‘In case of what?’ snapped Father.

‘In case you and Peg have to take the bairn in for a while. If she goes into hospital, they won’t take her child. It’s too dangerous.’

‘She wouldn’t harm the wee mite? Oh, Netta, that’s dreadful. Of course we’ll see to him, won’t we, Angus? What’s brought all this on, my girl?’ Peg rounded on Netta in the bed, who turned her face into the pillow.

‘We don’t know, do we… don’t get alarmed, it may be nothing that a few knock out drops won’t sort out. A big sleep and she’ll be as right as rain. No need to look on the dark side. I just wondered if there was anything in the family… er, you know, that might be useful for doctor to know?’

‘He’s been around long enough to know the Nichols are sound stock. As for Jeanie’s parents… they were artists, a bit vague but kindly. Are you suggesting…?’

‘I know Netta’s always had her head in the clouds. Now her husband’s another matter. We’ve heard strange tales of his stock. I suppose you never can tell with an artistic temperament. I hope this isn’t going to be blabbed all round Stratharvar, that our Netta’s going off her head?’ Peg stood up to check the door was closed.

Netta hung her head, not understanding their meaning but catching the tension. She was doing something wrong but what was it?

‘I did not say that, Mrs Nichol. Netta’s had more than her fair share of troubles. Her mind is worn out with worry, and worry blunts the blade. All she’s needing is a good rest, that’ll do the trick, I’m sure. Now, no more worrying, young lady. I take it you’ll have the bairn?’

‘We’ll do our duty, though we’ve nothing prepared. We thought she would be going her own road once the bairn was born but she was a bit vague about her plans, wasn’t she, Angus?’

The farmer was deep in thought sucking on his empty pipe. ‘What’s that you’re saying? You’ll have to do the looking after it, Peg. I’ve no time, it’s up to you.’

‘It’ll only be for a week or two until we get her rested. Once things have settled down she’ll take over again, I’m sure. Go and fetch their grandson, Netta, let them have a wee peek.’

Netta went downstairs on leaden feet. Why were they taking her baby away? What was wrong with him… was he ill? She breezed into the kitchen and took the sleeping child, sneaked outside into the garden in her dressing gown. Soon her slippers were soaked and it was starting to rain.