Read Online The Laird of Lochandee by Gwen Kirkwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gwen Kirkwood
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Ross and Meg had almost finished milking their second cow when she returned to the byre. Ross grinned.
âHello, sleepyhead. Did you curl up and go back to sleep?â he teased. Rachel gave him a wan smile and got on with the milking. She felt much better by breakfast time, though her stomach was still doing minor somersaults. She ate her porridge slowly unaware of Gertrudeâs watchful stare.
Later in the day Gertrude harnessed the pony and yoked it into the trap, her mouth pursed into grim satisfaction.
âI expect she has gone to the Manse to see the minister,â Cameron said in reply to Megâs query. It was rare for Gertie to leave the farm except on market day. That evening, when Ross and Meg and Rachel had gone to bed, Gertrude reached for the stand which held her pen and ink bottle and drew out two thick sheets of writing paper. She seated herself at the kitchen table and drew the oil lamp close.
âWhy are you writing letters at this time of night?â Cameron asked sleepily. His voice was more slurred than usual. Gertie did not answer. She had given him twice the usual amount of medicine which Doctor Jardine had prescribed. She knew he would sleep soundly until morning, and he would probably be drowsy well into the day. She proceeded to write two letters, stopping every now and then to consider. One was for Ross, though she had no intention of letting him read it until he was many miles from Windlebrae. The other was to her half-cousin, Jim MacDonald, a further explanation of the telegram she had sent him that afternoon.
Since the first morning she had heard Rachel vomiting in the room above, her mind had been in a ferment of speculation, her eyes sharp, her ears alert. Cameron had foisted two unwanted people on her. Now they had both played into her hands. Her brain schemed furiously in preparation for one final step to banish them from her life forever.
Gertrude was up early. As soon as Ross and Meg had gone to the byre she hurried up the narrow stairs to the attic room. She tapped on Rachelâs door but she did not wait for a reply. Rachel was startled at her entrance. Her stomach was churning with the dreadful nausea. She was beginning to dread wakening. She could not understand it. All her life she had been healthy.
âA-am I late for the milking?â she gasped in alarm.
âNo, no.â Gertrude crossed to the other side of the bed. The autumn morning was still dark and the tiny window shed little light. She held up the lamp and looked down at Rachel, hiding her malice behind a sympathetic tone.
âIâve noticed you have been a bit pale lately, lass. Maybe you are too young for so much work â¦â
âOh no,â Rachel protested. âI am used to working.â
âThen maybe itâs something else that ails you? Iâve noticed youâre a mite sickly, especially in the mornings.â Rachel stared at her in amazement. The soft voice was so unfamiliar.
âI hope I did not offend you, if you saw â¦â
âIâve seen bairns oâ my own being sick before. Iâve come to tell you to take a rest. I will go to the milking this morning in your place.â
âOh, but I couldnât possibly do that!â Rachel made to swing her legs over the bed. The awful nausea made her head swim. It was a relief when Mistress Maxwellâs hand on her shoulder pressed her back against the pillows.
âNow you stay there until I come and tell you to get up. We donât want you falling sick with the winter coming on, do we?â
âN-no,â Rachel stammered in bewilderment, but she was thankful to sink back against her pillows. Gertrude nodded.
âRemember, you stay here until I tell you to get up.â
Gertrude closed the door firmly behind her. Rachel did not hear the key turn in the lock. She felt exhausted enough to sleep for a week. Gertrude crossed the narrow space to Rossâs door and reached
âHello, sleepyhead. Did you curl up and go back to sleep?â he teased. Rachel gave him a wan smile and got on with the milking. She felt much better by breakfast time, though her stomach was still doing minor somersaults. She ate her porridge slowly unaware of Gertrudeâs watchful stare.
Later in the day Gertrude harnessed the pony and yoked it into the trap, her mouth pursed into grim satisfaction.
âI expect she has gone to the Manse to see the minister,â Cameron said in reply to Megâs query. It was rare for Gertie to leave the farm except on market day. That evening, when Ross and Meg and Rachel had gone to bed, Gertrude reached for the stand which held her pen and ink bottle and drew out two thick sheets of writing paper. She seated herself at the kitchen table and drew the oil lamp close.
âWhy are you writing letters at this time of night?â Cameron asked sleepily. His voice was more slurred than usual. Gertie did not answer. She had given him twice the usual amount of medicine which Doctor Jardine had prescribed. She knew he would sleep soundly until morning, and he would probably be drowsy well into the day. She proceeded to write two letters, stopping every now and then to consider. One was for Ross, though she had no intention of letting him read it until he was many miles from Windlebrae. The other was to her half-cousin, Jim MacDonald, a further explanation of the telegram she had sent him that afternoon.
Since the first morning she had heard Rachel vomiting in the room above, her mind had been in a ferment of speculation, her eyes sharp, her ears alert. Cameron had foisted two unwanted people on her. Now they had both played into her hands. Her brain schemed furiously in preparation for one final step to banish them from her life forever.
Gertrude was up early. As soon as Ross and Meg had gone to the byre she hurried up the narrow stairs to the attic room. She tapped on Rachelâs door but she did not wait for a reply. Rachel was startled at her entrance. Her stomach was churning with the dreadful nausea. She was beginning to dread wakening. She could not understand it. All her life she had been healthy.
âA-am I late for the milking?â she gasped in alarm.
âNo, no.â Gertrude crossed to the other side of the bed. The autumn morning was still dark and the tiny window shed little light. She held up the lamp and looked down at Rachel, hiding her malice behind a sympathetic tone.
âIâve noticed you have been a bit pale lately, lass. Maybe you are too young for so much work â¦â
âOh no,â Rachel protested. âI am used to working.â
âThen maybe itâs something else that ails you? Iâve noticed youâre a mite sickly, especially in the mornings.â Rachel stared at her in amazement. The soft voice was so unfamiliar.
âI hope I did not offend you, if you saw â¦â
âIâve seen bairns oâ my own being sick before. Iâve come to tell you to take a rest. I will go to the milking this morning in your place.â
âOh, but I couldnât possibly do that!â Rachel made to swing her legs over the bed. The awful nausea made her head swim. It was a relief when Mistress Maxwellâs hand on her shoulder pressed her back against the pillows.
âNow you stay there until I come and tell you to get up. We donât want you falling sick with the winter coming on, do we?â
âN-no,â Rachel stammered in bewilderment, but she was thankful to sink back against her pillows. Gertrude nodded.
âRemember, you stay here until I tell you to get up.â
Gertrude closed the door firmly behind her. Rachel did not hear the key turn in the lock. She felt exhausted enough to sleep for a week. Gertrude crossed the narrow space to Rossâs door and reached
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