Adam was a professed ‘auld licht’ believer at that time, a firm traditionalist. But Jean sometimes wondered if it might not be a belief of convenience, because he was so convinced that he was already saved. He was blessed and nothing he did or said in this life would change things. He could sin all he liked. It was a dangerous belief and doubly so for a daft young man like Adam. Rab despised such philosophies and, in her heart, she could not subscribe to them either. Jean’s God was a merciful God, whenever she took the time and trouble to think about Him, and she thought it would be a poor deity who did not take into account our sorrows and sufferings here below.
It did not end there, however.
Two things happened after that, each of them alarming in its own way. Ever with an eye to the possibility of money, Geordie Gibson sought some kind of compensation for the injuries sustained by his ‘maid’, even going so far as to ride into Ayr to consult a lawyer. This meant that Adam and the other lads had to leave town for a few weeks until things cooled down, staying with friends in Riccarton or Tarbolton or wherever they might seek refuge from the forces of law. It was only when James Armour put a reluctant hand in his pocket and paid out some money to Geordie that the lad came home, his tail between his legs, not so much penitent for his outrageous behaviour, as worn down by the tongue lashing his father had given him for bringing the whole family into disrepute and losing them money into the bargain.
That was one thing, and it might all have died down, had Rab Mossgiel not written a long poem about it, copied it out several times and circulated it throughout the town. God help us, thought Jean, why did he have to do sic a thing and do it now when I am in this state and we are supposed to be married and I’ve told nobody?
She read it but didn’t understand it. She thought at first he was sympathising with her brother, but if that was the case, why was he saying the lad was as lang as a gude kail-whittle – as tall as a kale stalk – which was true but hardly flattering, since he was well aware that Adam was ashamed of his small stature. He told her it was a satire, and when she asked him what that was, he said he was mocking Adam and his beliefs and his cruelty. She read it again and she thought maybe she understood something of it, but that made it even worse, and she knew her father would be wild when he saw it.
‘Not as wild as Adam,’ Rab remarked carelessly and coolly. ‘Which is the whole point, lass.’
Actually, Adam was flattered, just at first, and Rab wasn’t about to explain himself. She could see that he would always act first and maybe regret it later. He could not or would not think before he acted, but would do what seemed best to him on the spur of the moment. And that terrified her, especially now when she had been trying to bring herself to the point of telling her mother some of what they had done, and what the consequences had been and would be, later that year. All would be well because they were legally married. She had rehearsed the words in her head, but she could not force them from between her lips. And now this: ‘As for the jurr – puir worthless body! She’s got mischief enough already.’ As for the whore, poor worthless body…
So there they were, with half the town laughing at Adam Armour, for they perceived that the poem was not at all kind to him, and the other half outraged at the violence of the language. Rab was her lover, and her husband too though she still found it hard to believe in the truth of the marriage, but he dared to mock anything and everything. It was one thing to poke fun at Adam Armour, but he had mocked Willie Fisher too, and surely nobody was safe from the barbs of his wit, not even Daddie Auld. Her father was torn between anger at Adam for behaving so badly, and what he saw as justified rage at the perpetrator of the offending poem. But Addie was a lad and couldn’t be expected to have the sense he was born with. The biggest sin of all in James Armour’s book was for some man to make a fool of him, and whatever his wife or daughter might say to placate him, he blamed Rab Mossgiel more than he blamed his son.
Chapter Thirteen
Broken Promises
All you that are in love and cannot it remove,
I pity the pains you endure;
For experience makes me know that your hearts are full o’ woe,
A woe that no mortal can cure.
With plans for his book well underway – Gavin Hamilton and others helping to gather subscribers – and Jean’s belly swelling unmistakably, Rab urged her yet again to tell her parents about the baby and the marriage. Their future was uncertain, but as a last resort, he would take up a position in the Indies and try to make his fortune there. Or if not his fortune, then enough money to be able to provide Jean and the expected child with a more settled future.
‘They may be shocked, but they need to know. And if they will agree to acknowledge the marriage, you could come to Mossgiel. We could be together. There’s mair space since poor Johnnie died, and we could have the garret room to ourselves. Gilbert would willingly sleep down the stairs. Or perhaps we could take a room in Mauchline. I could scrape together the money for that, or maybe your father could give us something if he had a mind.’
She couldn’t see her father ‘having a mind’ to anything where marriage to Rab Burns was concerned, but she didn’t tell him that. Confession and, it was to be hoped, forgiveness, was becoming a matter of some urgency.
‘Will I come to your house and tell him?’ he persisted. ‘Will I come, and then we can do it together? It might be easier that way and perhaps he would be less inclined to be angry with you.’
‘And perhaps he would be even more inclined to be angry.’
‘But I’m your husband. How many times must I tell you before you believe me? He could do nothing to you with your husband standing beside you!’ He put his arm around her, pulled her close, felt her belly. ‘And I fancy we’d better not wait much longer,’ he added.
She had hoped to conceal the pregnancy for a few months longer, but it was rapidly becoming impossible.
‘Och Jeany, Jeany,’ said Catherine Govan thoughtlessly, seeing her coming in the door one day. ‘Ye’re getting that big, has naebody in your household noticed yet? Between that and your peely-wally face in the mornings, somebody must have seen something!’
The sickness had abated somewhat, but only the other night her little sister had said, ‘You’re getting awfy fat, Jeany. Have you been eating too much crowdie and cream?’
She had tried to laugh it off, but it was true. And not, sadly, down to crowdie and cream.
Later that week, Rab left the signed marriage agreement at Catherine Govan’s for Jean to pick up, so that she would have a formal document to show her father. With it he left a note for Jean in his usual bold scrawl: ‘You may have need of this. But it should be all you need to persuade him. Tell Mr Armour it is all legal and even if he wanted to, he could not contest it. If you fear for his response, then I should be with you, but if you want to speak to him yourself, you had better do it soon.’
* * *
She chose her moment carefully, when the house was reasonably quiet, the younger children in bed, the older lads away from home, although Adam Armour was pacing moodily about the kitchen. He was not allowed out in the evenings, not yet, although it was clear that his presence was more irritating to his father than his undisciplined absence would be. Adam had still not quite forgiven his father for shaming him, as he saw it, in front of his friends, although he would have been fearful of crossing the man in any more open manner. Mr Auld had spoken sternly to him, thunderously even, and he did not dare to contest the minister. So he contented himself with whistling a tune and grimacing behind his father’s back, pulling faces occasionally and drumming his fingers on the table as a mark of his impatience. His mother frowned at him from her place beside the chimney.
‘Sit at peace, can’t you, Addie?’
The lad threw himself into a chair, but carried on drumming on the arm, jiggling his leg up and down. Jean thought that it was now or never. She didn’t want t
o have to speak in front of her brother. She knew he was no friend to Rab just now, especially not after the circulation of that poem. Like Jean, he had thought it a testament to himself at first, and had swaggered a little upon reading it, until somebody had pointed out that there might be another meaning to it entirely, that Rab was not very fond of those of the ‘auld licht’ Presbyterian persuasion, and no great supporter of summary justice. Even Daddie Auld was no supporter of summary justice, and there were few points upon which the poet and the man of God agreed.
But there never seemed to be a time when there was complete privacy, when Jean could get her father on his own, or, preferably, her father and her mother and nobody else. She thought her mother might help to calm James’s anger. He would no doubt be very angry indeed. But she was counting on the fact that what couldn’t be cured must be endured. The child and the marriage lines were indisputable facts with which they would just have to come to terms. And perhaps they would be relieved that Rab had offered her marriage and made their union legitimate. What other recourse did she have now?
She waited until James was settled at the table and had eaten his fill, after a hard day’s work. He was often out of temper when he was hungry. She waited until he had drunk just enough and then she reached across the table, took his hands and said, ‘Father, I have something to tell you. There’s something we need to speak about.’
She could feel her heart pounding. He looked up from the remains of his meal, frowning. ‘What have you to tell me, Jeany?’
It was plain to her that he had no notion of what she was about to say.
‘I have to tell you that I’m with child.’
She heard her mother’s astonished gasp behind her.
‘What are you saying?’ Her father gazed at her in puzzlement. ‘You cannae be. How can that be? What are you saying?’
‘I’m with child.’ Unconsciously, she patted her swollen stomach. ‘Rab Burns in Mossgiel is the father. And he’s asked me to marry him. Well – more than that. We’re already married.’ She had been clutching at the paper like a talisman and now she laid it on the table. ‘You see? We have both signed our names to the agreement and he says it’s legal, all legal and above board.’ She tried to smile at him as though it were the most joyous thing in the world. ‘We’re married, so you needn’t be alarmed on my account. I’m to have his wean and move to Mossgiel, and we’re to be man and wife…’
Adam Armour started to laugh, a loud, high-pitched giggle. ‘Good God, Jeany,’ he said. ‘What a foolish whore you are, to be sure! Maybe we should hae stang’d you through the toun instead o Nancy!’
She coloured up, but her father turned towards his son. ‘And you can haud yer wheesht, ye wee blaggard. One more word out of you and you’ll feel my belt across your backside whether you think you’re grown or no!’
Adam subsided in his seat, somewhat cowed.
Slowly James turned to face Jean, lifted the paper, peered at it as though he could not read the words written there.
He half rose in his seat, clutched at his forehead, called out ‘Mary!’ and slid to the floor. It was as well there was a rag rug beneath him, or he might have cracked his head on the flagstones. As it was, Jean’s mother set up a great wailing, and rushed over to help him, fearing that he might be having a seizure, but he came to himself almost immediately. He had only fainted.
‘Give me something to drink!’ he said hoarsely.
Mary fetched the bottle of her own cordial that sat by the fire: whisky, Jamaican sugar and aniseed. She poured out a generous measure. He drank it, begged another wordlessly, drank that too, still clutching the offending document.
His wife helped him up, and he sat down at the table again, brandishing the paper at his daughter. ‘What is this nonsense?’ he asked. ‘What is this devil’s work?’
‘It isnae devil’s work, father. It’s legal. Mr Hamilton himself says it’s legal.’
‘Mr Hamilton, Mr Hamilton, whatever does he have to dae with this?’
‘Well, nothing, save only that he is a friend of…’
‘Of that rogue and vagabond frae Mossgiel. That fiend in human form. Immoral, irreverent, insolent…’
‘I love him, and he loves me.’
‘Nonsense! You’re a wee lassie just. What would you ken of love?’
‘Well, she kens something, clearly,’ muttered Adam.
His father turned on him. ‘And you can haud yer wheesht, I said. This is between me and Jeany. In fact away you go…’
‘Where am I to go?’
‘I care not so long as you are out of my sight. Here!’ He put his hand in his pocket and flung a handful of coins at his son. ‘Away to Johnnie Dow’s for an hour till we sort this out. But say naething, do you hear? If I find out ye have been blabbin about oor Jean’s predicament, I won’t be responsible for my actions. D’you hear me?’
‘Aye, I hear.’ Adam took the gifts the Gods provided, pocketed the coins and left. It would have been more than his life was worth to speak about anything but the quality of the ale on offer, and that was what he did, staying in the inn until the money was all spent.
In the kitchen, Jean stared at her father with some trepidation. He was silent for a few minutes, shaking his head, considering all his options. Her mother fussed about, pouring more cordial, glancing sidelong at her daughter. What was to be done?
‘Jimmie,’ she said at last, ‘D’you no think marriage might be the best plan?’
‘To Rab Mossgiel? I’ll see him in hell first!’ He shook the paper. ‘This means naething. Marriage might be the best plan, you’re right, Mary, but no to him. There’s Rab Wilson, all set up in Paisley, a good God fearing man with prospects, fetching in three pounds a week so I hear, and he’s aye had a fondness for oor Jean.’
‘But not now, surely? Now that she’s carrying another man’s wean?’
‘There’s many a man has brought up another man’s wean!’
‘I don’t love…’ Jean began, but he silenced her.
‘You – you’ll do as you’re tellt. Get up to your bed. I don’t want to see your face any more the night. I’m ashamed of you. Tell me lass, did he tak advantage of you? Did he force you?’
‘No!’ It came out more loudly than she intended. ‘No he did not. I consented. And I’ve consented to this marriage.’
‘We’ll see about that. I’ll be away into Ayr first thing, Mary, to see Mr Aiken the lawyer with this … this paper. There must be something we can do. And as for you, Jean, you’re going nowhere till I say so. I don’t know what tissue of falsehood and lies has been going on behind my back. I thought you were better than this, Jeany, much better than this. Shame on you, lass. Shame on you.’
The following morning he set off for Ayr at first light. Jean attempted to come down, but Mary shooed her back upstairs, brought her barley bread and some tea, sent the other children out of the house to stay with a neighbour.
‘Your father says you’re to stay where ye are, and I daurna cross him, Jeany. He’s right. You’ve been very foolish, and that Rab Mossgiel isnae a good man. He’s a knotless thread and he will aye slip away frae you at time of need.’
Later on that morning, she heard a rapping on the door and voices raised, her mother’s shrill remonstrations against Rab’s angry tones. She went to the top of the stairs but didn’t dare to descend. Soon there was the slamming of the door and an ominous silence. Her father was away the whole day. In the evening, she heard a shower of pebbles cast against the window and opened the casement to see Rab’s head poking out of the window opposite, the window of the room that held such pleasant memories.
‘What’s going on, Jeany? Your mother sent me from your door!’
‘I don’t ken, Rab. My father’s away into Ayr with the marriage paper, and my mother won’t let me down the stairs, and that’s all I ken.’
‘Wee Addie was
following me just now, throwing stones, pulling tongues.’
‘He’ll catch it if father sees him.’
‘He almost caught it when I saw him. I’ll wring his scrawny neck if I can lay hands on him. He and his cronies ran off. But, Jeany, can you slip out later?’
‘I don’t think so. I would try but I’m feart, Rab.’
‘Was he very angry?’
‘He fainted clean away at the news. My mother had to revive him with cordial!’
‘Good God! Am I such a bad prospect as a husband?’ He sounded half amused, but defiant too.
‘I don’t think so, but he does. He hates you like poison. I don’t think I realised how deep it runs with him. And I’m feart of him right now. Let’s leave it be. Let’s leave it for a day or two till he calms down. The news came as sic a shock to him. Go back to Mossgiel, Rab. Wait there. I’ll get word to you as soon as I can. I’ll get word to Katy Govan and she can send you news with Willie.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Aye, I’m sure.’
The truth was that she was afraid, afraid of violence between her father and even her brothers and her lover, afraid of what they might do. Where injustice was concerned, Rab’s temper could be fierce and uncompromising.
* * *
Although the days were already growing longer, it was fully dark before her father came back, before she heard the slamming of the door and his step in the kitchen. He came to the foot of the stairs and called to her to come down. She had been upstairs for most of the day. Mary had insisted on accompanying her to the outhouse to attend to her personal needs, and had brought food and drink to her. She comforted herself with the thought that they could hardly keep her a prisoner up here for long. As a fairly frequent visitor to the house, Mr Auld would certainly have something to say about that. James Armour had been riding hard, and his cheeks were flushed. He unwrapped his plaid, for the evening had been chilly.
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