The House of Lyall (51 page)

‘Good evening, ladies!' he boomed, smiling to hide his nervousness. ‘We all know why so many of you are here tonight, and it seems to me that, rather than see each of you individually, it would be much quicker if I just talked to you here to let you see how futile it is to worry about something which nothing can change.'

A sign of unrest, accompanied by a low murmur, made him hasten on. ‘Yes, I do realize that your men will be back shortly, and some of you have good reason to fear your husband's reaction to what you did, but I am practically sure that every man will be so glad to be home that he'll … if not exactly excuse you, at least accept the child he knew nothing about. Of course, he is bound to be angry at first, and it's up to you to make it up to him, to show him such love as you have never shown him before. Tell him how sorry you are, and that it happened because you missed him so much, and if he is still angry and threatens to leave you, assure him, through your tears, that you can not live without him any longer. Turning on the waterworks usually works – I know.'

He was relieved to see them looking hopefully at each other. ‘You are wondering if my advice will work, and it may not in all cases, but surely you must be willing to try anything to keep your man? You must think calmly over what to say, no counteraccusations no matter what you suspect, and I feel certain the situation will ease. One word of warning, however. Do not, whatever the provocation, hint that he is not as good a lover as the child's father was. That would be fatal! Now, I'll leave you to talk about it, but I will be in the surgery for another half-hour if any of you want to see me privately. My advice would still be the same, and for those who say they can't sleep for worrying, a couple of aspirins is all you need.'

He had almost left the room when he hesitated and turned. ‘They won't be demobilized straight away, you know, and it will be time enough to worry when you hear when your man will be home. Good night, ladies. I hope everything works out for you, but if it gets sticky, remind him that you weren't the only one to make a mistake. There must be hundreds, even thousands all over the world.'

The homecomings were spread over some months, and it was almost 1947 before the last stragglers arrived home, those who had been prisoners of war, those who had been in the fight against the Japanese. Oddly, they were the least upset about their womenfolk's infidelity. They were so glad to be home in one piece, to sit at their own firesides again, that nothing else mattered. Only a small minority of the rest went as far as breaking an engagement or ending a marriage,
possibly, human nature being what it is, those who had also misbehaved, and who, for all they knew, may have left living souvenirs behind them.

As the doctor had hoped, most married life soon returned to normal and there followed a spate of legitimate pregnancies to keep him and the midwife busier than ever – the postwar baby boom, the bulge!

For the family at the castle, though, there was no home-coming to celebrate, and it very much looked as if there would be no more Bruce-Lyall babies ever again.

PART THREE

1955

Chapter Twenty-nine

It had been a long day, and Ruth Laverton was glad to sit down by the bed. Her mother was dozing at the moment, but likely not for very long. She had a knack of sleeping off and on in the afternoons and evenings and being awake all night, which wouldn't be so bad, Ruth mused, if she could also have a rest during the day. It was the lack of sleep that got her down.

She looked wryly at the pillow cases on her lap. She had noticed when she was ironing that the housewife openings were burst at the seams and she had meant to sew them, but, oh God, not right now! She would have to close her eyes for a wee while; they were stinging with tiredness.

The coals in the grate were glowing comfortably, but she'd have to be careful not to fall asleep and let the fire go out. The doctor had warned that she mustn't let her patient get cold. Her patient, she thought sadly. This was the woman who had borne her, who had struggled to bring her and her young sister up decently after their father died. She had worked her fingers to the bone for them, going out cleaning to keep them fed properly, doing without things herself in order to buy clothes for them. She deserved to be nursed with all the love she could get … for as long as she needed it.

No resentment, no bitterness. Her elder daughter mustn't think of it as a duty she was forced to carry out. She must look on it as a privilege and be glad to be given the chance to show her gratitude for all that her mother had done for her. It would help, though, if Gladys did a bit more to help, even if she just popped in for an hour every day. Of course, she always had an excuse why she couldn't – she had to wait in for the man to read her gas meter, or the electric meter; or she had to take up a hem on the new dress she had bought for Bob's firm's dinner dance, as well as pressing his suit and ironing a white shirt for him. They were always going out to enjoy themselves and she had a bottomless pit of excuses, but give her her due, she did sit with Mum for an hour every Saturday afternoon to let her sister do some shopping … but only because Bob was a football fan who went to Pittodrie every week whether it was the first team who were playing a home match, or the reserves or the schoolboys. But she shouldn't criticize, Ruth told herself. Gladys had a husband to look after, whereas she …

She heaved a long-drawn-out sigh. If she'd still had Mark, it would have been different. She should have known he wouldn't settle down to a dull job after the war, but she had loved him so much she didn't let him see how much she missed him when he became a long-distance lorry driver. She had Colin to look after, their beautiful son who was still only a toddler when his father was killed in a road accident on a French road in 1947. They had been married for just six years, a wartime wedding, and had been in their council house for less than eighteen months.

She had been so shocked that it seemed a good idea to move back in with her mother, who looked after Colin while she went out to work … until the poor woman was diagnosed as having multiple sclerosis. The illness progressed slowly at first, still leaving her able to care for the small boy, but then it speeded up until she was completely bedridden and needed constant attention. She'd had to give up her own job to look after her, and there had just been the two widows' pensions coming in; there was no family allowance for an only child. Now there was this second illness, the most dreaded of all.

Becoming conscious that her fingernails were digging into her palms, Ruth inhaled deeply and tried to relax as she let the breath edge out, then rising quietly, she lifted the poker and stirred the fire. When she straightened and caught sight of herself in the overmantel mirror, her hand went to her heart in dismay. She was only thirty-six, but her reflection was that of a woman well into her fifties. Her auburn hair was lank, her cheeks were wan and hollow. There were dark circles under her eyes, the eyes Mark used to call ‘cerulean blue' but were now faded and almost blank. What did it matter, she thought. Nobody saw her except her mother and sister; her brother-in-law didn't bother to come in any more – Gladys had even stopped apologizing for him dropping her off on his way to somewhere else. Sitting down again, she couldn't help thinking that Bob Mennie was selfish to the very core.

‘Ruthie.'

The weak voice shattered her reverie. ‘What is it, Mum?' she asked anxiously, jumping up at once and bending over the bed. ‘Is the pain getting worse?'

‘That's not what –' Georgina Brown, Ina to her friends, broke off and looked earnestly at the younger woman. ‘Something's preying on my mind, Ruthie. I should have told you a long time ago … but I kept putting it off.'

Ruth took the wasted hand in hers. ‘I can see it's upsetting you, Mum, so don't bother telling me just now. Do it another time …'

‘There won't be another time.'

‘Don't be silly! Of course there will.'

‘I know in myself I haven't long to go now, and –'

Her heart cramping, Ruth cried desperately, ‘Don't say that! You maybe feel a bit low just now, but you'll feel better soon.'

Ina shook her head. ‘I know I've got cancer, and I know you know, so you needn't pretend. I can feel my strength slipping away tonight and I can't go to meet my Maker with this on my mind. Sit down, Ruthie, lass.'

Her entire body apprehensive, Ruth sat down, leaning forward so that she could keep holding her mother's hand. ‘All right, but don't overdo it. If I think it's too much for you, I'll stop listening.'

With her free hand, Ina pulled her handkerchief from the sleeve of the bedjacket Ruth had knitted for her last winter, and held it ready to wipe the tears she knew would come. ‘I want you to listen to it all … and say nothing. I've had to screw up my courage … to speak about it, and I don't want you stopping me … before I'm done.'

Her voice was gaining a little strength, but there were many pauses between sentences, even between phrases. ‘I'm going back … to when me and Jack was wed and … planning on having a big family. We wanted three girls … and three boys … because we loved bairns … but the years went by … and we'd no luck.'

Stopping to take a few deep breaths, Ina flapped the hankie to prevent any interruption, and waited a few seconds before going on.

‘We'd been wed for three years with still no sign … there was none of that testing in them days to see if it was the wife's fault or the man's … and I'd given up hope when I met a woman that had been at the school with me. She asked how many bairns me and Jack had … and when I told her … she persuaded me to …'

The handkerchief was put to use here, but her look of appeal kept Ruth from saying or doing anything, and she waited for what she prayed was not what she had begun to suspect. Her faith in God, however, was to be severely shaken.

‘I'm not your real mother, Ruthie!' Ina burst out, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Me and Jack fostered you … when you was eight weeks old.'

Her lips scarcely able to form the words, Ruth asked, ‘And Gladys?'

Ina shook her head. ‘The doctor said it was looking on you as mine … that had stopped me worrying about conceiving … and that's how Gladys happened.'

‘So you're
her
real mother?'

‘Look, lass … I'm her natural mother … but I love you as much as I love her … more, maybe. She's not half the woman you are … more's the pity. If you hadn't been here to look after me … she'd have likely put me in a home.'

‘No, she'd never have done that! She'd have shifted you to her house!' Feeling obligated to stick up for Gladys, Ruth secretly agreed with her mother. But Georgina Brown was not her mother – any more than Gladys was her sister! She was overwhelmed by a wave of something she had never known before, not quite self-pity, nor bitterness, nor anger … more a sense of insecurity.

‘Oh, Ruthie,' Ina groaned, ‘Don't look so lost. Maybe I shouldn't have told you.'

Ruth attempted to pull herself together, but there was one thing she had to know. ‘You said fostered. Why didn't you adopt me?'

‘At first, we thought we might … have to give you back … if your real mother claimed you … but when we didn't hear anything … we hoped they'd forgot we had you. Me and Jack spoke about adopting you … but we were scared to rock the boat, and once Gladys was born … well, we couldn't afford it. You see, we got so much a week for fostering you, but them that adopted got nothing. And I got the money … for your keep right up … till you started working.'

‘But after Dad died, you were really hard up,' Ruth reminded her, ‘and you had your own child to think about, so why didn't you send me back to where you got me?'

‘It never crossed my mind, lass. As far as I was concerned … you were mine and … it was up to me to … provide for you.' There was a long pause, the effort of the sustained speech obviously too much, then Ina whispered, ‘I'm awful tired, Ruthie … I need … to sleep.'

Ruth jumped up, alarmed by her mother's extra pallor. ‘I'll make some Ovaltine for –'

‘I don't want … just settle me … there's a … good lass.'

Barely five minutes later, Ina was breathing steadily, if a little shallowly, and Ruth went into the scullery to make herself a cup of tea. Her legs were shaking as she waited for the kettle to boil, which was not surprising in view of what she had just been told. It was a great shock to learn that the woman she had always thought was her mother wasn't her mother at all, and she hadn't found out where she had come from or got any clue as to who her real mother might be. Oh well, she'd have to contain her curiosity until morning.

Making herself as comfortable as she could in the wide easy chair at Ina's bedside, Ruth shut her eyes. She had learned over the past few months to make the most of every minute's peace she got.

Not being called upon even once to lift Ina to the commode, or to turn her to her other side, or to give her a sip of water, as she usually had to do several times a night, Ruth had slipped into a deeper sleep than she'd had for many weeks, and woke to the sound of the milkman rattling bottles outside. Before her body was fully mobile, her brain told her that her ‘patient' had passed away, so she was not surprised that there was no pulse when she felt for one.

She flopped back into the depths of her chair, uncertain of what to do, unsure of how she felt. She was glad that her mother was free of pain at last but wished that she'd had the chance to ask her more about the fostering. Where had she, an infant at the time, been living for the first eight weeks of her life? Who had looked after her? Had her biological mother died, or had she been a poor young girl who couldn't afford to keep her? A girl who had been abandoned by the father of her child? Abandoned by her own father as well, likely. Thrown out of her home, she may well have taken her baby to an orphanage, or left her somewhere for someone to find. Dear God, there was no end of places she might have gone to after that, so how on earth was Ruth Laverton to find her?