Brow of the Gallowgate Page 4

  ‘There is no need for any unseemly haste,’ he told her. ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’

  ‘I’ll go to see the minister tomorrow night.’ Albert sensed an undercurrent of resentment in the man’s manner now. ‘I’ll make it the beginning of September, Mr Johnstone, or later than that, if you’d prefer it, I’m quite willing to wait for as long as you think necessary.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it seems Bathia is not willing to wait,’ Arthur said, dryly. ‘She is still a child, with a child’s need for things to be done immediately after she thinks of them.’

  Henrietta saved the situation by rising out of her seat. ‘Arthur, I’d like you to come up to the attic with me to move one of the trunks. I’m sure I know which one holds my wedding gown and headdress and veil, and they could be made ready for Bathia if she liked.’

  Her husband’s broad brow creased. ‘Could this not wait until another day?’

  ‘No, it could not. They may need to be altered to fit her and it might take some time.’

  Henrietta held the door open for him, and Albert thought that he was seeing things when she turned back briefly after her husband walked through. Surely she couldn’t have winked? Bathie’s low giggle made him glance at her.

  ‘Mother’s not as formidable as she looks, Albert, dear. She understands that we would like to be alone.’

  He felt embarrassed. What was he expected to do? He couldn’t kiss his betrothed, not here in this house, with her parents upstairs, yet she was waiting expectantly.

  She slid along the couch nearer to him, so he planted a light kiss on her brow, but she raised her face, her lovely glistening lips coming within an inch of his, and he couldn’t help himself. Their kiss was long and gentle, and when he drew back, she sighed contentedly.

  ‘Just think, Albert. In another two or three months, we’ll be husband and wife. It’ll be fun, won’t it?’

  As he bent to kiss her again, he reflected that her father was right. She was only a child, with a child’s rosy outlook on life, and he must protect her. His love for her almost choked him. His sap, unfortunately, chose that moment to rise and he broke away from her abruptly.

  ‘Bathie.’ His voice was husky with desire, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. ‘I’ll have to rent a house, nothing expensive, maybe only two rooms in a tenement.’

  ‘I’ve never been inside a tenement.’ Her trilling laugh made his passion almost unbearable. ‘Oh, it’s going to be a great adventure, Albert. Just you and I in our own tiny home, doing whatever we feel like doing, whenever we feel like doing it, and no one to tell us we shouldn’t be doing it.’

  Moaning, he pulled her hair tight back off her face to nuzzle her ear. ‘Oh, Bathie, what am I going to do with you? It won’t all be fun. There’s the cooking and washing, and all the other housework – I can’t afford a maid – and sometimes you’ll be so tired you’ll be glad to crawl into your bed.’

  Her face had sobered during his little homily, but a twinkle came into her bright eyes as she said, ‘I’ll be glad to crawl into my bed every night, as long as you’re there, too.’

  He knew he startled her when he jumped to his feet and stuck his hand deep down in his trouser pocket, but it was the only thing he could do to tether the rearing beast that had gone almost out of control at her innocent remark.

  After a minute’s silence, Bathie looked up at him somewhat repentantly. ‘Have I made you angry, Albert? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘You didn’t make me angry, my dear. You made me so happy I couldn’t bear it.’ He turned round from the fireside and his breath caught in his throat. She was so lovely, sitting up straight, with her hands splayed out on the couch on each side of her. He believed he could span her tiny waist with his hands, and the contour of her hips wasn’t altogether hidden by her long black skirt, which had ridden up to reveal her slender ankles.

  Her cream-coloured blouse had a narrow strip of black velvet over the frills high at her neck, making her skin look even creamier than the silky material. The ribbon, with its ends crossed and hanging down on to her bosom, was fixed with a brooch set with several small gemstones, the reds exactly matching the colour of her parted lips, and the blues the same deep shade as her wide eyes, made even wider by their fringe of sooty lashes.

  She made a picture that any artist would give a ransom to capture on canvas, Albert mused, yearning with love, and it came as something of a relief when he heard Henrietta’s heels clicking along the tiled hall before the door opened.

  ‘I can get at the trunk much more easily now,’ she said brightly. ‘So you and I can start looking through it, Bathia, as soon as you like.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Mother?’ the girl said, eagerly.

  Albert noticed that she was a little flushed, and wondered guiltily if her parents would realize that they’d been kissing. Mr Johnstone’s eyes seemed to be fixed on him accusingly, but when Bathie’s mother turned to him she was smiling.

  ‘My husband tells me that you do not wish to accept the money I meant to offer you?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Albert wondered if he could safely remove his hand from his pocket, and decided that he’d better wait. ‘I want to start as I mean to go on, supporting my own wife.’

  ‘A very laudable resolve, but rather impractical.’

  Bathie jumped up and slid her arm through his, the touch of her legs against him making him glad that he still had his beast under restraint. ‘Yes, we want to stand on our own two feet,’ she declared, then giggled. ‘Four feet, I mean.’

  Her father snorted. ‘You are just as impractical as he is. Neither of you has the least idea of what it takes to run a household.’

  ‘Our expenses won’t be anywhere near as high as yours,’ Albert said. ‘I was just telling Bathie it would have to be two rooms in a tenement, and . . .’

  ‘A tenement? You cannot seriously expect my daughter to live in a tenement?’ Arthur’s horror couldn’t have been greater if the young man had suggested that they live in a cave.

  ‘I’d love to live in a tenement,’ Bathie cried. ‘It’s all that Albert can afford, and it will be our home.’

  ‘But you are accustomed to . . .’, Arthur began, but subsided when Henrietta frowned at him.

  ‘I believe some tenements can be quite comfortable,’ she said, firmly. ‘A home is what you make it, after all.’

  ‘We’ll make a marvellous home, Mother.’ Bathie hugged Albert’s arm. ‘And when we’re settled in properly, you can come to visit us, and I’m sure you won’t find any faults.’

  At that moment, the little maid wheeled in a trolley set with delicate gold-rimmed china. A plate of dainty sandwiches sat beside the solid silver tea service, and Albert’s spirits, and his passion, plunged rapidly downwards, for he could never provide Bathie with anything like this – only earthenware dishes like his mother’s, and no fancy silver, either.

  He sat down, both hands free to accept the damask napkin which the young servant handed him. Was this whole thing a mistake? Should like marry like, and not attempt to break the class barriers? He became acutely conscious of how cheap and shoddy his Sunday suit looked in comparison to Mr Johnstone’s, and Mrs Johnstone’s frock was far more elegant and stylish than anything his mother had ever possessed. Should he bow out now? Mr Johnstone would be more than pleased if he did, he was sure, but when he stole a furtive glance at Bathie, he knew he couldn’t give her up.

  She had never looked disapproving of what he wore, and he believed that she didn’t care about it, in any case. She loved him, and love could work miracles, so it could surely make a success of their marriage.

  When Wattie Ogilvie arrived home from the sea on Friday night and learned of Albert’s forthcoming nuptials, he was almost as much against the idea as Bathie’s father had been.

  ‘It doesna work when you wed oot o’ your class, Albert,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it happen time an’ time again. The lassie thinks it’s great at first, to be keepin’ a hoose a
nd lookin’ after a man, but she soon gets tired o’ it, an’ then it’s back to father so she can get whatever she asks for.’

  ‘Bathie’s not like that.’ Albert went on the defensive at once. ‘She understands that we won’t have much money.’

  ‘Mind you, if it had been the other way roon’,’ Wattie continued, ‘it would ha’e stood a better chance. A workin’-class lassie can easy learn to be a lady, but a lady doesna want to learn how to be a workin’ man’s wife. An’ you dinna ken her weel enough yet, that’s another thing.’

  ‘I know her well enough to love her,’ Albert protested. ‘And I’m sure she loves me.’

  ‘Ach, leave the laddie be, Wattie,’ Nell put in, sharply. ‘She’s the lass he wants, and it’s him that’ll ha’e to bide wi’ her, so you’ll just ha’e to haud your tongue.’

  Her husband let out a roar of laughter. ‘That’s put me in my place, hasn’t it, Nell? Maybe you’re right, at that. We’ve a’ to mak’ oor ain way in life, and sort oot oor ain mistakes. So! When are we gettin’ to meet this Bathie?’

  ‘You and Mother are invited to Ferryhill on Sunday.’

  ‘An’ you’ll need to be on your best behaviour,’ Nell added, caustically. ‘Nane o’ your foul jokes in front o’ the lassie’s folk, for we dinna want to gi’e them a bad impression.’

  Wattie picked up his newspaper, and took his pipe from his pocket. ‘They’ll ha’e to tak’ me as I am,’ he said, as he struck a match. ‘I’m ower auld to change.’

  ‘Fine do I ken that.’ Nell glanced at Albert and grinned.

  Chapter Three

  After setting the wedding for the beginning of September, Albert’s next priority was finding a house to rent, so he asked several of his customers if they knew of anything, but none of them did. Then, late one Saturday evening, after Joseph Duthie had appeared, to check the takings and give his employee his weekly wage, a rather stout, oldish woman came hurrying in and asked for half a pound of syrup.

  ‘How’s the rheumatism, Mrs Nutten?’ Albert asked as he took the small jar she held out, for she was a regular, though she couldn’t afford to buy much, being on her own.

  ‘Och, it comes an’ goes wi’ the weather,’ she smiled, watching him hold the container under the big barrel and turn the tap to one side. ‘I heard you were lookin’ for a hoose, Albert, an’ my sister says there’s ane goin’ above her.’

  In his excitement, Albert almost let the thick, sticky syrup overflow the jar, but turned the tap off just in time. ‘Where is it, Mrs Nutten?’

  ‘King Street, four rooms on the first floor, an’ the lobby and the stairs are aye kept spotless.’

  He could see that she was delighted to be in a position to do someone a favour, but his wages would never run to four rooms in King Street, and he couldn’t hide his disappointment.

  ‘It’s very good of you to think about me, Mrs Nutten,’ he said, carefully, ‘but I couldn’t afford four rooms.’

  The woman was also disappointed, but she understood his problem only too well. ‘Aye, it’s a big rent – my sister’s man has a good job an’ they can weel afford it. I’ll keep my ears open for you,’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Nutten. Now, were you needing anything else today?’

  ‘I’ll tak’ my usual two ounce o’ pandrops, it’s my treat to mysel’ on a Saturday night.’

  He weighed out the peppermint sweets, giving her good measure and a few extra, and when she had paid for her purchases and left, he took a clean damp cloth to wipe the mouth of the tap on the syrup barrel.

  ‘I didn’t know you were looking for a house, Albert.’ Mr Duthie had come through from the back shop and was looking at the young man questioningly through his thick glasses.

  ‘It was just arranged on Wednesday.’ Albert blushed as he spoke, for it felt strange to tell anyone about his forthcoming marriage. It had been bad enough telling his own parents.

  The old man’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Are you getting wed?’

  Albert laughed self-consciously. ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  Thumping him on the back, Mr Duthie cried, ‘That’s grand news, but there’s no need for you to look for a house – that is, if you’re not in too big a hurry.’

  ‘The wedding’s not till the beginning of September.’

  ‘That’s fine, then. One of my houses on the top floor’s being given up on the twenty-eighth day of July. Old Mrs Duncan’s moving to her daughter’s.’

  Albert could hardly take it in at first, then he said, ‘Oh, that would be ideal, for I’d be above the shop.’

  ‘It’s only two little rooms, mind, but I believe they’re quite comfortable.’

  ‘It’s the very thing I was looking for.’

  Mr Duthie seemed to be considering something else. He stood gazing into space for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking about this for a good while now, Albert, but single men aren’t as dependable as married men.’ Not comprehending what his employer was trying to say, Albert waited for enlightenment. ‘But now you’ll be settling down with a wife, you’ll be needing more money.’ This was even better, Albert thought. A house handed to him on a plate, and extra money to keep it going. ‘So, if you’re not scared to take on the responsibility,’ the old man went on, ‘I’ll make you the manager of my shop. You’ll get your wages up, of course, and I’ll leave the whole running of the place to you. I’ll not interfere, whatever you decide to do to improve it. I can’t be fairer than that.’

  ‘Mr Duthie, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all this.’ Albert could feel himself trembling with gratitude.

  ‘Ach, it’s what I should have done years ago, but, as I said, you were single, and I was maybe a bit overcautious. Now, I’ll charge you a small rent for the house, for I don’t believe in young folk having things made too easy for them, and if you bring your lass to see me, maybe the night before the wedding, I’ll tell her the rules of the tenement, for I must be sure my property’s looked after properly.’

  Albert shook his head and lifted his eyes briefly to the ceiling. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Duthie.’

  ‘Just carry on the way you’ve been doing, lad, that’ll be thanks enough for me.’ A sadness came into the man’s eyes as he paused. ‘I envy you, Albert, just starting out on marriage, and I hope you’ll be as happy as I was till my wife passed on.’

  The weeks passed slowly for Albert, but far too quickly for Nell Ogilvie. The visit to the Johnstones’ house had been a terrifying ordeal for her, and she was dreading having to go back there after the wedding service, which was how it had been arranged.

  Even in her best dress, she’d felt dowdy on the brocaded couch in the splendour of the huge drawing room with all its richly-coloured mahogany furniture. Mrs Johnstone’s ornaments looked tasteful and expensive, although Nell wasn’t aware that most of them were very old and valuable pieces, handed down through several generations of Henrietta’s family.

  Wattie had said he’d felt ‘a wee bit oot o’ place’, though it wasn’t so bad for a man, and Nell’s main worry now was what she would wear to the wedding. By scrimping from the time she was told about it, she’d saved a wee bit, and she hoped to have enough by September to buy the dark blue bombazine she’d seen in a gown shop in Union Street.

  Her husband had told her that he might buy himself a new suit, so they shouldn’t look so out of place this time, and Bathie Johnstone shouldn’t feel ashamed of her new in-laws. Not that she seemed to be that kind of lassie, Nell reflected happily, a bonnie, open-faced little thing, it was clear her heart was set on Albert as much as his was set on her.

  At Ferryhill, the main consideration was also clothes. Henrietta’s dressmaker had come to fit the delicate old wedding dress on Bathia, and it only needed a few slight alterations, apart from the hem having to be taken up.

  Bathie had been impressed when her mother had first taken it out of the trunk, and was absolutely delighted when the alterations were completed. The dressmaker had laundered it
before she brought it back, and neither Henrietta nor her daughter could believe that it was the same twenty-year old gown. From being a rather dingy greyish colour, it had been transformed into shimmering fairy-tale ivory, the pin tucks on the bodice entirely creaseless, the tulle overlay of the skirt falling in graceful folds.

  When her daughter tried it on, she looked so beautiful and virginal that Henrietta was almost choked by the lump which rose in her throat. Had she done the right thing in forcing Arthur to agree to this marriage? Bathia was only sixteen. Would she be prepared for what would happen to her on her wedding night, or would she be horrified by her husband’s lust – as she herself had been? Henrietta’s thoughts came to an abrupt, slightly guilty halt. Albert Ogilvie may be only a grocer’s assistant, but he was a proper gentleman, and would never harm his wife in any way. Just the same, as a mother, it was her duty to prepare the girl a little.

  About three weeks before the wedding, when Arthur’s new suit was delivered by his tailor, he, too had renewed misgivings about this step his daughter was about to take. She was an innocent child, and the man she was marrying was eight years older, a working man who had probably had experience of women of a very different kind.

  Recalling how his wife’s maidservants had been more than willing to let him possess them, he could feel a need building up, a need to have a woman, but he had promised Henrietta . . . Dare he suggest to her . . . ? Was it possible that she would relent, after all these years, and be a proper wife to him again? He still thought very fondly of her – even loved her, he supposed – and it was her duty to satisfy his needs, but he would have to be careful not to demand too much too quickly.

  On the afternoon of the 28th July, Joseph Duthie came into the shop and handed Albert the keys for the house on the top floor of his property.

  ‘There you are, then, lad, it’s all yours now. It won’t need much furniture, being so small, and I’ve a few bits and pieces I’d be quite glad to be rid of. I can hardly move about for all the things my wife . . . If you come up when you close the shop, I’ll let you pick whatever you want.’