by Emma Fraser
She turned to Duncan. ‘I’ll be all right now. How much do I owe you?’
The sum he named seemed ridiculously low but she hadn’t the wherewithal to argue. She was shivering and the dizziness and nausea had come back with a vengeance. She reached into her purse and counted out the pennies, pressing them into his hand when he appeared reluctant to take them. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a shadow move behind the window that when she was a child was used as the morning room – as if someone had peeked out, then stepped back into the shadows.
‘I’d best wait until someone answers the door,’ Duncan said, looking around with avid curiosity. ‘Perhaps you should just go in? They could be at the back of the house and not have heard the bell. I never come this far. They insist I leave their groceries down at the pier for them to collect.’
Olivia hesitated, before ringing the bell again. Someone had seen them arrive. Shouldn’t there still be at least one live-in servant? This house was far too large for two women to manage without help. But both Duncan and Agnes had been adamant that her aunts lived here on their own without so much as a daily.
Should she do as Duncan suggested? Try the door and if it wasn’t locked, walk straight in? Still she hesitated. Aunts or not, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. On the other hand she couldn’t stand here all day. She reached for the door handle, but as her fingers closed around the brass knob, finally, the door swung open.
She didn’t immediately recognise Georgina. It wasn’t just that she was older, her once luxurious russet red hair streaked with grey, it was the expression on her face that threw Olivia. One of utter shock. There wasn’t a spark of welcome, or of the mischief that had always danced in the depths of her eyes.
Behind her, hovering at Georgina’s shoulder, was Edith. She too had changed. Her once neat appearance was almost dishevelled, her hair short and badly cut and she seemed so much smaller and thinner than Olivia remembered, almost bird-like. But what really shook Olivia was the look of terror on Edith’s face.
They were fading in and out of focus – as if they weren’t real – only ghostly approximations of the aunts she remembered.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ Georgina said. ‘Goodness me! Is that you, Duncan?’
Olivia held out her hand. She couldn’t think what else to do. ‘It’s Olivia. Your niece?’ she added when her aunt gave no sign of recognition. ‘I wrote to you, asking’ – dash, that was the wrong word – ‘to let you know I was coming to stay.’
Edith shook her head slightly as if by doing so could make her disappear. ‘Olivia? Coming to stay?’ she echoed.
‘Didn’t you get my letter?’ Olivia said desperately. She was terrified her aunts would deny knowing who she was and close the door in her face.
‘Let the poor lass in,’ Duncan said from behind her. She’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘Can’t you see she’s almost dead on her feet?’
‘It’s Olivia, Edith, Harriet’s daughter. That’s who it is!’ Georgina exclaimed. ‘Can’t you see, Edith? It’s little Olivia all grown up.’
‘You’d better let her in,’ Edith muttered from behind Georgina’s shoulder.
Georgina stepped back and opened the door just wide enough for Olivia, followed closely by Duncan, to squeeze through. There hadn’t been any electricity when she was last here and it seemed there still wasn’t. As there were no windows in the hall it was mostly in darkness, lit only by the oil lamp Georgina held in her hand.
‘We didn’t get a letter,’ Georgina murmured.
Donald plonked Olivia’s suitcase on the hall floor, as if by doing so he could force her aunts to take her in. She should have waited until morning. Or moved in to a bed and breakfast in Edinburgh and waited for a letter back. Or sent a telegram from the inn and waited there until she’d received a reply.
‘I arrived last night, but the train was late and there was no way of getting here. I stayed at the inn…’ Her voice felt as if it were coming from a long distance away.
The light from Georgina’s lamp cast ghostly, elongated shadows on the wall, the figures of her aunts wavering and dissolving. Everything started to spin and the floor came rushing towards her. And then nothing.
When Olivia came to, she was lying in the large, four-poster bed in the room her parents had used when they were at Greyfriars. Her shoes had been removed and she’d been covered with an eiderdown. Olivia fancied she could smell the faint tang of roses of the scent her mother had always worn. As a wave of grief washed over her, she grabbed a handful of the quilt, brought it up to her face and inhaled deeply.
Weak sunshine filtered in through the window, in front of which stood two people, Edith and a man, their heads bent close together. The man was dressed in a woollen suit and white shirt and had a stethoscope in his hand. She must have made a sound as they turned around. The man smiled. Her aunt did not.
‘Come back to join us, then?’ the doctor said, with that forced joviality her albeit limited experience with medical men recognised. ‘You gave your aunts quite a scare.’
He walked towards the bed and lifted her wrist, feeling for her pulse. He frowned. ‘Now then, I would like you to give me a specimen of urine. I have a container you can use.’ He turned away and rummaged in a battered leather bag and retrieved a pot with a flourish. ‘Ah! I thought I’d one with me. Otherwise I would have had to send the nurse across with it.’
Was it Olivia’s imagination or did Edith blanch at his words?
‘The sooner I can get a specimen tested for albumin the better,’ the doctor continued, ‘although I am already almost certain what is wrong with you.’ He turned back to Edith. ‘Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?’ he asked.
Clearly reluctant, yet without saying a word – she hadn’t spoken at all – her aunt left the room.
‘Now then,’ the doctor said, perching on the end of the bed. ‘Am I correct in thinking you are going to have a baby?’
Olivia nodded, tears rushing to her eyes. Since she’d fallen pregnant she seemed to cry at the drop of a hat.
‘There, there,’ he said, patting her shoulder as if she were four instead of almost twenty-one. ‘Nothing to cry about. You and baby should be fine, although you’ll have to stay in bed until baby is born.’
Stay in bed! Olivia was horrified. When she’d made up her mind to come to Greyfriars it wasn’t with the expectation she’d be cared for by her aunts. She struggled into a sitting position. ‘I can’t do that for over three months!’
He frowned down at her. ‘You need to understand that complete bed rest is essential if we are going to keep you and baby healthy.’
A chill swept across her skin. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘I believe, although I can’t be sure, that you have a condition called toxaemia. Have you been having headaches? Dizzy spells?’
She nodded. ‘They started about two weeks ago. I thought it was because… things have been difficult.’
‘Difficult times don’t help, but I don’t think it’s that alone. When I checked your blood pressure I found it to be on the high side. Nothing too alarming,’ he hurried on, ‘but enough to cause concern. I had a look at your ankles and both are swollen as are your fingers. Didn’t you notice?’
She hadn’t, although now she thought of it, the ring she had bought to wear on her left hand was uncomfortably tight. She’d just thought she was putting on weight with the baby.
‘All your symptoms, taken together, is enough for me to be pretty certain you have toxaemia,’ the doctor continued. ‘I’ll be able to confirm my diagnosis once I’ve tested a sample of your urine.’
‘What exactly is toxaemia?’
‘It’s a disease that sometimes happens in pregnancy. It can elevate the blood pressure, affect the kidneys.’ He stood, looking down at her, smiling as if to reassure her. ‘It almost always goes away when the baby is born.’
‘Isn’t there something else you can do about it? Give me a pill?’
; ‘The only treatment is complete bed rest.’ He paused. ‘And even then it’s not a cure. We will have to keep a close eye on you. If we can’t keep your blood pressure down then we might have to deliver baby early.’ She must have looked as stricken as she felt, as he added quickly, ‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You do as I say, young lady, and all should be well. Your Aunt Edith used to be a nurse, I understand. In which case she can keep an eye on you.’
‘I’ll go back to Edinburgh then.’ But where would she go?
‘You can’t travel, my dear. It is out of the question. You can get up to use the lavatory, but for no other reason. We must be clear on that. Now what about your husband? Where is he?’
‘There is no husband,’ she mumbled, unable to meet his eye. ‘He died.’
‘My dear. I am so sorry.’ He stood and returned his stethoscope to his bag. ‘However, I suggest you remove your ring, in case your hands become more swollen.’
Olivia tugged it off, glad to have a reason to dispense with it.
‘Now for that urine specimen. Do you feel you can manage the bathroom on your own? Or should I ask your aunt to take you?’
She shook her head, appalled at the thought of her aunt having to take her to use the WC as if she were a child. ‘The bathroom is only a short way along the hall.’ She threw back the quilt and was about to put her feet on the floor when a wave of dizziness washed over her. She swayed. Happily the doctor had his back to her and hadn’t noticed. Otherwise no doubt he would have insisted on calling one of her aunts.
Her suitcase had been unpacked and her dressing gown laid across the foot of her bed. The dizziness passed after a few moments and she eased herself out of bed. She reached for her dressing gown and slid her arms into the sleeves, grateful for its warmth.
‘While you’re producing the specimen for me, I’ll have a word with the Misses Guthrie. Just leave it next to the bed when you’re finished,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll come for it before I leave.’ He glanced at his watch. No doubt he had other patients to see.
‘Thank you for coming, Doctor,’ Olivia said, belatedly remembering her manners. ‘I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.’
‘Not at all. Not at all. Have to say I’ve always been intrigued to see this place close up.’
She followed him out of the room and onto the landing. She wasn’t altogether surprised to find Edith and Georgina standing there. They spun around, looking as if they’d been caught in the act of something. Olivia smiled weakly in their direction, knowing her cheeks were burning. This was not how she’d intended her reunion with Edith and Georgina to go.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte
1984
Mum’s eyes flickered, as if recalling the journey had exhausted her as much as the trip had all those years ago.
‘What happened then?’ I asked.
‘That’s the bit I think about a great deal. It was all so strange. I know I wasn’t well and I was very sad. I missed Ethan so much and being at Greyfriars again brought so many memories back, particularly of Mother and Father. I’d tried hard not to think of them while I was growing up – it hurt too much – but being back at Greyfriars…’ She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘I know you’ll think this is crazy but I started to believe that someone else was there apart from my aunts – an unseen presence. Sometimes I thought it was Lady Sarah, or Lady Elizabeth, maybe even my mother’s spirit – whatever you want to call it – but it wasn’t at all comforting – at least I didn’t find it so. I don’t think I could have been in my right mind, but it all felt so real.’ Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
‘You don’t have to think about it if you don’t want to,’ I said quickly. Although Mum had always had a vivid imagination – when I was a child, she could make up stories to tell me at the drop of a hat – I couldn’t imagine her believing in ghosts.
‘No. I do. If you are going to go there, you should know everything.’
I had no plans to go, but I didn’t tell Mum that. Whatever the aunts wanted could be dealt with by letter.
‘Why don’t you have a nap and you can finish your story later?’ I suggested.
‘I need to tell you.’ She was becoming increasingly agitated. Spots of colour suffused her pale cheeks and her eyes glittered as her restless hands pulled at a loose thread on her cardigan until it came free with a snap.
‘There’s time enough, Mum. I’m not going anywhere.’ I smoothed the hair from her forehead and she smiled slightly. Moments later her eyes closed and her breathing deepened. I draped a throw over her and, not wanting to leave her, picked up my book. But I couldn’t concentrate enough to read. Instead I mulled over what Mum had told me, trying to put myself in her shoes. She’d been so young, younger than I was now, and by her own admission much more naïve and protected than I had been at the same age. She must have been so frightened, must have felt so alone, so worried about the child she was carrying and what would happen to them both. She’d arrived mid-winter, when the sun barely rose before it disappeared, when the wind was cold and threatening, not knowing what reception she’d receive from two women she’d not seen in years and had shown no interest in her during that time. Then to find out she was ill, to sense that she wasn’t welcome, that she would have to stay at Greyfriars whether she wished to or not, must have been another huge stress.
But something about her stay at Greyfriars had upset her – still upset her.
Poor Mum. I felt a fresh wave of fury at the man who had fathered me, at my great-aunts – at myself, with the whole bloody world.
While Mum was napping, I spoke to Sophie on the phone. The Littlejohn case had gone according to plan and she’d won a decent and fair settlement for our client.
‘She didn’t want anything beyond what she felt she was entitled to,’ Sophie said, ‘which made it pretty easy. And it went so well, John passed the Griffin case to me.’
‘Are you going to persuade him to plead guilty?’ I asked. ‘He’ll lose his licence but might just get away with a suspended sentence on the assault.’
‘No. I’m going for a not-guilty plea – on the basis he was pulled over without reason.’
‘I don’t think that’s likely to work.’ Sophie’s approach worried me. It seemed over-confident. If she failed to convince the court that Griffin shouldn’t have been stopped, the judge would take a dim view of a not-guilty plea. Or was it my own anxiety, my need to have control over my cases that made me think like that? The feeling that Lambert and Lambert was moving on without me? On the other hand I wouldn’t cry any tears if Griffin did go down.
‘What about the other matter?’
An uneasy note crept into Sophie’s voice. ‘You were right when you said there had been another case. It took a while but we found it. Annette Riley. Like Lucy she was a student but working as a barmaid to help fund her course when she had the misfortune to come across Simon. Apparently Simon invited Annette out for dinner, but made up some story about forgetting his wallet at his flat and needing to stop there. Annette reported the alleged attack to the police and they forwarded the report to the Crown. For some reason, it never made it to the prosecutor’s file prior to Simon standing trial for Lucy’s rape – probably because Annette changed her mind and withdrew her complaint.’ She paused. ‘I don’t see what else we can do. I’ve already crossed more professional boundaries than I’d like. Especially as Simon’s father is one of our biggest clients.’
That he was, was the only reason I’d agreed to take on Simon’s defence. Normally I wouldn’t have touched a rape case with a bargepole. I should have stuck to my guns. And now, with this other woman – it was impossible to imagine they were both making false accusations against the same man. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that everyone I defended was innocent, but I couldn’t bear to think I might have helped a rapist get off. ‘Do you have a copy of the original police report?’
Sophie hesitated. ‘Apparently there’s a tenancy at Lambert and
Lambert coming up. I’m thinking of applying.’
I was astonished on two counts. Firstly, I hadn’t known Lambert and Lambert had space for another barrister, and secondly, more worryingly, that Sophie was no longer thinking of joining the Crown Prosecution Service.
‘I can’t afford to rock the boat, Charlotte. Not if I want to be considered. You do understand?’
I did. I had no right to ask any more of Sophie. Asking her to approach her prosecutor friend in the Crown’s office had been bad enough. Perhaps I should just let the Lucy Corrigle case go? Didn’t I have enough to worry about with Mum? But I couldn’t leave it. Lucy had tried to kill herself. Perhaps if Simon had been found guilty she would have found a measure of peace. And if he had raped two women there was a chance he could rape again. I couldn’t have that on my conscience too. I had to find a way to check out Annette’s story even if it meant putting my career on the line.