‘Well, she’s no here to get his meals on the table or warm his bed. I may be no good with the painting or much to make a portrait of, but he knows this plain woman’s grateful. I’m strong, built to last… more than yer poor ma was, being sae delicate. Besotted though he was by her fair looks and artistic fingers, she was a town incomer not an in-born country bred like me.’

‘Are you going to give him a bull calf then?’ Country girls knew all about birthing and offspring and Netta was no exception.

‘Wash your mouth out!’ Peg’s arm swung out to clip the cheek out of the child. Netta ducked and darted to the door.

‘Just you wait till I tell Faither about yer lip.’

‘I don’t care, I hate you! I shall tell my mammy what you’ve done. It’s no fair!’ The girl raced across the yard up the track towards the top of the hill.

Peg turned back to her chores. Taking on Netta Nichol was the price she must pay for a warm fireside. ‘Dear God, send me enough cloth to warm her coldness,’ she prayed and straightened out the dress. Once there were other kiddies at the hearth the girl would soon fall in line.

*

On the morning of the wedding Netta took her time fixing up her liberty bodice and the garters round her white stockings. Peg had starched her petticoat and bound the child’s wiry hair into tight ringlets. The dress was hung up ready for the trip to church. Angus was looking stiff and shiny in his best suit. His hair plastered down, his cheeks flushed from the drinking spree at the Stratharvar Hotel. Peg had squeezed into the dark pink two-piece suit that just about skimmed over her bulk, thanks to her new Spirella corset. She had let Mary MacCrindle shampoo and set her hair into a crimped wave flat against her ears and she wore her new floppy straw hat to one side. The finishing touch was the necklace of polished stones that Angus had pushed towards her in its blue box.

‘Here’s something to go with your outfit. It’s yours now. Shame to waste a good bauble.’

He did not touch her or offer to put it on her neck. When he looked at her there was only resignation and gratitude in his eyes, never a spark of desire or admiration. Peg could live with that. When she gave him a son, then she might shine brighter in his eyes. She was sitting by the dressing table when Netta appeared in the doorway.

‘You can’t wear that!’ She pointed to the necklace in horror. ‘It’s my mammy’s, not yours!’

Angus turned sharply to his daughter. ‘Of course she can. I bought it for Jeanie. It’s for me to gie it to whom I please.’