by Mary Easson
‘I have come with dreadful news,’ said Catherine, unexpectedly.
Rose held her breath and I gasped.
‘About Eric,’ said Catherine. ‘The worst news possible, I’m afraid.’
Nothing was said about Neil’s letters before Richard left for France. He knew he had been deceitful. Some might argue he was a thief, having stolen letters intended for someone else, but all of that was justifiable from his point of view. Still, he could not bear to discuss the matter with me, to see the hurt in my eyes even if his betrayal had been – in his eyes – for my own good. To have to apologise simply because he had been found out, would have seemed very unfair to him. He left on his journey early in the morning without a word of affection for me. I wished him God Speed, watching long enough to see him wrestle his heavy valise along the path and out of sight behind the church hall at which point I rested my forehead against the closed door. Then I called for Sarah to put the kettle on as I ran upstairs to strip the sheets from his bed in preparation for a spring clean of his room even though the old year had not yet fully run its course. Later that day, his study was converted into a temporary office and consulting room for Rose, until the renovations at Spittal Cottage had been completed.
In spite of the relief I felt at my brother’s leaving, the difficult task of tackling Mrs Tennant lay like a dark cloud on the horizon. I knew that my sudden appearance at Smiddy Cottage would not be welcome but I needed to try and make the woman understand how I felt, and had always felt, about her son, enough to provoke her into writing about me in her next letter to him in France or, better still, to let me have his address so that I might write to him myself. Though how I could do that without revealing Richard’s deceit in hiding Neil’s letters was hard to fathom. Needless to say when the time came, Mrs Tennant refused to grant me an audience. She kept me waiting out in the cold and barely heard my enquiries about her son’s welfare, before closing the door in my face. But there would be other opportunities. I would make sure of it.
For Rose, the move to the manse and the other arrangements necessary for setting up her practice kept her busy. I hoped she would open up to me about her affair with David but she studiously avoided the subject leaving me to wonder how her next encounter with Catherine Melville would go. In the event, a call in the early hours to an ailing Clive, suffering with a high temperature and a persistent cough, passed without incident. Miss Silver wasn’t mentioned. Catherine acted as if nothing had happened, only too grateful for the medical attention her friend was giving her son.
Would Rose return in the morning to check on his progress? Could she discuss her latest pregnancy with the good doctor at that time?
Of course, Rose agreed.
Perhaps, on reflection, the wife was convinced of the husband’s fidelity. But Rose was too much of a realist to believe that and it irked her profoundly that she found herself in a situation of her own making, one that had spiralled outwith her control.
A week later and two days before the close of the year, Rose and I were able to make arrangements to leave Blackrigg in order to visit Phee. The train journey into Edinburgh and along the Waverley Line would take a while but, with luck, we would be able to return the same day, though that would depend on how Phee was bearing up. We boarded the train, glad at the prospect of seeing her, but fearful of what we might find. The journey was taken quietly with little said between us, just an occasional remark about the weather, the sky, and the number of servicemen evident at stations along the route. In cold, grey Waverley Station, where the east wind whipped along the railway tracks, soldiers and sailors crowded the platforms, each with a warm smile on their face and a girl on one arm. Whether they were arriving or departing, lovers did little to hide their feelings for each other and, more than once, we were forced to step around couples who seemed oblivious to the outside world. It only served to highlight our own situations and gave us much food for thought on the journey south.
Her arms folded, Phee was leaning against a large green motor car when the train finally rolled into the station. We ran to her, saying how sorry we were, how lovely it was to see her and to be able to visit her in her new home at last, if only the circumstances had been different. Phee did not respond, just ushered us into the car. She said her feet were like ice and her hands were about to drop off so we bundled into the rear seat drawing a tartan rug around our knees for the journey. She studied the sky, grey and cold, said we had better get a move on, the signs weren’t good and her father-in-law hadn’t been keen to let her drive his automobile in the conditions.
A brief break in the cloud brought a sparkle to the snow-covered trees that lined the winding road to the Hyslop family estate. Blue-white hills rolled down into wooded valleys; hedgerows and stone walls criss-crossed dormant fields, green in places where sheep crowded together for food and shelter. Nothing was said in the car as we sped along and the clouds gathered once more, gloomy grey and monotonous. An elaborate stone gateway marked the beginning of a gravel driveway that quickly disappeared between two lines of tall beech trees. Somewhere on the hillside was the family seat, handed down through the generations but Phee drew up beside a small gatehouse, just off the road. The main house, it seemed, was not our destination.
The embers of a small fire glowed red in the tiny parlour when we entered. It was a modestly furnished room with a brightly coloured carpet and a painting above the fireplace. Photographs in elaborate frames stood on the dresser: Eric and Phee, the happy couple on their wedding day; David, Catherine, and Clive in a rigid pose with David looking particularly severe; Isabelle looking softer and more kind than her real-life self; and a host of others, two extended families brought together in marriage. Phee invited us to sit by the fire whilst she brought us tea. No, she did not need any help. Thank you. She would manage fine by herself and she disappeared into the kitchen. We hadn’t managed to thaw out by the time she returned.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she began. ‘I spend most of my time here and rarely venture up to the main house.’
‘We didn’t come to see the house. We came to see you,’ said Rose, accepting a cup of tea that steamed in the cold air of the parlour, the fire having all but died.
‘This is a lovely cottage.’ I glanced at the wedding photograph on the sideboard. ‘Is this where you and Eric... live?’ I realised my faux pas too late.
‘Yes. This was our little nest, our hide-away. It was supposed to be temporary whilst Burnbank House was being prepared for us. Along the valley a little further,’ she explained, pointing in the direction of the road. ‘It has a beautiful view down to the river.’
‘When will it be ready?’ I asked. ‘When will you move in?’
‘I don’t think that will happen now. Not now that the eldest son and heir lies dead in a foreign field.’ She sat, rigid, as if all of her tears had been shed already.
We didn’t know what to say.
‘The thing is,’ she continued. ‘I was blissfully happy here... when he... was here. I didn’t need a big house with servants and acres of parkland. He was all that mattered.’ She shivered, ‘Burnbank will be reserved for Eric’s younger brother now, for when he marries. As for me... it’s not as if I produced a child when Eric was alive. I thought... well, I thought there’d be time for that... in the future.’ She studied her hands, twisting the band of gold round and round on her finger. ‘Who wants a childless widow hanging around, even if she was once married to a dearly loved eldest son? Got to be pragmatic about these things and move on.’
I wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t trust myself to find the words.
‘The family haven’t said anything to me about it, of course. Not yet. They’ll be biding their time, waiting for a suitable and appropriate juncture; when best to bring up the thorny subject of my future. What will there be here for me? A grace and favour cottage like this one, for the rest of my miserable life? As long as I don’t mar
ry again, naturally. A role in the family firm or in the Big House? Highly unlikely. Without Eric I am... an outsider... a stranger... actually, an encumbrance.’
Rose leaned over to the fireplace and poked the small pile of glowing embers in the grate. A momentary burst of heat soon faded. She added several lumps of coal.
I wanted to know about Eric. How had he died? What had happened and how had Phee found out? Where was she when the telegram came? But, of course, I couldn’t ask. I sat in silence, just stared at the fire, wishing it would come to life, to bring some cheer to the room.
Phee broke the gloom, asked if we would like to see the cottage and the garden, not that there was much to see, she warned. She led us into a small hallway where she indicated her bedroom opposite though did not open the door. Next was a bathroom and a toilet under the stairs. Steps led upwards into the roof space where a small room with sloping ceilings had been created. A north-facing window gave a view of snow-covered fields and hills beyond a high wall. Phee picked up a pair of binoculars from the floor and offered them to Rose.
‘I used to come up here and study the view, how the colours changed with the time of day or the seasons. I would drink it in... the horses and the farms, the birds and the gun dogs. I watched and waited... waited for him to come home. What plans we had.’
A smaller window overlooked an overgrown kitchen garden, and at the far end, a tiny orchard with a double row of what might have been apple trees under the snow.
‘You could have a field day,’ she said when she saw me looking.
‘I’ll come and stay if you’ll let me,’ I offered. ‘And help you lick it into shape.’
‘If I’m still here come the spring, I’ll let you know.’ Her voice was dull.
We returned to the parlour where the fire had sprung to life, making the room a little warmer. It wasn’t cosy. Phee headed for the kitchen, leaving us to assemble a small drop-leaf table and whisper about her lack of emotion, the detachment in her voice.
Over a thin soup, Rose broached another subject.
‘Have you heard from David?’ She broke off a small piece of bread, eating slowly.
‘He has written to me, yes. He is well. Shaken, I imagine, after the loss of a friend.’
‘I only wondered.’
‘You could go to him, Rose.’
‘Go to him? What do you mean?’
‘You could join Dr Inglis and the Scottish Women’s Hospital. They’re out there, where he is. You know Dr Inglis, don’t you? It could be arranged.’
‘I’ve worked alongside her, that’s true. But I’d have no influence...’
‘You could arrange a posting and be near him. You could look out for him. I’d be able to sleep if I knew you were nearby... looking out for him.’ Her eyes wide, Phee leaned towards Rose.
‘I have my duties here,’ said Rose calmly. ‘I’ve promised my father...’
‘If you loved him, you’d go to him! I know about you and David. Everyone knows!’
Rose stared at me with the look of a rabbit caught in the headlights of Phee’s car.
‘Catherine knows about you and David,’ scolded Phee. ‘She suspected for long enough and she’s no fool. All those visits of his into town, early on in their marriage, staying with friends that he couldn’t name, just old friends from the university. And that Saturday in June when he didn’t appear for dinner, she was worried. She telephoned the barracks and had some corporal scour the place for him, only to be told he was on leave with his family – 48 hours the man said. An officer confirmed it.’
Phee’s eyes were full of fury.
‘When he finally arrived home that Sunday morning, laden with presents for Clive, he claimed he’d had to return to the barracks. Confirming what Eric had already told Catherine – a matter of some urgency, he’d said. We all knew it was a lie. He was with you. Wasn’t he?’
‘Did Eric... say anything to you?’
‘No, of course not. He’s too loyal to my brother. But he was pulled into your murky little affair whether he liked it or not and that wasn’t fair.’ She repeated her question, ‘Was David with you?’
‘Yes, he was.’ Rose breathed deeply. ‘And thanks to village gossip, Catherine’s fears have been confirmed in the most public of circumstances.’
‘You can make amends,’ implored Phee. ‘You could go to him. Look out for him for all our sakes.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Rose.
‘Really, Phee. What you’re asking is out of the question,’ I said.
Phee wasn’t listening. ‘If you really loved him, you would go to the ends of the earth for him.’
She stood up suddenly, hurriedly cleared the dishes from the table, clattering dishes and glasses onto a tray. She returned from the kitchen, muttering all the while about the weather, how she was sorry but we would have to go. She was sorry we had come so far for such a short visit but didn’t want us to get caught out. Better to catch an earlier train rather than risk being stuck half-way along the line in the freezing cold. The roads would be filling up too. The drifts could reach ten feet high in those parts, according to the family.
We made haste; aware we were no longer welcome; aware that Phee needed time to come to terms with the loss of Eric, and the new situation she found herself in. She had barely mentioned Eric beyond what was necessary, which wasn’t a good sign. Perhaps, in our absence, she would be able to grieve, once she was alone in the small cottage where she had spent so many happy days and nights with him. Phee drove swiftly, without slowing down for the corners, no time for pleasantries and conversation.
Rose retained her composure until the train had left the station. Through her tears, she stared out at the leaden sky, snowflakes turning to streaks of rain on the window. I watched her intently, waiting for her to speak. But she didn’t.
‘I suppose it’s quite preposterous, this idea of Phee’s that you should join Dr Inglis in Serbia,’ I said at last.
Rose took a while to reply. ‘I do love him, you know.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘It was never just a sordid affair between us. Not on my part. Nor, I believe, on his.’ She watched the countryside flicker past to the rhythmic sound and motion of the wheels on the line. ‘Had Rashiepark not come to him, had one of his brothers survived to take the reins there, we would have met at medical school. I know we would have. Then nothing could’ve come between us.’
‘Isn’t it strange how the fates can conspire to keep us apart?’
‘And bring us together.’ Her eyes were full of sadness.
I felt myself welling up.
‘It’s what we do with the situations that arise from Fate, that’s what matters. That’s what’s important.’
I thought about it and nodded.
Rose continued, ‘David made his choice when he married Catherine.’
‘So going abroad to work with the Women’s Hospitals... it’s out of the question?’
‘I’ve made a promise to my father, Beth. I’ll administer to the Blackrigg patients for as long as he needs me.’ Her eyes were fixed on the falling snow.
Then she leaned across the table and gripped my arm. ‘How can I desert my father, the one man I know will never let me down, to set off on a wild goose chase across Europe for one who has already broken my heart?’
John
We weren’t surprised when we heard that Rob had left home just after the turn of the year. He was often absent – in body and mind – thinking about something else when he was in our company or away some place and never saying where. We would rib him about who the unlucky girl was. Jenny Campbell or Sadie Murphy? Or Janet Cherrie who had a fine pair of lungs on her, just like her mother. I feared in my heart it was Minn but she was at Netherside so I contented myself that it was too far away for Rob to visit of an evening. Sandy was averse to say anything against him but, eventually, he confided that Rob ha
d been coming home drunk and it grieved his mother something terrible. He told me about Rob’s nightmares, how he would wake in the night, sweating, shouting that he had seen a ghost, babbling about their father who was killed down the pit when they were lads.
Rob hated the lodger, it transpired. He’d never gotten on with the man. At first Sandy thought it was because he didn’t like foreigners who took jobs from local men. Then he saw how Rob watched Joe – sleekit-like – whenever Joe was near their mother; how Rob followed their every move, seeing their glances across the busy front room, brushing past each other even when there was plenty space to get by.
There were arguments about nothing; everything about his mother irked Rob; he was ay disapproving. Who was she tryin’ to impress with her stupid hat and that big maukit coat that had seen better days? And her la-di-da china cups... was the queen coming for her fuckin’ tea? How come she’d cash put by in an auld tea pot when he’d barely twa ha’pennies to rub thegither?
The night before he ran off to enlist was the worst. He came in at two in the morning, the worst for wear, covered in glaur, a braw keeker on one eye. Peggy was sitting waiting for him and he hauled her out of her rocking chair, the one Joe had made for her in the workshop at the pit. He smashed it to smithereens on the floor and that had Maggie screaming in terror on her hurly bed. Sandy and Joe tried to intervene.
Rob slavered, ‘Aww! Here comes Josef Danieliwicz…’ Rob slavered, ‘Says he’s Joe-fuckin-Daniels, yin o’ us. Fuckin’ cheek!’
Peggy told Sandy and Joe to stay out the way. It would only make things worse, best let him be. Rob calmed down at that – more or less – was left to sleep it off on the floor. In the morning, they had to step over him to get to work because he was still out for the count. Then came the talk. He’d been seen the night before, found blind drunk face-down in the snow, by men coming off the back shift at Back o’ Moss. When the gossips heard that Rob had enlisted, their spite turned to Peggy. What kind of mother would carry on with a Russian under the same roof as her dead man’s bairns? See her in yon fur coat, flauntin’ herself, mair limmer than leddy, they said. No wonder young Rob had run away to enlist – a fine lad just like his faither.