A dutiful daughter, p.11
A Dutiful Daughter, page 11
‘No thank you. I j-just came tae s—’
Helen called from the front room and Mirren had to excuse herself. When she returned he was standing awkwardly by the table, hat in hand.
‘Will you not sit down, Mr Hepburn?’
‘First I w-want tae say that I’d no r-right tae treat ye as I did, that day. I didnae realise ye were Robbie’s sister.’
‘Are you saying that you’d have treated me different just because you know my brother?’
His flush deepened. ‘I’ve p-put things very b-badly.’ The stammer was even worse now. ‘I c-can only ask ye t-tae forgive m-me.’
‘If I do, will you sit down? Then I do,’ she said briskly when he nodded. ‘Now will you take a seat, and tell me how George is?’
‘Still very l-low in spirits.’ He drew back one of the upright chairs by the table and folded himself down into it. ‘I believe he’s p-pining for your friend.’
‘She’s not pining for him… not any longer. She’s planning to make a new life for herself in Canada.’
‘I’m glad tae hear it. If she was tae m-marry poor George the way he is now they’d b-both be miserable, through no fault of hers – or of his,’ he added hurriedly. ‘The man’s sufferin’ so much that he c-cannae spare any k-kind thoughts for others.’
‘He used to laugh all the time,’ Mirren remembered. ‘He was never serious. I even wondered sometimes if he was ready for marriage. I never thought to see such a change in him.’
‘War can do more than damage men physically, and it did its w-worst with George. He cannae come tae terms with what’s happened, and tae t-tell the truth his mother doesnae help. She’s well meaning, but she treats him like a helpless bairn, when it might aid him better tae be treated as the man he s-still is.’
‘Grace would have done that if he’d let her.’ Mirren still felt more sympathy for her cousin than she did for George.
‘It wouldn’t have w-worked for them. When George courted her he was whole and strong, and able tae care for her as a man should in a marriage. After he… came back, he couldn’t b-bear the thought of having tae be dependent on her for everythin’. Every time he looked at her he saw the man he had been reflected in her eyes.’
‘He said that to you?’
‘No, but I could see it in his face and hear it in his v-voice.’
‘So you’re the one with the elegant turn of phrase?’ she asked, surprised.
‘If I am, it comes from bein’ a prolific reader. Which reminds me…’ He reached into his coat pocket and handed her a well-worn book. ‘I thought ye m-might like the loan of this.’
Surprised, she glanced down at the lettering on the spine. ‘Oliver Twist.’
‘D’ye know the works of Charles D-dickens?’
‘I’ve heard of him but I don’t think I’ve read his books.’
He relaxed visibly. ‘He’s a grand writer, a man who made a close study of what he saw about him. There’s no hurry tae return it,’ he added swiftly. ‘I know from what Robbie says that ye’re kept busy, what with w-working and looking after yer mother.’
On cue, Helen called again, and he stood up. ‘I’ve taken up enough of yer time. I’d best g-go.’
‘Just a minute, Mr Hepburn. I’ll be in in a minute, Mother,’ Mirren called from the kitchen doorway, then turned back to her visitor. ‘While you’re here I might as well tell you that I’d appreciate it if you’d stop filling my brother’s head with all this political nonsense of yours.’
He stiffened. ‘Ye think it’s nonsense tae care about what happens tae yer fellow w-workers and their families?’
‘Not entirely. I mean, I can see that there are times when someone needs to speak out, but…’
‘But not yer b-brother.’
‘He’s young and impressionable and…’
‘And he has a good head on his shoulders, and the wit tae use it. But perhaps not,’ he added drily, ‘the freedom.’
This time the colour that surged into her face came from anger, not embarrassment. ‘We’re ordinary folk, Mr Hepburn, and we’ve enough to do just getting by, without becoming involved in things we don’t understand.’
‘Then take the t-trouble tae understand them. Come with me tae a political meeting some evening. Listen tae what the speakers have tae s-say. They might help you tae understand what folk like me and Robbie are f-fighting for.’
‘I’ve got more to do with my time.’
‘That’s a pity.’ He picked up his hat, then said, ‘Robbie tells me that ye like dancin’.’
‘I suppose you disapprove of such frivolity?’
‘Oh no. I’m not a dancer myself, but I believe that folk should be free tae follow their own inclinations. And that includes yer b-brother,’ he added deliberately. ‘Why don’t ye try g-goin’ tae a meetin’ instead of tae the dancin’ some evenin’?’
‘Mr Hepburn,’ Mirren said coolly, going ahead of him to open the door, ‘I’ll attend one of your precious meetings when you take up dancing. Good afternoon to you.’
When she returned to the kitchen she picked up the book. It was well thumbed, with a shabby jacket. Clearly, it had been well read. She herself had very little time to spend on books though she had once enjoyed them. Goodness knew when she would find the time to sit down with this one.
She said nothing to Robbie about his friend’s visit, or their quarrel about him. And since he never mentioned either, she guessed that Joe Hepburn had, like her, decided to keep his visit secret.
There were two envelopes, one addressed in splendid flowing writing to Miss Anne Proctor and the other to Miss Grace Proctor. They arrived in the early afternoon, not an hour after Anne, who always came home in the middle of the day, had returned to work.
Catherine Proctor laid the envelopes carefully on the kitchen dresser, then – finding that she couldn’t work with them in the same room – took them through to the front room, placing them on the big carved sideboard that had been a wedding present from her parents. All afternoon she kept going in to look at them… for all the world, she told herself shamefacedly, as though she expected them to get up and leave the house on their own if they were left unattended for too long.
Once she even put her hat and coat on, preparing to take Anne’s letter to the shop, then on the point of picking it up she changed her mind. Bad news, she thought as she put her outdoor clothes away again, came soon enough. No sense in going to meet it.
Now that the family was grown up, the weekday evening meal was a rambling affair. A sociable clan, the five younger Proctors still living at home were usually out in the evenings on some ploy or other, which meant that their meals had to be fitted in between arriving home from work and going out again. Tonight Maggie and May were off to a concert while John, as usual, had a meeting to attend at the Liberal Club. As the three of them left the house, Catherine followed them onto the landing and leaned over the banisters.
‘Mind now, John, I want you home by half past ten at the latest!’
All she could see of him was the top of the bowler hat that he had carefully painted black because he thought that it looked more dignified, but a hand flapped up at her. ‘Aye, Mother, aye!’
Catherine tutted as the clatter of feet died away. There was every danger that after the meeting John would get involved in some political discussion and forget the time. And then she would have to sit up to wait for him, for she would not allow anyone but herself to lock the house up for the night. Once she had locked him out to teach him a lesson, and unbeknown to her the weather had suddenly turned colder in the early hours of the morning. The poor lad had caught pleurisy and although the incident hadn’t taught him anything about punctuality, Catherine had never quite forgiven herself for making him so ill.
It didn’t help to know that he had probably inherited his ambition and his grand ideas from her. As a young woman Catherine had found that her dancing skills brought her into social contact with people she would otherwise never have met. She had become used to visiting some of the fine big houses in the area and mixing with girls who – unlike herself – would never need to earn their way in the world, but would move instead from the comfort of their father’s houses to the comfort of marital homes.
Clearing the used dishes from the table and setting places for her husband, Grace, Anne and herself, Catherine recalled only too clearly her own mother’s disapproval. ‘You’re tryin’ tae climb too far up the stairs, lassie, and the higher ye go, the more chance of fallin’ and gettin’ hurt. Keep tae your own folk!’ It was almost exactly what she herself said often enough to John, with his dreams of one day becoming a politician. It was true that everything moved in a circle and the seeds sown in one generation flourished in the next.
To her relief her husband James arrived home before the girls. Catherine flew to meet him when she heard his key in the door and almost dragged him into the front room. ‘Look!’
James, as was his wont, took his time over examining both envelopes back and front, studying the names and addresses closely. ‘You think it’s to do with Canada?’
‘What else could it be? They’ve been accepted!’
‘You cannot know that,’ he said in his precise Highland voice.
Catherine snatched up one of the envelopes. ‘Feel it – it’s got quite a few pages in it. If they’ve been turned down there’d surely just be the one sheet of paper.’
‘Aye, mebbe.’ He carried both envelopes into the kitchen and laid them on the table, one by Anne’s plate, the other by Grace’s. Then he sat down and started taking off his outdoor shoes.
‘What are we to do?’
‘There’s nothing we can do, lass. The letters are not addressed to us.’
‘We’re their parents, and they’re too young to think of going so far away on their own!’
‘They’ll have each other and they’ll be going to work that’s been arranged. The folk who are paying their way there will surely look after them.’
Catherine automatically fetched his slippers and laid them down by his stockinged feet. Then on an impulse she went down on her knees beside them, her hands clasped on her husband’s knee. ‘James, is there no way we can stop them?’
‘Even if there was I’d be loath to do it, Catriona.’ Only he called her by the Highland version of her name, the version that he had been used to as a child. ‘I’ll miss them as much as you will and I’ll fret about their safety alongside you, but I’ll not stop them if their hearts are set on it. They must do as they think best.’ He touched her face gently. ‘You’ve brought them up to be straight and true and honest, Catriona, and now the rest is up to them.’
‘Oh, James, you’re the best father, and the best husband!’
‘Nonsense, woman,’ he said, but a pleased smirk flickered beneath his moustache and when she moved from the floor onto his lap to give him a hug and a kiss he didn’t try to stop her. For all the wealthy, well-set-up young men she had met through friendship with their sisters, she’d had the good sense to marry within her own class. Even then her parents had taken some persuading, for James Proctor was not a Paisley man but a Highlander, brought as a youngster to the town by his parents from the village of Clachan in Argyllshire.
A Gaelic speaker, James had suffered greatly at his Lowland school, jeered at by the other children because of his way of speaking English clearly and carefully with a soft lilt to the words. Once he told Catherine that at times he had been forcibly held down in the school playground by the other children and made to speak ‘that silly Highland jabber’ for their entertainment. As a result he had often arrived home bruised and with torn clothes, earning himself a thrashing from his poverty-stricken, homesick parents. And so James had learned to fight and to stand up for himself, although he had managed to retain his gentleness and much preferred to reason his way through conflict rather than use his fists.
‘I suppose,’ Catherine said now against his greying hair, ‘that they’ll all go eventually, whether it’s to the other side of Paisley or across the water.’ She heaved a deep sigh, then said resolutely, ‘But as long as we’ve each other I’ll be able to face that.’
‘That’s my lassie.’ James patted her cheek, then eased her to her feet and went into the hall. Following, she found him rooting about in the big ‘press’ where everything not immediately needed was stored.
‘What are you doing in there?’
‘Looking for this.’ He backed out of the press, dragging the large trunk they had always used for family holidays to Gourock when the children were small.
‘Oh, James!’ Catherine pressed the fingers of one hand to her mouth.
‘We should show willing, lass.’ He opened the lid and looked at the winter clothing she always stored in the trunk. ‘Help me to clear this thing.’
‘What about your dinner?’
‘I can wait till the girls come in.’
As she often did these days, Grace had gone from the mill to the co-op so that she could walk home with Anne. When they finally arrived it was to find the kitchen table moved against one wall and the large family trunk standing on an old sheet spread out before the fireplace. Their parents knelt on either side of it, busily pasting strips of wallpaper and lining the inside of the trunk with them.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Grace asked, bewildered. The family holidays had lapsed after Bill and Kate married and the others had become involved in their own lives.
Her mother sat back on her heels and smiled up at them. ‘If you’re going off across the ocean you’ll need a good trunk. We’re just making it nice and fresh for you.’
‘You mean you don’t mind us going?’ Anne asked cautiously.
‘Mebbe we’ve little choice.’ Their father nodded at the table and Grace, following his gaze, gave a squeal of delight and pounced on the waiting letters. With shaking hands she tore hers open.
‘Well? Don’t just stand there reading it, Grace… tell me!’ Anne demanded.
‘Read your own if you want to know.’
‘Tell me!’
Grace looked up from the paper, her face one big grin. ‘I don’t know what they’ve said to you, but I’m off to Canada!’
As Anne gave a yelp of excitement and pounced on her own letter, James Proctor reached for his wife’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. ‘We did the right thing in getting that trunk out… eh, lass?’
She smiled mistily, clinging to his hand as though it was a lifeline. ‘Aye, James, the right thing,’ she said.
‘Our steamer tickets and everything,’ Grace told Mirren on the way to the mill the next morning. ‘We’re to sail from Glasgow in September and when we arrive in Quebec – does that not sound romantic: Quebec! – someone’ll meet us and see that we get to the hospital where we’re working.’ She giggled. ‘It eased Mother’s mind a lot, knowing that we’re to be looked after by the Canadian government. There’ll be other folk from Scotland and England travelling with us, of course.’ She hadn’t looked so happy since the day she had heard that George was alive and in a convalescent hospital.
‘I’m going to miss you!’
‘I’ll miss you too, but it won’t be for long. You’ll be off yourself one of those days, and once you’re in America we can visit each other.’
‘Have you looked at a map, Grace? America and Canada aren’t like Scotland and England, you know. They’re a lot bigger for a start.’
But nothing could dampen Grace’s spirits. ‘Even so, we’ll find some way of seeing each other. It’ll be wonderful, Mirren – you and me and Anne, all with our new lives!’
There were a number of dance halls in Paisley, but the one above Burton’s the tailors at the Cross was Mirren’s favourite, mainly because of the great glass panels set into the end wall, giving the impression that the hall stretched on and on into the distance and was filled with dancers.
As usual, weariness fell away from her shoulders like a discarded coat as soon as she, Ella and Ruby walked into the hall. It was as if she had stepped into a picture frame, leaving her everyday life behind.
It was the custom for all the girls to sit along one long wall while the young men gathered opposite. Almost as soon as the three of them had found seats, Ruby indicated the other side of the room with a nod of the head. ‘Ye’re all right, Mirren – Gregor’s here.’
‘What’s that to me?’
‘He told me that you’re the best dancer he’s been with. See?’ Ruby said triumphantly as the three-man orchestra struck up and Gregor immediately set off across the no-man’s-land of the dance floor, heading in their direction.
Mirren had to admit that she found the young tenter to be the perfect partner. They had both learned from Mr Primrose the importance of control and balance, of holding their heads up and level, and of moving easily and lightly with the music, controlled yet relaxed. She was able to trust Gregor implicitly and follow as he dictated the pattern of the dance.
‘There’s a good film showin’ at the Picture Palace next week,’ he said as they swept across the floor. ‘Would ye go with me?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? Ye don’t work in that shop every night, do ye?’
‘No, but I’ve got my mother to see to, and you know fine that I’m promised.’
‘I’m not askin’ ye tae walk out with me; it’s just the films.’
She well knew that going to the cinema together would be followed by a meeting by appointment at the dance hall, then another film… ‘Best not,’ she said, and his irritated sigh ruffled her hair.
‘You two make a grand couple,’ Ruby said enviously as Mirren returned to their table.
‘Ye could go in for competitions together, with a bit of practice,’ Ella added.
‘Don’t say that to Gregor, he’s trouble enough as it—’ Mirren began, then swung round as a voice behind her said, ‘M-may I have this dance?’
‘What are you doing here?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
‘T-taking up your invitation.’ In his one and only good suit, which was old-fashioned, Joe Hepburn looked uncomfortable and out of place.
