Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Niall who had directed the proceedings had not thought this to be in the best of taste but Tam, the instigator, had told him seriously, ‘Och, get away wi’ you, son, everyone is knowing this is Doug’s third time, you canny hide the truth o’ that. If Robert the Bruce can do it wi’ a spider then Doug can do it wi’ a woman. It gives the other lads a wee bit o’ hope into the bargain. When our cailleachs see the likes o’ that they will maybe treat us wi’ more appreciation in case we might take a fancy to have a wee taste somewhere else.’

  The hall filled up in no time with everyone flocking to help themselves from the cold buffet which had been set near the door. Plates rattled, piles of cold chicken, ham and tongue disappeared rapidly. Hector the Boat had set up a copper washtub just inside the door, connected to a gas cylinder. Into the tub of boiling hot water he was dropping live lobsters with relish and was doing an altogether roaring trade. As wily as he was simple he was quick to seize opportunity when it chanced along and despite a storm of protest that this was a wedding feast free to all comers, he was charging five shillings for an admittedly generous portion of lobster with most people paying up since few could resist the savoury aroma which assailed their nostrils as they approached the hall.

  Dodie arrived on the scene, hungry and gaunt looking though he had spruced himself up, having changed into a smart, if thin, blue jacket and fawn trousers so well pressed the men told him they could cut ham on the crease.

  ‘What way did you get it so sharp?’ Jim Jim asked curiously. ‘You haveny the electricity to use wi’ an iron and you never got a crease like that from putting your breeks under the mattress.’

  But Dodie was not going to tell him that, under great duress to himself and at the cost of one of his beautiful painted stones, he had persuaded the crotchety old kitchen maid at Burnbreddie House to undertake to do his laundry for him though she had insisted ‘outer layers only and these had better be clean or I’ll rub your nose in them – though mind—’ she had paused and wrinkled her sharp nose thoughtfully – ‘they couldny be any worse than some o’ the things this household presents me with – especially Scott Balfour the Younger. Over the moors he goes whenever he is at home and I’m thinkin’ he must go crawling about in peat bogs for the knees o’ his breeks are aye coated wi’ mud and other unpleasant stuff that I have no wish to mention.’

  Despite her sour nature she was an excellent laundress and Dodie was well pleased with her handiwork, so much so he had spent ten minutes staring at himself in his grimy mirror before venturing outside. The tempting smell of boiled lobster set his mouth watering but he was dismayed when Hector, his beguiling, one-toothed smile never faltering, stuck out a leathery palm and demanded payment for his wares.

  ‘You are a buggering cheat, just!’ wailed Dodie, his belly rumbling so loudly those in the vicinity commented on it.

  ‘You only brought those lobsters here because Colin Mor said they wereny fit to take over to the fish market. Forbye, you promised me one whole one for nothing! I didny go to all the bother o’ dressing up just to come to this dance thing! I want my tea and I want it now.’

  Hector’s smile had fallen away like a veil and with a quick look round he hastily shoved a generous portion of lobster at Dodie and told him he could have as much as he liked free, though he wasn’t to broadcast the fact to another living soul. Dodie, delighted at his success, went off with a brimming plate, leaving Hector muttering darkly that the old eccentric wasn’t as green as he was cabbage looking.

  After the cake had been cut and all the usual pleasantries dispensed with, the hall was cleared of unnecessary furnishings, the bar was officially opened by Angus who had been imbibing freely for the last hour, and the band struck up with vigour. The dancing was soon in full progress and Ruth, who had come down early in case her help was needed, looked round for a sign of Lorn who hadn’t been keen to come, telling her that he would rather stay home and look after the children. But Kirsteen had committed herself to looking after all the wee ones in the family so Lorn had no excuse, though he had grumbled at the idea of going to all the fuss of donning his best suit to go out. He came through the door, shining and brushed, looking so different from the farmer husband she knew that Ruth could do nothing but admire him for a few silent minutes. He hovered near the door, red faced, looking as though he would like to run back through it the way he had come for he had never been keen on dancing, though he occasionally took Ruth to the informal affairs in the village.

  The floor was filling as one by one the men, helped by a few drams of the uisge beatha, plucked up the courage to lead their partners into a waltz. Shona and Niall were dancing close together, Shona graceful and lovely in a long turquoise dress, Niall handsome and striking in his lovat jacket and McLachlan kilt.

  ‘Get that Lorn to dance with you, Ruth,’ Shona hissed on the way past and Niall winked and with his eyes indicated a knot of young men who were eyeing Ruth with admiration for she was exceedingly attractive and feminine in a long rose-pink dress which showed her fair skin and flaxen hair to advantage.

  Between the heads of the dancers Lorn caught Ruth’s eye and despite his flush of embarrassment he winked at her and smiled. Of a sudden she was transported back to the night of the Burnbreddie dance, the music, the laughter, the love in her heart for Lorn McKenzie. It had been for her an evening of vividly conflicting emotions, of joy and unhappiness, for Lorn had started off the night in a highly confident mood though the minute he stepped over the threshold of Burnbreddie House his confidence had dropped away like a mantle, leaving him so nervous and unsure of himself he had ended up getting drunk and she, thinking he hadn’t wanted to be seen dancing with her because of her limp, had fled the scene to return home in a deep state of unhappiness and doubt over his feelings for her.

  A smile touched the corners of her mouth. How foolish they had been in those early, searching days of their young love. He had changed in so many ways though at times he was still unsure of himself and, winding her way through the crowd, she went up to him, smiled, said coyly, ‘Will you do the honour of dancing with me, my man?’

  He let go of his breath and giggled suddenly. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind me stamping on your toes?’

  ‘My dear chap,’ she assumed the ‘Burnbreddie drawl’ as it was known locally, ‘I wouldn’t give a damn if you put your feet on mine and let me dance you round the entire hall.’

  She could be exceedingly funny when the mood took her and he stood looking down at her admiring the dainty sprinkling of freckles on her small, straight nose. ‘Daft wee thing,’ he smiled affectionately. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with or I’ll never pluck up the courage.’

  The dance came to an end, everyone was walking back to the benches set along the walls when the door opened to admit Rachel. A hush fell over the young males at the sight of her. She was wearing a simple, white, off-the-shoulder dress which intimately hugged every exciting contour of her body. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, showing the symmetrical grace of her long smooth neck. Long diamanté drops hung from her delicately shaped ears, a red rosebud nestled in the luxuriant coils of her shining hair, another was pinned to her shoulder, the red against the pure white looking like a blob of blood. When she walked across the hall all eyes turned to watch her tall statuesque figure and Ruth, going forward to meet her, suddenly felt pale and insignificant beside her.

  ‘Hmph, would you look at the lass!’ Elspeth Morrison’s gaunt immobile face was disapproving. ‘She is out to have a good time and no mistake. She hasny got her man to keep an eye on her so she’ll be huntin’ down any other foolish enough to take her on.’

  ‘Just you mind your tongue, my woman,’ Kate leapt to the defence of her granddaughter. ‘Rachel might be a beautiful lass to look at but her heart is wi’ one man and that is Jon. She canny help lookin’ the way she does. If there’s any huntin’ to be done it will be yourself stalkin’ them down like a jungle tigress – I’ve seen you watching our very own Isaac McIntosh
wi’ a hungry glint in your eye and he’s no’ the first one by a long shot.’

  Elspeth’s face flamed and she was about to make an angry retort when old Sorcha jumped readily into the argument, her lips folded tightly in disapproval of Rachel who was being swept on to the floor by Mark James, anxious to talk to her about music.

  ‘Mistress Morrison is right,’ she nodded grimly. ‘That Rachel has even got our minister under her spell. Men are all alike when it comes to girls like her – flaunting everything she’s got without even a blush to cover her bosoms.’

  With chagrin, Kate eyed the strands of dyed wispy hair lurking about Sorcha’s long ears. ‘At least she didny have to get her hair dyed to force folks into gawping at her. Ay, Sorcha, you must be gettin’ desperate for attention to make such a spectacle of yourself and I was always under the impression that you were such a respectable body.’

  Sorcha treated Kate to a contemptuous glare. ‘Folks in glasshouses shouldny talk. What is that covering your own head I’d like to know? It’s no’ a blue powder puff, that I can vouch for.’

  ‘Ach, I did it to make cratur’s like you sit up and take notice,’ answered Kate with asperity. ‘I have my man which is more than can be said for the likes o’ you, though I would have thought you would be past it at your age.’

  ‘Here comes Behag,’ Elspeth forgot her enmity in the heat of the moment. ‘Mercy on us! Would you look at her! I’m thinkin’ she’s taken the shears to her head.’ Kate forgot her argument with both Sorcha and Elspeth. For a few moments at least they became bosom friends as they discussed the haughty-looking Behag’s latest escapade.

  ‘I doubt you’re right, Elspeth,’ verified Kate eagerly. ‘I think she’s lopped off every one o’ they purple hairs she was flaunting in kirk this morning. There is a nary a single one roamin’ out from under that chanty hat o’ hers. And would you look at the besom – her nose stuck in the air like she was the bee’s knees and pryin’ into other folks’ affairs as if she was already behind the counter o’ the Post Office. It is just a pity Totie asked her to look after it while she is away on her honeymoon. We will hear nothing else but boasting for the next few weeks, for her head is bigger than ever since she got that damty tin medal she keeps stuck on her wall. Look you, Elspeth, away and get Mollie and Merry Mary. We will all go and have a wee talk wi’ auld Behag – we could maybe ask her advice about hair dye. Before the night is over we will have her dancing all right – wi’ pure rage!’

  The hall was really livening up now. The bar was doing a roaring trade and was well supported by Tam and his cronies downing beer and whisky as if they were afraid the glasses were going to be whipped away from under their noses at any moment. Old Joe, having seized his chance the minute Captain Mac vacated his seat, was cosily ensconced in a corner beside a fetchingly attired Aunt Grace, her pink face enthralled as she listened to his stories about his seafaring days. The old sea dog made goad use of his considerable charm. Into his tales he wove enchanting anecdotes of beautiful mermaids and Aunt Grace’s face grew from pink to red as the descriptions of these fabled creatures unfolded. To her astonishment each one sounded exactly like herself except for the long fish tail. She forgot all about Captain Mac and his more mundane stories of the sea and gave herself up to the enchantment of hearing about eyes as green as emeralds and tresses o’ hair so fine the fairies themselves might have spun it on their magic spinning wheels.

  At one point when Old Joe’s attention was diverted, she surreptitiously took out her mirror to gaze at herself and sure enough eyes as green as emeralds looked back at her and she saw a cloud of silvery hair so fine the fairies might indeed have had a hand in creating it. A little sigh escaped her. Oh, how nice it would be to share her fireside with a man like Joe, even if it was only for a year or two. At his age he would demand nothing more than a warm bed and good cooked meals and in return her reward would be cosy fireside nights in his company. He was an old romantic, indeed he was, though nowadays any notions he had were channelled into his magical tales of the sea and all she would have to do would be to listen.

  Captain Mac on the other hand was a younger, full-blooded man, he would want more than just a full belly and a warm bed – he would want her in that bed beside him, so perhaps it might be safer not to encourage his attentions too much. Pity – he was a fine figure of a man but suited to a much younger woman than herself . . . With a coy little giggle Aunt Grace turned once more to Joe and asked him to tell her another of his tales. The old man stretched his neck and his eyes roved round the room. He didn’t want Kate interrupting him at this vital stage in his plans but she was with a crowd of her cronies and with a satisfied smile he turned the full battery of his sea-green gaze on Aunt Grace, put his big, hairy hand over her dainty little one, and plunged into another fishy tale.

  Chapter Eight

  Lachlan, sitting quietly by Phebie having a drink, was suddenly seized upon by one or two nearby villagers, anxious to know if the rumour about his retirement was genuine. Brown eyes twinkling mischievously, he put his arm round Phebie’s shoulders and said to her with mock seriousness, ‘Well, what do you think, my bonny plump rose? Will we tell them or is it too early in the day for that?’

  Phebie puckered her brow and pondered the matter heavily while all around impatience grew. ‘Well now, Doctor,’ she said at last, ‘I would say the time is not yet ripe to be saying a word to anyone.’ With a carefully composed face she added, ‘After all you haveny yet told me if you are giving up the practice or not and as your wife I think I ought to be the first to know.’

  ‘Oh you will, never fear,’ nodded Lachlan, his thin face alight with mischief.

  Niall and Shona threw themselves down on the bench and the former, immediately sizing up the situation, spoke severely. ‘Father, you don’t mean to tell me you have been keeping the identity of the new doctor a secret? That isn’t fair – is it, Shona?’

  Shona’s blue eyes sparkled and she said, aghast, ‘And to think we always believed you to be the most honest of men. That nice Indian doctor will be expecting you to pave the way for him and all the time you haven’t said one word for him.’

  Kate came over in time to hear Shona’s words and her shout of outrage soared above the general din. ‘An Indian doctor you say! Mercy on us! It canny be! It will be bad enough having a new doctor at all but an Indian mannie! He will no’ understand a word we’re saying and we’ll no’ be knowing what he’s yabblin’ about either.’

  A chorus of agreement rose at her words. Everybody looked at everybody else in dismay before they all began to talk among themselves at the one time. Lachlan could hold back his mirth no longer and throwing back his head gave vent to his laughter.

  ‘Doctor! This is no time for jokes!’ scolded a red-faced Elspeth, her prim face puckered with worry. As housekeeper at Slochmhor she was of the opinion that she should have, in common with the family, the privilege of knowing all there was to know about the affairs of the household. At the back of her mind too were the niggling anxieties for her future. She knew only too well that the doctor had only kept her on as housekeeper because she was not only good at the job but because he recognized her need to have something to do to fill her empty life. She was long past retirement age and she dreaded the idea of having to give up her job and all that it meant to her. She knew of course that he and Phebie would likely continue to live on at Slochmhor and because the duties of the house would be less she was perfectly willing to stay on at a much reduced salary. She wanted to say all this, but the village hall was not the place for such personal discussions so instead she contented herself by emphasizing her disapproval of his flippant attitude. ‘This is no laughing matter, Doctor. You know fine well you haveny made your mind up one way or another about retiring.’

  Lachlan recovered his breath. ‘I know fine well, Elspeth, but neither you nor anyone else will be knowing until I decide the time is right – and you more than anyone should know better than to talk to me about my work when I am here
to enjoy myself like any other body.’

  Kate sniggered and Elspeth’s mouth folded into a tight line. ‘If that’s how you feel, Doctor. I had thought that after all these years o’ being part o’ the household I would have had my place in it respected but it just shows how wrong a body can be.’ Huffily she walked away and looking rather shamefaced everyone else disappeared, albeit unwillingly, in the circumstances.

  Phebie squeezed her husband’s arm. ‘When are you going to tell them that you have definitely decided to retire, Lachy?’

  ‘In my own good time and not before. I’m enjoying keeping the Kates and the Elspeths in suspense for a whily.’

  Shona shook back her hair and eyed him with deep affection. ‘They think the world of you, that’s why they’re so anxious to know if they are going to have you for a whily longer or thole the idea of a stranger taking over.’

  Lachlan looked slightly apologetic. ‘Ay, you’re right, lass, I’m not being fair.’ His slow, pleasant smile crinkled his eyes. ‘To tell the truth I never thought of it that way. I’ll be just as sorry to lose them – though it will be pleasant to have them as friends rather than patients. I’ll tell Elspeth in the morning,’ he decided with a rueful shake of his head. ‘By dinner time the whole of Rhanna should know that old Doc Lachlan’s retiring.’