The Shadow of the Sycamores by Doris Davidson Page A

you with open arms when you arrive next month, all ready to take over in my kitchen the following morning.’

    As Innes had foreseen, Jim Legge was sympathetic to Janet’s request, her trembling voice and fearful expression (both a result of her guilt at deceiving him) lending authenticity to the fiction. ‘Yes, of course you must go to be with your mother. Itwas providential that The Sycamores’ cook left when she did. Now, you say you want to leave tomorrow. How will you get there?’
    ‘Mr Ledingham’s sending a carriage in the afternoon.’ Even as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. He could be angry at Innes’s presumption.
    The farmer, however, was amused, not angry. ‘He takes things for granted, doesn’t he?’ he grinned. ‘Though I suppose it’s a compliment to me.’

    Janet’s conscience kept her awake that night. Not only had she told a dreadful falsehood to Jim Legge, she’d had to repeat it to Maidie, who kept wanting details of her mother’s illness, so she’d had to concoct a few more untruths. It was awful. She had never sinned her soul in all her forty years, and now the lies came tripping off her tongue.
    Not only that, she was having sinful thoughts. No matter what Innes had said, she knew he would make advances to her once he got her there and she didn’t know if she had the strength to refuse him – or even if she wanted to refuse him. The way he had looked at her that afternoon had stirred emotions that would be better undisturbed. She was remembering how she had felt with poor Tom Aitken – how his caresses and kisses had taken her to the point where it hadn’t been a case of not wanting to refuse him but of longing for him to get on with it.
    The circumstances had been different with Tom, though. He had loved her and she had loved him. They had both been in their teens and he had been going off to war. There was an excuse for what she had done on that wonderful, special night but there would be no excuse if she fornicated with a married man – for that’s what it would be, not an act of love. Even an act of love would be a sin for them … in other people’s eyes.
    Flooding with shame at the imagined copulation, Janet sent up a prayer for her own salvation.
    Oh, dear Lord, help me to keep my mind on the proper things.Don’t let me get carried away by what Innes does to me – if he does do anything to me. Don’t let me forget that my mother taught me to keep myself pure for the man I take as my husband.
    She stopped, brought up short by what she was thinking. She wasn’t pure. She wasn’t untouched. Even if, heaven knew how, she was ever in a position to marry Innes or any other man, she couldn’t pretend she was pure. In any case, would it matter all that much? Did all men expect their brides to be chaste? What would happen if they found out that the woman they had chosen was not what they thought?
    She gave herself a shake. What rubbish she was thinking. There must be a lot of women and girls who had gone down the slippery slope before their marriage. Letting a man prove his love was a natural thing, wasn’t it? And it couldn’t be unusual for that man to die or go away or transfer his affections to somebody else. So … there must be a lot of men whose brides were not pure.
    This did not make her feel any better, though, and the following forenoon was an ordeal, too. Saying goodbye to all the decent folk who hoped that her mother would recover and wished her well in her new job, made her feel thoroughly ashamed but, at last, it was over. The trap arrived to take her away and she climbed up beside the driver because she couldn’t bear to be alone with her thoughts.

    A month short of his sixteenth birthday, Henry Rae knew that he couldn’t hold out for much longer. He had made it quite obvious to everybody at The Sycamores that he didn’t want to get over-friendly with any of them – even Janet. Although she always took time to speak to him if they met, a rumour