The men paused at the top of the narrow little staircase from ground level and smiled as they savoured the smell of frying ham and baking scones. Then, nodding to Catherine, they drew back their chairs and sat down at the table where a little girl in a long white nightgown was eating porridge with a horn spoon. She looked up to say to her father, ‘You’re early. Mam’s baking a ham for Monday. Aren’t you awful excited?’
Tom Scott ran his fingers through his beard and smiled fondly at his baby. ‘Aye Leeb, I am that. Are you excited about the Fair, too?’
The child almost jumped out of her chair. ‘I can’t sleep at night for thinking about it,’ she cried.
‘You’re a wee fibber,’ said her brother. ‘I heard you snoring fit to shake the house when I went out this morning.’
She made a face. ‘Och, you! You’re never excited about anything.’
Adam leaned back in his chair. He enjoyed teasing his little sister. ‘I wouldn’t care if they stopped the Fair altogether. I’m going to look out for the Duke this year and tell him so. It’s nothing but an excuse for a lot of silly folk to spend money they’ve had to slave all year to earn. I’d rather stay up here in the hills than go all the way down there to walk about with the dafties.’
‘The Duke won’t listen to you. Anyway, I like the town. You and your hills – there’s other places as bonny,’ said the little girl.
‘No there isn’t,’ said her brother solemnly and he wasn’t teasing this time.
‘Eat up and stop your gabbing,’ came the voice of Catherine, the mother of the family. ‘I’m like the bairn, I’m wanting to get everything ready because there’s a lot to do if we’re going fairing on Monday. Adam, you write a letter to Mary and tell her to be waiting for us at the Teviot toll bridge. It’s a six-month since I saw her and I’m fair longing for a sight of my lassie.’
‘Oh, Mary’ll be fine. She likes her place. She’s on a good farm and she’s with your brother,’ consoled Tom, who knew how his wife missed their eldest daughter, seventeen year old Mary who was working as a bondager, a female farm labourer, on a place near Morebattle. She’d been away from the family home for almost two years but her mother was not yet reconciled to having one of her brood out of her sight.
The eagerness of Catherine and Leeb made the men hurry at their breakfast and after it was finished, while the women bustled about tidying up the house, Adam went into the other room next door which was the family parlour and used only on special occasions. There he laid a sheet of paper on to the top of the family Bible and penned a short letter to his sister.
When he emerged with it in his hand, his mother read it and approved. Then she told him, ‘Take it to the carrier in Hownam, won’t you lad? I want her to get it as soon as possible. Oh, I hope she can get away for the Fair.’
‘Mary’ll not miss the Fair. Don’t you worry about that and she’s working for a good man. He aye lets his people go fairing. She’ll get away, Mother, don’t worry,’ her son consoled her.
It was a four-mile walk to the carrier’s cottage at the head of the valley but that distance was nothing to Adam Scott who strode along, accompanied by a dog as usual, admiring the countryside as he went. Crab apple trees fringed the road into Hownam and though the crop was still green, it looked promising. He knew that come October, Catherine and Leeb would walk along with their wicker baskets and gather fallen apples from the roadside to make the jelly that they put on their bread throughout the winter. Adam stopped to watch a dove-grey heron fishing in the Kale Water and the bird was so unafraid that it did not attempt to fly away even when it spied him.
Excitement rose within him as he thought about the Fair. In spite of what he had said to his little sister, he was eagerly looking forward to it. Only two more days to go! St James’ Fair was one of the few occasions in the year when Adam left the hills and every moment away was treasured, to be recalled later in isolation. He thought about the crowds and the din; the mingled smells of roasting meat, beer and freshly boiled toffee; the surging excitement of galloping horses and the sight of strange folk from foreign places, some of them talking a different language or at least what sounded like a different language to him. He remembered how music came blaring out of tents housing sideshow attractions and how the buskers tried to out-bawl each other.
But most of all he thought about the girl with the yellow hair whom he’d met on the wooden footbridge last year. He first noticed her clinging to the handrail, obviously frightened in case she was swept off her feet by the press of people. When he saw the panic on her face, he’d hurried up and put a hand on her elbow to steady her and something magical had happened at that moment. She’d clung to him like a child and then smiled, such a sweet smile that it transformed her frightened face.
It was only after he helped her down the steps of the bridge that he realised the girl was lame. One leg seemed to be shorter than the other and she walked haltingly, but instead of making him pity her, this infirmity was infinitely endearing. It made him tender: he wanted to look after her, to shield her from the world.
All too soon she’d announced that she must go home, and only when she had disappeared did he realise that he didn’t even know her name – but he’d thought about her since then. He still remembered the blueness of her eyes and the exquisite paleness of her skin, and was determined to search the whole fairground for her this year.
Because of the girl who so badly needed looking after, Adam Scott was longing to go to the Fair as much as his little sister Leeb.
* * *
Bonny Mary Scott was feeding a large pen of dappled pigs in Mr Wauchope’s farm outside Morebattle when the local carter drove into the yard and whistled at her. ‘Here, Mary. There’s a letter for you. It’s from your mither. She says…’
Dropping her bucket, Mary ran up to him and snatched the piece of paper from his hand. ‘At least let me read it for myself,’ she snapped angrily, for it was very rarely that she received a letter and she did not want her pleasure spoiled.
The carter was unabashed and sat on top of his load of boxes grinning broadly. ‘Is there any message back? Just tell me and I’ll pass it on up the valley. It’ll no’ cost you anything,’ he told her.
‘There’s no message,’ said Mary primly as she tucked the letter into her skirt pocket. She was a big, well-built girl with nut brown hair, a fine specimen of womanhood, the sort who would breed a houseful of children without any trouble. Like all the other five bondagers on Wauchope’s farm she wore the traditional costume of a long, yellow and black striped skirt over heavy working boots and topped by a big apron, a printed cotton blouse and a large hat. Because it was summer her hat was the ‘ugli’, a face-shading poke bonnet of cotton stretched over a bamboo frame. In wintertime, the bondagers wore large shiny black straw hats like plates, bent over and tied on to their heads by squares of printed cloth made from the same material as their blouses. Mary preferred these straw hats because they were more becoming than the sunbonnets but her Aunt Lily, who was the forewoman of the bondager squad, was a stickler for protocol and insisted that each girl turn out in the same costume like a well-drilled army squad. She also required that they were all clean and tidy every morning with their boots greased to a high shine, no matter what sort of dirty task they were called upon to do.
Mary was bonded – or promised as a worker for a year at a time – to her Uncle Sandy, Aunt Lily’s husband and Catherine Scott’s brother. Sandy was a slow-spoken and kindly man who did not work his niece too hard and, because he had no children of his own, he was glad of the opportunity to keep her. It was easier to find a good place on a farm if you had a girl as well as a wife to share the work because farmers liked to have as many workers as possible in each of their cottages.
When she had become old enough to go to work, Mary’s mother wanted her to be a serving maid in some well-off household but the girl rejected that idea. ‘I’ve lived all my life in this valley and I’d miss the open air,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be
shut up in a house all day.’ Unlike some girls she did not resent the bondager arrangement because it was not onerous for her, she got on well with her aunt and uncle and life on Wauchope’s farm where her uncle was head ploughman was very easy-going. The farmer Wauchope himself was fat and good-natured, as well as being famous in the locality for the generosity of the spread he put on at his harvest kirns. A place at Wauchope’s was regarded as one of the plums of the district for all local labourers, and there was always a happy atmosphere in his farm toun.
On the morning she got her letter, it had been Mary’s bad luck to draw the job of feeding the pigs and she grumbled to Aunt Lily as she filled the bucket of foul-smelling swill from the big wooden barrel in the food shed.
‘Aw Auntie Lily, why did you gie me the pigs? I’ll be stinking and I’ll never get the reek washed out of me before Fair Day. It gets into my hair and takes days to wash away. I’m meeting my folk at the Teviot Bridge on Monday and I’m wanting to look my best. They’ll be able to smell me as far away as Hownam!’
Lily only laughed. ‘You’ll no’ reek if you have a good wash, Mary. I cannae gie all the nasty jobs to the other lassies and let you off, can I? They’d say it was favouritism. Just get on with it and finish quick. Then you can run home and have a wash. I’ve left a kettle of water boiling on the fire for you and I made some fresh soap last week. It’s in the crock behind the door. Don’t worry, you’ll look bonny enough to your mother – she’ll be longing to see you. And what about that young lad you were dancing with in the road the other night? He wouldn’t care if your face was as black as a sweep’s. If looks are anything to go by he’s fair daft about you.’
Mary bridled and the normal healthy glow of her cheeks deepened to scarlet. ‘Oh, him! That’s Jockie Armstrong. Well I’m no’ daft about him. He’s just a big red-faced loon and he aye stands on my feet when he dances with me. He doesn’t ken his own strength either and throws me about as if I was a sack of wool when we’re doing a reel. He’d better stay away from me, that one.’
Lily laughed. ‘You wait. He’s after you and he’s a determined lad – I can tell by his eye. You’ll have to run fast if you’re to get away from Mr Armstrong. Who is he, anyway?’
‘His father’s the blacksmith down in Eckford. I’m no wanting to marry any blacksmith, Aunt Lily.’
‘You could do worse. A smith’s his own boss; he doesn’t have to keep flitting all his life like we do,’ said Lily more solemnly. ‘But hurry up now and feed those pigs. They’re fair squealin’ wi’ hunger.’
* * *
When Mary finished tipping buckets of swill into the big stone troughs in the pig pen, she stood back, pushed up her sleeves and surveyed the farm around her. It was a big, well-looked after place with neat fields rolling softly off towards the horizon in every direction. Their hay had been cut in all the five hayfields two weeks before and was now safely stacked in tall ricks in the cobbled yard behind her. Mary smiled as she remembered the fun of hay-making, for the weather had been good this year and there was much jollity and horseplay between the lads and lassies, as well as a good deal of drinking home-brewed beer. If this fine spell holds, she thought, the corn and barley harvest will be even better. These fields were not yet fully ripe but they were growing more golden with every day of glorious sunshine. When they were ready for cutting they would glow like molten gold beneath the sun.
Mary contemplated the coming harvest with pleasure. It was hard work but she was not afraid of that. She liked the ache of her tired muscles when she walked home at night and she loved the camaraderie of work in the cornfields. She enjoyed the singing of the reapers as they cut the corn and she laughed at the sometimes blush-making jokes of the countrywomen who came in to help tie up the stooks, but most of all she looked forward to the harvest supper which was laid out in the big barn behind the farmhouse. The food at the supper was always abundant and the evening ended with noisy dancing to a fiddle band. Mary loved to dance.
Her face sobered a little when she reflected that Jockie Armstrong would be sure to turn up at the harvest supper and he’d head for her with the look of firm determination on his face that Aunt Lily had recognised and which Mary herself had learned to spot even from a distance. It was most certain that he’d be at St James’ Fair as well and looking for her, because he’d asked her at the Saturday dance if she was going.
What did she think about Jockie? She wasn’t sure because he said little but sometimes he irritated her and at other times she felt herself go all soft and funny when he took her hand. Not that she gave him any encouragement… She had no intention of settling down yet.
When she walked back to the big barn she met up with her friend Elsie, another bondager who was a couple of years older than Mary and a high-spirited girl. She called out, ‘Looking forward to going fairin’ are you, Mary? I hope this fine weather holds.’
Mary nodded. ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it right enough. I’ve had a letter from my Mam. She says they’ll be waiting for me on the Teviot Bridge at twelve o’clock and it’ll be grand to see them all again. I’ve not been home since the spring and then it was only for Mothering Sunday.’
Elsie gave her a friendly push. ‘Och, you’re no’ going to spend all the Fair Day wi’ your family, are you? You’ll have to meet up with us lassies. We’re out for a grand time. I’ll look for you in the fairground and get you away from your ma. Then we’ll show you some fun. Last year I drank so much beer that I had a headache fit to split my skull. I couldnae thole wearing my hat for three whole days after the Fair but what a laugh it was! It was worth it.’
Mary, feeling greatly daring, said she’d look out for Elsie although she privately wondered how she was going to give her mother the slip. In the meantime the first thing she wanted to do was go to the cottage and take the opportunity of washing herself all over while there was no one else at home.
Aunt Lily came in when she was almost finished and sitting in her shift on a wooden chair under the window drying her feet on a coarse towel. ‘My word Mary but you’re looking bonny and you dinna smell of pigs a bit,’ said Lily, still laughing as she walked up to her niece and gave her a big sniff like a nosy dog. She’s aye laughing, thought Mary in an exasperated way.
When Lily saw that the girl was offended she stopped teasing to say, ‘Och, dinna take on. I’ve something you’ll like. It’s in the top drawer of that dresser over there. Go and bring it out. It’s in a wee bottle.’
Mary stood on tiptoe and put her hand into the drawer. It was so high up that she had to feel around with her fingers for quite a while before a little bottle met her fingers. When she brought it out, she read on the faded label Eau de Lavande. A picture of a sprig of lavender was drawn beside the words.
‘Oh, my word Aunt Lily, it’s perfume,’ she exclaimed.
‘Aye, it’s perfume and I’ve never used it though I’ve had it for years. A lady I used to work for gave it to me when I was getting married,’ said Lily, ‘but you can have it now as a reward for feeding the pigs for the rest of the week! It’ll make you smell really bonny.’ Then, unable to resist a joke, she added with her characteristic giggle, ‘And it’ll drive poor Jockie Armstrong fair mad!’
* * *
The question of fairtime finery was exercising the ingenuity of girls all over the countryside that day but Grace Elliot was one of the few exceptions. Hester had unlocked her door early in the morning so that she could start her day’s work and, surprisingly, nothing more was said about their trouble of the previous day. It seemed as if her step-mother was trying to pretend the whole thing had never happened and she was no more surly than usual when she gave Grace a handful of coppers and told her to go down into town to buy some vegetables. The girl took her shopping basket from its hook in the pantry and walked to the square where she saw that crowds of women of all ages, encouraged by the long spell of good weather, were out buying new bonnets, lengths of ribbon and artificial flowers for last-minute trimmings. Her mind was full of specu
lation about what Odilie had found out about Lucy Allen from Martha but she dared not take time to go to Havanah Court until she’d carried out all her chores. Hester’s rage, reactivated, could mean another day spent under lock and key.
Although she would have liked to linger in front of the haberdasher’s window and watch the excited crowd inside handling the pretty things, Grace hurried past. Anyway, the money she clutched in her hand was not hers to spend and she reminded herself that because she had decided not to go to the Fair, she had no need of finery.
While Grace was lugging her basket back up to Viewhill, in Kirk Yetholm Thomassin Young had washed her scarlet shawl in the stream that ran behind her house and spread it out on a grassy bank. She pegged its edges with pieces of stone and sat down beside it to keep wandering dogs and staggering infants off until the sun dried it.
Her head was lowered and her thick curtain of straight black hair fell around her like another shawl hiding her sharp, high cheek-boned face with the slanting enigmatic eyes that had the power to chill the blood of credulous people on whom she turned their power. Beautiful though she was, Thomassin already looked dangerous and capable of casting spells. As she sat barefoot in the sun wearing her ragged clothes, she was thinking about Jesse.
‘I’m nineteen years old and I want to be rommed. I must bring him to the point…’ Since childhood they had been promised to each other, an arrangement made early by their families but Jesse seemed reluctant to marry. He was always putting her off with excuses, saying first they should wait until spring and now, until autumn, though Thomassin knew there was no other girl in their community that had taken his eye more than herself for she was the most striking-looking of them all. How to secure him for her own, she wondered. If she could get him into her bed, she would have won for the gypsies had a strict moral code that regulated relations between their men and women. Once Jesse slept with her, he was hers. There was no way that he could avoid marriage then.
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