A Maxwell Mourned

A Maxwell Mourned Read Free

Book: A Maxwell Mourned Read Free
Author: Gwen Kirkwood
Tags: Historical Romance
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go to the village dances up in Ayrshire?’
    ‘Oh yes. After my … well, when they needed me I sometimes played the fiddle for the dancing.’
    ‘You play the fiddle? Well, well! There’s an old fiddle up in the attic. My grandfather used to play sometimes. It will be badly neglected and out of tune but I will ask Beth to look for it. What about the bowling club? Or badminton? Do you fancy going? I have noticed how melancholy you seem sometimes and I want you to be happy. I don’t want to lose you, Ross?’
    He could not miss the question in her voice. He knew Mistress Beattie meant well, but he could not confide in her about his family. Even less could he tell her about Rachel. Maybe Mistress Beattie was right. Perhaps he ought to go out more, meet other girls. He sighed heavily. There was only one Rachel O’Brian and he was finding it impossible to put her out of his mind.
    ‘Well Ross? Do you think you will attend the hiring fair?’
    ‘I think we should wait until the May term. By then we should be able to afford a few more cows. A man with a wife might bring help with the milking as well as the ploughing and turnip hoeing. We could certainly find plenty of work.
    ‘All right,’ Alice nodded, pleased that Ross was thinking ahead. ‘But remember you must make time for a little leisure too. You are too young to stay at home every Saturday night. Surely you would enjoy the dancing?’
    ‘I will think about it,’ Ross promised but Alice noticed the shadows did not leave his eyes and the set of his jaw was much too stern for a young man.

Chapter Two
    I T WAS A BITTERLY cold morning in November and Meg welcomed the cup of hot tea to warm her up.
    ‘Ugh,’ she shuddered as she tasted it. ‘You must have bought a new blend of tea, Peter? This tastes terrible.’
    ‘It’s the usual blend,’ Peter said in surprise. ‘It’s very popular.’ A week later Meg still had a dislike for the tea, but Rachel saw her munching her way through her third raw carrot.
    ‘I think you have developed a craving for carrots, Meg,’ she laughed. ‘I hope you have left enough to make the soup.’
    Cyril Johnstone was serving a customer when Meg carried a loaded tray of scones through to the front shop. She waited while he weighed the sugar into the thick blue bag. As the woman closed the door behind her Meg stepped forward, but the floor suddenly came to meet her. Cyril grabbed the tray just in time and Meg managed to steady herself against the solid wooden counter. Her knuckles gleamed white with the effort.
    ‘Here you are, Mistress,’ Cyril Johnstone guided her anxiously onto a chair, peering into her pale face with concern. ‘Shall I call Miss Rachel?’
    ‘No, no,’ Meg whispered. ‘Just – a drink – of water, please.’ By the time Cyril returned with a cup of water Meg was feeling better. She sipped it gratefully and summoned a smile, feeling rather foolish.
    ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ she apologised. ‘I’ve never fainted in my life.’
    ‘Maybe you have been overdoing things a bit,’ Cyril suggested.
    When he got home he told his wife about the little episode.
    ‘If she were not so old I’d say she was the same as me,’ she said promptly, patting her swollen stomach. ‘But in her case it must be the other thing that women are supposed to get in middle age.’ She giggled. ‘I don’t know anything about that yet.’
    ‘That’s obvious!’ Cyril grinned.
    The same thing happened to Meg during a visit to Windlebrae.
    ‘You must see a doctor,’ Cameron said anxiously. ‘Maybe you need more red meat, lassie. You’re looking pale.’
    Doctor Gill had only lived in Ardmill for two years. He was still regarded as a newcomer by the locals, as were Meg and Rachel. He was younger than Meg had expected. She judged him to be in his early forties, about Peter’s age.
    He asked her many questions and examined her very thoroughly – more thoroughly than Meg thought could be necessary.
    ‘Well, I

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