The Shadow of the Sycamores Page 6

  Roderick had lifted the veined hand to his lips. ‘Yes, of course. We will be back, be sure of that.’

  Janet had bent over to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m sorry I can only manage to come once a month, Mother.’

  The old lady’s eyes had clouded in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ she had stated, coldly, ‘so don’t pretend I’m your mother.’

  The leave-taking had not really upset them. In fact, they were relieved that she was happier now. ‘She will not miss us if we do not go every month,’ Roderick smiled. ‘She is living in a different world now, with people to look after her and attend to her every whim.’

  Janet nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have believed she’d be so at home. Did you see how her face lit up when Innes Ledingham came over to speak to her?’

  ‘I was meaning to ask about that. I didn’t know that it was he who ran the place.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Janet smiled. ‘I got a right shock when I saw him.’

  ‘You had quite a tête-à-tête with him. What was that about?’

  ‘Nothing much. I hadn’t seen him for years and years but we were just speaking about Ma. He says she’s settled in fine, she’s well liked and she’s eating three good meals a day. So I needn’t have worried.’

  ‘I told you.’

  Janet didn’t want to tell him what had also transpired during her conversation with Innes, who had been a very close friend at one time. She’d even had the feeling that he was on the verge of courting her but she had met Tom Aitken and that was that. Anyway, Innes had gone away, down to England somewhere, and, the last she had heard of him, he was married. When she asked him how he came to be in charge of The Sycamores, he had just said that he loved the challenge. Then he had added, with a wry smile, that his biggest problem was getting staff.

  ‘Cleaning women are easier to come by but finding girls willing to tend to needful patients is quite difficult. Once they have been here for even a day, however, they find that they quite enjoy making life easier for those under their care. At present, I am looking for a young man who can turn his hand to anything, repairing doors or windows, fixing loose screws, a bit of painting – maintenance work in other words.’

  The upshot of this was that, on her recommendation alone, he had hired young Henry Rae without even seeing him. Janet pulled her cape closer round her as if hugging herself for being so clever. She pushed aside the thought that the boy may never return to Craigdownie – she had faith in him.

  Her first words to Maidie when she went into the kitchen were, ‘Is Henry back?’

  ‘Oh, Janet, it was awfu’! You werena long away when he turned up and Mr Legge gave him a right telling aff! And when he was finished ranting, he said Henry had better leave for there was no job here for him and Henry ran oot wi’ tears rolling doon his face.’

  ‘Oh. Lordy!’ Janet thumped down on the chair by the range with her hand on her chest. ‘The poor laddie and I wasna here.’ For a few moments, she breathed heavily, then gave her head a little shake and sat up straight. ‘Where is he, Maidie? Where did he go?’

  ‘I couldna tell you that, Cook, but I some think he went across to the bothy to collect his things.’

  Forgetting, in her anxiety for the boy, that some hours had passed since he learned the brutal news, Janet went out as fast as her tired legs would carry her and burst into the bothy without even knocking.

  ‘God a’michty, Janet!’ A startled Mick looked up from cutting his toenails. ‘I could’ve been changing my drawers.’

  ‘I wouldna have seen nothing I hadna seen afore,’ she barked. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Where’s who?’ Understanding dawning, he said, ‘He’s nae here.’

  ‘I can see that. He took his things?’

  ‘Aye, afore we come in and I dinna ken where he went.’

  It was young Harry who gave Janet at least some information. ‘I saw him speaking to the grieve for a while.’

  With no word of thanks, Janet rushed out again and made for the grieve’s house, one of the four cottages built for the married workers, and, when Ina Sim answered her knock, she gasped, ‘Is Henry here?’

  The woman’s cheery face sobered. ‘He was but he wouldna bide. Davey was that sorry for him when he said what had happened, he offered him a bed for the nicht but he wouldna hear o’t. Are you coming in?’

  ‘I’ll nae come in, thank you. I need to speak to him for I found him a new job. Have you nae idea where he …?’

  ‘Maybe he said something to Davey. He did say his Gramma had died – that was what kept him away.’

  ‘I ken’t there was something!’ There was no triumph in Janet’s words.

  ‘You’ll be asking aboot Henry?’ The grieve himself, a tall stout man in tweeds and a flat cap, had walked up the path not far behind her. ‘You’d best come in.’

  She followed Ina into the cosy kitchen where a large lurcher was sprawled on the hearth. ‘Shift yoursel’, Davey grinned, giving the dog a nudge with the toe of his boot. ‘Other folk need to get in aboot for a heat.’

  Clearly accustomed to this order, the animal didn’t move as much as an eyelid and the three ‘folk’ sat down, careful not to disturb him. ‘Did Henry tell you where he was going?’ Janet couldn’t wait another minute.

  ‘He was real upset, hardly ken’t what he was saying, poor loon, but he let slip his grandmother had died sudden and he bade wi’ his sister till the frunial was by.’

  ‘He’ll have gone back to his sister, then. Did he tell you where she bade?’

  ‘I never thocht to ask.’ The grieve looked ashamed for his lack of interest.

  A brooding silence fell during which Ina got up to make a pot of tea. She busied herself further by taking three enamel mugs from the dresser and laying them on the well-scrubbed wooden table. Then she took a flagon of milk – one of the perquisites of farm employment – from the pantry where there was a marble slab to keep perishables cool and poured a little into each mug. She was in the act of swirling boiling water in the brown china teapot to heat it when her husband banged his fist on his knee. ‘Dammit! I clean forgot!’

  ‘You daft beggar!’ she exclaimed. ‘You near made me burn mysel’.’

  Janet was more interested in what the man had said than in the wife’s imagined catastrophe. ‘What did you forget? Did he gi’e you a hint?’

  ‘I tell’t him to tak’ oor Doddie’s auld bike to save him walking and he promised to send it back wi’ the carrier in the morning.’

  Ina, still recovering from the fright he had given her, was none the wiser but Janet gasped, ‘You think the carrier’ll be able to tell you?’

  ‘I wouldna be surprised and it’s worth a try. I’ll keep a look-oot for him – and you and all, Ina.’

  ‘And me!’ declared Janet.

  She stayed in the cottar house for another fifteen minutes or so, then went back to her upstairs room in the farmhouse. She felt a good deal better now. At least there was a chance of learning what she wanted to know, though she’d have to wait till the morrow morning. Her mind turned to The Sycamores. Innes Ledingham was still a handsome man, just over six feet, body still as lean as it had been when he used to see her home from the kirk all those years before. His dark hair, worn brushed right back off his face, was shot with grey now and his moustache was lighter than she remembered but still as thick. There were a few lines etched on his forehead yet his brown eyes still held something that made her blood flow faster in her veins. And his mouth was still turned up at the corners in a smile. Oh, Lordy! What was she thinking about? They were both well over forty – and he had a wife.

  Switching her thoughts to Henry Rae again, she hoped that the carrier who took back the bike came from the same place as Henry’s sister, otherwise he wouldn’t know where she lived. That would be the end of it for there was no other way she could find the boy.

  It would have been natural if Janet had spent another troubled night but she was so tired – so much had happened that day and her emotions
had see-sawed so dramatically – that she fell into a deep sleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

  ‘Henry! You did lose your job, then?’ Abby held out her arms and her fourteen-year-old brother ran into them with a sob.

  ‘I didna really think Jim Legge would sack me,’ he gulped.

  ‘Dinna worry,’ she soothed. ‘He’d been angry but he’ll likely tell you to come back once he cools down.’

  ‘No, he’ll not ask me back.’ He moved over to sit down on what had been his Gramma’s chair, although that didn’t cross his mind, he was so depressed. ‘Davey said I was doing well as second horseman,’ he sighed, ‘but Harry’s got my job. Mr Legge said he didna ken if I had left for good or what.’

  ‘He could surely have waited a while but, never mind, you’ll be fine here wi’ me till you find something else. Henry, where are you going?’ she added as he got to his feet again.

  ‘I’ve to tell the carrier to take a bike back to the grieve. I’ll not be long.’

  He returned after only ten minutes, looking a little less distraught than when he had come in before, but his face fell again when Abby said, ‘You’ll be sleeping in Gramma’s bed. I’ve put a pig in to heat it for you.’ Noticing his agitation, she smiled, ‘I’ve washed all the bedding, Henry.’

  ‘Abby, I canna …’

  ‘All right, then. I’ll sleep in her bed and you can have mine.’

  Henry fell asleep quickly, exhausted in body and mind, but his sister lay awake for hours, thinking about Pogie Laing. She’d often wondered how he got the nickname because his real name was Clarence, according to the minister. At Gramma’s funeral, he had gripped her hand for a long time and his eyes had burned into hers as if he wanted to say something other than how sorry he was.

  She had turned seventeen, time for having a lad, and Pogie was the lad she wanted. She had hoped he might come to see her now that she was alone in the house but he wouldn’t come if he knew Henry was back.

  In spite of that side of it, though, she was glad her brother had come back to her. She had never seen him so upset as he’d been when he came in and he had comforted her twice before so it was up to her now. They would surely manage. It would be a struggle but it shouldn’t be long till he found another job. Even though he was so short, he was a hard worker, with an ever-ready smile, willing to do anything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1887

  The Sycamores had once been the residence of a very minor peer of the realm who had been forced by circumstances, in the middle of the century, to sell up and emigrate to South Africa. The purchaser of the estate, an Aberdeenshire man now permanently domiciled in London but mindful of his roots although he was an immensely rich businessman, had founded an institution for the mentally afflicted. This had been in the charge of Innes Ledingham for the past twelve years. He was a strict disciplinarian as far as his staff was concerned but sympathetic and understanding with his patients, male and female, who ranged from fifteen or sixteen years of age to eighty and over.

  Because of steadily rising costs – wages, food, oil and coal – he had applied, about five years earlier, to the now deceased owner’s sons for extra funding. He had been told, however, that they were in financial difficulties themselves and that he would have to start charging the families of the ‘unfortunates’ for looking after them – otherwise they would have to close the place. After discussing this with the board of governors, Innes had decided to set the fees high enough to cover the few places he meant to keep for the ‘truly poor or destitute’ but, sadly, there was currently only one such place available now.

  The introduction of fees had certainly upgraded the type of people under his wing, effectively wiping out the slavering incontinents and other undesirables. It was rather unfortunate that those not in this range, and with no relatives left to provide money for their keep, had also had to be transferred to parish-run asylums but it was really out of his control. It was now much easier to recruit nurses and young girls to tend to the needs of the residents and just one male orderly was needed in case of any trouble.

  The only problem he now had, Innes reflected one day, was in getting incidental workers. Those employed to actually come in contact with the patients were dedicated to looking after them whereas some of the gardeners, grooms and odd-job men he had taken on seemed to be afraid that they were endangering their lives by working at The Sycamores. He was quite fortunate with his present company, however, every man and woman willing to do whatever was asked of them and, more importantly, all scrupulously honest and reliable.

  He had been a little unsure of young Henry Rae at first, with him never having had any experience outside farm work, but he was proving to be a veritable treasure. No work was too demanding – or too demeaning – for him and staff and patients alike adored him and sought his advice on their little problems, real or imaginary – even Gloria, his own wife. Innes felt grateful to the youth for this – it saved her pestering him.

  An apprehension lurked at the back of his mind, however, a feeling that perhaps things were running too smoothly. The elderly matron and the two nurses of indeterminate age were not the cause of this – it was the four girls, employed because they needed less pay than the older women. They were all bright, nubile young things and Henry was a dashed good-looking lad. He had dark curly hair, a round tanned face, which would no doubt lose its chubbiness as he grew older, and dark green eyes that always held a smile. There was no flabbiness about him and, although he was quite small for his age, there was still time for him to grow. When he was fully grown, he would have a devastating effect on the female sex, that was a certainty.

  Innes pulled his meandering thoughts together. By all appearances, he had nothing to worry about as far as the girls were concerned. Young Henry had shown not the slightest interest in any of them. He treated them in the same friendly, light-hearted manner that he treated everybody he spoke to but, strangely, he kept himself to himself after work. Lack of interest in women could, of course, mean that he was homosexual yet he showed no interest there either. Innes decided that it was as well to let life go on as usual. He was only stressing himself by worrying about something, he knew not what, that may never happen. A far more exciting concept had stirred in him recently, a concept which would require much consideration and careful handling to reach fruition.

  Henry felt it his duty to keep an eye on old Mrs Emslie; after all, he owed his job to Janet. She and her brother could only visit their mother once a month and the old lady must miss them. She had made friends with a few of the other women – if you could call it friendship with each keeping to her own train of thought, content to receive no answers to or comments on what she said.

  He was fully aware that Mrs Emslie had taken a fancy to him the first day he went to see her but he hadn’t realised until that afternoon how she really felt about him. One of the nurses, a keen lover of nature, had been taking three of her charges for a stroll around the grounds when Janet’s mother spotted him dead-heading some hydrangeas.

  ‘That’s my son, you know,’ she said loudly – and proudly.

  Thoroughly embarrassed, he had mumbled, ‘No, I just work here. I’m helping the gardener today but I do other jobs as well. My name’s Henry Rae.’

  A pained uncertainty had flitted across her lined face, then she turned to her companions. ‘I can’t think what’s making him say that. Fancy not minding his own mother.’

  He had shot a look of appeal to the nurse who soothed, ‘It’s all right, Mrs Emslie. We should be getting on. Henry’s too busy to speak to anybody just now.’

  He bent his scarlet face to his work again, praying that her ploy had worked. It had because, as they moved away, one of the other women observed, ‘What a lot of these wing things there are lying about here.’

  And Mrs Emslie said, ‘They’re the seeds from the sycamore trees.’ She hesitated for a moment, then, having put two and two together, added proudly, ‘I suppose that’s why they called this place The Sy
camores?’

  Their escort nodded thankfully. ‘That’s right and the winged bits are called samaras.’

  To a chorus of ‘Samaras? I didn’t know that,’ the little group moved out of earshot.

  Henry didn’t lift his head or pause in what he was doing. He had gleaned many titbits of information about the flowers while he worked with the head gardener, but he’d had no idea that the lovely old trees scattered about the grounds were sycamores, nor that their seeds were called samaras. It was a funny name – but interesting. Intriguing.

  The next day was one of Janet’s Sundays, as he thought of them, so he would have to make a point of seeing her to explain what had happened.

  ‘Isn’t that your friend Henry standing at the gate?’ Roderick Emslie asked his sister.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Janet felt as if a heavy weight had fallen on her. ‘He looks awful worried – something must be wrong with Ma. You’d better stop. Yes, Henry,’ she called as the small vehicle came to a halt, ‘what is it?’

  ‘I wanted to catch you before you went in,’ he muttered. ‘I want to explain about yesterday. I don’t know why but your mother thinks I’m her son. I didn’t do anything to … I did try to tell her she was wrong but … I’m sorry,’ he added a little belatedly.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ she soothed. ‘The very first time we came to see her, she said she wasn’t my mother. The doctor says it often happens. They honestly don’t remember. How are you getting on? Still liking the job?’

  ‘I love it,’ he assured her, relieved that his worry had been banished so effectively. ‘I’ll always be grateful to you for speaking up for me, Janet.’

  She grinned at him. ‘It was a two-way good turn. I was helping Innes Ledingham as well as you. He’s an old friend of mine.’

  Her brother lifted the reins. ‘It’s good of you to look in on my mother occasionally,’ he smiled as the gig moved away.