Bruar's Rest

Rory Stewart.’
    Rachel apologised profusely, took her baby and ran after her furious sister, who dashed from the house without another word. She didn’t catch up until she was halfway home, leaving Lady Cortonach and Simpy bewildered.
    If argument and swear words could paint their venom, then the air around the campsite was without doubt a vivid blue and red. Each sister shouted the odds like never before, with Rachel defending her use of a posh voice and listing the benefits of not rearing a child in a campground hell. With Annie and Jimmy both lost, she had no reason to continue with such a degrading lifestyle. Megan called her everything from traitor to buck mort, which is tinker tongue for a woman who deserts her culture and takes a place among settled folk. From then on, the ties that had bound the family were broken.
    Next day, after Nicholas had been fed, his mother washed him till his little cheeks were like red apples, packed what belongings she could and left for a life of servitude in Cortonach Castle. Megan cried all day, refusing to cook a bite for the others, or wash her face. Her only sister had deserted her after just a brief meeting with strangers. What if her baby was put away, given to some maid to rear, what if she was whipped for not working hard enough? Why could she not be like her—proud and accepting the old ways regardless? But she was certain, after a little thought, that Rachel wouldn’t like the work, and would come home. For a short while this cheered her up. After a month, however, with not so much as a whistle from Rachel, she became frantic with worry and decided to visit the castle.
    At first her feet faltered on the steps leading to the large, ominous-looking building. Waiting at the door was uncomfortable, after all what would she find? Her sister, always frail and thin, might be full of whip marks, maybe even have two black eyes or perhaps broken arms. When no one answered the bell, her fear turned to anger, and running off, she soon found an open door at the rear of the house and let herself into the kitchen. On the range, pots simmered with pleasant aromas. Glancing quickly around and seeing no sign of her sister she feared the worst; that perhaps she and her baby had been roasted for the rich people to feast on.
    ‘Hello, my dear,’ it was Mrs Simpson. ‘Come to help us?’
    ‘Where are Rachel and the babe?’ From a large cupboard came her answer; Rachel appeared carrying a large container of meal.
    ‘Megan, what a lovely surprise! I thought you were too busy watching those drunkards to visit.’
    ‘And I thought you were paggered!’ (dead)
    ‘Don’t be so daft, this is the best place in the world! People are kindness itself. I only work for six hours a day, have a comfortable bed and lots to eat. Look, feel how much weight I’ve put on.’ She grabbed Megan’s hand and ran it over her ribcage, which was to the eye fuller than when last they met. Her hair shone with cleanliness and her usually pale complexion glowed warm peach. It seemed that Megan’s fears were unfounded—but what of the baby, where was he?’
    ‘Come with me, we’ll find the mistress with Nicholas. Simpy, can I have leave?’
    ‘Yes, my dear, I think I heard them in the garden.’
    Megan followed behind a stranger; at least that’s what she seemed like, all spotless in starched apron and pure white cotton blouse, three inches of dark tweed skirt hung immaculately. She wore grey woollen stockings, and shiny brogue leather shoes. A stiff, crisp white servant’s hat topped her well-groomed hair, tightly pulled into a bun held in place by four pins.
    Rachel led her into the garden towards a picturesque summer house, twined in early rosebuds of pink. Lilac trees filled the air with their fragrance.
    ‘Madam, hello, I’ve brought my sister to see,’ a brief pause before she finished the sentence, ‘your charge, little Nicholas.’
    Megan glided towards her nephew who sat on the knee of a fattish lady, his own nanny. He was dressed in blue and with a broad belt round his middle, a brass buckle in its centre. He was unrecognisable in his frilly pantaloons and blue bonnet. He gurgled and giggled at Lady Cortonach who sat opposite, and tickled him under his chubby little chin with a spoon, before dipping it into a silver dish filled with some kind of pink pudding. He loved it, and showed no visible sign of remembering his aunt, as she stiffened before this scene of utter