The Lass o' Gowrie

By Angus McDonald Edmonds

The Lass o’ Gowrie is the first novel in a family saga trilogy set chiefly in early 20th century Scotland. It tells of the passionate love affair of the lovely Kate Balfour, daughter of humble cottars, and Alexander Lochhead, heir Balgownie Mains, a substantial farming property in Forfarshire. Despite their love and commitment to one another, Kate and Alexander know they will face the challenge of class prejudice and family pride. Kate's story reflects the conditions of a rural economy and society where life could be harsh and unforgiving with set social boundaries and a strict moral code. Yet here there was also laughter and love and alongside cruelty there was kindness: the worst and best of the human spirit. When tragedy strikes the future looks grim...but compassion and a seer's prophecy give hope...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angus McDonald Edmonds
• Release date: Jun 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301748075

Angus McDonald Edmonds

A proud Teri (born in Hawick, Borders) Angus lived in Africa before returning to Scotland for his senior education, becoming active in the Home Rule movement. A graduate of Edinburgh University where he was active in student politics through the Nationalist Club and the old Teviot Row Union, he stood as a Scottish National Party candidate for both Edinburgh City Council (1968)and Parliament (1974). A two-year teaching contract in Australia led to an interesting and successful career in education earning him a Medal of the Order of Australia in 2006. Active in the Society of St Andrew, Angus became something of an expert on Australia's Scottish heritage. He has spoken and written on various facets of this history and appeared on the BBC TV series 'Scottish Empire' in 2001. In recent years he has taken to writing historical fiction and family sagas which he is now publishing beginning with 'Freeman Stand.'

Book preview

PART I

Kintail House and Balgownie Mains, Forfarshire, 1907

CHAPTER 1

Kate

With a heavy sigh, the young woman tugged at the sheet underneath her, trying to straighten its scrunched folds, the result of her tossing and turning all night. Troubled thoughts, memories, and vivid dreams had filled her mind making sleep fitful at best, and much of the time impossible.

It had been difficult enough falling asleep. For hours it seemed she had lain in the dark of her room too excited by thoughts of the momentous day that lay ahead. Yet she fretted that it would be another two days before she would know how things had gone. The uncertainty was almost unbearable. With it came a gnawing fearfulness, like some skulking demon half-hidden in the recesses of her mind. It was bad enough when she was awake but when fitful slumber came upon her it set loose dreams real and surreal. Some were dazzling in their replay of happy hours; others were filled with a sense of ominous foreboding.

This nocturnal drama had been played out on the small, narrow bed in a tiny attic room of a grand country mansion, Kintail House. The troubled occupant was a servant, and like all the live-in servants, she would have an early start in the morning.

‘Let me get one hour of decent sleep!’ she begged herself, knowing that her work day was drawing nigh in the pre-dawn hours. The business of preparing for a new day began at five o’clock, and rising early was part and parcel of her routine. At least work would provide distraction, if only she could keep her mind on her duties.

Despite her night of turmoil, her body clock did not let her down. Shortly after four-thirty she was washed and dressed, all the time thinking excitedly of what was to take place that day and in the immediate days that followed.

This would be a big day for her. The love of her life, Alexander, had promised that he would speak to his parents of their relationship and of his intention to marry her. The thought of their betrothal and pending marriage filled her with an excitement she could scarcely contain. That Alexander loved her was not in doubt. They were besotted with each other; their commitment to one another now a bond that could not be broken. Alexander had been so confident when they had spoken at length only two nights before. He had assured her he would win his parents over; speak with her father and the minister; and then everything would fall into place.

But first things first: she must look the part for her duties as lady’s maid, nothing out of place. Presentation was important and achieved only with care. She brushed her hair, making sure there were no loose strands, before gathering it with a twist into a bun at her crown. She then pinned a small white cap to the top of her head to complete the dress requirements. Taking a hand mirror from the small dressing table, she examined her outfit, looking carefully at where her white starched pinafore covered her waist.

She spoke quietly to herself, ‘Ay, Kate Balfour, you look just fine. Your secret’s safe.’

Kate tried to smile, but her eyes betrayed an apprehension in the depths of her being. Call it woman’s instinct, or maybe it was just her natural caution, but Kate was troubled with doubts and fears. Something would go wrong. It was not going to be as easy as Alexander made out. His parents would have hoped for a ‘better’ match, a farmer’s daughter perhaps, someone of the same background as themselves.

With a final look around her tiny room, left neat and tidy as was expected – and necessary given its limited space. Although her accommodation was cramped to say the least it was better here than at home in the small but’n’ben she had shared with her parents and three brothers. She also enjoyed the large staff dining room just off the mansion house’s kitchen, and just being part of a grand house.

Kintail House was the ancestral home of the local laird, Sir Walter Cruikshank and his good wife, Lady Beatrice. They were good employers and kindly people. The House, or Big Hoose at it was known locally, was beautiful and grand, but with a homely feel. Lady Beatrice made sure of that. The monetary rewards for servants were not great but possibly more than that paid to other domestic servants, and she was ‘all found’ with no living expenses to meet. Also, as Lady’s maid to Lady Beatrice, Kate received small gifts and other kindnesses that more than compensated for her small income. As her mind raced ahead, she felt sure that the Cruikshanks would be generous to her with a wedding gift.

Knowing that duty called, Kate shook her head, straightened her back, and headed down the narrow spiral stairwell to begin her day. As she did so, she tried to reassure herself with the thought that, whatever happened, she was sure of Alexander’s love. He had promised that if need be they would elope. The idea was not without appeal. A new start in a new place, with new opportunities: a new life. Kate knew it was foolishness to think like this, but it pleased her to allow her imagination to play with the possibilities of a romantic escape.

Chapter 2

Kate

The hint of a smile continued to play on her lips as she hurried to the kitchen to see the cook Jean McNiven. Cook McNiven worked all hours and never seemed to sleep, yet was always bright and friendly. She handed Kate a bowl of porridge.

‘C’mon, my lass, get this intae ye! Ye ay need a sup o’ porridge tae sustain ye afore the day’s work begins.’

Porridge, not matter how thick, was always to be ‘supped’ as far as Jeannie McNiven was concerned. She followed the practice of dipping a spoon of porridge into a large cup of milk before ‘supping’ it. Not for her the laird’s way of pouring milk over the porridge – and in her kitchen she expected the staff to follow her example.

‘The laird has his own ways, and that’s as must be; but I’ll hae nae high falutin’ ways in my kitchen!’

With her simple breakfast over – there would be a more hearty morning meal later – Kate started on her round of household duties before she would be occupied in attending to Lady Beatrice. It was a regular routine, mainly dusting and polishing, light duties really. She knew what was expected and did not wait for instructions from the Housekeeper who would not be seen usually until six-thirty. That is unless the Housekeeper had decided to check up on what the household staff were doing, something she would so periodically and unannounced.

The Housekeeper, Miss Morrison, in the absence of a household butler was very much the steward of Kintail House, a kind of major-domo. Her word was law; her rule strict, and her devotion to the Cruikshank family unquestioned. Most of the household staff knew her Christian name was Euphemia, named for the saint of that name who was martyred by the Roman Emperor Diocletian by being thrown into a pit with a bear. However, her first name was never uttered, not even by Sir Walter and Lady Beatrice. Certainly, no-one would ever, ever think of using the familiar form ‘Effie.’

To one and all, she was ‘Miss Morrison’ or referred to by her title, Housekeeper. Not that stopped the erudite but somewhat rascally Sir Walter from commenting to his wife,

‘You know, m’dear, while I readily accept that Miss Morrison has followed the example of Saint Euphemia implicitly in matters pertaining to chastity, in a contest between our beloved Housekeeper and a bear, I reckon the poor bear might come of the worse!’

Despite her rather fearsome reputation, Miss Morrison was always fair in her treatment of staff. While her critical eye could spot anything that was not quite right or a job done to her total satisfaction, she was equally quick to give proper praise when deserved. She would also allow her staff some leeway when pressed or ‘feeling one degree under.’ Whatever anyone else might say about Miss Morrison, Kate was more than happy to take direction from her.

The Kintail House drawing room was top of Kate’s list of duties that morning. It was one of her favourite rooms and she enjoyed having it to herself as she dusted and polished. The drawing room was exquisitely furnished, yet comfortable. Reflecting the original purpose of such rooms of allowing the owners to ‘withdraw’ to a room for privacy away from the formality of the main hall, reception room, and great dining room, the Kintail House drawing room was adjacent to the wood panelled dining room with its long mahogany table capable of seating two dozen persons.

The drawing room was used for private and informal entertaining of guests but even more so it was one of the centres of family life, or had been when the children were still at home. Even now, Sir Walter and Lady Beatrice retired here most evenings when Lady Beatrice would play on the lovely grand piano, sometimes accompanying herself in song. Her voice though not strong was sweet and melodic. If the drawing room door was left ajar her voice would carry tunefully up the wide stairwell that led to the upper storeys of the house from the imposing entrance hall. Kate loved to hear her ladyship sing. It seemed to say that all was well with their world. When Lady Beatrice sang one of the Scots songs or ballads, Kate would quietly sing along whether seated nearby or up in her attic room, for Kate too had a lovely singing voice.

It seemed to Kate that there had never been a time when she had not sung. When the family had lived in Brechin there never seemed to be a Saturday night when they would not visit neighbours and everyone did a ‘turn,’ telling a story, asking a riddle, singing a song, reciting a poem. While the occasional adult would ‘sit it out’ without contributing, each child had to have their ‘party piece.’ Kate’s was always a song. One of her favourites was Will Ye No’ Come Back Again? written by Lady Nairne about Bonnie Prince Charlie.

As Kate rubbed a soft cloth over the shining surface of the highly polished piano lid, she hummed to herself the tune of an old Scots song. It was a song she considered her very own, a song almost it seemed about her, and she recalled how she first learned of it.

At one such evening gathering, Kate had just sung Will Ye No’ Come Back Again? when an old bewhiskered gentleman, someone’s grandfather, beckoned to her to come and sit beside him. Kate had been fascinated by his appearance ever since he had entered the room. He wore a moustache, thick and white and swept underneath his cheekbones to join with equally full sideboards. Yet, apart from a curly sprout of hair around his temples and round his neck, his head was completely bald. Although Kate had seen him many times in their street, he always wore a tweed cap. This was the first time she had seen him bare-headed. He had smiled warmly at her and applauded most heartily.

‘Yer vera guid!’ the man said, smiling and nodding enthusiastically.

‘Thank ye, sir,’ replied Kate, ‘I’m glad ye liked it.’

‘Ay, lass, I did. And tell me yer the wee Balfour lassie wha moved here a year back frae Blair?’

‘Ay, that’s richt. I was born in Blairgowrie and my mither afore me, but Da's frae near Stonehivie.’

‘The Howe o’ the Mearns, eh? Ay, weel we’re still some miles awa’ frae yon. But tell me, dearie, has onyone told ye aboot the sang The Lass o’ Gowrie? It’s an auld sang, but the tune I believe was written by the same lady wha wrote Will Ye No Come Back Again? I didna mind a’ the words, but I’m certain there’s mention of a Kate, the fairest flow’r o’ Gowrie. Ye maun try and find a copy and see for yersel. Ay, Katie, it’s a sang ye should learn to sing for it’s no’ a sang ye hear that aften.’

To Kate’s disappointment her mother claimed she knew nothing of the song, but Will undertook to look it up in the Public Library. A few days later, Will presented Kate with a sheet of paper and on it in his best hand he had written out in pencil the words of the song The Lass o’ Gowrie.

‘Now Kate, I know ye’ve just started to read so I’ll help ye. We’ll learn a verse each day and when yer word perfect, I’ll go back to the Library and copy out the music. Neither o’ us ken how tae read music but we’ll find someone to play it for us. Mr Thomson doon the road plays the accordion and maybe he’d play it for ye so ye can learn the tune.’

So it was that Kate learned the words of the song. When she was ‘word perfect’ Will kept his promise and brought home the music copied as carefully as he could. However, Mr Thomson was a disappointment. He played ‘from ear,’ and could not ‘read’ music. As he did not know the tune, he was unable to help, but he suggested that Will and Kate go and see ‘auld Mistress McFadden’ who was a popular teacher of music in ‘her younger days.’

Kate smiled remembering Mrs McFadden. Just for a moment, she sat down on the piano stool, her back straight just as Mrs McFadden had taught and rested her fingers on the keys her wrists raised and lightly, without actually depressing a key, ‘played’ one of the piano tunes Mrs McFadden had taught her. The old lady, although outwardly formidable, was sweet and kind and had taken an instant ‘shine’ to Kate. She offered not only to play the tune of The Lass o’ Gowrie for Kate but offered to teach Kate to read music and to introduce her to the piano, if Kate’s mother agreed.

Kate’s mother’s instant reaction was to say ‘No’ as they could not afford tuition fees, but Will assured his mother that Mrs McFadden did not want payment and was quite happy for Kate to not only attend for lessons but practice on Mrs McFadden’s upright piano too – as often and frequently as she wanted. Mrs Balfour was suspicious of Mrs McFadden’s motives, ‘Why should she want to help Kate?’ until she was reassured by neighbours that Mrs McFadden was an honest woman and greatly respected. However, Kate’s mother warned Kate that they would never be able to afford a piano ‘so don’t go getting fancy ideas.’

So began a most happy time in Kate’s life. She quickly grew to love Mrs McFadden who soon said that Kate could call her ‘Gran’ if she liked. Kate did so when in Mrs McFadden’s home, but never told her parents. She did not tell them either that ‘Gran’ made her tasty snacks to eat, ‘eggie soldiers’ – fingers of toast dunked in a soft boiled egg being one of Kate’s favourites. She also gave Kate ‘sweeties’ as a reward for learning her scales or successfully performing a new tune. In return, Mrs McFadden enjoyed the company and affection of this little girl and took great enjoyment from seeing her flourish at the piano. She looked upon Kate as a surrogate daughter for the little girl, her only child, whom she ‘lost’ to scarlet fever when her ‘bonnie Wilhelmina’ was only eight years old.

Two years later, Kate’s family moved from Brechin to their cottage near Meiklemuir. Both Kate and Mrs McFadden were broken hearted that this brought to an end their relationship. When Mrs McFadden died later that year, the Balfours were surprised to learn that Kate had been left Mrs McFadden’s piano. However, there was no room for it in the cottage and the piano was sent to the auction house. Of course, Kate saw nothing of the proceeds of the sale, but the money did provide some relief for her hard pressed parents who were able to rid themselves of an otherwise embarrassing debts.

‘Dear old Gran,’ mused Kate, ‘She loved her music. How she would have enjoyed playing on a grand in a room like this! Still, I’d better not sit here dreaming. Miss Morrison will not be amused if she catches me sitting on her ladyship’s piano stool!’

As Kate busied herself puffing up cushions and straightening picture frames, she hummed to herself the tune that Mrs McFadden had taught her, Lady Nairne’s composition for The Lass o’ Gowrie. As she did so, she imagined Alexander singing the song, the memory of his fine baritone voice filling her head. How wonderful that moment had been when he had started to sing the words she had learned those many years earlier when cradled on his arm she had begun to hum the tune just as she as doing now.

‘You know The Lass o’ Gowrie?’ she had exclaimed pulling away from him and looking him in the eye. He nodded his head in response, his eyes twinkling, as he continued to sing the song. When the last note died away, he took Kate in his arms and kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips.

‘Ah, Kate, my ain Lass o’ Gowrie. I should hae thoucht o’ this sooner when ye first telt me that you were born in the Carse o’ Gowrie, in Blairgowrie no less! Oh, I’ve ay be fond o’ this wee sang, but noo these words are inscribed in my heart - But Katie was the fairest flow'r That ever bloom'd in Gowrie.’

‘Oh, Alexander, ye ken weel how tae please a lass,’ said Kate burying her head in his chest, smelling the manliness of him, listening to his heart beat, while he gently brushed her hair with his fingers before planting a kiss on top of her head. It was so good to be held in his arms, thought Kate. She was safe. She was loved.

Kate could never forget the thrill of these early days, that first discovery of the ecstatic dreamlike state of being in love. It seemed so fulfilling, just being in love. It seemed strange now that she had not desired more in those early days. Yet it had not taken long before each time they met their desire for intimacy, their need for each grew, until their wants were fulfilled and Kate learned that truly Alexander knew how to please a lass.

CHAPTER 3

Alexander

Some five miles away, as Kate rose to begin her day, her lover Alexander had stirred. In the dark of the room, a bedroom all to himself since his older brother Ian was away completing his education in Dundee, Alexander turned in his warm bed and, with a snort, breathed in the cold air that signalled his sleep was over. It was well before dawn, time for his day’s work to begin, but he had no need of an alarm clock to wake him. That sudden on-set of chill, a sharp drop of temperature that occurs in the final hours before the dawning of a new day, had alerted his body that the night was coming to an end, another day about to begin.

‘What a day it will be,’ he thought.

Anticipating what lay in store that day, Alexander had also slept fitfully, tossing and turning as dream and reality mixed in his subconscious. There was pride in achievement: the successful harvest and a good sale of the barley crop, and the expected hurrah and family celebration when he returned from his final delivery, bringing home a handsome payment from the brewery in Montrose. There was also the dread of his father’s reaction to what would be his shock announcement that he was going to marry; that he was obliged to do the right thing by his lass.

Pushing all thoughts aside, Alexander quickly slipped out of bed and dressed. No time to shave, he would have to leave that to later when he returned from Montrose in triumph. Then he would shave before sitting down with the family for the evening meal, and afterwards make his big announcement. Dressed in a collarless shirt, tweed trousers and jacket, and carrying his boots in hand, he descended the stairs; he had no need of a light, he knew the house and its internal layout so well. He carefully avoided the third bottom step that always creaked despite several attempts to fix it. Making his way noiselessly to the kitchen, he struck a match to light the paraffin lamp he had left on the table the evening before.

Stepping back for a moment into the hallway he glanced at the family heirloom to check the time by the glow of the lamp. The slim mahogany long case clock gleamed back, and its thirteen inch painted dial showed that it was almost five thirty, an hour before sunrise on that early September morning in 1907. The clock was the creation of clockmaker Robert Wilkie of Cupar, Fife, in the eighteenth century, and it had been in the possession of the Lochhead family for well over a hundred years. Every hour on the hour, this finely made eight-day Grandfather clock would strike the hour on a single bell.

Alexander had always loved this fine piece of furniture with its decoration of shell inlay on its trunk door and the precision engineering that ensured accurate timekeeping. As a boy, he had stood in wonder at its beauty, its resonant sounds of tick and chime, and its seven foot four inches height. Now grown to almost six foot, Alexander found that the swan necked clock standing on its bracket feet still loomed over him. It spoke to him of the heritage of his family and its standing in the community. No other farmhouse in the district could boast such a magnificent piece. Then again, most other farmers were tenants tending small farms of about fifty acres, not freehold farmers like the Lochheads of Balgownie Mains with acreage close to five hundred.

Alexander headed back into the kitchen and was about to step out the back door when he heard soft footsteps on the stairs. He turned back fairly certain who it would be, and sure enough his sister, Maisie, younger