by Emma Fraser
‘I’m here because my husband has been arrested. They say he’s murdered someone. It’s not true! I need you to get him out of gaol. Immediately!’ To her dismay her voice cracked on the last word.
Mr Johnston’s bushy eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ‘Take your time, my dear. Compose yourself.’ He waited a few moments. ‘Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.’
She took a deep, steadying breath and repeated what Alasdair had told her, emphasising that they hadn’t had much time to speak to each other. The lawyer listened carefully, but instead of leaping to his feet and insisting that they march down to the gaol to secure Alasdair’s immediate release, he sighed, stood, and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. I shall look into it.’
Margaret stared at him in dismay. ‘Look into it? But surely we can get Alasdair released? Even if on bail?’ Although how she would find the money for that she had no idea.
‘My dear Mrs Morrison, I’m afraid the law doesn’t work that quickly. It is more of the tortoise than the hare. I shall have to speak to the Procurator Fiscal and the police, establish what charges they intend to make, what evidence they have to support these charges and so forth. I also have to meet with your husband and confirm with him that he wishes me to represent him. All of this will take time.’
Margaret felt herself deflate like a pricked balloon. ‘How much time?’
‘I have other cases, as you can imagine. Let’s say a week – no more than ten days.’
‘Ten days! I want him home now! His work – we have children…’ Her voice caught again and she dug her fingernails into her palms. She had to stay calm. ‘At the very least can’t you get him released while the police complete their investigations?’
‘Mrs Morrison, you say your husband has been accused of murder. In which case, no judge will give him bail, never mind allow him home.’ He slipped some papers into a buff-coloured file and looked at his fob watch. ‘I’m afraid I need to leave for a meeting. Now if your husband agrees and I am to represent him there are my fees to discuss. Miss Donaldson will let you know what they are.’ His eyes softened. ‘Try not to worry too much at this stage, Mrs Morrison. We may well discover that the evidence the police think they have is insufficient to make a charge of murder stick. In the meantime I suggest you go home and leave everything up to me.’ He waggled the bushy eyebrows at her. ‘As soon as matters are clearer I shall be in touch.’ His mournful face broke into a smile, making him seem younger. ‘With a spot of luck your husband will be home with you and your children before you know it.’
Whether it was the Bannatyne name that caused Miss Donaldson to mention an eye-watering sum for this first appointment or whether that was what leading criminal solicitors charged, Margaret wasn’t sure. As she gave her address for the bill to be sent she wondered how on earth she was going to pay it.
And that was only the start of it. Miss Donaldson explained an advance fee would be required, payable as soon as Mr Johnston agreed to take the case, and more for an advocate should it go to trial. Although there was no way on earth she could afford the amounts mentioned, Margaret did her best to hide the fact from Miss Donaldson. She wasn’t going to give the odious woman any cause to alert her boss that he might be taking on a client who couldn’t pay him.
Instead she smiled, wished her good day, and walked out of the door as if she were used to agreeing similarly large sums of expenditure every day.
Back on the street, her head spinning, Margaret thought about what to do next. She’d been hopelessly naïve to think that everything was going to be all right when it clearly wasn’t. She pushed away the exhaustion that swept over her. Whatever Mr Johnston said, she had no intention of waiting to be summoned before she met with him again. In the meantime there was his fee to find. She rubbed her aching neck. ‘Think, woman, think!’ Her fingers brushed against the necklace around her throat.
It was all she had left of her old life, the only reminder her mother and father had once cared for her, and she’d clung to it even when times were at their hardest.
She walked down to Argyle Street and stepped into the arcade where most of the jewellers had their shops. She went into the first on her left and, knowing her face was bright red, asked the man behind the counter whether he’d like to buy the necklace.
He took it from her, examined the diamond with an eyepiece and offered her a sum which was a fraction of what she knew it had to be worth.
‘Four times that amount and you’d be still getting a bargain,’ she protested.
‘Times are hard, as I’m sure you know,’ he replied. ‘There’s more people selling than there are buying at the moment. It’s the best I can do.’
She tried two other jewellers but had the same offers – a little less in fact – so retraced her steps and sold it to the man in the first shop. It was still only enough to pay the first part of Mr Johnston’s time. She had to find more.
There was one obvious place she could go – her father. The money she needed would be a drop in the ocean to him. Surely, despite everything that had happened between them, he’d help her now?
Blow her father! She’d managed without him so far and she would manage without him now. Who else then could she ask? With Martha still in India there was really only one other person. Lillian.
Although they’d kept in touch over the years, they’d not seen each other since Margaret’s wedding day. Lillian had only worked as a doctor for a short while as she’d fallen pregnant soon after her marriage and was now the surprisingly proud mother of three children – two boys and a girl. Her letters were full of them and their antics and it was hard to believe how disparaging she’d once been of women who gave up everything to look after their children.
Margaret hated the thought of going to her best friend, begging bowl in hand but, she told herself, she would find a way to repay her as soon as Alasdair was free and back at work. This was just another hurdle in her and Alasdair’s married life. Justice would prevail, Alasdair would be released and they could carry on as before.
Feeling marginally better, she stopped at the post office and asked to be put through to Lillian’s residence in London.
The sound of her friend’s voice on the other end of the phone undid her and she burst into tears. She hadn’t realised until that moment how she’d been holding in all her terror, her grief and her shock. She sobbed for several minutes, wasting more of her precious money and causing Lillian to demand whether she was all right, what about the children? Where was she? Was anyone with her? And for heaven’s sake just tell her!
By the time Margaret could speak again, the first set of three-minute pips had been and gone. She dabbed at her cheeks with the sleeve of her blouse and composed herself before explaining what had happened, right up to the point where she’d seen Mr Johnston. Then she swallowed, the words sticking in her throat, and asked if there was any way Lillian could loan her a hundred pounds? She would, of course, pay it back as soon as she was able.
She expected Lillian to interrupt to tell her that she need say no more, but instead there was a long silence at the end of the phone and, for a moment, Margaret thought they’d been cut off.
‘I am so sorry, darling, how awful for you all! But the trouble is I don’t have any spare cash to send. This bloody awful Depression has hit us all.’ Through the crackling line came the sound of a deep sigh. ‘I would ask Charles, but there would be no point. He’s a stuffy old thing and I know he would never agree. He’d be too worried people would find out. Our patients,’ she gave an embarrassed laugh, ‘– his patients really – you know I haven’t practised for years – would never tolerate it. I am so sorry, my dear, but you do see, don’t you, why I can’t do more?’
Margaret was too stunned to reply. Where had her once fiercely independent friend gone? The woman who would never have allowed her life to be dictated to by any man – not even her husband.
‘I do have to say, it’s quite the most thrilling thing
that’s happened to me in years.’ Lillian said. ‘I would come to you in a flash if I could.’ There was a long pause. ‘Forgive me, darling, that was a crass and thoughtless thing to say.’
It had been a tactless comment, but it was also the most Lillian had sounded like Margaret’s once headstrong and daring friend.
‘If I had money of my own it would be a different matter, of course,’ Lillian continued. ‘All I can manage is ten pounds. I wish it could be more. I shall wire you it immediately. And if you need to get away, you and the children are welcome to stay in my cottage in Perth. There’s no one in the main house – but I think you’d be cosier in the Gatehouse – and it is larger than one might think. You’d be perfectly happy there, darling, and it would get you away from Glasgow. Charles can have nothing to say about that.’
‘I’m not leaving Alasdair,’ Margaret murmured. She was so embarrassed she could barely speak.
‘Of course not. I do wish I could be there to hold your hand and lend an ear. You know I’d come like a shot if I wasn’t due to give birth again in a few weeks and Charles – as my doctor – has absolutely forbidden me to travel.’
Good for Charles. When had he turned into the epitome of a Victorian husband?
‘Please, Lillian, don’t even think of wiring me money.’ Ten pounds wasn’t nearly enough to cover Mr Johnston’s fees and now she was too embarrassed, too humiliated to take it. So she thanked her friend again, told her not to worry and that she’d manage.
Margaret replaced the receiver. The postmistress was looking at her curiously, no doubt wondering about her tear-stained face and drawing her own conclusions. Margaret doubted she’d even begin to guess. She lifted her chin and returned her look, forcing the other woman to drop her gaze.
What now? What on earth was she going to do?
When she got home that afternoon, Peggy was giving the children their tea at the kitchen table.
Elizabeth got down from her chair and ran towards her. ‘Where have you been, Mummy? You weren’t here when we woke up and you’ve been gone for ages!’
Margaret picked her daughter up and hugged her. ‘I had to go out for a while but I’m here now.’
‘Where’s Daddy?’
Peggy and Margaret shared a glance over the top of her head.
‘Let’s go into the sitting room.’ She placed Elizabeth on the floor and gathered James into her arms, breathing in the baby scent that still clung to him.
She sat on the chair with James on her lap. Wrapping her free arm around Elizabeth, she pulled her close.
‘Daddy’s had to go away for a little while.’ She hated lying but the truth was too complicated to explain to a child of five.
‘But he never said goodbye.’ Elizabeth’s mouth trembled. ‘He always says goodbye.’
‘And he would have but he had to go during the night and he didn’t want to wake you. I said I would kiss you for him.’
‘When is he coming back? Tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know, my darling. Perhaps a bit longer. He’ll come home as soon as he can. He won’t want to be away from us a moment longer than he has to.’
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide and round as if she were giving her mother’s words some thought. Then she popped a thumb in her mouth, a habit she’d given up a long time ago. Margaret didn’t have the heart to chide her.
‘Please don’t be sad, Mummy. It makes me sad,’ Elizabeth mumbled around her thumb, pressing her body into Margaret.
Margaret bit down on her bottom lip so hard it hurt. ‘I’m only sad because I miss Daddy.’ She forced a smile. ‘But he’ll be home soon. In the meantime you’ll help me look after James, won’t you?’
Elizabeth removed the thumb from her mouth and scrambled down from Margaret’s lap. ‘We’ll look after him together.’
But Alasdair wasn’t home soon. Not the next day or the days after that. Every afternoon Margaret telephoned Mr Johnston from the post office asking whether he had news for her, but the answer was always the same. He was making progress with his enquiries but had no firm news for her as yet. The moment he did he would arrange to see her.
Inevitably the story had made the Glasgow Herald. To Margaret’s immense relief there hadn’t been a photograph of her or Alasdair accompanying the article and she wondered if her father had used his influence with the newspaper’s owners to keep their photographs out. If so, she fervently hoped he’d continue to do so.
The dead lad – he was only nineteen – was called Tommy and her heart ached for him and his family. Margaret scanned the article, the hairs on her neck prickling as she read the name in full. Tommy Barr, youngest son of Billy and Betty Barr. Billy Barr’s son! The son of the man who’d threatened her back in Govan. Had Alasdair known? He couldn’t have. He would have told her.
Every day Elizabeth asked when her father was coming home and when Margaret told her she still didn’t know, her daughter became increasingly subdued. James, her sweet, contented little boy, on the other hand, was almost oblivious.
While Margaret waited to hear from the lawyer, she methodically went through every item in her and Alasdair’s small flat, placing anything she thought could be sold into a pile. She sent Peggy to the pawnbroker’s with the whole lot – furniture, linen, even, heartbreakingly, Alasdair’s fiddle. But, as the jeweller had said, there were far more people selling than people buying. There was no point attempting to sell Alasdair’s fob watch, she reasoned to herself. It wouldn’t fetch much. Margaret rubbed her fingers against the gold plating. No, it wasn’t just the money; selling the fiddle had been painful enough but this would be like parting with the final bit of Alasdair himself and that she just couldn’t do.
Even having sold everything she could, she still hadn’t been able to gather a fraction of what she needed to cover Mr Johnston’s fees.
When she’d told Peggy that she had to dispense with her services, the older woman had placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.
‘Do you think I’m going to leave you and those bairns now? When you’re like a bunch of lost souls?’
‘You have to, Peggy. I can’t afford to pay you any longer. I need every spare penny for the lawyer.’
Peggy’s lips twitched. ‘Aye well it’s no’ as if you pay me that much to begin with. If money wus important to me I would’ve got a job at one of the Big Hooses in Kelvinside or Queen’s Park. The wummen are always asking aboot for domestic help.’
‘Why didn’t you take one of the posts before now?’
‘Because it suited me only to work half a day for you – what with my Mam needing my help and you kindly keeping an eye on her.’
Margaret had attended on Peggy’s mother, a formidable matriarch of seven children, at least once a month over the years Peggy had been with her. The old lady wasn’t in the best of health, bringing up a large family in a damp house with very little money for food and fuel had taken its toll, but her children, now grown up and with the exception of Peggy, married, had pooled together and rented a warm comfortable home for her and Peggy in Maryhill. Sadly too late for Mrs McQuarrie’s health. Mrs McQuarrie’s chronic bronchitis had affected her breathing to the point where she could hardly walk a few steps without having to stop to catch her breath and Margaret thought it was unlikely the old lady would see many more months.
‘It’s not as if I need the money, pet.’ Peggy wiped her hands on her apron and slid a cup of tea in front of Margaret. ‘My brothers and sisters are happy to give a bob or two for Mam as long as I look after her.’
‘You could get part time work with another family – at least they’ll be able to pay you.’
‘No, if I take a job with them it won’t be long before they’re asking me to stay to help oot with their bairns – or to dae mair hours because they haven’t been able to find a cook and they are having people over. I like it here. You don’t mind when I come or when I leave as long as I do me hours. And if you didn’t look after Mam I would have had to pay another doctor. So it seems
to me you have more than a few hours in the bank.’ She glanced over to where Elizabeth was sitting with James in the crook of her arm as she read to him. ‘I cannae leave those poor bairns the noo.’
Margaret’s throat ached with the effort needed to hold back tears. God knew she needed all the help she could get. The children alternated between wide-eyed silence and fractious, clinging behaviour. No matter how much Margaret tried to give the impression that everything was normal, they sensed something was badly wrong. Right now they needed the stability Peggy could give them.
‘You can always give me the pay you owe me later,’ Peggy continued. ‘When Mr Morrison is back at work and the pair o’ you are on your feet again. In the meantime my family will no’ let me starve.’
The next afternoon, Toni and Mairi called to see her. After her friends had fussed over the children, Margaret asked Peggy to take Elizabeth and James out for some fresh air. She didn’t want to risk them overhearing.
As soon as they were on their own, her friends voiced their dismay at the turn of events. ‘Everyone in Govan knows Alasdair didn’t do it!’ Toni proclaimed angrily. ‘What the hell are the polis doing to find out what really happened, that’s what I want to know. Even Billy Barr doesn’t believe your husband did it. God help the real murderer when Billy gets his hands on him.’