by Anne Douglas
Contents
Cover
A Selection of Recent Titles by Anne Douglas
Title Page
Copyright
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Part Three
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
A Selection of Recent Titles by Anne Douglas
CATHERINE’S LAND
AS THE YEARS GO BY
BRIDGE OF HOPE
THE BUTTERFLY GIRLS
GINGER STREET
A HIGHLAND ENGAGEMENT
THE ROAD TO THE SANDS
THE EDINBURGH BRIDE
THE GIRL FROM WISH LANE *
A SONG IN THE AIR *
THE KILT MAKER *
STARLIGHT *
THE MELODY GIRLS *
THE WARDEN’S DAUGHTERS *
PRIMROSE SQUARE *
THE HANDKERCHIEF TREE *
TENEMENT GIRL *
DREAMS TO SELL*
A SILVER LINING *
NOTHING VENTURED *
* available from Severn House
HIGHLAND SISTERS
Anne Douglas
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2017 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.
This eBook edition first published in 2017 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD
Copyright © 2017 by Anne Douglas.
The right of Anne Douglas to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8750-4 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-864-4 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-927-5 (e-book)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
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Part One
One
Rosa Malcolm, sister of the bride, was up early on the morning of the wedding, 2 April, 1910. This was the special day.
Of course she would be up early on such a day, even if she wasn’t used to being up with the larks anyway, which, as a housemaid, she was. All domestic servants had to be up early. It was part of the job, even when your mistress, like Rosa’s in Inverness, was so kind she had actually given Rosa three whole days off to return to Carron, her home village some miles beyond Nairn, for her sister’s wedding. That same sister who was lying sleeping now in the rickety bed next to Rosa’s, her face lovely in repose, her yellow hair fanned out like a halo on her pillow, her breathing so peaceful it could scarcely be heard.
How like Lorne to be still sleeping on the morning of her wedding to Daniel MacNeil! Rosa was certain that had she had been marrying Daniel she would not have been sleeping on her wedding morning. So handsome, wasn’t he? So much the most desirable man in the village, even if he did have a mother who was possessive to the extent that she must at times feel to him like a ball and chain round his neck. But who wouldn’t endure Mrs MacNeil for the sake of a man like Daniel? Too late now to hope, and Rosa had never hoped, for he had given his heart to Lorne, who was here sleeping away her wedding morning like the calm and unworried girl she was. At eighteen, two years younger than Rosa, she’d always been known for her ease in facing the world, letting nothing bother her. Was it because she was so pretty she felt she needn’t worry, then?
Some folk said Rosa herself was pretty, with her rich, dark hair and luminous dark eyes, but she knew it was the wrong word for her. Attractive, perhaps. Striking, even. But however she looked, she’d never get away with things as Lorne always could.
‘Lorne!’ she whispered, shaking her sister’s shoulder. ‘Lorne, be waking up now! It’s your wedding day! And a fine one it is, too!’
Slowly, Lorne opened her eyes, green and narrow, fringed with dark lashes, and as a smile lit her kittenish face, she stretched her arms high and raised herself in her narrow bed. ‘Rosa, do you think I don’t know what day it is?’
‘Sure, I know you know.’ Rosa was tying an apron over her working dress. ‘But we’ve things to do – first, make some porridge.’
‘Porridge!’ groaned Lorne. ‘Not for me.’
‘We’ll need something, Lorne. The wedding’s not till two o’clock and we’ll not be having much before then, seeing as Mrs Guthrie is doing us all a meal afterwards. So, we’d best have the porridge and then tidy up in case anyone looks in.’
‘Why, who’s to look in
? There’s no need for anyone to come here.’ Lorne’s smile had faded. ‘And I am not spending my wedding morning cleaning this cottage. What’s to clean, anyway? A few mats, a table and four chairs? It will not be taking five minutes, I reckon.’
‘You might have done it before, then,’ Rosa snapped. ‘I couldn’t get here until yesterday, but you’ve had a week since you gave in your notice at Bluff House – plenty of time to tidy up.’
‘For these folk who probably won’t be coming? Rosa, just stop your nagging, eh?’
Lorne, who was wearing a cotton shift dress instead of a nightgown, threw back her bedclothes and sat up, pushing back her long hair. ‘Though maybe I will do a bit of cleaning when I’ve done my packing, if you’ll do me a favour, Rosa.’
‘A favour?’ Rosa’s expression was dubious. ‘What sort of favour?’
‘Will you go up to Mrs MacKay’s and ask her for the flowers she promised me? You know, Da’s got nothing in his garden to suit and I wasn’t going to bother about a bouquet, but then Mrs MacKay said she’d have some grand spring stuff ready if I came round. Thing is I have to do my packing.’
‘Another thing you could have done before.’ Rosa shook her head. ‘How you do put off doing things, Lorne!’
‘But will you go? I’d really like the flowers.’ Lorne’s tone was wheedling, at which Rosa sighed with exasperation.
‘Mrs MacKay’s just past the end of the village – it’ll take an age to get to her. And when did you see her, anyway?’
‘It was on my afternoon off. I was buying ribbon at Jennie Doune’s shop and Mrs MacKay came in and we got to chatting. That was when she said I could have the flowers if I came for them.’
‘And now it’s me who has to get them?’ Rosa sighed again. ‘All right, I’ll go round later, if you’ll promise to sweep the cottage out and get Da into his suit.’
‘Thanks, I promise!’ Lorne relaxed, yawning. ‘Suppose I should get up now.’
‘It’d be a help.’
‘Thought I might press Ma’s dress later on. Want me to do yours as well?’
‘No, it doesn’t need it, thanks. Look, you can see – no creases! They all came out overnight.’
As Lorne, still yawning, crossed the chilly, canvas-covered floor to join her, Rosa stood gazing at the wedding garments hanging on the back of the door. Hers was the simple blue dress she had made herself, while Lorne’s was the classic white wedding dress beside it, which, twenty-one years before, had been their mother’s. Yes, twenty-one years had passed since she’d worn it and for all that time it had lain in a trunk in Da’s room, safe from the light of day. Until now.
‘Poor Ma,’ whispered Rosa, thinking of the mother she still missed though eight years had passed since Martha’s death from consumption. ‘She was so proud of that dress, you know. Not many girls were lucky enough to have anything like it. Strange to think she was a maid at Bluff House, just like you, Lorne, when Mrs Thain gave her the material as a wedding present.’ Rosa sighed. ‘And now they’re both gone, eh?’
‘Oh, don’t talk of death on my wedding day!’ cried Lorne, turning away. ‘There’s another Mrs Thain at the house now, and Mr Hamish and Mr Rory have a nice stepmother. For heaven’s sake, let’s not be brooding on the past!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gloomy on your special day.’ Rosa moved to the door. ‘Will you get dressed now, then, and I’ll give Da a shout and start the porridge.’
But Lorne, looking in the cupboard to find something to wear just for the morning, was too preoccupied to reply.
Two
The Malcolms’ cottage was the same as all the others in Mariner Street, the best street in Carron in Rosa’s opinion, because it faced the Moray Firth. Each small house had two rooms upstairs and a living room and scullery with sink downstairs. Water for washing had to be brought in from a well, there being no piped water in Carron, which meant that the only hot water came from kettles boiled on the living-room range, and weekly baths were, as Greg Malcolm put it, the Devil’s own job to provide. When the sisters were away in service, gladly using proper bathrooms, it was not known what their father did without the two of them urging him on to fill the old tin bath for himself. ‘Best not to ask,’ advised Rosa.
At least on the wedding morning Greg was shining with cleanliness, having washed himself and his yellow hair in cold water in the scullery, and now, feeling virtuous, was adding wood to the living-room stove to get the heat up for the breakfast porridge. Still a handsome man in his late forties, he had given his looks to his younger daughter, though it was dark-eyed Rosa, so like her mother, that he missed most when both his lassies were away – not that he ever said.
‘Why, Da, you’re up – I never heard you!’ Rosa cried now, coming down the steep stairs. ‘And you’ve got the range going? Oh, that’s grand!’
‘Knew you’d want a good start today,’ he said, standing back proudly as she took a pan and began to prepare the porridge. ‘This day of all days, eh, when I’m losing a daughter?’
‘You are not losing a daughter, Da, just gaining a son-in-law. And when Lorne comes back from her honeymoon she’ll only be up the road in Kinlaine – that’s no distance at all.’
‘Need the carrier, though, to get there.’ Greg pulled a chair up to the kitchen table already set by Rosa the night before and sat down. ‘Still, I’m not complaining. Daniel MacNeil is a fine young man and a grand joiner. He will provide well for Lorne and thinks the sun shines for her, which is as it should be, is that not right?’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ murmured Rosa, stirring the porridge very fast. ‘But give Lorne a shout, will you? She should be down by now.’
‘So, I am down, then!’ cried Lorne herself, tripping down the stairs and looking a picture, even in a faded work dress and with her hair only loosely pinned. ‘And do not be giving me any of that stuff you’ve got there, Rosa. I’ll have bread and butter, unless you’re frying Da some bacon afterwards. Mrs MacRitchie brought some in before you came. Did you see it in the meat safe?’
‘I did; I thought I might keep it for tonight.’
‘No, no, there’s plenty; let’s have it now!’ ordered Greg, leaping up to fetch in the gift of bacon as the sisters exchanged glances, for everyone knew that Mrs MacRitchie, the widow next door, had been setting her cap at their father for years without the slightest success. Much to the relief of his daughters, who were grateful, even so, that the widow kept an eye on their father when they were away.
‘I think I am deserving of a rasher of bacon,’ Greg remarked as Rosa served up the porridge. ‘After all, did I not catch that grand fish we had last night, when I went out in Will Crawford’s boat? I may only be a crofter, but I am as good a fisherman as the Crawford lads, and that’s the truth.’
‘A crofter?’ echoed Lorne, buttering herself some bread. ‘Since when were you a crofter, Da? You live in a cottage, you grow a few vegetables – how can you call yourself a crofter?’
‘You need animals to be a crofter,’ Rosa put in. ‘Where are your cows, then?’
‘I make some money from my vegetables,’ Greg retorted, looking hurt. ‘You lassies never give me credit for what I do. Remember, if I did not turn my hand to do so much, there’d be nothing on this table. Do I not even manage repairs for folk that need ’em? Was I not up at the manse last week, mending window frames for Mrs Guthrie? Jack of all trades, you might call me, but I say I just do what I can!’
‘Sure you do, then, Da!’ Rosa cried, touching his hand swiftly. ‘We are very grateful for all you do for us, is that not so, Lorne?’
‘It is,’ Lorne replied, rising to put a frying pan on the stove. ‘Shall we fry that bacon now, then?’
When breakfast was over and they had washed up and cleared away, the sisters, Rosa with energy, Lorne with reluctance, tied dusters over their hair and set to work on the one main room of the cottage, polishing the stove, washing the windows and shaking the mats outside, until they were quite out of breath and had to sit down for
a cup of tea. Meanwhile, Greg, who had been sent out of the way to tidy up the garden, was brought back in to put on his good suit for his daughters’ inspection.
‘You know well what I look like in it,’ he groaned as he came stiffly down the stairs, wearing the dark blue suit that rarely received an airing. ‘Twas Uncle Joe’s and always too tight for me. Is it not at this minute giving me palpitations?’
‘It’s fine,’ Rosa told him, jerking down the jacket and turning him round to see it from the back. ‘You’ll need to put on a clean shirt, though – there’s one on the back of your door – and then see if there’s anything in the garden you can use for a buttonhole.’
‘Why, he can have one of Mrs MacKay’s flowers,’ Lorne put in. ‘You’ll be going there now, Rosa, eh? Time’s getting on.’
‘You’re right, for I have to get ready when I come back,’ said Rosa, following her father up the stairs. ‘I’ll just get my jacket. If you’re going to press Ma’s dress, Lorne, you had better be putting the irons to heat. Watch you don’t scorch the dress, now.’
‘As though I would!’ Lorne answered smartly.
But when Rosa came down, ready to go, it seemed to her that Lorne was suddenly looking pale. She had taken off the duster she’d tied round her head and freed her hair from its pins so that it fell around her face, giving her a strange, woebegone look that was not naturally hers. Rosa, surprised, put her arm around her.
‘Why, Lorne, what is it? Are you getting wedding nerves, then? They say some brides do but I never thought you’d be one!’
‘Oh, I’m not,’ said Lorne quickly. ‘I expect I am just a bit tired. And hoping, you know, it will all go well.’
‘Of course it will go well! Everything’s arranged and all we have to do is walk up to Saint Luke’s where Daniel will be waiting and, before you know it, you will be Mrs MacNeil!’
‘Rosa, you’re very good,’ Lorne said quietly. ‘I may not say much, but I know that is true.’
‘Whatever’s got into you?’ Rosa, buttoning up her jacket, was even blushing a little as she turned for the door, this sort of talk from her sister being so rare she didn’t know how to respond. ‘I think I’d better get off to Mrs MacKay’s. See you soon, then.’