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April 2nd
I have not written for some time since we have had an outbreak of flu at the distillery, and though I have not caught it, I have been covering the work of many of my fellow workers to cope with their absences.
We have had a few new people start as temporary workers, which has helped in the menial work at least: sweeping the floors, washing the windows and sifting the grain. One of them is a fellow called Sandy Crowley, who has been most attentive to me.
Sandy says that he wants to learn the whisky business as much as he can, and he asks me questions all the time. He is fair with piercing green eyes, and clearly fit from working in the fields in summertime. It is a welcome change to talk to Sandy, compared to the others here who treat me like an inferior. Sandy enjoys books, as I do, and I have lent him my book of poems by Longfellow, who he admires.
April 9th
An interesting day! Sandy returned by book of Longfellow. Inside, he had left me a note, asking me to meet him at Queen’s Point, up by the Ross family cottage. I felt some trepidation, but as it happened, Papa was sleeping and Bel and the children did not need me, so I went last night.
I hardly know how to write what happened. We walked along the lochside and talked about poetry. The moon was almost full, and the light played on the water. Sandy was a perfect gentleman, but asked to hold my hand, to which I assented.
He has asked if I would join him again on Sunday evening.
April 13th
Another walk with Sandy. He is so interested in my work! I have never known a man be so fascinated with what I do, or even accepting that I am a working woman in the first place. I told him all about how whisky is made, and what I do to control the distillation. He did want to know about the business side of things, but I confessed that I know little about that. All of Mr Douglas’s ledgers are in his office and he is the one that manages everything.
We discussed poetry again, and Sandy asked if he could kiss me. I said yes.
April 15th
An odd day. Sandy came to find me while I was at the stills and tried to get me to hide away in the unused office next to Mr Douglas’s one. I suspect that he wanted more kisses, and perhaps more than that: I might be unmarried, but I know how babies come about because of Bel. I was shocked that he should approach me in the daytime, and among everyone else at the distillery. I sent him away, but there were some looks. I hope that this will not affect my standing at work.
April 20th
Sandy apologised for the event at work last week; I had been avoiding him after that to ensure that my reputation stays intact. He asked me to meet him at Queen’s Point again, which I did, despite my better judgement. He won me around again, however, and our kisses led a little further this time. I believe that it is not wrong of me to engage in the activity that most others do, even though I am unmarried: one must try a little first before one agrees to marriage, after all.
I don’t know what Sandy is thinking, but I would be accepting of a proposal from him, if this continues.
Liz sat back in her leather chair and looked at the cracked ceiling of her office, thoughtfully. Evelyn’s diary was more detailed than Grenville had suggested, and this whole story with Sandy Crowley was a fascinating insight into the life of a woman in the post-World War One period. She turned the page, expecting more updates about Sandy, but the entries that followed seemed to detail Evelyn’s work: tasting notes were recorded in Evelyn’s neat handwriting, but nothing more about Sandy.
Liz flicked the pages of the small notebook until she found the next personal entry.
July 28th
I know, finally, what this sickness is. Bel told me her suspicions yesterday, and I had to admit that I had had relations, out of wedlock.
She is not shocked. Bel says that we have lived through a war, and being with child is nothing in comparison. Perhaps this is easy for her to say, because she has four children and is married. It is certainly not easy for me to accept that I will become a pariah in this community when the baby comes.
I never set out for this to happen.
Oh, no,Liz thought, her eyes widening. She had assumed that Evelyn had enjoyed a flirtation with Sandy Crowley, but nothing more: Evelyn seemed so straight-laced. But Liz knew as well as anyone what could happen when passions took over. Not that she had been in that position for a long time. She turned the page.
August 15th
I can hardly write this. He has abandoned me. Refused me. Though it is his child.
I don’t know what to do. I live in fear that Papa may discover the truth, which he certainly will soon.
‘No!’ Liz exclaimed, out loud. There was a knock on the door, and Ben poked his head into her office.
‘All right in here?’ he asked, cordially. ‘I thought I heard something.’
‘Oh, sorry. I was just reading this.’ Liz held up the diary. ‘Grenville gave it to me yesterday. It’s Evelyn McCallister’s diary. You know, one of the old maids? Get this: she was actually his great aunt! Can you believe that?’
‘Wow. I mean, I can, because it’s Loch Cameron, and everyone’s been here forever. But I didn’t know that specifically.’ Ben came into the office. ‘That’s fascinating.’
