“You don’t know? I thought you said you had a chat with her.”
“We didn’t talk about that,” said Rhoda, giggling feebly.
“What did you talk about?” James wanted to know.
“Death, principally,” replied Rhoda, shaking with internal laughter. “We talked about death and about whether people in the next world can see what’s happening here.”
“Oh, quite,” said James, nodding.
“We did, really,” Rhoda assured him. “I don’t quite know how we got onto the subject — Oh, yes, I do. It all began with Mr. Brown.”
“Oh, naturally it would,” agreed James. “It began with Mr. Brown.”
“Do be sensible, James,” Rhoda implored.
“Sensible!” cried James in mock dismay. “I like that! Sensible! I suddenly discover that I have married a lunatic and … and …”
They laughed uproariously.
“Listen, James,” said Rhoda at last, “do listen, it’s really very interesting indeed. Do you know anything about a place called Tassieknowe?”
It appeared that James knew quite a lot. He had met the rich gentleman from London and had disliked him at first sight. (“He’s a heavily built man with crinkly black hair and he walks with a springy sort of step like a cat,” was James’s description of Mr. Heddle.) James had actually been to the newly decorated Tassieknowe, had been a guest at a terrific party there. He was engaged in telling Rhoda about the orgy of food and drink and gaiety which had taken place at Tassieknowe when the door opened and Miss Flockhart appeared with a further supply of newly baked scones and a dish of marmalade.
Rhoda made a face at James and said firmly, “Yes, the rain is badly needed so we mustn’t complain about it.”
“It’s exactly what’s needed,” agreed James. “Oh, good morning — er —”
“Miss Flockhart,” said Miss Flockhart.
“Miss Flockhart, of course,” said James smiling in a friendly manner. “I hope you’re finding everything all right, Miss Flockhart?”
Miss Flockhart said everything was fine and went away, and she closed the door very softly but firmly behind her.
James waited for the click and then leant forward. “Rhoda,” he said in a whisper. “That’s not her.”
“Not her?”
“No, honestly. That woman is nice looking. She’s got nice eyes for one thing. She’s got nice hair. That’s not the woman I saw in bed.”
“Of course it is, you donkey!”
“It — is — not,” declared James. “The woman I saw in bed was hideous. She was an absolute freak — no teeth, no hair — I told you —”
“Don’t be silly,” Rhoda adjured him. “Her hair was probably in curlers, her teeth were — were in a tumbler on her dressing-table, her nice brown eyes were shut. Of course the poor darling didn’t look her best!”
5
ON SUNDAY night James and Rhoda went over to Mureth by special invitation. Wanlock took them across the river in a farm cart. He was going to spend the evening with the Bells and was magnificently attired for the occasion.
“There’s that pretty girl — Mrs. Bell’s sister,” whispered Rhoda to James.
“Daisy,” agreed James, nodding. “Yes, I thought of that too.” He laughed and added, “I see you’re getting the Mureth outlook upon things in general.”
“What do you mean, James?”
“A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have been interested in Wanlock’s love affairs, would you? In fact you wouldn’t have thought of Wanlock as a human being at all. It’s only country dwellers that take an interest in one another’s affairs.”
Rhoda saw that this was true, or at least only slightly exaggerated. She thought about it as they dismounted from the cart and walked up the path to Mureth House.
In comparison with little Boscath, Mureth House was a palace; it was a trifle shabby of course but shabby in a very pleasant way, for everything in the house had grown old together and mellowed into a harmonious whole. The hall was square, and large enough to give an impression of spacious ease; the oak table gleamed with many years of polishing, so did the grandfather’s clock with its big moon-like face; the stairs swept up to a half-way landing which was lighted by a well-proportioned window with square panes of clear glass.
James and Rhoda walked in without ringing and James shed his coat, flung it upon an oak chest and, raising his arms above his head, exclaimed “Mureth!” in a tone of satisfaction and delight.
Rhoda smiled. She, too, was fond of Mureth. She was fond of the house for its own sake, for its absence of fripperies and for its beautifully proportioned rooms, but she was even more fond of it for its atmosphere of friendliness and kindness which emanated from the people who lived and moved and had their being within its walls. In Mureth House there was not only physical comfort but mental and spiritual comfort as well. You could be yourself here. You could say what you liked without the slightest fear of being misunderstood and you could do what you liked without the slightest fear of giving offence.
“Mamie!” bellowed Jock, dashing out of his library into the hall. “Mamie, they’re here!”
Mamie came running down the stairs. “James! Rhoda! Darlings!” cried Mamie in excitement.
There were greetings and questions and a flood of talk and laughter. Rhoda began to explain why they had suddenly taken it into their heads to fly home and Mamie began to explain how she had managed to clean the house. James declared that they had enjoyed every moment of their honeymoon but there was no place like Mureth, and Jock kept on saying he was glad to see them back. In the midst of all the noise and chatter Lizzie suddenly appeared and, walking across the hall to the gong, she proceeded to beat it unmercifully.
“All right, all right!” bellowed Jock. “We’re all here. There’s no need to make that din.”
“It’s a welcome,” declared James laughing. “That gong is the voice of Mureth. That gong is one of my earliest recollections. I remember being allowed to beat it when we used to come to Mureth for the Christmas holidays.”
“I’ve made a soufflé,” explained Lizzie. “You’re to go and sit down before I bring it in.”
“We’re to have fatted calf,” said Jock. “Mamie killed it this afternoon.”
“And Jock has opened a bottle of champagne,” added Mamie laughing.
They went into the dining room and sat down. The curtains had not been drawn but it was beginning to get dark and the oak-panelled room was dim and shadowy, candles in silver candlesticks stood upon the polished mahogany table. There was a silver bowl of crimson dahlias in the middle, their large velvety petals nestling amongst green leaves.
“This is grand,” declared Jock as he unfolded his table napkin. “This is what I like to see — just the four of us — and the best of it is we’re going to see it often. You’re looking fine, Rhoda. Marriage seems to agree with you. Maybe when you’ve been married a bit longer you’ll be as pretty as Mamie.”
“Don’t be silly!” cried Mamie. “You know perfectly well I never was half as beautiful as Rhoda even when I was young.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” said Jock. “Maybe James doesn’t agree with me but we’re all entitled to our own opinions.”
They began to talk about the farms. James wanted to know all that had happened in his absence.
“Nothing much has happened,” said Jock. “Except that we’ve had a lot of trouble with Tassieknowe. I knew from the start Heddle would be an unsatisfactory neighbour but it’s worse than I expected by a long chalk.”
“They’ve got a good shepherd, haven’t they?” James enquired.
“He’s been sacked.”
“What!” cried James. “That nice old Highlander!”
Jock nodded. “Sutherland has been sacked. He was too scrupulous for Heddle — at least that’s what they’re saying — so he got thrown out. They’ve taken him on at Hawkbrae, that’s the wee farm that marches with Boscath on the north, it’s just across the river from Tassiekn
owe.”
“He’s there, is he? He won’t have much scope at Hawkbrae.”
“And the shepherd’s cottage is awfully isolated,” put in Mamie. “I feel sorry for Sutherland, he was at Tassieknowe for so many years. He and Mrs. Sutherland were sort of dug-in, they seemed part of Tassieknowe.”
“I told him he’d be better to go right away,” continued Jock. “I could have got him a good job over near Peebles, but he wanted to stay in the district for some reason or other so it was no use.”
“We’ve heard a great deal about Tassieknowe,” said Rhoda.
“From Miss Flockhart, of course,” said Mamie. “I hope Miss Flockhart is a success.”
“She’s a marvel!” Rhoda cried. “She’s a perfect darling and a first-class cook. It was clever of you to find her, Mamie.”
Jock was not particularly interested in Miss Flockhart so the conversation divided in half and while the female portion discussed Miss Flockhart’s virtues (and Mamie described how Miss Flockhart had literally been thrown into her arms), the male portion continued to bewail the shortcomings of Tassieknowe.
“We’ve had to mend some of their dykes ourselves,” said Jock gravely. “It’s the very devil — there’s been a tup loose on the Tassieknowe hirsel since the end of September.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed James in horror-stricken tones.
“What?” asked Rhoda, tearing herself away from Mamie’s story to hear what frightful catastrophe had befallen.
Jock repeated his piece of information.
“But what is a tup?” asked Rhoda who envisaged some species of wild beast loose upon the hillside. “Is it a sort of wolf?” she added.
“It’s a ram,” replied Jock smiling. “It’ll not eat the ewes if that’s what you’re thinking, but it’s nearly as bad. The tups are kept in a field near the farm most of the year and put out at the end of November; then we know the lambs will be arriving the end of April. No hill-farmer wants lambs arriving in February or March when the weather’s too cold and there’s maybe snow on the ground. Besides we want to know the pedigree of our lambs, we want the strain kept pure … and dear knows what kind of queer beast this is! Reid has seen it and says it’s a hairy-polled creature with a crooked horn.”
“It’s the limit!” cried James.
“Just about,” agreed Jock. “Reid is furious. He’s taking his gun with him when he goes round by Tassieknowe. He says it’s rabbits he’s after but I’m wondering. I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot the brute and bury it in the moss.”
“If it was on our ground —” began James.
“Whether it was or whether it was not, who’s to know? Och well, it can’t be helped but it’s the devil and all to have a neglectful neighbour. You know, James,” continued Jock, “you know I wanted to buy the place when old Brown died. I thought I’d get it at a reasonable figure because the house was in such a dilapidated condition that nobody else would want it. The state of the house didn’t matter to me; it was the hirsel I wanted, not the house.”
“Yes, you told me,” said James. “Heddle’s agent turned up at the sale with orders to buy it at any price.”
Jock nodded. “That was the way of it. I don’t know when I’ve been so disappointed for I’d made up my mind to have Tassieknowe, and as a matter of fact old Brown wanted me to have it after he’d gone. He said as much one evening when he was here. You remember, Mamie?”
Mamie nodded. “Yes, of course I remember. Mr. Brown said Mureth and Tassieknowe ought to be farmed together.”
“He was right,” declared Jock. “The two hirsels adjoin, they’re complementary, and together they would make a fine bit of property.”
“That belonged to Mr. Brown,” said Mamie, pointing to an oak tallboy which stood in the corner of the dining room. “We bought it at the sale and we bought a few other things as well. Of course the Heddles didn’t keep anything belonging to the old man, they made a clean sweep.”
“Are they really dreadful people?” asked Rhoda.
“They’re pretty bad,” replied Jock soberly. “They fill the house with their smart friends and turn night into day. Brown would have been shocked at the carryings on at Tassieknowe, that’s one thing certain. Brown was a real old type of Border Scot, an elder of the kirk and a sound farmer; he was a man of high principles, a wee bit narrow in some ways and maybe a wee bit prejudiced but thoroughly good at heart.” He paused for a moment and then added with a grim smile. “I’ll tell you something else but you’d best keep it to yourselves: Reid says they’re eating their lambs.”
“Not really!” cried James incredulously.
“So Reid says — and Reid knows what he’s talking about. Reid asked me if I wanted to do anything about it but I’m not keen to take up the job of common informer, or whatever it’s called, so I told Reid to keep it dark”
Rhoda was looking puzzled.
“You see, Rhoda,” said Jock with a humorous smile. “Farmers are not allowed to kill a sheep — not even their own sheep — without a permit. I daresay it sounds a bit strange but that’s the law of the land. But Tassieknowe is away up in the hills and who’s to know if Mr. Heddle kills a lamb and has a nice saddle or a fine juicy gigot for his dinner?”
“He’s laying himself open to blackmail, isn’t he?” said James thoughtfully.
“Just that,” agreed Jock. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. Sutherland wouldn’t stand for it so he got the sack. The new shepherd does exactly what he likes and Heddle daren’t say a word. That’s the position — it’s a mess and no mistake.”
Jock having said the last word on the subject they turned to others, more profitable. He asked how Boscath was shaping.
“Oh, I’m making a start,” said James. “You’re not to come until I tell you.”
“Ha! It’s like that, is it?”
“Just like that,” nodded James.
“No help needed?”
“Not at present,” said James. “But if you could spare Daniel Reid I’d like the loan of him sometime. I want to take him round the hill.”
“I’ll send him over one of these days,” promised Jock.
6
IT WAS mild after a night’s rain, mild and yet bracing, the sky was pale blue, the distances clear. It was, in fact, one of those early autumn mornings peculiar to Scotland, one of the delights of uncertain weather. The scent of the moist earth was intoxicating; there was a faint tang of pines in it and a faint musty smell of mushrooms. Some of the leaves had fallen from the hawthorn bushes and lay all round them, making a carpet of golden brown. From this carpet arose the little stunted trees ablaze with scarlet berries.
James had breakfasted early and was walking down to the ford to meet Daniel Reid. He looked about him and sniffed the air and was very happy. There was something good and wholesome about this land, it was good and wholesome work to tend it. When he was in Malaya he had felt that the land was evil, that there was age-old evil in the very earth. It was foolishness, he supposed, because Malaya was as much God’s earth as this was, but that was how he felt. The glaring sun, the swiftly growing jungle plants, the poisonous snakes were horrible to James but they did not frighten him; it was night in Malaya that was frightening. Others had felt the same unreasoning terror. Talking it over and trying to face this fear they had decided that the old spirits of the earth can be sensed more strongly in the dark hours than in the light … not ghosts but elemental spirits, inhuman and ruthless. There was cruelty in this land too but it was a straightforward cruelty, the cruelty of wind and rain and rock and torrent, the cruelty of blinding snow and blizzard, but thank God these could be faced with manliness, they were a challenge to courage.
James was not finding his new job easy. It was a job that took all his mind and strength and if he had had twice as much mind and strength it would have taken that as well. He had stayed at Mureth before his marriage and had learnt a good deal about farming; he had gone out upon the hills with Daniel Reid, the Mureth shepherd, and had absor
bed a certain amount of information about sheep; he had learnt to milk cows and to clean out the byres; he had helped to drain a meadow and to build a dyke; he had worked in the hayfield, had shawed turnips and been instructed in the art of hedging and ditching. But James had had no responsibility at Mureth, he had done what he was told, that was all. Now he suddenly found himself saddled with the responsibility of managing a farm on his own.
Boscath Farm was much smaller than Mureth and there were fewer sheep upon the hirsel. James had two men to help him, a young shepherd called Roy and an orra-man called Wanlock (the duties of an orra-man are multifarious, he does anything that needs doing and makes no bones about it). These two men lived in a little cottage on the hill and Roy’s mother kept house for them. Of course James could appeal to Mureth for advice and help if he needed it, but he knew that Jock wanted him to work Boscath himself, standing upon his own feet and learning by experience, and he was determined to do his best to justify Jock’s confidence.
The farm needed a lot of attention for the grieve who had been at Boscath before had let the place go downhill pretty badly. Hedges and ditches, dykes and gates, were all in poor condition and must be attended to — in local parlance they needed sorting. James had not been born and brought up in Scotland but already he had adopted a good many expressions from his neighbours (had adopted them more or less unconsciously) and the verb “to sort” was one of the most useful additions to his vocabulary. To sort a gate is to mend it thoroughly, to put it into proper working order (as a matter of fact you can sort anything from a broken toy to a broken down tractor, you can sort an untidy room or a misunderstanding between friends). A ditch which has become blocked needs right sorting and a leak in the roof of the byre should be sorted straight away. It is even possible to give a man a sorting, in other words to tell him what you think of his behaviour in plain unvarnished language and to set his feet in the path of duty. “I’ll sort it” is a promise to put the thing right. “I’ll sort him” is a threat with sinister implications.
Shoulder the Sky (Drumberley Book 3) Page 4