Brow of the Gallowgate

by Doris Davidson

  Will touched his arm gently. ‘We’d better turn back, Charlie. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, about everything. It’s a bloody awful homecoming for you.’

  As soon as they went into the house, Flo could see that Charlie was more upset than ever. ‘I’ve laid out some blankets for you,’ she told him. ‘I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, but we never thought we’d need a spare bed.’

  ‘I won’t sleep, anyway, Flo, but thanks for bothering.’

  When he was left alone, Charlie sat down, his face dark with his tormented thoughts. Everything had happened about two years ago. Flo or Hetty must have told Mother what he’d done, and she had died from the shock. And it was his fault Vena had died, too, and the baby. There was nothing for him to live for now, but . . . he could make atonement.

  ‘Will, Charlie’s not here!’

  Flo’s excited, anxious voice early next morning brought her husband rudely out of his slumber, and his eyes were still full of sleep when he jumped out of bed. She buckled on his artificial arm, and he pulled on a shirt and trousers before hurrying after her into the other room.

  Her face was pale, her eyes wide with concern. ‘There’s no sign of him at all. Where could he have gone?’

  Although he had a horrible suspicion of where Charlie had gone, and why, Will said, ‘He could have gone for a walk. I’ll take the car and go and look for him if you like?’

  ‘Yes, please. He didn’t seem very well last night when you came back, and he shouldn’t be wandering about on his own in the state he’s in.’

  Her eyes brightened. ‘Maybe he’s gone to see if he can get his old job back. That could be it, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Could be. I’ll go that way first.’

  Will was outside before he remembered that he was only wearing slippers. What the hell? There was no time to change into shoes. He had to stop Charlie before . . .

  When he reached the main road, he turned in the direction of Bella Potter’s house, which was about eight and a half miles away, his eyes searching feverishly for his brother-in-law. He was almost sure that Charlie was on his way to have it out with the woman, but when had he set out? It could have been any time between about midnight and six o’clock.

  Will cursed his old car, but this Morris-Cowley was all he’d been able to afford on top of paying for his bungalow. If only he’d asked Flo to give him some of her mother’s legacy to buy a newer model, he’d have been at his destination by now, but he hadn’t foreseen an emergency like this.

  When Bella’s rather pretentious-looking house came in sight, he slowed down. There had been no sign of Charlie on the way, and he wondered if he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. He’d look a proper fool if he burst in and she was still asleep. It was only coming on for seven, after all.

  Turning into the gateway, he drove cautiously up to the front door, and as he got out of his car, he tried to plan his tactics. If the door was locked, he’d go away without even knocking, but if it wasn’t, he’d go straight in, because it would mean that Charlie had got there first.

  He went straight in.

  Chapter Forty

  Even with all the stir of six adults and two one-year-old babies in the house, Albert Ogilvie didn’t forget the second anniversary of Bathie’s death.

  Not that he’d forgotten the first one, but Gracie had gone into labour on this date a year ago, and there hadn’t been much peace for him to think about anything until he went to bed, around two in the morning. It was funny that he’d worried so much about Gracie during her confinement – almost as much as he’d worried about his wife – and he’d felt really sorry for Hetty, who was only days away from hers. It hadn’t upset her, though, and she’d produced a beautiful baby girl a week later.

  This anniversary was different. Neil Ferris, Gracie’s son, and Olive Potter, Hetty’s girl, let themselves be heard if they were hungry, or wet, or both, and it seemed to remind him more of Bathie – though he didn’t need any reminding. Her sweet face and bonnie blue eyes still came into his mind at any odd time; and when anything out of the ordinary happened, he still thought, wait till Bathie hears this.

  It was perfectly natural, of course. They’d been married for thirty-two years when she died, and no man could easily forget the woman who’d shared his life for so long. If only they could have had longer together, but it wasn’t meant to be.

  It was hard to think she would never know about the two new grandchildren, but she had known about Leonard Dunbar and Morag McKenzie. No, he was being silly. Of course she’d know about these two as well. She’d be smiling down on them all right now, pleased that they were coping so easily without her.

  Of course, it was Gracie who had done most of the coping. He wouldn’t have come through, two years ago, if it hadn’t been for Gracie, and she’d been the mainstay of the house ever since – dishing out advice to anyone who needed it.

  Flo still wrote giving her all the news, Donnie and Ellie, too. They all kept in touch, except Charlie. He seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth, and not one of them, in Aberdeen, Edinburgh, London or Wanganui, had ever found out what had happened to him, or why he’d left Vena.

  Remembering how sure Bathie had been that Bella Wyness would take revenge on them one day, and that Martin had told them his mother had said she wasn’t finished yet, Albert was absolutely certain that the woman had been responsible in some way for whatever it was that had happened to Charlie.

  Albert had a sudden feeling that it wasn’t over yet. Some further calamity was hanging over the Ogilvie family. He could feel the dread of it sweeping right through him. He’d always comforted himself by supposing that Mary would watch out for Flo, but he had no doubt now that Bella could outwit both her sisters – and anyone else. Flo could be her next target.

  Before he could become morbid about this, he was jolted out of his thoughts by Ishbel.

  ‘It’s all right for you, sitting here in peace on your own,’ she complained, when she came into the parlour, ‘but just imagine what it’s like for me. It doesn’t matter where I sit, somebody comes and tells me to do something for them. Tells me, mind, not asks. It’s “Ishbel, take in the clothes from the wash-house” or “Heat up that pan of custard” or “Run up to the nursery for the zinc and castor oil ointment”. It never ends, and I’m sick of it, Father.’

  ‘Wait till you’ve got a baby,’ he said, trying not to laugh, ‘and it’ll be your turn to order them about.’

  ‘Huh! By the time I have a baby, Hetty’ll likely have gone back to New Zealand, and Gracie’ll have gone with her.’

  His amusement evaporated quickly. ‘No, Ishbel. I’m sure Hetty will never go back to New Zealand.’

  ‘Well, they’ll have gone away somewhere. I’m always left to do everything.’ Ishbel went out, shaking her head.

  Albert looked up at the mantelpiece. Ten o’clock already. Levering himself off his chair, he went through to the kitchen, where Hetty was ironing and Gracie was stitching a button on one of Joe’s shirts.

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ he said. ‘I feel a bit tired.’

  Gracie laid down her sewing. ‘I’ll make some tea.’

  ‘No, thanks, I don’t want anything.’

  He did feel tired. His legs ached as he walked through to his room, and when he took off his clothes, his arms felt like they were made of lead. It was because he hadn’t been moving about enough, he thought. He’d been in the parlour since suppertime, and it wasn’t good for man nor beast to sit about so much.

  He hadn’t had any significant dreams since the morning Hetty and Martin had arrived back in Aberdeen, but that night he saw his eldest son standing at his bedside, as clear as day.

  Charlie looked tired, too, but there was an aura of peace about him, as though he’d achieved something he’d been wanting to do for a long time, something that made up for the terrible way he’d treated his wife.

  ‘You don’t need to worry any more, Father.’ Charlie’s voice sounded differen
t, deeper, yet somehow from a distance. ‘Bella Wyness can never hurt any of our family again.’

  Waking up in a cold sweat, Albert couldn’t get it out of his mind. What had Charlie been trying to tell him? What had he done now?

  Albert knew it had been a nightmare, but still . . .

  Chapter Forty-one

  1924 came in cold and blustery, but, for all the adult inhabitants of the house, it was quite a merry occasion.

  Ishbel had been to the Picture House earlier on Hogmanay evening, and had brought her current young man back with her, to see the New Year in at the Gallowgate. One of Joe’s friends called with his wife just after midnight to first-foot them, and it was Hetty’s twenty-fourth birthday, which made it all the more of a celebration.

  Albert, who had been rather morose for some time, cheered up with the extra company, but took only his usual one drink. He’d been dreading the New Year, but found himself enjoying it, after all, and it was almost five o’clock in the morning when he locked the outside door behind the last of their guests.

  Needless to say, he was the brightest of the three men later in the day. Hetty and Gracie, who had risen at eight to attend to their children – to whom the New Year was just another day – laughed heartlessly when their husbands came into the kitchen just before dinnertime. Martin and Joe had imbibed somewhat too freely the night before, and their pasty faces and hang-dog expressions revealed exactly how they felt.

  Albert grinned. ‘You’re like a couple of sunny beasties, as my mother used to say.’

  Ishbel thought this sounded very comical, although she hadn’t the slightest idea of what it meant, but when she asked her father to explain, he couldn’t.

  ‘I know it means they’ve got a morning-after-the-night-before look about them, but I don’t know why she said sunny beasties. Maybe it’s because there’s some little beasties that only come out when it’s sunny and then get affected by too much heat.’

  ‘That’ll be it,’ she exclaimed, gleefully. ‘Joe and Martin don’t drink much as a rule, so they got drunk when they took too much for the New Year, and it’s affected them like the sun affects the little beasties.’

  Joe regarded her with jaundiced eyes. ‘You’ve always got to find an answer to everything, haven’t you? Why can’t you just sit down and keep quiet?’

  ‘I wish you’d all be quiet,’ Martin muttered. ‘My head’s banging like a drum.’

  ‘Serves you right!’ Hetty glared at him. ‘I lost count of the number of whiskies you had.’

  ‘So did I,’ he groaned. ‘Never again.’

  ‘Who wants second day’s broth?’ Gracie glanced round them hopefully, her cheery voice making two of the men cringe.

  ‘Not for me, thanks.’ Joe rolled his eyes, to indicate that the mere mention of food was more than enough for him.

  ‘Nor for me.’ Martin’s grimace was very expressive.

  ‘I’ll have some,’ Albert smiled.

  ‘Me, too.’ Ishbel giggled at her brothers-in-law.

  ‘That’s four of us, then, and the children.’ Gracie drew some cutlery out of the dresser drawer.

  ‘There’s a hen for supper,’ Hetty said tartly, to Joe and Martin. ‘And if you two still don’t feel like eating, there’ll be all the more for the rest of us.’

  ‘Is there stuffing, as well?’ Ishbel rubbed her hands in happy anticipation. ‘And roast tatties?’

  ‘And peas and sprouts,’ Gracie added.

  Hetty kept the punishment going. ‘And there’s trifle for pudding, with double cream and . . .’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Martin rushed out with his hand over his mouth, and the women laughed when they heard him going into the bathroom.

  ‘All right, Hetty.’ Joe glowered at her. ‘You’ve made your point.’ His face whitened, and he, too, ran out.

  ‘He’ll have to go to the outside lavvy,’ Ishbel remarked, with great satisfaction.

  Thinking that the teasing had gone on long enough, Albert said, ‘They’ve learned their lesson, so leave it be, now. And, Gracie and Hetty, you’ll have enough work preparing the hen and everything, so Ishbel and me’ll do the dishes at suppertime.’

  ‘Why does it always have to be me?’ came the expected grumble from his youngest daughter.

  Three days later, with things back to normal, Hetty and Gracie were having a quick cup of tea at midday, when they heard the postman.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Hetty ran out, but handed her sister the letter as soon as she came back. ‘It’s from Flo.’

  When Albert came up at one o’clock, he was aware of an unnatural silence, and as soon as Gracie told them all to sit down to listen to Flo’s letter, he knew that something terrible must have happened in Wanganui.

  Waiting until they were all settled and she felt more composed herself, Gracie said, gravely, ‘Before I read this out, I’d better tell you that Charlie’s dead, because Flo left it till near the end, and it’ll save you building up your hopes.’

  There was a confusion of gasps and moans, and she looked round their faces, each showing varying degrees of shock. She let her eyes rest longest on her father, and decided that she could safely read out the whole letter.

  ‘ “Dear Gracie, I’m writing to let you know that Charlie turned up yesterday without any warning, and he nearly went out of his mind when I told him about Vena and the baby. He was in a terrible state for a while, and he told us he’d walked out because Vena believed the lies that Bella told about him, and he couldn’t take any more. He’d been working all over the place the time he was away, but he had suddenly made up his mind to come home and try to patch things up with Vena.

  ‘ “Maybe he had been ill before, maybe that’s why he came back, I don’t know, and he didn’t look very well when we went to bed, but I was very surprised when I went through in the morning and he wasn’t there. Will went to look for him in the car, and found him lying at the side of the road, about ten miles away, and I think he must have been making for the place he used to work, to see if he could get his old job back.

  ‘ “He was unconscious, and he died just after Will got him to the hospital in Wellington. If we’d known he was ill, we’d have looked after him, but he went away without telling us, and it must have been his heart. We’re going to bury him beside Vena and the baby, we thought it was only right. Will says we shouldn’t blame ourselves, for nobody could have done anything.

  ‘ “I still haven’t got over the shock, though it’s nearly six hours since Will told me. My thoughts are with you all at this sad time. Your loving sister, Flo.”’

  After a long pause, Albert said, ‘Poor Charlie, and it’s all that bloody Bella . . .’ He stopped and glanced at Martin, remembering, too late, that he was Bella Wyness’s son.

  ‘You’re quite right, Albert.’ Martin nodded grimly. ‘I believe it was all my mother’s fault, and I’m just as angry about it as you.’

  Drawing herself to her feet, Gracie said, sadly, ‘Well, we won’t have to wonder where Charlie is now, and in a way, I’m glad he’s at rest.’

  They all agreed, Ishbel adding, with youthful romanticism, ‘Vena and Charlie are together again, at last. It’s a tragic love story, really, isn’t it?’

  Flo’s account hadn’t satisfied Martin. His intuition told him there was more to be told, so he wrote that afternoon to Will Dunbar, putting forward a theory which had formed in his own mind, and begging him to confirm or refute it.

  They were all subdued and rather edgy, so Martin’s silent brooding went virtually unnoticed. Only Hetty, closer to him than the others, recognized it, but assumed that he felt guilty about his mother’s part in Charlie’s quarrel with his wife.

  Exactly a week later, her husband’s vague suspicions about how Charlie had died were strengthened when he received a note from his Aunt Mary.

  ‘Dear Martin, I know you broke away from your mother, but I felt you should know she fell down the stairs and died from the knock on her head. One of her neighbours found her, for she’d sack
ed her maid a while ago and couldn’t get another one, and the doctor said she must have lain there for days.

  ‘Me and Jeannie were never very close to her, as you know, but we arranged for her funeral and buried her beside your father, so I hope that was the right thing to do. We found her will, and she had changed it after you left, so everything goes to charity. I’m sorry for you, but there it is. From your loving aunt, Mary.’

  It seemed to Martin to be too great a coincidence that his mother and Charlie Ogilvie had died within days of each other, and he was almost sure that Will hadn’t told Flo the whole truth, but he trusted that his cousin would give him an honest reply to the letter he’d sent.

  When Albert learned of Bella’s death, his only remark was, ‘What a pity Charlie didn’t live to know about this.’

  Martin Potter, however, was sure that Charlie had known.

  It was the end of February before the letter came, and Martin removed it apprehensively from his pigeonhole in the University’s common room.

  ‘Dear Martin, you guessed right. I never told anybody, not even Flo, and I arranged things so nobody would suspect, but I wish I’d got there sooner. Charlie had good reason to do what I think he did, and he has paid the penalty.

  ‘I can’t say any more, but I beg you not to tell Hetty, or any of the family, and please destroy this, in case any of them find it. Sincerely, Will.’

  Drawing a deep breath, Martin tore the letter into small pieces, and flushed them down the nearest lavatory.

  Bella Wyness, as Albert always called her, must have gone completely mad in her obsession for vengeance, but it seemed that Charlie Ogilvie had somehow wreaked the ultimate revenge on her, and her own son blessed him for it.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Neil Ferris and Olive Potter were almost one and a half when Patricia Ferris made her appearance, and Gracie joked that Hetty had better get a move on, because she’d fallen behind.

  Ishbel was going out now with a young man she’d met at a dance in the Trades’ Hall, and the banter between his three daughters reminded Albert of the days when Flo, Charlie and Donnie had teased Ellie about her lads.