Brow of the Gallowgate Read online

  But at the top of the hill, he stopped and pointed proudly to a tall building. ‘This is it, Bathie, on the very brow of the Gallowgate. We’ll be able to look down both ways, and feel like we own everything we can see.’

  Her first dismayed thought was that they would have to climb a steep hill whichever way they came, then she felt bitterly disappointed that Albert would even consider such a place. Standing in the middle of the uneven street, she tried to see what he found so attractive about it, because it didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. The whole building, which had seen better days, comprised three shops – a confectioner, one standing empty and a shoemaker – and although the empty one was the largest, it wasn’t nearly as impressive as many of the others they’d looked at before.

  ‘The house is over the shops,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got the key, so you can see what it’s like inside.’

  She followed him through a dark close, between the empty shop and the shoemaker, and they emerged into an open quadrangle with an iron staircase to their left, leading up, she presumed, to the house which had taken Albert’s fancy.

  He was already at the top when she placed her foot on the first step, but she stopped to take a look around her. The moon showed several doors off the open area, and she wondered what was behind them, but Albert was saying, ‘Come on, Bathie,’ so she made her way laboriously upwards.

  Her heavy feet clanked on the metal, and when she passed through the door Albert was holding open for her, her spirits sank even lower at the sight of another flight of stairs.

  ‘Oh, Albert,’ she gasped. ‘What a lot of steps.’

  ‘You should be used to stairs, my love, after being on the top floor of a tenement.’

  ‘This is different,’ she told him, but left it at that, and went on ahead of him, trying to ignore the dank, musty smell that grew stronger in her nostrils with each step she took.

  ‘It must have been empty for a long time,’ she remarked, when they both stood on the first-floor landing.

  ‘Aye, I suppose it would be difficult to sell, with the three shops included, but once it’s all been aired and done up, it’ll look much better, I promise.’

  His cheerful eagerness surprised Bathie. She knew that his heart had been set on a house with a lot of rooms, but this place wasn’t even habitable, and the shop below . . . surely it wasn’t what Albert had dreamt of for so long?

  Opening one of the four doors on the landing, she entered a large room with a torn blind at the window, and when she crossed to pull it up, she found that she was looking down into the eerie quadrangle.

  It wasn’t a very inspiring outlook, she thought sadly, and turned to have a look at the room itself. The moonlight was now streaming in over her shoulder, and, unexpectedly, she could sense what Albert must have felt. She scarcely noticed the dark patches on the walls, nor the rusting steel on the huge range, for there was an indefinable something about the room that touched her and warmed her heart.

  ‘I like it,’ she said, simply.

  Albert beamed. ‘I told you.’

  A connecting door led into the next room, which was just as large, and just as seedy, as the kitchen, but it had a low fireplace under the high wooden mantelshelf.

  ‘They’re very big rooms,’ she murmured, but she wasn’t criticizing, for the magic of the house had taken her over, too.

  ‘It’s what we’re going to need, and they’re all connected with each other, as well as opening on to the landing,’ her husband informed her, in barely repressed excitement.

  The idea of being able to walk from one room to another so easily appealed to her, and she sighed with contentment after they’d seen the other two.

  ‘There’s a friendliness about the whole place.’

  Albert squeezed her arm. ‘I’m glad you feel it as well, Bathie. We’ll go upstairs to see the rest, now.’

  She climbed the next flight of stairs with lighter feet, not expecting to see anything very impressive, but the three rooms here were only fractionally smaller than the four below, and, again, they all had fireplaces.

  Her surprise turned to amazement when she heaved herself up the last narrow flight to the attics. Even these two rooms were much larger than the two poky rooms in the tenement, and they, too, had fireplaces. By this time, she felt she could go no farther without a rest, so she sank down on the top step.

  Albert squatted on the landing behind her. ‘It doesn’t look much just now, but once I’ve finished, it’ll be a home fit for a princess. Fit for you, Bathie, for you’re my princess.’

  He still had the power to turn her heart to jelly, even after nearly eight months of marriage. ‘I can picture it, Albert, dear,’ she said, softly. ‘I can see it filled with our children, and our children’s children.’

  ‘Aye.’ His hand slid round her neck. ‘We’ll have to buy new furniture, for what we have will be lost in this place, but I’ll see to everything.’

  They remained there for some time, planning what they would need to buy, until Albert rose stiffly and rubbed his leg. Then he helped his wife to her feet and placed his hand under her elbow, to begin a slow and careful descent.

  When they emerged from the house door, he locked it and went in front of her while they negotiated the outside stairs. By the time they reached the bottom, they were both out of breath and had to stand and rest for a minute.

  ‘What are all the other doors for?’ Bathie swept her hand out in a wide arc.

  ‘That’s our own wash-house, that’s the WC, that’s a store for the shoemaker, one for the empty . . . my shop, and one for the sweetie shop.’ He indicated as appropriate. ‘There’s some that aren’t used, but I’ll find a use for them, no doubt.’

  His face assumed a look of great satisfaction. ‘I’ll be taking in rent from the other two shops, of course, and . . . Bathie, the sign above the middle shop’s going to read “Albert Ogilvie, Licensed Grocer”, and maybe, one day, “And Sons”.’

  Bathie had to ask, ‘It’s not exactly what you dreamt about, though. Are you sure this is what you really want?’

  Her anxious expression made him laugh. ‘It’s maybe not the shop of my dreams at this very minute, but I can see the possibilities, and thanks to your mother, I don’t have to worry about the expense. It was the house I liked, though.’

  She lifted her face up. ‘It’ll be heaven living here.’

  Bending his head, he kissed her. ‘It’ll always be heaven for me, wherever I am, as long as I’ve got you, Bathie.’

  ‘And for me, as long as I have you.’

  Linking arms, they walked through the close on to the granite setts of the Gallowgate again.

  While the renovations and alterations were being carried out, Albert refused to discuss their progress, and, any time Bathie asked, he replied, ‘It’ll all be ready before the end of May, and that’s all you need to bother your pretty head about.’

  As the weeks passed, she had to loosen her stays even further, until she could hardly fasten the laces. But she kept in good health, and finished sewing four pairs of curtains – which was all that Albert had allowed her to do – and all the baby’s layette, with time to spare. She’d stopped enquiring about the house, it only made her husband frown, so she was extremely surprised when he came home one night and informed her that they’d be moving the following week.

  ‘But that’ll only be the first week in May,’ she gasped.

  ‘Aye, well, but the builder’s men have been going at it for all they’re worth, and they’ve made a right good job of it. You’ll hardly be able to believe it when you see it, Bathie, for they’ve worked a miracle. They’ve done everything you could think of, and things you’d never think of, so the place looks like a palace now. They even hung up your curtains for you.’

  She hadn’t noticed that he’d removed the box she’d stored them in, and felt a momentary flash of anger at him for not telling her. She’d wanted to choose the rooms each pair would be hung in, and he’d taken even that pleasure awa
y from her.

  Albert sensed what was going through her mind. ‘It’s better that you haven’t got the work of it, lass. You’ve got to be careful, and look after yourself, for I don’t want anything to happen to my first son.’

  She let her breath out slowly. What did it matter which set of curtains went where? They were all beautiful.

  ‘I’ve ordered Wordie’s cart to be here on Saturday at ten,’ Albert went on, relieved that she hadn’t made a fuss. ‘So we’ll have to pack everything in the evenings. Mr Duthie’s giving me some tea chests, and he says I can stop work this Friday. I told him I’d just take Saturday off and work all next week, for the new man takes over his shop the following Monday, but he said it would be better if I’d a week to organize my own place, so it’s all worked out fine.’

  On Saturday, after all their belongings had been loaded, Bathie was lifted on to the cart by the two leather-aproned carters, and when they reached her new home, an exhilarated Albert came running to help her climb down.

  ‘I’ll get them to take all that stuff up to the attics,’ he told her, ‘till we make up our minds what we’re going to do with them. The first floor’s all furnished.’

  When they reached the kitchen door, he pushed it open with a flourish. ‘What d’you think of it now, Bathie?’

  He’d been correct in saying that she would hardly be able to believe what she saw. A wide Welsh dresser sat along one wall and a long pine table stood in the centre of the floor, with six chairs tucked under it. A cupboard had been built in at each side of the range – now burnished to a high degree, and with a bright fire burning in it – and shelves were fitted between the doors to the landing and to the next room.

  The walls were wood-panelled halfway up and painted white above that, and the previously damp, neglected room now threw out an immediate welcome. Bathie’s legs gave way, and she sat down heavily on one of the wooden-armed chairs in front of the cupboards at the fireside.

  ‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Albert sounded concerned.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, I’m . . . I’m just overcome.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t have planned it better myself.’

  ‘I wanted to have everything just right for you.’

  ‘It is, it is! Oh, Albert, you’re so good to me.’ She took her handkerchief out of her bag and wiped her eyes. ‘Just give me time to come to myself, then I’ll look at the other rooms.’

  ‘This is the dining room,’ he told her proudly, when they went through the connecting door from the kitchen. ‘We won’t be using it all the time, of course, it’s just for when we have visitors.’

  She’d thought he could give her no more surprises, but this was almost a replica of the dining room in the house in Ferryhill, from the marble fireplace right down to the geranium sitting at the window. The walnut table and six chairs were placed in the middle of the room, and a tall sideboard took up almost the whole of one wall.

  Bathie’s eyes returned to the delicate crocheted centrepiece on the table. ‘Where did you buy that, Albert? It’s just exactly what the table needed.’

  His smile was smug. ‘I didn’t buy it. My mother made it for us, when I told her the table needed something.’

  Determined not to show him how much Nell’s handiwork had touched her, she turned to admire the brass fender round the fire, flanked by a set of brass fire-irons to the right, and a brass scuttle and log box to the left.

  ‘They’re real Persian rugs on the floor,’ Albert boasted. ‘They’ll last us for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘It’s all very elegant,’ she managed to say, in spite of being choked with emotion at his thoughtfulness. ‘It must have cost an awful lot.’

  ‘A bit, but not as much as you’d think.’

  In the parlour, there were two comfortable-looking horsehair armchairs and a couch, all covered in brown hide. A small mahogany table stood at one end of the couch, and there was even a whatnot in the corner for her knick-knacks.

  Another table, at the window, taller and on a pedestal, held a large aspidistra, and the low fire was glowing, with a padded fenderstool round the front, a wooden coal scuttle and log box tucked into one corner, and a steel poker and tongs in the other.

  Bathie let her eyes roam round, speechless for a moment, then she whispered, ‘I don’t know what to say. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Aye, I made a good job of things, didn’t I?’

  His pride was excusable, Bathie thought. ‘Oh, Albert, I love you,’ she said, as he led her into the bedroom.

  She gasped with delight when she saw the huge double bed, with brass rails and knobs, covered by a white bedspread whose fringes touched the floor. ‘Did you make up the bed, Albert?’

  ‘I did that. I’m not useless at housework, but it’s not man’s work, and that’s the last time I’ll ever make it.’

  She had to agree. It was only proper.

  ‘There’s a wardrobe each, and two chests of drawers, as well, and the joiners put in two presses.’ He opened one of the cupboard doors to show her the shelves.

  ‘You’ve thought about everything.’ Bathie was more overcome than ever, but did her best not to break down, in case she spoiled his pleasure. ‘You’re a good man, Albert.’

  ‘I’ll always be a good man to you, my love. But you’re tired. Why don’t you have a lie down for a while, till I go and see if our dinner’s ready.’

  ‘Dinner? Have you been cooking as well?’

  His gingery eyebrows lifted. ‘Oh, no. I’m not starting to cook. I asked Mrs Wyness, from a few doors down, if she’d make something for us.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, it was her that offered, really, when she heard we were moving in today. I’ve engaged her to attend at your confinement, for she’s a midwife, and she’s a really fine woman.’

  A faint stab of jealousy touched Bathie’s heart. Surely Albert wasn’t interested in another woman? ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s fat and she’s forty if she’s a day.’ His open laugh made his wife feel much better. ‘And I’ve employed her oldest daughter, Mary, to come and help you with the housework. She’s just thirteen, but her mother says she’s a grand wee worker.’

  ‘A maid, as well as all this?’ But Bathie took his advice, and lay down and closed her eyes, barely conscious of the feet still tramping up and down the stairs, as the removal men carried their old furniture up to the attics.

  At one o’clock exactly, Albert shook his wife gently. ‘You’d better get up now, Bathie. Our dinner’s all set out in the kitchen, and we don’t want to let it get cold. There’s soup first, then a lamb stew, and it all smells very good.’

  As they ate, he told her, That’s everything finished, and the carters took the tea chests back to Mr Duthie. You’ll have nothing to do except make our supper, and Mary Wyness’ll be here in the morning to help you sort things out.’

  ‘I could easily manage on my own,’ Bathie protested, wishing that he’d let her do something for herself.

  Ignoring her, he went on. ‘You’re not to do any heavy lifting, that’s what Mary’s to be here for, but if you like, I’ll give you a hand later on to unpack the using china, then we should have an early night, for it’s been a long day.’

  After they washed Mrs Wyness’s dishes, and before they started to unpack their own, Albert said, ‘Would you like to see the nursery I’ve made ready? I didn’t want to take you up there when the carters were still going up and down.’

  ‘A nursery upstairs? But that’s too far away from our bedroom!’ Bathie remarked, anxiously, as she lumbered up the stairs. ‘I wouldn’t hear the baby crying in the night.’

  ‘Just wait.’ Albert turned one of the brass handles on the middle landing, then stood back expectantly.

  The nursery was all in white, like their own room, but with little blue flowers on the wallpaper and curtains. The wooden crib was painted white, and the quilt and pillow case were covered with the same material as the curtains. Even the pure white blankets were bound
with blue floral ribbon.

  ‘My mother made everything for in here,’ Albert explained. ‘She was determined to do it, and I couldn’t tell her you’d likely want to do it yourself. She meant it for the best, and she’s made a grand job, and saved you all the work of it, into the bargain, so I hope you’re not angry, my love.’

  She had felt a little resentful at first, but common sense made her summon up a smile. ‘I’m not angry. I’m very grateful to her for wanting to do it.’

  Relieved, he pulled her round to face the other way. ‘She gave us that, as well.’

  ‘That’ turned out to be an old cradle, which was sitting behind the door, looking quite incongruous in the white room.

  ‘It’s what she had for my brothers and me.’ Albert looked at her apologetically. ‘My father says he’ll paint it white for you if you want to use it. We could keep it in our room till the infant grows out of it, then we could transfer him up here to the crib, and I’ll make the room next door ready for a live-in nursemaid, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him crying through the night. But you don’t have to use the cradle if you don’t want it.’

  Bathie set it rocking with her foot. ‘I’d like to use it for our son, Albert, and I’d like it left just the way it is. Your mother and father are both very thoughtful.’

  ‘They love you as much as me . . . well, nearly as much.’ With a boyish grin, he slid his arm round where her waist should have been. ‘That’s why we’ve done all this for you.’

  ‘I’m so happy I could cry,’ she whispered.

  ‘We didn’t mean to make you cry, my love, but I’m glad you’re happy about everything. We did it to save you work.’

  ‘I know, Albert, dear.’

  As she went downstairs, she thanked God for her husband, and for Nell and Wattie Ogilvie.

  By half past eight, Bathie was so tired that she was glad to go to bed, and she suspected that Albert felt the same. When he did join her, she burrowed as close as she could to him, and he turned towards her at once.

  ‘I’ll be glad when you can get back to being a proper wife to me, for the last two months have been purgatory.’