Beyond Reason (7 page)

‘Mistress Scott needs the work, sir, and Mr Cole needs a woman to keep his books and help his wife who is ailing. He hasna room for wee Janet.’ In spite of his best efforts, Donald Baird’s voice was gruff with emotion. They all cared deeply for the wee lass they had fostered as their own when she was a babe, and rumours abounded about Foster from Braeheights Farm.

‘But surely the girl should still be at school. I recall Dominie McWhan had great hopes for her education.’

‘Aye, I’m sure he was right, but Mistress Scott canna afford to pay the school fees now that the old dominie isna there.’

‘The school fees? Then I will pay the fees for the girl to complete her education,’ Josiah said immediately. ‘We must go after the child and bring her back.’

‘’Tis not only the fees, sir. Miss Janet doesna want to go back to Dominie Todd’s school. He caned her cruelly. I saw the marks he has left on the lassie myself. My own bairns say he enjoys using the cane but they were troubled by the way he picked on Miss Janet, poor lamb. They say he invented reasons every day to cane her. If she answered the questions first he caned her for being impertinent. If she got a question wrong, he caned her for being idle. He made her carry all the coal for the school and he forbade the other bairns to help her. We only heard this yesterday.’

‘But this is preposterous! The dominie is supposed to command respect from both pupils and parents. I shall speak to him myself.’

‘No! No, please, sir. Frae what I hear, he’s a spiteful, mean kind o’ man. He would guess who had told you and take it out on Angus and Beth, our own two bairns.’

‘I see. I had not considered he would make other innocent children pay,’ Josiah said thoughtfully. ‘All right, drive me home, Donald. I shall not speak to the dominie myself but I shall have a word with the Reverend Drummond and make sure he is aware of conditions at the school. He has already expressed concern about the number of boys who are not attending school regularly. The situation should not continue. Meanwhile we must hope the people at the farm treat Miss Janet kindly.’

‘Mistress Foster was a decent, kindly young woman before she married Foster,’ Donald Baird said. ‘She used to live on the outskirts o’ Rowanbank Village. Her mother is Mrs Fortescue and she still has a cottage on the road to the shore. We rarely see Mrs Foster now. She seems to have a bairn every year.’

At first, Janet looked around with interest as she perched beside Molly in the trap. They wended their way around narrow tracks and roads she had never seen before. Gradually, she became aware of the biting cold and huddled more closely into her mother’s cloak, glad of its warmth now, even though it was far too long for her. Beside her Molly sat as silent as a stranger, indeed they might have been strangers, so different was she from the chattering, carefree schoolfriend of a few weeks earlier. As the road rose more steeply, the pony walked slower and slower. Every now and then, Mr Foster shouted and wielded the whip, making Janet flinch and huddle closer to Molly, but Molly seemed to be too miserable and forlorn to offer any comfort to her one-time friend.

After the chill of the wind, Janet appreciated the warmth and noise of the big, flag-floored kitchen at Braeheights. There was a baby crawling around the floor and a toddler trying to climb onto a stool. He was only slightly bigger than his younger sibling and she learned later there was only ten months between them. An older boy stared solemnly at her. Then she saw Mistress Foster gazing at her in dismay. She looked at her husband, her eyes full of questions.

‘I’ve brought ye a maid,’ he growled. ‘She’s the old dominie’s granddaughter so that should please ye, ye and your education.’

‘A maid? The dominie’s wee lass canna be our maid! And she’s only a bairn forbye. How old are ye, lassie?’

‘Twelve. And a half,’ she added hastily. ‘Nearly….’

‘Just a bairn,’ she said sadly, ‘not even as big as our Molly….’ She glanced at her daughter and noted her wan face; her eyes dull and downcast. Her own heart sank within her. Surely he had not been at Molly next? Her gaze moved to her husband. He wouldn’t – would he…? An idea occurred as she stared at the two young girls. A determined glint came into her eyes. She turned to Janet.

‘We’ll see how you get on, lassie. Ye can sleep with our Molly. At least ye’ll be company for each other, and maybe ye’ll—’

‘No!’ Foster snarled. ‘She’ll sleep in the maids’ room. Where the maids always sleep. Through there.’ He looked at Janet and jerked his head to a door at the far side of the kitchen beneath the slope of the staircase, which led to rooms above. His wife scowled at him but she could not hold his hard stare. Her shoulders slumped. She guessed the truth. Her heart ached for her eldest child. ‘Show her then, Molly. Where’s your bundle, lass? Have ye left it in the trap?’

‘N-no, ma’am. I came straight from the kirk….’ She looked at Mr Foster for help.

‘Molly can lend her some aprons. I’ll collect her ain things on Friday when I fetch the lads frae your mother’s.’

‘I see….’ Mrs Foster pursed her lips and turned towards her husband, hands on hips. Janet saw her swollen stomach and stared at the misshapen figure with sympathy. She did not understand then that Mistress Foster was soon to deliver yet another child to Braeheights Farm.

In the tiny room both Molly and Janet could hear the ensuing exchange.

‘What possessed ye tae bring a lassie like that here? She’s just a bairn—’

‘Whisht, woman! She’ll grow. Anyway, frae what I hear she’d nowhere else to go. She’ll be grateful for her food and a roof over her head, more grateful than your little madam—’ he added through gritted teeth.

‘Molly’s a good lass, or she was until … until….’ She swallowed the words with an effort. ‘Are ye never satisfied? It was bad enough ye taking auld Abe’s lassie, then the maid frae o’er Dumfries way. Now ye’re trying to make my ain bairn into a – into a—’

‘Maid!’ Foster bellowed. ‘You needed a maid, you said. Now you’ve got twae. I’ll have nae more grumbling, or refusing me my rights. Where’s the dinner, woman? I could eat a horse after the drive down to the kirk and back.’

‘But … you canna expect a lass like that to do farm work! Even if she’d been full grown….’

‘If she wants tae eat she’ll work all right, and everything else she’s asked tae dae, or my name’s no’ Wull Foster. There’s rumours going round the parish that the new dominie put the lassie and her mother out into the road, though naebody seemed tae ken the reason. Miserable-looking critter he is. The lass will be better off under my roof.’

‘Will she?’ Mistress Foster muttered. ‘I wonder.’

In the small maid’s room off the kitchen, Janet had listened to this exchange with alarm, unable to understand the innuendoes, the half-finished sentences. Her heart was heavy. She turned to Molly, her eyes full of unshed tears.

‘Your mama doesn’t want me here, does she? What am I to do? Where…?’

‘Of course she wants ye,’ Molly assured her quickly. ‘Ma’s a good woman but Faither …’ She looked at Janet’s innocent young face despairingly, knowing the friend of her schooldays would never understand the torment she was suffering under this roof, the hatred that was growing in her heart for the man who called himself her father. Her mouth snapped shut and she frowned fiercely. ‘It’s just that ye’re so small, Janet, and the work is hard up here for a woman – milking and churning, cleaning o’ the byre, lighting up the boiler every day to wash clothes for the bairns, and Mother having another one any day….’

‘Another baby? You’re getting another baby here at the farm?’ Janet clasped her hands together, her blue eyes shining. ‘How lovely!’ she breathed.

‘Ye’ll not be saying that if ye’ve tae rock it tae sleep half the night, aye and still be up when he calls us for the milking at the crack o’ dawn, and before the dawn in winter. It’s a hard life up here, Janet. Is there no’ other place ye could go?’

‘You don’t want me here, Molly? I-I thought you were my
friend.’ Janet’s eyes misted with tears.

‘Oh, I do want ye, I do, b-but,’ she lowered her voice to a hoarse, vehement whisper, ‘I’d run away maself if it wasna for Mother needing me sae badly.’

‘You’d run away? From your own home? Your own parents?’ Janet remembered Mr Foster shouting at the pony and whipping it with the lash. She shuddered. ‘Your father wouldn’t beat us any worse than the dominie did, would he?’

‘I….’ Molly looked at her young friend searchingly, then she shrugged. ‘There’s worse things than beating, Janet. I pray tae God ye’ll never find out.’

‘I shall work hard, I promise. And we shall be together like we used to be in the classroom, and when we ate our pieces at noon. We could go on with the reading….’

‘We’ve no books here! Well, only the Bible.’

‘No books? None at all?’ Janet saw Molly’s brow darken and she said hastily, ‘Well I could help ye learn to read with the Bible and then you could read any books you like one day.’

‘We’ll see,’ Molly said tiredly. ‘Mother would like that, but I dinna think either o’ us will get much time for anything but work.’

Molly’s words proved only too true. Janet didn’t think she had ever been so tired in her whole life, but at least there was usually enough to eat. That was something to be thankful for after the miserable table the dominie had allowed her and her mother. The pupils who boarded at the schoolhouse hadn’t fared much better either. She wondered how her mother was managing at Mr Cole’s. Did she have enough to eat? Was she warm there, and happy? Every night before she went to sleep, she remembered her mother in her prayers, and Andrew too, as her mother had taught her. Always she prayed he was in good health and that his studies were going well. She longed for the day when he would come home and they would all live together again. Perhaps Andrew would be appointed as the dominie and they would all return to the schoolhouse and they would be happy again as they had been with her grandfather. Tired though she was by the end of the day she never forgot to add Fingal McLauchlan’s name when
she asked God for His blessing.

When the new baby was born, Janet loved him from the moment she set eyes on his crumpled little face and tiny clenched fists. Mrs Foster named him Peter and Janet never tired of rocking his crib with her foot as she stood at the large stone slab, peeling potatoes for the midday meal, and carrots and turnips to make barley broth. Or rubbing the soiled washing on the rubbing board until her knuckles bled. As she worked, she sang in an effort to soothe the baby. Her voice was low and sweet as she sang the hymns her mother had taught her, until Mr Foster came in and bellowed at her.

‘Hod yer whisht, lassie, if ye canna sing anything else!’

‘Leave the lassie be,’ Mrs Foster protested. ‘Can ye no see the twa wee bairns are listening tae? At least she keeps them quiet.’ It was true that Adam and John, the two youngest boys, little more than babies themselves, attached themselves to Janet like two shadows.

‘Ye’re not very big, lassie, and I didna think ye’d be much use for work when I first saw ye,’ Mrs Foster confessed, ‘but I dinna think I could have managed without ye, especially now himsel’ takes Molly tae work outside every day.’

‘I like your wee boys, Mrs Foster,’ Janet smiled.

‘Aye, ye’re a good, patient lassie with them. Even Joe listens tae ye.’ Tis a pity he canna attend the school again come the summer. He aye enjoyed learning, not like Mark and Luke. They have aye had a bit o’ the Devil in them.’

‘The boys are not going back?’ Janet asked in surprise. The Foster brothers were younger than herself. ‘They’re only ten.’

‘Mark’s eleven. His father wants them home to help on the farm, he says.’ She sighed wearily. ‘Old Jake will be going to the hiring come May. Foster thinks ’tis time the laddies started to earn their keep.’

‘Oh.’ Janet frowned. ‘Do they want to leave school?’

‘Och, they’ll no’ be minding. They dinna like the new dominie. Your grandfather was a fine man, lassie. Well respected i’ the parish tae, he was. Helped many a poor body with the fees if their bairns wanted tae learn. Ye’re a wee bitty like him, I was thinking
when I saw ye chalking the letters on the slate for Joe tae learn. He wouldna have listened tae any other body.’

‘Yes.’ Janet sighed almost as heavily as Mrs Foster. ‘I’d love to teach little children…. Mama says when Andrew finishes at the university he’ll get a fine job of work and earn enough money to have a house of our own again, and she says I shall be able to read as many books as I like. If….’

‘Aye, if!’ Mrs Foster said bitterly. ‘It’s a little word, lassie, but it makes a world o’ difference. I wouldna count on that brother o’ yours over much, frae what I’ve heard. Frail creature he is, they say. Just like his father. But look ye, lassie. We havena time tae dream. Will ye hang that great basket o’ washing on the line for me and see if the first load is getting dry. Then if ye’ll gather some sticks for the fire….’

It was as Molly had warned her, Janet realized. There was always another task waiting to be done. As fast as one got finished, it came round again in a never-ending circle.

When the end of the May term arrived, Janet did not receive any wages although she had been at Braeheights Farm eight months. She had been unable to give her mother anything to put in the savings bank. Janet knew how much it meant to her mama to save money for Andrew’s education. She listened to her mother asking Mr Foster about her wages but she was dismayed and near to tears when the big man answered gruffly, ‘She hasna earned any yet. I keep her in food, provide her aprons and clogs, and a warm bed at night. What more d’ye want, woman? Shall I send her back tae ye?’ he asked slyly. Mary Scott looked up at Mr Foster and bit her lip. She looked down into Janet’s anxious face and her eyes, bright with tears. She shook her head mutely and whispered, ‘You’ll have to work a bit harder, lassie. I need the money for Andrew’s books.’

As winter came round again, Janet worried. Her mother insisted they must save all they could in the parish savings bank. She said it had been her father’s dying wish to put money into the bank so that Andrew could have an education.

Mr Foster did not allow them to attend the kirk every Sunday, so her meetings with her mother were brief and irregular and
there was never enough time to talk. Mr Cole was usually anxious to return to his ailing wife, taking her mother with him, but Peggy Baird always had a warm smile of welcome for Janet. She wished she could have time to talk with the child she had fostered as a babe. Sometimes she had news of Fingal but Mr Foster always wanted to usher Janet away back to Braeheights. He didn’t give her time to talk.

Other members of the congregation had little to say to Mr Foster, she noticed. Like his farm, he too seemed to exist on the fringes. Janet guessed he did not share his wife’s respect for the Sabbath, or for the minister, and it was only his fear of dying and being burned in hell which brought him to the kirk at all. After the service, he always hurried his brood to the trap, impatient to return home and eat a hot dinner.

At the end of November Janet heard her mother asking Mr Foster about her wages again. She was dismayed when the big man growled, ‘Wages! What wages?’

‘It is the end of the November term. Surely Janet has earned some wages by now?’

‘She’s still a bairn.’

‘She’s thirteen. And a half.’

‘I told ye before, I give her food, and a warm bed at night. What more d’ye want, woman? D’ye want tae take her back wi’ ye?’ Mary Scott looked into Mr Foster’s hard grey eyes. Shaking her head she looked at Janet’s anxious face, seeing her tears of hurt and humiliation. She had worked so hard and had done her best to please everyone. Janet couldn’t remember when her mother had last hugged her with warmth and affection, so when she bent to her now Janet realized it was only so that she could whisper, ‘You’ll have to work a bit harder, lassie. I need the money for Andrew. He’s doing well. We shall be proud of him.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Janet bit back a sob. She didn’t know how she could work any harder, or what more she could do to please Mr and Mrs Foster so that she could earn some money like the other workers at Braeheights Farm. She felt a stirring of resentment. She tried so hard but her mother only had thoughts for Andrew.

In Edinburgh, Fingal continued his self-imposed task of
keeping a watchful eye on Andrew. Secretly, Janet wished he could help her as he did her brother but he was too far away, and anyway what could he do? He had no money of his own. He knew nothing of women’s work, or how hard life was at Braeheights Farm, not only for herself but for Mrs Foster and Molly too.