Red Rowan Berry

  RED ROWAN BERRY

  BY

  FRANCES MURRAY

  Copyright © 1976 by Frances Murray

  First published in Great Britain 1976 by Hodder and Stoughton Limited

  ISBN 0 340 22004X

  For Margaret

  Secretary-companion designate

  In the memory of various islands

  wet feet

  the Eighth Fleet

  and marauding cows

  A peat water burn,

  In stark brown heather:

  And a wavering birch,

  In windy weather:

  A grey Northern Land,

  From Wall to Sule Skerry;

  Heather moor, dark hill

  And red rowan berry.

  CHAPTER 1 4

  CHAPTER 2 15

  CHAPTER 3 26

  CHAPTER 4 40

  CHAPTER 5 58

  CHAPTER 6 69

  CHAPTER 7 79

  CHAPTER 8 88

  CHAPTER 9 100

  CHAPTER 10 107

  CHAPTER 11 116

  CHAPTER 12 128

  CHAPTER 13 137

  CHAPTER 14 144

  CHAPTER 15 155

  CHAPTER 16 163

  CHAPTER 17 171

  CHAPTER 18 186

  POSTLUDE 196

  CHAPTER 1

  THE FUNERAL WAS over. John Laidlaw had stood grimly by while his daughter Janet supervised the food and drink distributed to the members of the ceremony; not many, for his wife had had a sharp tongue and had taken little part in the affairs of the district, and when they took their departure he endured the wordless handshaking in the little-used front porch of the farm- house. Then, with Janet and Jock, her brother, on either side of him, he watched the guests bumping down the rough track to the lochside road in a variety of traps and governess-carts held to a walking pace behind the Minister who stalked in front with his wife holding up her skirts and breaking into a trot every so often to keep up with him. Mr McMurdoe considered the prevalence of personal transport in his parish as a symptom of the degeneracy of the generation among which it had fallen unto him to minister.

  "Aye," John Laidlaw had said, "so that's it by with."

  Janet, white-faced with grief and lack of sleep, had felt this was hardly adequate comment on his wife's death and burial but he did not give her time to dwell on this reflection. He pulled the huge silver watch out of his waistcoat pocket.

  "Make another cup of tea, Janet lass," he instructed. "I've just an hour and a bittie before the steamer and there's her will to read yet."

  "I've a bed made up for you," Janet said.

  "I'll not be staying. I've business at the yard the morn's morn and there I must be."

  Janet brought a tray into the parlour which was still chilly despite the fire lit early that morning in the shining black grate and handed round the tea to the family seated on the much-polished, little-used chairs in the half light which filtered through the draw blinds.

  "That's the best cheeny!" exclaimed Jock's wife, Kirsty, swathed in crape and wearing a close black bonnet which made her look more than ever like a fat ferret. "The rose-patterned tea service my mother gave her at her wedding. Time it was put past now the guests are away."

  Janet said nothing but handed round the milk and sugar. Kirsty sniffed and handled her cup with exaggerated care.

  "There's some folk not fit to have good stuff," she observed, "using the best cheeny for every day."

  Janet sat down on the stool which was the only seat left.

  "Thirty years my mother had that service," she said quietly, "it was washed twice a year but it was only used three times. Once for Jock's baptism, once for mine and then for your wedding. Three times in thirty years. Surely death is an occasion great enough to use the rose-patterned tea service?"

  Kirsty sniffed and drank without more words. Betsy, the grieve's wife, gulped noisily and her husband, Dick, stood behind her clutching his best black bowler as if it, too, was to be the subject of dispute. John Laidlaw drank his cup quickly and then rose to pull up the lace-edged blinds, ignoring Kirsty's flounce of outrage.

  "Best to get on with the business," he said. "I'll read the bit that concerns you and Betsy first, Dick, and then you can go yoke the mare to take me down to Luss pier for the steamer. I'm for Glasgow the night."

  What he read was not strictly speaking a will. No lawyer had been concerned with its drawing up. Elspeth Laidlaw, knowing her death near and with her husband in Glasgow, had written him a letter in which she asked him, among other things, to dispose of her possessions. There were not a great many of these.

  "...Dick is to have the wag-at-the-wa' clock," she had written, "for he has kept it going with his feather and neat's foot oil these twenty years. Betsy is to have the rose-patterned tea service because she admired it so much…"

  Kirsty flounced again and Betsy sobbed aloud into her best black sateen apron.

  "And for the long years of faithful service they have given me and mine they are to have the croft and cottage in Inverbeg which my grandfather left me. It is not much of a place and old Angus has let it go back these past few years but it will be a roof over their heads when they need one."

  Kirsty's face slackened with shock and Betsy ceased her sobbing to stare for an incredulous moment and then resumed more grievously than ever. Dick put a huge gnarled hand on her shoulder and Laidlaw raised his eyes from the letter.

  "Did she not mention this?"

  Dick shook his head.

  "The more credit to you both, then," said Laidlaw. "I will have the deeds sent. I am glad she has done this, for you have kept my mind easy, the two of you, all these years I have been away. You are to have the furniture in the cottage as well and she asks me to see that you have a good pair of horses and two good cows and ten sheep and a ram which you are to choose for yourself for stock. This will give you a start."

  He looked at the tearful old woman and jerked his head at Dick.

  "Take her outby and give her a dram from the corner cup- board," he said. "And then yoke the mare."

  When the door was closed behind them he glanced round the room, at Janet staring out of the window at Ben Lomond, lowering over the grey waters of the loch, at Kirsty, her lips pressed tightly together to contain her spleen, and Jock sitting uncomfortably on the very edge of the parlour chair.

  "There's little more," he told them. "Her bitties of jewelry are for Janet, all but the ring which the old laird gave her father, and Jock's to have that."

  He raised the letter again.

  "Janet can have my furniture or what she wants of it except for the parlour cabinet…"

  They all looked at the rosewood cabinet with its gleaming glass panes and carved panels where the rose-patterned tea service had dwelt for thirty years.

  "…I want that to go to Mistress McMurdoe for she has always admired it and I know she will care for it and it is but seldom she can have what she likes, poor wifie, with yon sour- faced stick of a man she's married on..."

  Jock looked shocked and mumbled a protest about respect being due a man of God and Janet withdrew her gaze from the ben and chuckled aloud. Kirsty clucked offendedly at the sound.

  "It was her very voice I heard saying that," Janet explained, "she was aye sorry for Mistress McMurdoe."

  "Evidently," agreed her father drily, "this is how she goes on, 'Give the poor body my best grey silk with the braided bodice that I wore for Jock's wedding and tell her to burn yon weary old Sunday gown she's worn these twelve years and more. Janet'll not need it and it'll never look at Kirsty the way she's put on flesh since she married our Jock.'"

  He paused to turn the sheet.

  "The very idea!" Kirsty exploded. "A solemn testyment is no place to pass pe
rsonal remarks."

  Her father-in-law ignored her.

  "Give Jock the big Bible with the brass clasps that was my great uncle's who was a Minister. He's fair set on quoting the Good Book to serve his ends. This will maybe help him get the words right once in a while."

  It was John Laidlaw's turn to chuckle and Jock glowered at his knees and tried vainly to find a quotation which would fit the situation. After this Laidlaw read out her instructions to give some of her friends round about 'some wee mindings' as she called them which varied from a book to a long coveted china ornament. The widower read these briskly and then stopped abruptly, frowning at what he read.

  "The rest is for me," he told them and folded up the paper. "And this is for Janet."

  He held out a sealed paper.

  "Read it later," he advised and then rose to his feet. "I must be on my ways if I'm to catch yon steamer."

  Jock and Kirsty gaped at him. Jock half rose to his feet but Kirsty was on hers before him.

  "That's never all there is to it?"

  Laidlaw raised his bushy brows.

  "What's that?"

  "The place, man!" Kirsty said impatiently. "What about the place? Glenfoot was hers was it no?"

  "No," said Laidlaw. "Glenfoot is mine. It came to me when her father died."

  "But she aye spoke of the place as her own."

  "And who had a better right?" demanded Laidlaw. "She was born in the room above this, lived here all her days and when her father died she worked the land ... aye and worked it better than he did, or I would have done. She's made Glenfoot the best farm on Loch Lomondside ... as well you know."

  "But father ... " Jock began heavily.

  "My Jock's her son, it's due he should have the place!" Kirsty shrilled.

  "Glenfoot is mine," Laidlaw reiterated. "Content yourselves with Braeside."

  "But father," Jock persisted, "my lease at Braeside is near up and the factor said he thought the laird had another man in . mind and I thought with mother ill and ... "

  "Did you so?" said his father harshly, "well, you'd best see the laird and change his mind for him."

  "What in the Name do you want with it farm?" demanded Kirsty, "and you biding upby in Glasgow from one year's end to the next. You've no wish to plaister with cattle beasts and dung and the like. You've your ships and engines and that."

  "If you're wanting Glenfoot," said John Laidlaw and opened the parlour door, "I doubt you'll have to buy it in."

  "Buy!

  "Kirsty's face was red with anger and disappointment.

  "Buy in his mother's place which should be his by rights!"

  "I've a use for the money," said Laidlaw. "Dick, is the mare yoked?"

  "And who's to take it on till it's sold?" asked Jock.

  "Janet. She's been working it this six month past with Elspeth laid away, have you no, Janet lass?"

  "Me! But I just did what mother said," said Janet anxiously. "And Dick was aye there to set me right…”

  "A lassie! Janet to take on Glenfoot!" Jock protested.

  "Best find a buyer fast, John Laidlaw," advised Kirsty scorn- fully, "or damn the farm you'll have to sell in a sixmonth."

  "I'm in no hurry," said her father-in-law. "You'll do fine, Janet, I've no doubt. Your mother thought well of you and Dick's aye there yet. And maybe Jock'll lend a hand where i's needed for all the good that'll be."

  He gave a scornful glance at his son who had sat down again and was gnawing the rim of his hat.

  "Goodbye, Janet lass. I'll write. And you'll see to it yon wee mindings go where your mother wished."

  "Aye, father."

  He nodded at them from the door, a tall, grey-haired figure with a bony unsmiling face in which his vivid blue eyes seemed inappropriate. Then he was gone and they heard the trap rattle away down the stony track.

  "It's no decent, that's what it's no," said Kirsty indignantly. "No even to bide the night and his wife new coffined."

  "Father's a busy man," protested Jock and held out his cup, his rose-patterned cup. "Have you another cup in the pot, Janet?"

  Janet refilled it from the rose-patterned teapot and looked enquiringly at Kirsty, who was simmering like a saucepan.

  "It would choke me," she declared, "it would choke me. Fancy asking me to drink from this service which should be mine by rights. It was my mother gave it her. To give it away to yon Betsy! The very idea ... what use has a coorse old wife the like of her for a good cheeny tea service?"

  "I daresay she has a cup of tea whiles," returned Janet, "and maybe a friend to share it."

  This last remark appeared to infuriate Kirsty.

  "Do you mean to say that I've no friends?" she demanded angrily. "You just keep a civil tongue in your head to your betters you impident wee besom. I've plenty friends."

  "I meant nothing of the kind, Kirsty."

  "Did you not, then."

  Jock waded in with both feet.

  "Och, Kirsty, you've no need for tea services ... you've the wedding cheeny put past and never used. The only folk who come about the doors at Braeside are the Minister and Mrs McMurdoe and they aye get the old blue crocks ...

  Kirsty snorted with temper.

  "They are not the only folk ... and I can see myself getting out the good stuff for that one. A nursery governess she was for all her airs and never a penny-piece to her name."

  "Mistress McMurdoe put on no airs," contradicted Janet, "my mother said she'd to ask the Minister's leave to breathe."

  "He'll be spry enough to give her leave to take yon good cabinet I don't doubt, aye ... and to wear yon good grey silk. They'll not let that go past them, oh, no!

  "Kirsty's voice rose.

  "What I'd like to ken is what your mother thought she was at! To leave stuff to folk not even in the family and nothing for her own son but an old-fashioned ring no one would be seen dead in. A ring! When in the Name would Jock wear a ring? And nothing whatsoever to me ... her own son's wife ... or her grand children. No even a mention."

  "She did so mention you, Kirsty," protested Jock.

  "Aye," agreed Kirsty, "so she did. To say I was over stout to wear her grey silk! Just like her. If I had my rights and Jock had his we should have fair half of everything ... furniture, cheeny, jewelry ... everything. And the very idea of leaving yon wee croft at Inverbeg away from her own flesh and blood when Jock's been at her for years to have it to put his young stuff on ... it's no natural, that's what it's no ... aye, and it's no fair! Yon's no a right testyment, Jock. We should get a lawyer to it."

  Jock, unsuccessful in placating her, tried blunderingly to turn the subject.

  "Are you finished the sowing yet, Jane?"

  Janet nodded.

  "We've the Wee Field to roll, that's all. If the rain holds off we'll get at it the morn's morn."

  "What have you in?'

  "Barley."

  "Aye ..."

  Jock searched for further comment but his hesitation gave Kirsty time to start again.

  "A lassie working a farm ... whoever heard of such a thing. Forbye it's no decent-like you living your lone. You'll be a speak for the whole parish."

  "I'll not be alone. There'll be Betsy and Dairy Jean."

  "You'd best leave the place to Dick and Jock and come to Braeside. It'll be handy, for Donald's about the doors most days ..."

  Donald was her brother.

  "You can keep an eye to the bairns for me too," she added.

  "No thank you," said Janet firmly. "I'm fine where I am."

  Kirsty sniffed.

  "Time and high time you were married," she declared, "you're near twenty."

  "Och, our Janet needn't be in any hurry," interrupted Jock, "she's half the lads in the district after her. She's the bonniest lass in the land of Lennox."

  This was true. Janet had taken all the best features from the family for her own: her mother's cloud of dark brown hair, the fine-boned face and clear skin which had been her Skye grand- mother's, her father's brilliant
blue eyes with a fringe of long dark lashes. She was tall like her father but had her mother's slimness so that she walked gracefully and well. However, this observation did not please Kirsty, tightly corseted to squeeze into last year's dress and all too conscious of the contrast between them.

  "Huhl " she ejaculated, "Handsome is as handsome does."

  "Our Janet does fine," Jock protested, "she's a grand cook and a ..."

  "Man, hold your wheesht! Fine I ken the sun rises and sets on the limmer. If you'd half the notion of your own family that you have of your sister we'd be the better off. I'm deaved with Janet this and Janet that ..."

  "Och, haivers ... " said Jock.

  "It is not haivers! And I'll tell you this to your head, Janet Laidlaw ... looks don't last for ever. If you play fast and loose with the chances you get you'll end on the shelf for sure and certain. You think yourself too good for the lads about here with all your books and reading and sic-like dirt!"

  "I do not," protested Janet, flushing with anger.

  "Yes, you do, and so did that mother of yours for she chased the lads from your door without a by-your-leave. And why else would you give our Donald the go-by at the Luss games and dance with the Minister's son and him not twelve years old."

  "I'd promised him," said Janet. "You'd not have me break a promise to a bairn."

  "You'd have done better to break that one ... a fine larruping he got from his father when the Minister found he'd been to the dancing and after all he'd said about it in the Kirk."

  Janet looked dismayed at this news but Jock reassured her solemnly.

  "He's young yet ... it'll maybe save his soul," he said and added, "forby he told me the dance with you was worth a touch of the tawse."

  Janet laughed at this. Kirsty gave her a look of dislike.

  "It's no decent, so it's no, to be laughing and daffing in a house of death."

  "Mother'd not heed ... she dearly liked a laugh," said Janet and rose to collect the teacups.

  "Especially at .the expense of her neighbours," snapped Kirsty. Now you just sit down, Janet Laidlaw, and hear me out."

  Janet took no notice.

  "I'll tell you that your mother would have done better to laugh less and mess with this place less and pay more heed to her proper business."