Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  He held her close and whispered. ‘Shall we go? I’ve a surprise for you.’

  They left during the interval.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked when they were about to get into Norrie’s van.

  He looked at her over the top of it. ‘We’re going to have a picnic.’

  ‘A picnic? Are you mad?’ she cried. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘It’s a fine night and there’s a full moon. What could be more romantic? It is romance you want, is it not?’

  ‘Norrie Williams,’ said Catherine as she slid into the passenger seat, ‘you’re completely crazy. Only you could think of something like this.’

  Catherine wondered where they were going, but when he drove up the steep incline to Spencie’s Field she knew. At the top of the hill he parked the van, took out a basket and a rug and told her to follow him. He walked a little way until he came to a depression in the hillside. There he put down the basket and rug and put an arm round her. ‘What could you want better than this?’ he said as he spread his other arm wide indicating with a sweeping gesture the south mainland.

  The moon in a clear sky gave a cold light, sparkled on creaming wave tops and lit up the foam where breakers crashed at the foot of the cliffs. To the south the lighthouse at Sumburgh stood out clearly and Fair Isle showed its presence by the intermittent flash from its light. To the west Foula hovered on the horizon and below them lights glowed in house windows.

  ‘It’s magic,’ said Catherine. ‘How did you know where to come?’

  Norrie spread the rug, took a bottle of wine, some cups and sandwiches out of the basket. ‘I found it when we were herding sheep one time.’ He was kneeling, gestured to Catherine to sit. ‘Would you do me the honour, my lady?’ he said. ‘Why, certainly sir,’ she replied, curtseying and entering into the spirit of his nonsense.

  He poured wine. ‘Fine thing I remembered the corkscrew, is it not?’ They ate sandwiches made with cold roast pork and little cakes which he swore he’d made himself, but later confessed he’d wheedled from one of the women behind the refreshment table in the dance hall.

  Sitting on the rug, a cup of wine in her hand, Catherine gazed across the vast expanse of moon-spangled sea and counted the rhythm of the Fair Isle light. The song of the ocean and the sigh of the wind was a special kind of music. Norrie was a kind man, the impromptu picnic and the peace of their surroundings made a welcome closure to a day when her emotions had been in turmoil.

  ‘There’s so much sky up here,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s because we’re surrounded by the sea. I love living here. Kay once said that islands have a magic of their own and that they claim your soul.’

  Norrie lay on his back. ‘I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’

  ‘Not like Billie, then. He wanted to go.’

  ‘No he didn’t. You made him.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Yes you did; you broke his heart.’

  Twisting herself round Catherine threw a screwed-up paper bag at him. ‘I did no such thing,’ she said. ‘He asked me more than once what it was like in the south. I told him, but he still wanted to go.’

  ‘No no.’ Norrie shook his head. ‘You broke his heart like you’re breaking mine. You’re a cruel woman.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘Aw, there, there,’ she crooned. She broke off a stalk of dry grass and leaned over to tickle the end of his nose.

  Norrie turned to look at her. Suddenly the world slipped away and her insides began to melt. Norrie was looking at her with his heart in his eyes. He reached out and took her hand. She bent her head and kissed him gently, then lay down beside him and curled herself into the crook of his arm. Neither spoke. Lying there Catherine gazed up at the moon swimming in the dark arc of the sky, at the stars, brittle needlepoints of light. ‘I never dreamed you would do anything like this, Norrie,’ she said at last. ‘It’s just perfect. You really are a lovely man.’

  He smiled. ‘Does that mean you’re getting fond o’ me?’

  She knew what her feelings for him were and didn’t want to wait any longer to tell him. ‘More than that, I love you,’ she said, her lips kissing his as she said it.

  ‘Catherine … Catherine …’ stammered Norrie. ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that? I knew you were to be mine the first time I saw you, but you were only just a widow. I couldn’t say anything.’

  ‘And you’ve waited all this time.’

  ‘I’d made up me mind, nothing was going to make me change it.’

  She covered his mouth with her hand as he was about to kiss her again. ‘I know now why I kept making you wait. Making Robbie’s dream come true was more important and it was because I couldn’t think of bringing anyone else into my house … or my bed: that was a very special bed. I hated the box, wanted a proper bed. We ordered it and waited weeks for it to come.’ She paused, then in a voice little more than a whisper said, ‘Robbie and I only slept in it the once.’

  For a minute or two Norrie made no reply. Raising a hand he gently stroked her cheek. ‘Well, darlin’,’ he said at last, ‘when you marry me you’ll live with me and sleep in my bed.’ He paused, then said, ‘When’s it going to be?’

  ‘Soon. I won’t make you wait much longer.’

  He held her tight, so tight she thought her ribs might break. ‘I shall love you to my dying day,’ he said.

  ‘What about now?’

  ‘Now? I didn’t bring you here for that.’

  ‘I didn’t think you did.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Shut up and kiss me,’ said Catherine.

  THIRTY FIVE

  ‘DAA, DO YOU know anyone who would make us a signboard?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘Why do you want a sign? Everybody kens where we live.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but Robbie said when he’d got a prizewinner he’d have a sign made to advertise the Cheviots. Well, we’ve done it and we need the sign.’

  ‘What did you want to put on it?’

  ‘Deepdale Cheviots, Jameson & Son.’

  ‘Not … Mrs … Jameson?’

  ‘No. Jameson & Son.’

  Daa smiled and nodded his head. ‘Yeh, I ken somebody.’

  Weeks passed. Catherine had cycled to Lerwick to do some shopping and as she approached the head of the valley on her way home, there it was. She got off her bike and stared at it. Above the lettering, DEEPDALE CHEVIOTS JAMESON & SON had been painted a picture of a Cheviot ram.

  Catherine stood for a long time looking at it. It was a dream come true, paid for with long days, broken nights, working out of doors in all winds and weathers and at the same time battling mentally with Jannie’s hurtful little tricks. Was it worth it and would she do it again? Yes, if need be.

  Summer had been good: hot sunny days with never a breath of wind and Daa had cut, turned and carried hay by mid August. The good weather went on well into the beginning of September. “We shall pay for this,” said the old folk. But enough rain had fallen for a plentiful supply of grass and the lambs had grown well. Soon it would be time to sell them.

  Little Robbie, not so little now, had spent the summer holidays dogging his grandfather. Though he told Laura he enjoyed games and was good at them, he would not admit that he liked school. He often stayed with Jannie and had a meal with his grandparents when he’d been with Daa all day.

  While the weather still held good Daa cut the corn, just in time, as it happened for the very day after he had gathered it in the rain started. Once begun, it seemed as though it would never stop. With the equinox came gales. Ferocious winds lashed anything that dared stand in their way; sent rain to rattle on windowpanes, howled down chimneys, goaded the sea to fury and sent sheep and all other animals to seek shelter wherever they could. A tethered animal had nowhere to run, so Catherine took Noble and put him in the outhouse. His tether was getting frayed; she resolved to get him a new one. She kept Robbie at home with her, did some baking, mending and writing letters.
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  As September drew to a close the rain stopped and the wind changed quarter. All was calm after the storm. The sun shone weakly, as if apologizing for the commotion. The wind now came from the south and dried the land, potato haulm blackened and died and in October Daa said they would lift the potatoes.

  This was the last harvest of the year and everyone was required to help. Mina and Laura looped up their skirts so they wouldn’t trip themselves up. When they bent over Catherine could see their legs encased in knitted woollen stockings. What didn’t they knit? Jannie’s skirts were not as long and she needed to do nothing with them. Catherine wore the trousers which had caused such a stir when she first appeared in them. Robbie abandoned the potato field to play with his puppy. All day they worked, from the minute the first row was ploughed out until the light began to fade. The women, backs aching from stooping, went away to their houses to prepare a meal while Daa carted the crop already gathered to the barn. Next day they worked again and by late afternoon all the potatoes were in and covered with a blanket of straw. There was enough till potatoes came again.

  Weary from two days’ hard work Catherine filled her pots and pans and put them on to heat; a hot bath to ease her aching muscles was what she needed. After she and Robbie had eaten she fetched the wash tub, poured enough water in to bath Robbie and put him in. While he splashed and tried to blow bubbles with the soap she refilled the pots and put them back to heat again.

  The little boy loved his bath and it wasn’t until the water had cooled that he would let his mother get him out; but at last he was in bed. Catherine locked the door. She didn’t want to be taken by surprise. She stepped into the tub and relaxed into the hot water. It felt so good and eased the pain in her back. She thought about Mina and Laura and wondered if they were having a bath; tried to imagine stiff, unbending Mina getting into a tub. Would Laura be sent out of the room? Then she wondered if they ever did bath, for she’d never seen a tub big enough to hold either of them at their house.

  In bed at last, her eyes closed as soon as her head touched the pillow, and she sank into sleep. A voice shouting her name, a fist pounding on her door and the terrified cries of Robbie woke her. She leaped out of bed and reached for her torch. ‘It’s all right, Robbie, I’m here,’ she said as, pushing her arms into her dressing-gown she made for the door. ‘Who is it?’ she cried.

  ‘It’s me, Norrie, let me in.’

  ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

  But Norrie was pushing past her. ‘Hide me,’ he said.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ said Catherine as she caught a whiff of whisky.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ protested Norrie; though it was evident that he was, for he was none too steady on his feet. ‘Hide me,’ he said again.

  ‘You must be in trouble. Tell me what it is before I do,’ said Catherine.

  ‘I’m done nothing.’ Norrie’s words were slurred. ‘Police are after me.’

  ‘They won’t be after you for nothing. What have you done?’

  ‘There’s no time. You have to believe me. Please help me.’

  If the police came to her door whatever was she going to say? Should she do as he asked? And if she did, where on earth could she put him? While he stood holding on to the back of a chair for support she looked at him. This was a Norrie she hadn’t seen before. But it was the first time, so she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. There was only one place for him.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said and led the way to her bedroom. ‘Get undressed and into bed. I’ll deal with you later.’

  Norrie was in no mood to argue, for there was no kindness in her voice. Catherine watched as he dropped his clothes, climbed into bed and within seconds was sound asleep. She looked at him and wondered what he’d been up to. It must be to do with alcohol; she couldn’t imagine him being involved in any sort of crime.

  ‘Mam.’ It was Robbie.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. Norrie lost his key and can’t get into his house. Go back to sleep now.’

  In the living room she lit the lamp, stirred the fire and put the kettle on to boil. She was not going back to bed. Not because Norrie was in it, but because it was almost five o’clock and nearly time to get up anyway.

  She heard the sound of boots on the stones outside before the knock on the door. She waited a while and let whoever it was knock again before she went to open it. Two policemen stood there. ‘We’re looking for Norrie Williams,’ said one. ‘We know he lives in the valley, but we can’t get any answer at his house. We saw your light and wondered if you’d seen him? You’re up and about early.’

  ‘Yes, I got up to make a drink and, as you see,’ Catherine indicated her dressing-gown, ‘I shall be going back to bed. Norrie? I see him every day.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said the officer. ‘I meant tonight.’

  ‘Tonight? He’s asleep. What do you want him for?’

  ‘Asleep?’

  ‘Yes, and sleep is what you do when you go to bed, isn’t it?’

  ‘But … we followed him here from Lerwick.’

  ‘No, oh no,’ said Catherine. ‘Must be someone else. Oh dear, have they given you the slip? I don’t know how you tell them apart, all those whiskers; they all look the same to me. Are you sure it’s Norrie you want? I’ll go and wake him if it is.’ Please, oh please don’t let them say yes, prayed Catherine, her fingers crossed. Both men looked at her. She stared back at them. It was obvious they were trying to decide whether to believe her or not. ‘I know it’s not the done thing to sleep together,’ she said, ‘but we are going to be married shortly. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this to yourselves.’

  The older policeman smiled while the younger smirked. ‘Na, it’s all right. Sorry to have bothered you.’ They both tipped their caps and said good night.

  ‘That’s all right, officer. I hope you find the one you want.’ She smiled at them as she closed the door. Then she slid the bolts home, leaned against it and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Now for the truth,’ she muttered as she picked up the candlestick and went along to the bedroom.

  Norrie lay on his back, his mouth was open and he was making little snoring noises. Such a shame to wake him, but she was going to. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook it. Norrie snorted and turned on his side. She shook him again, harder this time.

  ‘What, what,’ said Norrie, starting up from sleep.

  ‘Wake up, I need answers and they’d better be good.’

  He grinned. ‘I must be dreaming. Is that really you standing there?’

  ‘Who else? I’ve told lies and sent away the men who were looking for you. I want to know what you’ve been up to.’

  Norrie struggled to sit up. ‘Do you really?’

  ‘Yes. I might have put myself into a very bad position trying to help you. If you had to go to court I could be in great trouble. Now tell me the truth.’

  ‘I would never lie to you,’ said Norrie. ‘Me and some of the boys was along at Gibbie’s. You know who I mean?’ Catherine nodded. ‘He’d gotten a barrel brought up on one of the boats, so we was in for a good night, but Magnie and Tammy Halcrow got to blows. Gibbie threw them out and then the police was there. I wasna goin’ to stay, but they must have seen me.’

  ‘It’s one thing to get a bottle of whisky to drink in your own home, but you know Shetland’s dry, so to go drinking illicit liquor in a public house in the middle of the town is asking for trouble,’ said Catherine. ‘You knew the risk you were taking. I would have thought you’d know better.’

  ‘Aw, come on, what else is there to do?’ said Norrie. Catherine turned her head away and didn’t answer. ‘What did you tell them, lass?’ he said at last.

  ‘I let them think you’d spent the night in my bed and that they’d been mistaken and that it was someone else they wanted. I think they believed me. I hope they did.’

  With a sigh of relief Norrie pulled her to him and would have laid her down beside him, but Catherine pushed him away. ‘Get up, Norrie Williams.’ S
he spoke sharply. ‘Get dressed and go home before anyone else sees you. You know Jannie would have me hung, drawn and quartered if she found out you were here. I would never be able to convince her you hadn’t stayed the night.’

  In the kitchen the kettle was boiling. Catherine made a pot of tea. She poured out a cupful and when Norrie came through from the bedroom relented and poured some for him too.

  ‘Now go,’ she said when he’d drunk it.

  THIRTY SIX

  NOW THAT ROBBIE was at school it was not unusual for him to come home with the sniffles, but this time the cold he caught had developed until his nose was blocked, his eyes were watery, and he was definitely unwell. But Catherine had to work and also go to Lerwick to shop.

  ‘You’re late this morning.’ Laura had come to collect Robbie.

  ‘He’s not very well,’ said Catherine. ‘I think I should stay home.’

  ‘No no, he’ll be all right with us. Go to work; we’re happy to have him.’

  It was only a cold, after all; nothing serious. He would be warm, well fed and cared for, so Catherine cycled off to the surgery. It was late before she was able to get away, but at last she was on the road to Lerwick. In the town, with a shopping list in her hand, she hurried to make her purchases. She was on her way to where she had left her bicycle when someone called her name.

  ‘Catherine, wait.’ Rose came panting up to her. ‘My, you are in a hurry. How are you? We haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘Sorry, Rose, I’ll come over soon.’

  ‘It’s awful cold. Shall we go for a cup of tea? Maybe you should have something to eat too.’

  A cup of tea and a bun would be nice and what difference would another thirty minutes make. Catherine hardly ever met anyone she knew when she went into the town and, anxious to get home, had never stopped for refreshment. Being in the café with Rose was a rare treat and time sped by as they caught up with all that had been going on. When Catherine told Rose about her holiday with her family, a memory of whom she had seen on the boat surfaced.