Moorland Mist Read online

  Gwen

  Kirkwood

  ROBERT HALE • LONDON

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  One

  ‘I don’t want to live anywhere else. I dinna want to leave you and Mother, and everybody.’ Emmie Greig stared at her father in dismay. She loved their cottage in Locheagle, the village where she had been born and gone to school and where everybody knew everybody else.

  ‘We all need to earn a living, lassie. You’ll be fourteen in a couple of weeks.’ Bert Greig loved his only daughter dearly but they were not a wealthy family and he believed honest toil never hurt anybody. His tone softened. ‘Ye’re a wee tot of a thing but ye canna stay at school for ever. Your brothers were all working before they were fourteen.’

  ‘But they still bide here with you and Ma. Why can’t I do the same?’

  ‘I’m not having you work in the mills, nor anywhere near yon coal mine. Anyway, I’ve spoken to Mr Sinclair and got you a place up at Bonnybrae. The farm is on the edge o’ the moors and the fresh air will help ye get rid o’ that cough. There should be plenty good food. Maybe you will grow a bit more. I’ve heard Mistress Sinclair is strict, and a bit too fond of her Bible, but her family were better class than most of the farmers round here. She’s known for training her maids well. You’ll be fit for a job in one of the big houses after a few years at Bonnybrae,’ he added in the nearest Bert Greig ever got to coaxing.

  ‘But Dad, I dinna want to live away from home …’ Emmie strove to blink back her tears but drops sparkled on her thick dark lashes. Bert had to turn away from the sight of them and harden his heart. He was sure he was doing what was best for his lassie.

  ‘You’re to be paid twenty pounds a year as well as your board and lodging and two dresses, caps and pinafores for working. If you drink plenty of milk and eat up your bacon, you’ll make a fine healthy woman.’

  Emma turned to her mother, her green-blue eyes luminous with unshed tears. Her chin wobbled with the effort of holding her emotions in check. She knew tears irritated her father, and her brothers would tease her.

  ‘Do I have to go away, Mother?’ she pleaded. Eliza Greig lowered her eyes. She didn’t want Emmie to leave home but she knew Bert was right. Emmie would be safer in the country, away from temptations. She had to earn her living and she might be healthier if she was out in the country instead of working in one of the factories as so many of the women were doing these days. The new railways were spreading up and down the country and bringing more industry and more people every week. The boundaries of Glasgow and Paisley were expanding out into the countryside.

  In five more years they would be into a new century. She sighed, wondering what changes it would bring to the vast British Empire which Queen Victoria continued to rule, even without her beloved Prince Albert. The gossip forecast wild times ahead when the Prince of Wales became King.

  Eliza raised her eyes and looked at her daughter.

  ‘None of us want to see you leave home, lassie, but you’re lucky to get taken on at Bonnybrae. Mr Sinclair is giving you a job because he and your father were at the village school together and they were friends in those days. It will be a lot healthier on the farm than working in a bleaching mill or in the print works, or the tannery.’ She shuddered. ‘The smell would turn my stomach.’

  ‘Ma’s right, Emmie,’ Richard, her eldest brother, said gently. ‘There’s some would be grateful for the chance to earn their daily bread at all. You’ll get a day off once a month and we’ll walk over the hill to meet you. Won’t we, lads?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll meet ye, Emmie, if only to tug your braids.’ Joe grinned, eyeing his sister’s thick brown hair. It was one of her best features, curling at her temples and falling in glossy waves almost to her waist when it was not plaited to go to school.

  Although he could tease her unmercifully himself, he was always ready to protect her. He had a fiery temper if it was roused.

  ‘I’ll lend you my book of poems, Emmie,’ Davy offered. ‘I think you’ll enjoy looking after the animals.’

  At sixteen he was nearest in age to Emmie and they had always been close. Like her, he was finely built and small for his age. He was more studious than his brothers and the school master had tried to persuade his father to let him stay on at school. His treasured book of poetry had been a school prize.

  Bonnybrae Farm was four miles from Locheagle, high up the glen. James Sinclair was known as a hard man but a fair one, and he ruled his household with a firm hand. Some said he needed to be stern with four sons and three daughters to launch into the world. Three of them were already married and Bess would soon be the fourth. He had successfully negotiated with the Factor for the tenancy of farms for his two married sons and it was common knowledge that he was presently arranging the tenancy of another farm for his daughter and his prospective son-in-law. It was to replace Bess that he had hired Emmie Greig.

  As a boy James Sinclair had attended the Locheagle village school, along with the other lads and lassies from the surrounding farms and the village. He had known Bert Greig and Eliza since childhood, although they moved in different circles now. They were a decent God-fearing couple and they had reared their family accordingly. The two men had met by accident outside the cobbler’s and enquired for the well-being of their respective families. Bert had mentioned that his youngest, his only daughter, was almost ready to leave school.

  ‘We shall be needing a maid at Bonnybrae,’ James Sinclair said. ‘Bess is getting married so we shall need one to live with us. She’d need to work in the dairy as well as the house.’

  ‘That would suit my Emmie,’ Bert said immediately. ‘I don’t want her to go into the factory, or work at the tannery. She’s small for her age but she’s a tough wee thing. She has to be with three older brothers.’

  ‘Send her up to Bonnybrae when she finishes at the school then. I’ll tell my wife to expect her. She deals with the women and their work.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Thanks, James.’ Bert had grasped the opportunity to settle Emmie’s future without hesitation. He whistled all the way home. He felt fate had guided him when he’d offered to collect the boot repairs from the cobbler that morning, instead of leaving them to his wife as he usually did.

  The youngest Sinclair daughter, Agnes, had married at eighteen against her mother’s wishes. She already had two children but she was happy looking after her husband and his father on a sheep farm seven miles to the south. Robin and Jack and their wives were grateful to have farms of their own. They neighboured each other and worked together for hay and harvest or thrashing. People assumed that Maggie, the eldest daughter, was content to remain at Bonnybrae along with her elder brother Jim, since neither were married.

  William was the youngest, and most like his father with his blue eyes and reddish brown hair and a temper to go with it if provoked. He had also inherited his parents’ desire to be in control, rather than accept orders. At twenty he frequently rebelled. He was impatient to hold the reins and rent a farm of his own and make the decisions, but he had no desire to tie himself down with the 23-year-old daughter of a neighbouring farmer, however amiable she was reputed to be. Her father was a widower and a friend of James Sinclair. If William married the girl, he would take over the tenancy of the farm one day without needing the help of his overb
urdened father. William was adamant he would not consider such a union for the sake of a farm. He thought Laura Baird was passably good-looking but she lived in her father’s shadow. She never expressed an opinion of her own. He was convinced she would never have a passion to match his own and she would probably be as straight-laced and puritanical as his mother when she was older, but he was wise enough to keep that opinion to himself.

  ‘Your mother and Maggie have spoiled you or you’d be glad to marry Baird’s lassie and set up home with her,’ James declared after one of their arguments. ‘You’ll have to take my orders while you continue working at Bonnybrae.’ The similarity of their characters often led to heated discussions but it also forged a bond so neither ever bore malice.

  It was Maggie who drove the Bonnybrae trap down to Locheagle to collect Emmie and her few possessions the day after she left school. Her father and brothers were at work so there was only her mother to witness her tears and Emmie clung to her, unable to hide her emotions. Over her head, Eliza saw the concern in Maggie Sinclair’s eyes and knew instinctively that she would treat her bairn kindly.

  ‘Come now, lassie,’ she said briskly and held Emma away from her. ‘Dry your eyes and don’t keep Miss Sinclair waiting.’

  ‘Please call me Maggie.’ She smiled and Eliza wondered why folks said she was plain. She had such a sweet smile and gentle grey eyes.

  ‘There now, Emma,’ her mother said firmly, using her proper name, ‘you’ll be fine. Miss Maggie will teach you to be a good housewife and dairy maid. Do you have any other maids up at Bonnybrae?’ she asked, to give her daughter time to control her tears.

  ‘Not now. We had two when we were all young but since my sisters and I grew old enough to work, we have only had Mrs Edgar. She comes in three days a week and helps with washing and ironing. She’s a kindly soul, Emma. You’ll like her.’

  Emma nodded, sniffed hard and blew her nose.

  ‘Away into the scullery, lassie, and wash your face. We mustn’t keep Miss er Maggie waiting any longer.’

  ‘We’re to call for extra groceries today. We had so many visitors with Bess getting married that we’re running short of flour and sugar and a few other things.’ Emma returned and her mother hurried her out to the trap so that she would have no opportunity to cling to her again.

  Maggie did her best to put Emma at ease but she looked no more than a child. She wondered whether her father had even met the girl before he hired her or whether he had simply acted on impulse after meeting his old friend, Bert Greig. Both her father and William were prone to acting first and ruing later. She wondered what her mother would think when she saw her diminutive new maid. Bess’s wedding had taken a lot out of her and Maggie knew she was hoping for a big strong girl who could do a good day’s work. Twenty years ago, she had almost died giving birth to William and she had been in delicate health ever since.

  Emma helped Maggie carry the provisions from the trap. They went straight from the farm yard through a green painted door into a large scullery with a flat stone sink which had a pump at one end. Maggie explained the door to the left was the kitchen and the one in the corner was the pantry. She undid the sneck with her elbow and pushed the door with her foot since her arms were full of packages. Emma followed with a large basket. Her eyes widened as she took in the rows of shelves along two sides and the assortment of jars and bottles of fruits and jams, chutney and pickles. Above her head were four huge hooks and from two of these hung a large ham, swathed in white cotton, and a side of bacon. On one wall there was a mesh covered door and she guessed that was into the outside meat safe like the one they had at home. In front of them was a long stone table which held bowls of eggs and two large shallow bowls full of milk.

  ‘We set the milk at night and skim off the cream in the mornings,’ Maggie explained. ‘We have two favourite cows which we keep for the house. Father takes the rest to the station each morning. It goes to Glasgow on the train and from there the creamery sells it round the houses. If you milk the house cows you must remember to bring their milk to the house.’

  ‘M-milk the c-cows?’ Emma echoed faintly. She had only seen cows from the other side of a fence, safely penned into fields.

  ‘You’ve never milked a cow?’ Maggie asked. ‘Och, you’ll soon learn,’ she said reassuringly, but Emma shuddered at the thought. She felt sick. ‘We churn the butter twice each week. Come on, we’ll bring in your box now. The maids’ room opens off the kitchen. I’ll show you where it is.’

  When they came into the scullery a second time Emma asked, ‘Where does that door lead?’

  ‘The one in front of us is the washhouse. There’s a copper boiler in there and we light it every morning to get hot water for washing the dairy utensils, as well as for washing clothes. There’s a door from there directly into the dairy. Father had it made to save us carrying hot water through the scullery. There’s a door at the back of the washhouse to the clothesline and you’ll see the closet near the gate into the orchard.’

  ‘I hope I shall remember everything,’ Emma said nervously.

  ‘Och, you’ll soon get used to things,’ Maggie said. ‘Come on and we’ll take these to your room. Live-in maids always sleep next to the kitchen.’ She gave a slight frown; she didn’t enjoy giving orders, especially to such a young girl. ‘You’ll be expected to get up first and rake out the range and kindle the fire to boil the kettle. We all like a hot drink before we start the milking, then Mother boils up the porridge when she comes through. Bess used to light the fire and boil the kettle so we’re missing her now she’s married. I’ll do it for a couple of days to show you until you settle in. It’s important to clean the flues properly or the fire doesn’t draw to make the oven hot, then Mother gets cross.’

  How would she manage, Emma wondered? How would she remember everything and how would she waken? Dad always called her brothers to get ready for work and she got up for school when they left.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Emma,’ Maggie teased. ‘You’ll soon get used to things.’

  ‘But what if I don’t waken in time?’

  ‘I’ll lend you my alarm clock to waken you, then you can come and knock on my door. My room is at the front of the house, and Mother and Father sleep in the other front room. My brothers all slept upstairs. Only Jim and William are still here, and there’s only me in the room I used to share with Bess. It seems quiet without her. She was always singing as she worked. Can you sing?

  ‘N-no, at least I don’t think so. I–I sing hymns in the kirk.’

  ‘William will try to coax you, for sure. He plays Father’s fiddle when he can get it, and Jim’s quite good on the penny whistle. Come on, we’ll wash our hands at the pump, then you can help me make the tea. The men will soon be in for theirs before we start the milking.’

  Emma turned pale at the thought of milking a cow, and she felt too sick to eat anything when the three Sinclair men came in, followed by the ploughman and a young man whom Maggie called an orraman. He grinned at Emma.

  ‘That means I’m Jack of all trades,’ he explained.

  ‘Aye and master o’ none, even though his name is Jock,’ his companion teased.

  ‘It means he’s a general worker,’ Maggie explained, ‘and John mainly looks after the horses and helps with the ploughing. They sleep in the bothy so they eat with us. The other men are married and live in the three cottages we passed on the road up.’

  ‘We all have to do whatever work is needed,’ James Sinclair said sternly, ‘and we shall expect you to do the same.’ He eyed Emma for the first time and a frown knit his bushy brows together. ‘There’s not much o’ ye.’

  ‘That is exactly what I was thinking.’ They all turned towards the door leading from the front hall. Mary Sinclair surveyed them, seated around the scrubbed kitchen table but her eyes rested longest on Emma before she turned her gaze on her husband and her fine brows lifted. James knew she was asking what had possessed him to bring this stray kitten into her household. He
shrugged.

  ‘There’s not much of her but she’ll soon grow when we get some good meat into her. Come on, lassie, ye’ll have to eat more than that. We expect everybody to work hard at Bonnybrae but we dinna grudge any man or maid their meat.’ But Emma was feeling more queasy by the second.

  ‘What age are you?’ Mrs Sinclair demanded as she took her seat at the end of the long table behind the big brown tea pot.

  ‘I–I shall be fourteen on the 10th July, ma’am.’

  ‘Fourteen in a week’s time,’ William whistled. ‘You look more like a ten-year-old to me,’ he grinned. His father scowled at him.

  ‘It isn’t how big people are, it’s how willing they are that counts,’ Maggie declared, also frowning at her youngest brother. ‘Emma has never been near a cow so maybe we should give you the job of teaching her to milk since you think you have such a great understanding of cattle.’ Now it was William’s turn to glower. Emma shrank even further into her seat.

  ‘I think you had better show her what to do the first time,’ Mary Sinclair said to Maggie in a milder tone. ‘We all know William is not noted for his patience. Did you collect the material to make her some working dresses and aprons?’

  ‘Yes, I did. Miss Wilkins already had Emma’s measurements from making her a dress to go to church so she has cut out the first one with a little extra at the seams to allow for her growing.’

  ‘Can you sew?’ Mrs Sinclair asked with a note of resignation.

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am,’ Emma said, brightening. She had won the sewing prize at school, and one for knitting. ‘And I can knit socks on four needles,’ she added eagerly.

  ‘Well, that’s something at least,’ Mrs Sinclair said dryly.

  ‘Can ye darn stockings, bairn?’ Mr Sinclair asked. ‘There’s always plenty o’ that to do, or so the women keep telling me.’

  ‘Yes, I can darn neatly,’ Emma said. ‘I could do everything at school but – but I’ve never milked a cow – and – and I’m not sure if I c-can.’