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Updated: June 7, 2025
From an article in The Times Literary Supplement. Mrs. M'Cosh remained extremely sceptical about the reality of the fortune until the lawyer came from London, "yin's errand to see Miss Jean," as she explained importantly to Miss Bathgate, and he was such an eminently solid, safe-looking man that her doubts vanished.
The only servant The Rigs possessed was a middle-aged woman, the widow of one Andrew M'Cosh, a Clyde riveter, who had drifted from her native city of Glasgow to Priorsford. She had a sweet, worn face, and a neat cap with a black velvet bow in front. Jock rose from the table reluctantly, and was at once hailed by the Mhor and invited on to the raft.
I think he thought I was rather mad to ask him, and Pamela laughed at me about it.... She laughs at me a good deal and calls me a 'sentimentalist. ... "There is the luncheon bell. "We are longing for your letter to-morrow to hear how you are settling down. Mrs. M'Cosh has baked some shortbread for you, which I shall post this afternoon. "Love from each of us, and Peter. Your
M'Cosh shaking her head dubiously at the departing car. One of the best things in life is to start on a spring morning for a holiday. To Jock and Mhor at least life seemed a very perfect thing as the car slid down the hill, over Tweed Bridge, over Cuddy Bridge, and turned sharp to the left up the Old Town.
He certainly seemed very much at home at The Rigs, fondling the rare old books with the hands of a book lover, inspecting the coloured prints, chaffing Jock and Mhor, who fawned round him like two puppy dogs. Peter had at once made friends with him, and Mrs. M'Cosh, coming into the room on some errand, edged her way out backwards, her eyes fixed on the newcomer with an approving stare.
Pamela kept the talk going through tea, and told them so many funny stories that they had to laugh. "If only," said Mhor, "Peter was here now the Honourable's back we would be happy." "There's a big box of hard chocolates behind that cushion," Pamela said, pointing to the sofa. It was at that moment that the door opened, and Mrs. M'Cosh put her head in. Her face wore a broad smile.
M'Cosh simply stood beside her and conversed until the job was done. Jean never knew whether to laugh or be cross, but she generally laughed. Once when the house had been upset by illness, and trained nurses were in occupation, Jean had rung the bell repeatedly, and, receiving no answer, had gone to the kitchen.
When the visitors had rolled away in their car Jean told Pamela about Peter. "I couldn't tell you before those opulent, well-pleased people. It's absolutely breaking our hearts. Mrs. M'Cosh looks ten years older, and Jock and Mhor go about quite silent thinking out wicked things to do to relieve their feelings.
The instinct that makes people wish to stand well with the rich and powerful he could understand and commend, but the instinct that opens wide doors to the shabby and the unsuccessful was not one that he knew anything about: it was certainly not an instinct for this world as he knew it. Just as they were finishing tea Mrs. M'Cosh ushered in Miss Pamela Reston.
"You see the lawyer suggests coming to see you. He will explain it all. It's a wonderful stroke of luck, Jean. No wonder you can't take it in." "I feel like the little old woman in the nursery-rhyme who said, 'This is none of I. I'm bound to wake up and find I've dreamt it.... Oh, Mrs. M'Cosh!" "It's the wee laddie Scott to say his mother canna come and wash the morn's mornin'; she's no weel.
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