The Shadow of the Sycamores (30 page)

Nessie could see that something was bothering Willie. Several times lately, she had caught him with his hand on his chest, a grain of fear in his eyes, but the old devil wouldn’t let her take in the doctor. ‘It’s just my guts, woman,’ he would laugh, every time she suggested it. Janet wasn’t her usual self, either. She’d never recovered properly from what that brute Ledingham had done to her.

As for herself, she was nothing like one hundred per cent. It was no single thing – stiff joints, tottery legs and a dull ache below her right shoulder blade. The doctor would think she was off her head if she gave him a list of what ailed her and it couldn’t be anything serious anyway.

What a household it was, Nessie thought, wryly. They were three old crocks and it was just a question of which of them would end up having to look after the other two. But, even worse, was the fact that one would eventually be left on their own. Which of them, though? Who would go on to out-and-out senility, their brain useless as well as their body?

This was a most depressing thought and, when it crossed her mind, as it did more and more often as the days went by, she resolutely tried to think about something else.

Samara Rae was quite concerned about her parents but she knew better than to ask anything. They were so touchy these days – liable to snap her nose off for the least little thing – and there were so many old relations to consider. Her grandfather on her mother’s side was bothered with his chest – his breathing sounded like the spluttering and wheezing of a traction engine some days. Grandma was unhealthily thin, looking as if she was wasting away to nothing, but she wouldn’t admit to anything being wrong.

Granda Willie looked healthier, putting on weight in spite of not eating as much as he used to, and Mara had often caught him holding his chest, on the left side – where the heart was. Nessie – she didn’t like being called Grandma for she was only
a step-grandmother and she said it made her feel old – didn’t look at all well some days, often wincing with pain when she got out of her chair or stood for any length of time, and she took lots of aspirins when she thought no one saw her.

Auntie Janet, as was only to be expected from what had happened to her years before, was in the worst state. She was as fragile as an eggshell, liable to shatter at the least pressure. She didn’t speak much now but Mara could recall her saying that she must be a nuisance to everybody, a burden, at which she had reassured the poor woman that nobody looked on her as a nuisance or a burden. It was a blessing that she and Nessie had given up their home bakery. It had been quite profitable while it lasted but it had got too much for them.

It must be awful to be old and infirm, Mara thought now, thanking God for her youth and perfect health. Of course, nobody knew what fate held in store for them but she loved to imagine herself, some years hence, with a tall, handsome husband and two or three children. That was the dream she had cherished for some years now and it surely wasn’t impossible? She would not expect to live in a grand house – a small cottage would suit her, as long as love was there, and she gave herself up now to mentally arranging the furniture she would have and choosing the colours of the curtains she would make.

Being kept very busy over the summer, Jerry had been relieved that Charles Moonie had not come for a chat for a while – he would hardly have had time to speak to him anyway. It was, perhaps, another week before he spotted the man – an unmistakable figure with his upright bearing and his distinctive trilby at a jaunty angle on his head – walking in the distance with a young girl, both of them talking animatedly.

Assuming that a young niece had come to visit Charles, Jerry gave little thought to the incident but it so happened that he saw the girl on her own the next day much nearer than before – near enough, in fact, for him to have a good look at her. She was about the same age as he was, a good bit shorter than his
five feet ten and she was perfect in every way. Her skirt was perhaps rather short and shabby – not the kind of thing one of Charles’s relatives would wear. Whoever she was, her hair was long and mahogany-brown, glinting in the sun with flecks of gold, her bosom swelled out above her tiny, tiny waist and … the calves of her legs, the parts of their bodies most women and girls never showed, swept down in delicious curves to the tops of her heavy, scuffed boots.

All thoughts of spending time choosing the servant-girl he fancied most went out of his mind. This girl, this total stranger, was the only girl he would ever want. As she came nearer, he could see her face and it only deepened his determination. Her skin was beautifully creamy, her cheeks had very little colour, so she had not been out in the open air much, her lips … had parted in a slight smile as she noticed him looking at her.

‘Hello,’ she said, her voice as soft as the whisper of leaves on the ground. ‘Are you the gardener?’

‘One of them – the youngest,’ He smiled. ‘You’re surely new here?’

‘I’ve been here for a few months.’

He couldn’t understand why he had never seen her before yesterday but what did it matter? ‘I’m Jeremy … Jerry Rae.’

‘My name is Anna. Anna Cairns.’

There was so much he wanted to know about her but he only said, ‘I’ll show you round the gardens if you like, Anna?’

‘That would be very nice.’

Laying down his hoe, he stepped on to the path, then took her from one flower bed to the next, naming each blossom, discussing the types of the petals, the shape of the leaves and why he liked them. She took everything in, nodding seriously but saying nothing. Suddenly, she pointed to the trees on the avenue nearby. ‘I know they are sycamores,’ she smiled, ‘but I don’t know what to call these things.’ She bent down and kicked up a few of the winged seeds.

Delighted at being asked, he said, ‘They’re samaras.’

‘Samaras? What a lovely name, unusual.’

‘That’s what my father thought. He worked here years ago
and, when my sister was born, he christened her Samara – though we call her Mara for short.’

‘It’s a shame to spoil such a pretty name.’

‘Mara doesn’t mind.’

Hearing feet on the path behind them, they turned round. ‘I’ve been looking for you, Anna,’ the young nurse puffed. ‘I didn’t know where you’d gone.’

‘I’m sorry, Tina. I felt like taking a walk and the gardener’s been telling me about the flowers.’

‘You’d better get back before herself misses you. You know she doesn’t like you wandering about on your own.’

Sighing, Anna said, ‘Thank you, Jerry, you’ve been very kind.’ She walked off, smiling.

Tina, the young nurse, lingered a moment then whispered, ‘She’s an inmate, Jerry, you’d best not encourage her.’ She ran to catch up with her charge.

His spirits were somewhere down around his mud-caked boots. He had been attracted to Anna the moment he saw her and he had just been warned to keep away from her. He dreamed of her that night and, even in sleep, common sense told him that it was hopeless. No matter why she was in here, he certainly wouldn’t be allowed to court her. In any case, did he
want
to court her if her mind wasn’t in proper working order? Each time he asked himself this, however, the answer was always yes, he did.

Tina had been keeping a close eye on Anna for some weeks now, after she had seen her creeping in furtively by the small door from the vegetable garden. A few minutes later, Mr Moonie had appeared and it had dawned on the nurse that the two had been together. There had been no reason to suspect that anything out of place was going on but, as the days went by, she couldn’t help wondering. It wasn’t seemly for a man of his age and a young girl to be together so much – anything could happen, though Mr Moonie seemed a nice enough man. Even so, she had worried about the situation and, after spotting Anna with the young gardener that afternoon, it had occurred to her that here was a way out of the problem. Jerry would be
a far better companion for Anna but it was difficult to think how it could be arranged.

She puzzled over it all night and decided in the morning just to tell the truth. It was always the best way.

After breakfast, she went to the office. ‘Mrs Miller,’ she began, tentatively, ‘I thought I’d better tell you – Mr Moonie’s been taking Anna Cairns out walking in the afternoons.’ Not wishing to land either of the parties in hot water, she hurried on, ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything in it but … well, I just thought … it could lead to trouble.’

The Superintendent’s wife was frowning now. ‘Yes, it is not an appropriate liaison by any means. I shall have to put a stop to it. My husband and I are responsible for Anna’s well-being and Mr Moonie’s reputation is not …’ She hesitated, colouring, then said, ‘I am afraid that is confidential information and I can say no more on the subject but, even if he is completely recovered from his trouble, I must consider Anna’s safety before anything else.’

Now came the tricky bit. Tina was well aware that what she was about to suggest could easily lead to trouble, too. ‘I was wishing she had a boy her own age to speak to and then, yesterday afternoon, I saw her speaking to the young gardener and I thought …’

‘Young Rae? Is that wise? Don’t you think …’ Dolly Miller broke off, obviously mulling it over.

‘I’ve never heard anybody saying anything bad about Jerry, Ma’am, and I told him she was an inmate. I’d put my faith in him not taking advantage of her.’

‘In that case, maybe … we should encourage them to see each other.’

‘Yes, it would be good for her to be with someone of her own age, Ma’am.’

‘My husband will probably not agree but what he doesn’t know …’ Dolly tapped her nose with her forefinger.

Tina wondered what was going on. She had gathered from Mrs Miller’s confused hesitation that Mr Moonie must have had a problem with young girls – likely why he had been sent
to The Sycamores – otherwise she wouldn’t have agreed to Jerry seeing Anna, though the girl did need some young company. The thing was, as Tina had just realised, if the poor thing just knew one boy, she might fall in love with him and that would create worse problems. Jerry Rae was a right handsome young lad – all the young lassies eyed him hopefully – and Anna was a beautiful young girl so it would be only natural that he would … that they would …

Stuck for the word, Tina decided not to bring it to Mrs Miller’s attention. Poor Anna had had little pleasure in her life and, even if it led to a sore heart for her, she deserved to get a taste of romance.

Mrs Miller sighed suddenly. ‘I must get on with checking the tradesmen’s invoices but I suppose it will be all right. Tell the boy that he may stop work at half past five every weekday and spend until six walking with Anna in the grounds. Just make sure that he understands there is to be no familiarity.’

Dolly did not start on her task when Tina went out. She had always felt sorry for Anna, the youngest resident, who had come to them under tragic circumstances. Her father had written first, explaining that his older daughter had witnessed her younger sister drowning and that she blamed herself for not being able to save her.

When Mr Cairns had brought her to The Sycamores, he had been profuse in his thanks that they had agreed to take her. ‘My wife has a delicate disposition,’ he had informed them, ‘and she cannot cope with Anna these days.’

‘I would guess that it will be only a short stay,’ Dolly recalled her husband saying. ‘At fourteen, she will soon get over her shock and be back to normal.’

Mr Cairns had seemed somewhat flustered. ‘Um … no … my wife does not … wish her … to come home. Could you not agree to her taking up permanent residence?’

Raymond had been shocked at that. ‘But surely, Mr Cairns …?’

‘I am willing to pay your fees for as long as necessary and any additional expenses incurred, like new clothes, et cetera. I
am not short of money and I am sure she will be well looked after here.’

With terms agreed, Anna’s father had written out a large cheque. ‘I shall pay six-monthly in advance until …’ He hesitated, embarrassed, and then stated firmly, ‘until she marries or, failing that, until either she dies or I do.’

He had turned round then and walked out without going to say goodbye to Anna in the sitting room, where she had been told to wait. It had been very upsetting all round, Dolly remembered. She had almost taken the poor child in her arms when she saw her sitting amongst all the old ladies and men, her face drawn and white, her eyes as round as saucers and dark with fear. The poor soul had not spoken one word for days, but Tina Paul had eventually managed to get through to her and it was more or less understood now that the nurse would keep an eye on her.

Mr Cairns had never come to see how his daughter was and he ignored the two letters advising him that there was no valid reason for her to remain at The Sycamores any longer. A third, more forcibly expressed communication had elicited an immediate response, however. He wrote saying that his son, who was six years older than Anna and at St Andrews University at the time of the accident, had found an extremely well-paid post in Edinburgh. Because of this, he had decided, for the sake of his wife’s health, to sell up and take her to live in the south of France. His postscript had added that he would instruct his bank to pay the amount due for Anna every six months.

Shaking her head in her perplexity at how any parents could shut their daughter out of their lives forever, Dolly picked up her pencil to continue checking the bills.

In his capacity as chauffeur, Max Dalgarno was allowed to make use of the smaller car on a Sunday once a month to see that his sister was all right, provided that it was not needed for any other purpose. While he was in Ardbirtle, he sometimes paid a quick visit to the Raes, who were always pleased to have news of their son. Twice in the past few months, he even
had Jerry with him, dropping him off and then collecting him a couple of hours later.

Neither of them ever mentioned Anna Cairns. Jerry deemed it best not to, believing it would only upset his mother. And Max, like all the staff, knew why Jerry and Anna were seen together so much, but he had other things on his mind. It was well into 1913, however, before he told his old friend that he was starting a new job the next day.