Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  Rona stopped and listened. She heard the sound of wheels, slow, creaking, turning wheels. It was similar to the noise that night when Craig was stuck up north in the snow, when she had gone round the rooms trying to find where it was coming from. The noise was becoming louder and now she could hear a voice so she opened the door and went into the corridor.

  There, halfway along, was Mr Burnside, with his usual beatific smile, pushing the old pram towards her, mumbling to himself.

  Rona had remonstrated with Craig that it had to go, but he had insisted Martha was right, some elderly people with dementia liked to push a pram, perhaps reminding them of when they were younger. Rona had presumed it would be mothers who would have memories of taking a stroll with their baby. Rona recalled, at Mr Burnside’s assessment, reading that he’d never married so presumably had never taken his own children out in a pram.

  Mr Burnside looked up and saw Rona standing there. He came to a stop, rocking the pram up and down.

  ‘How are you, Mr Burnside? Is that a nice walk you’re having?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A nice walk with the pram?’ She had forgotten he was very deaf.

  ‘Yes, it’s a good size isn’t it? Very big.’ He looked down at Rona’s expanding waistline. ‘Plenty room for another baby in here.’ He stopped rocking and started to push the pram away.

  ‘It’s only ten minutes until Alex’s birthday party, Mr Burnside. Shall we come and get you?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll bring the baby.’

  Rona sighed. Mr Burnside’s mild form of dementia was not obvious to most people and he was never aggressive, but the nurse said she locked his door at nights in case he wandered about the home in the dark and hurt himself. Bless him, thought Rona, his smile would break your heart.

  The lift door opened and Mrs Bell emerged, teetering on her stick.

  ‘Rona, I found that information I was looking out for you. Shall I leave it with you? I’m in no rush to have it back.’

  Rona wanted to start reading straight away but there was a birthday to attend. ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Bell. Now, are you ready to go into the party room?’

  Chapter 16

  1899

  Jessie was scrubbing the wooden table in the kitchen when she heard a tap on the door. She looked up to see one of the younger girls standing there, Jean, who was always getting into trouble from Matron for wetting her bed. Though she was only six, that morning Jean had been whipped and beaten and not allowed to drink anything all day after breakfast. She had been in Wardie House since she was a baby. Molly said her mother had abandoned her on the doorstep one cold winter’s morning and so Matron and the Governor had little option but to take her in. A foundling, Molly said she was called. Sometimes the mothers came back for their babies after they abandoned them and Jean told everyone who would listen that her mother would come back, but no one believed her. It was such a shame.

  ‘Is there something you want, Jean?’ Jessie laid the scrubbing brush down and smiled at the thin, wan face.

  ‘It’s Matron. She wants to see you.’

  ‘Does she?’ Jessie bit her lip. ‘Did she say why?’ Jessie had behaved impeccably since she had been flung in the cellar, even though it had not been her fault, and over the past few weeks had worked even harder, if that were possible.

  ‘Dunno, but she just called out to me in the corridor and said to fetch you.’ Jean stood at the door gazing at the pitcher of water beside the stove. ‘Can I have a drink, Jessie?’

  ‘You’re not meant to, Jean, you know that.’

  ‘But I’m so thirsty. I’ve had nothing to drink since my porridge.’

  Jessie headed for the door and looked into the corridor, which was empty. She pulled Jean inside the kitchen and reached into the cupboard for a small tumbler. She poured out some water and handed it to the girl who downed it in three long gulps. She handed Jessie back the glass and smiled. ‘Thank you. That was fine.’

  ‘Don’t you be telling anyone I gave you a drink. And try to get up and use the pot if you need in the night. Wake me up if you need any help.’ Jessie ruffled the girl’s hair. ‘Off you go now. I’ll get along to see Matron.’

  Jessie wiped her hands on her apron then walked along the corridor to Matron’s room, looking up again at the portraits lit by the flickering light from the wall lamps. The first picture was of the Governor and then there were those other gentlemen, all dressed in black, none smiling. Jessie ran her hands over her hair, ensuring every last wisp of loose hair was tucked up under her cap, and knocked.

  ‘Enter!’

  Jessie walked towards the desk where Matron sat, a long, black pen in her hand.

  ‘Ah yes, Jessie Mack. I wanted to see you.’ Matron put down the pen and looked directly at Jessie.

  ‘Your sister was here earlier and she had some news.’

  ‘Dorrie? Dorrie was here? Have I missed her? Why couldn’t I see her?’

  ‘You were busy with your chores. Besides, this is a poorhouse, not a residential home where visitors are permitted.’

  ‘But, I …’

  ‘Enough.’ Matron raised her pointed chin. ‘The news she gave was from your home. Your grandmother – “Granny B” she said you called her – died last Sunday and was buried yesterday.’ Matron paused to look at Jessie, whose eyes had filled with tears. ‘It would not have been appropriate for you to have gone to the funeral so your sister only came with the news this morning.’

  Jessie lowered her head as she began to sniffle. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and looked up at Matron, imploring. ‘Can’t I go home and see them all?’

  ‘Out of the question. This is not somewhere you can please yourself.’ She flicked her right hand at Jessie as if swatting a fly. ‘And now I must get on.’

  The girl turned round slowly and trudged back towards the kitchen where she sat down on a chair, put her head in her hands and shook with silent sobs.

  Bertha turned on the stiff mattress and prodded Jessie in the back. She had tried to cheer her friend up after Jessie had told her about her Granny. Granny B who was always smiling. Granny B, who was angry with Jessie’s mother for taking the decision to send her away after the accident. Granny B had been the only person, apart from Dorrie, who didn’t believe Jessie’s father and brother dying had anything to do with Jessie and her curse. And now she was gone.

  ‘Jessie, wake up, there’s something I want to tell you.’

  Jessie was already awake, lying there thinking about home and her lovely, warm Granny and her sister and realising how much she missed them all.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Remember you were cross with me for forgetting to wash out my rags?’

  ‘What rags?’

  ‘You know, the ones for the blood. You told me how to use them and wash them every morning.’

  ‘Yes.’ Because Dorrie was so much older than Jessie, she had seen her sister washing out special rags once every four weeks and her sister had explained what happened every month to a woman.

  ‘I don’t need them any more, Jessie. I don’t bleed any more, so I don’t need to remember. That’s good isn’t it?’

  Jessie turned to face Bertha, whose smile she could just make out in the half light.

  ‘What d’you mean, you don’t bleed any more?’

  ‘I don’t need the rags. There’s no blood. It’s all fine. I’m like you again, a normal girl again.’ Bertha beamed then started to turn over.

  ‘Bertha,’ Jessie hissed. ‘When did it stop?’

  Bertha shrugged. ‘Soon after you were in the cellar. Don’t know when that was.’

  Jessie knew exactly when that was. It was three months ago. She had counted each day as she continued to plot how to escape. ‘Bertha, do you feel anything else different?’

  Bertha shook her head then tipped her head back in a big yawn. Jessie knew, from her sister, what happened when you started needing the rags as an older girl, then stopped. Unless you were an old woman, like
her Granny or Great Auntie Maggie, it meant you were going to have a baby.

  ‘Turn back over, Bertha,’ Jessie whispered. ‘Let me feel your tummy.’

  Bertha lay on her back and giggled as Jessie touched her over her belly.

  ‘It’s tickly, Jessie.’

  Jessie had seen her mum’s younger sister’s expanding waistline when she was expecting Jessie’s cousins, and she knew what signs to look for.

  ‘Bertha, remember when you and Billy Muir were together, round the back of the lodge house. What were you doing?’

  Bertha turned back over and curled herself up, her knees into her chest. ‘I told you, nothing. Now go to sleep. And don’t be sad about your Granny any more.’

  Jessie opened her mouth to speak then rolled back to her side of the bed. If what she thought was true, Bertha would be in a lot of trouble soon. She must try to think what she could do to help; otherwise Bertha would be sent to the docks at Leith. Bertha would not survive alone, and certainly not with a baby.

  Chapter 17

  1982

  The doorbell rang once, a shrill, short blast, as if the person at the other side of the door did not want to disturb. Rona put down the letter she was reading and went to answer the door. As she crossed the hall, Rona passed an elderly man sat on a chair in the hall, walking stick by his side, his tartan cap perched on top of his snowy white hair.

  ‘Morning, Mr Wilson, how are you?’

  ‘Grand, thanks, Rona.’ He pointed over to the portrait. ‘That’s a fine picture over there. Is it your granny?’

  Rona smiled. ‘No, I don’t know who she is. Nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘She’s got a look about her, as if she’s got a secret, you know, like the Mona Lisa.’ He turned to look up at Rona, blinking his rheumy eyes. ‘Don’t you think?’

  ‘I know what you mean. Sorry, you’ll need to excuse me while I get the door.’

  The bell rang again as she reached for the handle.

  It was the garrulous postman. ‘Oh, hello, sorry to ring twice, I didn’t know if you could hear. How’s it all going? The old folk behaving themselves?’ The man at the door peered at her through his thick glasses. Rona had had many chats with Donnie. It still amazed her that he got his deliveries done on time, he loved to stop and talk so much.

  ‘Got something here to show you.’ He handed her an official-looking brown envelope.

  Rona frowned. ‘But it’s not for Wardie House, it’s for Wardie Lodge House. D’you not usually go there first?’

  ‘She wasn’t in and I didn’t like to leave it in the letterbox at the gate. My reckoning is, they’ve got the wrong address. Looks like it’s for one of your residents?’

  Rona looked again at the name. Miss Janet McCallister.

  ‘We don’t have anyone with that name. Sorry.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘We’ve got twelve residents, only seven of them are women and I know everyone’s names. That’s my job.’

  ‘My oh my. I’ll have to go back round with it, then. But that’s not the American lady’s name.’

  ‘Maybe someone who used to live there?’

  ‘Oh, right, never thought of that. I could ask the lady up in Trinity Cottage. I think she might’ve known the folk who used to live in the lodge house. She told me it was where the Governor and Matron lived when it was a poorhouse. Quite a history.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rona, reaching for the door handle. She was keen to get back to the office. ‘Look, why don’t I hang on to the letter? Martha’s coming in later, I can give it to her.’

  ‘That’d be grand, thanks.’ He looked at his watch. ‘My oh my, I’m already running late. They keep telling me off. I’m late for the second delivery. It’s not my fault if folk like to chat to me.’

  Rona smiled and waved goodbye.

  Rona wheeled Betty Chalmers out of the dining room towards her room. ‘That was a delicious lunch today. The soup had such a good flavour. When I asked the butler he said it was the home-made stock that gave it that excellent taste.’

  Rona grinned. The ‘butler’ was one of the male carers whose duties included helping serve meals and assisting residents who couldn’t feed themselves. Betty called the female carers house-maids.

  ‘That nice young man told me.’ She turned round to point an arthritic finger at one of the carers. ‘And he said the pudding was made with rhubarb from the garden. Splendid. My cook used to do many puddings with the rhubarb the gardener forced under pots. Marvellous.’

  Betty Chalmers had come to Wardie House from a stately home in the Borders and had settled in well, although she still insisted on ringing the bell for everything from yet another cup of tea (‘Milk in second, never first!’) to help squeezing out her toothpaste. She had a wonderful appetite, unlike most of the other residents who needed to be coaxed to finish their platefuls.

  Rona wheeled her into her room then emerged to find Ian Devine waiting for her.

  ‘Okay if I use the photocopier in the office, Rona? Mr Benson wanted me to copy a picture of his grandson in the paper. There’s a photo of his school football team and he wants to send it to his niece in New Zealand.’

  ‘Of course, help yourself.’

  ‘Oh, Rona, remember you gave me the key for the cellar yesterday to look for the spare bath hoist? Well, I thought I’d better tell you, Martha was down there.’

  ‘Where? In the cellar? How’d she get a key?’

  Ian shrugged. ‘She said she was checking something for Fay but the minute she saw me, she ran back up the steps.’

  ‘Odd. Can’t think what the nurses would want from down there. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’ Rona then headed along the corridor. At the far end she noticed Craig, chatting to someone she couldn’t see round the corner in the hall. Rona saw him tip his head back as if finding something hilarious, then step away out of view.

  Rona strode along to the hall and found Martha and Craig huddled together, far too close. Martha was whispering something and Craig was shaking with laughter. What was it about the woman?

  ‘Hi,’ Rona snapped. Was something going on between the two of them?

  ‘I’m just off to change the plug on the projector before it fuses the whole house.’ Craig ruffled Rona’s hair as he passed.

  ‘Oh, hi Rona, I was just telling Craig about my morning at yoga. The class ain’t as good as the one I went to back home, but pretty good. So funny, the positions you have to contort your legs into, in fact your entire body.’

  So that was why she had a glow about her today, Rona thought, she’d been exerting herself and a shimmer of sweat glistened across her forehead.

  ‘Was that in Aspen, your yoga class back home?’

  ‘Nope, the Prairies.’

  ‘As in, Little House on the Prairie?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Thought you lived in Aspen – or in fact, wasn’t it San Francisco?’

  Martha smiled. ‘A wanderer, that’s me.’

  ‘Well, can you wander into the office with me? I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘Sure. I promised Craig I’d help him set up for the old movies night tonight, but that can wait.’

  Ian was just leaving the office, two bits of paper in his hand, as the women entered. He nodded a greeting and held the door open.

  Rona went to her desk and picked up the brown envelope. She handed it to Martha. ‘This came in the post. Donnie gave it to me. I presumed the name was a mistake and it must be addressed to someone who lived in the lodge house previously?’

  Rona watched Martha as she studied the envelope in silence.

  ‘Maybe, yeah.’ Her drawl was slower than usual. ‘I’ll take it and give it back to Donnie tomorrow.’ She rammed it into her coat pocket.

  ‘Have you got a forwarding address?’

  Martha took out a handkerchief from her other pocket and dabbed her brow. ‘Yeah, I’ll deal with it, don’t worry.’ Martha wiped off most of her foundation from her forehead, leaving a beige strea
k across her eyebrows. ‘In fact, I’ll just nip home with this now. Tell Craig I’ll be back in ten minutes, will you?’

  Rona watched as Martha padded out from the office in her plimsolls and tapped in the code on the keypad by the door. Goodness knows who gave her the new code. Martha removed the envelope from her pocket, stared at it, then walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter 18

  1899

  ‘Will you look at the state of this child!’

  Jessie turned from the sink where she was washing the dishes after dinner to see Matron holding Jean by her collar. The little girl was covered in scratches.

  ‘Jean, what happened?’ Jessie dried her hands on her skirt and rushed to the door.

  ‘She has obviously used her fingernails to scratch herself in a foolish protest.’ Matron’s brows were furrowed in anger. ‘She was down in the cellar. The place with which you too have been acquainted, Jessie Mack. Her punishment for the vile bed-wetting. After two hours in there, she looks like this.’ Matron swept her hand in the air with a flourish. ‘Clean her up then return her to the school room.’

  Matron’s footsteps faded as she stormed off along the corridor. Jessie took the girl’s hand. ‘What happened in there, Jean?’ The little girl continued to hang her head, staring at the floor. Jessie lifted up her chin so she could see the scratches all over her face. The red grazes were also all along her bare arms and hands. ‘Come on, sit down here and tell me what happened and I’ll bathe them in some warm water.’

  Jessie led the girl to a stool and lifted her onto it then went to fetch some water in a bowl. As she dabbed at the affected areas, the girl flinched. Jessie stopped and crouched down so she was eye-to-eye with Jean. ‘Was it scary in there? Was it awful dark? Did you scratch yourself?’

  Jean shook her head and swallowed. ‘It wasn’t all dark, there was a light down the passage.’