A dutiful daughter, p.19
A Dutiful Daughter, page 19
‘You mind yer tongue!’ Logan snapped, while his wife gasped and put a hand to her throat. ‘Mirren only did what any unmarried daughter would be expected tae do. We did just as much for Mother in our own way. And much good it did us!’ he ended bitterly.
‘I didn’t know folk looked after their own just for gain,’ Robbie said mildly. ‘And here was me thinkin’ you visited every Sunday out of affection.’
Logan ignored him. ‘This…’ he had stuffed the will back into its envelope; now he shook it in Mirren’s face ‘…is goin’ tae the lawyer’s first thing in the mornin’. He’ll soon tell us if it’s worth the paper it’s written on!’
‘I’ll meet you outside his office just before it opens and we’ll go in together,’ Robbie said as his brother, followed by Belle, stormed through to the front bedroom to fetch his hat and coat.
‘And you can just sort through the clothes yourself,’ was Belle’s parting shot to Mirren as she followed her husband out of the flat. ‘Since it seems that you own them lock, stock and barrel!’
‘It’s at times like this that ye know what folk really think,’ Robbie said as the door slammed. ‘They didnae even wait for a drink of tea.’ He steered Mirren into the kitchen, where he filled two cups with tea that had been waiting so long by the fire that it was stewed, then added milk and plenty of sugar before handing one over. ‘Sit down and drink that.’
‘But Robbie…’
‘Just drink yer tea and let’s take a minute tae think things over.’
By the time she had downed half a cupful, Mirren’s racing pulse had slowed and her mind was clearing. ‘Why would Mother leave everything to me and not to Logan, or between the three of us?’
‘Because you were the one who did most for her.’
‘Mebbe the will’s not legal. Mebbe everything’ll go to Logan, or be divided three ways.’
‘That’s why I said I’d meet Logan at the lawyer’s office tomorrow. I want tae hear for myself what the man’s got tae say.’
‘You can’t take time off your work, Robbie – you’ve not long started there.’
‘I’ll go along early tae Mr Field’s house and explain that it’s a legal matter concernin’ my mother. He’ll surely let me go in an hour late for once.’ Mirren had drained her cup and was rinsing it at the sink when Robbie’s hand reached over her shoulder and took it from her. ‘Leave it be for now, we’re goin’ tae ask Mrs White about that signature.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘We’ll neither of us sleep until we know.’
When Mrs White finally came to her door she was wearing a heavy coat over her nightgown and her hair was in paper curlers. Her little dog yapped up at the visitors from beneath the uneven hem of the gown.
‘We’re sorry tae disturb ye so late at night,’ Robbie apologised, ‘but we need tae ask ye…’
‘…about the bit of paper I signed for yer mam,’ the old woman finished the sentence for him, turning to shuffle back into the gloom of her flat. ‘Come in and shut the door. The night air’s cruel, and me and Scrap don’t want tae catch our deaths of cold.’
Her kitchen was crammed with a lifetime’s collection of furniture and ornaments, and smelled of a mixture of things: stewed tea, camphor, damp clothes hanging on the ceiling pulley to dry, and old dog. Among the many items on the dresser Mirren recognised two large curved and fluted rose-pink shells and a huge ostrich egg on a stand, both brought back to Scotland years before by the long-dead Mr White, a seaman. As a child, visiting Mrs White with her mother, Mirren had been fascinated with these strange objects. She had never been allowed to touch the fragile egg, but her palms still recalled the cool hardness of the shells.
‘It was a month or so back, not long before the poor soul’s seizure.’ Mrs White settled herself into her fireside chair while her visitors chose to stand. The dog collapsed on the rug, its head on the old woman’s slippered foot. ‘Helen got me tae call in at the lawyer’s office when I was out gettin’ my messages, tae ask him tae visit her at a particular time that afternoon. When he came, he called me across the landin’ tae sign somethin’. The man from the mill was there as well. That’s all I know, as I told your Logan.’
‘Logan was here?’
‘Not half an hour ago. That’s how I knew what you were goin’ tae ask me. They were just in and out of the place, him and that wife of his.’ Mrs White’s round wrinkled face, topped by the curlers, looked like an overdecorated pudding. ‘They were in an awful hurry. And in a right state as well, the both of them.’
‘There ye are,’ Robbie said as they returned to their own flat. ‘I was right – everything’s legal and there’s nothin’ Logan can do about it.’
‘It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘Why not? It’s true what I said tae Belle. Ye did everythin’ for Mam… and for me. You even put more of yer wages intae payin’ the rent and buyin’ the food than ye should have…’ The final words were blurred by a yawn. ‘Now go tae yer bed and let me do the same. We’ve both got things tae see tae in the mornin’.’
‘I trust,’ Belle said aggressively, ‘that Logan might at least be allowed to choose a keepsake to remember his mother by.’ The lawyer had pointed out that Helen’s will, which was legal, covered everything, including her clothing and the furniture.
‘Of course, Logan, you must choose something,’ Mirren hastened to assure her brother, who said promptly, ‘In that case I’ll have the chiffonier-sideboard in the front room.’
‘The chiffonier-sideboard?’ Astonishment brought Robbie right out of his chair. ‘I’d scarce call a big piece of furniture like that a keepsake!’
‘It has sentimental value tae me.’ Logan’s face, already filling out and beginning to show the first touch of middle age, though he was only in his late twenties, began to flush dangerously and Mirren hurriedly assured him that he was welcome to the chiffonier-sideboard if he wished it.
‘I’ll arrange tae have it picked up tomorrow evenin’, then.’
‘Fine.’ Robbie smiled sweetly at his brother, though his grey eyes were angry. ‘We’ll empty it out tonight and have it all ready for you.’
‘And I,’ Belle put in, ‘would like to have her blue enamel pendant with the pretty stones around it.’
‘I’ll fetch it,’ Mirren said swiftly, before Robbie could object.
‘Ye realise that this is probably worth a fair bit of money?’ Robbie asked that evening as he helped Mirren to empty the chiffonier-sideboard. ‘He’ll probably have it sold within the month.’
‘He can do what he wants with it. I can’t take it to America with me, and I doubt if you’ll want it.’
‘No, but ye could have sold it yerself.’
‘I’ve already done well… better than I should have,’ Mirren fretted.
‘Ach, be quiet, woman. Speakin’ for myself, I don’t believe in inheritance. That’s what’s wrong with this country – far too many of the bigwigs are daft gowks who’d be nobodies if it wasnae for the money they inherited. Folk should work for what they get instead of just collecting it from rich relatives. And they should be paid what they’re worth, too.’
‘Is that what Joe Hepburn thinks?’
‘It’s what I think… and so do you, surely.’
‘I suppose I do,’ she admitted, adding at once, ‘That’s why I don’t feel right about Mother’s inheritance.’
‘I’ve told ye, Mirren, you earned every penny of that money. The people I’m talking about did nothin’ but sit on their fat arses expectin’ everyone else tae run after them.’ Robbie ran a hand down a carved spindle which, with its partner on the other side of the sideboard, supported a small bookshelf. ‘It’s bonny, isn’t it? It’s strange how ye take somethin’ for granted just because ye grew up with it. I’ve never taken a good look at this piece before.’
‘I’ll fetch the polish. It deserves to look its best when it leaves.’ When Mirren came back she found Robbie glancing through the pile of items they had removed from the chiffonier-sideboard.
‘Where are ye goin’ tae put all this stuff?’
‘It’ll have to go. Mother scarcely used any of those tablecloths and traycloths.’
‘And the papers from the drawer.’ He lifted a handful. ‘It looks as though most of them are recipes and household hints cut out of newspapers. Here’s a picture – two right bonny wee lassies. I wonder who they were?’
‘That’s Mother,’ Mirren said round a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat, ‘and that’s Aunt Catherine Proctor.’
‘Mother?’ She had taken the photograph from Robbie and now he leaned on her shoulder to take another look. ‘How d’ye know that?’
‘Aunt Catherine gave me a copy of the same photograph not long ago. I wanted to show it to Mother, but I thought it might anger her. Wait till I tell Aunt Catherine,’ Mirren said as she looked down at the two young faces, one cheerfully confident and the other with a tentative smile trembling on her lips, ‘that Mother cared enough to keep her copy too.’
‘Have ye written to Donald yet?’ Robbie asked, losing interest in the photograph.
‘Not yet.’ Mirren polished vigorously. ‘It seems too soon after the funeral.’
‘Too soon? Ye’ve been apart for a long time and if ye’ve got any thought of stayin’ here for my sake, ye can just forget it. I can manage fine.’
She rested for a moment, sitting back on her haunches. ‘But I’d like to see you settled first. Where’ll you live, Robbie?’
‘Not here, anyway. I’d not want tae stay on in the family house once you go. I’ll find somewhere easily enough.’
‘Is there no lassie who might share this house with you one day?’ Robbie had brought girls to the house once or twice, but not since his mother’s illness had progressed. Now he shrugged the question off.
‘I’m not interested in courting just now. I’ve got other interests.’
‘When you meet the right one you’ll not want to do anything but court her.’
‘Mebbe. But we werenae talkin’ about me,’ he reminded her. ‘We were talkin’ about you. Think of yerself for once and write tae Donald tonight.’
It was her turn to say, ‘Mebbe,’ but he was having none of it.
‘Tonight, Mirren. There’s a new life waiting for ye, and a man who can look after you the way ye deserve.’
‘Tonight, then.’ While she longed to be with Donald, she knew that it would be hard to leave her young brother. He had been as steady as a rock during the past week, and she doubted if she would have managed to cope with everything if he had not been there.
‘Robbie,’ she said on a sudden whim. ‘Why don’t you come to America too?’
‘Me? What would I do there?’
‘I’ll ask Donald if he could find work for you. You’re a time-served engineer, trained in Scotland. Surely America can do with folk like you? We could both start a new life.’ She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. If he agreed, and if Donald could find work for him, she wouldn’t have to leave Robbie behind after all. And, better still, he would be removed once and for all from Joe Hepburn’s influence.
‘I’d need tae have a good think about it. But there’d be no harm in askin’ Donald when ye write,’ Robbie said, interest beginning to glow in his eyes.
16
‘By God and it’s a bitter wind the day,’ one of the women said as the hoist rose slowly towards the twisting department. ‘There’s snow on the way.’
‘Call this cold weather?’ Libby McDaid jeered. ‘Ye should try a winter in Russia.’ Libby had spent almost five years in Coats’ St Petersburg mills, helping to train local workers. Once she had shown Mirren her certificate of agreement, in which the company had undertaken to pay her travel expenses and provide free lodgings in Russia as well as ‘fire and light’ and a wage of three pounds per fifty-seven-hour working week. The Paisley girls had been lodged in a flat with a chaperone and a young maid who, to Libby’s great sorrow, had eaten their pet goldfish.
‘Are they all heathens in Russia?’ Mirren had asked, horrified by the story.
‘No, hen, just hungry sometimes. The wage was good,’ added Libby, who had started work in the mills at thirteen years of age, attending the Half-Time School and being paid two shillings a fortnight to sweep floors. ‘My ma got fifteen shillin’ of my pay every week while I was away, and I got thirty shillin’ tae myself. And the mill here put the other fifteen shillin’ intae the bank, so when I came home tae marry wi’ my sweetheart I was quite a catch in more ways than the usual.’ She winked and nudged Mirren in the ribs.
Although she had received only a basic education, Libby possessed a natural talent for words and her descriptions of life in St Petersburg, holidays in Finland and the wild Cossacks who sometimes rode their horses right into mill property in search of young women were vivid. On more than one occasion the manager had been forced to lock Libby and the other Paisley workers in his office to keep them safe from the marauding horsemen.
What Libby casually referred to now as ‘the Russian shift’ came to a sudden end in 1917 when Russia was torn asunder by revolution. Summoned home, Libby and the others had endured a ten-day journey from Moscow to Archangel in an unheated train in the dead of winter, followed by a long, terrifying walk across an ice-bound harbour. After being hauled like bales of cargo up the side of the ship waiting to take them to freedom, they had had to endure weeks of anxiety as the ship made one detour after another to avoid packs of German U-boats. When they finally arrived in Paisley, Libby, her Scottish accent unaltered by the years abroad – she had worked for two years in the Italian mills in Pisa before going to Russia – had settled down again as though she had been no further away from them than her own home in King Street.
It began to snow in mid-afternoon and by the time Mirren got home her jacket and the scarf wound round her head were white with snow as well as with oose. The first thing she saw was a letter on the doormat. She pounced on it, and a ripple of excitement ran through her as she saw that it was from Donald.
She set it up on the narrow wooden ledge where she kept her clothes brush so that she could devour it with her eyes as she spread out the old sheeting on the floor. Her hands trembled with excitement as she brushed the worst of the cotton, wet with melting snow, from her jacket and skirt. Once or twice in her haste the brush slid from her grasp and had to be retrieved from a dark corner of the tiny lobby.
Since her mother’s death she had systematically sorted out all her possessions and decided what she would take, and she was now ready to leave whenever Donald sent for her. All that was needed now, she thought as she hung her coat up, was a promise of work for Robbie.
Normally she would have taken the cloth down to the back court to be shaken out over the dustbins, but tonight she folded it carefully to keep the caddis inside, then hurried into the kitchen with the letter. Before opening it she put a match to the fire she had carefully laid that morning. It wasn’t the chill in the air that made her shake so badly that she had difficulty in slitting the envelope open, but the knowledge that the letter within represented a doorway leading to her future. Although she had thought that it would be pleasant to have some time to herself at last, she felt lonely and unsettled on those evenings when she was at home and Robbie was out. She kept thinking that she heard her mother calling, and on more than one occasion she had caught herself opening the front-room door quietly to look in on the bed, which was being used to store towels and linen, now that the chiffonier-sideboard had gone to Logan and Belle. It was time, she knew, to say goodbye to one life and start out on the journey to another.
When she had finally released the single sheet of paper she smoothed it out and settled down to read it.
Donald was sorry, more sorry than he could ever say in a letter, but he was no longer certain of his feelings for Mirren. He wrote:
We have been apart for so long now and we have both changed. At times it is as though the life where we knew and loved each other was lived by someone else, not the person I have become since arriving in America.
Then came the worst part of the brief letter.
The truth is that I have become very friendly with an American girl and as a result I am confused as to my true feelings. If you had only been able to leave Scotland a few months ago, when as you remember I begged you to, then things might have been different for us both. I needed you so much then, Mirren, and I felt that your presence would have resolved the turmoil I was experiencing. But you had other commitments and I have now decided that it would be wrong of me to ask you to leave your family and make the journey here, only to discover that we had indeed grown too far apart from each other for a marriage to be considered. I am therefore asking you to be understanding and give me more time, as I have given you time in the past.
He ended by assuring her of his confidence in her generosity and understanding, and his enduring affection and admiration at all times, no matter what the future held for them both.
There was no need to make an evening meal, for Robbie was going directly to Glasgow after work to attend a large meeting, and Mirren couldn’t have eaten a bite. Instead she sat in the kitchen, Donald’s letter in her lap, staring at the wall.
It had happened to poor Grace, but even so it had never once occurred to Mirren that it might happen to her. She had been so sure of Donald and now he had finished with her. Jilted her. The word clanged in her head like a tolling bell. Jilted. Spurned, unwanted, cast aside.
For the first time she truly knew what pain poor Grace had suffered. Losing Donald and the future they had planned together was even worse than losing her mother. Helen’s death had been inevitable, whereas Donald had held the key to the rest of Mirren’s life. There was no doubt in her mind that, although he had hinted at a possible change of heart, it would not happen. He had found someone else and that was that.
