The Shadow of the Sycamores (18 page)

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rae,’ Ben said as she saw him out. ‘You’d be quite right to blame me for the state he is in but I do think every man there got the message he gave out. None of them thinks ill of his first wife now.’

‘I’m glad of that, then, and I’m grateful to you for making him do it but now they’ll be laughing at him.’

Ben shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘They had a good laugh about it but they all admired him and wanted to treat him for having the nerve to make it public. That’s why he is in his present condition. Don’t hold it against him, Mrs Rae. He is a hero.’

‘I understand, Mr Roberts, and thank you for making sure he got home.’

The men who had been present that night were all convinced that Willie’s story was true – he would never have set himself up for ridicule if it were not – but there were others, the teetotallers who had never let a drop of liquor pass their lips, the prim ‘Holy Willies’ who condemned any kind of alcohol, who murmured to each other that it was a ruse to put people off the scent. Willie Rae had been cuckolded by his wife and he had tried to pull the wool over folk’s eyes.

It was the second night of their marriage before something occurred to Henry and he wondered why he had not realised it before. As his wife now, Fay was legally known as Mrs Henry Rae so, if she had to sign her name, she would have to write Fay Rae. Fairy! She was so small and dainty, her face, figure and temperament perfect in every way; it was an ideal pet name for her.

‘Fairy,’ he murmured, turning to her yet again. ‘My own darling Fairy.’

She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Have you just newly noticed? I worked it out even before you asked me to marry you.’

Her quiet giggle sent delicious tingles all through him but he tried not to notice them. ‘You knew I was going to ask?’

‘I
hoped
you were going to ask.’

Another giggle made him move back from her so that she wouldn’t feel how much they affected him.

‘Do you think less of me for that?’ she asked, sounding slightly hurt.

‘No, no! It’s not that. I could never think badly of you.’

‘You are afraid I’ll know that you want us to make love again?’

‘Yes … oh, you must think I’ve nothing else in my mind.’

The giggle became a hearty chuckle. ‘To be quite honest, Tchouki darling, neither have I. Does that disgust you?’

‘It makes me want you even more but we can’t – not again. We might have made a child already.’

‘I hope we have.’

‘We can’t start a family yet, my Fairy. Living in one room like this? I’ll have to find a better job and a house and …’ He broke off as she snuggled closer.

‘Other people have to bring up a family in one room,’ she whispered. ‘If they can manage, so can we.’

‘I don’t want you to have to scrimp and save to put food in our children’s mouths, to give them decent clothes.’

‘I wouldn’t mind, my darling. As long as I have you, I would scrub floors, take in washings, do whatever I could to earn some money. I’m much stronger than I look.’

The thought of such a future drained every iota of his reviving passion and he lay round on to his back. ‘We shouldn’t have got wed. Like your father said, we were too young, we hadn’t thought things out … I can’t provide for you as I would like.’

‘Oh, Tchouki, my darling Tchouki, forget about ordinary things. We are man and wife now, we love each other more than any other man and wife ever did or ever will and we are young enough to enjoy it – so we must make the most of it.’

With her warm body pressed against his, he groaned, ‘My own, dearest Fairy.’ Flinging caution – reserve, fear, everything that had held him back – to the winds he made the most of it.

Nessie could tell that her husband was having a hard time of it. He had been in this dark mood ever since he had made his confession in The Doocot. ‘They’ll forget about it, Willie,’ she comforted. ‘Another week or two and they’ll stop tormenting you. You did the right thing.’

Willie looked at her sadly. ‘I’m nae so sure o’ that. If I’d never admitted what I did when I was as drunk as a lord, naebody would’ve ever found oot.’

Nessie shook her head. ‘John Gow told his wife before he died and Nora Jane wouldn’t have held her tongue for much longer. In fact, I don’t think she did keep it to herself. Some of the women have been hinting at something queer about the Raes for months now but I had no idea what they were getting at – not till you said. To be fair, Willie, you’ve only yourself to blame – making such a muck-up of registering your only son.’

He regarded her piteously. ‘That’s the worst o’ it, Ness.’

That afternoon, Willie was so engrossed in moulding a new iron rim round the mangled wheel of a cart, that had come to grief when its drunken driver had made his horse go too fast, that he wasn’t conscious of another presence in the smiddy until a voice said, ‘Aye, aye, then, Willie.’

Startled, he looked up into the face of the town’s Provost, whom he had known since they were boys, though Augustus Fleming never usually did his own errands. It was always one of the hired hands who came to have a horse shod or whatever needed to be done. ‘Good afternoon to you, Mester Provost,’ he said, wiping his hands on his canvas apron and then running them across his brow to remove the sweat. ‘What can I do for you?’

Never one to shirk a duty – the reason for him being voted in as Provost – Gus Fleming came straight out with it. ‘There’s talk in the town about your boy, Willie.’

‘Ach, that!’ Willie said sharply, indignant that the top man in Ardbirtle was poking his long nose into something that didn’t concern him, something that had happened near eighteen years ago.

‘Now, don’t fly off the handle, I’m not criticising you or your son. I suppose you have heard about Phil Geddes?’

More puzzled than ever, Willie nodded. ‘He’s laid up wi’ some kind o’ disease?’

‘An incurable disease, I am afraid. He has been told he will never be fit enough to return to work, which means we are without a Town Officer. We prefer this post to go to an Ardbirtle man who comes of good stock, someone old enough to take on the responsibilities the job carries and young enough to have many years of service ahead of him. Do you understand what I am getting at, Willie?’

‘Are you saying … you think my Henry …?’

‘I can think of no one else as well qualified. You have a good reputation as a blacksmith and, although you were quite a heavy drinker at one time, as I recall, you have conquered the demon and become a model citizen. I admire that in a man and I admire you even more for what I hear you did recently
in The Doocot. You must have known that you were holding yourself up for ridicule yet you did not hesitate to clear your late wife’s name. Your son should be proud of you.’

‘I … dinna th … think he would look on it like th … that, though,’ Willie stammered, overcome by embarrassment.

‘He will when he thinks about it objectively. But I diverge. From what I hear of him, he would be perfect for the post. I am told he has married recently and he will, no doubt, be anxious to settle down and provide a decent home for his wife. I believe she is Joseph Leslie’s daughter? The Drymill pharmacist?’

Rather more composed now that he knew the score, Willie said, ‘Aye, Gus, and my lad couldna have found a better wife.’

‘I am glad to hear that. What I require of you now, William, is the address of the farm where he works so that I can write to offer him the position.’

This subtle use of his full Christian name reminding him of his lower status, Willie answered respectfully. ‘He left Craigdownie a few year ago, Mester Provost. He’s odd-job man at The Sycamores. You’ll ken it?’

‘The Sycamores? Yes, of course, I know the place you mean. Odd-job man, is it? So much the better. He will be used to turning his hand to anything.’

‘He’ll not be scared to tackle anything you ask o’ him.’

‘Excellent. Well, it was good speaking to you, Willie, and keep up the fine work here in the smiddy.’

Too excited to work now, Willie said, ‘You’ll come into the house for something to warm you up afore you go out into the cauld again?’

‘Well, thank you, Willie, a cup of tea would be very acceptable.’

Willie closed the corrugated iron doors behind them, to save heat being lost, and ushered the Provost through the back door of his cottage proudly. Nessie was a perfect housewife, keeping every stick of furniture polished and every inch of the place sparkling clean so there was nothing to be ashamed of. ‘This is Nessie, my wife,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘Ness, this is the Provost come in for a cup o’ tea.’

She had seen the man several times, going about the town, but had never been introduced to him before and she was surprised by the strength of pressure in his handshake. ‘Sit yourself down, Provost,’ she said, turning to the range and glad of the excuse to hide her burning face. Watching her as she set the kettle on the fire, swilled out the large brown teapot then spooned in tea from the caddy on the mantelshelf, Augustus Fleming told her his reason for coming to see her husband.

Thirsty from working in such a hot atmosphere, Willie swiftly emptied his cup and stood up. ‘Tak’ your time, Mester Provost,’ he smiled, ‘I’ve a good few jobs to get through afore I lock up for the day, but Nessie’ll look after you.’

He strode out without waiting for any reply, leaving them looking at each other in some dismay – the woman because she didn’t know how to deal with anyone holding such high office and the man because he had been attracted to her from the moment he walked into her kitchen.

Nessie pushed a plate across to him. ‘You’ll have another scone, Mister Provost?’

He helped himself with a smile. ‘Your own baking, obviously. They’re absolutely delicious. And the strawberry jam, you made that, as well?’

Flattered, she felt more at ease. ‘Does your wife not bake, Mister Provost.’

‘My wife died almost twenty years ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Nessie couldn’t think what else to say.

‘I have a woman who comes in to clean for me but she never has time to do any baking. Willie is a lucky man.’ His gaze deepened in intensity. ‘A
very
lucky man.’

As had happened when she first met Willie, Nessie recalled, with a strong flicker of guilt, their eyes locked and she no longer felt awkward with him. She could see a different, far better, future stretching ahead for her.

Willie returned to the house at his usual time of six o’clock. ‘How did you and the Provost get on?’ he asked his wife. ‘You made a good impression there.’

Having had fully half an hour to prepare for the question, Nessie answered without a blush. ‘You think so? He’s a nice enough man, I suppose, but not my type.’

Willie found this extremely funny, throwing back his head and roaring with laughter. ‘I wouldna think so. He’s been a widower for … losh, it must be wearing on for twenty year. He’ll ha’e forgot how to handle a woman.’

She made no reply. Willie himself had lost much of his drive, a case of over-indulgence when he was younger, she supposed, but Gus Fleming’s passions had obviously lain dormant since his wife died. It was obvious that their rebirth would be quick and total.

‘I hope he mak’s it clear to Henry it wasna me that asked for him to get the job,’ Willie said, changing the subject. ‘He’ll turn it down if he thinks I’d anything to do wi’ it.’

‘No, he’ll jump at the chance – a decent job and a house to go with it. What more could he want?’

Willie chewed over this for a moment or two. ‘I dinna ken about the house, though. They can hardly put Phil Geddes oot when there’s nae hope for him, can they? And what aboot his wife? She’ll still be there when he’s gone.’

‘It’s a tied house so the council could throw them out if they wanted.’

‘Well, maybe they’d be within their rights but they wouldna … surely?’

*    *    *

lt was after six on Monday night before Henry received the letter, handed to him by Innes Ledingham at the supper table, with the loud comment, ‘I did not know that your first name was Tchouki. Is that how you pronounce it?’

Janet stepped in to cover the youth’s confusion. ‘It was all a big mistake. I’ll tell you about it later.’

With every head turned towards him, the scarlet-faced Henry knew that he had to face up to the inevitable. ‘It’s all right, Janet. I may as well tell them.’ He told the facts as he now
knew them with no intention of making them sound humorous but, no matter how often and by whom it was told, the tale would always get the same reaction – paroxysms of laughter.

‘I am really sorry,’ the Superintendent murmured to Henry. ‘I did not realise … I would not have said anything …’

‘It’s all right. It’s not long since I learned the truth myself and I suppose it’s better to get it off my chest now and get it over with.’

Janet leaned across to him. ‘If you and Fay want to go upstairs now, I’ll take up a pot of tea for you in half an hour or so.’

Henry smiled his thanks. ‘It’s all right – we’ll stick it out.’

When he and Fay eventually got to the sanctuary of their room, he thumped down on the big double bed that took up most of the space, tore open the envelope and drew out the slim sheet of headed notepaper.

Fay watched him scan the typed words. ‘What does it say?’ she asked, looking at the envelope and wanting to know what Artbirtle Town Council wanted of him.

Plainly shaken, he handed it to her. ‘Read it for yourself.’

She didn’t take long, looking up in great excitement when she came to the end. ‘It’s wonderful, Henry, just what you were looking for. You had better write as soon as you can to say you can attend the interview. Do you have a writing pad and envelopes?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve never had to write to anybody. Besides, I don’t know if I want the job. I bet my father’s had something to do with it.’

‘Oh, Henry, don’t be so childish. It doesn’t matter who recommended you, if anyone did – it’s much better than having to stay here.’

It dawned on him then, although he should have recognised it before, that life at The Sycamores must be a dreadful comedown for her. She had no role to play except being the wife of the odd-job man, when she had been used to serving in her father’s shop, making up mixtures and pills, speaking to dozens of people every day. She must hate being on her own all the
time, taking walks if it wasn’t raining or sitting in their room reading if it was. She must be nearly out of her mind with boredom.