Sarah bent down and picked up her basket.
“Well now I’m here, I might as well make myself useful,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d want a fancy hairstyle, so I didn’t bring any hairpieces, or paint for that matter. But I could at least wash your hair for you. That’d make you feel fresher at any rate, and make me feel as though I’ve earned a little of the fee Sir Anthony is paying me. I just need some warm water, if you agree, that is.”
As if by magic, there was a dull thud at the door and then it opened to reveal Duncan, arms full of steaming buckets of water, his shoulders draped in towels.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling apologetically. “I had to kick instead of knocking. Sir Anthony thought ye’d be in need of hot water. I can bring more if ye want.”
“Christ!” said Maggie under her breath. “All right, I give in!” She glared at Duncan, who smiled and nodded at Sarah before backing out of the room hurriedly. “It seems they’ll no’ be satisfied until ye’ve done something tae me, at any rate.”
Sarah got Maggie arranged on a chair with her back to the dressing table, and, filling a basin with warm water, asked her to lean her head over the back of the chair into the water. She worked silently, wetting the lank red hair and gently massaging the soft lavender-scented soap into her scalp, until she felt the tension leave Maggie’s body. Then she waited a little more, until the green eyes closed and the mouth relaxed.
“You have beautiful hair,” she said, eyeing the dark red locks floating in the basin with admiration. “It’s a very unusual colour.”
Maggie smiled, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Aye, it’s my best feature. My only good feature, in truth. I’m no’ blessed wi’ good looks, but then neither is Iain, so we make a fine pair.”
“How is he coping?” Sarah asked. “He must be worried about you too.”
“He’s coping by being busy,” Maggie said. “I’m coping by thinking it through. We’re different.”
Sarah closed her eyes. A spasm passed across her face at what she was about to do and then was gone, unseen by the other woman.
“When you’re thinking it through, though, do you find yourself going over and over the same little detail until you think you’re going mad?” she asked.
The eyes shot open and the mouth tightened again. Sarah looked into Maggie’s eyes, continuing to massage her scalp in languid circles.
“That’s what it was like for me, that’s all,” she said, marvelling at how casual she was managing to sound, when her stomach was screwed up in a little ball. “I thought it might be the same for you. I found myself going over and over every detail, trying to blame somebody, because I thought nothing so terrible could have happened without someone being at fault.”
Maggie stared up at her, unblinking, silent.
“I couldn’t blame the father, because he was long gone,” Sarah continued. “As soon as he found out I was pregnant, he was running for the hills. And I couldn’t blame the midwife, because I didn’t have one. I had to do everything myself. And anyway, my daughter lived for a week after that.” She swallowed heavily, and smiled sadly down at her client, her fingers moving more slowly. “So I blamed myself instead. For a long time.”
Maggie reached up and gripped Sarah’s wrist, stilling her motion.
“Do ye still blame yourself?” she whispered.
“No. There were lots of reasons why she didn’t live. I couldn’t get enough to eat, the father didn’t help me as I’d thought he would. My father…” Her voice faltered, and she gently removed her wrist from Maggie’s grip, taking her hand instead. “But the real reason she died was because she wasn’t meant to live. That’s what I think now. Her leg was…not right, sort of twisted. And the life I had after that wasn’t what I’d have wanted my daughter to grow up with.”
“Iain was perfect, though,” Maggie said. “And he had two parents who loved him. He would have had a good life. It was my fault,” she added with sudden passion. “Everyone kept telling me to rest, and I wouldna. I had to prove that I was strong. If I’d kent what I was doing, I’d have rested all the time. It’s a punishment from God because I was too proud, that’s what it is.”
Sarah kept her hold on Maggie’s hand but moved round to crouch down in front of her.
“Have you told your husband this?” she asked.
Maggie lifted her head out of the bowl and water poured down the back of the chair on to the floor. Neither woman noticed.
“No,” she said. “I canna tell him that. If I do, he’ll either try to persuade me I’m wrong, or he’ll start to wonder what he did amiss, too. It wasna his fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either,” Sarah said. “Let me tell you something about myself, although maybe you know already. Beth does, and so does Sir Anthony. Before she hired me as her maid and brought me to London where I could make a new start, I was a whore. I didn’t have much choice, really. I didn’t have any skills that I could earn money from. I couldn’t go home, and I didn’t really care what happened to me at that time. So I went to Liverpool at first and got in with a woman who set me up in a place near the docks. Am I shocking you?”
“Aye, a wee bit,” Maggie admitted. “But go on.”
“Well, then, I won’t go into the life I had, you’ll have an idea what whores do, I’m sure. And in spite of all the ways women try to avoid getting with child, it happens. And once the baby’s in there, it’s the devil’s own job to get him out before he’s ready, no matter what you do. I can’t tell you the times I’ve seen a woman delivered of a normal healthy child when she’s spent months sitting in hot baths, drinking gin, jumping up and down and even throwing herself downstairs. And I’ve seen women like you, who’ve done nothing, and whose child has been born early anyway, or full term like Lucy, and still died. And most times there was something wrong with them, especially the ones that came early. Twisted legs, withered arms, blind…it’s as though God, if you believe in a God, has decided this one will be better off with Him instead of here, where life is hard enough even for perfect children. Iain looked perfect, true, but you wouldn’t have known until he started to grow up. There was a reason he was taken, and it wasn’t because you wouldn’t rest, believe me. That had nothing to do with it.”
“Did you try to get rid of your baby?” Maggie asked.
“No, I wanted her, like you wanted Iain. But it wasn’t meant to be, and I accept that now. I do not believe that God punishes you by hurting innocent children.”
“But the Bible says…” Maggie began.
“To hell with the Bible, and all the so-called men of God who twist its words,” Sarah spat, with such hatred in her voice that Maggie was silenced. She turned away, picked up a towel and wrapped it round Maggie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she continued after a moment, her voice calmer. “You’re a Catholic, I know.”
“D’ye no’ believe in God at all, then?” Maggie said, shocked.
“Of course I do,” Sarah replied acidly. “I’m the daughter of a minister, after all. I was brought up to believe in all of it, from Genesis and the sin of Eve that tainted all women forever, to St Paul and the fact that women must always be subservient and obey men, who are their superiors. I believed that all people are sinners, and must constantly pray, and fast, and beg for forgiveness on their knees on stone floors for hours at a time. And as I was already tainted with Eve’s unforgivable sin, I didn’t hold out much hope of going to Heaven, whatever I did. When I was really small, I accepted that father was beating and starving me for my own good, to drive the sin out of me and bring me to Christ’s mercy. Now I just think he was a vicious bastard, like lots of men I’ve met since, who liked causing pain. And to answer your question more seriously, yes, I do believe in God, but not in men, and one day I’m going to learn to read and find out for myself what Christ said, and if it was that what my father did to us was right, then I won’t believe in Him, either.”
This wasn’t how Sarah had meant the conversation to go. She was
supposed to be comforting Maggie, and here she was, blurting out things she had never told anyone and had never intended to tell anyone. But at least Maggie had forgotten her own troubles for the moment. She was pondering quite a different problem now.
“Christ didna say that you should beat bairns, I’m sure,” she said. “I havena much in the way of the reading myself, but my da used to read the Bible to us when we were wee, and Father MacDonald, who used to come from time to time, used tae tell us all sorts of lovely stories about the Holy Family. The Old Testament’s full of fearful stories, but our Lord Jesus was a kind, caring man. He loved children. He wouldna have beaten them, or starved them either.”
Sarah looked at her.
“But you believe He killed your son, just to chastise you for not resting when you should have?” she said. “That sounds pretty vicious to me.”
Maggie blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it again and thought for a while.
“It sounds awfu’ daft when you put it like that,” she said eventually.
“That’s because it is,” Sarah said gently. “Don’t you think it more likely that Christ took him because he wasn’t formed quite right, out of kindness?”
“Aye,” said Maggie. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I am,” said Sarah confidently. “And I’m also sure that you’re not doing yourself or anyone else any favours by lying here in bed brooding, especially your husband, who must be worried sick about you whether he shows it or not. I’ll admit to you, Beth came to see me because she was worried about you and thought I might be able to help, because I’d lost a child of my own. All that rubbish Sir Anthony made up was just a ploy to get you to let me in the room. Although I will finish washing your hair and make you look a bit fresher. I didn’t want to come, to be honest.”
“Why did ye, then, an ye didna want to?”
“Because I owe Sir Anthony and Beth a lot. And because I didn’t like to think of you torturing yourself because you had no one to talk to. I got through it on my own, but it took a long time. A very long time. And now I’m glad I came.”
“So am I,” said Maggie. “Ye’ve helped me a lot. I think I might get up today, once my hair’s dry.”
Sarah smiled, and tipped Maggie’s head back into the cooling water.
“You’ve helped me, too,” she said. “I hadn’t realised how much I needed to talk, even after all this time. I suppose you never get over it completely. But you come to terms with it and move on. You’ll go on to have more children, I’m sure, and they’ll be lucky, because they’ll have parents who love them.” She lifted the jug and started to rinse Maggie’s hair.
“What about you?” said Maggie. “Are ye no’ hoping to have more bairns?”
“Me? No, it’s not for me. I’m a businesswoman now. And I’m not interested in men. I’ve had enough of them to last me a lifetime.”
“They’re no’ all like your father. There’s some awfu’ good ones about.”
“I know, but I’m not likely to meet one who’s willing to accept what I’ve done. And I wouldn’t lie to a man if I was going to marry him. Better just not to bother. I’m really quite happy as I am. I don’t have to answer to anyone, and don’t want to.”
She towelled Maggie’s hair dry and started to gently comb out the tangles. Some minutes passed in companionable silence, after which Angus appeared with some tea and slightly oddly-shaped biscuits which Beth had baked. He looked approvingly at Maggie, appreciatively at Sarah, winked at her, and left.
“Can I ask ye a question?” Maggie said when his footsteps had receded down the corridor.
“What?”
“How did ye get wi’ child, if your father was so strict? And what did your father say when he found out ye were having a bairn? Or did ye no’ tell him? Ye dinna have to tell me unless ye want to,” she finished hurriedly.
“No, I don’t mind,” said Sarah, who as she said it, realised she didn’t, really didn’t. “No, I didn’t tell him. I used to go out and take food and suchlike to the old people of the parish. Charitable works. It was the only time I went out, my father not being one for letting his children enjoy idle amusements. Village fairs, music, singing and dancing were the devil’s way of tempting you into sin. I quite enjoyed visiting because it got me out of the house, but my older brother always came with me after I was twelve, just in case I might take it into my head to tempt a man into sin with my evil womanly wiles.” She laughed. “I didn’t have a clue what a womanly wile was. My brother Philip did, though. He had his eye on a girl from the village, so what we took to doing was setting off together, then he’d disappear and go courting, and I’d do my visits. We’d meet up at the last house and come back together, demure as you please. Philip hated father, and we both got satisfaction out of fooling him.
Anyway, one day I went to visit Mrs Grimes. I didn’t look forward to calling on her because she was really old and she’d gone a bit strange. She’d ask you the same thing over and over again, and half the time she didn’t remember who I was at all. When I got there this day, though, there was a man with her. I’d never seen him before, but he said he was her son, and he lived over Liverpool way but he was travelling through and had come to see his mother.”
“Was he the father of your bairn?” Maggie asked.
Sarah nodded.
“Every week I went to see Mrs Grimes after that he was there, except once or twice. He was handsome, or I thought he was then, and a lot older than me. I was fourteen and he was maybe twenty-five, thirty. And he had a way with words and something of the town about him, which made him seem really special to me, me having never been out of the village. He was just a sweet-talking shit, I know that now, I’ve met enough of them, but I didn’t know anything then except that children were born out of evil, unspeakable acts. But when he kissed me, that was so nice I didn’t think it could be evil, and then things went on from there and…well, you know how babies are made.”
Both women moved over to the fire, where Maggie dried her hair by fanning it out over her shoulder, while Sarah nibbled on a biscuit.
“I didn’t know what was going on at first,” she continued. “When I was sick, I thought I’d just eaten something that didn’t agree with me. And then I started getting fatter, and I couldn’t understand it because I’d always been thin. I mentioned it to Robert, that was his name, because I was worried he wouldn’t like me if I got fat, and he just got this sort of strange look on his face and said I shouldn’t worry, it was just part of growing up. And then he stopped visiting his mother and disappeared and I never saw him again. I think that’s why I went to Liverpool later. I was hoping to see him there, silly cow that I was.
“After a while, about six months, I couldn’t hide it any more. Stupid as I was, even I knew what was happening then because the baby had started kicking and everything, but I just thought I could have it and not tell father somehow. When he found out he went mad. He made me tell him everything, and I did, except the bit about Philip sneaking off. He flogged my brother anyway, just for not watching over me well enough. And then he beat me, not with his belt like he usually did, but with his fists. I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Did he turn ye out?” said Maggie. “Did your mother no’ stop him?”
“My mother died when I was five,” Sarah said. “No, he didn’t turn me out. He dragged me to church on Sunday and made me stand in the pulpit in front of the whole village while he read a sermon on Delilah and Jezebel and how Satan can be found even at the very door of the house of the Lord. I assume I was Satan, and he thought he was the Lord by then, the bastard. I remember looking down at the sea of faces. I’d never been up on the pulpit before, and all of them were looking at me as though I was dirt. I was standing there, all crooked because he’d kicked me in the back and I couldn’t stand up straight, with my nose broken and my face black and blue and nobody had a kind word or look for me, and I thought then, if this is the house of God and these are Christians, then I want none o
f it. That’s when I started to hate, which has helped me a lot over the years, even if you’re not supposed to. Hatred gives you strength. He never mentioned the father at all, except to say he was a married man with three children who had been led into temptation by his slut of a daughter, which was a bit of a shock, because I hadn’t known Robert was married till then. He obviously didn’t blame Robert at all, which seemed really unfair, but I still would have stayed at home to have the baby, I think. I didn’t know what else to do. Until he told the congregation that although I was a sinner, and my child would be a sinner, it was his Christian duty as a minister of the Lord to show mercy and bring my bastard up to follow the right path, though it would be very hard, as the baby would be doubly cursed, with bastardy and an evil mother.”
“Or trebly cursed, if it was a girl as well,” said Maggie, who had now got the measure of the Reverend Browne, and whose own troubles had paled into insignificance beside this remarkable woman’s.
“Yes. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Sarah. “Anyway, he never got the chance to beat my child to a pulp. It was knowing what he would do to her that gave me the courage to do what I did. I walked down from the pulpit, down the aisle and out of the door. He shouted for me to come back, but I just kept on, although I had no idea where I was going. And I walked and walked for miles, until it was night and I found a little hut in the woods, all falling down, and I slept there. Next morning I got up and had a look round, and then I decided to stay where I was, on my own. So I patched up the hut as best I could and lived on berries and stuff, and water from the river. Lucky it was summer, or I’d have starved to death. The rest you know.”
“My God, you’re amazing,” breathed Maggie. “Does Beth know all this?”
“No,” said Sarah. “Only you. And I’d rather she didn’t know, or Sir Anthony either. I’m not amazing, I don’t want you to think that. I was just desperate, that’s all. And now I’m not. And I don’t ever intend to let any man try to ruin my life again. Are you going to get dressed, then, if you’re getting up? I could do your hair in a nice simple style.”
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 33