‘No! You c-can’t do that. I-I’m expecting a child.’
‘Are you now? Well maybe I can get rid of it for you, eh.’
‘No! No!’ Rachel began to scream and scream. She could not stop, even when he slapped her so hard she felt he must have knocked her neck out of joint.
It was an unwritten law that the milking never started with cow dung in the channels. Usually the cows were very clean and came eagerly to be milked, though they frequently left dung behind them on their way back to the field. Today one of the cows had been startled when Rachel had flung aside its chain. Nervously she had sent a fountain of dung across the clean path between the two rows of cows waiting to be milked. Alfie cackled and patiently brought his big shovel. He scraped up the mess. He did not need the wheelbarrow for only one cow. He went out of the narrow door at the end of the byre which led to the midden and flung the dung over the side. As he turned he heard Rachel’s screams from the back of the wall and went to investigate. He did not understand what was happening but he knew the young mistress was being hurt. He loped up to her and without hesitation he whammed his filthy shovel over the back of Elder’s head.
The Factor keeled over without a sound. Rachel could scarcely move for the pain in her arms. She rolled onto her side and held a hand out stiffly. Alfie pulled her to her feet and with one brief glance at the Factor’s prone figure sprawled amidst the hay and dust, she clutched Alfie’s hand and ran, pulling him with her.
‘Stay here. Pretend you saw nothing,’ she gasped when they reached the byre. She sped through the opposite door, across the main yard and into the house. She knew the dung had spattered from the shovel onto her face and dress as well as over the Factor’s head and down his tweed jacket.
Alice Beattie gaped at the sight of her. Rachel sank onto a stool, clutching her side, gasping for breath. She began to cry and to laugh at the same time.
‘Oh, lassie, you’re hysterical. Stop it. Rachel, stop that.’ Rachel couldn’t, her relief was so immense. Alice slapped her none too gently bringing tears to her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, lass, but I had to bring you back to your senses. I’ll make a cup of tea for you. Then you had better change your dress and wash your face.’
Alice was deeply perturbed. She had found Beth sobbing in the wash-house and had only just calmed her down and persuaded her to drink some tea. She kept shaking her head as she made tea for Rachel. What sort of a man was that to employ? And to employ him as a Factor – with power and authority and influence? She shivered and stroked Rachel’s head instinctively, as though she was a little girl.
Rachel was washed and changed and settled down at the milking by the time Ross returned. They had seen Mr Elder riding away on his horse, his dirty jacket rolled into a ball behind him. She decided not to mention his visit to Ross. She was not at all sure what his reaction would be.
She had reckoned without her subconscious. Her last waking thoughts that night were for the safety of her unborn child. Her arms still felt as though they had been pulled from their sockets and she had the muscles across her stomach had strained beneath the weight of the cart as she lifted the shafts. She prayed for the safety of her baby.
Ross was alarmed by Rachel’s muffled scream and her cries. She was kicking and pushing him away with all her strength. He grasped her arm and shook her awaken. She groaned aloud and shuddered. Ross leaned over and lit their candle, holding it up to see her face.
‘My dearest lassie! Are you fevered? Your brow is wet with sweat and you’re as pale as a ghost.’
‘I’m sorry. I-I had a dream …’
‘Dream? I’d say it was a nightmare. You kicked my shins hard. I shall be black and blue tomorrow.’ He grinned ruefully.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again, but she could not control her shivering. Ross set the candle down and stroked the curling tendrils of hair from her brow.
‘Something is troubling you, Rachel. What is it?’ Rachel bit her lip. There was always the possibility that Alice might tell him, especially when Beth had been so badly frightened too.
‘Blow out the candle and hold me close. Then I’ll tell you what happened.’ Slowly, haltingly she told him of the Factor’s visit. Ross was furious.
‘You sure he didn’t …’
‘No, no. He didn’t …’ she shuddered. ‘Thank God for Alfie,’ she muttered feelingly. ‘He really did save me. If it had not been so frightening I suppose we could have laughed at Alfie hitting him with a shitty shovel. I expect he’ll find an excuse for his dirty jacket when he gets home to his wife. Does he have a wife, Ross?’
‘I don’t know. I just know that I would like to break his neck and every bone in his body.’
‘Oh no, Ross, please! Don’t seek revenge.’ She shuddered. ‘As it is I’m terribly afraid he will make us all pay if he gets a chance. He – he is that sort of spiteful man I think. I’m so sorry, Ross.’
‘Dear Rachel, you have nothing to be sorry about. Anyway I don’t think he can do us much harm.’ Had it not been so dark Rachel would have seen his troubled frown. He had heard a lot of rumours about the Factor and if only half of them were true he was a man to mistrust.
‘What about the tenancy?’ she asked.
‘Thanks to Mr Shaw the joint tenancy was signed and sealed before the old Laird died. There is nothing he can do about that until the lease is finished – just so long as we stick rigidly to the terms anyway.’
‘How long is the lease?’
‘Seven more years.’
‘I hope we have a new Factor long before then. I don’t want to see that man again – not ever. Mr Shaw was such a kind man – such a gentleman.
In the silence of the night Alice Beattie’s thoughts were running along the same lines. She resolved to visit her lawyer without delay. She would do everything in her power to secure the future of her beloved Glens of Lochandee, and the young couple she had come to regard as the next best thing to a family of her own. She had two cousins in Canada but she had not seen them for years. Her future was bound up with Ross and Rachel. She must try to protect them.
She decided she must write a letter of complaint to the Laird. From all accounts he was rarely at home but surely he must attend to such a serious matter. Sandy Kidd’s wife had mentioned rumours of the Factor’s attack on a young girl on the other side of the glens. Alice had only half believed the story but Dolly’s words came back to her now.
O
N THE TENTH OF
February, 1925 Ross waited in an agony of impatience and anxiety. The midwife had been well recommended by several women in the village but the birth was long and difficult, quite the opposite of Rachel’s experience with Conan. Ross hated being banned from his wife’s room. He felt the women were treating him like a child, hiding things from him.
‘I want to see my wife,’ he demanded when Mrs Semple appeared in the kitchen for yet more hot water.
‘Patience!’ she commanded brusquely. ‘Men were far behind when the good Lord handed out that virtue.’
‘But she’s my wife …’
‘Aye, I should hope she is! Ye’ve certainly given her a packet o’ trouble anyway. Now just bide a while and let me get on with setting her right.’ She made to bustle past him with the heavy kettle of hot water.
‘What sort of trouble?’ Ross asked faintly. His face had lost its ruddy colour. The midwife glanced at him. She liked the men to get a bit anxious. They deserved to worry she reckoned, but she relented a little.
‘The babe is taking its time. I’d say it will be a good size and Mistress Maxwell is finely made. But she’s no one tae complain and scream her head off, poor lass. I’m thankful for that and so should you be, my man.’ She nodded her grey head vigorously. ‘Now just be patient and I’ll bring ye some news in a wee while. Make us all a cup o’ tea – if ye ken how.’
‘Mrs Semple is clean and efficient,’ Alice Beattie tried to reassure Ross when he voiced his concerns to her a short time later. She was growing anxious herself as the hours passed.
As he waited Ross considered how much Rachel must have borne for Conan, waiting alone throughout nine long months, with the ordeal of the birth at the end of it. He had not even been in the same house, had not even known. He buried his head in his hands and groaned. He had felt so sorry for himself, banished from Windlebrae, rejected, with no letters from those he loved. How much worse it must have been for Rachel. He had not been there to offer comfort or support. Thank God, Meg and Peter Sedgeman had taken care of her, he thought belatedly. Even the old cobbler had befriended her. He should have gone back for her. He should have ignored Gertrude Maxwell’s wishes. So he berated himself.
His relief was overwhelming when Mrs Semple at last allowed him to see Rachel. He marvelled at the tiny scrap of humanity who was his daughter. Rachel finally managed to reassure him that all she needed was a good sleep.
Tired though he was, he sat down and wrote to Meg.
“
The waiting seemed to go on for ever. I have sympathy with Peter as never before. I am sorry I was impatient to drag Rachel away from you when you needed her so badly, Meg. I did not understand. I have seen the birth of many a calf and thought it was just a natural thing. Please forgive me? Rachel has chosen the names for our daughter after the two women she values as true friends. She will be christened Margaret Alice.
”
* * *
Rachel had a fortnight of being pampered by Alice and Beth and spoiled by Ross and Conan. At every opportunity they crept up to her bedroom to sit with her. Conan loved to lie on the bright rag rug in front of the bedroom fire with his feet in the air. He would lay watching the flames dance, or mimicking the shadows on the walls as the short winter days drew to a close. Beth kept the fire alight both day and night to drive away the bleak February chill. She carried up bowls of the chicken soup which the midwife considered the very best restorative for women in Rachel’s circumstances.
Alice had prevailed upon Sandy Kidd’s wife, Dolly, to help in the house and with the washing. The couple welcomed the extra money and Dolly was a brisk and cheerful worker. Although Alice never complained and never admitted to growing old, Rachel worried about her when she looked tired and drawn.
‘The sooner I am up and back to the milking and the buttermaking, the better,’ she said one night to Ross. ‘I think Mistress Beattie is doing far too much while I am lying in bed being treated like a lady. She looks pale and tired.’
‘We all try to spare her,’ Ross said, ‘but now we have extra cows the milking takes a long time, especially without you. You seem to have a natural instinct for handling the most nervous animals. Anyway we would never have been able to afford Dolly’s help in the house if we had not increased the milk we have to sell.’
‘I know,’ Rachel sighed. ‘I shall soon be back to work.’
‘I have heard of one or two farmers installing machines to milk the cows,’ Ross told her. Rachel stared at him, then she laughed aloud at such an idea.
‘A machine will never be able to milk cows – not properly, like we do.’ She chuckled at the thought but Ross looked serious.
‘I saw Jim MacDonald’s son at Lockerbie market. He said he was having one installed.’
‘But how would a machine know if a cow had finished milking? What if one had an infection in her udder? Or if it was sore? How would it know if one teat needed more milking than the rest? No, I don’t believe it’s possible.’
Ross shrugged. If a machine had been invented which could milk cows properly it would save a lot of time.
Barely a year later, the subject of a milking machine arose again. Alice was dismayed. She was not as young and fit as she used to be and Rachel was expecting another baby. Margaret would be just sixteen months old by June, when the new baby was due.
Alice loved children but there was no doubt they made a lot of work and frequently a lot of noise and these days she seemed to get so tired. Rachel and Ross had noticed this and once more Ross broached the subject of buying a milking machine.
‘Could we afford one,’ he asked Alice.
‘Would it be any good?’ she countered, sharing all Rachel’s misgivings about the welfare of their precious cows. One of their neighbours had gone bankrupt and rumour had it that it was due to his new machines and modern ideas. Even so Alice had purchased a motor car at his farm sale so Ross knew she was not entirely against changes.
‘I could drive you over to see the MacDonalds’ machine. We could see it working,’ he suggested. ‘To tell you the truth I would like to see one myself before we wasted any money or risked the health of the cows. Did you hear the Factor is proposing to raise all the rents because the estate needs more money?’
‘I had not heard that, no,’ Alice admitted slowly, ‘but it does not surprise me. The Factor never comes round to see the farms now, but I have heard that the young Laird spends most of his time in France and has no idea what his Factor is up to.’
‘Ah, but the Factor does inspect our land,’ Ross warned darkly. ‘He does it slyly. Sandy and I have seen him riding along the road in his motor car, stopping to peer over the hedges. At other times we have seen him ride around the neighbouring farms on his horse and he always rides along our boundary. If he could find fault I fear he would take his revenge.
He came twice in one week when we were digging drains in the top meadow but he did not venture onto The Glens of Lochandee. I reckon he’s afraid of getting another shovel laid around his ears. After all he never knew who had hit him, did he?’
‘I had not thought of that,’ Alice admitted. ‘Dolly told me months ago that he had attacked a young woman on the estate but I couldn’t really believe it then. I can’t believe the Laird lets him get away with it.’
‘He’s never here to know what’s going on.’ Ross’s fists clenched and Alice saw the muscle throbbing in his lean jaw, before he muttered, ‘He deserves to be hanged.’
‘There seems to be no justice for men like that. Anyway, back to business. I can’t remember when the estate last paid for any of the repairs, as they agreed to do when we pay our rents on time. It takes all the spare money we can make to keep The Glens of Lochandee in good repair, but I would hate to see it with the gates hanging off and the fences broken, not to mention slates sliding off the roofs.’
‘Is that what is troubling you?’ Ross asked. ‘I know there’s something on your mind.’
‘It’s not money exactly,’ Alice sighed again. ‘I suppose I’m just getting old and tired. I have a small legacy which my grandmother left me for my own old age. I have never needed it yet, but I worry about the future for you and Rachel. I wonder whether the Factor will renew the lease when it runs out.’
‘Surely the Laird cannot sell all the farms on the estate? He must need income from the rents?’
‘Maybe he wants the money, but he does not show any other interest. I have been thinking that I ought to show Rachel how to keep the accounts. My concentration is not as good as it used to be and it’s better if a wife understands about the money. Rachel is very sensible about such things.’
‘She is,’ Ross agreed readily. ‘Minnie Ferguson taught her to be thrifty and she is good with figures.
‘I will suggest it to her then,’ Alice nodded. ‘We could go through the accounts together and it would take the weight off her feet now she’s expecting another child.’ Alice was relieved. She had wondered whether Ross would resent his wife taking over the accounts, even though Rachel had kept a careful record of the butter and eggs which she sold in the village. These sales had grown steadily. They paid for the wages of Dolly and Sandy and Beth, as well as their own household expenses and Alfie’s food and clothes. In her heart she knew they were better off than most of the other farms round about. It was her own lack of energy, and her anxiety over the Factor, which troubled her.
A letter arrived from Meg. It was too early for her usual fortnightly news and it bore the ominous black edging around the envelope. It was addressed to Ross. Rachel’s heart sank as he slit it open.
‘Ah,’ he sighed sadly. ‘It’s my father – I mean my Uncle …’
‘The man you regarded as a father?’ Alice prompted gently.
‘Yes. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.’
‘Poor Mr Maxwell,’ Rachel sighed. ‘He was a good man. Meg and Willie will be so sad, and Ruth and the children.’
‘I must go to the funeral …’ Ross frowned, his eyes resting worriedly on Rachel’s rounded stomach.
‘I shall be all right,’ she assured him. ‘You will only be gone two days.’
‘Perhaps Rachel could drive you to the station after the morning milking?’ Alice suggested. ‘I will come too. I have some business to attend. We could take Margaret with us. Beth would manage Conan until we get back.’
On the way home Alice held Margaret on her knee and thought how fortunate she was for a woman who had no family of her own. The little girl curled up on her lap, her rosy cheek against her breast. She was such a pretty child Alice thought happily, with her fair curls, her bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, but it was her contented nature and happy smile which made her so endearing. Alice sighed. Twice the lawyer had asked her if she was sure she was making the right decision.
‘I am sure,’ she told him firmly. ‘I never see, or hear from my cousins in Canada, and I should have had to leave The Glens of Lochandee long before now if Ross and Rachel had not helped me.’ She had known Jacob Niven for more years than she cared to remember. He had been her grandfather’s lawyer, and then her father’s.
‘I will have the documents drawn up and send them to you for a last appraisal then,’ he promised. ‘Before you leave I will introduce you to my son, Jordon. I am retiring gradually. He is taking over any new clients and some of the existing ones. You never seem to get any older, Alice so I expect he will probably be the one to deal with your affairs when the time comes.’
‘You always were one to flatter, Jacob,’ Alice smiled. ‘I just wish you were right. I have felt my age recently. It does not help when there is so much unhappiness in the country either. We thought everyone would live in peace and contentment when the war ended.’
‘We did indeed,’ Jacob sighed, ‘But it has not turned out that way. Who would have believed there would be thousands of men out of work and whole families going to bed hungry. The discontent does not end in Britain either. It’s much the same in Europe, especially Germany. I’m told they have built a new battleship. We expected all that would end with the war … Ah, here comes Jordon. Let me introduce you to Mistress Alice Beattie from The Glens of Lochandee. This is Jordon my son, and my successor.’
The young man shook hands and greeted Alice politely.
‘Glens of Lochandee, you said? Are you having trouble fighting for your tenants’ rights as well then?’
‘No, no,’ his father frowned irritably. ‘Mrs Beattie came to make her will. You are not having trouble with the Laird, or his Factor are you, Alice?’
‘No …not yet anyway,’ Alice frowned. ‘So it is true then? They are putting some of the tenants out? We had heard rumours, but surely if they are paying their rents and the lease has not expired …’
‘The Factor makes out a case that they are unsatisfactory tenants. We have fought for two and won. We do know he has put three other tenants out of their farms though, and sold the land with vacant possession.’
‘I see …’ Alice looked anxious.
‘I’m sure you have no cause to worry, my dear,’ Jacob Niven said reassuringly. ‘Your family has been in The Glens of Lochandee for generations and it has always been one of the best run farms on the estate.’
‘But it is the best farms they are selling,’ Jordon insisted. ‘They make the most money. The Laird does not seem to care what happens to his estates. He spends most of his time in France and leaves his wife and children at home.’ The young lawyer spoke with contempt.
‘It would break my heart if they refused to renew the lease and we had to leave,’ Alice said anxiously. ‘It would upset Ross and Rachel too. They have grown to love Lochandee almost as much as I do. They work so hard, for little return.’
‘Well, you come to me if you need advice on such matters,’ Jordon smiled as he held the door open for Alice. ‘There’s no point in writing to the Laird anymore. Apparently he doesn’t even bother to open the letters. He just leaves his Factor to deal with them. There’s nothing I enjoy better than a confrontation with that obnoxious Bertrand Elder.
The following night Ross stepped down from the train and looked around, thankful to be almost home again. He was disappointed when there was no sign of Rachel with the car. He managed to get a lift almost to Lochandee village but he still had a good three miles to walk, into the village and then up to the farm. He was tired and hungry, and rather sad.