Chapter Fifteen

Going Home

O had ye been a wooer leal,

We would hae met wi’ hearts mair keen:

Hey how my Johnny lad,

Ye’re no’ sae kind’s ye should hae been.

In the second week of June, Jean came back to Mauchline. She had grown quite fond of her uncle and aunt and her cousins in the weeks she had been staying in the house in Back Sneddon Street, and they seemed genuinely sad to see her go, but they had also accepted, reluctantly, that she and Rab Wilson were never going to make a match of it. That being the case, she had better go home to Mauchline and face the consequences of her unwise behaviour with Rab Mossgiel, letting the kirk in the person of the Reverend William Auld do whatever was needed to resolve the situation. Rab Wilson had escorted her part of the way, made sure she was safely on the coach from Kilmarnock to Mauchline, kissed her gently on both cheeks and bade her a safe journey and a good outcome to all her troubles.

‘Have courage, Jeany,’ he said. ‘You never know. It may all come right in the end.’

She smiled at him and waved till he was out of sight, feeling forlorn. There were so few people wholly on her side. Not even Rab Mossgiel. Certainly not Rab Mossgiel from what she had heard. His resentment at what he saw as her faithlessness seemed to have grown with the baby inside her.

Her belly was swelling by the day. It was alarming how large it was growing. Was it going to be a boy, she wondered? A big boy who looked like his father? However it was, her condition was unmistakable and there was no denying it now. The kirk session already knew, she would be compeared to appear before them, would be asked about the father of her child, and there was nothing to be done but tell the truth. She saw all this in her mother’s face when she met her from the coach and hurried her into the house in the Cowgate, bag and baggage.

For the first few weeks, they kept her quietly in the house. Jean found herself wondering if anyone knew of her arrival, surprised that the news had not filtered through the town. She would have no peace when word got out. The full might of the Kirk would be down on her and her condition. But to her astonishment, her first visitor was not the Reverend Auld, nor even James Lamie, come on the session’s business, but Rab Mossgiel himself, hammering at the door, demanding to see her, as though all these weeks had not passed, as though he thought she would have heard nothing about his affair with May Campbell. She was upstairs, hearing Nelly read, using the family bible, when he came to the door. When she heard his voice, she flushed, crimson to the very roots of her hair.

‘Is that Rab Burns?’ whispered Nelly, seizing the chance to escape from the loathed lessons. ‘He sounds awfy angry, Jean.’

The whole street would know all about it now. But then they would have known all about it already, would surely have been waiting for her return. Waiting to see how things developed. Her mother barred the door, would not let him come in, even though Jean came to the top of the stairs and, with Nelly pulling at her skirts, begged to be allowed to speak to him. She could see his blue coat, his black hair. Her heart pounded at the sight of him. But she realised that her parents were still obdurate. No good would come of letting the whole sorry situation be rekindled.

It seemed, quite suddenly, that Rab thought so too. One last try perhaps. She had heard that he had put on sackcloth and ashes, so to speak, and gone to the kirk the previous Sunday. It had been many years since any penitent had been forced to wear real sackcloth. The tailors of the town had long ago refused to provide it. More leeway still had been given, and Robert Burns had been permitted to stay in his own seat rather than perching on the cutty stool, only standing up to be admonished for his sins. She had not been there, but this coming Sunday, so her father said, she must stand up beside her partner in crime and take her punishment, so that the whole congregation might see the wages of sin. Three Sundays. They must be admonished for three Sundays, which meant that there would be one Sunday, the last, when she must stand up alone, knowing that Rab would already be a free man, free to marry May Campbell if he wished, while she … what would she be in the eyes of the congregation, in the eyes of the town? She couldn’t say what would be worse, what would be more humiliating: to stand up beside him or to stand up without him.

This visit was a last throw of the dice. He had steeled himself to come, and now he was very angry that they were again barring the door to him. He peered over Mary Armour’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of Jean on the stairs, shouted her name.

‘Will ye no even speak to me, Jeany?’ he said. ‘Good God, lass, you were content to lie in my arms and now you deny me in front of the whole town!’

‘Shameful!’ Mary exclaimed, her face red with mortification on her own and her daughter’s behalf, aware that half the doors in the street were open, with folk listening behind them. Thoroughly alarmed, she tried to push him away and slam the door in his face, but he had put his booted foot on the step, angled into the doorway, and she couldn’t close it. He was much stronger than she, and James was away. The youngest children, Janet and Robert, set up a great howling, frightened by the commotion and by the anger in his voice.

‘You’d best do something, Jeany!’ hissed Nelly. ‘Will you no speak to him?’

Impelled by a little push from her sister, Jean came rushing down the stairs, or rushing as much as she could, given the tremendous burden she carried before her.

‘You’re frightening the weans!’ she said, indignantly. She looked across at the infants on the hearthrug: Janet and wee Robert, red faced, tears running down their cheeks, chests heaving with sobs. ‘And you two can haud yer wheesht. Can ye no see, it’s only Rab Burns of Mossgiel, not auld Nick?’

She heard her mother muttering ‘might as well be’ under her breath and had a terrible desire to laugh. There was something comical about the situation that belied its seriousness. But perhaps it was her condition that was making her so flighty. Besides, it would never do. Her father would never forgive her for bringing such trouble to their door. And he would most certainly get to hear about it. If her mother didn’t tell him, the neighbours would.

‘Rab, this isnae helping. Ye need to gang awa hame.’

He stood his ground. ‘So tell me, Jeany, what will help?’

‘They say I’m to stand up beside you in the kirk this Sunday, and the Sunday following. Maybe then we’ll have done with it all.’

‘I don’t want you beside me. I would be very well pleased not to have your company at all, even in the kirk.’

‘Father says I must.’

‘Then you must, since you seem to obey him in everything.’

‘I don’t want to either. I’m ashamed to do it in this condition.’

He seemed to have been fixed on her face, staring into her eyes, but now he lowered his gaze to her immense belly and was momentarily confounded, speechless. A rare thing for him. ‘What can I do? ’ he asked, more gently. ‘Jeany, is there anything I can do? ’

‘Nothing. You’re frightening my mother and the weans. Please, please, Rab – just go. Just away back to Mossgiel and leave us in peace.’

His look of absolute dismay confounded her.

‘I’m warning you, if I go this day, I’ll no be back in a hurry.’

‘Go!’ she said again, desperately. Anything to get him to leave, while her mother stood behind her, wringing her hands.

‘You poor misguided wretch. What have they done to you? What have they done to my brave girl?’

Little Janet, more courageous than her brother, had come to stand beside her sister and was tugging at her skirts with one hand, gazing up at Rab with her thumb in her mouth.

Jean shook her head. ‘Just go. Please!’

‘All right. I’ll go. But I’m warning you, this is the last time. Your last chance. I’ll no be back!’ he said as he left. Then, raising his voice so that the whole street could hear – and, thought Jean, the whole street would still be listening – ‘Jean Armour, you’ve played me false in every way! You must think me a fool, but at least I am no knave. Well hell mend you. You can go to the devil for all I care!’

He was gone, storming off towards the Whitefoord Arms, there, no doubt, to drown his sorrows with Johnnie Dow’s finest whisky.

She went indoors and sank down on the bottom step, weeping. Mary came and put her arms around her. ‘Wheesht, Jeany! It’s no very good for the wean, lass. Wheesht.’

‘He’ll never come back, will he? I’ve denied him and betrayed him. He’ll never speak to me again.’

‘Aye well, maybe that will be for the best.’

Soon after that, and while she was still very much shaken after her encounter with Rab, they gave her pen and ink and paper and her father told her what she must write.

‘I am heartily sorry that I have given and must give your session trouble on my account. I acknowledge that I am with child and Robert Burns in Mossgiel is the father. I am with great respect your most humble servant, Jean Armour.’

The evening of that same day, having received her letter, Daddie Auld came to the house, creeping along the Cowgate, muffled in his coat. He didn’t much care about gossip, but he did care about Jean, had known her since she was a baby and then as a lass, dancing about the green or sitting primly in the kirk, her hands folded in front of her. He thought a good deal of her. He liked to hear her sing. If anyone could be said to have the voice of an angel, it would be Jeany Armour. It was a voice that did your heart good, a gift from God that made even a dour old man like himself think the world not such a bad place after all. He had always thought her a sweet, sunny natured lass with a natural goodness about her, and he had seen no reason to change his mind, whatever temptation she might have succumbed to. Truth to tell, he sympathised with her somewhat. He was no friend to Rab Mossgiel, although the younger brother Gilbert was a different matter, and he had heard good and admirable things about their father, William. But in James’s shoes, and given Jean’s predicament, he thought that he might well have simply gone along with the marriage. Neither of them seemed averse to it. The signed paper was evidence of that. The couple would have muddled through. He had seen many a good marriage endure long after inauspicious beginnings. Usually his chief problem was in getting the young man to assume the responsibility of fatherhood. No lass should be left alone to carry such a burden. But it seemed that Rab Mossgiel was proud to be named as father, had been enthusiastic about marriage to Jean, equally enthusiastic about his weans. That was all too rare, and he had a strong suspicion that the good Lord to whom he prayed each day would encourage it. But James Armour seemed set against Rab as a son-in-law, and who was he to argue with the man? He must surely know his own daughter’s wishes.

Auld sat down opposite her, sighed, asked her what she planned to do. He drew the session minutes book out of his pocket. The session clerk had copied the letter into it, so that there was a formal record of her guilt. Now, she must sign her name to it, which she did on the kitchen table, blurring the entry with tears. All that remained was for her to stand up in the kirk for the next three weeks and she would be a free woman again.

‘Is that what you want, Jeany?’ he asked. ‘You can speak freely to me, lass.’

Tactfully, Mary left them alone, shooing the younger children out of the room and into the back kitchen and thence into the garden where she found something useful for them to do. Jean shook her head, confused. She didn’t know. It seemed the wean’s father hated her now. She would gladly have married him, but her father and mother disliked him so much. She had not been brave enough to fight her parents and all was lost. Or perhaps Rab had not fought hard enough for her, had not realised how difficult it would be for a young woman who was used to being a loving and obedient daughter to defy her parents. It came to her with a spark of hope that she would have to wait till the baby was born. Perhaps Rab would feel differently then. Everyone knew he was very fond of his daughter by Betty Paton. He had even written a poem for the child, loving, defiant. Welcome my bonnie, sweet, wee daughter. Perhaps he would find it in his heart to be equally fond of this other child, if and when it came safely into the world. But for now, she could only think that order must somehow be restored as soon and as decently as possible, and Mr Auld seemed to agree with her.

‘Jean, I’ve decided I won’t make you stand up in the kirk. Not in your condition, lass. You’ll be called this Sunday, but you needn’t be there. You just ca’ canny and stay quietly at home.’

‘My father says I must come.’

‘And I say you mustn’t!’ She saw a flash of anger in his eyes and realised that it was not aimed at her, but at her father. Mr Auld was known to be a patient man, but you didn’t cross him. Not if you were wise. ‘And I think your father will be content to follow my advice in this, at least. Don’t you?’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ She was subdued but grateful. It would have been terrible to be admonished and shamed before the eyes of the whole congregation, with Willie Fisher and James Lamie glaring at her and staring at her belly as though they wished they had had the filling of it themselves. The very thought of it made her feel sick and dizzy. She put a hand to her head.

‘Are you well, Jeany?’

‘Aye. The heat doesn’t help. I get a wee thing dizzy now and then.’

‘Which is why I will not have you standing up in the kirk. No, no. The letter will do.’ He patted the book. ‘There’ll be trouble about it, of course, and some of the elders will complain.’ He gave her a wee grin, unexpectedly mischievous. ‘But then they’re aye complaining about something or other. It’s a regular pastime for some of them. But they’ll not cross me. You stay quietly at home. Let the lad take his punishment and take the blame too. I’m thinking it will do him no harm to be pulled up short by the recognition of the part he has played in all this. He feels hard done by the now, or so I’ve heard. He was not exactly a picture of penitence last Sunday, but at least he was there and acknowledging his fault. If he’ll stand up in the kirk for another two Sundays, and give some money for the relief of the poor, then I’ll give him the bachelor’s certificate he seems to want and all will be well.’

‘I don’t think anything will ever be well again,’ she said, dully.

‘Jeany, oh my dear Jeany!’ He patted her hand. ‘These things have a habit of sorting themselves out in the end. I’m an old man and have seen a very great deal in my life so far. What’s for you won’t go by you. Let’s wait and see, eh? Let’s just wait and see.’

He was a man of great wisdom and a surprising kindliness, given his traditional views, so perhaps she should put her trust in him and the good Lord too. Perhaps that was all she could do.

* * *

If Jean was hoping for some respite in the weeks that followed, she was doomed to disappointment. Rab was still planning to go to the Indies. Jean had no idea what had become of May Campbell, or even whether they were still betrothed. Was she waiting for him? Was she in Campbeltown or was she in Greenock with her brother? There was no word in the town, no word at Coilsfield either, and Rab was saying nothing, although it seemed that his plans for the Indies were progressing. If he was writing to May about all this, nobody else seemed to know. Meanwhile, his book of poems was almost ready for publication, and another week or so would see its distribution to a great many subscribers. She was glad for him, wished forlornly that she might see a copy, wondered if any of the poems concerned her. She didn’t think so. Not love poems, anyway. Although knowing what a malicious streak he possessed when his feelings were hurt, she wondered uneasily if he might have found some way of avenging what he saw as her lack of faith in him. Words could be weapons where Rab was concerned.

Worse, it was becoming clear that Mary and James Armour had begun to wonder whether there might be some way of wringing money as well as penitence out of Rab Mossgiel and all without relinquishing their daughter as a marriageable prospect. It had begun when one or two of James’s drinking cronies had told him, to his utter astonishment and profound mortification, that the forthcoming book was likely to be a success, that Rab might even make some money out of it. It had never occurred to him that poetry might be lucrative, that Rab might become – God forbid – a rich man. Nobody made money out of poetry, did they? He had always despised the lad’s bookishness, the way he aye had his nose in a book. Armour had thought him an idler who did little but read. His younger brother, he fancied, was the better farmer. In fact, he might even have entertained the more sober and cautious Gilbert as a suitor for Jeany instead of Rab Wilson, if that young man had shown the slightest interest in her or she in him.

If Jean did not want the weaver, or the weaver did not want her, then some other, more acceptable young man might do. But to that end, he had to secure a better dowry for his daughter since, barring unforeseen circumstances at the birth, she would have another man’s child in tow, and although James was not a poor man, he still had a large family to provide for. He therefore cast about for some way of securing her future that did not involve spending too much of his own money. The farm at Mossgiel was not prosperous, for all Mr Hamilton’s promises to the Burns family, and they were a large family too, but now it seemed that Rab might become wealthy. Well, there was no use in regretting his over-hasty dismissal of the poet as a prospective son-in-law. But perhaps something could be done. His wife was in agreement with him, and indeed the initial suggestion had come from her, once she had learned that there might be money in poetry after all.

He therefore went to Ayr to consult with another lawyer, not Aiken this time, since he thought it better if Mossgiel’s friends knew nothing about the move until it was too late to counter it. Jean heard her parents talking about it very late one night, when they thought she was fast asleep in bed. But she was not sleeping well. The fine, warm spell continued. The room upstairs was unbearably stuffy and the baby seemed to be tossing and turning at inconvenient hours, quiet whenever she walked about, but waking and moving whenever she attempted to lie still. Her sisters complained that Jean’s belly was forever kicking them in the back. She got up, sliding quietly out of bed, thinking about all those times she had slid out of bed to meet with Rab, thinking about the room in the Whitefoord Arms, the feather bed where he had loved her. Such a short time ago, too. She wanted to weep. She was forever dissolving into tears these days, and there was nobody to dry them, nobody to help her, not even her mother, who was too preoccupied with the rest of the family, too cowed by her husband’s wrath to go against his wishes. And it was his chief wish that Jean be left alone to reflect upon her sinfulness. Then, once the baby was born, they would see if they could find some young man with better prospects ‘willing to take her on.’ Jean hated the way he said that, as though she would be an unwelcome burden for somebody. She had even thought about going to speak to Mr Auld again, but what could she say to him? That she wanted to see a kindly face, hear a kindly word? No. It couldn’t be done. He would simply tell her to honour and obey her father as the commandment instructed.

She got up and tiptoed, barefoot, to the top of the stairs, glad of the coolness on the soles of her feet. She could hear the low murmur from below: her father laying down the law as he so often did these days. But she heard her own name mentioned and also Mossgiel, and that worried her. They always called Rab plain ‘Mossgiel’, never Mr Burns. She went as far as she dared, sat down and strained to listen. Her father was speaking and her mother was agreeing with him, as usual. It seemed that her parents were making plans, and she could hardly believe her ears. The idea had come from Mary, but James had found out how to put it into practice. He would be seeking a warrant to throw Rab in jail until he should find security for a truly enormous sum of money. Not that Rab possessed such a sum, of course. But that was immaterial. He had prospects. And if the book were to become successful…

She leaned her hot head against the wall, the tears running down her face, wondering how she could warn Rab about all that was being plotted against him.