by Emma Fraser
Isabel got to her feet, holding onto the back of the chair, as if for support. ‘You’re wrong, Jessie. I cared for Archie. He was my friend. And I never looked down on the islanders. If anything, I envied them and you. You may find it hard to believe but I was lonely. Archie was the only person who made me feel I belonged.’
Jessie couldn’t stop herself. She fought to keep her voice low. She didn’t want to wake Agnes or her baby. ‘You were there on Galtrigill the day Lord Maxwell went missing, weren’t you? But did the police question you? Of course not. You were the doctor’s daughter and above that sort of thing. But Archie was only a crofter’s son. I don’t know what happened that day, but if Archie had anything to do with it, I know it was because of you.’
Isabel’s eyes had widened with shock. ‘I can’t think what you mean.’ She crossed to the bed and bent over Agnes again, her back to Jessie.
‘That day, when you went to say goodbye to Archie, did you see Lord Maxwell?’ Jessie asked. She wouldn’t let Isabel go without getting some answers.
Isabel’s back stiffened. ‘It was so long ago. What can it matter?’
But Jessie couldn’t leave it. ‘You were on Galtrigill. So were Archie and his lordship. Did you see Archie fight with him?’
‘I saw Archie … We said our farewells. I was ill in the days before we left Skye. I didn’t even know Lord Maxwell was missing until a couple of years ago.’
‘Did Archie confess his love for you that day? Is that what happened?’
Isabel turned. Even in the half-light Jessie could see the dark red staining her cheeks. ‘You have no right to question me!’ she said, lifting her chin.
‘I need to know what made Archie leave me and Mam!’ Jessie cried. ‘Did Archie ask you to be with him and you turned him down?’
Isabel sighed. ‘Yes. I did.’
So Jessie had been right about that.
‘But you can’t think that Archie had anything to do with Charles Maxwell’s disappearance. You can’t believe he would hurt anyone. You’re his sister!’ Isabel rushed on. ‘You must know he always wanted to go to America. He was always talking of it. He wanted to make something of himself.’
‘He was something already!’
‘It wasn’t enough for him.’
‘And not enough for you either.’
Isabel shook her head sadly. ‘No. I wish I could say different.’
Jessie frowned. Perhaps that was why he’d left? He’d been spurned by the woman he loved. It would have been enough to make him more determined to make something of himself. In that case, his leaving had had nothing to do with Lord Maxwell’s disappearance and everything to do with his hopeless love for Isabel. Wasn’t it what she’d always guessed? That her foolish brother was in love with a woman he could never have?
Isabel’s hands were shaking as she picked up her coat. ‘The bleeding’s stopped completely. She’ll be fine now. I must go back to the hospital. If you need me, send a message to me there.’ She paused with her hand on the door handle. ‘If there is ever anything I can do for you, Jessie, I live at twenty-four Heriot Row.’
As the door closed gently behind her, Jessie realised that Isabel hadn’t denied seeing Charles Maxwell that day.
The driver was waiting outside to take Isabel back to the hospital. Although she would have preferred to walk, especially tonight when she needed to think about what Jessie had said, Leith wasn’t safe for a woman alone at night. The ship-building continued through the night and prostitutes waited on street corners for when the workers stopped for a break. In addition, vagrants and paupers huddled in the streets, waiting for an opportunity to relieve the unsuspecting of their purses or wallets. Although it was an unwritten rule that they would never touch the nurses or female doctors, the nurses had their uniforms to identify them, while the doctors wore plain skirts and blouses.
It had been a shock seeing Jessie again. Especially when the constant talk of war had put all thoughts of Charles Maxwell and Archie out of her mind these last weeks. Who would have thought that her and Jessie’s paths would cross again after so many years – and in Leith, of all places? It wasn’t that odd when she thought about it. There were few places either of them could train and Edinburgh or Glasgow was the choice of most.
Isabel knew she was putting off thinking about the words Jessie had thrown at her. The Jessie she’d known on Skye would never have spoken to her like that. She remembered Jessie as a girl with an impish smile and mischievous eyes. She had grown into a competent nurse, but the light had left her along the way. Losing a child was bound to do that. If ever she thought her own life was exacting, she had only to look at the ordinary women of Edinburgh to see how difficult it could be.
But why had Jessie asked whether she’d seen Charles? Did she know Charles had attacked her? But how?
Archie had been nearby. She’d only been walking for about fifteen minutes when Charles had found her. What if Archie had heard her scream or seen Charles follow her? What if he’d come to her aid, only to find that she’d escaped, and had fought with Charles? Could Archie have killed him? Her heart banged painfully. It would explain why he had left suddenly for America and never been back. The Archie she knew would never have left Jessie alone to manage the croft and look after their sick mother. Not unless he feared for his liberty or his life. It was obviously what Jessie suspected.
Although the thought of her childhood friend witnessing her shame made her feel ill, the idea of him having had anything to do with Charles’s disappearance was worse. If Archie were to blame, she should tell the police what had happened that day. But then, even though Charles had attacked her, her reputation, and probably that of her family, would be ruined. Certainly she would be disbarred from practising medicine again.
If Jessie believed Archie had harmed Charles because of her, no wonder she was so angry.
Tears pricked her eyes. Jessie’s words had made very clear that she thought her selfish, patronising and indulged. And, to an extent, she was right. She had intruded on the islanders’ lives, not out of any real need to help but to ease her own loneliness and satisfy her curiosity in medicine. Her cheeks burned. Papa had indulged her, but she had helped many people with her skills since then and was about to have another chance to put the needs of others before her own. But, a little voice whispered, isn’t the true reason you’re going to war because you want to further your knowledge of medicine?
She sat up straight. Such thinking was pointless. It didn’t matter why she was going to war. All that mattered was that when she got there she did everything in her power to save the lives of the men in her care.
As for the truth about Charles … Nausea clawed at her stomach. One way or another, although she didn’t know how, she needed to find out.
She couldn’t ask Jessie. What about Andrew?
But Andrew and Simon were in France, somewhere on the western front. They had gone out with the RFC almost as soon as war had been declared. Andrew wrote to their mother often and she had the address of his base in Marne. But this wasn’t something she could ask in a letter. What if she were mistaken and Archie had had nothing to do with any of it? And how could she explain why she wanted to know more about Charles’s disappearance without telling Andrew about his attack on her? And if she did, would that spoil the friendship between Andrew and Simon? The two men were close. Andrew’s letters always mentioned Simon. He’d even gone so far as to say that he knew nothing could ever happen to him as long as he had Simon as his wingman.
Her head was throbbing and the jarring of the carriage over the cobbles made her headache worse. If only Papa were still alive she could ask him what to do. Or if Maximilian were here … But even if Maximilian hadn’t left her, she could never tell him of Charles’s attack. Charles’s hands had soiled her in a way that would repel decent men.
No. If she wanted to discover the truth, it was up to her and no one else. And she had to know. If Charles was dead and she was responsible in any way, she would hav
e to admit to what had happened. A shudder ran up her spine. Even if it meant she lost everything.
Jessie waited until Agnes was awake enough to feed her baby before she left. She stopped at the neighbour’s to ask if she could keep the children until eight o’clock when Agnes’s husband would be back from his night shift at the yard. Luckily the harassed-looking woman agreed.
Outside, it was getting light and the streets were filling. Jessie was still shaking, and whenever she thought of what she’d said to Isabel, she felt sick. She wanted to believe that Archie had left because he wanted to make a life for himself that might one day include Isabel, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the whole truth. If it were, he would have written with his address or even sent for them. Unless … unless it hadn’t worked out for him in America and he was too proud to say so.
That was possible but, deep inside, she was still convinced that Isabel knew something about Lord Maxwell’s disappearance. Something that might help Archie. Although he was safely out of harm’s way in America, if he ever tried to return to Scotland, she had no doubt that the police would arrest him even though six years had passed. But if Isabel knew something, she wasn’t saying.
Traders were setting up their stalls at the side of the road from heavily laden carts. The men on night shift were returning home, their hats pulled low against the rain that was falling now in earnest. At this end of Edinburgh most of the men were employed, like her Tommy and Agnes’s man, down at the shipyards. It was heavy work and not well paid, but it was work and most were glad to have it.
Thinking of Tommy, she increased her pace. If she was quick she’d be home before he left and there might be time for a cuddle. She’d never shared her fears about Archie with him and wasn’t sure why not, only that some things were better not talked about. Even with the man she loved. And she did love him. She’d been daft to let things cool between them.
When she let herself in she was pleased to find him still at home. He was dressed, ready for work.
‘Hello, love,’ he greeted her warily. ‘How did it go? Everything all right? Did she pay you?’
Jessie showed him the few coins in her hand and he frowned. ‘That all? It’s hardly worth it.’
‘I’ll add it to the rest. You’ll see – one day it’ll help us get something. It’s better than nothing, Tommy.’
‘I wish you didn’t have to work,’ he said. ‘No man likes to think that he can’t provide for his wife.’
‘We’ve talked about this before, Tommy. I like delivering babies. Besides, if you hadn’t been so hard-headed about signing up with the army, you could have had the supervisor’s job down at the yard. Then we’d have had money enough.’
He pulled her towards him and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. ‘Don’t go on about that, love. You know I had no choice. All the other boys were signing up and half of them are daft enough to get their heads blown off if I’m not there to look after them.’
And what if he didn’t come back? Had he thought of that?
He nibbled her ear and whispered, ‘Come back to bed, darling. I woke up thinking about you…’ His fingers were at the ties of her dress, working away, loosening them. He would be going soon. Her Tommy, whom she loved with all her heart and soul. It had been a long time since she’d lain with him, felt his naked skin on hers, felt him inside her.
He had slipped her dress off her shoulders and was kissing the base of her throat, working his way down to her breast. As the liquid warmth between her legs increased, she pressed her body to his. He raised his head and gave her the wide smile that melted her heart. Then he picked her up and carried her towards their bed.
Chapter 25
Two weeks later, Jessie watched quietly as Tommy finished making the adjustments to his uniform. He was leaving for a training camp in England. From there he would go to France.
He looks fine, she thought.
He turned to her as he buttoned his jacket. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said quietly, hating herself for not being able to forgive him for leaving her.
He walked across to her and knelt in front of her, his kilt fanning around him. She felt the roughness of his calloused hands as he placed them on either side of her face. She pressed her cheek against his palm. ‘I wish you weren’t going, Tommy.’
‘I know, my dear, but I have to. I can’t stay here and let others do the fighting for me.’ It was the conversation they’d had several times since Tommy had burst into their flat, his cheeks red with excitement, and told her he’d joined the Seaforth Highlanders.
‘You could stay,’ Jessie said, even though she knew he couldn’t change his mind. ‘You volunteered, Tommy. You could’ve waited until they called you up.’
‘I couldn’t, Jessie. It’s not going to last long and I want to be there while I can.’ He placed his head in her lap and she stroked his hair with trembling hands. How could she bear it if he didn’t come back?
‘If you’d waited until after they’d given you the supervisor’s job we could have got one of the flats with a front room. We would have been able to rent it out, Tommy, and make some money.’
‘I know. But it’s not as if—’
‘It’s not as if we have Seamus to worry about any more. Is that what you were about to say? But one day there will, God willing, be other children. And when there are, I want them to have more than we did, Tommy. I want them to have an education, to have a chance to make something of themselves. I don’t want them growing up not knowing if there’ll be enough to eat. I don’t want them growing up without a father.’
Guilt settled around her like a cloak. Her ambition had led to Seamus’s death. If she hadn’t wanted to put money aside for his education she would never have taken in washing and brought diphtheria into their home. Tommy had never said anything to make her think he blamed her, but she blamed herself. Oh, she blamed herself. Maybe Tommy going off to war was her punishment. Maybe she shouldn’t want so much. Why couldn’t she have been satisfied with what she had? Tommy and her baby. They had enough to eat, clothes on their backs, shoes on their feet, the odd penny to go out for the day on Sundays. Why did she always want more than God had seen fit to give her?
‘I’ll be back on leave. You’ll see, Jessie. And you’ll get my pay.’
‘I don’t want you to go!’ Jessie pushed his head from her lap and jumped to her feet. ‘I want you to stay with me, here, where you’ll be safe.’
‘Dear, you know I can’t. I’ve signed up.’ He clambered to his feet. ‘I have to go now.’
Of course she knew it was too late. Once you’d signed up there was no getting out of it. She pulled off her apron, laid it across the chair and forced a smile. ‘I know, darling. You mustn’t mind me.’ She looked around the little room. ‘Have you got the pieces I made you?’
Tommy patted his knapsack. ‘Aye. The bacon ones will go down a treat.’
They looked at each other. Jessie saw him as she had when she’d first met him at the poorhouse, standing there with the sweetie packet in his hand, a guilty smile on his face; she saw him again when he’d first kissed her, then when they’d stood in front of the minister, her in the dress she’d been secretly sewing for weeks, him in his only suit, his new shoes making him hop from foot to foot; on their wedding night, the way he’d taken her into his arms and, gently at first but then with a passion that had taken her breath, made love to her; the way his smile had almost reached from ear to ear when she’d told him she was pregnant; the look of wonder when he’d first held Seamus … the look on his face when he’d realised Seamus was dead. So many memories.
The pain of him leaving ripped through her.
Then they were in each other’s arms and her tears were soaking the front of his cambric shirt. She could feel its roughness, smell the particular scent that was all Tommy. Feel his wiry arms around her as he held her and told her he loved her, that he would be back before she knew it.
And
then the door clicked shut and he was gone.
Tommy had been in France only a few weeks when the telegram arrived. Jessie’s hands shook as she opened it. She didn’t have to read it to know what it said. There was only one reason people like her got telegrams. Finally she opened the single sheet of paper.
WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT CORPORAL TOMMY STUART OF THE SEAFORTH HIGHLANDERS IS MISSING IN ACTION AND PRESUMED DEAD. WE OFFER YOU OUR SINCERE CONDOLENCES.
Tommy was dead.
Her darling Tommy wasn’t coming home. Not ever.
Was he frightened in those last moments? Was he in pain? Had he called out for her? She wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself, trying to stop the shaking.
What would she do without him?
Agony pulled her soul apart. She was vaguely aware of a high-pitched sound until she realised it was her: she was keening. Deep, racking sobs robbed her of breath as she rocked back and forth until she had no more tears left.
She sat until night fell. Then she lit the oil lamp. Her eyes fell on the bed that she and Tommy had shared. How could she continue to live in this room, which had once held happiness but for evermore would be a reminder of everything she’d lost?
She read the telegram again. PRESUMED DEAD. Hope flared. They couldn’t be sure. Hadn’t Mrs McPherson’s John been presumed dead and turned up safe and on the mend in a military hospital? Couldn’t the same thing have happened to her Tommy? Maybe he’d banged his head and didn’t know who he was. That could happen. Maybe they’d made a mistake. With all the confusion, it was bound to happen. Wouldn’t she feel it if he were dead?