Fortunes of the Heart (35 page)

Kate did. And once inside the flat, she was aware of an
intense cold, as though there hadn’t been a fire on for days. She looked first
into the sitting-room, nobody. In the kitchen, it was the same story; neither
fire nor any sign of Mrs Scott. It was at that point that she heard a weak
voice calling from the bedroom.

“Kate. In here. Oh, Kate. You’re a God-send. Come away in.”

When Kate opened the bedroom door, she stopped in amazement
at the sight which met her eyes. Mrs Scott was propped up in bed, her favourite
pink bed jacket draped round her shoulders, a filmy net on her head, while on
the bedside table rested an enormous box of chocolates, a tumbler and a stack
of books.

But, and this was what struck Kate as so utterly
incongruous, everything, including Mrs Scott, was covered in a fine layer of
soot. Automatically, Kate’s eyes swivelled to the coal-fire on the other wall
and at once she could see what had happened. Obviously there had been a fall of
soot from the flat above – perhaps the result of a neighbour’s over-zealous
pre-Hogmanay cleaning. But Mrs Scott’s own fire had gone out, the room itself
was freezing cold, and every surface, including the beautiful marble
mantelpiece, which was the old lady’s pride and joy, was covered in an inky-black
film. Kate blinked in amazement, especially when she took a closer look at her
friend and employer. She opened her mouth and before she could stop herself,
the words were out.

“God Almighty. Mistress Scott, you look like one of those
black men we see coming off the boats.”

The goggle-eyes looked back enquiringly, so Kate bent down
to the dressing-table, lifted the soot-encased hand-mirror, and after wiping it
with her fingers, she held it out to the old woman. Mrs Scott peered myopically
into the mirror, then her shoulders started to heave with laughter. She went on
laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks, leaving white funnels through the
soot, thus further emphasising her ridiculous appearance. Kate joined in the
gales of laughter, thinking to herself that this was the best way to diffuse
what might otherwise have been a disastrous – if not fatal – situation, had she
herself not arrived so timeously on the scene.

“Thank God you came today after all, Kate. Otherwise, I’d
have been stuck here in my bed until you came next year. I fell yesterday
evening. It didn’t seem very bad at the time ... but ... my legs have all
stiffened up lying in bed. The cold after the soot came down and my rheumatism
hasn’t helped. I did try to get up, but I couldn’t. Could you help me to the
toilet?”

Kate soon had the room clean. Mrs Scott washed and dressed
up in a fresh nightie and mohair bed-cape and a pink ribbon in her hair, and
soon there was even a bright fire blazing in the newly-scrubbed and polished
hearth.

Kate rubbed her hands in satisfaction as she surveyed both
the scene and her employer. They exchanged conspiratorial smiles as they each
remembered not only what the situation had been but also what dire consequences
might have resulted had the old woman been left alone to freeze for days on end
in an unheated flat. Kate bent forward and adjusted Mrs Scott’s pink hair
ribbon to a more fetching angle.

“Mistress Scott. Sure and there’s no need for you to be
lonely this night. You’ll be more than welcome at my fireside this Hogmanay
night, or at any other time, for that matter.”

For reply, Mrs Scott clutched on to Kate’s hand, as if to a
lifeline of which she would never let go.

“Kate, I want you to know, you’re the best–in fact, the only
– friend I have in the whole wide world. And believe me, I do appreciate your
kind invitation – even though I’m now too old and too stiff to be going
gallivanting; far less first-footing. But I thank you kindly. Now, did you say
something about a cup of tea?”

As Kate bustled about the kitchen getting the tea-tray
prepared, she stopped.

If Mrs Scott can’t come to my Hogmanay party tonight, we’ll
have one right now. The pair of us.

So Kate looked out a much bigger tray which she set with a
white crochet-edged cloth, on top of which she put all the dainty sweet-bites
she had brought with her, and alongside them, the two home-made presents from
Hannah and Jenny. When she bore the over-laden tray back in triumph into the
bedroom, Mrs Scott’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. After examining the
contents of the tray she frowned and in a mock-serious tone said: “Oh, Kate.
You’ve forgotten something.”

Kate raised her eyebrows and cocked her head in an inquiring
manner as she waited for the old woman to go on.

“You’ve forgotten two glasses and the medicinal bottle from
the sideboard in the front room.”

Kate needed no second bidding. She positioned the tray on
Mrs Scott’s knees and at once set off to forage for the requisite booze. Once
back in the bedroom and with their glasses filled, Kate raised hers.

“Now, we know it’s supposed to be bad luck to eat shortbread
or toast in the New Year before the set-time. So here’s what we’ll do. This is
not a Hogmanay party we’re having. But what we’re really doing is celebrating
the birth of Jenny’s baby; we’re wetting the baby’s head.”

Mrs Scott smiled her agreement and delight at this
arrangement, then paused with glass half way to her lips.

“Hold on a minute, Kate. Like I said, you’re my only friend.
So, if you’re the baby’s Granny ... I’d like to have the honour of being its
Godmother. How would that be, Kate?”

At once, Kate’s face was suffused with colour.

“Oh. Mistress Scott, I couldn’t let you do that. You see ...
well ... to tell you the truth ... the bairn ... wee Theresa ... she’s ...
er
...
illegit
–”

Mrs Scott waved aside Kate’s words, refusing even to let her
finish.

“Listen, Kate. If you’re trying to tell me the baby’s a
bastard, forget it. I’ve already worked that out for myself. I’m not as green
as I’m
cabbagelike
, you know. I’m an old woman and
believe me, I’ve seen all that life has to offer.”

Kate laughed. “Aye. but even so, Mistress Scott, I still
think that –”

“Kate, if you’re happy about the baby, so am I. And I’d
count it a real blessing if you’d grant me the honour of being the bairn’s Godmother.”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears.

“No problem. So, let’s drink to both the new baby and her
Godmother. Cheers. or as the wild Highlanders all say,
slainte
mhath
”

Mrs Scott took a gulp of the whisky, then she put down her
glass.

“Right. Now we’ve got that settled; what about a wee present
for my god-daughter? Do you think that one of those fancy, lace-trimmed cots
would be suitable?”

Kate placed her glass on the tray and clapped her hands in
delight at the co-incidence. She then told Mrs Scott the tale of
Shuggie
and his
barrowload
of
goodies. When every facet of that memorable day had been related, Mrs Scott
pursed her lips as if deep in thought. Then she smiled.

“Since it rather looks as if you yourself have more or less
cornered the market in the range of baby wear, here’s what I’ll do. But first
of all, tell me this, what is the baby’s full name?”

The proud grandmother at once replied: “Theresa Rafferty
Kinnon. But why do you ask, Mrs Scott?”

“I’ll need to get the silver Christening-mug engraved, won’t
I ?”

Kate smiled in delight.

“A silver Christening-mug. Sure and ’tis only the gentry
that have such things. Oh, the wonder of it .”

Without further ado, Kate rose to her feet and, coming over
to the bedside, she enveloped her employer in a hug, much to the danger of the
many items then wobbling about on the tea-tray. Mrs Scott laughed in delight.
Then she extricated herself with some difficulty.

“Hold on a minute, girl. I haven’t finished yet. Hear me
out. I need the full name for another reason as well. I plan to open a bank
account in the name of Theresa Rafferty Kinnon.”

Pearce, despite his diatribes against the pregnant Jenny,
now that the baby was born became very much the doting grandfather and,
enfeebled as he now was, he spent hours talking to the baby and playing with
it.

Chapter 29

As the last moments of 1899 ticked away, Kate paused and
looked around her gleaming kitchen and at her family gathered there in
anticipation of the delights to come. Already the over-heated room with its
blazing coal fire and linen bedecked table groaning with shortbread, black bun,
Madeira cake and slices of
cluthie
dumpling, was
crowded. As ever, Granny was fussing with Hannah and tonight’s game seemed to
be that of retying, with a mock display of reluctance and much sighing and
rolling of rheumy eyes, the girl’s tartan hair-ribbon each time that Hannah
managed to work it loose.

Jenny and the now ever-watchful Pearce could hardly take
their eyes off the sleeping one-year-old baby Theresa. With this particular New
Year being one of such importance, Pearce had decided that for once, he would
stay and at least usher in the new century within the bosom of his family. The
arrangement was that if later on he became too tired, or if the resulting
ceilidh was too boisterous, then Jenny would help both her Dadda and wee
Theresa into the quiet haven of Granny’s single-end.

A silence stole on the group as, with every eye on the
grandmother clock, they watched not only the old year, but the old century die
away into the mists of time.

As the clock chimed out twelve times, Granny confirmed each
stroke with a nod of her wizened face and balding head. On the last beat, the
party was already awash with tears, especially when Kate rose to her feet and said:
“Right. Time to let go of the old. And usher in the new century.”

She crossed over to the sink, where, bending across the
black steel cavern, she pushed up the kitchen window, at the same time
reflecting that it was more than she could ever have done in her first home in
Glasgow. It was more than a blast of cold air which entered, for a cacophony of
vibrant sound: bells ringing, hooters blaring, excited voices shouting from the
back-courts and the crowded, city streets beyond. Turning from the window,
Kate, with tears glistening in her green Irish eyes, went over to her husband.
She bent over him, threw her arms around him.

“Happy New Year, Pearce, my darling.” Her voice choked with
emotion. “Happy New Century.”

Even as she said the set-words she knew what a hollow wish
it was, for what possible happiness could lie ahead for the poor done old man
that he had now become? But as he raised his head and patted her arm with a
palsied hand, she fancied that, at least for a fleeting instant, she saw a
glimpse of the young Pearce who, for all his faults, had nevertheless done his
duty by her and stood beside her in trouble and in gladness – not that there
had ever been much of the latter – throughout their many long years of
marriage. Finally, it was the sound of Granny’s cackle which caused her to turn
aside from the deep wells of love, longing, sorrow and remembrance she could
read in her husband’s eyes.

At once she enveloped Granny in a hug. Then holding her old
friend at arm’s length, she saw the tears trickling down the life-lined face.

“Come on now, Granny. No time this, for tears. Happy New
Year to you.”

Granny tried to stem the flow of tears with the back of her
hand.

“Kate. I’m only crying because I’m that happy. A new
Century,
begod
. Never thought I’d live to see it.”

“Well, you have. So, let’s get this party under way. Come
on, now Jenny, suppose you hand round the shortbread fingers? And I’ll see that
the glasses are filled to toast the year of our Lord nineteen hundred. And
listen, Jenny, best be quick, before the rest of the revellers start battering
down the door.”

No sooner was their somewhat subdued toast made and tossed
back than there was indeed a thunderous tattoo at the door, accompanied by a
strident ringing of the brass bell-pull.

Kate and Jenny both ran to the door, which they opened and
threw wide to the wall. Into the narrow hallway erupted a jumble of singing,
laughing, rioting humanity led by the dark-haired first-footer,
Baldie
McFarrel
.
Baldie
, the local Primary School’s martinet of a janitor,
had obviously borrowed for this auspicious occasion the heavy brass hand-bell
which normally summoned laggard children to school. Like a town crier, he
clanged this bell, as all the while, he yelled: “Happy New Century to one and
all. Happy Nineteen-Hundred.”

As if all this were not enough excitement, Kate nearly lost
her eyesight in amazement when she saw who was bringing up the rear of the
party. It was none other than her old pal
Shuggie
,
carrying a set of somewhat moth-eaten bagpipes which he was, even at that very
moment, in the process of tuning-up. Kate gave a scream of delight and reaching
out, dragged the would-be piper into the confines of her home.

“
Shuggie
. I just don’t believe it.
Oh, this is great. Great. I’ve never had a piper in my house before. I’m sure
it’s meant to be a lucky omen. What a way to celebrate the new Century. Come
in, come in.”

Auld
Shuggie
allowed himself to be
drawn into the hall, which although dimly lit with borrowed light from the
gas-lamp on the
stairhead
, was bright enough to
reveal an amazing fact.

The bold
Shuggie
was dressed
overall in full Highland dress regalia, right down to kiltie top-hose and
silver-buckled brogues. Seeing this vision of splendour in her home, Kate
clapped her hands in delight and then raced ahead to the kitchen where she
announced to the waiting assembly: