In Loving Memory Read Free Page B

nor in the hale o’ Govan that wud be wantin her man for tae attend a Rebels’ Meeting, noo, is therr?”
    Maggie made a non-committal reply, at the same time as remembering the harsh words she and Fergus had indeed exchanged before he had flung out into the night, with an almighty crashing of the cottage door behind him. The memory of his avowed and unshakable determination to speak for the weavers fired her temper anew, at the same time as awakening a feeling of dread for his safety. Maggie could contain herself no longer.
    “For God’s sake, Mistress Weir, would you stop this nonsense of telling me half-truths and dire hints of trouble. If you’ve something definite to tell me, like I said already, for the love of God Almighty, spit it out and have done with it!”
    There was a swift intake of breath at this further outburst from her normally ladylike neighbour and for an instant the older woman did seem at a loss for words. but when the words did come, they came in a rush.
    “That Rebels’ meeting... ma Davie got back safely efter a wee bit o’ a stramash. Seems therr wus even talk o Government spies in their midst. Seems the authorities have captured some o the puir souls. Flung them in gaol. Aye, a black day for them their wives and their bairns. Them prisoners ... it’ll be transportation tae the colonies at best for them. If no that, it’ll be the hangin’. God help them, they’ll die facin the monument.”
    “Dear God in heaven, what are you saying? That my Fergus has been captured? Is that it?”
    Mrs Weir chewed at her lower lip. “Weel noo, as tae that. Ah couldnae say for certain. But Ah thocht ye should at least be telt whit happened.”
    As if somewhat belatedly remembering her manners, Maggie said, “That was good of you, Mistress Weir, and I do appreciate your coming along to tell me. But you did say that your son got back safely eventually. Didn’t you say that yourself? He’s back at your own fireside. So where, where is my Fergus?”
    A look of compassion appeared on the older woman’s face and she laid a gnarled hand on Maggie’s sleeve.
    “Wheesht, lassie, wheesht! Dinnae fash yersel. Ye’ll waken yer bairns. Richt enough, Davie got back. He hid up some o thon stinkin back wynds and closes in Paisley. Waited till the coast wus clear, like. Then he belted hell for leather back here tae the safety o Govan and his auld Mammy! Didnae seem sich a big brave Radical then, Ah can tell ye!”
    Maggie opened her lips to speak but the words would not come.
    The older woman continued, “Dinnae get yersel intae a stooshie, hen. Like as no, yer man’ll be cooryin doon in some vennel or some sich place, jist bidin his time. Aye, Ah’m sure that’s whit it’ll be. Onywey, we’ll jist hae tae wait and see. Things wull look brighter in the morning. Tak ma word for it, hen, yer man wull probably creep back into yer bed in the wee sma’ oors.”
    As she said goodbye to the harbinger of bad news, Maggie shuddered at the thought of the long night ahead.
    She already knew the dark reaches of the night would be filled with worry, fitful sleep and long sojourns down memory lane to the days when before marrying in haste, she was upstairs maid in a different element, living and working in a fine house in Glasgow’s fashionable Blythswood Square – the place of her shame.

 
    Chapter 3
     
    As Maggie blearily opened her eyes to the dawn of a new day and the still empty space on the pillow beside her, she gave a long heartfelt sigh as she thought. So much for lying awake half the night, jumping at every sound and hoping it meant Fergus had got safely back home.
    A muffled sound from one of the children alerted her to the fact that with a houseful of bairns to feed, wash and clothe, life still had to go on. Taking care not to disturb her family any more than was strictly necessary, she slipped out from under the patchwork quilt, dressed quickly and pinned up her long plaits of brown hair into her usual