by Emma Fraser
The woman next to Margaret unwrapped a piece of greasy brown paper revealing a piece of bread and dripping covered with a thin coat of sugar. She took a bite with evident relish.
‘So what’s yours in for, hen?’ she said, turning to Margaret. As she spoke, small bits of bread flew from her mouth, several landing on Margaret’s lap, others only narrowly falling short of hitting her face. She wanted nothing more than to put a foot or two of distance between them, but she was hemmed in on the other side by a large woman who was snoring gently, her arms folded across her ample bosom.
‘My husband is innocent,’ Margaret said shortly.
‘Of course he is, of course. Aren’t they all?’ She winked at Margaret.
‘But my husband really is,’ Margaret insisted. She hated to think anyone, whether they knew Alasdair or not, would think for one moment he was guilty. Or, a small voice whispered, that you are associated with someone accused of murder. She pushed the traitorous thought away. If Alasdair could bear this, so could she. She averted her eyes and stared straight ahead.
The woman folded her now empty piece of brown paper before placing it in her pocket. She peered closer at Margaret. ‘We don’t get many of your sort in here. What did he do, then? Rob his clients? Steal money from his business?’ Her smile grew wider. ‘Break into a bank? If he did I hope he bought you something pretty.’
Thankfully at that moment the police guard came in to announce that visiting hour had started. He led them through to another larger, but equally sparse and bleak, room and told them to take a seat at one of the tables.
As she waited for Alasdair, Margaret smoothed down her dress and surreptitiously pinched her cheeks to put some colour in them.
When eventually she saw him, she had to stifle a cry behind her hand. His face was gaunt and pale and covered in stubble, his hands handcuffed in front of him. But his eyes still burned fiercely, his shoulders were back and he wore his prison garb as if it were a suit of the highest quality.
Alasdair’s eyes locked onto hers when he saw her and the world slowed and stopped until it was just the two of them. In that look she saw all his love for her. Even now, dressed as he was, and in danger of his life, he still made her pulse race. Alasdair stepped towards her but as she rose to meet him, her hands outstretched, a policeman put his hand on her arm. ‘No touching,’ he said, not unkindly.
As Alasdair took his seat opposite her, lowering his handcuffed wrists below the table and out of her sight, the fire in his eyes dimmed and his mouth formed into a thin line. ‘You shouldn’t have come. I don’t want you to see me like this.’
‘I would have come sooner if I could. You’re my husband and I love you. Nothing would keep me away.’ Tears burned behind her eyelids and she blinked them away. She mustn’t cry. ‘Are they treating you all right?’
Alasdair gave a small, dismissive shake of his head. ‘Never mind me, what about you and the children? Are you all right? Are they all right? What have you told them?’ For a moment she glimpsed despair, shame, humiliation in his eyes, but almost as quickly the look was gone.
‘I told the children you had to go away for a while. They both ask for you all the time. They want to know when you’re coming home. James is too young to take much in, but Elizabeth suspects something is badly wrong.’
His shoulders slumped. ‘I missed her birthday.’
Margaret managed a small smile. ‘There’ll be more birthdays. She knows you would have been there if you could have been. But we need to talk about your case, Alasdair,’ Margaret hurried on. There was so little time. ‘I understand Mr Johnston has been to see you?’
‘Yes. Two or three times. But how can we afford him and the advocate he’s instructed?’
‘Don’t worry about that – we’ll manage.’
‘I’m still your husband, Margaret,’ he said quietly. ‘I know how little money we have saved and I know how much all this must be costing.’
‘I sold a couple of things – nothing I’ll miss. And the shipyard workers took a collection.’
His expression darkened. She knew how much he would hate hearing that. ‘You shouldn’t have had to sell a thing. And the Govan folk need every penny for themselves. We’ll give it all back as soon as I’m out of here.’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘Although I gather Mr Johnston doesn’t think much of my chances. He thinks I should plead self-defence – or even guilty. Don’t you think a man should have a lawyer who believes in his innocence?’
‘He does believe in your innocence!’ she cried, although she wondered if that were true. ‘He just doesn’t think Mr Williams will be able to prove it.’
Alasdair leaned forward, pinning her with his blue eyes. ‘You believe I am innocent, don’t you, Margaret?’
‘Of course I do! How can you even ask such a thing? But Alasdair, they say you were almost court-martialled for striking an officer during the war. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it was in the past. Because I had no wish to think about those times any more than I had to.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
His expression was shuttered as he looked into the distance. It was as if he’d gone somewhere she couldn’t follow.
‘It was a fool of a sergeant major. He took against one of the lads in our company. The lad, Fergus, was only just sixteen – he’d lied about his age so he could enlist. I imagine he had no idea what he was letting himself in for. It was near the end – we were ordered over the top – to attack an enemy outpost. Everyone knew it was suicide but what could we do? Orders were orders. Half of us didn’t make it past the first wave, but I did – God knows how. I was with the sergeant when we stumbled across Fergus taking shelter in a foxhole. He was terrified, and who could blame him? The sergeant ordered us to attack again but Fergus wouldn’t. I don’t think he was capable of movement. I had to go. That night I learned that the sergeant had reported Fergus for cowardice and he was to be shot the next morning. For God’s sake, we all knew the war was all but over! I argued with the sergeant but he was the filthiest sort. He wouldn’t listen to reason.’ Alasdair shrugged. ‘I punched him – I think I might even have killed him if my mates hadn’t pulled me off.’ His eyes were wintry, his expression closed. ‘Didn’t make a difference. They shot poor Fergus anyway and flung me in solitary. I would have been court-martialled, but as I said the war was coming to an end and up until then I had had a decent record.’
‘I wish you had told me.’
‘There was nothing I wanted to remember about those times. The whole bloody war was a farce.’
‘Oh, Alasdair! Can’t you see how they can use it against you?’
A faint smile crossed his lips. ‘Perhaps if I’d known then I was going to be charged with murder I wouldn’t have intervened.’ His expression clouded over again. ‘But, dear God, Margaret, how could I have done otherwise? And as for what got me here – what sort of man would I be if I stood by and let someone die without lifting a finger to help? Sometimes a man has to do what is right regardless of the consequences! I had my fill of killing when I was in the army. I’ll not stand by again. No matter what the cost. I could no more not have punched that sergeant than I could have walked away from that lad. And if I had to, I would do it again.’
Margaret felt a tinge of exasperation, but quickly suppressed it. But oh, did Alasdair have to be everyone else’s knight in shining armour?
‘They are going to bring all that up at the trial. They are going to say it proves you have a violent streak. They intend to use what happened with Billy that day in Govan too.’ She leaned across the table. ‘You must see how it makes you look!’
‘What happened in the past doesn’t make me guilty now.’
‘I know that. But —’
‘Don’t, Margaret! Don’t say what I think you’re going to,’ Alasdair interrupted, disappointment shadowing his eyes. ‘I will never plead guilty to something I didn’t do. What man would? And what kind of wife would ask it of her husband?’<
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‘A man who has no choice. And a wife who doesn’t want the man she loves to die! Please, Alasdair, I couldn’t bear it.’ She could no longer hold back the tears. ‘If you won’t do it for yourself – do it for me and the children. Mr Johnston wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t think it was the only way.’
‘I wonder if Johnston would be so quick to plead guilty if he were the one facing a lifetime in prison.’
‘A lifetime in prison is better than no life at all.’
‘To some, perhaps. Not to me. I’m not ready to give up, Margaret. I still have friends – powerful friends. Friends who know I’m innocent.’
‘So where are they? These people who believe in your innocence? What are they doing to ensure your release? Please. Listen. Think of me and the children —’
‘That’s all I think about.’ A muscle twitched in his cheek. ‘But to say to the world that I killed a man! Do you want Elizabeth and James to be known as the offspring of a murderer? You the wife of a murderer? You’d be forever tainted. How could I do that to you? How could I do that to our children?’
‘At least you’d live and as long as you were alive there would be hope. New evidence might be found – the real killer might confess – anything could happen.’
They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing deeply.
‘Have you given up on me, Margaret?’ he said eventually, his eyes searching hers.
‘I will never give up on you – never. Do you hear me? Remember the promise I made you before we were married? I said I would never give up on you as long as there was breath in my body and I meant every word! As long as the sun comes up in the morning, as long as there are stars in the sky, I will continue to love you and be proud to bear your name.’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks but she made no attempt to brush them away.
At that moment the bell signalling the end of visiting rang and one of the police guards stepped forward. As he took Alasdair by the arm, Alasdair shook him off. ‘Not in front of my wife,’ he growled. He held Margaret’s gaze, his eyes anguished. ‘God, if I could only hold you. But now it’s your turn to listen to me, my love. If I lose the case – and I still have faith I won’t – you must take a different name. Move somewhere with Elizabeth and James where no one will know you. Start somewhere fresh. Your friends will help.’
She dried her face with her handkerchief, blew her nose and looked her love in the eyes. ‘I won’t abandon you. You will be found not guilty. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another, I will get you out of here.’
Chapter 19
Margaret stood on the corner of Duke Street as people bustled past her, their lives seemingly carrying on as normal whilst hers was falling apart. Although it was mid-summer, the rain had been falling for almost two weeks now and there was no sign of it letting up. The wet weather, however, hadn’t kept people indoors and, as usual, the streets were thronged, many using umbrellas almost as a weapon to push their way along the streets, keeping as close to the buildings as possible to avoid getting splashed.
She longed to go home and hold her children in her arms, even for a few moments, but knew if she put off doing what she had to do, her courage would fail her. She’d made a promise to Alasdair to do everything in her power to get him out of prison and back home where he belonged – and she’d meant it. She’d been almost certain that Alasdair wouldn’t agree to plead guilty, so the previous night, as she’d lain sleepless and terrified, she’d come up with an alternative solution, and there was only one man left who could help her with that.
Knowing at this time of day her father was most likely to be at the shipyard, that’s where she headed. Too agitated to take a tram, she walked down to the riverside, thinking of what she would say, and wondering how far she was prepared to go to get Alasdair released. Whatever it took was the answer.
It was lunch time for the day shift when she arrived at the yard and she had to fight her way through the streams of men pouring from the gates, collars turned up against the rain and caps pulled low over their foreheads.
She envied them. Their lives might be hard but at least they knew what the days and weeks to come held for them and tonight most of them would be sitting around the table with their families. Stepping between carts and barrels while trying to avoid the puddles as best she could, she marched along the front of the shipyard and into the management building. Ferguson was in the office on the ground floor and when he saw her a look of astonishment crossed his face.
‘Miss Ban – I mean Mrs Morrison – I didn’t realise your father was expecting you.’
‘He’s not. Is he here?’
‘He’s on site.’
She shook the water from her umbrella. ‘Would you let him know I’m here? I shall wait for him in his office.’
Ferguson grunted something to a passing boy who took off as fast as his legs could carry him, and Margaret, with memories of the last time she was here rushing back, climbed the stairs to her father’s office and let herself in.
She crossed to the window and looked out over the yard. Was it really almost fourteen years since she’d last stood here in this very spot? Fourteen years since she’d first set eyes on Alasdair and the course of her life had changed forever.
Little here had changed. The shipyard was still as it had always been, busier even. There was a new ship on the slip due to be launched in a few weeks’ time. No doubt about it, it was a thing of beauty and the men who had worked on her using the skills passed on from father to son had every reason to be proud of what they’d built. Other shipyards might have suffered and even closed during these last lean years, but Bannatyne’s had gone from strength to strength. Despite the Depression her father had become even wealthier. According to Alasdair he’d bought up the smaller yards and bought into the shipping lines themselves, taking a share of their profits, whether of cargo or of passengers. He’d also invested heavily in shares in steelworks both in Scotland and America. Yet little of the additional wealth had found its way into the pockets of the shipyard workers and their families.
If only her father had used some of that money to create better living and working conditions for the men who gave their sweat to make him rich. Unlike the other shipbuilders, or to be more precise, their widows, who had created parks, built libraries and public baths, her father had done little to ease the lot of the working man. He had, she knew, endowed libraries and even a ward at the Royal Infirmary but that wasn’t because he cared – it was because that’s what rich men did if they wanted a title.
There was so much that still needed to be done. The poor needed more sanatoria, more hospitals for the chronically ill and most of all new homes; homes that had running water and proper sanitation.
Perhaps if her husband hadn’t been so proud, so determined to oppose everything her father stood for, it could all have been so different. She and Alasdair could have used the Bannatyne fortune to change hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. Now they stood on the brink of losing everything including Alasdair’s freedom and possibly even his life.
She shook her head, appalled at the direction her thoughts were going in.
No. Despite all that had happened she wouldn’t exchange a day, not even a minute, of her life with Alasdair – the joy, the laughter, the music, the way her breath still caught in her throat whenever she saw him, the way pride blossomed in her chest when she saw how he commanded love and respect from the people he helped. Just being in the same room as him made her heart sing. She wouldn’t change a moment of that for a lifetime of ease and comfort. With all its joys and sorrows, it was the life she’d chosen and she couldn’t regret it.
So there was no point in thinking about what might have been.
The sound of the office door opening broke her reverie and she whirled around to find her father looking at her, his expression unreadable.
‘I suspected you’d come crawling back here sooner or later.’
He’d aged in the months since she’d
last seen him. There were more lines round his eyes than she remembered and his expensive suit didn’t quite hide the fact that he’d lost weight. An unexpected wave of regret washed over her. Everything might have been so different had Sebastian and Fletcher lived.
She waited until he sat down at his desk before approaching and standing before him, her hands clasped tightly.
‘I need your help, Father,’ she said quietly.
‘You have some nerve, I give you that. Do you have any idea what you and that man have done to me? My business depends on contacts – the right sort of contacts. Do you know how many of the men I once called my acquaintances won’t look me in the eye now? And as for any chance of a baronetcy —’ He shook his head, his face turning more puce by the minute. ‘You have shamed and embarrassed this family. I will never forgive you for that.’