Beyond Reason

by Gwen Kirkwood

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Dominie McWhan rode to Crillion Keep to put the case of Fingal’s education before Josiah. He found his task easier than he had anticipated. Josiah already knew his coachman’s son was intelligent, as well as being polite, kind and helpful to his parents and to his half-sister, Peggy. After some pertinent questions regarding the dominie’s opinion of Fingal’s ability and aspirations, Josiah agreed to finance the boy’s education.

  ‘The only problem will be overcoming Jacob’s pride. I respect the independent spirit of my head coachman so I must insist on remaining an anonymous benefactor.’

  ‘Then I shall devise a plan to offer a bursary for which any pupil in the school can compete,’ the dominie suggested. ‘I shall ask the Reverend Drummond, as minister of the parish, to judge the competition but I shall ensure the examination will have an emphasis on English and Latin. Fingal excels in these subjects. Andrew will do well in mathematics.’

  If his plan succeeded, the boys would attend university together, subject to the approval of Fingal’s parents. They were a modest couple who had never considered the possibility of their son attending university. They believed Fingal had little hope of winning a bursary, especially in competition with the dominie’s own grandson, so their consent was easily won.

  Fingal was excited at the prospect of competing for the bursary. If he should win, it would mean the attainment of his dreams. Andrew knew his grandfather was prepared to pay his own fees, hoping he would follow in his footsteps and become a dominie too. He was kind and generous and already he taught himself and his sister without payment. Janet was eager to learn. She was well ahead of many pupils considerably older. She was patient too and loved to help the younger children. Andrew knew university fees would drain his family’s resources and his grandfather was becoming an old man. So both he and Fingal worked hard, absorbing all the knowledge the dominie could cram into them.

  ‘Extra learning is never lost. It will give you an advantage when you start at the university,’ he told them.

  The Reverend Drummond was scrupulously fair in his assessments. He praised Andrew for his excellence in mathematics and science, but it was Fingal who gained the bursary.

  Mary hid her disappointment, but as daughter of the dominie she had received more schooling than any of the other women in the parish. She asked if she might see the examination papers.

  ‘You arranged for Fingal to win, Father,’ she said shrewdly, after studying them.

  ‘The examination was fairly and independently marked.’

  ‘I’m sure the Reverend Drummond would never be anything but fair,’ Mary nodded, ‘but the dominie who set the examination knew which of his students would win.’

  Her father shrugged, neither agreeing nor denying.

  ‘You’ll see, my dear. We shall be glad Andrew will have a friend with him.’

  ‘I am hoping that the air of the east coast will clear his chest,’ Mary said. She was always defensive when her father mentioned Andrew’s lack of stamina, or his cough.

  ‘It’s a pity girls don’t attend university,’ her father observed, moving her thoughts away from her son. In his heart he knew Mary was more obsessed with giving Andrew a good education than he was himself. She paid scant attention to her ten-year-old daughter.

  ‘Girls? You mean Janet?’

  ‘Aye, I mean Janet. She shows every sign of being as clever as Andrew, and she is bursting with good health and energy.’ He looked out of the window to where his granddaughter was swinging dangerously on a branch of the old apple tree. His eyes softened at the picture she made with her round rosy cheeks and curly chestnut hair. She reminded him of his late wife, especially when she smiled in the impish way she had. She had the same smoky-blue eyes as her brother, though, inherited from their father. Lovely eyes they were, with their thick fringe of dark lashes and that steady, measuring gaze. It was unusual in one so young and it could be disconcerting. He sighed.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t get too badly hurt by life. She is as honest as the day, and expects everybody else to be the same.’

  ‘She’ll have a lot to learn, then,’ Mary said grimly.

  She herself had been let down twice recently by people she had trusted. She had often helped Billy and she had learned a lot about drafting and cutting patterns and sewing garments. Recently Mr Cole had begun to depend on her to write out his orders because his wife’s memory and her eyesight were failing rapidly after she suffered a turn which had rendered her unconscious for three days. He had recommended Mary to some of the ladies from the larger houses when they required garments made or alterations done. She was grateful to him but two so-called ladies had unjustly accused her of not making dresses to their instructions. They had taken the dresses but refused to pay a single farthing for all the work she had put in. The two women were friends and she knew it was a plot to cheat her out of her earnings. One of them was Mrs Eliza Ross, stepsister of her father’s friend Josiah Saunders, but she resolved she would never sew for either of them again.

  Mary’s mouth set in a tight line, remembering how hard she had worked to finish the dresses on time, and in excellent order, knowing they were for a dinner being held at one of the large estates. She would never forget Billy’s resolve to save a few farthings every week to put in the parish savings bank for Andrew’s education. The university fees would be a drain on her father’s income and there would be books and food to buy. She was determined Andrew must not neglect his health. She had been bitterly disappointed when he did not win the bursary, but it made her even keener to take on extra work and save whenever she could. Her hopes for an improvement in her son’s health were futile. The cough did not improve but as the dominie had predicted, Fingal was a loyal and much-needed friend.

  Both boys worked hard at their studies, conscious that they owed a debt to those who had assisted them. As time went on, Andrew found it difficult to summon the energy to learn all he wished to learn. Fingal was troubled. During their second winter they returned home for the break. They were fortunate to get a lift in a carriage, driven by the father of a fellow student, but it brought them only as far as the northern boundary of their home county of Dumfries. They walked the remaining thirty miles.

  At the first opportunity, the dominie called on the McLauchlans. Janet had begged to ride up behind him on his big horse. She never missed a chance to visit Peggy Baird and her mother, Maggie McLauchlan. There was always a warm welcome for her even though Peggy had two children of her own now. Angus was two years younger than herself, and Beth, a little girl of four. Unknown to Janet, Peggy had lost two more babies and she cherished all children with a spontaneous and generous love Mary Scott seemed unable to show her daughter.

  Janet loved to see the two young Bairds, reading them stories and pretending to teach them as her grandfather taught his pupils. As for Fingal, he had always been like another brother to her, although she was a little in awe of him now. He wore a suit and grew whiskers like her grandfather, but he did not grow a beard; he shaved that away every day. Her grandfather sent her off to find the younger children. He wanted Fingal’s opinion on his grandson’s health.

  ‘I want the truth, laddie,’ the old man said. ‘Andrew has scarce been out of his bed since he arrived home, though even in bed his books are at his side. He is tired. He looks ill.’

  Fingal regarded his old dominie anxiously. He liked and respected Mr McWhan. He owed the dominie a debt he could never repay and he was reluctant to tell him of his deep concern for Andrew.

  ‘The truth, laddie?’ the dominie prompted.

  ‘It takes all Andrew’s energy to study. Sometimes I fear he is too tired to eat, but I insist.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘He accuses me of fussing like a broody hen.’

  ‘And the cough? It is no better?’

  Fingal shook his head slowly. Then he looked the dominie in the eye. ‘I fear it is getting worse, sir. But Andrew will never give in. He has set his heart on winning the highes
t award the university can offer. He wants you to be proud of him.’

  ‘I am proud of him. I am proud of you both, laddie, but I would not wish either of you to risk your health for the sake o’ book learning.’

  ‘Have you heard of a man called Mr Telford? Mr Thomas Telford from near the town of Langholm?’

  ‘I have heard of him,’ the dominie said slowly. ‘A shepherd’s laddie who has turned himself into a builder?’

  ‘He has learned much from books himself, sir. He is planning to build a canal all the way across Scotland from east to west. Andrew reads everything he can find about him. He says Mr Telford must be a great engineer. His ambition is to become an engineer himself and do work like he does. Mr Telford has used cast iron in some of his constructions. Andrew wants to understand how it is done. He – he has a vision of building bridges over great rivers – bridges to carry steam engines like the Puffing Billy.’

  ‘Andrew? The laddie will never be strong enough to be a builder. Doesn’t he want to teach? To pass on his knowledge to his fellow men?’

  ‘I don’t think that is his dream, sir.’ Fingal bit his lip, knowing the dominie would be disappointed, and knowing in his heart that his friend would never have the health and strength to achieve his ambitions.

  ‘He – er … he dreams of steam engines which will carry people.’

  ‘Never! It is an impossible dream.’

  ‘Perhaps. He says wherever there are roads and towns they will need iron tracks. Like the ones Mr Stephenson made two or three years ago. Do you really believe such a thing is impossible, sir?’

  ‘The rich people will always ride in comfort, in carriages drawn by fine horses. The rest of us must go on horseback, or walk on our own feet. It is but a youthful dream of Andrew’s. When he settles down he will be a good teacher. And you, laddie? Do you want to be a teacher?’

  ‘You think I am able?’

  ‘Assuredly, my boy. You have a fine mind for learning, and great patience. The Reverend Drummond tells me the Academy at Dumfries is a good school. Maybe you will be selected as a teacher there one day.’

  ‘Or – or maybe I could be apprenticed to a lawyer?’

  ‘You were always good at the Latin.’ The dominie smiled. ‘I had not thought I was educating a man of the law when I was teaching you. I shall be proud of you, Fingal, whatever you decide.’

  A few months later, Fingal recalled his conversation with Dominie McWhan when Andrew came to him, white-faced and distraught, holding out the single sheet of paper.

  ‘It is from Mother. It came by messenger.’

  Upset though they were, neither of the young men realized the full importance of the news.

  Dominie McWhan had eaten his evening meal with Mary and Janet as usual, before retiring to the small room where he prepared the lessons for his pupils, marked their exercises, or read his favourite books. Two hours later, Mary carried in the drink of hot milk she had prepared, just as he liked it with a dash of pepper. She thought he had fallen asleep at his desk. She laid a hand on his shoulder, an affectionate smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  ‘You work too hard, Fath….’ The milk slopped onto the tray. ‘Father! No! Oh no!’ Mary stared, numb with shock. This was no ordinary sleep. This was the long sleep of death! She looked down at the bowed white head. ‘Oh, Father….’ A sob rose in her throat. She trembled violently. She could scarcely think what to do.

  Janet slept dreamlessly. She knew nothing of the night’s grief and turmoil.

  ‘Grandfather can’t be dead! He wouldn’t … he couldn’t – just die…. No! No, I don’t believe you,’ she sobbed when Mary broke the news the following morning.

  It was true. The pillar of their existence had gone for ever. The pattern of their lives had changed from the moment the good dominie breathed his last breath.

  It was several days later before Mary sat down to write a letter to Andrew, in Edinburgh. As she had intended, the funeral was already over. She was determined that nothing must disturb her son’s studies, or further drain his energy.

  A new dominie was appointed to take over the schoolroom. Isaac Todd was unmarried. It suited him well to take over the household when he realized the old dominie’s daughter had little option but to agree to whatever terms he chose to impose.

  Mary’s initial response was one of immense relief. She had worked hard to keep the school and the dominie’s house clean and tidy, making sure the winter boarders were fed and warm, and that day pupils dried their feet and sodden clogs before the iron stove. In summer, they drank water with the hunk of bread and scrap of cheese which most of them brought for the midday break, but in winter Mary made each of the children a hot drink. She had expected the routine would continue but she had reckoned without the mean nature of the man who was now her employer, a man whose desire was to rule everyone in his power with an iron hand. Gone was the kindly father who had been her friend and protector since the day she was born, the man who had given her strength to carry on when Billy’s death had snatched away her happiness, who had supported her children, educated them and loved them.

  Isaac Todd had a lean, narrow face with protruding pale blue eyes and a high forehead. His thin brown hair was already receding. He paid Mary a pittance and expected a slave in return. She had to pay fees for Janet’s lessons now, in addition to finding the money for Andrew’s studies at the university. Her father had managed to save a little money in the parish savings bank but she knew it would not be enough for Andrew to finish his course. Dominie McWhan had not expected to die before his grandson had completed his education. He had paid the university fees from his own earnings.

  Mary had managed to save a small amount in the parish bank too, mainly because it had been Billy’s most earnest wish. There would never be enough, but she was determined Andrew must finish his education. It had been his father’s dream; her beloved Billy’s dying wish.

  ‘I intend to stay up later and weave more flax, and perhaps Mr Cole will send me more work,’ she confided to Peggy Baird when her old friend called on her.

  ‘If only I could help,’ Peggy sympathized. ‘We are all so grateful to your father for the help he gave Fingal. I know my stepfather would help if he could.’

  ‘You helped us when Billy died. You cared for Janet, aye and loved her as though she was your own bairn, Peggy. She will always look upon you as a second mother. My father knew that. He wanted to show gratitude for all you did for us. If he could repay your family a little by helping Fingal, then so much the better. Anyway Fingal is a kind laddie and clever too. He was more than worthy of tutoring.’

  ‘Aye, we’re all proud o’ him, but he’s a modest laddie. He always enquires for you, and for Janet. I believe he thinks she’s more of a sister to him than I am.’ She smiled. ‘But of course I’m old enough to be his mother and he spent so many happy hours with you all when he was staying at the schoolhouse.’

  None of Mary’s plans came to fruition. Isaac Todd made sure she had no spare time to weave the linen cloth. At night, she fell into bed exhausted.

  ‘Mistress Scott, you will remember I am giving you a home. Your brat eats as much as two children. Why is she so skinny when she eats so much? Is she ill?’ His brow darkened. ‘I heard your husband died of the consumption.’

  ‘Janet has excellent health.’ Mary hastened to assure him.

  ‘And she is nearly twelve, you say?’

  ‘Yes, she—’

  ‘Then she is old enough to work. You must tell Mistress Sharp I shall not require her services this winter. The girl must earn her own keep. I shall be taking four extra pupils. They will lodge with us for the winter term. They are farmers’ sons. They can only be spared from their labours during winter.’

  ‘But the two rooms are full already.’

  ‘You and your brat can move into the small attic.’

  ‘But Mr Todd, there is so much extra washing and cooking when the children stay here all week.’ Mary’s voice rose in dismay. ‘Mi
stress Sharp is a widow. She works at the salt pits in summer. She needs the work here. She needs money to feed her children. All the boarders pay for—’

  ‘You heard me, Mistress Scott. If the position is not to your liking you must find another.’

  Janet had overheard this conversation. She already did her best to help her mother. Dominie Todd expected her to clean the schoolroom, wash the slates and mix the ink. In the winter the iron boiler was lit each day. There were buckets of coal to carry from the bottom of the schoolyard. Grandfather had chosen some of the older boys to do these tasks after school. He always gave the work to those from poor families to help them pay their fees. The schoolhouse had to be cleaned daily. There was the extra washing and ironing which the dominie insisted upon, as well as cooking, cleaning and washing for the weekly boarders. Mr Todd ate alone in the dining room. He expected to be treated like a gentlemen. All his linen had to be starched and ironed to perfection, his boots polished and his stockings darned.

  Hatred for the new dominie was growing daily in Janet’s young heart. He picked on her in school. He asked her the most difficult questions, often from lessons they had not yet done. When she could not answer, he caned her. She had discovered he was not nearly so quick at arithmetic as her grandfather had been, and as he had taught her to be. When she had answered the mathematics questions swiftly and correctly, he called her impertinent. He caned her for that too. It had been hard to hold back the tears when he was so unjust, but she was proud. She was determined not to let him see she was upset by his treatment of her.

  Molly Foster, who sat next to her, was sympathetic and kind. She was older than Janet but she often had to miss school to help her mother so Janet had been in the habit of helping her catch up with her lessons. Then a whole week came when Molly did not come to school with her two younger brothers.

  ‘Molly Foster will no longer attend school,’ the dominie informed her with a sneer. Janet looked at him. So she was to be denied even the small pleasure of a sympathetic smile or a friendly chat. She was sure it had given the dominie some kind of cruel pleasure to impart this news. ‘You will sit next to Fred and help him with his lessons.’ Fred Bridges was a fat bully, he smelled and even her grandfather had been unable to teach him. He only stayed at school because his father was a man of influence in the parish and an elder of the kirk. Janet’s heart sank but she knew worse was to come when the dominie went on, ‘I shall hold you responsible. If either of you do not finish your lessons you will both be punished.’ Janet stared up at him in dismay. Behind her she heard the two Foster boys murmur in sympathy.