by Sue Lawrence
“A haunting, moving story.” KIRSTY WARK
“Fast-paced and full of fear and intrigue … Creates a sense of unease in the reader that persists right through to the book’s satisfying conclusion.” UNDISCOVERED SCOTLAND
Praise for Sue Lawrence’s writing:
“Sue Lawrence is a rock star.” GUARDIAN
“I found this book enthralling. It’s a cracking story beautifully told.” LORRAINE KELLY
“Lawrence’s parallel plotlines advance in lock-step with each other over alternate chapters, with spooky similarities but also crucial differences, until they’re entwined to great effect towards the end.” SUNDAY HERALD
“A gripping tale.” DAILY RECORD
“A deft mix of vivid storytelling, intriguing mystery and building momentum, skilfully interwoven with the history of the Tay Bridge disaster.” SCOTTISH FIELD
“A satisfying tale of revenge served both hot and cold.” SCOTLAND ON SUNDAY
“The intertwined stories … will keep you in suspense until the very end … An enthralling read and beautifully written.” BRISBANISTA
“Lawrence’s parallel plotlines advance in lock-step with each other over alternate chapters, with spooky similarities but also crucial differences, until they’re entwined to great effect towards the end.” SUNDAY HERALD
“A gripping tale.” DAILY RECORD
DOWN TO THE SEA
SUE LAWRENCE
To everyone at Lennox House, Edinburgh
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Part 1
Chapter 1: 1981
Chapter 2: 1898
Chapter 3: 1981
Chapter 4: 1898
Chapter 5: 1981
Chapter 6: 1898
Chapter 7: 1981
Part 2
Chapter 8: 1899
Chapter 9: 1982
Chapter 10: 1899
Chapter 11: 1982
Chapter 12: 1899
Chapter 13: 1982
Chapter 14: 1899
Chapter 15: 1982
Chapter 16: 1899
Chapter 17: 1982
Chapter 18: 1899
Chapter 19: 1982
Chapter 20 1899
Chapter 21: 1982
Chapter 22: 1899
Chapter 23: 1982
Chapter 24: 1899
Chapter 25: 1982
Chapter 26: 1899
Chapter 27: 1982
Part 3
Chapter 28: 1899
Chapter 29: 1982
Chapter 30: 1899
Chapter 31: 1982
Chapter 32: 1899
Chapter 33: 1982
Chapter 34: 1899
Chapter 35: 1982
Chapter 36: 1899
Chapter 37: 1982
Chapter 38: 1899
Chapter 39: 1982
Chapter 40: 1899
Chapter 41: 1982
Chapter 42: 1900
Chapter 43: 1982
Part 4
Chapter 44: 1978
Chapter 45: 1982
Chapter 46: 1979
Chapter 47: 1982
Chapter 48: 1980
Chapter 49: 1982
Chapter 50: 1981
Chapter 51: 1982
Chapter 52: 1982
Chapter 53: 1982
Chapter 54: 1982
Chapter 55: 1982
Chapter 56: 1982
Chapter 57: 1982
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
Prologue
A dark shadow slid along the gloomy corridor, keeping close to the wall. A hand reached out and patted the handrail, following it along to the end where it stopped and the stairs emerged. Slowly, silently, the ascent began, one arm pulling up on the banister in the dim light. The figure turned right at the top then bent down, peering at the numbers on the doors along the passageway. Nine, ten, eleven …
The correct number appeared and fingers clasped the wooden handle, turning it clockwise. The door was locked but a quick glance up towards the hook revealed the key dangling there. Without a sound, it was inserted into the lock, the handle turned and the door pushed open slowly, warily.
A low whistling snore could be heard and as the figure approached the bed, hand raised high, the occupant shuffled over under the bedclothes. The shape beneath the blankets was slight yet long, loosely coiled, head facing the wall.
Moonlight cut through a crack in the curtains and revealed a glint of metal. A blade.
And then there was a soft knock at the door, a faint rap. Once, twice, three times.
Part 1
Chapter 1
1981
‘What d’you mean, you can’t get the key in? Here, let me try.’
Rona and Craig stood outside a large sandstone Victorian house, trying to unlock the door. Rona grabbed the set of keys from her husband’s hand, selected the long brass skeleton key and bent down to insert it into the lock. She turned it to the right, then the left, but the latch wouldn’t budge. ‘Why would the estate agents give us a key that doesn’t work?’ Craig grumbled.
‘It must work; they were always inside the house, waiting for us at the viewings. How else could they have got in?’
‘Let me try again.’ Craig pulled both the handle and the heavy wooden door towards him. He inserted the key, turned the handle and pushed the door open. ‘It just needs to be pulled in tight before you can turn the lock round.’
‘We’ll need to get new locks anyway, this key’s ancient.’ Rona picked up the bags at her feet, stepped over the threshold and into the gloomy hall.
Craig flicked a light switch on the wall beside him but nothing happened. ‘I’ll have to put on the electricity. The box is down in the cellar.’ He jingled the house keys in his pocket. ‘Give me a hand, Rona? It’ll be pitch black down there. Don’t want to fall headlong down the stairs.’
Craig opened the cellar door. He peered down beyond the dark, steep steps. ‘Hold the door wide open, would you? I can’t see a thing.’ He fumbled for the handrail to his left and stepped slowly down each broad stone step. At the bottom, he opened the mains box, flicked the switch and then felt along the wall to find the light.
Rona followed him down, tracing her hand along the cold, rough wall. Craig switched on the light and they looked around the spacious cellar. ‘Have you been down here before?’ Rona asked.
‘The agent showed me where the mains box was that day your flight was late. Look at this place, it’s huge.’
They stood on the chilly stone floor, taking in the large vacant room with bare whitewashed walls. There were a couple of wooden wardrobes at the far end. Rona went over to them and tugged at the door handles till they creaked open. She peered in at old cardboard boxes and piles of books. There was a strong smell of mildew. The whole cellar was dank and fetid. Craig pointed at a little red door, the top of which reached his chest. He tried the handle. ‘This is locked too. I wonder what’s behind it. Maybe it’s some sort of cupboard? It’s pretty low for an adult to get through.’
Rona shivered. ‘This place gives me the creeps, Craig. It smells fusty and even with that light on, it’s so dingy. We’ll need stronger lighting.’ She pointed up at the one bare light bulb above their heads. ‘And there’s a horrible echo.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll clean it all up, sort through those wardrobes and make it a nice storage space down here.’ He grinned. ‘Or a wine cellar.’
‘Like that’s going to be any use for what we’re planning.’ Rona rolled her eyes. ‘And what about the attic? You went up there, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, course I did. Nothing there apart fro
m a huge ancient-looking pram.’
‘A pram? I presume you asked the agents to take it away?’
Craig shook his head. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll take it and all the stuff from down here to the dump this week.’
‘Thanks, darling.’ What an old nag she was becoming. ‘Sorry to be so grumpy, I just want it all to be perfect. Let’s get our suitcases unpacked in our rooms. Get the chest of drawers out of the car. We’ve loads to do before the furniture van arrives tomorrow.’
Craig switched off the light and followed Rona up the steps. ‘Let’s go round the rooms, check they’re all clean.’
‘They certainly should be, the amount the cleaning company charged us.’ Rona and Craig headed towards the front door which was wide open, their suitcases still sitting on the doorstep. They lifted the suitcases inside. As Rona heaved the heavy wooden front door closed, the cellar door banged shut. Rona swivelled round to see it slowly swing open again. ‘Can you lock that door please, darling? I’m not sure I like it down there much.’
Craig shrugged and headed for the door.
Rona went out into the hall. She could hear Craig yelling from upstairs. ‘Everything’s okay up here, Rona. All the rooms seem spotless. How are you doing down there?’
‘Good, the place is spick and span. Ready for the removal men tomorrow.’
‘I’m on my way down, love. Let’s have that celebratory drink.’
Rona looked at her watch. ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’
‘Never too early.’ Craig ran down the stairs and through a modern wood-panelled door into their annexe, which comprised a kitchen, sitting room, en-suite bedroom and a small box room which was to be a spare bedroom. Rona pulled out a bottle of champagne from a chill box and handed it to Craig. ‘Here, you open that, I’ll get the glasses.’ She delved into a canvas bag. ‘I’ve got some crisps somewhere too. I’m starving.’
Craig poured the champagne. They both stood in the middle of their empty sitting room, grinning. Rona looked all around, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s going to be amazing, isn’t it? Our very first house and what a size it is!’ She sat down underneath the window, back flat against the wall, legs stretched across the floor.
‘We lived in your flat in the Hawkhill for a year, so it’s not really our first place.’ Craig sat down beside her. ‘I was just thinking, I’ll miss not being able to pop into Cuthbert’s for a mince roll on the walk home from Mennies.’
The stagger home from Mennies, to be precise, thought Rona. But at least the all-night bakery next door meant Craig ate something after those many nights lost down the pub. Rona was relieved that he seemed more focused now. Things were going to be fine. Those dark Dundee days were behind them.
Rona smiled at her husband. ‘Look at this place! We own all this.’ She flung her arms wide. ‘A twelve-bedroomed Victorian house in Edinburgh with a garden and great view down to the sea and over to Fife.’
‘Wasn’t there a poem, or a saying, or something, about The King of Fife?’ Craig mused.
‘“The thane of Fife had a wife, where is she now?”’
‘That’s it. What’s that from?’
‘Was it Shakespeare?’ Rona screwed up her eyes, trying to remember. ‘Yes, Macbeth, of course, it was about Lady Macbeth.’
‘That’s right. She was a nasty piece of work, wasn’t she? Anyway, back to our mansion.’ Craig grinned. ‘It’s pretty amazing, but there’s still loads of work to be done.’
‘I know, but we’ve got our work schedule. Next week they start putting in the en suites, then it’ll be the lifts. Should all be finished in three months’ time. Then we’ll be ready for our first residents.’
‘Yeah, but only when we’ve got more staff in place.’
‘Won’t be difficult, we’ll make everyone want to work here.’ Rona sipped from her glass. ‘Oh, that bubbly tastes weird. Metallic. Sorry, I thought it was a good one.’
‘It’s alcohol, Rona, who cares?’ said Craig, taking a long gulp.
‘I’m so pleased everything’s clean. That makes the move much easier.’ She smiled. ‘I love the fact we’ll be living in a house with so much history. Tell me again who built it?’
‘Some sea captain, but he never actually lived here. It became the home of a family who owned a jeweller’s in George Street, 1860-something.’
‘Such a different feel when you walk from the old part into our 1960s annexe, isn’t it?’
Craig nodded, then rubbed his fingernail over a small stain on the floor. ‘How long is it we’ve got, legally, if we have a complaint or something? To go back to the estate agents?’
‘Five days.’
‘Tomorrow morning I’ll have a really good look at everything in the main part of the house while we wait for the removal men.’
‘Still can’t believe how cheaply we got this place. Even the agents kept saying what a bargain it was.’
‘You’ve looked at everything in detail, haven’t you? There definitely aren’t any snags?’
‘Nope. Handy being married to a lawyer, is it?’
‘Are you technically still a lawyer even though you’ve given it all up to run a care home?’ Craig downed his second glass and poured himself another.
‘It’s going to be handy when it comes to staff contracts.’
Craig scratched his head and looked down at the bare wooden floor. ‘Just like it would’ve been handy if I’d done my finals, and we had a qualified doctor on the premises.’
Why did he always feel the need to bring that up? ‘It wasn’t your fault, darling.’ Rona raised her glass. ‘Anyway, here’s to Wardie House. Cheers!’
Chapter 2
1898
The girl walked up the cobbles of Laverockbank Road, then stopped to look back down the street and out to sea. The low, grey clouds reflected on the water, which was swirling up into frothy, foam-crested waves. ‘A guid day for the fishin’,’ her mother had said before handing her a ragged bag of belongings and pushing her out the door. Her home, in the long row of tiny fishermen’s cottages on the shore, was only a ten-minute walk, yet she felt she was miles away, so alien did it seem coming up the hill towards these big stone houses where the rich folk lived.
She had never been up this way. She’d never even been to Leith and certainly not to Edinburgh. But she had been to Granton one day in the summer for the gala day when she was allowed to sing in the choir. The Newhaven Fisherlassies, they were called. Aged thirteen, she had sat in the front row, cross-legged, wearing the uniform of all the Newhaven girls and women: a red-and-white-striped petticoat and yellow-and-white-striped apron with its deep pouch. And around her head, she wore a paisley shawl. Her mother had scraped all her thick, dark hair back off her face before tying the shawl round the back of her neck. She could still feel the skelp her mother had given her when she complained she was tying the shawl too tight.
Her big sister Dorrie, one of the older girls, had stood at the back of the choir of twenty or so and she and Ruby Gray had started off the singing. ‘Caller Herrin’’, ‘Caller Ou’’ and ‘The Boatie Rows’ were the only songs she could remember off by heart. What a day that was! People clapped and told them what good voices they had, what a fine choir they were. Granton didn’t have one and they wanted to hear Newhaven’s girls’ choir to see if it was worth starting one. Newhaven had a school and Granton was having one built; the nearby village wanted to copy everything. Only one mile along the shore, Granton seemed like a foreign land. Only once in all her fourteen years had she ventured out of Newhaven.
The girl gazed out at the water, looking beyond the harbour where a flock of herring gulls soared and dived. Though it was an estuary, the locals always called it the sea, it was so vast. She looked over the broad span of the Firth of Forth where she could just make out the hills of Fife.
Her father had said there was a king who lived in Fife, but Pa was always joking, so she didn’t know if that was true. Her father used to smile all the time and was always che
ery, even, according to her brother, when he was out in gale-force winds on the sea. When she thought of him she felt tears prick her eyes but then she bit her lip hard, to stop them. She just had to accept that Pa and her big brother Johnnie were gone now. All ten of the men and boys who’d gone to sea that day were dead, drowned. The fishwives said it was all the girl’s fault. That she was cursed. The girl was devastated when even her own mother, in her grief, agreed.
The girl turned back round and looked up at the trees with their orange leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. She headed left and walked along the pathway towards the big house. Her stomach tightened at the sight of the imposing building ahead.
The girl stepped onto the doorstep and put down her bag. She bit her lower lip, distracted, as she tried to remember who she was meant to ask for. She gazed up at the great stone house then reached up to the door and pulled the bell. She looked down at her tatty dress and pulled at the hem. It was her older sister’s and was far too baggy on her. Well, she had nothing else to wear. At least she had shoes on, black shoes that she’d only ever worn on Sundays and gala days, shoes that were now too small but her sister’s shoes were still too large. She was more comfortable in bare feet but Ma had insisted she squeeze into these for the walk up the hill.
There was a grating noise as a key turned in the lock and then the huge wooden door creaked open. In the gloom, the girl could make out a plump figure with an angry scowl on her face. She was about to say her piece when the woman hissed, ‘What’s an urchin like you doing at this door?’
‘I’m Jessie Mack, Ma said I’d to come and …’
‘Aye, to come round the back door. The front door isn’t for the likes of you.’ The woman jangled the keys on a large metal ring in her hands, picking out a smaller one. ‘I’ll unlock it just now.’ She pointed round the corner of the house and slammed the door in Jessie’s face.
Jessie picked up her bag and trudged round the back, her shoes pinching her toes. She bit her lip once more. Hard.