When the baby was nearly two weeks old and Emma was getting up each day, in spite of the midwife’s advice that she should rest, Uncle Dick asked her if she could manage a walk into the village to register the birth.
‘The blacksmith is the local registrar. I’ll come with you, but it needs to be done here and your father will be coming for you on Saturday.’
‘The station is twice as far as the village so it will be good for me to get into practice,’ Emma said.
‘Ye willna need to walk to the station, lassie. Mrs Donnelly has offered me a loan o’ her pony and trap to drive you and your pa.’
‘How kind she has been,’ Emma said in surprise. ‘How can I ever repay her? She paid the midwife to attend to me too.’
‘Aye, she’s a true Christian. She’s had her own troubles but it hasna made her bitter. Her husband died when her two bairns were still at school. She kept on the farm for her laddie. He’ll make a good farmer one day.’
Emma refused to leave her baby behind with Vera while she went to the village. She still had a fear that her aunt might find a way of taking him away from her. She felt she would die if anything happened to him now. Uncle Dick seemed to understand and he even offered to carry him.
‘Have you thought of a name?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I intend to call him James Albert, but I expect he’ll be Jamie.’ She didn’t explain that he would be called after his grandfathers or that she had another name to add if she could see the blacksmith privately. As it happened there were two men already talking at the forge, and Dick took the baby from her and stood talking to them while the blacksmith showed her through to the cosy parlour, where his wife was stirring a pot of broth over the fire. It was usual for the fathers to come to register the births of their offspring but George Irving knew all about this young niece of Dick’s so he didn’t ask any unnecessary questions; he simply wrote “father unknown.” He looked up at her.
‘Have you given the laddie a name?’
‘Yes. James Albert Sinclair.’
‘And your surname is Greig, the same as your uncle?’
‘That’s right.’ Emma nodded. The entry in the book was blotted carefully and then Emma was given a birth certificate. She was happy to know her baby was now an official person with a name of his own. Since his birth she had given little thought to the man who had sired him, or even to Maggie. Consequently it was a surprise, and a welcome relief, when she and her father arrived at the little station three miles from their village of Locheagle, and found Maggie waiting for them with the Bonnybrae pony and trap.
There was a sheen of tears in Maggie’s fine eyes as she gazed down at the tightly swathed bundle in Emma’s arms.
‘He’s a beautiful baby, Emma,’ she said softly. ‘His dark hair is like yours.’
‘The midwife said he would lose it and I think it is coming out already.’
‘I see him smacking his wee lips and clenching his tiny fists. I expect he’s ready for a feed so the sooner we get you home the better,’ Maggie said, smiling as she bundled them into the trap.
All the way home, Albert Greig had been unusually quiet and his silence made Emma nervous but he had not mentioned taking her baby away from her or sending him to the nuns.
‘We’re very grateful to ye, Miss Maggie, for meeting Emma and the bairn with the trap,’ he said formally when they arrived back at the house. ‘Will you come in and take a cup of tea with us?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Greig, not today,’ Maggie smiled. ‘I suspect there will be enough excitement when Emma’s mother sees her first grandchild.’
‘Aye, there’ll be that all right,’ he said gruffly, ‘and then the gossip will start,’ he added bitterly. ‘I hope Eliza can cope with that.’
‘I know,’ Maggie said seriously, ‘but I’m sure everything will turn out well in the end and all will be forgiven. I pray to God it will be so anyway.’
Bert Greig looked at her curiously, wondering why it should be any of her concern, but maybe she was just a good woman with a kind heart. As she helped Emma down from the trap, Maggie held the baby for the first time and her gaze was tender as she looked into his wondering eyes.
‘I have a letter for you, Emma,’ she said quietly. ‘It is from William. I hope you will reply as soon as you can. It came a week ago. He does not know yet that he has a son.’
‘Oh thank you, Miss Maggie. Is your brother not back frae Yorkshire yet then?’ she asked in surprise, tucking the letter into the pocket of her skirt to read later.
‘Oh no. He will not be coming back to Bonnybrae. Maybe I did not make that clear in my last letter to you. I’m sorry. I think William’s letter will explain everything.’
‘I see. Thank you, Miss Maggie,’ Emma said, but she felt as though a cloud had blocked out her sunshine. Had William Sinclair changed his mind and run away from her and her baby? Maggie had made no further mention of taking her back to work at Bonnybrae, either. She chewed her lower lip as she watched the pony and trap drive away, and the tears sprang to her eyes as they seemed to do far too easily since the baby was born. Her clasp on Jamie had tightened instinctively, and he began to struggle and whimper as she stepped into the familiar kitchen that was home.
Eliza immediately reached for the baby, crooning softly, smiling down at him, and Bert knew he had done the right thing in letting Emma keep him. It would have broken her heart to part with him and he could see already that Eliza would love the bairn. That would help her face the scandal mongers, although he knew of old how cruel village gossip could be. He prayed the wee fellow would not suffer too badly. He would have to learn to be tough when he went to school.
‘Our first grand bairn, Bert,’ Eliza said, softly holding the baby towards him, inviting him to take a better look.
‘Aye, he seems a fine babe considering he came a bit early.’ He looked into his wife’s pleading eyes and smiled. ‘We must be thankful that he’s right and straight, eh, Lizzie?’ Watching them, Emma gave a sigh of relief.
‘I think he’s ready for his feed,’ she said.
‘Aye, he will be, the wee soul. Ye’ve done more than your grandmother already, ma wee man, ye’ve travelled on the train and that’s something I havena done yet.’ She handed Jamie to Emma. ‘I’ll make some tea. I expect you’re ready for it and your brothers will soon be home frae the football.’
Later that evening, all four of her menfolk went together to the Crown and Thistle. Usually Davy and Richard went courting on a Saturday night, or to a dance in one of the surrounding villages, but tonight it was as though they were joining forces in mutual support. Somebody would have seen Emma arriving home with the baby. She would be a topic for gossip in the bar until something else happened for folks to talk about.
Eliza seated herself beside the fire and looked across at Emma’s bowed head as she fed wee Jamie. She wondered why she had named him James, but at least she had given him her father’s name as well.
‘Well, Emma, was Vera good to ye?’ she asked. Emma compressed her lips and didn’t reply immediately.
‘Uncle Dick was kind, and Mrs Donnelly came when the baby was born and she paid for the midwife to come every morning for ten days and she sent chicken soup for me. I d-don’t think Aunt Vera was very pleased at her making arrangements.’
‘Then we ought to repay her,’ Eliza said anxiously.
‘Uncle Dick says we’re not to worry because he’ll repay her with his work.’
‘Aye, he’s a decent fellow, Dick. I dinna ken how he got a wife like Vera. I was surprised when Maggie Sinclair called again to hear how you were, and when I told her about the baby and that you were coming home, she offered to meet you with the pony and trap. That was real decent of her, I thought. Has she ever mentioned anything about ye going back to work at Bonnybrae?’
‘No, no, she didn’t. I almost forgot in all the excitement of being home again. She gave me a letter.’ She handed the sleepy baby to her mother to rub his back in case he had any wind while s
he carefully slit open the envelope. It had obviously been folded inside one to Maggie.
She gasped aloud and the colour drained from her face as she read William’s letter.
‘What’s wrong, lassie?’ Eliza asked in concern. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Is it bad news?’
‘I … he … William Sinclair … He wants to make me his wife.’
‘His wife? William Sinclair? He wants to marry his mother’s maid?’ Eliza stared at her. Then she took a deep breath. She wished Bert had been at home. ‘Is he the father of this wee fellow, Emma? Did he come to your room at nights while you were a maid in his mother’s house?’ she asked angrily.
‘No! No, he never. It was only one night because the mist came down and we were lost on the hill and we had to stay out all night. He kept me warm and … and …’
‘And he’s the father ’o your bairn? I suppose he must be, if he’s asking you to be his wife …’
‘B-but Mother, you dinna understand. Mr and Mrs Sinclair sent him away frae Bonnybrae. He’s gone to live in Yorkshire. I-I’d have to live there if I was his wife.’
‘Yorkshire? What possessed him to go so far away?’
‘He must have told them – told them everything. I–I think they must have sent him away in disgrace too.’ She shuddered. ‘Mrs Sinclair would be very angry with him, I suppose, if he told them. I mean when they realized.’
‘Realized he was the father of your bairn?’ Eliza’s lips tightened. ‘So he’s been banished frae his own home?’
‘He-he says he canna send for me yet. He is sleeping in a loft with two other single men and working on an estate. He says he’ll get a cottage as soon as he can b-but he hopes to rent a small farm someday.’
‘At least it sounds as though he means to do the right thing by ye then, Emma,’ Eliza said with relief.
‘B-but Ma, ye dinna understand!’ Emma wailed. ‘I–I c-canna go to live in Yorkshire! It’s miles and miles away.’ She began to sob. ‘It was bad enough going to stay with Aunt Vera. I didn’t know anybody or where I was. I was a prisoner there. I don’t want to go away. I willna go! I willna …’ She almost snatched the baby from her mother’s arms as she ran to her bedroom, leaving the letter to flutter to the floor.
Nine
The Greig men returned earlier than usual for a Saturday evening. The atmosphere in the Crown and Thistle had been strained, and they all knew the rest of the men were waiting for them to leave so they could discuss the latest gossip. Bert Greig was a proud man and he thought he had brought his family up to be decent, God-fearing citizens but the blow Emma had dealt his family had shaken him more than he cared to admit. Yet in his heart he knew he couldn’t have left the baby in the care of strangers, whatever the wagging tongues might say. The wee laddie would make a place for himself.
He hung his cap on the nail in the tiny lobby and went into the living room to find his wife staring into the embers of the fire with a sheet of paper in her hand. The boys followed their father in and seated themselves round the table.
‘Any tea going, Ma?’ Joe asked, striving to lighten the mood.
‘Aye, I’ll shove the kettle on,’ she said absently.
‘What’s wrong, Ma?’ Richard asked. ‘You look … sort of strange.’
‘I know who the father o’ Emma’s bairn is.’
‘Who is he?’ they demanded almost in unison.
‘It’s William Sinclair …’
‘William Sinclair! Why, the scoundrel! I-I’ll kill him!’ Joe declared.
‘You’d need to travel a while first,’ his mother said dryly. ‘He’s gone to live in Yorkshire.’
‘Running away? By the devil, he can’t hide frae us. We’ll find him.’
‘I think you’d better read the letter he’s sent to Emma first,’ Eliza said wearily. ‘I think the Sinclairs have sent him away, the same as we sent Emma. Pride can be a sin. And another thing, Vera must have treated Emma badly. She doesna want to leave here, or go away anywhere, except maybe back to work at Bonnybrae. She doesn’t want to go all the way to Yorkshire.’
‘He’s asking her to join him?’ Davy asked.
‘Aye, as his wife.’
‘I’d say the lad had no more warning than we did about what was going on,’ his father said with a frown, looking up from the sheet of paper, neatly covered on both sides. He handed it to Richard. ‘He doesna sound a bad fellow. I can’t understand why Emma didn’t tell him. Why didn’t she tell us earlier?’
‘Because she didna know herself,’ Eliza said. ‘She was blooming and in the best of health. We have never talked about things. I blame myself. She thought a woman didn’t have babies until she had a husband.’
‘That’s the way it’s supposed to be,’ Bert said gruffly.
‘Emma might have been ignorant about such things but William Sinclair would know well enough what he was doing, taking advantage of a young innocent maid, and under his parents’ roof,’ Richard said grimly.
‘Emma says it was only one night. The two of them got lost on the hill when the mist came down. If she’d been sick in the mornings, or unable to do her work, he might have guessed.’
‘At least he’s offering to marry her now,’ Davy said pacifically, ‘and he intends to make a home for her and his bairn.’
‘Aye, Davy is right,’ Bert said firmly. ‘Eliza, you’ll have to make Emma see sense. It’s only right she should go to him. They both owe it to the bairn to give him a father and a home. He says he has not got a place for them yet so she’ll have time to get used to the idea. She’ll come round so long as you don’t encourage her to think she can stay here for ever.’
‘I know that, Bert,’ Eliza said wearily. ‘I’ve thought o’ nothing else since I read the letter. Emma ran off to bed sobbing her heart out. I know it’s right for her to go, but it grieves me sorely. My only lassie and going so far away. I might never see her again if she goes to live in Yorkshire.’
‘Of course you will, Ma,’ Richard said soothingly. ‘There’ll soon be trains the length and breadth o’ the country.’
‘But think of the cost!’ his mother protested.
‘Then you’ll have good reason to put a bit extra in your tea caddy to pay the fare when the time comes,’ he chivvied her with a smile.
‘Look at it this way, Ma,’ Davy intervened, ‘William Sinclair is aware of what he’s done and he’s willing to make amends as far as he can. It’s changed his life as well as Emma’s, but he’ll make an honest woman of her. What he needs to know is whether she’s willing to marry him and live down there. So you’ll need to persuade Emmie to write without delay. He needs to know what she intends to do before he makes plans. It doesn’t sound as though he knows he has a son by the way he writes.’
Things were not moving as fast as William had hoped. In April it had seemed an age until September, but tenants usually gave notice when they intended to give up a lease and there had been no word of any tenants giving notice to quit from Mr Frame, or from Drew. He was beginning to despair of getting a farm even by Michaelmas. The man he had been replacing at the Mains Farm had returned to his work with the cattle but Fred Black, the foreman, had asked him to stay on as a general worker to help with sheep shearing, then the hay and harvest. Both he and the land agent seemed impressed with the progress he had made with the breaking in of the geldings, and he was secretly delighted with the Clydesdale filly they had promised him.
He knew they had a poor opinion of her because she was so small in comparison to the three Shire geldings, but he was convinced her lack of size was more due to the poor start she’d had, rather than inherited. He was almost certain she would breed well with the right choice of stallion, but even if she didn’t, horses were essential to every farm and more valuable to him than a few extra guineas in wages, which is what he would have got anywhere else.
As a general worker, he earned fifteen shillings and sixpence a week after the half-crown a week deduction for his food. He paid sixpence a week
to one of the maids to do his washing. He hated the idea of dirty clothes and earned some ribbing from the two men who shared the loft with him. He had learned from the married workers who occupied estate houses that a deduction of eight pounds a year was taken from their wages for the occupation of a house, plus other deductions for potatoes, milk and coal so he knew this is what he could expect if he took a job with a house when Emma came to join him. He also knew there would be little money left at the end of a week by the time he, his wife and child were fed and clothed. When he considered that he could save most of his fifteen shillings in his present state, it made his sojourn in the loft more bearable.
Subconsciously he already considered himself as a man with responsibilities so he had little desire to spend his hard-earned money by accompanying the other single men to the pub on Saturday evenings. The only socializing he did was to visit Drew and Annie, and go with them to church and share their Sunday dinner.
‘I find the kirk service even more strict and formal than the one back home,’ he remarked to Drew after attending his first service.
‘Aye, but you get used to it. It’s all set out in the book of Common Prayer. You just have to follow the order and join in with everybody else.’
‘Good Lord! Is it like that every Sunday?’
His cousin’s mouth twitched, knowing what stern Presbyterians William’s parents were.
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