Rose Cottage Read Online Free PDF Page A

middle-aged woman was pegging some tea towels out on the line. This must be Morag; Gran had told me that the only other ‘help’ now was a girl of sixteen who came mornings, and I could hear the vacuum cleaner going somewhere behind an upstairs window.
    Morag, who was new since my last visit to Strathbeg, did not look in the least like the apprentice that Gran had described to me; she was well into her forties, looked immensely capable, and I thought I would have backed her clootie dumplings against anyone else’s
haute cuisine
anywhere.
    She turned as I approached.
    ‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘I’m Mrs Welland’s granddaughter Kathy. You must be Morag? I’m sorry, but I don’t know your other name. It’s Mrs –?’
    ‘Morag’ll do fine. So you’re Kathy.’ We shook hands. She looked me up and down, not rudely, but with a sort of cautious appraisal. ‘You’re welcome, I’m sure. Her ladyship said you might be coming down.’
    ‘Is it convenient now? I really just called to see – I could come later, but I may be going south again tomorrow.’
    ‘It’s all right, come away in. You might as well come this way now you’re here. It’s through the kitchen.’
    ‘I know. It’s the way I’m used to.’
    She gave me another look where I thought I saw a touch of sour approval. ‘Aye, well … And how’s your grandma?’
    ‘Glad to be home again. Hospitals are good places to get out of. You know, this feels a bit like home to me, too. The kitchen looks just the same, and you’ve been baking … It smells good.’
    A tightening of the lips that might be meant for a smile. ‘Scones. I’d a mind to send some up to Mrs Welland, but she’d maybe no’ think they were good enough.’
    ‘She’d like it fine, I’m sure, and I’d certainly appreciate them, if you’d let me take them up. Thanks very much.’ I tried a touch of diplomacy. ‘It’s nice that she can be so easy in her mind, with you here. Do you come from somewhere in the glen?’
    ‘No. I’m from Inverness, but I like it fine here in the summer. The winter’s another thing, but there’s a while to go yet before that. Well, if you’ll bide a bit while I see to the oven …’ She lifted the baking sheet out and began to set the delicious-smelling scones out on the rack to cool.
    ‘The house is very quiet, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Where are the children? I’d have liked to see them. William wasn’t much more than a baby when I was here before, and Sarah was in her pram. Are they out?’
    It seemed that they were. ‘Himself’, as she called Sir James, was down by the river after the fish, and the Major was along with him. Mrs Drew had gone up to the village to meet the Bank – I would mind, said Morag, setting the last scone in place, that Monday was the day the Bank came to the glen – but her ladyship was in her room writing letters. I’d mind the room? The wee sitting room by the side door? I did? Then did I want to go through now, or would she tell her ladyship I was here?
    I hesitated. ‘Would you mind telling her, Morag? I don’t like just to walk through if she’s busy.’
    That nod of approval again. She wiped her hands on her apron, took it off, then led me along the well-known passage to the green baize door, that traditional barrier between the back and the front of the house. I could not guess what Morag had heard about me, nor what she had expected, but it was obvious that, in her view, I had quite properly kept to my own side of that barrier.
    Going through the green door was like going back in time. It was all just as I remembered it. There was the wide hall, carpeted with worn and faded rugs which had once been valuable, and cluttered, rather than furnished, with enormous cupboards and chests rather in need of polishing, and a long table littered with gloves and newspapers and copies of the
Scottish Field
and a gardener’s trug of hand tools. Against the once-crimsonwalls hung pictures in heavy gilt frames,