The Shadow of the Sycamores (36 page)

‘It looks like she has had a heart attack but we need the doctor to issue a death certificate before I can do anything.’

And so Pogie took over, asking a neighbour to fetch Doctor Hay and trying to calm Willie as he sobbed, ‘I wasna here for her … I should have been here … I bade ower lang wi’ Henry. I could have been back earlier, man.’

Pogie assured him that it would have made no difference and this was confirmed by the doctor when he had examined the body. ‘She died of cardiac infraction, a massive heart attack, about …’ Halting, he asked, ‘How long were you out?’

‘I went out about half nine, I’m usually back about twelve but I was speaking to Henry for a long time the day, discussing something we …’ His voice tailed off and he looked hopelessly from one man to the other.

Pogie stepped forward. ‘It’s all right, Willie. You were not to know what had happened.’

‘No, indeed, Willie.’ Having signed the death certificate, the plump little doctor slapped his battered old hat at its usual rakish angle on his head. He had worn it this way since he was a young student and did not care that it made him look a slightly ridiculous figure with his thick white hair flowing from all round it. ‘You see, Willie, a person can be as right as rain one minute and drop down dead the next – as in your wife’s case. It should be of some consolation to you that she had not suffered. In fact, she had probably been dead before she hit the floor.’

The old doctor had never been known for his tact but his words did go a long way to help the bereaved man. Not only that, after he left Oak Cottage, Hay sought out Henry to inform him of the tragedy so Willie had his son with him before Pogie had finished measuring for the coffin.

For the second time in three weeks, Pogie took over all the funeral arrangements and Abby and Fay promised to organise the catering. Abby also wrote to her two sisters in Aberdeen, telling them of their stepmother’s demise. ‘I know they left home because of her,’ she explained to her husband, ‘but this would be a good excuse for them to make things up with Father. It wouldn’t be like crawling back or climbing down, would it?’

Neither Jeannie nor Bella, however, jumped at the chance of reconciliation with their father. Although Abby had told them that Nessie had changed to being a gentle and caring woman, it seemed they could only remember the harridan she had once
been. They still blamed Willie for not protecting them so the only replies they sent were two impersonal printed cards, deckle-edged and black-rimmed, regretting that they could not attend the funeral.

But, proving how different she was, as soon as Kitty got the news, she wrote a long letter to her father from London, saying that she wished she could be there but she couldn’t get time off her work. She did make it plain, however, that, if he needed her, she would give up her job to come home and look after him.

Willie, as only to be expected, wouldn’t hear of this, asserting firmly that he would easily manage. ‘I dinna ken what you’re fussing aboot. I’m nae a bairn.’

So Abby conveyed his refusal in a tactful letter.

Nessie’s funeral was just as quiet as Janet’s. As Fay remarked to Henry when they went home, ‘It’s really sad, isn’t it? People outlive their friends and if they’ve no family, there’s nobody left to mourn for them.’

‘At least Janet and Nessie had us,’ her husband pointed out. ‘We’ve always looked on them as family.’

It was on the tip of Fay’s tongue to say that the two women were closer family than his two eldest sisters – neither of whom she had ever set eyes on – but she did not want to upset him further.

Jerry had been meaning to take his wife and son to meet his parents at the weekend but, again, his mother’s letter changed his mind. First, it had been Janet and now Nessie. How could he spring his surprise on them at a time like this? In any case, as the days had gone past, he hadn’t been altogether sure if it would ever be a good idea.

For the past two weeks, his wife hadn’t allowed him to sleep with her. He had done his best not to come in contact with her when they went to bed but the old mattress they had been given along with the bed sagged in the middle and he couldn’t help rolling against her. This was what had caused the friction between them and she had ended up one night by shouting,
‘I’m not going to let you hurt me again. It was your fault, I’d to suffer all that pain so you can sleep on the couch in the kitchen.’

Since she had shown no sign of improving, he had decided to postpone their visit to Ardbirtle. His father might not notice anything but his mother’s eagle eyes would notice that something was wrong about their marriage. Knowing her, she would try to find out what had happened … and he couldn’t tell her. He didn’t know himself. What had he done to make his wife hate him? And what could he do to stop it?

After changing her eight-week-old son, Anna Rae sat down in the low chair to feed him. She quite liked the sensation of the actual suckling but she did her best not to let Jerry see her. She hated the way he stared at her bosom when she bared it. It had started one evening a few days after the birth. The baby had dozed off during the feed, as he often did, and, unfortunately, so had she but something alerted her to a slight movement at her side. She had felt sick to find Jerry kneeling beside her, his fingers only a hair’s breadth from her oozing nipple. Since then, she deliberately turned her back on him or went into the other room if it wasn’t too cold for the child. But he wouldn’t be home for hours yet so she was safe enough sitting by the fire.

It was raining quite heavily, with flecks of sleet through it, so she couldn’t go out with the old pram Tina had got from somebody. Little William Henry was a contented wee soul, though, and he would drop off as soon as she laid him in the cradle – another item Tina had acquired for her.

After ten minutes, she laid the infant over her shoulder to wind him, then put him to her other breast, his tiny mouth engulfing it as if he hadn’t had any sustenance for goodness knows how long. Tired as she always was these days, she still worried about things and her mind settled now on the adulation her son got in the kitchen at mealtimes. All the female staff, from Mrs Miller herself right down to fourteen-year-old Winnie, the scullery maid, fussed over him, cooing and murmuring sweet nothings.

‘Ah, my dearie, you’re the bonniest bairnie I’ve ever seen.’

‘He’s a wee darlin’. I could eat him.’

‘He’s nae a bit like his father, is he?’

As his mother, she didn’t care which parent he looked like for he was absolutely perfect but she didn’t want him to be spoilt. Jerry had said calling him after his great-grandfather and grandfather was a safeguard for the future and it hadn’t mattered to her. As long as he didn’t want to call their son after
her
father who had wanted nothing to do with him, she didn’t care.

When she realised that the pull of the little tongue had been stopped for a while, Anna stood up and, before she even got him to her shoulder, he gave a loud burp that made her smile. This was followed by another, more genteel this time, and, as she laid him in the cradle, warmer than the pram, he broke wind with a rumble like an old man. At least he wouldn’t be bothered with colic tonight, she thought.

After making sure that he was well covered, she fastened her buttons and sat down again. It was a good chance to catch up on the sleep she had lost worrying about her situation. She couldn’t force her husband to sleep in the kitchen forever – he was getting short-tempered already – but he’d do nasty things to her if she let him back into her bed. He swore he wouldn’t hurt her but she knew different.

A slight noise from the lean-to scullery at the back intruded on her musings and, thinking that she must have left the outside door open when she came back in from having her dinner, she rose to close it. Finding it as tightly shut as it could ever be, a little prickle of fear ran up her spine. She could have sworn she’d heard something. She turned uncertainly, then gave a sigh of … not altogether relief for she couldn’t think why he was there. ‘You gave me a fright, Charles.’

‘The rain was getting heavier so I came inside, I’m sorry. I did knock.’

‘It’s all right. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make us a cup of tea. Just be careful not to waken the baby. He’s not long asleep.’

‘Don’t bother with tea, Anna, I just want a wee chat with you.’

She sat down, hands in lap, wondering what he’d come to say. She hadn’t spoken to him since … not since she’d been told to start going for walks with Jerry. Maybe he was annoyed at her for not explaining why she had stopped seeing him. His dark eyes were boring into hers and he seemed to be waiting for her to speak first. ‘I hope you’re not angry with me?’ she managed to get out, long fingers of apprehension clutching at her heart.

His smile held no humour. ‘Why should I be angry with you?’

‘They stopped me seeing you. They said I should get to know somebody nearer my own age.’

‘Did you not enjoy being with me?’

‘You know I did … except for that one time.’

‘And which time would that be, my dear Anna?’

Guessing that he was playing a game with her, she said sharply, ‘You know perfectly well when I mean.’

‘Would that be the day I … made love to you?’

‘What you did wasn’t making love.’

‘No?’ His mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘It was the only way I could prove my love for you, my dearest girl. Is that not how your
husband
shows his love?’

‘Jerry has never touched me like that,’ she burst out, wondering where this conversation was leading – it certainly wasn’t just a chat.

‘He has never touched you like that? Well, that does surprise me! How then, if I may make so bold as ask, do you think that child was conceived?’

She was shivering with terror now. Charles Moonie was up to something and she wished she knew what it was. ‘It was a special kiss he gave me once, with his tongue right inside my mouth.’

‘What they call a French kiss?’

‘I don’t know what it’s called but I didn’t like it.’

‘You didn’t like what I did to you and I didn’t do it again.’

‘You tried to,’ she whispered, ‘several times.’

‘Only because I love you, my sweet, ignorant Anna.’

‘What do you mean, ignorant?’

‘You do not know the facts of life, my dear. What Jerry did was only a kiss – nothing more. What I did …’ He paused. ‘Well, we shall leave that for a moment. You say he has never kissed you like that again?’

‘No and he hasn’t done what you did either. So don’t try to make out he’s as bad as you are.’

‘I would not dream of it, Anna. He has done nothing. He has not even done his duty as your husband.’

The sarcasm caught her on the raw. ‘He’s a good husband. He loves me and he loves his son.’

The man’s expression changed dramatically. Triumphant, he leaned across, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘
His
son?
His
son? How in God’s name can you believe that it is
his
son? It is
I
who fathered that child.’

She gaped at him in disbelief. ‘You’re off your head, Charles Moonie!’

‘I can assure you that I am quite sane. You surely did not think that a kiss was enough to make a baby? What is more, the gestation period – the time it takes for the infant to be ready to make its way out of the womb – is nine months. Nine long months!
Now do you understand
?’

His nose was practically against hers, his breath fiery on her cheek and she realised, with a rush of sickening horror, that he was telling her the truth. Jerry could definitely not be her son’s father – there hadn’t been enough time. Something snapped in her brain at this point and she lashed out with her foot at the vile creature who was turning her world upside down and shaking out every grain of her happiness.

With a bellow of pain, he put his hands around her neck but a sound from the cradle stopped him in his tracks and he let her go. ‘Jerry Rae is not going to bring up my child,’ he muttered as he bent over the cradle. With her fists pounding on his back, he pulled the pillow from under the tiny head and pressed it over the infant’s face. It wasn’t long until the little flailing arms and legs stilled.

The shock of what Charles had done drained all the colour
from Anna’s face. She cringed away from him, her eyes vacant. Yet, when he pulled her to him and kissed her hungrily, brutally, she let him carry on, without flinching.

‘You can never belong to anyone else,’ he screeched hoarsely. ‘I had you first so you are mine … for ever!’

Although it was possible, even probable, that he had come with the intention of raping the young woman, the murder of the child had robbed the man of his senses. Unable to remember what he had planned, he was forced to release his hold on his other victim and both were panting as they stood with their eyes locked.

Jerry was in the kitchen watching his fellow workers tucking into their supper. His wife was usually here before him with the pram but she hadn’t appeared yet, though it was well after six. ‘Unable to throw off his apprehension, he pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I’d best go and see what’s keeping Anna, Mrs Miller.’

Dolly smiled her understanding. ‘Yes, it is not like her to be late.’

Not wishing to show how anxious he was, he set off at a smart pace but, as he neared the old gatehouse, an inner sense urged him to run and he went hell for leather down the short cut from the main building. His lungs were fit to burst when he reached his home but his speeding heart almost stopped when he saw the back porch door standing wide open. Anna always made sure that it was closed properly, to save rats or other vermin getting in.

There was no sign of her when he went inside. ‘Anna!’ he called twice but there came no reply. Deeply alarmed now, he peeped into the cradle. The baby was sleeping peacefully, which did ease his mind a fraction. Taking time only to straighten the pillow that was edging towards the infant’s face, he raced outside again, to search the outhouses – the coal shed, the privy, even the hen-house, but his wife was not in any of them. Almost out of his mind with worry now, he raced back to the big house.