‘She’s looking for employment,’ Luther said. ‘Could you use an extra maid?’
She hesitated. ‘The kitchen or the scullery would be the only places she might fit in.’
‘I’ll tell her to come and see you.’
‘Very well.’
He saw her hesitate again.
‘Luther.’
‘Yes.’
‘Christmas is supposed to be a time of love and of the family.’
‘So?’
‘Can you not find it in your heart to forgive my mama and have her here . . . ?’
‘Have her here?’ He could not believe his ears. ‘That spoiled selfish empty-headed . . . ?’
‘There is no need to be nasty,’ Augusta interrupted stiffly. ‘It was a perfectly reasonable request at this season of the year.’
‘No need? A perfectly reasonable request?’ For a minute words failed him and so intense was his anger he could only see Augusta through a blood-red veil. He had never been nearer to killing her.
‘You actually have the fucking nerve to expect me . . . .’
‘How dare you use such foul language in my presence.’
‘The fucking nerve to expect me to provide for her? To have her enjoy every comfort of my home. To have my household dance continuous attendance on her. To have that useless selfish bitch reap the fruits of my labours. When my mother who worked hard all her life . . . .’ Words choked in his throat. ‘Don’t you mention that woman’s name in this house again.’
The unexpected sound of children singing outside the drawing-room door made them both struggle to banish their tight, angry expressions before calling:
‘Enter!’
Samuel and Alexander came in first, lustily singing,
‘God rest you merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay . . . .’
Nurse Slater was carrying Mary Jane and Governess MacKenzie was following on behind and joining in the chorus with the rest.
‘Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas day,
To save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray.
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy.’
Both Luther and Augusta applauded with conscientious enthusiasm.
‘How delightful!’ Augusta said. ‘Come and look at the tree before you go to bed.’
‘Have you hung your stocking up at the end of your bed ready for Santa Claus?’ Luther asked.
‘Not yet, Papa,’ said Alexander.
‘Well, don’t forget, otherwise he might not come. What do you think of the tree? Do you know who thought of such a splendid idea?’
‘No, Papa.’
‘Prince Albert. They had them in Germany.’
‘Did our tree come from Germany, Papa?’ Samuel asked.
Luther laughed. ‘No, this one came from the woods not very far from here.’
Suddenly the colourful scene in the warm and luxurious room made regret gnaw at him. If only his mother and Rose had been spared to know and to share in this comfort. When he remembered other Christmases . . . .
‘Listen,’ he said, slamming the door on this thoughts. ‘There’s carol-singers outside too.’
They all went over to the window and after Governess MacKenzie swished open the plush curtains they peered down at the street.
‘It’s a ballad-monger and his family,’ Luther said.
‘What’s a ballad-monger, Papa?’ Samuel wanted to know.
‘A man who walks the streets before Christmas singing and selling Christmas carols.’
‘Is the baby singing too, Mama?’ Alexander asked.
‘I do not think so, do you, MacKenzie?’
‘No, ma’am. It’s younger than Mary Jane and not nearly so clever, I’m sure.’
‘Come now, children,’ said Augusta. ‘One more look at the tree then you must say goodnight. You have a busy and exciting day tomorrow.’
This time Luther did not join the group around the tall fir with its branches laden with presents and shimmering decorations. He hovered near the window for a minute or two.
The moon shone down with cold brilliance on the group outside. There were four other children as well as the baby and all miserably shivering in too thin and insufficient clothing.
Gazing beyond them far into the night he had a vision of Maureen alone in the hovel at Auchinairn.
Then slowly he closed the curtains.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘Oh, Augusta!’ Felicity looked genuinely shocked. Face sagging and drained of all colour she stared at what was to be her new home. ‘You cannot expect me to live here. I . . . I do not believe it. Two apartments no bigger than cupboards? And the other people who live here are farm labourers. You told me so yourself.’
‘I was very fortunate to be able to get one of the cottages for you. It was only because I offered to buy the place . . . .’
‘I am only a simple soul, Augusta, but this is not what I have always understood a cottage to be like. Surely a cottage is a sweet little place standing on its own and surrounded by a garden filled with flowers. I have seen such pretty pictures in books.’
‘Books are different from real life, Mama.’
‘But these are hovels and they are attached to one another, and there is nothing at the front except a rough track road to a farm.’
‘There is a little vegetable patch at the back.’
‘Oh, Augusta!’
‘I am sorry, Mama. Truly I am. But there is no money left. You have no money. Not one penny. You will have your own eggs and vegetables but I will have to bring you a regular supply of other foods and it will not be easy. Cash will be even more awkward. I have accounts at various establishments for food and other necessities, and Luther settles these bills every few months. We are in the habit of both checking over the bills and the receipts for any cash I have spent. Luther is an astute businessman and it will be very difficult for me to deceive him with household accounts.’
‘But why did you not buy me a respectable establishment? I do not understand.’
‘You must try to understand, Mama. There was only enough money to buy a small place, like this. The only alternative was a hovel in town and, Mama, believe me that would have been a thousand times worse. I have lived in the Briggait and I know what it is like. I have tried my best to spare you that.’
Felicity turned a tragic, pleading gaze on her daughter. ‘But, Augusta, can I not live with you?’
‘There is nothing would please me more, Mama, but,’ she hesitated miserably, ‘my husband has never forgiven Papa for what he did to him.’
‘But Mr Cameron is dead.’ Felicity shaded her eyes with a gloved hand. ‘Oh, Augusta, how could your papa be so cruel to me? He knew I would be the one to find him . . . . How could he do it to me? I have not yet recovered from the shock.’
‘Sit down, Mama. See, there is your own comfortable chair from the parlour in Cameron House and your pretty little footstool.’
Tears filled her mother’s eyes. ‘I want to come and live with you.’
‘Oh, Mama, I am sorry but it is impossible.’
‘But why is it impossible?’
‘My husband . . . .’
‘A most admirable man. Haven’t I said so before? Every time you have visited me at Cameron House, haven’t I enquired after the dear man with great affection and interest?’
‘Mama, believe me, it is not possible. You have no alternative but to accept this as your home and from now on learn to look after yourself. I will come as often as I can, and I will send Maureen when I can.’
‘Maureen?’
‘One of my maids. I think I can trust her but I wouldn’t dare risk any of the others. But when either Maureen or I come, Mama, it will be to help you to help yourself—to teach you how to do your own hair, make your own meals, light your own fires.’
‘Augusta,’ the older woman shook her head and her handkerchief, ‘this is all too ridiculous.’
‘Today the fire has been lit for you. The kettle is full and simmering on the hob. There is more coal in that bucket. Look, Mama! Pay attention,’ Augusta said firmly. ‘When the fire gets low you must put on more coal from that bucket. When you wish tea you must take some from the caddy on the mantleshelf. Up there, look, put two spoonfuls in the teapot and fill it with the boiling water from the kettle. Are you listening to me, Mama?’
‘Put coal on the fire,’ Felicity said in bewilderment. ‘But my hands would get dirty.’
‘Then you must wash them, I have filled the jug on the washstand in the bedroom. When that is empty you must fill it again at the pump outside. It is at the front. You will see it when you go outside. Just watch what other people do to get their water. You will soon learn. Now about your hair. There is no use trying to keep it in ringlets.’
‘But it is pretty that way. Why should I wear it in any other fashion?’
‘Because it will be too difficult for you to manage on your own.’
‘But the maid you are sending me . . . .’
‘Mama, Mama, Maureen will only be able to come very occasionally and only for an hour or two. And she will come to show you how to do such things as light a fire. You must learn to do everything yourself. As for your hair, Maureen could not do it for you. She cannot do her own hair properly. Her hair is about as wild and unruly as her nature. But she is a kind-hearted and generous young woman for all her rough ways. She will help you the best she can, I am sure. Now I must go, Mama.’
‘Oh, Augusta!’ Fear pushed her mother’s voice into hysteria. ‘You cannot leave me alone in this place. Augusta, don’t go!’
In a flurry of panic Felicity clung to her daughter and kept clinging to her as Augusta struggled to make her way towards the door.
‘Mama, please,’ Augusta’s voice was near breaking point. ‘This is not easy for me either.’
‘Augusta, I am frightened, please don’t leave me.’
‘When it begins to get dark,’ Augusta caught her mother’s clutching hands and held them for a moment, ‘you must light the candles. There is also an oil-lamp but that might prove too difficult for you. Just light the candles. Goodbye, Mama.’
Ignoring her mother’s screams of hysteria, Augusta hurried to where her carriage was waiting at the end of the lane. All the way home she felt harrowed beyond tears. Thoughts of her mama stumbling and fumbling about trying and failing to do the simplest tasks continued to haunt her. At night, lying in the big canopy bed beside Luther, she was tormented by visions of her mother alone and terrified in the darkness outside the city.
Subsequent visits did nothing to comfort her. Her mama became more hysterical each time. Eventually Maureen said,
‘Jaysus, Mrs, we can’t go on like this. Your nerves are shredded to bits, so they are, and won’t I be on the run like that big ape Boozer soon for I’ll be committing bloody murder myself.’
‘I will not have you talk like that, Maureen. Mrs Cameron needs help and we must persevere in giving that help. It is our duty.’
‘Holy Mother of God, isn’t she supposed to be helping herself?’
‘Yes, but it is more difficult to learn when one is older. We must try to be patient with her.’
‘And wouldn’t she try the patience of a saint?’
An extra strain was put on Maureen shortly after this by news that Doolan had been arrested in Liverpool and brought back to be lodged in the Glasgow jail. A month afterwards at the end of February the Glasgow Herald announced that Redding had been picked up in the north of England and brought to Glasgow jail where Hickie, the third man implicated, was already being held.
Maureen became so distracted that her work in the kitchen suffered. Cook and the rest of the staff complained bitterly of pans not properly cleaned, floors not properly dried, vegetables not properly peeled.
‘And the shocking displays of temper, ma’am, if anyone dares to scold her,’ Cook told Augusta, ‘have to be seen to believed. I don’t want to speak out of turn, ma’am, but she’s quite unsuitable and I think you would be well advised to get rid of her.’
‘I will decide if and when I dismiss a member of staff,’ Augusta said. ‘But thank you for keeping me informed, Cook.’
She agreed with Cook, of course. Maureen was most unsuitable. She was a disruptive influence that was gradually affecting the whole house. When she wasn’t neglecting her work and inconveniencing everyone downstairs and upstairs, she was distressing the staff with her violent outbursts, and this affected their work. Maureen’s tirades of outrageous insults against Boozer alternating with her weeping and wailing in sympathy with him did nothing to add to the harmony and smooth running of the house either.
Augusta was sorely tempted to dismiss her, but apart from the fact that she was so dependent on the Irishwoman for help with her mother, she still had a soft spot for Maureen from their old nomadic days.
The trial of Boozer and the other two navvies was set for the 23rd April, and Maureen said all the navvies at the workings were subscribing as much as they could afford every week to fee counsel for the defence.
This cheered and comforted Maureen.
‘Haven’t they the hearts as big as buckets, Mrs? They’d give the shirt off their backs to help a mate, so they would. Do you think that big idiot of mine is going to be all right after all?’
‘I hope so, Maureen.’
‘He didn’t touch the ganger, so help me God. Doolan didn’t mean no harm either. He told me, Mrs. I didn’t mean to kill him, he says, I just meant to bate him so’s he’d remember.’
‘What about Hickie?’
‘Ach, God help him! Isn’t he as simple as a baby? He just sits there all the time with a big grin on his face and him not even understanding where he is.’
The trial lasted twelve hours and Luther who had attended it was dark with anger when he returned home.
‘What happened? How did it go?’ Augusta asked him as soon as he entered the parlour.
‘It was a bloody disgrace,’ he said. ‘That so-called counsel for the defence ought to be shot. Would you believe it after half the navvies in Scotland had feed him he monstrously declined to offer any defence.’
‘But surely it was his duty . . . .’
‘Of course it was his duty and it was an appalling abrogation of it to say as he did that he had come to the resolution of leaving the case in the hands of the judge and jury. No questions. No analysis of the evidence. Nothing.’
‘That is shocking, Luther.’
‘What a field day it gave for the prosecution and the prejudiced. My God, Augusta, I feel sick.’
He went over and helped himself to a large whisky.
‘The jury returned a unanimous verdict of murder against Doolan and Boozer.’
‘Oh, Luther!’
‘They found Hickie guilty by a majority, not as an active participant but as an accessory, and recommended mercy for him. He’ll probably be transported.’
‘What has to happen to Boozer?’
‘Oh, he and Doolan have to hang. There was no mention of mercy for them.’
Augusta closed her eyes, willing herself not to be overcome by horror. ‘Poor Maureen,’ she kept thinking.
‘You look as if you need a drink as well,’ Luther said, handing her a glass.
‘Thank you. I do feel a bit faint.’ She sipped at the whisky and Luther went on.
‘As if it wasn’t bad enough, the bastard of a judge ordered them to be hanged where the murder was committed. I’ll lodge an objection to that and the railway directors are going to do the same. As McLure said, it’ll tarnish that section of the line with an unfortunate association, to put it mildly.’
‘Does Maureen know?’
‘She nearly caused a riot in the court. I had to practically knock her unconscious to get her out of there,’ Luther said.
‘Oh, this is really too much! The scandal. The wild and undisciplined behaviour. You being with her in court like that. I am sorry fo
r Boozer. I am sorry for Maureen. But I must think of my family and the other members of my staff. The entire household is in a state of chaos because of Maureen.’
‘Her husband is going to be hanged.’
‘He is not her husband.’
‘Common-law husband. What does it matter?’
‘It matters a great deal in respectable society.’
‘To hell with respectable society!’
‘That is a ridiculous thing to say, Luther, and I know you don’t mean it. I have done my best at all times for both Maureen and Boozer. And so have you. But there has to be a limit.’
‘You’ve never really changed, have you?’ Luther said. ‘You’re still a selfish, hard-hearted little bitch.’
‘You have no right to say that. I have been very patient with Maureen. And good to her.’
‘Well, you’ll have to be patient with her for a bit longer. The execution’s not until the 14th May.’
‘I wonder, Luther, if you would be so very attentive and concerned if she were neither young nor pretty.’
He looked at her in disgust. ‘Is that your level?’
‘I am afraid that it is yours.’
Chapter Thirty-five
Terror lapped around the town behind a heady froth of excitement. Many times in the past when an Irish navvy had been arrested his comrades had stormed the police office and freed him. The fact that there were thousands of navvies in the vicinity of Glasgow made the authorities fear that Doolan and Redding would never reach the gallows. Enormous precautions were taken beforehand to ensure that no riot would explode in the streets and no rescue of the two men take place en route to Bishopbriggs.
A procession surpassing anything that had taken place in Glasgow for years was planned.
The railway company had protested in vain. The judge was adamant. Doolan and Redding had not to be hanged in the customary place of execution, the public square outside the jail; despite the dangers of riot or rescue they had to be taken in an open carriage through the streets until they reached that part of the railway where the murder had been committed. In the north field facing the temporary bridge over the line a scaffold had been erected the night before and a troup of cavalry stationed there to protect it.
The Dark Side of Pleasure Page 24