The Road to Rowanbrae Read Free Page B

not famed for diplomacy, and the other women thought nothing of her observation.
    Dougal Mennie, however, a rather stout man with bushy white hair and a pleasant, chubby face, felt obliged to intervene. ‘That’s none o’ oor business, Mistress Petrie, an’ dinna forget, there’s mony a good tune played on an auld fiddle. I’m weel past fifty mysel’, an’ Rosie has nae complaints. Noo, if that’s a’ you’re needin’, I’ll coont it up, for I’ve other folk to serve, as you can see.’
    â€˜Dinna put it on, then, for we’re near the end o’ the term an’ there’s nae muckle left in my purse.’
    â€˜I never charge mair than I should,’ he said, sharply, for Mrs Petrie always rubbed him up the wrong way. ‘Two shillings an’ fivepence three farthings, if you please.’
    She paid him and packed her purchases into her basket while Rosie Mennie handed change to Mrs Duff, and the two women left together. Mrs Thomson, the shoemaker’s wife, dying to find out what her friends thought of the incomer, bought only two items and hurried out to join them, their heads going close together to discuss, Jess thought as she watched them, what Mysie could have seen in Jeems.
    It crossed her mind that they would never guess, not in a month of Sundays, that he’d paid thirty pounds for his wife, and she smiled as she turned to lay her surplus butter, eggs and cheese on the counter. Mysie doing likewise, they soon came to an amicable agreement with the shopkeeper as to what they could have in exchange. The system of barter suited both sides. The crofters’ wives could obtain such necessities as sugar, salt or paraffin without money having to change hands, and Dougal made a profit when he sold their fresh produce to retailers in the city. Luxuries like clothes had to wait until their husbands sold potatoes and other vegetables when they went into town themselves.
    Passing the little group outside, Jess remarked, ‘If there’s onything else you want to ken about Mysie, you’ve only to ask.’ Glaring into their uncomfortable faces for a moment, she said, ‘There’s naething, is there? Weel, good day to you, ladies,’ emphasising the last word with great sarcasm.
    Mysie waited until they were out of earshot before she gave vent to her mirth. ‘Oh, Jess,’ she gasped, almost doubled up, ‘what a terrible wumman you are.’
    â€˜It’s just fun,’ Jess giggled.
    The clip-clop of horse’s hooves behind them made them both turn round. ‘It’s the laird’s carriage,’ Jess said, importantly. ‘His coachman tak’s him into the toon, for he’s got some kind o’ business there.’
    They both stepped nearer the ditch at the side of the road, and as the vehicle rumbled past, Jess gave a cheery wave, the blue-liveried driver inclining his head to her in a stiff nod, and the laird himself smiling broadly. ‘He’s a fine man, Mr Phillip,’ she told Mysie. ‘We hardly ever see his wife, though, for she doesna like mixin’ wi’ the common folk.’
    â€˜He looked awfu’ young to be the laird,’ Mysie observed, as they moved back into the middle of the road.
    â€˜He hasna been laird for very lang. It was his father when I come here first, but he died sudden, an’ this ane fell heir. He hasna ony bairns yet, but nae doot they’ll come. The gentry need sons to pass on their estates to.’
    â€˜Where aboot do the Phillips bide?’
    â€˜Burnlea Hoose – the drive up to the Big Hoose is between the kirk an’ Wellbrae, the Duffs’ place, but you canna see the hoose for the trees. The whole o’ Burnlea, village as weel, belongs to the Phillips. Noo, what was we speakin’ aboot?’
    â€˜We was laughin’ aboot you sayin’ yon to …’
    â€˜Oh, aye. They’re gossipin’