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Authors: Doris Davidson
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young Harry who gave Janet at least some information. ‘I saw him speaking to the grieve for a while.’
With no word of thanks, Janet rushed out again and made for the grieve’s house, one of the four cottages built for the married workers, and, when Ina Sim answered her knock, she gasped, ‘Is Henry here?’
The woman’s cheery face sobered. ‘He was but he wouldna bide. Davey was that sorry for him when he said what hadhappened, he offered him a bed for the nicht but he wouldna hear o’t. Are you coming in?’
‘I’ll nae come in, thank you. I need to speak to him for I found him a new job. Have you nae idea where he …?’
‘Maybe he said something to Davey. He did say his Gramma had died – that was what kept him away.’
‘I ken’t there was something!’ There was no triumph in Janet’s words.
‘You’ll be asking aboot Henry?’ The grieve himself, a tall stout man in tweeds and a flat cap, had walked up the path not far behind her. ‘You’d best come in.’
She followed Ina into the cosy kitchen where a large lurcher was sprawled on the hearth. ‘Shift yoursel’, Davey grinned, giving the dog a nudge with the toe of his boot. ‘Other folk need to get in aboot for a heat.’
Clearly accustomed to this order, the animal didn’t move as much as an eyelid and the three ‘folk’ sat down, careful not to disturb him. ‘Did Henry tell you where he was going?’ Janet couldn’t wait another minute.
‘He was real upset, hardly ken’t what he was saying, poor loon, but he let slip his grandmother had died sudden and he bade wi’ his sister till the frunial was by.’
‘He’ll have gone back to his sister, then. Did he tell you where she bade?’
‘I never thocht to ask.’ The grieve looked ashamed for his lack of interest.
A brooding silence fell during which Ina got up to make a pot of tea. She busied herself further by taking three enamel mugs from the dresser and laying them on the well-scrubbed wooden table. Then she took a flagon of milk – one of the perquisites of farm employment – from the pantry where there was a marble slab to keep perishables cool and poured a little into each mug. She was in the act of swirling boiling water in the brown china teapot to heat it when her husband banged his fist on his knee. ‘Dammit! I clean forgot!’
‘You daft beggar!’ she exclaimed. ‘You near made me burn mysel’.’
Janet was more interested in what the man had said than in the wife’s imagined catastrophe. ‘What did you forget? Did he gi’e you a hint?’
‘I tell’t him to tak’ oor Doddie’s auld bike to save him walking and he promised to send it back wi’ the carrier in the morning.’
Ina, still recovering from the fright he had given her, was none the wiser but Janet gasped, ‘You think the carrier’ll be able to tell you?’
‘I wouldna be surprised and it’s worth a try. I’ll keep a look-oot for him – and you and all, Ina.’
‘And me!’ declared Janet.
She stayed in the cottar house for another fifteen minutes or so, then went back to her upstairs room in the farmhouse. She felt a good deal better now. At least there was a chance of learning what she wanted to know, though she’d have to wait till the morrow morning. Her mind turned to The Sycamores. Innes Ledingham was still a handsome man, just over six feet, body still as lean as it had been when he used to see her home from the kirk all those years before. His dark hair, worn brushed right back off his face, was shot with grey now and his moustache was lighter than she remembered but still as thick. There were a few lines etched on his forehead yet his brown eyes still held something that made her blood flow faster in her veins. And his mouth was still turned up at the corners in a smile. Oh, Lordy! What was she thinking about? They were both well over forty – and he had a wife.
Switching her thoughts to Henry Rae again, she hoped that the carrier who took back the bike came from
With no word of thanks, Janet rushed out again and made for the grieve’s house, one of the four cottages built for the married workers, and, when Ina Sim answered her knock, she gasped, ‘Is Henry here?’
The woman’s cheery face sobered. ‘He was but he wouldna bide. Davey was that sorry for him when he said what hadhappened, he offered him a bed for the nicht but he wouldna hear o’t. Are you coming in?’
‘I’ll nae come in, thank you. I need to speak to him for I found him a new job. Have you nae idea where he …?’
‘Maybe he said something to Davey. He did say his Gramma had died – that was what kept him away.’
‘I ken’t there was something!’ There was no triumph in Janet’s words.
‘You’ll be asking aboot Henry?’ The grieve himself, a tall stout man in tweeds and a flat cap, had walked up the path not far behind her. ‘You’d best come in.’
She followed Ina into the cosy kitchen where a large lurcher was sprawled on the hearth. ‘Shift yoursel’, Davey grinned, giving the dog a nudge with the toe of his boot. ‘Other folk need to get in aboot for a heat.’
Clearly accustomed to this order, the animal didn’t move as much as an eyelid and the three ‘folk’ sat down, careful not to disturb him. ‘Did Henry tell you where he was going?’ Janet couldn’t wait another minute.
‘He was real upset, hardly ken’t what he was saying, poor loon, but he let slip his grandmother had died sudden and he bade wi’ his sister till the frunial was by.’
‘He’ll have gone back to his sister, then. Did he tell you where she bade?’
‘I never thocht to ask.’ The grieve looked ashamed for his lack of interest.
A brooding silence fell during which Ina got up to make a pot of tea. She busied herself further by taking three enamel mugs from the dresser and laying them on the well-scrubbed wooden table. Then she took a flagon of milk – one of the perquisites of farm employment – from the pantry where there was a marble slab to keep perishables cool and poured a little into each mug. She was in the act of swirling boiling water in the brown china teapot to heat it when her husband banged his fist on his knee. ‘Dammit! I clean forgot!’
‘You daft beggar!’ she exclaimed. ‘You near made me burn mysel’.’
Janet was more interested in what the man had said than in the wife’s imagined catastrophe. ‘What did you forget? Did he gi’e you a hint?’
‘I tell’t him to tak’ oor Doddie’s auld bike to save him walking and he promised to send it back wi’ the carrier in the morning.’
Ina, still recovering from the fright he had given her, was none the wiser but Janet gasped, ‘You think the carrier’ll be able to tell you?’
‘I wouldna be surprised and it’s worth a try. I’ll keep a look-oot for him – and you and all, Ina.’
‘And me!’ declared Janet.
She stayed in the cottar house for another fifteen minutes or so, then went back to her upstairs room in the farmhouse. She felt a good deal better now. At least there was a chance of learning what she wanted to know, though she’d have to wait till the morrow morning. Her mind turned to The Sycamores. Innes Ledingham was still a handsome man, just over six feet, body still as lean as it had been when he used to see her home from the kirk all those years before. His dark hair, worn brushed right back off his face, was shot with grey now and his moustache was lighter than she remembered but still as thick. There were a few lines etched on his forehead yet his brown eyes still held something that made her blood flow faster in her veins. And his mouth was still turned up at the corners in a smile. Oh, Lordy! What was she thinking about? They were both well over forty – and he had a wife.
Switching her thoughts to Henry Rae again, she hoped that the carrier who took back the bike came from
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