Fields of Blue Flax (25 page)

They walked towards the cottage where he took the heavy key out of his pocket. ‘After you, Miss Charlotte,’ he said.

‘Thank you, David,’ she replied, stepping over the threshold.

An hour or so later, she emerged, satchel in hand. That had been a good lesson; she loved how they laughed over the books and plays they read together. And she knew he was making progress, it was all about confidence and even when he had a problem with some letters, he now didn’t
feel so nervous or, as he had admitted at their first lesson, ashamed. He told her how the dominie had belted him, hard, when he got his spelling wrong, but he was sure it was not his fault. And so was she; he was an intelligent man, there were simply some issues with reading and spelling.

Charlotte strode through the wood and looked up through the trees at the sky. The clouds were clearing at last after days of rain and mist. Perhaps the sun would shine and May would become more spring-like. She crossed the main road and strolled towards the village where, in the distance, she could see a huddle of men in black. She slowed down and squinted at them, trying to see who they were.

She recognised the short, fat figure of Mr Lamb and realised they were a group of church elders. What on earth were they all doing in the street in the afternoon sunshine? Surely they all had extremely important matters to attend to? Her father ranted often over the lunch table to her and her mother about how crucial his kirk session were to him, and how indebted he was to those men for their sacrifice and loyalty.

‘Good day, Miss Whyte,’ Mr Lamb boomed.

‘Good day, gentlemen. What brings you here this afternoon?’

‘We have business to discuss before our kirk session meeting and we are walking to Oathlaw where Lady Munro has kindly offered to receive us. We do not like to burden you at the manse while your poor mother is indisposed.’

‘And is my father not to be joining you?’

The youngest man, with a bulbous nose and thick ginger whiskers, stepped forward and she at once recognised him as the dominie’s son, Dougal. ‘The Minister is to join us
there. He is busy discussing details for the church fair at Oathlaw House with her ladyship.’

‘I see. Well, enjoy your walk, gentlemen.’ Charlotte nodded then began to walk ahead towards the manse.

‘Where have you been walking yourself, Miss Whyte?’ Mr Lamb’s resonant voice boomed.

‘Oh, I have been taking a walk in the woods, looking for mushrooms. It is, however, sadly too early.’

‘Indeed,’ said another man, ‘it is far too early, Miss Whyte.’

As she turned away, she could hear him mutter, ‘I do wonder what they teach young ladies these days.’

She walked into the manse, pulled off her bonnet and flung it onto a chair. So, he was not to be home for some time; she smiled with relief and walked into the kitchen.

Cookie was nowhere to be seen but she could tell she had not been gone long: there on the table was a board covered with a tea towel. Even before she plucked off the cloth she knew what would be underneath. She had recognised the warm, homely smell: girdle scones, freshly made, ready to be devoured with butter and jam. She picked one up and raised it to her nostrils to smell. She loved that comforting, sweet aroma. Smiling, she stretched to take down a plate from the kitchen dresser then went into the larder to fetch the butter.

The back door opened and Cookie stood there, shaking her head. ‘I go oot tae the garden for five minutes and half ma’ scones are gone.’

‘I have only taken one, Cookie.’ Charlotte called out from the larder. ‘Where do you keep that bramble jam?’

Cookie went to join her and reached up to a high shelf and brought down a jar of purple jam.

‘Will you take tea in the parlour, Miss Charlotte? Or shall
you just sit here wi’ me?’

‘Since it is just me, I should be very pleased to sit here with you. Has Mother had her tea tray?’

‘Aye, I’d just taken it up tae her then I went into the garden tae ask Grieve aboot the onions. I’ll be needing extra this week. Have you seen the ramsons are oot?’

‘Yes, I did, Cookie. Ramson soup tomorrow?’

‘Aye, and that should dae your poor mother some good.’

Charlotte set the butter and jam on the table beside the scones. ‘Do you know when Father is to be home?’

‘Well, he said he’d be oot all afternoon as he had to be at Lady Munro’s to talk aboot this fair then the kirk session were to meet there at tea time. Mr Lamb came tae see me this morning and apologise that they wouldnae be here for today’s meeting. Suits me fine, I telt him!’

She fussed about the kitchen fetching cups and saucers and napkins. ‘So, I believe your father willnae be home before seven, but I’m no’ sure. I’ll hae his supper ready for then anyway. Now, sit yerself doon, Miss Charlotte and I’ll make the pot of tea.’

‘Thank you, Cookie,’ Charlotte smiled. ‘So I can play whatever I like on the piano all afternoon! Mother loves to hear me play Chopin but of course he does not allow it. I shall go presently to see her and leave the doors wide open so she may hear.’

‘That’d be grand. Now, do you want to pour the tea?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Charlotte tipped her head back and laughed. ‘I shall be mother!’

Charlotte put down the piano lid and swivelled round on the stool to open the little chest where she stored her music. She took all the other piano music out and replaced the
Chopin at the very bottom, then returned the other books so they were uppermost. Finally she placed the psalter on top before shutting the lid tight.

As she walked towards the stairs she felt re-energised, bursting with pleasure. It was strange the way the music imbued her with such feelings of ardour and joy, a bubble invading her body and leaving her with a feeling of elation. Playing Chopin was so much better than playing church music.

She climbed the stairs and went through the open door to her mother’s bedroom. Maud Whyte lay in bed, her grey hair loose around her shoulders. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes.

She smiled when she saw her daughter and placed her hands together to clap. ‘Charlotte, I swear you are better at playing than Mr Chopin himself.’

Charlotte sat down at the end of the bed. ‘I doubt that, Mother, and I could not compose such tunes – indeed any tunes – but I do so enjoy playing his pieces.’

Maud Whyte pulled out a small drawer in her bedside cabinet, lifted a piece of paper out and handed it to Charlotte, smiling.

‘I know you have seen it so many times, but read it to me again, will you?’

‘
Monsieur Chopin has the honour to announce that he will give a soirée musicale in the Hopetoun Rooms, this evening, Wednesday the 4
^th
of October, where he will play the following compositions: Andante et impromptu, Etudes, Nocturnes et Berceuse, Grande Valse Brillante, Andante précédé d’un Lango, Prelude, Ballade, Mazourkas et Valses…’

Charlotte looked up. ‘Mother, I have never asked you, how did Father permit this?’

‘At first he forbade it. Of course I wanted to go to Edinburgh alone, but I knew he would not allow me to travel by myself so I asked Lady Munro – the old Lady, who died last year – if her companion Mrs Shaw would accompany me. You were only about seven, but Cookie was here to take care of you.’

‘And did he really not mind you going?’

‘Oh, yes, of course he did. He tried to dissuade me, but with Lady Munro’s approval, he had little choice.’ She frowned. ‘On my return, when all I wanted to do was tell him how wonderful the soirée had been, he listened for about one minute then put up his hand in his usual manner’ – she thrust one hand in front of her face – ‘and told me he would hear no more about this Papist Polish composer in the manse. And that was that.’ Maud shook her head.

Charlotte handed her mother back the paper. ‘Are you feeling any stronger today, Mother?’

‘I do believe I am. I am sure I shall be able to rise from bed tomorrow, and perhaps even join you both for luncheon.’

‘That would be wonderful.’ Charlotte got up from the bed. ‘I am going over to the church to practise Sunday’s psalms but I will be back for supper.’ She kissed her mother then went downstairs.

She put on her bonnet and coat and walked along the short path to the church, where she entered by the side door. She shivered in the cold of the huge, dank building and pulled her coat round her. Why had she not brought her shawl with her?

She walked past the empty pews and sat on the piano
bench. She lifted the heavy lid and looked at the old, yellowed keys. Mr Ferguson, the choir master, had told her that many of the churches around Scotland were having organs installed, and he could perhaps arrange lessons. She was hoping he would persuade the kirk session and then her father. An organ in this cold, dark building would be a thing of great beauty.

She scratched at the wax that had dripped down the piano from the many candles that had been lit either side of the music stand. A blob of wax fell off onto the keys so she lifted it to one side and blew over the keys to clean them. There was still enough daylight coming through the high lancet windows that she did not need to light any candles today. She brushed down the white then the black notes with her handkerchief, then took down the psalter from the top of the piano. She flicked through the pages until she came to the first psalm she had to practise. Straightening her back, she extended her arms and began to play.

She struck a fortissimo chord, and did not hear the church door creak open, nor see the tall, dark figure standing there, watching.

Chapter Forty-six

2014

Mags and Lottie stood outside the crematorium with Charlie and Peggy. All four were dressed in black, watching the line of mourners at the door.

‘Why on earth Gerry wanted to do that meet-and-greet thing is a mystery,’ muttered Peggy. ‘It’s just not necessary. Look at those poor kids, having to stand and shake everyone’s hands. It’s a nonsense.’ She turned to her brother and took his hand. She lifted it up between them as if to remind him she was there and said, ‘Charlie, shall we go soon? Have you had enough, sweetheart?’

Charlie’s stooped shoulders slumped even more as he nodded. He took out a large handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. The four of them continued to watch as Gerry shook hands with men and kissed women and Jack and Anna were hugged by strangers.

‘At least Gerry’s got rid of that hideous beard. Though it’s sad it’s taken poor Chris dying to make him do it,’ Peggy sighed. ‘Good turnout though, how many do you reckon, Mags. Two hundred?’

‘No idea. Who cares,’ Mags snapped.

‘Dad said he’d take you to the do after, Gran,’ said Lottie, wiping under her mascara-smudged eyes with her forefingers.

‘Where is he?’ asked Mags, handing Lottie a packet of tissues. She took her car keys out of her pocket and turned to Peggy. ‘I can take you if you want, Mum, and Lottie can go with Doug, if he’s going to the do. Is he?’

‘No idea,’ said Lottie. ‘I’ll head to the car park and see if he’s there.’ She looked at Uncle Charlie, whose gaunt cheeks were wet with tears. ‘Mum, why don’t you take Gran and Uncle Charlie anyway and if Dad’s not going, I’ll cadge a lift from someone else.’

Mags nodded as she watched Lottie run ahead. She reached into her pocket and took out three Murray Mints and gave them to the old folk. They took them without acknowledgement and the three of them unwrapped the sweets in unison. Mags linked her arms through her mother’s and uncle’s and began to wend her way with them across the road towards the car park.

Lottie had just arrived at the car park entrance when she saw the police car, blocking Doug’s car in. Then she saw Doug in the back of the police vehicle. The engine started up and the car slowly began to move away. Lottie ran after it and banged on the window to stop.

The policewoman in the passenger seat opened her window. ‘What is it?’

‘That’s my dad! What’s going on?’

The policewoman got out and opened the back door. ‘Okay, pop in for a minute, but we’ve got to be out of here soon, we’re already blocking some cars.’ The policeman in the driving seat kept the engine running.

Lottie got into the car, shut the door and turned to Doug, whose face was grey, his expression grim.

‘What’s happening, Dad?’ Lottie whispered, aware the policeman and woman in front could hear everything.

‘They want to take me in for some questions. I’ll let you know what happens next.’ He fished in his trouser pocket. ‘Good job you stopped us actually, here’s my car keys. Can you take my car home later?’

Lottie’s mouth dropped open. She reached out her hands, palms upwards. ‘Why have you been arrested, Dad?’ She felt her eyes welling up and got out her tissue, wiping her eyes again.

‘Supplying cannabis to Chris. It may have been the cause of her accident.’ He spoke softly, in a monotone.

‘But Dad, that’s not true, that’s just… Why are you doing this?’

‘You’ve got to go now, darling. Tell Uncle Charlie and Gran I’m sorry I couldn’t give them a lift home.’ He pushed his car keys into her hand and leant over to kiss her cheek.

‘I’ll phone you once I know what’s happening.’

As Lottie opened the door, Doug leaned along the seat and touched her arm. ‘Send Mum my love, Lotts, will you?’

Lottie nodded and got out of the car. The policewoman got back into the passenger seat and Lottie stood back as the police car drove away.

Mags, Charlie and Peggy were hobbling up the hill towards her.

‘Who was that in that police car, Lottie? It looked like Doug,’ Peggy said.

Mags said nothing, but took out a tissue and wiped along under Lottie’s eyes which were once more smudged with black.

‘No idea, Gran,’ said Lottie. ‘I heard they sometimes let prisoners out for family funerals, he was maybe at that other funeral in the small chapel.’ She took her grandmother’s arm and led her towards Mags’s car. Once the old people were settled inside the car and the doors shut, Mags glanced at Lottie.

‘Was that Dad?’

‘Yes! Mum, what’s going on?’

Mags tucked her hair behind her ear, a dangly silver earring glinting in the sun. ‘No idea. What did he say to you?’