Full of remorse for what he had already said, he felt obliged to reassure her. ‘No, I shouldna think it. We’ve daen mair than oor share.’ He knew perfectly well that he would be back in the front line soon, but it was best that she didn’t know.
When they arrived at Downies, Jess said, ‘You’re blue wi’ the cauld, baith o’ you, sit doon at the fire. The supper’s in the oven, but Jake wants me to help him wi’ …’
Standing up, Doddie cried, ‘No, let me help him. You sit doon an’ speak to Mysie.’
Jess pushed him back into his seat. ‘Mysie’s seen me every second week since you went awa’, an’ it’s you she wants to … speak to. Tak’ the chance when you’ve got it.’ She marched out, smiling broadly.
‘I thought I’d best offer to help,’ he told Mysie, ‘though I didna want to leave you. Ony road, I can help Jake the times I canna see you. I must work for my keep.’
‘Aye,’ she murmured, shy now that they were alone inside, and still recovering from the horrors he had described, although she suspected that it had been much worse for him than he had told her.
Her slight blush made him feel like sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her through to the Findlaters’ bed, but that was impossible, so he drew his chair up next to hers and took her hand. ‘I’ve dreamed aboot this for months, Mysie. I used to think aboot you when we was on guard duty, or back aff the line for a rest, and I sometimes planned what we’ll dae when we’re in oor ain place.’
They were still planning for their own small croft – Mysie even saying she wanted honeysuckle round their porch – when Jess came in again, stumbling intentionally over the back step to warn them. ‘He looks real good in the kilt, doesn’t he?’
Mysie nodded. ‘Aye, does he.’ Doddie was an exceptionally fine figure of a man in the kilt, she thought, his legs firm and sturdy, his back so erect that the pleats fell straight down to his knees, but his khaki jacket was hanging loosely on him. Had it always been like that, she wondered, or had he grown that much thinner since it had been fitted? Maybe they didn’t fit them, though. Maybe they just handed out whatever sizes were available.
After supper, they all sat round the fireside talking, Jake stepping in to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation, but Doddie couldn’t stop himself from looking frequently at Mysie, his eyes telling her that this was not how he had envisaged them passing their precious time together. The evening was well advanced when Mysie noticed the time and gasped. ‘Oh, I should ha’e been awa’ ages ago.’ Standing up, she felt ashamed that she had never given one thought to Sandy for hours, nor to how Meggie Duff was coping on her own.
Doddie held her coat up for her. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘But you’ll ha’e to walk back here again.’
‘I’d walk to the ends o’ the earth for you, Mysie,’ he told her earnestly, not caring that Jess and Jake would also hear.
It was far too cold now to linger on their journey, but it was after ten before they arrived at Burnlea House. ‘I’m goin’ to Fyvie the morn, to see my father,’ Doddie said at the door, ‘but I’ll come for you on your next time aff.’
‘I’ve got the afternoon on Thursday, but I havena a whole day till the Sunday the week after.’
‘That’s the day I’ve to leave,’ he said sadly. ‘Oh, weel, it canna be helped. What time will I come on Thursday?’
‘I could maybe manage half-past one, an’ I’ve to be back at six, for their dinner’s at seven.’
‘Half past one, then.’ He kissed her and hurried away.
Mysie went through her kitchen and ran up the back stairs. Meggie was in bed, but not asleep. ‘I got on fine,’ she said, proudly, ‘an’ Sandy was as good as gold, so I could let you oot ilka nicht Doddie’s here, if you like?’
‘But Mrs Phillip wouldna …’
‘If you wait till the dinner’s past she’s nae needin’ to ken. She never comes doon the stair at nicht, you ken that fine.’
Mysie longed to accept the offer, but wasn’t too sure about it. ‘We’ll see. Doddie’s goin’ to Fyvie the morn, an’ I’ll be aff on Thursday afternoon ony road, but maybe on Friday.’
With having nothing to look forward to on Wednesday, Mysie was all the more irritable with Sandy when he did not eat his breakfast. ‘Wastin’ good food like that! Get it doon you!’
It was not until he said, ‘When will Doddie be goin’ awa’?’ that she realised what was wrong with him. ‘He’s to go back a week on Sunday,’ she told him, her voice much softer.
‘I didna ken where you were when I come hame fae the school yesterday, nae till Meggie tell’t me.’
‘I didna ken mysel’ that I’d get oot. Oh, Sandy, you’re nae angry that I was wi’ Doddie, are you? I thought you was big enough for me to leave you a while, an’ Meggie was there.’
‘I am big enough, I’m nae a baby.’ He lifted his spoon and began to sup his porridge, in an effort to show her that her short desertion had not upset him.
‘I dinna ken what to dae aboot Sandy,’ Mysie told Meggie when they sat down at half-past ten to have a cup of tea. ‘I think he’s nae very pleased at me goin’ oot wi’ Doddie.’
The kitchenmaid pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘He didna say naething last night.’
‘No, but maybe I should tell Doddie I canna get oot …’
‘Dinna be daft, Mysie! Sandy an’ me got on fine, he’s just puttin’ it on wi’ you.’
‘I suppose so.’ Mysie had too much work to do to worry any more about Sandy. He was only a bairn and he would soon get over it, and it wasn’t as if she was doing anything wrong.
On Thursday afternoon, she and Doddie meandered round the grounds of the house, stopping to kiss behind a tree every now and then, and she would willingly have let him make love to her standing up if he had tried. They were almost back at the house when he stopped once more and looked at her earnestly. ‘Mysie, maybe you think I dinna want you, but I just canna tak’ you like a beast, though I’m desperate for you.’
‘I wouldna mind, Doddie,’ she whispered, shyly.
‘No, lass. I love you mair than ever I did, but I dinna want to spoil things atween us. I would feel as if I was treatin’ you like a whore, an’ it’s nae just for that I love you. Can you understand what I mean?’
‘Aye, I can, an’ I suppose you’re right.’
‘If only we had some place to go … och, Mysie, I’m bein’ selfish. I can wait.’ He drew her into his arms again, his kisses showing how much he wanted her, but in no time, he drew away abruptly. ‘I’ll nae be able to wait if we go on like this. Afore you go in, will I see you again?’
‘Meggie says it should be a’ right if I took an hour or so aff ilka night, so come at the back o’ seven the morn’s nicht.’
For the rest of Doddie’s leave, Mysie closed her eyes to her son’s pique, and allowed herself some time off every evening. Unfortunately, the weather was against them, it being January, but even the snow and hail beating down on them didn’t lessen their happiness at being together.
All too soon, the day of his departure came, and at eleven o’clock on Sunday forenoon, she sat tearfully in Downies with Jess, Jake and Sandy, trying not to let them see that her heart was breaking. Of course, she had to carry on as usual when she returned to the Big House, and, within a week, it was as though Doddie had never been home.
Mrs Phillip’s father died unexpectedly in Aberdeen in May, so everyone crept about sadly for a few days, but Mysie was more upset when Jess told her that Denny Petrie had been killed. For as much as she had disliked Jean, she wouldn’t have wished that on her, and it made her more concerned for Doddie – two deaths connected with the place already, there was bound to be a third, sooner or later.
Before she knew it, the school summer holidays were on them and Bobby Phillip and Sandy were on the loose again. Little Beatrice knew to steer clear of them, but they still got into scrapes. Finding the mower McGregor had left out while he had a mid-morning cup of tea, they
ran around the lawn with it, pushing it off the grass eventually and decapitating a whole row of colourful dahlias. Being threatened with confinement to the house if they went near the gardens again, they dared each other to climb one of the stately oaks that lined the curved avenue, and, sitting on a slim branch which snapped under the combined weight, they ended up with a broken leg apiece.
‘It’s lucky for you Maitland had been into the toon,’ Mysie scolded her nine-year-old son afterwards. ‘You could ha’e lain there for lang enough withoot onybody kennin’.’
‘Och, Mam,’ Sandy protested. ‘Was you never young?’
No, she thought, ruefully. She had never been young, not in that way, for she’d had the responsibility of looking after her younger brothers and sisters until she’d gone into service, and when she was newly sixteen, her father had forced her into a loveless marriage. Her mind sheered off her marriage. It was Doddie she wanted to see again, Doddie she wanted to share a new life with in a new home, but that day would come, and they would look back on their time apart as a bad memory.
The accident forced confinement on the boys after all, and the holidays were almost over before they were fit to go out to play again. Their experience had had a sobering effect on them, however, so they got up to no further escapades.
Mrs Phillip presented another challenge to Mysie towards the end of November. ‘I am giving a ball in about three weeks. Some officer friends of my husband’s and their wives, also some relatives and perhaps the farmers and their wives. I do not care for Mrs Mutch, but …’
‘How mony’ll be comin’?’ Catering for a large number didn’t worry Mysie any more, but she would have to know exactly.
‘Prepare dinner for fifty, that should be enough … or is that too many for you?’
‘No, no, I’ll manage that. Will you be makin’ oot a list o’ what you want served?’
‘I’ll leave it to you, but I’d like to see the menu once you have decided. I had better hire two waitresses. Meggie will be needed to help you, and neither Chrissie nor Janey would be very suitable, but they can lend a hand with the washing up.’
Mysie couldn’t help smiling as she imagined seventeen-year-old, gawky Janey Paterson carrying trays of plates – they’d be sure to land on the floor – and Chrissie Grant, although she was bold enough for her sixteen years at times, would run a mile if one of the gentry as much as looked at her.
‘By the way,’ Mrs Phillip continued, ‘I’m sorry to give you more work, but some of the guests will be staying on for a day or two, so …’
‘That’s a’ right, Mrs Phillip, if you let me ken how mony folk there’ll be for every meal.’
‘Yes, of course.’
The next three weeks passed in a flash. Mysie studied the ‘Special Occasions’ section of the old cookery book, choosing recipes for meat, fowl and game which she thought would give a wide enough selection to suit all tastes, and wrote out a menu to show her mistress, who gave it her approval. Then she made a list of what she would have to order, and washed all the utensils and dishes she would need in the preparations.
Meggie, still hoping to be a cook some day, hung on to her every word, watched her every movement, and Mysie was quite happy to instruct her. The girl was quick to learn, and turned out to have a natural hand for pastry and sponges. Everything that could be prepared before-hand had been set on the marble shelves in the coolest pantry, covered to keep flies off. The pheasants, quails, wood-pigeons and hares supplied by the old gamekeeper had been hung for two weeks and were now ready to be plucked, or skinned, and gutted before cooking; the beef, pork and lamb were marinating in large bowls.
The rest of the staff were also kept busy. The housemaids had to make bedrooms ready for guests who would be staying. Maitland cleaned and polished the motor car – a big Daimler – which had recently been bought by Mr Phillip, raked the gravel on the drive and made sure that the front of the house bore no signs of birds’ droppings, while McGregor occupied his time by keeping the gardens looking their best.
On the day of the ball, Mysie rose at three in the morning, determined that everything would be ready in time, and young Meggie joined her at four, also anxious that there would be no hitches. They worked silently, preparing vegetables, basting, stirring, seasoning, tasting. When Sandy came down at seven, he was handed a large sacking apron and told to buff up the silver cutlery which Meggie had already rubbed vigorously with bathbrick. A cold luncheon was sent up to the dining room at half-past twelve, but little was eaten in the kitchen.
When the two waitresses arrived late in the afternoon, their faces were almost as forbidding as their stiff black dresses and starched caps and aprons, giving Mysie a moment’s panic. What would these women think of her efforts? They were professionals, used to large functions. Had she garnished the dishes properly? Did they look attractive enough? But she hadn’t time to dwell on it, and the waitresses did not look at all critical or amused when everything was laid out on the large table ready to be carried upstairs to the dining room.
As time went by and the first trays of dirty dishes were taken down, Meggie, Janey and Chrissie set about washing and drying them, leaving Mysie to concentrate on having the following courses ready. It was only when the empty coffee cups came back that Mysie relaxed, sinking thankfully into the wooden armchair beside the range. Long strands of her dark hair, damp with perspiration, were straggling out from under her cap, her apron was dotted with the multicoloured stains of gravy and juices, her feet were throbbing, but she felt a sense of achievement such as she had never experienced before. The waitresses had said that most of the guests had sent her their compliments, and her hard work had not been in vain.
The fine china washed, Meggie set the scrubbed kitchen table with earthenware plates, and the staff sat down to finish off most of what had been left over. The two waitresses proved to be quite human after all, amusing the others with tales of the catastrophes at previous dinners they had been hired for, and old McGregor unbent enough to describe the peculiarities of the gentry who had employed him over the years.
Mr Phillip had engaged a quartet for the ball, and, as Mysie supervised the laying past of crockery and cutlery, the strains of music filtering downstairs made them all feel less tired. The young maids were desperate to find out what was going on in the ballroom, so Mysie let them go up, one at a time, to have a peep through the open door before they went to bed, and then went up herself for a few minutes. She was amazed that the dress uniforms of the officers almost outshone the colours of the ladies’ dresses, and would have liked to watch longer, but was scared that she’d be seen. In any case, she was ready for bed. It had been a long, hard day.
It was after ten the following morning before Mrs Phillip came to the kitchen, accompanied by a tall, gaunt officer in the uniform of the Scots Guards, but her beaming face showed that everything had run smoothly the evening before. ‘This is my brother,’ she told Mysie, ‘Captain Wallace. Everyone said the meal was the best they had ever tasted, but he wanted to see my marvellous cook for himself.’
‘I’m impressed,’ her brother said. ‘I expected a fat old lady, rather like a bolster tied in the middle, but I find a beautiful girl who can’t be more than seventeen, with a figure that would outshine the Venus de Milo.’
Blushing, Mysie looked away. ‘I’m twenty-seven, sir.’
‘Oh,’ he said, his eyes dancing although she didn’t see them, ‘I suppose you think that’s really old? Well, since I am forty, you must think I am in my dotage.’
‘Stop teasing, Gregor.’ His sister registered disapproval. ‘You will be turning Mrs Duncan’s head. Come away and let her get on with her work, otherwise there will be no luncheon.’
When they went out, Meggie, who had been standing with her mouth open, said, ‘He’s nae very good-lookin’, is he? An’ he’s naething like his sister, though he’s got her een.’
‘I never noticed.’ Mysie had been so overcome by the praise and flattery that she hadn’t been
able to look at him after the first glance, but he had à sweet tongue, that was sure, telling her that she only looked seventeen.
Gregor Wallace came into the kitchen after breakfast next day, sitting on the arm of a chair and chatting to Mysie as she worked and making her as flustered as Meggie. It was true that he wasn’t very handsome, but there was an attractiveness there – his eyes, his smile, she couldn’t put her finger on it. His lean upright body had the stamp of a soldier, his hair was the colour of treacle candy, his small, neat moustache just a fraction lighter, with a touch of gold through it. She couldn’t help liking him, although he was teasing her a bit.
‘I wish I could take you back with me to cook for us,’ he smiled. ‘You’d be a real treasure, but all the other men would go wild about you, too.’
‘Och, you’re bletherin’,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘I’d fight them off, though. Captains have first pick of all the beautiful girls, and I would lay claim to you.’
His admiration made her uneasy. She didn’t mind when he was just talking, but she wasn’t used to this kind of joking. When he went out, she turned sharply on the grinning kitchenmaid. ‘Stop your laughin’, Meggie. Men like him flirt wi’ ony woman they come across, an’ think servants are fair game to them.’
On the following morning, the Captain came into the kitchen again. ‘I had to come to see you, my fairest,’ he murmured, slipping his arm round her waist. You haunted my dreams and made me desperate.’
Mysie extricated herself as firmly as she could, wishing that she could stop the hot flush that she could feel coming into her cheeks. ‘Excuse me, Captain Wallace, but I must get on.’
‘Can you not spare a minute to say goodbye to a poor soldier returning to battle?’ Laying his hands on her shoulders, he turned her round to face him, then placed one finger under her chin to tilt her head up. ‘Ah, you are blushing. Does that mean what I hope it means?’
His lips were within half an inch of meeting hers when Mrs Phillip opened the door. ‘Gregor! I will not have you acting like this with any of my servants! Please go.’
The Road to Rowanbrae Page 16