gone to their private bathroom … and she’d been hiding it under the blankets or the pillow.’

  The brave face she had put on dissolved in grief again. ‘Oh, Jerry! If only I’d thought to check if everything was all right … if only I’d looked. But I was really tired, I’ve hardly had any sleep since the … but that’s no excuse. I should have thought … I should have!’

  Knowing what was coming and dreading hearing it, Jerry watched her scrubbing at her eyes with an already wet handkerchief. His hands knotted together by some invisible chain, he could not move. He was completely incapable of doing or saying anything to show the nurse that it was not her fault. In any case, she would probably always feel guilty and it would make no difference what he did.

  With an obvious struggle, she managed to overcome her sorrow long enough to tell the young man how she had gone back upstairs after her breakfast with a tray for Anna and, mercifully, kept short the description of the bloody scene that met her eyes when she opened the door.

  They sat silently now, their agonised thoughts centring on the beautiful girl they had both loved so dearly – Jerry with no recognition of her frailties, Tina because of them. They would miss her, would always find pity for her in their hearts, for the tragedies she had encountered in her short life. Even sitting apart, each gradually became conscious of the other and let their own misery encompass their companion’s.

  After a while, Tina murmured, ‘I just remembered. Mrs Miller told me to take you back with me, Jerry. She says we can’t leave you here on your own.’

  He was well aware of what the woman had meant. On his own, he would sit and mope. He would go into a decline and want to end his life, too.

  ‘Come on, Jerry,’ Tina urged. ‘I’m not leaving unless you’re with me.’

  He gave in, standing up to get his jacket. What good would it do to kill himself? It wouldn’t bring Anna back and it would cause his parents so much heartache.

  Raymond Miller laid the letter down on his desk in front of him, wondering if this was how God was choosing to punish him. While he had truly pitied the poor parents for the death of their child, his main reaction to Charles Moonie’s evil actions had been worry that it would affect The Sycamores. Would those responsible for the payment of fees take their relatives away? Would the place be ostracised? Would the Board of Governors close it down? Dolly had told him he was worrying for nothing, that none of the incidents had been made public.

  ‘Nobody knows anything,’ she had said, ‘just that Anna went missing for a while. ‘They don’t know anything else and, even if they did, the sudden death of an infant is not uncommon and nor is that of a man of Charles’s age.’

  She was right of course and this morning’s tragedy … well, no one other than themselves, Tina and the doctor knew what Anna had done. When he had been called, the doctor had taken one look at the girl, shaken his head and written out the death certificate. ‘Poor lass,’ he had commented on his way out, ‘but it would be as well for you not to tell anybody how she died. Her brain was pretty fragile, as everyone here knew, and they’ll just think it had snapped altogether. It does happen, you know.’

  He had shaken hands with Dolly then and told her to keep a close watch on the young husband, just in case. Although that had taken place over two hours ago now, Raymond could still recall the gratitude he had felt towards the man. His handling of the situation meant that The Sycamores could go on as usual, that his and Dolly’s futures were safe. But everything had changed now!

  Heaving a long sigh, he picked up the letter again. An official letter! From the War Ministry! How on earth could those old men in far-off London just snap their fingers and expect people in the north-east of Scotland to do their bidding? Without question? What would happen to the poor residents when the place was commandeered? Would they have to be shifted to the County Asylum … the Madhouse?

  He was still sitting with the drastic communication in his hand when his wife came into the room. ‘Jerry is in a terrible state,’ she observed, ‘but I don’t think he is suicidal, thank goodness.’ Getting merely a grunt in reply, she noticed the sheet of paper in his hand. ‘What’s that? What’s wrong?’

  He handed it over without a word and watched her while she read it. ‘Well, I suppose it had to come,’ she said at last, laying it down on the table. ‘According to what I’ve heard, a lot of big houses have been taken over and we’re in an ideal spot for training soldiers, surrounded by moors and mountains.’

  ‘Do you not feel angry about it?’ Raymond
asked, astonished at her calm acceptance of the bombshell. ‘It will mean the end for us, as well as for all our guests.’

  ‘Other places will likely be found for the guests,’ she soothed, ‘and, as for us, to tell the truth, I’ll be quite glad to stop working. This last week has been too much for me. I would rather we retired and spent the rest of our lives in peace.’

  Taking time at last to consider more fully the eventual consequence of the War Department’s order, Raymond felt the tight band round his chest easing. He and Dolly had run this place to the best of their ability for over ten years and made a good job of it but it was certainly beginning to take its toll on them. It would be heaven to lie in bed of a morning with nothing to worry about except the weather; to be able to do what he liked when he liked; to have time to read the newspapers from front page to last with no interruptions.

  Taking off his spectacles, he laid them alongside the fateful letter. ‘Yes, Dolly, you’re right, as always. We have earned the right to take things easy. It will mean a change in our lifestyle, a vast reduction in income …’ He leaned back in his chair, pleased that his worries had proved groundless. ‘But no doubt we shall manage.’ His face sobered. ‘Dolly, my dear, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  She bent over and kissed his cheek, bristly because he had no razor, or rather, he could not bring himself to use his razor after what had happened. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you at times either,’ she murmured. ‘We have made an ideal Superintendent and wife and we did everything we could to shield The Sycamores from scandal, though we need not have bothered. I have no doubt that we will make an ideal retired couple, counting the pennies but getting closer as we grow old. Darby and Joan.’ She straightened up now. ‘But it is back to the grindstone. There is much work to be done before we can relinquish the reins.’

  * * *

  With her father-in-law visibly getting frailer by the day, Fay had made a point of taking him something to eat every morning and afternoon for some weeks now, apprehensive each time she went in as to what she might find. Willie was inclined to be grumpy – complaining, ‘You canna cook like Janet – you’re even worse than Nessie’ – but she knew that he did appreciate what she did for him. He allowed her to trim his hair, his bushy beard and moustache and even to wash most of his body, though she was very relieved that he always mumbled, ‘Just leave me some privacy,’ as he placed his big hands over his private parts.

  However, there came a time when she had to insist that she washed him there as well, otherwise he would be ‘stinking to high heaven’, as she put it, trying to smother her own embarrassment as well as his. As he remarked to Henry, who looked in on him every evening, ‘That wife of yours has nae shame. She sees bits o’ me naebody else has ever seen.’

  Although he hated the idea of his wife touching his father in such a way, Henry tried to make light of it. ‘She’s seen it all before.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Willie looked at him with a glint of mischief in his eyes. ‘And are you and her still …?’ He gave a lewd snigger and ended, ‘Well, that’s fine, then. If you’re still doing your duty as her man, I can stop being feared she’ll jump on me some morning.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ In spite of himself, Henry had to laugh but, on his way home, he didn’t feel easy in his mind. As he had heard during his time at The Sycamores, some old men reverted to their lusty youth and his father had been an extremely lusty young man – he, himself, was his thirteenth child. If his mind was running on that subject, his father might try to interfere with Fay. It was a disgusting thought but it had to be considered.

  His wife looked up when he went in. ‘How is he, then?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She laid down the pair of trousers she was patching. ‘I can tell something’s bothering you, Henry, so you had better tell me. Is he worse?’

  ‘Are you having to wash his … wash him all over?’

  Knowing what he was thinking, she smiled, ‘Every inch. Why?’

  ‘It’s … um … not decent. If you’d said, I could have washed him instead.’

  Rather amused at his primness, she teased him. ‘Do you not like the idea of me touching his private parts?’

  His face flared up with colour. ‘No, I don’t. It’s bad enough to think you’re having to bend over him to wash his face and worrying about where his hands are going, without you …’ He stopped, unable to say the words.

  ‘Without me rubbing up his manhood?’ The devil got into her suddenly. ‘Would you like me to rub up yours every night, as well?’

  ‘If he reacts the way I’d react to that, it had damned well better stop!’

  She looked at him archly. ‘Are you jealous, my dear Tchouki?’

  ‘It’s got to stop, I tell you! He could easily lose his head and … he could … interfere with you … or worse.’

  She burst out laughing at this and he snapped, ‘It’s not funny!’

  ‘Oh, my darling, stupid Tchouki, of course it’s funny. Your father hardly has the strength to lift a spoon to his mouth never mind raise anything else. Besides, he couldn’t possibly overcome a forty-year-old woman. I’m sorry I teased you. He’s like a baby to me and I wash him in the same way I washed my own babies. And I’ll tell you something else, Henry. I soap his most private part, rinse it then pat it dry with a towel and not once – not once, I tell you – has it as much as stirred. He is past being titillated so you have nothing to worry about.’

  Detecting a trace of anger in her tone, Henry said, ‘I’m sorry, my Fairy Fay. I should have known better.’

  But the doubts still lay heavy on him and he brought up the subject of washing with his father again the following day.

  ‘I’m nae wanting you pummelling at me,’ Willie declared vehemently. ‘Just leave it to Fay. Her hands are maybe cauld but they’re a lot softer than yours.’

  For the first week after his wife’s death, Jerry worked like a slave, doing his best not to leave time for thought, and, with Tina’s help and Dolly Miller’s, the knife in his heart gradually stopped turning. It was still there but the most unbearable pains came at longer and longer intervals. The uncertainty that hung over the whole place helped him. He was not the only one with no idea of what he was going to do or what would happen to him – not that the patients had really taken it in but they were bound to be affected by it.

  The Superintendent had sent letters to all the relatives, advising them of the closure, and, over the next week or two, there had been several people removed to other private nursing homes. Three weeks on, they were still waiting to learn the fate of the remaining two, although it seemed likely that the poor souls would have to go to the County Asylum.

  Jerry was feeling rather better this morning, having had a long discussion with Tina and Dolly the previous evening and made his decision overnight. The newspapers were always pointing out that the armed forces required recruits, that the war would not be won until every able-bodied young man volunteered his services. Many had already enlisted, many had been taken – the local farmers had to appeal for exemption for their workers or, much against their will, hire women to replace them. He had mentioned to Tina that he had thought of going into the Gordon Highlanders, that fighting for his country would help him to get over Anna, but he was still only seventeen. ‘They’ll take you anyway,’ the nurse had said, sorry that he would be going away, but glad that he had something to do.

  Mrs Miller had encouraged him to do his bit and was allowing him the day off to go to the recruitment centre at Huntly. It would likely be a good while before he actually had to report for training and he had better use the time to go and tell his parents. He was not looking forward to that for he would have to tell them about Anna and the baby too. Little William Henry, so named to please his great-grandfather and grandfather – but who had really been no relation at all.

  Coming out of Ardbirtle Station, Jerry Rae’s legs were trembling. It had all been so sudden. He wasn’t ready for it yet but he ha
d to do it. The recruiting sergeant had welcomed him with open arms, made him sign for the King’s shilling and told him to report back at Huntly the following morning. ‘Time to bid your folk goodbye,’ the sturdy kilted sergeant had said, as though bestowing a great favour.

  So it was a case of going to Ardbirtle and writing to Mrs Miller because there wasn’t time to go back to The Sycamores. He had spent the journey trying to plan what he would say to his mother. He felt thoroughly ashamed that he hadn’t been home for so long, well over a year, and there was so much to tell her. It would be easier since his father would be at work but it was still going to be difficult.

  It was much more difficult than he had foreseen. In fact, it was downright impossible. As soon as he went in, his mother exclaimed, ‘Goodness, Jerry! Who told you?’

  Completely taken aback, he stuttered, ‘Who … who … told me … what?’

  ‘You don’t know? I was just getting ready to go and see if there’s anything else I could do.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Feeling stupid, he realised that his mouth was hanging open and hastily pressed his lips together.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jerry, but I’m still all upset. You see, your grandfather passed away yesterday. It was your father who found him, thank goodness, but I’m really sorry he died there on his own … and I wish I’d been there for him but I’d to come home to give your father his supper and he was all right when I left him, so he must have died between half past five and half past six. I only had to boil the tatties and heat up the soup and …’

  The rapid flow of words stopping until she drew breath, Jerry butted in. ‘I’m sorry to hear about Granda, Mother, but he was an old man in poor health and it wasn’t your fault he died.’

  ‘That’s what your father says but it doesn’t help. I still feel guilty and now your aunts have pushed me out. Kitty and Abby have taken charge … and Bella and Jeannie arrived with the first train this morning though they hadn’t been near their father for years and years and years and I’m shut out when it was me that attended to him every day. It doesn’t seem right, Jerry.’