The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘I don’t suppose you do,’ Rachel sighed. ‘It was not Ross’s fault. I did not know I was expecting his child. He did not know he had a son until he returned for the funeral. Indeed he scarcely believes it even now.’ She stroked the child’s hair.

  ‘Well there’s little doubt about it,’ Mr Shaw commented dryly. ‘The wee fellow is the image of Ross, though I suppose he will change several times as he grows up. My own boys resemble my father now they are young men, but they looked like my wife when they were children.’ Mr Shaw raised a hand and rubbed his temple. How was he having this kind of conversation with a young woman he was supposed to be vetting as the wife of a possible tenant? Rachel began to feel more at ease. This stern looking man seemed quite human after all.

  ‘It was not Ross’s fault,’ she repeated slowly. ‘I will tell you the whole story, then you can judge for yourself. I know that’s what you are supposed to do anyway,’ she added with surprising candour. ‘My father said the Factor in our own village often had more influence than the Laird. He was responsible for the people on the estate.’

  ‘Your father was right about that,’ Mr Shaw agreed wryly. ‘Sometimes the decisions are hard to make.’

  ‘You mean when you have to turn people out of their homes because they will not pay their rent?’ Rachel asked, recalling once such incident.

  ‘Yes, and when a man dies. Sometimes his widow has to be put out of the farm. It can be difficult. Was your father a farmer?’

  ‘No, he was a blacksmith.’ Rachel began to talk, telling him briefly of the circumstances which had led her to Windlebrae, omitting Gertrude Maxwell’s insane behaviour, but explaining merely that Meg and Peter had married and offered her a home.

  ‘None of us knew where Ross had gone, or whether he would return. He is very … sensitive underneath his stubborn looks. It must have been a shock to discover he was not who he thought he was. I have no parents now but I did know who they were, and that they loved me, as I loved them. Ross has never known that sort of caring. Although Mr Cameron Maxwell is a nice old man and I am sure he regards Ross as another son,’ she added warmly. ‘And he is his uncle after all.’

  ‘And you are returning to help the couple who befriended you, rather than stay here with Ross?’

  ‘I must! I do not want to leave Ross, now that we have found each other again.’ Her cheeks flushed a rosy red at the memory of that finding and uniting. Mr Shaw bit back a smile, but he was in for more surprises as Rachel told him about her cows and churning butter, and the work involved in running the bakery and shop. ‘Meg is not in good health. I cannot leave them in the lurch. Do you understand?’ she pleaded

  ‘My word, here we are at the station already,’ Mr Shaw exclaimed, ‘and your wee son has fallen asleep.’

  ‘He’s not used to me talking so much. I am sorry if I …’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, young woman.’ He held up a hand. ‘I am glad you told me the truth, and something of your background, and Ross’s. I shall respect your confidence, never fear. I usually suspect when people are hiding things. Sometimes perhaps I imagine what they are hiding to be worse than the truth. You have not done Ross a disservice today. Mistress Beattie has great confidence in his ability and in his integrity. I do not think either of you will let her down. Loyalty is a quality I admire.’

  He helped her from the car and found a carriage occupied only by a cheery-looking middle-aged couple. Then he lifted her luggage onto the rack and bid her good bye as the train began to get up steam again, doors slammed and the guard prepared to wave his flag.

  Rachel was tired and hungry and Conan was fretful when they arrived back at Ardmill but all thoughts of her own adventure disappeared when she found Meg in bed and the house in turmoil.

  ‘Oh, but I’m pleased to see you back, lassie,’ Mrs Jenkins welcomed her thankfully. ‘I never knew you got through so much work in a day, all by yourself. What it is to be young.’

  ‘But what’s wrong with Meg?’ Rachel asked anxiously. ‘It’s usually such a struggle to get her to sit down in a chair.’

  ‘She collapsed in the bakehouse, barely an hour after you’d gone. Doctor Gill made her promise to stay in bed until he returns. He told her she would damage her baby – and her own health, if she did not follow his advice.’

  ‘I should never have left her,’ Rachel said. ‘I guessed she was not as well as she pretended.’

  ‘No good blaming yourself, Rachel,’ Peter told her, coming into the kitchen and overhearing, ‘She wouldn’t have listened to anyone except the doctor. But I am thankful to see you back and Meg is asking to see you and hear all your news.’

  ‘I’ll take her a drink of tea, but I see there is much to do.’

  ‘Willie has bought the cows. He and Sam Dewar walked them over to Windlebrae. I’m sorry lass, but we couldn’t manage everything.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘They would have had to go anyway. Meg will be busy enough when the baby is born.

  Concern for Meg grew as the days passed. Even lying in bed her feet and fingers were puffy and swollen. Her face seemed rounder, but it was not a healthy roundness. Rachel thought it looked bloated.

  ‘I think the baby will be due in six or seven weeks,’ Doctor Gill confirmed.

  ‘How shall we get Meg to rest for so long!’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘It is vital.’ His tone was urgent. He lowered his voice. ‘It could mean the difference between life and death.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Rachel’s face paled. ‘Peter could not bear that again.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to worry you unduly Miss O’Bri … Sorry, it’s Mrs Maxwell now, is it not? The minister told me Conan’s father had returned. I’m so pleased. A boy needs his father. When do you plan to join him?’

  ‘As soon as – as Meg is well again. I pray to God she will be well.’ she added vehemently.

  ‘I shall add my prayers to yours,’ Doctor Gill said sincerely. ‘We must do our best for her. Make her some beef tea and clear chicken soup – keep up her strength without straining her system.’

  Even the children seemed subdued. Rachel had taken over the bakery but she was having difficulty fitting everything into the days. It seemed she had no sooner gone to sleep than it was time to get up again.

  ‘I’m thinking of asking the nursemaid to start work immediately, Rachel?’ Peter said, after hearing her speak sharply to Conan. ‘You look exhausted.’ She stared at him blankly. ‘She could sleep in the girls’ room,’ he added quickly. ‘She’s used to sharing. I don’t want you to think I am criticising …’

  ‘If only you could get another pair of hands! Any hands. Not to mention a pair of eyes to watch the twins and Conan.’ Rachel could almost have wept with relief. She was so tired and so tense with anxiety. ‘Is she willing to come so soon?’

  ‘Yes. Her name is Flora and she is 14.’

  Flora arrived two days later. She was bright-faced and cheerful and completely unruffled by the busy household.

  ‘It’s no worse than home,’ she told Rachel laughingly. ‘We are all used to work. Work or starve, my Ma says – and sometimes we have to do both when things are bad.’

  ‘Does your father keep cows?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘No – only one for the house and a few hens and a pig. The farm’s on top of a hill – bleak in summer, snowed up in winter,’ she said philosophically. ‘Even the sheep struggle to survive. Dad talks about giving up – but what else could he do? There’s no work round here. He’d hate living in Glasgow when he’s country born and bred.’

  Flora’s help made a big difference. Even Meg seemed more relaxed, though still lamenting the fact that she was to stay in bed for another five weeks.

  Nature interfered with this plan and six nights later Peter knocked urgently on Rachel’s bedroom door.

  ‘Meg says can you come!’ he called hoarsely. ‘She thinks the babe is coming.’

  Rachel paused only to light her candle and pull on a woollen dress. She ran to Meg’s room.
r />   ‘Bring the doctor!’ she ordered Peter. He obeyed like a child.

  Fortunately Doctor Gill was at home in bed and he came at once. His manner was calm, but Rachel sensed his concern.

  ‘We must get your wife to the cottage hospital immediately, Mr Sedgeman.’

  ‘Shall I bring my van round?’

  ‘The back of my car, I think. Perhaps you would follow in your vehicle? Easier for getting home.’

  Peter nodded, his face white as the bed sheets. Meg did her best to hide the pain which made her want to scream, but Rachel could see the perspiration already dampening her hair and running down her temple. Her heart was filled with fear. The baby was not due for a month yet. Something was wrong. She packed Meg’s night clothes and the sheets and towels they had prepared for the hospital. Then she supported Meg down the stairs with the help of the doctor.

  Rachel waited up for the rest of the night hoping Peter would telephone with news, as he had promised to do. Strangely he had forgotten about his new gadget and run to get the doctor in person. It was probably just as quick Rachel reflected wryly. Doris, the local operator, was always curious.

  All next day they waited but there was no word from Peter. Rachel’s anxiety grew. Apparently Doctor Gill had not returned from the hospital either. The old Doctor had taken the morning surgery. News spread around the village. Cyril Johnson had more customers that day than he usually had in a week. Nearly everyone called in on the pretext of buying a box of matches, a reel of cotton, some linen buttons or four ounces of sugar, a packet of Woodbine cigarettes or two ounces of tea. Without exception they asked for news of Mr Sedgeman’s’ wife, Cyril reported later.

  ‘Their concern was genuine. Some of them offered prayers.’ Rachel could barely speak for the anxiety gnawing at her stomach. She knew she ought to eat but she couldn’t. Flora took the children for a long walk. Later they were bathed and fed and put to bed. Mrs Jenkins insisted she could not go home to worry alone. The old house settled down to its usual creaks and groans as darkness fell again. Rachel must have dozed. She wakened with a start. Mrs Jenkins was snoring in the wooden chair on the opposite side of the fire. The door creaked and Peter, white faced and exhausted put his head around.

  ‘Peter!’ Rachel’s voice was no more than a nervous squeak. She ran to his side. ‘Oh, Peter, you look exhausted.’ She took his arm and led him to a chair. He moved like a sleep walker. ‘Meg? Is she …? Is she all right, Peter?’

  ‘Very ill. Doctor thinks she has a … a chance …’ His voice was slurred with weariness and tears began to trickle silently down his cheeks. Rachel turned away and shoved the kettle onto the fire. Mrs Jenkins stirred and stretched stiffly. She opened her eyes, still confused.

  ‘Tea. I’ll make you some tea,’ Rachel croaked hoarsely. She could not bring herself to ask about the baby. She was sure it must be dead. Peter had not mentioned it. He looked stunned and bewildered.

  ‘They’re in a sort of tent …’ he muttered, half to himself.

  ‘Who? Who, Peter?’ Rachel did not know she was gripping his arm. She thought he was hallucinating.

  ‘Boys,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Don’t think he will live. So small … Must get back to her.’ He looked up. ‘Can’t believe Meg could have twins as well.’

  ‘Twins? Two boys?’ Rachel stared incredulously.

  ‘So small,’ he repeated. ‘They say … one might survive.’ He kept shaking his head. ‘My poor Meg.’ He shuddered. ‘Please God let her be all right.’

  ‘Does she know? About the twins, I mean?’ Rachel asked. Peter shook his head. ‘It took so long. They seemed to need so many – “things”.’ He shivered. ‘Could only wait outside. They wouldn’t let me in. She’s sleeping.’

  ‘Sleep is the best cure, Mr Sedgeman,’ Mrs Jenkins assured him. ‘Now you drink this cup of tea – hot, sweet and strong. It’ll put new life into you.’

  ‘The minister is going …’ Peter sipped the tea, then drank thirstily. ‘He’s going to the hospital first thing,’

  ‘You’ve chosen names?’ Rachel asked. Peter shook his head and brushed away the tears with a shamefaced glance. ‘Don’t know. I must get back to Meg …’

  ‘Not before you’ve had an hour or two of sleep,’ Mrs Jenkins said firmly.

  ‘I’ll make some toast,’ Rachel offered, ‘For all of us. Mrs Jenkins is right. You must have a rest so that you’ll be strong for Meg. I’ll waken you as soon as it’s dawn.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  MEG WAS BARELY CONSCIOUS when the minister visited her in the little hospital room. Peter had to choose the names alone. He named the stronger twin Maxwell, after Meg’s family. The smaller baby he named Ruairidh, after Doctor Gill.

  ‘If he lives long enough to go to school he will not thank you for it,’ Doctor Gill grimaced, ‘Though I am known as Rory to all except my lawyer now.’

  ‘He will live, and he’ll thank you for both your name and your skill, Doctor,’ the matron vowed. ‘He may be a wee mite, but he’s a fighter. Isn’t that so, Nurse Laine?’

  ‘Indeed he is. In fact he may be a better feeder than his big brother, who’s showing signs of being a sleepy, lazy infant.’

  ‘Is he now? We must watch for signs of jaundice when they are born early.’ Doctor Gill frowned, but he summoned a reassuring smile as he turned to Peter. ‘I believe your wife was aware of the christening. She seems more at peace now. Her pulse is settling nicely.’

  ‘That’s the best news yet, Doctor.’ Peter breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Meg is the most important person in the world to me.’

  ‘I trust you mean that, because she will require a longer spell of nursing than usual after such a difficult birth. Can you afford to keep her here, at the hospital? It would be the best place for her. She will need to rest.’

  ‘We will work out the most favourable terms we can, Mr Sedgeman,’ the matron promised. ‘My two nurses and I would like to see your little family well on the road to good health after being so near to losing them.’

  ‘Even if it costs me my business and everything I have, Meg must have whatever she needs to make her well,’ Peter declared with feeling.

  Rachel had written to Ross the day after the birth of Meg’s babies. He replied by return. She was dismayed to hear he was expecting her to travel to Lochandee immediately. She thought she had explained Meg’s critical condition and the smaller of the two babies was hanging to life by a mere thread. She wished she had not sent him news of the birth so promptly.

  It was nearly three weeks before Meg was pronounced well enough to return home. During that time Ross had written several letters, each more impatient and exasperated than the last, demanding to know when Rachel would be at Lochandee.

  ‘An important matter has arisen. Mistress Beattie and the Factor insist you should be consulted,’ he wrote. Rachel felt torn in two. She sensed Ross was piqued that she should need to be consulted on anything to do with his work at Lochandee, while she could not think of anything more important than Meg’s recovery.

  Eventually Alice Beattie wrote to Rachel. The tone was kind and understanding of her dilemma:

  “The matter which has arisen affects you, even more than Ross. I feel you must be free to express an opinion. However there is no necessity to tear yourself away from Mrs Sedgeman until you feel she is well enough to manage without you.

  Mr Shaw has agreed to my request to make Ross a joint tenant. However the Laird’s health is deteriorating more rapidly than we expected and he has advised me to bring forward the agreement. He fears there will be changes in the running of the estate when it passes to the young Laird. These may not be to our liking or advantage. Mr Shaw is trustworthy and I respect his opinion, but I am concerned that Ross may not have considered all the implications. The decision affects both of you, and your son.

  To become a joint tenant Ross would be required to pay half the valuation of all the stock and equipment at The Glens of Lochandee as well as being responsible for paying hal
f of the rent at the end of each six months term.

  Naturally he would receive half of the profits. He is confident, with you to help him, that he will be able to pay off the debt within a few years. Mr Shaw assures me a valuation of one thousand pounds for Ross’s half-share is a generous offer – certainly a much better opportunity than he would have if he rented a farm entirely on his own. You may wonder why I am being generous – or you may consider me a selfish woman. The truth is I have grown very fond of Ross and I am sure his happiness here will be complete when he has you at his side.

  For my part, my dearest wish is to spend the rest of my life at The Glens of Lochandee. I have begun to hope that may be possible with Ross’s help.

  I understand both of you will wish to pay off your debt as soon as possible. Mr Shaw has promised to reinstate the original boundaries to The Glens of Lochandee when the lease is up for the present tenants. Ross was already planning to increase the herd but this means we need to hire another man. The Hiring Fair is May the twenty-eighth so time is running out.

  The question which really affects you is this: Ross wishes to hire a married man with a wife to assist with the milking and dairy work. This would mean they would live in the cottage, which was to be your home. Would you be content to live here with me and rear your family under my roof? Or would you prefer to furnish the cottage and make it your own home? I should be happy to have you here. I admire and respect the loyalty you have shown to Mr and Mrs Sedgeman. But the decision must be your own.”

  There were a few more sentences. Rachel read and re-read the letter and then she showed it to Meg and Peter.

  ‘I can understand how wary you must feel about sharing your home and family, dear Rachel,’ Meg said, ‘after your experiences with my mother. At least Mistress Beattie is honest enough to tell you what she hopes to gain from such an arrangement. Do you feel you could get along together? Would Conan annoy her, or other children when you get them.’