by Emma Fraser
When she next woke it was still dark and her father still wasn’t there. Instead Seonag was in the room, stoking the fire.
‘What time is it?’ Isabel asked.
‘It’s four o’clock, Miss.’ Seonag left the fire and came to stand by her bed. ‘I’ll just fetch your mama. She said I was to call her when you were awake.’
Seonag wouldn’t look at her. Like Mama, she looked as if she’d been crying. Did everyone know of her shame? ‘Don’t wake her. It’s the middle of the night. Let her sleep.’
‘Oh, Miss. It’s four in the afternoon. Your mama is in the drawing room. She…’ Seonag’s voice broke.
Nothing was making sense. Why was it so dark?
‘Open the curtains, Seonag, and then fetch Mama,’ Isabel ordered weakly. Papa must be out on a call. That was the only reason he wasn’t here. Unless … Her heart stuttered as, once again, the memory of Charles touching her, pushing her, forcing his hand down her drawers came rushing back. Unless he couldn’t bear the sight of her. She needed to tell Papa what had happened. She’d made a terrible mistake, but Charles had had no right to treat her as he had, as if she were nothing. Less than nothing.
‘I can’t open the curtains, Miss.’ Seonag was backing away from her as if she, too, couldn’t bear to be near her. ‘I’ll go and fetch Madam.’ She hurried out before Isabel could say anything more to her.
Confused, Isabel pushed the heavy bedcovers aside. It was too hot in the room. She needed air. When she tried to stand, her legs buckled and her head spun and she had to sit back down on the bed.
The door opened and Mama swept into the room, followed by Seonag. Her mother was wearing black. Isabel’s heart crashed against her ribs. Black clothes, closed windows and curtains … Dear God, no! It was coming back to her. Papa had been ill.
‘Mama…’ She couldn’t continue. She didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say. She covered her face with her hands. ‘Please, Mama, don’t say it.’
Her mother sat on the bed next to her and gently pulled her hands away. She took Isabel by the shoulder, forcing her to look at her. Seonag was standing behind her, twisting her hands. ‘My dear girl, you must be brave.’
Isabel shook her head. ‘No, Mama,’ she whispered. ‘Say it isn’t true…’
‘Your papa was very sick with scarlet fever, my child. As were you.’ Her mother’s back was ramrod straight. Only a slight trembling of her lips betrayed her distress. Isabel concentrated on her face, trying to block out the words she knew were coming. ‘I’m sorry, Isabel, but your papa passed away yesterday. There was nothing anyone could do.’
‘Papa’s dead?’ How was it possible?
‘As soon as you’re fit to travel we must to go to Edinburgh. The funeral has been arranged for next week.’
‘How long have I been sick, Mama?’
‘Three days.’
Three days. It didn’t seem possible. The last she remembered was running from Charles, reaching home and collapsing.
‘We didn’t know if you would come through. But you’re strong and Papa was weakened from his time in the army. Thank God you survived.’
She didn’t know if surviving was a blessing or a curse.
Her mother rose to her feet and smoothed her dress. ‘I shall let Mrs MacDonald know you’re awake and need some of her soup.’
Isabel’s head was throbbing.
Seonag came over to her and put her arms around her. ‘Come, Miss. You’ve had a terrible shock. You’re still sick. You must get back into bed.’
Unable to find the strength to resist, Isabel let Seonag tuck her legs under the blankets.
‘Oh, Miss, I am so sorry about your papa. We all are. There’s five dead in the village, all from the fever. Mrs MacDonald’s niece was sick too, but she’s on the mend. And then there was all that other fuss. Oh, Miss, you have no idea what it’s been like these last days! My grandpa says someone must have upset the fairies for such bad luck to come here.’
But Isabel wasn’t really listening. All she could think about was her beloved papa and that she would never be able to talk to him again. The one person she might have confided in was dead.
‘Seonag!’ Mama’s voice rang in from the doorway. ‘I thought I made it clear that Miss Isabel wasn’t to be troubled with gossip. Away you go and bring up the soup. Then please start packing her belongings.’
‘May I be alone for a while?’ Isabel asked her mother, when Seonag had scurried away.
‘You should have someone with you,’ she protested.
‘Please, Mama. Just for a little while. Then I’ll sleep.’
Her mother hesitated. Then she patted Isabel’s hand awkwardly. ‘Ring for the servants when you need me. I won’t be far away.’
‘Thank you, Mama.’
Isabel lay quietly. Papa had died thinking she was good and brave, and for that she was grateful. He would never learn of her shame. She owed it to him to be strong. She was a grown woman, no longer a child. From now on she had to make her own decisions. She had to forget what Charles had tried to do to her.
All she could do now was make her beloved papa proud.
Chapter 14
Skye, winter 1908
Jessie sat alone in the front pew and let the singing of the hymns wash over her. Donald Bàn would intone the first line, then the rest of the congregation would add their voices to his and the music would rise and swell almost to the heavens.
She’d sat here for many funerals before, including Dad’s, but today, when she most needed one of her own to share her grief, she was alone.
Mam’s coffin was so small and so light she had needed only four pall-bearers to carry her instead of the usual six. With Archie gone, the bit of Mam that had still been there after Dad’s death had slowly leaked away. Her breathing had become worse until she couldn’t walk the length of herself. When she had taken to her bed, Jessie had nursed her, fitting in her work while Mam slept. When the weather was fine, she had helped her outside to sit in the sun, and although it had improved her breathing for a while, she had grown weaker and weaker until she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – leave her bed.
When she wasn’t working the croft or looking after Mam, Jessie attended to the women in labour and soon she was called out for other reasons apart from birth. They had started asking her about their children’s coughs and fevers while they were waiting to deliver, and she had discovered that she had an instinct for telling when a child was truly sick and needed a doctor, or whether a mustard poultice or some comfrey tea was all that was required. The villagers were grateful – they could save the money to pay the doctor for when it really mattered.
She couldn’t even tell Archie when Mam was nearing the end.
Over the months since he’d left, they’d received a few letters from him. At least, they’d assumed they were from him because all the envelopes had contained was a few dollars. No message or even a forwarding address. They’d needed most of the money to pay the rent and keep food on the table, and most of what remained had gone on Mam’s funeral.
Jessie and Mam never spoken had about what might have happened to the earl’s son, almost as if they were scared to share their fear that Archie had had something to do with his disappearance. With Archie safe in America and no way to question Isabel, Jessie decided it was best to leave things as they were.
As soon as Isabel was well, the MacKenzies had closed Borreraig House and returned to Edinburgh. The policeman had come back twice to ask Mam and herself whether they’d heard from Archie or had an address for him, but soon enough he had stopped coming too. Lord Maxwell still hadn’t appeared, and Jessie couldn’t stop wondering if Archie had had anything to do with it. She hated the anger against him that knotted her insides. He should be here, beside her. He should have been there when Mam was dying.
The singing and prayers were coming to an end. In a little while they’d be putting Mam in the cold ground, next to her husband and the baby who had died. At least she wouldn’t be
alone.
As the men came forward to lift the coffin, Jessie murmured a prayer under her breath. ‘“When the dawn breaks and the shadows flee”, Mam, I’ll see you again.’
With her head held high she walked to the door of the church, feeling sympathetic eyes on her. She wouldn’t break down. Not until she was on her own. Mam and Dad were dead. Archie was gone.
All she had left now were her dreams.
PART TWO
EDINBURGH 1909–14
Chapter 15
Edinburgh, February 1909
Edinburgh both terrified and excited Jessie.
She had never been on a train before and even the simple procedure of purchasing a ticket at Glasgow’s Queen Street station confused her. In the end she’d followed the example of a mother with two small children and asked for a third-class ticket to Edinburgh. It had taken more of her precious shillings than she’d expected and she was alarmed by how quickly her money was disappearing. As the small family made their way to the platform, Jessie hurried after them, worried that she might get on the wrong train. A man kindly lifted her bag onto a rack above her head and she took a seat opposite them.
She was tired, hungry and beginning to feel sorry for herself. She leaned her head against the window and watched the rain run like tears down the glass.
It was still difficult to think of Archie’s leaving without anger. Worse was the constant feeling of dread that he had had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of Lord Maxwell. The earl’s son had never turned up, alive or dead.
After Mam’s funeral, there had been no reason for her to stay on Skye. Even if she could have paid the rent, it was unbearable without Dad, Mam and Archie. Now, though, there was nothing to stop her becoming a nurse.
She’d sold what she could, which wasn’t much, but with what she’d got, and the small amount that remained of the money Archie had sent, she had paid for her passage on the boat from Skye to Glasgow, the train fare from Glasgow to Edinburgh and had a few shillings left over for her lodgings while she looked for work.
‘Mummy, I’m hungry.’ The voice of one of the children opposite broke into her thoughts. The mother unwrapped some sandwiches from crinkled brown paper. Jessie’s stomach rumbled. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Before she’d left, the village women had come to say goodbye and pressed packages of cold ham, salted herring, bannocks and cockles fried in oatmeal, even a penny or two, into her hands. Their generosity had touched her, and more than once she’d struggled to hold back tears. But the boat journey had lasted three days and she’d finished the last of the food last night. She didn’t want to spend the little money she had on more until she knew how much she would need for her lodgings.
She had the address of a boarding-house on the High Street that one of the women from the village had given her. Sophie couldn’t tell Jessie how much the landlady would charge or how to get there once she had got off the train at Princes Street station in Edinburgh, but had assured her that it wasn’t far to walk.
The train eventually arrived with a bellow and puff of steam. The woman with the children was soon swallowed up in the crowd, leaving Jessie uncertain what to do next. She gritted her teeth and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. She was strong. If necessary, she could walk for miles. She stopped to ask a man in a train guard’s uniform for directions and he pointed up a steep cobbled road, told her to follow it and to ask her way again when she got to the top.
After the open spaces of Skye, the crowd-filled streets panicked her. She had never seen so many people in one place before. Everyone looked as if they had somewhere to go, as if they belonged.
Trying not to gawp, she wound her way between hawkers and ladies in elegant hats with feathers, clinging to the arms of gentlemen dressed in fine suits and bowler hats as they dodged the mud and dirt on the street. The dress she’d made so she would look presentable in the city was already stained and crumpled from her travels, and her hat kept getting tipped to the side by careless elbows as people pushed by without seeming to see her.
Her new boots pinched her feet and every step she took made her wince. She was tempted to take them off and walk in her bare feet, but she didn’t want to look as if she belonged with the ragged crowds of women and children huddled together on the pavement with outstretched palms, begging.
She watched a motor-bus with people sitting in the open-air roof thunder past – the only motor vehicles she’d seen before were the cars on Skye that belonged to the big houses. Not all of the buses had engines: some were pulled by four horses, and the wheels of the heavily laden two-storey carts made a terrible racket on the cobbled streets. Jessie was sorry for the poor beasts, pulling such a weight up the hill, their eyes blinkered and dried sweat scumming their flanks.
It wasn’t just the noise that took her by surprise: it was the smell. Coal and soot, dung and other unrecognisable odours coalesced to form a rancid stink that made her want to gag.
But it wasn’t all bad. Businesses of every description lined the streets, shops with haunches of beef and pork hanging up outside, covered with flies, and others selling silver, clothes, linen and china. She had never imagined it was possible to buy so many different things. In Skye there were few shops and they sold a mix of everything. Not that Jessie or any other village woman had much call to go into them. Most of their food came from the land and their clothes were hand-me-downs or home-made.
As everyone had said, Edinburgh was truly a city where you could get anything you desired – as long as you had money.
She hugged her bag closer and felt in her pocket for her coins. Still there, wrapped up in a clean handkerchief. She didn’t know what she would do if she fell victim to a thief. Sophie had warned her to keep a tight grip on her possessions and she had no intention of letting anyone separate her from her few remaining pennies.
Eventually she found the name of the close she was looking for at a corner of the High Street. The soot-blackened tenements were piled higgledy-piggledy as if a child had been balancing blocks on top of one other, and Jessie had to crane her neck to see the top of the buildings. A little girl of three or four stood just outside the mouth of the close. Snot was streaming from her nostrils and she made no attempt to wipe it away. When Jessie asked if she knew which was Maggie Simpson’s house, the child stared at her with blank eyes. Jessie gave up and asked an older boy, who was playing with an old wooden wheel, instead. He glanced at her without interest and pointed to a doorway. She gathered her skirt and adjusted her eyes to the darkness of the unlit staircase. The noise of people going about their business filtered through the walls along with the stale odour of cooking.
Maggie’s flat was right at the top. Ignoring the shouts she could hear from below, she knocked on the door.
It was opened by a frazzled-looking woman with one child in her arms and another clinging to her skirt. A man in shirt sleeves brushed past Jessie without so much as a hello.
‘Yes?’ the woman asked crossly, and turned away. ‘Tom, stop yer snivelling or I’ll take my hand to you.’
‘Mrs Simpson? I’m Jessie MacCorquodale. Sophie from Skye said you were expecting me.’ She was beginning to think she had come to the wrong place. It was crowded, with several children sitting on the floor, and a young girl stirring something in a pot on the stove.
Maggie Simpson stepped aside. ‘Aye, well, don’t just stand there. Come in.’
Inside, Jessie stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. It wasn’t so different from her house in Skye, with its one room for cooking and living. It even had the same recessed bed tucked into a wall, but if this was the boarding-house, where was she to sleep? Not with the family, surely.
But it seemed that that was exactly where she was to lodge. Not in the recessed bed, thank the Lord, but in a separate room in a double bed with Maggie Simpson’s two daughters.
‘That’ll be two shillings a week,’ the woman said, as soon as Jessie put her bag down on the floor. ‘I need a week up front.’<
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Two shillings! It was more than she’d planned for and more than this place deserved, but she was too exhausted and overwhelmed to search for new lodgings. This place would have to do until she found a hospital to take her on. At least then, hopefully, she would be able to afford her own room.
Anxiety fluttered in her stomach. She had not much more than a pound left. Even if she found a position in the next day or two, it would be some time before she was paid. In the meantime she had to survive on what she had.
Maggie left her in the room ‘to sort yourself out’. Jessie unpinned her hat and placed it at the end of the bed. There was no chest of drawers for her clothes, or even a hanger for her dress. The room was filthy. The floor looked as if it hadn’t been swept for the last month and the bed smelt of damp and sweat.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and told herself not to be silly. A little dirt wouldn’t kill her. Tomorrow she’d start looking for a nursing position, and with a bit of luck, she’d find one. She opened her bag and took out her apron. In the meantime there was cleaning to be done.
Finding a nursing position wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. She tried the Royal Infirmary first. It was only a short walk from Maggie’s but the porter laughed at her when she asked to see the matron. Had she a reference? She had to shake her head. He looked her up and down and his lip curled. ‘You don’t just turn up and expect to be given a job at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary!’ The way he said the name of the hospital, anyone would have thought he was talking about Buckingham Palace. ‘You have to apply to the Lady Superintendent in writing and then, if she thinks you’re suitable, she might invite you for an interview. But I wouldn’t count on it. Not when there are ladies looking for nursing posts who are willing to pay to be taught here. They don’t take the likes of you,’ he said, ‘unless you’re willing to work as a ward maid. They’re always looking for them.’