KIRSTY WATCHED AND WAITED FOR a letter, but none came. She tried to hide her growing despair from Jessie and from her class. From them too, she had to hide her pregnancy. If only it wasn’t accompanied by this awful morning sickness . . . but at least by the time she had reached school her stomach was behaving itself again.
The papers talked of a great battle at Loos and of a piper in one of the Scottish regiments who held onto his battle honours and, despite his wounds, refused to let them droop in the mud. Later they reported the death of one Captain Hugh Granville-Baker.
But before that day Kirsty saw the flag and understood. The caretaker, Wilson, with tears streaming down his old cheeks, had found a flag and flown it from the ramparts of the castle to honour a boy he scarcely knew.
Kirsty’s first feelings were not of grief, or fear. They would come later. She felt peaceful. He was dead; he hadn’t ignored her, denied her. She turned in at the gates that old Wilson had not yet thought to close and made her way to the Dell. For a moment she thought she saw a figure sitting on the fallen tree where they had picnicked, but October was too cold for picnics. A strong wind was blowing the leaves from the trees and they were dancing on the ground. There was someone there. It couldn’t be. It was: it was a soldier. Hugh. She could see him clearly and she began to run. The figure turned, saw her and stood up. He smiled and held out his hands. She heard his voice, his dear, dear voice.
‘I waited as I promised. Goodbye, my dearest little love.’
She stopped. The Dell was empty. ‘Oh, Hugh.’ And then the tears came, at first for him, for the young life cut off before its prime, and then for herself, and at last for the child who would never know its father, but who should know only shame.
‘I’ll never be ashamed, Hugh, never, and neither will he. He’ll be loved, I promise, loved and cherished.’ She lay on the tree trunk and cried for all the unfulfilled promise.
‘Kirsty, Kirsty, get up. You’re freezing.’
She looked up at Jamie and realized that there was no need to tell him anything. He knew.
‘I’ve been sent to close the gates – the estate’s in mourning. I’ll have to put you out, lass, or you’ll spend a cold night in the wood.’
She walked quietly beside him to the gates and stood waiting as he locked them and pocketed the key.
‘I’ll walk you home.’
She drew herself up, dignified, proud. ‘I’m fine, Jamie, and I’d rather be alone, if you don’t mind. But can you tell me when it happened?’
‘Her ladyship didn’t tell us the exact date. I don’t think she knows. Some awful battle that’s been going on for weeks: Loos, they called it.’
‘I should have known. Goodbye, Jamie.’
He watched her go and then ran after her. ‘I’ll not intrude on your grief, lass, but I’m here, Kirsty, if I can do anything.’
‘Thank you, Jamie, but there’s nothing anyone can do.’
*
Jessie allowed her daughter a few hours only to mourn. She walked around her bedroom frantically. Kirsty hadn’t thought of the shame, the humiliation. For one awful moment Jessie even considered abortion and then, so horrified was she by her own thoughts, she fell down on her knees beside the bed and begged God’s forgiveness. Maybe grief would do it. That would be the best solution. Sometimes that happened. She watched Kirsty carefully. Nothing.
‘What are we going to do, Kirsty? We have to think. You’ll let the Colonel know, and Lady Sybill?’
Kirsty, thinner and paler than ever, looked at her mother sadly. ‘No, I can’t. I’ll stay on at school until the end of the year. I’m so thin, maybe I’ll be able to stay until the end of January.’
‘Five months pregnant! You’ll be stoned in the street. You’ll have to go away. I’ll write to Uncle Chay.’
‘No. Oh, Mother, please, there’s no room – him with a young wife and a babe now of his own. I’ll work as long as I can, and we’ll save, and then I’ll have the baby here.’
Jessie looked at her daughter incredulously. ‘You’re insane. You can’t know what you’re saying. You’re a school-teacher, Kirsty. Your morals are supposed to be . . .’
‘They are, Mother. My morals are admirable. I’m not ashamed of loving Hugh. He loved me . . .’
‘He never even wrote . . .’
‘Mother.’
Jessie looked at her daughter and saw the belief shining out of her dark eyes.
‘He loved me. I know, and no one can ever take that knowledge away from me or my baby. I don’t want to stay here and be pointed out as a loose woman every time I go out of that door any more than you do, but we have nowhere else to go. Besides, perhaps attitudes will be different because of the war.’
‘Maybe for some farm lassie, or some fisher lassie, but you’re the teacher, the Dominie’s lassie. Everybody expects you to be perfect. Will you tell the name of the father?’
‘No, and you mustn’t either, Mother, please. Try to understand. I never met Hugh’s parents. We never spoke about them, just about us. They probably don’t know I exist and now, when they’re mourning their only son . . . for me to turn up and say that I’m carrying his child. No, Mother.’
‘But they should help. They would want to know, Kirsty. They have a right to their grandchild.’
‘I can’t explain, Mother, but I can’t tell them, not yet, maybe not ever.’
Kirsty had considered writing to Hugh’s parents. She had imagined them, grief-stricken, heartbroken, pictured them receiving the news, the wonderful news that she was to have their son’s child. Then the doubts had rushed in. Would they want the child? Would they even believe her? As far as she knew, Hugh had never mentioned her to his parents. How often had she seen him, been with him? This last leave had been three days and they had spent only a few hours together. She thought of her child. Hugh’s parents were wealthy. The baby had a right to the same type of upbringing as his father had had.
Night after night Kirsty lay awake. She tried to sleep. She needed to be healthy and strong for the coming child, and for her job – even more stressful now that she tried to hide her condition and her worries from both the children and the staff. But sleep would not come. She had nursed one faint and slender hope, a hope that Hugh would have been able to write to her. She no longer doubted his love for her. She knew that he had died thinking of her, and that his spirit had waited for her in the Dell to assure her of his feelings. If he had written she could have gone to his parents, for no matter how brave she was for Jessie during the day, in the cold watches of the night her heart failed her. She was unmarried and she was going to have a child; she would be mocked at, jeered at, sworn at in the street. And the shame and embarrassment to Jessie – it didn’t bear thinking about. She could not stay in her job much longer. Already Miss Purdy had asked her if she was well. How would they eat, how would they pay the rent, when she had to leave school? Kirsty tossed and turned, and in the room next door, Jessie tossed in equal agony.
Jessie wanted Kirsty to go to Hugh’s parents. They had a right to know, and they might help even if they would not officially acknowledge an illegitimate grandchild. Jessie no longer worried about right and wrong. Even more than Kirsty, she feared the scorn of the people of the village. Some would stand by them; some would whisper behind their curtains. Jessie sighed for her tenuous position among the right people. They would not be quite so friendly when they found out. Bravely she put her personal feelings aside. She would support her daughter and the child as much as she could. Now she turned her thoughts to ways of earning money.
*
The next morning the headmaster asked the staff to meet him for a few minutes before school started. This was very unusual and there was a buzz of excitement in the staff room.
‘You’re not interested in Messages from on High, Kirsty?’ Miss Purdy had sat down beside Kirsty without her even noticing.
Kirsty blushed. ‘Of course. It’s just that new chips for the playground, or making sure that we comply with National Registration, don’t really seem too relevant.’
‘Maybe it’s the date for opening the soup kitchen.’
It was not.
The Dominie came in in a flurry of black gown.
‘I think it’s something bigger, lass,’ whispered Miss Purdy and received a frown from the Dominie for speaking.
‘Ladies, gentlemen, pupil teachers, last night I received a communication from the Board that affects us all. We are to be used for billeting by the Military Authorities and therefore the school will close at the New Year holiday.’
The reception of the news was all that he could have anticipated. There was an immediate storm of protest from the men – ‘Worried about their jobs,’ thought Kirsty scornfully and unkindly – and an excited buzzing from most of the women.
The words Military Authorities rang in Kirsty’s ears. ‘Hugh, oh, Hugh,’ she thought, and Miss Purdy noticed the sadness on the girl’s pale face. ‘You are the only military I can think about,’ and just then she felt a tiny flip inside her, like a small goldfish turning over in a jar. She put her hands wonderingly on her stomach and again Miss Purdy noticed.
‘The children, Dominie?’ protested Allan Inglis, the drill instructor. ‘What on earth is to happen to the children?’
‘A good question, Inglis, and one that the Board in its wisdom has seen fit to answer.’
‘How patronizing even the nicest men get when they have a bit of power,’ whispered Miss Purdy and was glad to see Kirsty smile.
‘We are to go to Parkhouse School, where we will alternate with their staff and students. We will be half-timers, as I believe was the habit in Dundee, though the children will not have to work in the mills but will be free to study.’
Everyone laughed at that sally.
‘I’m quite sure one or even two may well spend some time at their books. We will not as yet tell the pupils, although I am sure rumours will go the rounds as they always do. I will be meeting with my colleague from Parkhouse and with the Board, and will try to obtain the best terms. You will be pleased to hear that your salaries will not be affected but, naturally, you will be expected to earn them. I rather think that we shall teach straight through, with a break only for your babies, Miss Purdy, and there will be alternate dinner hours. That is, the school that works the morning shift will work through what was the dinner hour, and the others will start after it. Thank you for your time. I will keep you all informed. The soup kitchen, for those of you who had questions, will open in December and dinner will be from 1 to 1.30, so we will close at 3.35 p.m. I hope that won’t affect train timetables too much.’
The staff had no time to discuss the news because the bell rang for the first class. Kirsty went through her lessons mechanically. ‘I can’t go to another school. I’ll have to leave at the holiday. One month less salary. One month less salary. One month less salary.’
‘Miss, are you all right, Miss?’
Kirsty waved the child away. ‘Of course, Sadie. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘You don’t look well, Miss. Will I get the jannie?’
Kirsty looked at the girl. Did she know? Had she guessed? ‘The janitor isn’t needed, Sadie. Thank you.’
She collected her thoughts. ‘Take out the Palmerston Reader.’ There was the expected groan from the less able readers. ‘Fergie,’ she turned to her brightest pupil, ‘if you would like to read Dombey and Son until playtime you can sit out in the corridor. I would like you to finish Dickens by Christmas and go on to Thackeray’s Vanity Fair. I have a bound copy of my own you may borrow, and who is able to read Dickens after Fergie? You, Sadie, or is it to be you, Willie? Let’s see who is the best reader today. Charlie, begin at page forty-seven.’
She kept her attention firmly focused on teaching them reading. It was not enough that the children could pronounce the words; reading was for enjoyment, not only for the reader but for the listener. Some were pleased and some disappointed when the bell rang.
In the staff room there was more consternation. Robert Bell, the senior pupil teacher, had walked out of school and enlisted.
‘By God, I’ll go with you, lad.’ It was Allan Inglis. ‘They’ll be conscripting us soon, and who knows what kind of situation this half-time school is going to be? We’ll away and win the war for you, ladies. Who’ll give me a favour to hang on my rifle?’
Bile rose in Kirsty’s throat and she stumbled from the room. Miss Purdy followed her into the lavatory.
‘War’s not a joke, is it, lassie?’
‘No, it’s a horrible mess.’
‘Do you want to talk to me about it? Can I help you in any way?’
Dumbly Kirsty shook her head.
‘I offered to help you once before, lass. The offer still stands, and you’ve more need of help now, I think.’
‘I’ll be fine, really. It’s nothing, just him making a joke of war and death and destruction.’
‘My mother had nine pregnancies, my poor, dead sister-in-law had seven. I’m not blind, lass.’
‘No . . . no,’ Kirsty whispered.
‘It doesn’t show yet, lass, just in the eyes, but a woman would know. Your mother?’
Kirsty nodded.
‘Thank God for that. Will she help you?’
‘Yes.’
‘The father, Kirsty. Marriage?’
Slowly Kirsty shook her head. Her voice was so low that Miss Purdy could scarcely hear. ‘He’s dead.’
The older woman sat down abruptly on the lavatory seat. ‘Oh, God, you poor wee lass.’
Perhaps the sympathy was what Kirsty needed. She straightened up. ‘I’ll be fine, Miss Purdy. Really. Don’t worry. Quick, there’s the bell.’
That night she told Jessie about the takeover of the school. ‘I’ll have to leave a month early, Mother. I just can’t bear another group of people knowing and talking, and I think Miss McNeil is still at Parkhouse and I don’t want her to know.’
‘We’ll manage. Kirsty, Jamie Cameron was here this afternoon. He brought a hare.’
‘That was kind.’
‘He asked how you were. He knows, Kirsty.’
Kirsty looked at her mother incredulously. ‘How could he know?’
‘He loves you, Kirsty. I suppose that gives him a sixth sense. He didn’t exactly say that he knew you were in trouble . . .’
Kirsty interrupted her mother fiercely. ‘I’m not in trouble. I’m not, I’m not.’
‘Oh, Kirsty, love. That’s what the village will say.’
‘I don’t care what they say. I loved Hugh and he loved me and I’m glad, glad to be having his baby.’ She broke down sobbing and her mother held her in her arms.
‘Can you bear to have everyone talking about you, laughing at you? The schoolteacher, the Dominie’s lassie, with an illegitimate baby. How will we be able to hold up our heads, lass? Your father’s memory . . .’
‘I think about him, in the night, when I think about Hugh. Everyone will say I’ve disgraced him. Is that what you think?’
‘Oh, lassie. I scarce know what to think.’ And then Kirsty looked at her mother and saw, for the first time, the changes in her. She too was thinner and paler. The eyes were tired, loving still, but oh, so tired.
‘You lie awake too. Oh, Mother, I’m sorry. I’ve only thought of myself. I had it worked out. I can’t go back to teaching, can’t ever be what Father wanted, but next summer I’ll go to the harvest. There’ll be no men, except the farmworkers like Jamie. I’ll get a job. You could look after the baby. That’s what I’d planned, but you’re ashamed. Your sewing ladies . . .’
‘I’d prefer that you had waited till Hugh put a ring on your finger, lass, but I can understand. It was easy for Father and me – there was no worry, no strain, everything so nice and tidy. War’s not tidy. I’ll stand beside you with my head up, Kirsty, but could we not go to Uncle Chay? We could say you were a widow. God knows there are enough of them.’
‘Mother, you haven’t thought of Uncle Chay’s feelings. I could pretend to the neighbours that I was a widow, but I couldn’t lie to him. He deserves better from me than that.’
‘Let him decide, Kirsty, please.’
‘No. I won’t put him in the position of having to decide. Oh, Mother, please. It will be terrible at first, but people will get over it. I’ll get over it. People will forget.’
*
She was not surprised to find Jamie outside waiting for her next morning.
‘Have you no work to go to, Jamie?’
‘I’m taking the train in to order feedstuffs for the winter. I thought I’d chum you to the station. Carry your books, Miss?’
‘I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own books, thank you.’
‘I really came to tell you the Colonel’s closing the castle for the duration.’
‘What’s that to me?’ she asked sharply.
‘They won’t be back, Kirsty. The factor says no decisions will be made . . . no’ while they’re still shocked. But I think they’ll sell up. Her ladyship never liked it – wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she asked for a castle. Balmoral was more what she wanted, if you ask me, but the residents weren’t keen to sell.’
Still she said nothing.
‘I can always find the London address . . . should anybody want it?’
‘I can’t think of anyone remotely interested.’
They walked in silence for a while. Frost was everywhere, covering the ground with crisp, clean whiteness. Their breath formed clouds before them and Kirsty remembered how, years before, a little boy and girl had stood in the playground at Aberannoch, blowing clouds into the frosty air.
‘If the estate’s sold, will you be out of a job, Jamie?’
‘Wouldn’t think so. Good cattlemen are hard to find.’
‘I’m glad you’ll be all right.’
He put out his hand and held her arm. ‘And you, Kirsty? Are you going to be all right?’ He looked fiercely into her eyes and she blushed and dropped her lashes, almost with shame.
‘Christ,’ he said viciously. ‘I hoped . . . but you never get what you hope for in this world, it seems. We’ll need to hurry if we’re tae catch the train. For God’s sake, gie me your books. I’d dae it for any lassie.’
For the rest of the journey to Arbroath he said nothing. He touched his workman’s cap in salute at the station and left her looking after him.
‘Well, he’s found out what he really wanted to know,’ thought Kirsty, ‘and he’s the first to abandon me. Square your shoulders, Miss Robertson. You are on your own.’