than blue with indignation.
‘I thought … I expected he would stay with Meg …’
‘Don’t you think Meg has more than enough to do? Conan is at a very demanding stage and needs a lot of attention. If I go with you to Lochandee, Conan goes too.’
Her tone was firm. Privately she was concerned about Meg’s health. She had been easily exhausted since the funeral and Rachel had noticed her ankles were swollen by evening. Ross recognised the stubborn set of her mouth. He was forced to accept her ultimatum.
‘It’s just that Mistress Beattie did not – she didn’t mention inviting your son.’
‘Conan is our son – ours, Ross.’
‘Umm, yes, I know … but where will he sleep?’
‘He can sleep in the bed with us if there is nowhere else. Your Mistress Beattie will have to get used to the idea that we have a child. If she does not like him we shall not stay any longer than it takes us to catch the next train home. Perhaps it is just as well we are making this visit. Maybe I should have made it before we married.’
Later that night, in Ross’s warm embrace Rachel knew she loved him with all her heart. Even for Conan she could not truly regret her marriage, but she prayed fervently that the two would learn to love each other as she loved them both.
Ross was taken aback by the amount of luggage a baby seemed to require for such a short visit but he was amused and delighted by the wide eyed stare of his wife and child as the railway carriage hurtled them through the fields, or covered them with sooty smuts as they chugged their way through eerie black tunnels.
Rachel was tense with apprehension by the time they reached The Glens of Lochandee, and Ross felt the atmosphere was positively electric as Alice Beattie came forward to greet them.
‘I-I know you were not expecting three of us,’ he rushed nervously into speech to breach the awkward silence. ‘But we had to bring the child because …’
‘Of course I was expecting your son,’ Alice assured him swiftly. ‘Beth and I have been busy rescuing my own old crib from the attic. We have washed and polished it. It looks as good as new and it’s in your bedroom.’
Rachel could have hugged her for that gesture of welcome to her small son and her smile shone forth in all its warmth. Alice smiled back warily and looked down at Conan. He had slept on the journey from the station and wakened refreshed. He beamed widely up at Alice, captivating her instantly.
‘I will show you where everything is before it’s time to start the milking,’ Alice suggested. ‘I am afraid the cows have to be attended whether we have visitors or not.’
‘I am used to that,’ Rachel nodded, bending to lift Conan on one hip and clutching his bag of baby clothes in her free hand. ‘Usually I strap Conan into his perambulator while I am milking. If Ross can find a barrel of hay or some other safe place in the byre to restrain him, I will gladly help you.’
Alice Beattie blinked. The girl was not lazy or unwilling then. She was certainly pretty and her neat russet jacket and skirt accentuated her slender waist and suited the colour of her hair. Alice could not have guessed it was Rachel’s one good outfit, bought especially for her wedding. So far so good, Alice decided, unaware that Rachel was assessing herself with equal caution.
It had been a great relief to find that Mistress Beattie was a pleasant faced elderly widow and not the handsome young woman Rachel had envisaged. She did not seem to be short-tempered or vicious either. Indeed she reminded Rachel of a younger edition of Minnie Ferguson – the mentor of her childhood. At the thought of Minnie her own expression softened and her lips curved into a smile. Alice Beattie raised her brows in a silent question.
‘You remind me of someone I used to know,’ Rachel explained. She looked at Ross. ‘You remember Minnie Ferguson – a younger version of course.’
‘I remember her,’ Ross nodded, then to
‘I thought … I expected he would stay with Meg …’
‘Don’t you think Meg has more than enough to do? Conan is at a very demanding stage and needs a lot of attention. If I go with you to Lochandee, Conan goes too.’
Her tone was firm. Privately she was concerned about Meg’s health. She had been easily exhausted since the funeral and Rachel had noticed her ankles were swollen by evening. Ross recognised the stubborn set of her mouth. He was forced to accept her ultimatum.
‘It’s just that Mistress Beattie did not – she didn’t mention inviting your son.’
‘Conan is our son – ours, Ross.’
‘Umm, yes, I know … but where will he sleep?’
‘He can sleep in the bed with us if there is nowhere else. Your Mistress Beattie will have to get used to the idea that we have a child. If she does not like him we shall not stay any longer than it takes us to catch the next train home. Perhaps it is just as well we are making this visit. Maybe I should have made it before we married.’
Later that night, in Ross’s warm embrace Rachel knew she loved him with all her heart. Even for Conan she could not truly regret her marriage, but she prayed fervently that the two would learn to love each other as she loved them both.
Ross was taken aback by the amount of luggage a baby seemed to require for such a short visit but he was amused and delighted by the wide eyed stare of his wife and child as the railway carriage hurtled them through the fields, or covered them with sooty smuts as they chugged their way through eerie black tunnels.
Rachel was tense with apprehension by the time they reached The Glens of Lochandee, and Ross felt the atmosphere was positively electric as Alice Beattie came forward to greet them.
‘I-I know you were not expecting three of us,’ he rushed nervously into speech to breach the awkward silence. ‘But we had to bring the child because …’
‘Of course I was expecting your son,’ Alice assured him swiftly. ‘Beth and I have been busy rescuing my own old crib from the attic. We have washed and polished it. It looks as good as new and it’s in your bedroom.’
Rachel could have hugged her for that gesture of welcome to her small son and her smile shone forth in all its warmth. Alice smiled back warily and looked down at Conan. He had slept on the journey from the station and wakened refreshed. He beamed widely up at Alice, captivating her instantly.
‘I will show you where everything is before it’s time to start the milking,’ Alice suggested. ‘I am afraid the cows have to be attended whether we have visitors or not.’
‘I am used to that,’ Rachel nodded, bending to lift Conan on one hip and clutching his bag of baby clothes in her free hand. ‘Usually I strap Conan into his perambulator while I am milking. If Ross can find a barrel of hay or some other safe place in the byre to restrain him, I will gladly help you.’
Alice Beattie blinked. The girl was not lazy or unwilling then. She was certainly pretty and her neat russet jacket and skirt accentuated her slender waist and suited the colour of her hair. Alice could not have guessed it was Rachel’s one good outfit, bought especially for her wedding. So far so good, Alice decided, unaware that Rachel was assessing herself with equal caution.
It had been a great relief to find that Mistress Beattie was a pleasant faced elderly widow and not the handsome young woman Rachel had envisaged. She did not seem to be short-tempered or vicious either. Indeed she reminded Rachel of a younger edition of Minnie Ferguson – the mentor of her childhood. At the thought of Minnie her own expression softened and her lips curved into a smile. Alice Beattie raised her brows in a silent question.
‘You remind me of someone I used to know,’ Rachel explained. She looked at Ross. ‘You remember Minnie Ferguson – a younger version of course.’
‘I remember her,’ Ross nodded, then to
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