Highland Justice Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The wedding was to take place in June at Mortlach Church.

  On that first day of January, when the engagement had been announced, the couple had been persuaded by Cameron’s grandmother that, it was only decent to have a proper engagement, ‘to ensure the tongues in the village had no cause to start waggin’’. And of course, Reverend Logan was more than happy with these arrangements, as it allowed him plenty of time to prepare the couple for ‘that most sacred moment’.

  In the end, the months passed quite quickly. In fact, in some ways they passed much more quickly than Cameron would have wished, because now that the new contracts were being awarded for the extension of the line to Inverness, he never seemed to have any spare time at all. Typical, he thought. Just when he wanted to spend more time with Mary, the railway seemed to be scheming to work him harder and send him away as much as possible.

  It all came to a head one cold February evening, while he and Mary were sitting having supper in a little cafe on Bogie street.

  ‘You know, Mary. I’m beginnin’ to think I’m the only one workin’ for this railway. I’ve got to go to Aberdeen again next week, and then on to Inverness Saturday for four days!’

  ‘Don’t be botherin’ yourself over it, Cameron,’ Mary said, reaching across the table and resting her hand on top of his tense forearm. ‘It no matter.’

  ‘Well, it matters to me. I feel like I’m just becomin’ their lackey. I’m sure the rest of the management are just sittin’ at home with their feet up in front of a warm fire.’

  Due to the landslide, the branch line to Dufftown had been delayed by more than six months. But with the completion of the viaduct bridge over the River Fiddich, the eleven-mile stretch from Keith to Dufftown was finished. Final inspection took place during the last week of April, with the official opening of the branch line scheduled to take place on May 25th.

  Cameron spent a lot of time organising the event – at the special request of the regional manager – and he could barely contain his almost child-like excitement at being included in the celebrations. And with that in mind, on his last trip to Aberdeen, he’d even splashed out on a new grey suit and matching waistcoat.

  It was hard to believe, he thought, that his life had changed so much in just a few short years. From a family of down-on-their-luck unemployed crofters, he had emerged and climbed to a position in society unattainable to most people. Yesterday, Mr Mathieson had called him into his office, and what transpired had left him wandering down the hallway feeling guilty about his previous misgivings. Mary had been right. They really did recognize the hard work he’d put in for the GNSR, or why else would he have been told to present himself at the dignitary’s platform, ‘at twelve sharp tomorrow’?

  The skies were blue, the air was warm, and only a zephyr of wind rustled the leaves on the silver birch trees lining the road to the station. Two flowering cherry trees planted near the entrance to the main hall, had recently burst into bloom, framing the doorway with their pink and white blooms. And to complete the picturesque scene, pink and scarlet rhododendron bushes, which had been placed alongside the front aspect of the main waiting room, were now a riot of colour and proving a visual delight to the people flocking towards the station.

  Cameron’s chest was bursting with pride as he strode arm-in-arm with Mary and Helen into the new station, before leading them along the platform towards the area reserved for the local townsfolk.

  ‘A wee bit over-dressed for the occasion aren’t we, Mr Stewart? After all, you’re not exactly a director…well not yet, anyhow,’ chuckled his boss, after intercepting Cameron halfway along the platform.

  ‘Anyway, when you’re done here…be a good fellow and see to it that our guests find their seats.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Mathieson,’ Cameron replied, his face burning with embarrassment.

  Having escorted his ladies to an advantageous position at the front of the growing crowd, he made his way to the other end of the concourse, where a raised seating area had been erected for the invited dignitaries.

  Suddenly, striding into sight, like some kind of bad dream, was Malcolm Campbell, the man who had “accidentally” shot his father. No doubt here to represent the interests of the Duke of Richmond, thought Cameron. Beside him, on his left, swaggered a lad of about fourteen years of age, who Cameron assumed must be his son; while on his right strolled Mr John Gordon, the owner of the Mortlach Distillery.

  Cameron’s lips compressed into a thin ragged line, and his face turned red with anger. For a moment he stood dead still, the knuckles white on his clenched fists at his side.

  ‘Och…what have we here?’ sneered Malcolm Campbell. ‘I do believe I’m seein’ the young pup of our last great poacher. I did hear he’d gone and got himself some fancy job with the railway.’

  Turning to his son, he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ll need to keep a wary eye on him when yer older, Donald…’cause sooner or later these people all seem to forget whose runnin’ this country.’

  In Cameron’s mind, time stood still. But then he, like everyone else on the platform, became distracted by the distant wail of the locomotive’s low-pitched whistle signalling the imminent arrival of the special train. Using this as cover to disappear, he turned and stole away to the back of the raised dais.

  The train came into view, slowly chugging its way across the viaduct bridge. Rob’s crew had spent the previous day polishing the loco and carriages, and they were truly a sight to behold. The engine’s shiny black frame and undercarriage contrasted beautifully to its dark green body – enhanced by the company’s initials painted in gold on its sides. And its three carriages sparkled as the blazing sun reflected off their newly varnished surfaces. Rounding off this impressive spectacle were two flags – each one mounted on opposite front corners of the loco – snapping loudly, as they fluttered in the warm spring air. On the left flew the red, white and blue of the Union, whilst on the right the new GNSR company flag made its first proud appearance.

  The train screeched to a halt; at which time most of the crowd’s view of the proceedings became temporarily obstructed by the cloud of steam released as the brakes were locked on. But the air soon cleared, and an orderly procession of company directors and guests began alighting from the carriages. This was truly a momentous occasion, as most local people had never before witnessed such an event. And as the dignitaries made their way, with great aplomb and grace, towards the raised platform, applause broke out.

  ‘Stewart…Stewart, where are you?’ barked a voice from the crowd.

  Cameron immediately recognized the regional manager’s distinctive tone.

  ‘Here, Sir…Just over here.’

  ‘Well come over here! You’re supposed to be handing the champagne around. These people are important and they no have all day.’

  With an aching sense of dismay, Cameron’s dreams came crashing down. His presence here wasn’t a sign of appreciation. He’d been right all along. He hadn’t climbed out of his place in society. He’d just been temporarily allowed to sit at the top of the lowest class. Everything now became clear to him. He was just a flunkey for the middle class who ran the railway and the upper class who owned it. The indignity he felt was palpable, and if it hadn’t been for Mary and Helen he would have walked away.

  Life was a cruel mistress, and Cameron learned another lesson that day. Nobody in this country would ever be allowed to rise above the position into which they were born. He had gone as far as he was going and must now acquiesce, or like his father, and his father before him, be consumed fighting against the establishment.

  As the days went by the change in Cameron’s attitude was there for all to see. His previous enthusiasm for the railway waned and, whenever he and Mary got together, the GNSR was never mentioned.

  But Cameron was no fool. He knew very well that he still had a good job. As such, he diligently did his work, but no longer did he go out of his way to solve
the railway’s problems or offer to perform any extra duties. As a consequence, he now seemed to find more time for himself; and as an added bonus began to regain the trust and friendship of all his old workmates.

  The day of the wedding finally arrived. Helen had excelled herself, and the church looked beautiful. Foxgloves and irises adorned the altar and windowsills, their sweet fragrance manifesting itself throughout the church; while small posies of pink thistles, attached to the aisle end of each pew, outlined Mary’s route towards her nuptials.

  Cameron stood in the nave facing Reverend Logan – the fingers of his hands

  nervously fanning the pages of his prayer book. While beside him on his right, casually erect and wearing a cheeky grin, stood Rob.

  Suddenly, the muffled hubbub was shattered as the piper struck up the first few notes of “Laura’s Wedding March”. The congregation rose as one. Mary and her father started down the aisle, with Mary’s nursing friend, Annie, in attendance.

  When Cameron turned and first laid eyes upon his bride, his breath caught in his throat. She seemed to drift down the aisle, her feet hidden within the ivory gown billowing out around her. A veil shrouded her head, giving her an almost eerie appearance, until she drew nearer and he discerned the silhouette of her face.

  Later that day, Cameron assumed that he must have murmured the correct responses at the correct time. Because all he could remember was the moment he rolled back her veil. Her honey-coloured eyes had sparkled, and two dark-brown curls hung down each side of her face, resting peacefully against her tear-moistened cheeks. And at the culmination of the ceremony, when his lips had lightly touched hers, he would never forget thinking that his desires had now been completely fulfilled.

  To the piper’s melodic strain of “Mist Covered Mountains”, the service ended.

  Cameron and Mary strolled down the aisle arm-in-arm, and as they exited through the pair of studded, cathedral-style doors, the bells began to peel.

  Typical Scottish summer weather graced the wedding party that day. A spirited wind from the east buffeted them, while rain drummed down from low grey skies. As one wry wit was overheard to have said, ‘At least with this weather, there’s no guessing as to where the wedding’s at’!

  A minimum of formalities were endured outside the church, before Cameron and Mary jumped into a hansom cab – specially decorated with lewd articles by Rob and the “boys” from work – and waved cheerily, as they were spirited away.

  Shortly thereafter, the wedding party and guests arrived at the village hall, where drinking and reels went on well into the night. It was a party that would be recalled with delight by all the guests, and judged by some by the severity of their aching heads the following morning. The newly married couple remained at the hall for a “respectable” amount of time. Then, with great fanfare, and many knowing winks and nudges from the younger crowd, they waved goodbye and left.

  Cameron whisked Mary up the stairs to their room at the Highlander Inn. After fumbling with the key for what seemed an eternity, he finally opened the door and carried her in. The room was dimly lit with scented candles, and on the table beside the bed lay a small saucer of sweets and a flask of cool water. While a warm glow radiated from the dying embers of a fire set earlier in the evening, making the room’s temperature perfect.

  Cameron and Mary fell into each other’s arms, kissing with wild abandon. The last six months’ restraint was finally dispensed with, when Cameron released the final hook constraining the bodice of her gown and eased it from her shoulders. His head bowed to her bosom, his lips encircling a rigid nipple. Mary gasped, as his tongue sent impulses to a warming place deep inside, while at the same time her hips involuntarily moved forward to meet his growing manhood. When he suddenly pulled back from her breast, she almost screamed in protest. But the loss of sensation was only momentary, for now his hands moved slowly downwards, his fingers tracing the curve of her breasts before following the outline of her body to her waist.

  As Cameron knelt to remove her lower garments, Mary’s eyes opened. The glow from the candle illuminated his face, and for a moment she almost laughed at the lecherous grin it exposed. Hooking his two index fingers into the waist of her skirts, Cameron yanked, disposing of them all in one downward movement. Rising again, his clothes seemed to melt away.

  Mary couldn’t help but stare at his loins. Although she was a nurse, and had seen plenty of male organs, none had ever been as ample or vibrant as the one he now revealed; and without warning her legs began to tremble.

  Cameron slipped one arm behind her back, while the other reached down to lift from behind her knees and gently place her on the bed.

  Mary’s heart fluttered uncontrollably, and when his mouth travelled down her body she thought she might faint. Surely she must be in heaven, she thought, as his tongue painted tiny wet circles from her forehead to her feet. And as she lay writhing in ecstasy, and their lovemaking reached its climax, her only wish was that the night would somehow never turn to day.

  Later that week, as she and Annie made up beds in the women’s ward, Mary’s mind drifted back over the last few days. After that wondrous first night, Cameron, with the connivance of Matron, had surprised her with a few days away. They had travelled to a pretty little guesthouse by the sea near Banff and, when the owners had discovered that they had just been married, they had been treated like royalty. Breakfast had been delivered to their room – but not until late in the morning – and for lunch, a basket had been provided so they could picnic amongst the dunes. Daylight hours had been spent wandering hand-in-hand along the shore, jumping and splashing like children on a day-trip with their parents; and lunch had been taken amongst the dunes, stretched-out on a blanket well out of sight of prying eyes. In the evening, supper had been served to them in a small alcove overlooking the ocean, on a table decorated with flowers carefully arranged around a lighted candle.

  ‘Mary…Haloo…Mary…are ye there?’

  ‘Sorry, Annie, I be thinkin’ ’bout somethin’ else.’

  ‘Ah could see that,’ Annie replied, a cheeky grin arrayed across her face. ‘Are ye gonny give me all the lurid details?’

  ‘Certainly no! What do you take me for?’

  ‘Och, ye be no fun...An how is married life?’

  ‘Wonderful…Well, nearly. Unfortunately, we be havin’ to stay at Mrs McGee’s for a few more days until the house we’ve rented is free. She’s very nice and all that…but we’re havin’ to be awfully quiet ’cause the walls are paper thin and…Och, you know what I mean,’ Mary said, turning her head away to hide her crimson cheeks.

  Annie placed a hand over her mouth to cover her laugh, but couldn’t quite suppress a loud snigger as they moved on to the next bed.

  Since the wedding, Cameron’s life had taken on a new dimension. He was now finding it more and more difficult to set aside enough hours in the day to accomplish all of his tasks. Work was the same, and required no more or less of his time than previously. But women! He never realised how complicated they could be, and how much of his life would be spent trying to adapt to his wife’s wishes. Mary was beautiful, clever and lustful. She was caring, and he was sure would turn out to be a good wife. But she just didn’t think like him. Now he understood why the church referred to marriage as a “lifetime commitment”. Oh well, he reflected, she’ll change.

  During the first week of July, they moved in to their new home. The cute two-up and two-down was on Chapel Street, only a short walk from the hospital. Within days, Mary set about making it her own, and had soon coaxed Cameron into constructing a window box – which she placed outside the parlour windows at the front of the house and filled with red begonias and sky blue irises. While, on the following Saturday, Cameron was dragged along to the market, from where he staggered home carrying two large clay pots and a container filled with yellow, pink and white freesias. By the morning of the following day, the pots were placed like sentries outside the front door, welcoming visitors with their wondro
us scent.

  Of course, not everyone was enamoured with the Stewarts’ horticultural endeavours. Their neighbour, Mrs McDuff, who lived at number fifteen, had already been overheard in the local shop complaining about their flowers, and suggesting that ‘too many flowers at the front was not really in keepin’ wi’ the rest of the street’. But the chagrin that Mary felt on hearing these comments soon evaporated upon meeting Mr & Mrs Leith. They were a lovely old couple, who lived across the road at number fourteen. And on their first meeting with Mary, had said how ‘nice it be to have a young couple livin’ on the street’, but at the same time had warned her to ‘just ignore the old busy-body at number fifteen. She’s a miserable old you-know-what, an nobody pays her any mind’.

  Two weeks after moving in, Mary was in the kitchen preparing dinner when the front door closed with a bang.

  The jingling of Cameron’s keys landing in the bowl on the hall table was soon replaced by the sound of his footsteps as he headed towards the kitchen.