Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  She did know that, and thought none the less of him for admitting it.

  Albert’s parents arrived the following afternoon to inspect the house, and were loud in praise of it.

  ‘It’s like a palace,’ Nell exclaimed. ‘The rooms are that big you near expect to see the Queen hersel’ come walkin’ in.’

  ‘Will you nae feel lost in a place this size?’ Wattie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Just the two o’ you, well . . . three o’ you? But I must say, it’s real bonnie.’

  ‘Albert chose all the furniture and set everything out himself.’ Bathie was very proud of her husband, even though she still felt a little piqued at being allowed no say.

  Always sensitive to other people’s emotions, Nell said, ‘You can change things round once you’re on your feet again, if you want to. I canna get ower how good it was o’ your mother lendin’ Albert a’ that money to let him buy this place.’

  Suddenly wistful, she added, ‘I only wish I could ha’e helped a bit, as weel.’

  ‘You did help,’ Bathie said, hastily. ‘You crocheted that lovely table centre in the dining room, and Albert said you sewed all the cushion covers here as well as everything for the nursery. They’re all really beautiful, and you must have spent hours making them.’

  ‘Aye, weel.’ Nell was embarrassed. ‘It’s a’ I could do.’

  Wattie turned to his son. ‘I’d like fine to tak’ a look at the shop, to see what kind o’ job you made o’ that.’

  Albert could scarcely hide his excitement as he led the way out, and Nell glanced conspiratorially at Bathie. ‘They’re like a couple o’ bairns wi’ a new toy.’

  Bathie grinned. ‘Yes, Albert’s been dying to show off his shop, although he hasn’t got his stock in yet.’

  ‘How are you, though, after the upheaval o’ the flittin’?’

  ‘I was really tired last night, but I felt better this morning. I just wish this was all over.’ Bathie patted her extended belly ruefully.

  ‘Aye, the waitin’ gets worse the nearer your time comes, but there’s nae that lang to go noo.’ Nell paused, then added, ‘Would you like me to come an’ bide wi’ you when the bairn’s born, just till you get back on your feet? It would be nae bother to me, an’ I could sleep on your sofa seein’ you’ve only got the one bed.’

  Bathie seemed flustered. ‘It’s very good of you to offer, but Albert has asked Mrs Wyness to attend at my confinement, and I’ll have her daughter Mary here every day.’

  Understanding that she was afraid of offending her own mother, Nell nodded. ‘Weel, if you need me, just let me ken.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll remember that.’

  ‘He’s made a grand job o’ the shop,’ Wattie informed his wife when he returned, sitting down as Mary Wyness brought in a tea tray. ‘She’s a nice wee lassie,’ he observed, after the girl withdrew, then lifted a buttered scone from the plate and put it all in his mouth, laughing at Nell’s frowned reprimand.

  ‘Mary made the scones this afternoon,’ Bathie told him. ‘I hope they’re all right.’ She waited anxiously for his approval.

  ‘Light’s a feather.’ He helped himself to another.

  The Johnstones were more reserved in their praise when they called in the evening. After they’d been shown all three floors, Arthur took up his stance in front of the parlour fire. ‘I was rather taken aback at the area you chose, Albert, and the outside of your property did nothing to dispel my fears, but you have made a fine home here.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Johnstone.’ Albert’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘If you’d like to see the shop, I’ll take you down now.’

  When they went out, Henrietta looked searchingly at her daughter. ‘Are you sure you will be happy here, Bathia?’

  ‘I couldn’t be happier.’

  ‘I was not altogether happy about it being the Gallowgate, but . . . oh, I suppose everything will work out for the best. What arrangements have been made for the birth?’

  ‘Mrs Wyness, Mary’s mother, is to be attending me . . .’

  ‘Mrs Wyness? Is she a qualified midwife?’

  Amused, Bathie said, ‘I don’t know if she’s qualified, but she told Albert that there hasn’t been a baby round here in the past fifteen years that she hasn’t brought into the world.’

  Henrietta radiated strong disapproval. ‘I’d have thought that Albert would have engaged someone more suitable. I can still remember how ill I was when you were born. I needed a nurse with me day and night . . .’ She stopped, shaking her head. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t interfere. Albert and you are both so independent. However, I can’t help worrying about how you will manage afterwards. Do you wish me to come and live here for two weeks, until you feel stronger?’

  The idea of her coping in the kitchen or sickroom was so incongruous that Bathie couldn’t help smiling. ‘No, Mother, but thank you just the same. Albert’s mother offered to come and look after me, too, but you know yourself that I’m very healthy, so it won’t take me long to recover. Anyway, I’ll have Mary and I’m quite sure she’ll manage.’

  Looking slightly relieved, Henrietta changed the subject. ‘I wish you would make Albert understand that I do not expect him to pay any of that money back.’

  ‘I’m not even going to try. He’s proud and independent, and I like him that way.’

  The thin eyebrows rose. ‘Only like him?’

  ‘I love him, Mother – more and more every day.’

  At ten past ten on Tuesday morning, Mary noticed that her mistress halted on her way out of the kitchen, then carried on after a moment. ‘Have your pains started, Mrs Ogilvie?’ she called out, solicitously.

  Bathie turned round. ‘I think so. I was having twinges all night, but they’re getting worse now.’

  ‘How often are they comin’?’

  ‘I haven’t noticed.’

  Mary tutted loudly. ‘We’ll ha’e to time them, then.’

  Feeling rather like a goldfish in a bowl, Bathie sat in the kitchen with Mary’s eyes fixed on her, until the severe pains forced her to stand up and walk about, and she wondered if the child would be born without Mrs Wyness being there.

  Then Mary said, quietly, ‘I’d better get Ma now. Just you go through an’ put on your goonie an’ get into your bed.’

  Bathie waddled obediently into the bedroom, and wasn’t quite undressed when the girl returned with her mother. While Mary helped her employer to put on her nightdress, Mrs Wyness took a rubber sheet out of her holdall and spread it on the bed, talking all the time.

  ‘Noo, a’thing’s fine, jist tak’ it easy an’ dinna start pushin’ just yet. I ken you’ll be a bittie feared, but there’s nothing to be feared at. It’s God’s way o’ bringin’ bairns into the world, an’ even the Queen’s to go through the same.’ She straightened up and looked round. ‘Are you ready? Into the bed wi’ you, then, an’ tak’ this.’ From the pocket of her voluminous overall, she produced a flat pebble, worn smooth by the sea, and handed it to Bathie as she lay down. ‘Bite on that if the pains get ower bad.’

  Seeing Bathie’s expression of distaste, she added, ‘It’s quite clean, for I scrubbed it mysel’.’

  For the next few hours, Mrs Wyness wiped her patient’s brow and kept up a steady flow of encouragement, but Bathie could concentrate only on what was happening inside her body, as her bones were wrenched open by the child leaving her womb.

  When Albert came up at dinnertime, Mary said, ‘Ma’s ben wi’ Mrs Ogilvie, an’ you’ll ha’e to bide here.’

  ‘I want to see my wife.’ Albert’s stomach was churning at the thought of what Bathie was going through.

  ‘You’d just be in the road, an’ they’re managin’ fine. It’s nae place for a man.’

  He could see that it was useless to argue. ‘Come and tell me as soon as it’s over,’ he ordered as he went out.

  ‘Go canny now,’ Mrs Wyness was saying to Bathie. ‘Nae ower fast – easy, now.’

  In spite of her previous intention not to avail herself of t
he ‘comforter’, Bathie bit on the stone until she thought her teeth must snap and the whole of her insides would be prised out, but just when she imagined she could bear no more, Mrs Wyness’s voice reached her again.

  ‘It’s near here. One last push an’ I’ll ha’e it.’

  Along with the push, Bathie gave a long low-pitched scream, then suddenly the child emerged with a plop, rather like a cork coming out of a bottle.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ announced the midwife with great glee. ‘That should mak’ your man happy.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bathie whispered. ‘Albert wanted a son.’

  ‘It’s a boy, an’ Mrs Ogilvie’s sleepin’ noo,’ Mary told Albert, when she ran down to the shop, adding, ‘but Ma says it was touch an’ go for a while.’

  This last piece of information failed to register with Albert, whose brain was occupied with thinking of a suitable name for his son, but when he went up for his supper an hour or so later, Bathie’s sleeping face looked so white that Mary’s words came back to him: Ma says it was touch an’ go for a while.

  God, had the woman meant that his wife had almost died?

  Forgetting all about the infant, Albert spun round and ran down the stairs, telling an astonished Mary, as he passed the open kitchen door, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Past the shoemaker’s shop he ran, into the next close and up the stairs to the first floor of the tenement. When Mrs Wyness answered his loud knock, he was scarcely able to speak.

  ‘What ails you, Mr Ogilvie?’ she said in alarm. ‘Is it your wife? Has something happened to her?’

  ‘Did . . . you . . . expect something . . . to happen?’ His words were punctuated by gasps for breath.

  ‘No, it was just seein’ you here.’

  ‘What did . . . you mean . . . when you told Mary . . . it was touch and go for a while. Did my wife . . . nearly die?’

  ‘Mercy, what gi’ed you that idea? I was tryin’ to save her bein’ torn, that’s a’.’

  ‘Oh.’ Albert’s relief made him stagger, and he clutched at the doorpost for a moment. ‘She looked so white, and I . . .’

  ‘She lost a lot o’ blood, but she’s fine. Maybe you’d better get the doctor for the next bairn, though.’

  ‘Any special doctor?’ Albert wasn’t thinking of another child just yet, but it was better to be prepared.

  ‘Weel, auld Dr Thomson retired a year or so ago. He was very good at a birth. But they tell me the new man’s every bit as good. McKenzie, I think his name is, though I’ve never needed him for onythin’ mysel’.’

  ‘Dr McKenzie? I’ll keep him in min,’ for we’d better have a family doctor. Thank you very much, and I’ll settle up with you now, Mrs Wyness.’

  ‘What did you think o’ your son?’ she asked, as he handed her the half crown she had told him she charged. His stricken face made her laugh. ‘Dinna tell me you havena even looked at him yet?’

  ‘I was worried about my wife,’ he excused himself.

  ‘Aye.’ She nodded her head, still untidy from the past few hours’ work, and brushed away some wisps of fair hair from her eyes. ‘Love’s a terrible thing. Puts a’thing else oot o’ your mind.’ Her smiling eyes were a little wistful as she watched him going down the stairs, and she waited until he reached the bottom before she closed her door.

  His wife was still asleep when Albert arrived back, so he was able to give the tiny red-faced mite in the cradle his full attention. His first son’s head was covered with black down – he was surely going to take after Bathie – but what would life hold in store for Charles Ogilvie?

  He had chosen the name Charles because it was strong and had character, and would need no other Christian names along with it. Charles Ogilvie had a ring of importance, he felt, a good Scottish name.

  Bending over the cradle, Albert’s heart swelled with pride. ‘You’ll be taking over the shop one day, little Charlie,’ he whispered. ‘You and your brothers.’

  Chapter Nine

  Nearly a year had passed and the grocer’s shop was thriving, with Bathie serving for an hour or so whenever Albert had to visit the wholesalers to replenish his stocks. She also spent some time every evening checking his takings, and wrote up his books once a week.

  Little Mary Wyness, less than five feet tall in her shoes, kept the house shining like a new pin, and had shaped up well as a cook. She doted on eleven-month-old Charlie, and was looking forward to the next arrival, due shortly.

  ‘I think we’ll make Mary nursemaid,’ Albert told his wife one evening. ‘She can fairly keep wee Charlie in order, and we can get another lassie for the cleaning and cooking. I’ll have a word with Mrs Wyness, for I think young Jeannie’s due to leave the school at summer, but we could likely get her off before that. It’d be best if she started as soon as she can, so Mary can train her up before our second son’s born.’

  Bathie smiled to herself. Albert was always so sure of himself, and if he said this baby would be another son, it would definitely be another son. He’d even chosen the name.

  ‘I think Donald sounds right,’ he’d said, a few days ago. ‘We’ll maybe not get right down the alphabet, but we’re doing our best,’ he’d added, quite seriously, and had been rather offended when she laughed.

  Within two weeks, he’d arranged for Mary’s sister to leave school, and had made another of the rooms on the middle floor ready, next to the, as yet, unused nursery, as a bedroom for Mary. ‘It’ll be better if she sleeps here, so she can hear Charlie if he cries through the night,’ he’d explained.

  Their first child had almost outgrown the old cradle in their bedroom, so he would be going into the crib upstairs when the new baby was born.

  Jeannie Wyness learned her duties quickly and was every bit as diligent as her sister, so Bathie had little to occupy her time other than making sure that the layette she’d used for her firstborn was in a presentable enough state to be used again. Fortunately, everything was ready in good time, because little Donald Ogilvie made his premature debut only a week after the new housemaid started.

  Although Dr McKenzie had been asked to attend, young Jeannie alerted her mother when she was sent to fetch him, so Mrs Wyness was also present, if only as a spectator.

  ‘It wasna so bad this time,’ she remarked to Bathie when the doctor left. ‘You just shot it oot like a hen layin’ eggs.’

  Bathie smiled weakly. ‘It’s just as well – Mr Ogilvie wants a big family.’

  ‘Men are aye the same. They get a’ the pleasure an’ none o’ the pain. I’m tellin’ you, if the men had to gi’e birth, there’d only be one bairn in every family.’

  When Albert came up at six o’clock for his supper, he was in high spirits. ‘I’m glad Donald gave you no problems, and I think we’ll have another son before we start making daughters.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ His wife still felt exhausted, and her soreness wouldn’t let her dwell too long on the prospect of producing any more babies. As Mrs Wyness had said, it was all right for the men.

  When Mary brought Charlie in to say goodnight, he looked with interest at the new brother in his mother’s arms, then touched her exposed breast curiously, and Bathie wished that she’d had time to cover herself up.

  ‘Give Mother a kiss, Charlie.’

  He was a good wee soul, Bathie reflected as Mary whisked him off, and she hoped that the one she was changing to the other side would give her as little trouble.

  As the little mouth fixed on her again, she thought, if the Queen could give Prince Albert nine – or was it ten? – children, surely Bathia Ogilvie could do the same for his namesake, and she’d many child-bearing years ahead of her yet.

  When her husband came through again, the baby had fallen asleep, and Albert leaned over to stroke her nipple.

  Bathie sighed contentedly. ‘Be careful of the baby.’

  Without a word, he picked up the infant, laid him in his wooden cradle and turned back to his wife to lift her heavy breast in his hand.

  ‘Oh
, Bathie, I can hardly wait,’ he murmured, then bent his head to her and suckled, while she caressed his ginger head and longed for the next few weeks to pass.

  It would have been difficult to judge who was the most embarrassed when young Jeannie came in, but Albert was first to recover.

  ‘Haven’t you learned yet to knock at doors before you come barging in?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry, Mr Ogilvie. I didna ken you were here.’

  Seeing how upset the girl was, Bathie said, hastily, ‘It’s all right, Jeannie. Mr Ogilvie didn’t mean to shout at you, but remember to knock in future.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Ogilvie. I came through to put the bairn in his cradle, but . . .’

  ‘I’ve done it, Jeannie.’ Albert was already regretting losing his temper. ‘He fell asleep at his feed. If you’ve tidied everything up, you can get off home.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ogilvie.’ She closed the door quietly.

  ‘After I shut the shop tonight, I’m going to make up some quarters and half-pounds of tea, and maybe some cheese and ham. It’ll help when there’s a few customers in at one time,’ he explained. ‘I think I’m going to have to employ somebody to help me in the shop, though, for I’ve hardly time to do anything but serve. I shouldn’t complain, for it’s meant that my debt to your mother’s being reduced all the quicker.’

  ‘You’ve done well in your first year, Albert.’

  He stood up. ‘I’ll try not to be late, Bathie, but you know I lose all track of the time when I’m working. I’ll tell Mary to come down and sit with you when Jeannie goes home.’

  ‘No, no. Mary needs some rest, now Charlie’s sleeping. I’ll be all right on my own.’

  There was no sound in the house when he went out, and only the occasional clip-clop of horses’ hooves as a cart went over the Gallowgate, or the ring of tacketty boots as a weary workman made his way home, broke the silence. Bathie closed her eyes. Life was good, she mused. She’d never thought, when she married Albert Ogilvie less than two years ago, that she’d ever be living in a fine house like this, with two maids, or that he’d have his own shop and be considering employing an assistant. He’d turned out to be a proper businessman.