Читать книгу Linmill Stories - Robert McLellan - Страница 14

ΤΑΜ LAUDER HAD a place caaed the Gill, no faur frae Linmill on the Clyde side ο the Kirkfieldbank road. It had been a mansion hoose at ae time, and though Tam ran it as a nursery it had the air ο a mansion hoose still, wi its stable and coach-hoose at the road yett, its braw drive leadin doun to the front door, and the smell ο roses hingin aa aboot it.

Tam had a bonnie dochter caaed Mary, a friend ο my minnie’s, and a great favourite ο my ain, for she had shown me my first tam-tit’s nest, and it was sic a bonnie thing I neir forgot it.

Someane else had haen his ee on Mary, though, for ae simmer whan I had won to Linmill for my holiday and stertit priggin at my grannie for news ο my friends she telt me that Mary was mairrit, to Dan Finlay ο Nether Affleck. I grew dowie to think I micht neir win ower to the Gill again, for it was a winsome place, and Mary had aye made a fuss ο me, and gien me jeelie in a saucer, if her big brass pan was on, or hinnie in the kaim, for Tam keepit bees, or mebbe some tomaities, for Tam had a gless-hoose, a new thing in Clydeside in thae days.

But my minnie took me to the Gill that simmer efter aa, for she heard that Mary’s mither was badly, and thocht she suld pey a caa. We fand the auld body sittin in the big front paurlor wi a shawl ower her knees, and bye and bye my minnie and she were crackin, first aboot hou I was daein at the schule, and syne aboot Mary and her new man and syne they began to whisper, and I was telt to gang awa doun to the kitchen and ask for some cake.

I creepit doun the daurk back stairs wonerin wha wad be there nou that Mary had gane, and gat the fricht ο my life.

There were twa weemen there, strangers baith. Ane ο them, a muckle lang baney craitur wi coorse tacketty buits and a tattie-bag apron, was bendin ower a beyn at the back door, thrang at a washin. The tither, a delicate bit thing that a souch ο wind wad hae liftit aff her feet, was staunin at the faur end ο the big table, haudin something ahint her back, as if she had been stealin and didna want me to ken. The big ane turnt and lookit roun. She was a fair terror, her een were that wan and sichtless lookin, and she had twa lang peyntit teeth that slaivert ower the corners ο her mou. I kent I couldna ask her for cake. I lookit to the wee ane.

Ye could hae said she was bonnie, for she had bricht blue een and cheeks like a frostit aipple, but for aa that I didna like the look ο her aither.

‘Hullo, little boy,’ she said.

Juist like that. She was English.

That was queer eneuch, for there werena mony English aboot Clydeside. There were whiles a wheen amang the folk that cam frae Hamilton in fower in haund brakes to see the Falls. And Fred Jubb the horse-breker was English. He had mairrit a Kirkfieldbank lassie and bidden on aside his wife’s folk. But an English wumman in service in a hoose was new to me.

Then I saw what she had been hidin ahint her back, and aa at ance I kent whit was whaat.

It was a doll, wi a cheenie heid, and silly legs and airms fou ο saw-dust. And ower by the fire-end there was a raw ο big eicht pund berry baskets, five athegither, made up like beds, wi wee blankets and pillas, and ither dolls in ilka ane bune the end ane. And on the rug there were wee dolls’ claes. The English body had been playin wi them, juist like a bairn.

I kent aa at ance what I suld hae jaloused frae the stert, that the twa weemen were dafties.

I turnt and ran awa up the stair.

I didna like to gang in to my minnie and tell her I was feart, sae I stude in the lobby and waitit. And it wasna lang afore I noticed something. There was a big siller bowl in the lobby, that Tam had won for sweet peas at the Lanark show, and aye afore it had been keepit fou ο flouers. Nou it was tuim.

Tam wad miss them, I thocht, though I couldna think what had possessed him to let Mary get mairrit. I wad hae putten my fute doun.

I had been waitin for a gey while, and was beginnin to feel wearit, whan there was a rattle ο tea-cups frae the kitchen stairs, and the wee daftie cam forrit wi a tray. I ran oot to the front steps as she gaed forrit to the paurlor door, and afore she was richt through it I was hauf wey to the road yett. I didna like the thocht ο the place. Daft men were ae thing, frichtenin craws or fetchin berry baskets in the fields ootbye, or scrapin pats at the back door and cairryin raiks ο watter, but daft weemen in the hoose itsell were anither athegither.

When my minnie cam oot I telt her I didna want to gang near the Gill again.

‘I wadna hae taen ye,’ she said, ‘gin I had kent they wad frichten ye.’

‘What wey daes Tam Lauder hae daft weemen?’

‘To save siller, likely. It’s juist the gentry that can afford to pey for servants.’

And I had thocht Tam was weill aff.

It was weill through the winter afore I was near the Gill again. I was oot wi my grandfaither wi the gun efter phaisants, and we were walkin alang the mairch hedge atween Tam’s grun and oor ain, whan I spied Tam’s hoose through the trees.

‘Grandfaither?’

‘Ay?’

‘Tam Lauder has twa daft weemen.’

‘No nou. He gat redd ο them at Yule.’

‘Is Mary back?’

‘Na.’

‘Wha keeps the hoose nou, then?’

‘A wumman comes in frae Kirkfieldbank to clean, juist.’

‘What wey daes Mary no come back?’

‘She has a hoose ο her ain, nou. Quait, will ye, or I’ll hae to send ye hame.’

I said naer mair, but I couldna help thinkin it wasna like Mary to leave her mither like that.

I was daein her wrang, though, for there was anither thing I didna ken.

I learnt it frae my cuisin Jockie, whan I was back at the same hedge again, in the simmer, efter birds’ nests. I happened to mention hou mony nests Mary had kent, and said it was a peety she wasna still at the Gill, when he gied me a queer sleekit look.

‘Dan Finlay’s gien her a bairn.’

‘A bairn? Whaur did he get it?’

‘He gied her it. Hou daes a bull gie a cou a cauf?’

I didna ken, and I didna like the look he had gien me, sae I ran awa up to the shed, whaur my grannie was weying the strawberries into fower pund baskets, and packin them into crates for the mercat.

‘Grannie?’

‘Ay?’

‘Is it true that Mary Lauder has a bairn?’

‘Ay. She has a wee lassie. She’s Mrs Finlay nou, at Nether Affleck. Wha’s been tellin ye aboot it?’

‘My cuisin Jockie.’

‘What was he sayin?’

I didna like to tell her what he had been sayin. She saw that I was haudin something back.

‘He hasna been sayin ocht aboot the affair at Yule, has he?’

‘Na.’

‘I hope no. There’s been ower muckle talk, and it frichtens folk.’

‘What happened at Yule, grannie?’

‘Dinna fash yer heid. Forget aa aboot it. Rin awa doun to yer grandfaither and tell him I’m running oot ο crates.’

It was a lang time afore I fand oot what had happened at Yule, and by that time I wasna sae green.

This was the wey ο it.

Whan Mary first gat mairrit she was able to gang aboot her mither ilka ither day, to keep her frae wearyin, but efter that, wi the bairn to fend for, she was haurdly able to rin doun to the Gill at aa, and her mither began to fret, especially for a sicht o the bairn. Tam gat that worrit to see her sae dowie that in the end he wad hear ο nocht bune that the bairn suld be brocht to its grannie to bide ower Yule.

By this time Mrs Lauder had taen to her bed, in the paurlour closet, but she could sit up and gaffer, and she had the hoose like a pictur. Tam had sortit some holly oot into dentie wee sprigs, and they had been struck up aa roun the room, some abune the mantel-piece, some abune the picturs, and some roun the bust ο Rabbie Burns. There was mair in the big bedroom up the front stairs, whaur Mary was to sleep wi her Dan, and her ain wuiden creddle had been gotten frae the garret, to save her bringin the bairn’s, and whan it was dune up wi lace, and laid atween the fire-end and the bed, wi a holly brainch stuck to the croun ο its rufe, and a new rattle hung frae ane ο its corners, it was like a fairy thing.

Mary didna ken it, but the feck ο the wark on the creddle had been dune by the wee daftie.

It was snawin whan Dan drave doun wi the gig, but Mary had the bairn weill happit, and her ain cheeks were bricht wi the drive in the cauld. Tam liftit the bairn doun and cairrit it straucht in to Mrs Lauder, leavin Dan to look efter Mary and syne gang to the stable to tether his horse. Bye and bye they were aa roun Mrs Lauder’s bed, and she was fair joco, sortin the bairn’s hippen and deivin Mary wi guid advice. Tam and Dan had a dram, Mary had a gless ο Madeira, and aa were in fettle for a grand Yule.

The efternune wore on, though, and Mary gaed up the front stairs to feed the bairn and gie it some sleep. Mrs Lauder lay doun. The fash had wearit her. Tam and Dan gaed doun to the kitchen to sleep aff their dram and wait for tea-time.

The twa dafties stertit to lay the table.

The bairn fed its fill and fell awa frae Mary’s breist, sleepin at ance. Mary held it for a while, syne laid it in the creddle. She was sleepy hersell, for the fire had been made up heich and the room was cosie. She drew a big chair close to the fire and sat doun to nod.

It was hauf daurk whan she waukent. The fire was lown, and the winnock was smoored wi snaw. She shivert. Then her hairt lowpit.

Someane, ahint her, had poued tae the door.

She rase and gaed oot on the landin. The wee daftie was turnin the corner ο the stair. Mary cried doun efter her.

‘Whaur hae ye been? Hae ye been up here?’

The wee daftie turnt roun, a queer frichtent look on her face.

‘I was told to put coal on the fire.’

‘What wey did ye no, then?’

‘You were asleep.’

‘Sort the fire nou, then. Is the tea ready?’

‘Yes.’

Mary gaed back and had a look at the bairn. It was sleepin soun. The wee daftie stertit to the fire. Mary stude watchin her, waitin for her to feenish.

‘Hurry up, will ye, and win awa doun.’

The daftie feenished wi the fire and left. Mary had anither look at the bairn. There was nocht to gar her fash. It was still sleepin soun. She left and gaed awa doun for her tea.

In the kitchen the shutters were tae and the lamp was lichtit, and the table was laden. There were fower kinds ο jam, a beylt ham, a muckle tongue, a black bun, a cherrie cake and a box ο tangerines. Tam and Dan were staunin waitin.

‘Oh there ye are,’ said Tam. ‘I was juist gaun to caa ye. Sit in, nou, baith ο ye; and Mary, I think we’ll hae grace.’

It was seldom Tam caaed for a grace. This tea was bye the ordinar. Aa through it the big daft ane sat by the kitchen fire, ready to fill up the teapot. The wee ane gaed back and forrit, whiles but the hoose to the scullery, whiles up the stairs to the paurlor to serve Mrs Lauder in her bed.

Tam and Dan ate fit to burst, and argied aboot fermin maitters. Mary sat quait.

Ootbye the efternune grew wilder. The roar ο Stanebyres Linn, that ye could hear aye for ordinar, was drount in the bluster ο the wind. Muckle wraiths ο snaw fell aff the rufe and thunnert on the grun aneth the waas.

Tam turnt to Dan.

‘It maun be turnin to rain.’

‘Ay.’

It wasna lang afore the blatter ο rain could be heard on the shutters.

‘Thank the Lord for a rufe and a guid fire,’ said Tam.

Aa at ance Mary strauchtent in her chair.

‘Whaur’s the wee daftie?’

They aa lookit roun. The wee daftie was oot. Tam turnt to the lang ane at the fire.

‘Whaur’s the wee ane?’

‘I dinna ken.’

‘Whaur did she gang last?’

‘Up the stairs.’

Mary rase and ran up the stairs.

‘I kent it. She’s efter the bairn!’

Tam gied a twistit sort a lauch and said she had gane gyte. But whan a meenit passed and there was nae soun they baith grew solemn. And whan they heard her rinnin back doun the stairs again their hairts turnt to leid.

Whan she cam to the door her face was like daith.

‘The creddle’s tuim!’

‘Shairly to God no,’ said Tam, and stampit oot past her. Dan ran oot tae.

Syne they were back again, Tam yellin his heid aff. They trampit aa ower the hoose. The big ane gruntit in her sait. She kent naething, she said. Tam gat a lantern frae the scullery and gaed up to the front door.

Shair eneuch, there were futemarks in the snaw.

Tam telt Mary to bide wi her mither, but she peyed nae heed. She followed them up the drive.

The futemarks led to the auld coach-hoose, and in at the door. Dan had left his gig there, and they lookit aa roun it, but there was nae sign ο a sowl. Then Tam saw the lether that led up to the laft, and stertit to sclim it. The ither twa stude watchin wi their hairts dingin. Tam gat his heid abune the level ο the laft flair, and held up the lantern.

‘She’s here,’ he said.

He gaed on up. Dan elbowed Mary oot ο the wey and stertit to follow, but Tam cried doun.

‘Send Mary up.’

Dan gaed back doun again to mak wey for Mary.

Whan she won into the laft her faither was staunin haudin the lantern, starin at the faur waa. The wee daftie was staunin wi her back to it, haudin the bairn to her breist, and her een were fair stricken wi terror. The bairn was greitin its hairt oot.

Mary made to gang forrit.

‘Cannie nou,’ said Tam. ‘She’ll mebbe hairm it.’

Mary peyed nae heed. She gaed forrit to the daftie.

‘Gie me my bairn.’

The daftie grippit the bairn aa the tichter.

‘Help me, faither,’ said Mary, and grippit the craitur’s twa wrists.

Tam stude the lantern on the flair.

‘Leave her,’ he said, ‘and I’ll grip her.’

‘She’ll mebbe let it drap.’

‘Be ready to tak it.’

Tam took the wee daftie by the wrists and twistit, and Mary poued the bairn oot ο her grip. As sune as Tam saw that Mary had it safe he felled the wee daftie to the flair.

‘Ye suldna hae dune that, faither.’

‘Mebbe no,’ said Tam, wonerin what had come ower him. ‘Is the bairn aa richt?’

‘I think sae.’

‘Thank God,’ said Dan, frae the tap ο the lether.

They left the wee daftie whaur she was and gaed awa back doun to the hoose. The bairn was aa richt, and was putten back in the creddle. Tam gaed to see his wife, to fin if she had heard ocht ο the steer, but she was sleepin aff her tea, and kent naething. He made up his mind no to tell her a haet.

But he had forgotten the wee daftie, and he caaed for Dan, and the pair ο them gaed back to the coach-hoose to fin her, ettlin to lock her in her bedroom till the doctor could be brocht frae the asylum.

They couldna fin her. She had rin awa.

Dan had to yoke his gig and drive awa to Kirkfieldbank for the polis, and there was an unco todae afore the wee daftie was fund, wanerin dementit on the back road to the Teaths, no faur frae the smiddy.

She was taen awa back whaur she came frae, and the big ane followed her the very neist day, and Tam felt weill redd ο them. But his Yule was speylt, for aa that, for Mary had haen siccan a fricht that she wantit awa hame to Nether Affleck, and Dan insistit on takin her. Mrs Lauder was hurt, for Tam wadna hae a word said to her aboot the bairn bein liftit, sae she didna ken what was at the back ο things. She took a turn for the waur.

She took to her bed athegither then, and didna lest lang. Tam blamed himsell for tryin to save siller on a richt servant, and took to the bottle. Afore he gaed his place had run to ruin.