Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  Rona would have killed for a brownie. Martha had given their cook her own recipe from America. Or perhaps Canada. Instead she said, ‘No, I’m fine,’ and swivelled round in her chair towards the pile of papers on her desk.

  Rona slumped back on the sofa. What an exhausting few days they’d had at Wardie House. Three nights previously, Miss Grant had died. She was their first resident to die since opening and they were relieved that all the procedures in place to deal with a death had gone according to plan. The staff kept her room locked and curtains closed and they then prepared the body by washing it and putting on a clean nightgown. Fay said she was relieved Miss Grant had her own teeth as sometimes it was difficult to get them back in. She’d died during the night, so when Rona contacted William Purves the undertakers first thing in the morning, she was able to organise for them to arrive during the early afternoon when most residents were having a nap. Only Mrs Bell sat by the window in the main lounge after lunch most days, so Ian had rushed in and pulled the curtains shut when he saw the black hearse turn into the drive. When Mrs Bell remonstrated, he told her it was because it was so sunny outside and the sunlight was bad for the goldfish.

  The rest of the staff teased him about that later. ‘Have the goldfish got their factor 20 suncream on, Ian?’

  ‘I couldn’t think what else to say,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not like we’ve got a back door to park the hearse.’

  Once the body had been taken away and the room deepcleaned, Rona and Craig decided to give the news of the death only to Mrs Bell and Betty Chalmers, since they shared a table in the dining room with Miss Grant. Also, they read The Scotsman every day and the first section they both turned to was ‘Obituaries and Death Notices’.

  Rona reached forward to the coffee table and opened the folder of Mrs Bell’s husband’s notes. It was already nine o’clock and she was tired, but she really wanted to find out more. Craig was at the garage filling up the car with petrol. Or so he said. Was he in fact buying alcohol? Rona tried to dismiss the thought. She’d seen no evidence of his drinking recently and he never smelled of alcohol.

  Rona flicked through the pages to ‘Wardie House History’, propped her feet up on the coffee table and leant back against the cushions to read.

  David Seaton, retired naval captain, bought the land up the hill from Newhaven, beside a small lodge house which dated from the early 1800s. He chose that location to build Wardie House because of the elevation: there would be views from the upper floor windows down to the water and over to Fife. He had been ordered by naval doctors to retire because of his weak heart and he missed the sea.

  The foundations of the house were laid in 1862 and the design was for a palatial building, featuring four public rooms and numerous bedrooms, even though he had no children. The captain’s weak heart was the cause of his premature death in 1863, aged only forty-eight, when the house was still unfinished.

  Seaton’s widow had no desire to continue with what she considered her husband’s folly and sold the land and uncompleted house to Andrew Ramsay. Mr Ramsay was Mrs Seaton’s jeweller and, despite an age difference (Ramsay was in his mid twenties, Mrs Seaton late thirties), there was a not-unsubstantiated rumour of a liaison between the two. He certainly bought Wardie House for a low sum of money. Andrew Ramsay was in charge of the family jewellery business from an early age; his mother died giving birth to his younger sister and their father passed away a few years later of a broken heart.

  Rona shook her head. None of this was exactly uplifting. Was there anything happy about the history of the house? Is that why she sometimes felt, late at night, some sort of brooding presence in the house? And that word ‘Winzie’ etched into the tiny cellar door – did that mean the house was cursed?

  Mrs Seaton returned to her home in London after the sale to Andrew Ramsay, who had the house completed to the captain’s design. By 1866, Andrew Ramsay was living there with his two younger sisters.

  At the time, Ramsays the jeweller, in George Street, was one of the most prestigious and popular shops in the city. It had a loyal clientele, who shopped at Ramsays for clocks and silverware as well as jewels. They came to specialise in precious stones, the shop’s commercial contacts sailing into the port of Leith with gemstones from South Africa where diamonds had recently been discovered.

  The next piece of information we have about Wardie House dates from the mid 1870s, before it was converted into a poorhouse. The elder of the Ramsay sisters, Isabella, had found out that …

  ‘I’m back, darling,’ came a voice from the hall.

  Rona laid down the folder and smiled as Craig walked in and kissed her. ‘How’re you doing? Cup of tea?’

  ‘That’d be lovely, thanks. Did you get the petrol?’ She looked at the clock. Surely it can’t have taken half an hour to get petrol.

  ‘Yeah, but I had to go all the way along to Leith. That petrol station at Goldenacre shuts at 6 p.m. on weekdays.’

  Craig opened the fridge door for the milk and Rona looked in again. ‘Craig, I see there’s no wine in the fridge or in the rack. Is that deliberate?’

  Keeping his back to her, he muttered, ‘Kind of.’ He stirred the milk into the tea and brought it to her. ‘I’m trying hard, Rona. I’m determined not to be an idiot again. I’ve been a bit distracted lately, sorry, darling, but I’m going to make it up to you. In fact …’ He looked around. ‘God, I go to all these lengths to buy your favourite chocolates from the garage and I leave them in the bloody car.’ He ran to the door. ‘Be right back!’

  Rona finished her tea and looked at her watch. What could be taking him so long?

  Craig crashed through the door.

  ‘Quick! Phone the fire brigade. There’s a fire in Martha’s house.’

  Rona rushed out after him to the hall where he was unclipping the fire extinguisher. ‘I saw smoke when I came back earlier but presumed it was a bonfire. Thank God I forgot your Milk Tray. I just went round. The smoke’s getting worse. There’s a fire at the back of the house.’

  ‘I’ll phone the fire brigade then get Ian to give you a hand,’ Rona said, running back inside towards the phone. ‘Be careful!’ she bellowed after him.

  Rona dialled 999, gave the details, then dashed back into the hall and along the corridor, looking right and left, in case Ian was in one of the bedrooms. She saw him at the top of the stairs, chatting to the night nurse.

  Rona stopped to catch her breath. ‘Ian, can you come down quickly? There’s a fire next door.’

  ‘What?’ Ian ripped off his plastic apron and ran down the stairs.

  ‘Craig’s there. I’ve phoned the fire brigade,’ Rona shouted after him. ‘Fay, ensure everyone here’s kept calm. Don’t mention a thing, please. I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

  ‘No worries, boss.’

  Rona crossed the hall and opened the front door. Thank goodness it was unflappable Australian Fay who was in charge tonight. She would keep everything under control.

  Rona slowed down as she walked round the corner, trying to keep calm herself. Any sense of panic would be bad for the baby. She opened the gate to Martha’s garden and saw clouds of filthy grey smoke rising from the back of the house. At least she couldn’t see any flames. Presumably that was a good sign? Rona looked all around in the fading evening light and realised there was no sign of Craig nor Ian. Oh God, they must have gone inside. This was not the time for heroics.

  Rona went towards the front door. It was wide open. There was a strong smell of smoke but she couldn’t see any sign of them in there. All the doors off the hall were shut. ‘Craig? Ian?’ She lifted her arm up to try to cover her nose with her sleeve. ‘Where are you?’

  Rona heard a noise from the end room: voices. They must be in there.

  The door opened wide to reveal two figures and something being pushed in front of them. One of the figures pulled the door closed behind them.

  ‘Get outside, Rona, we’re okay!’

  Rona rushed out the front door to the midd
le of the garden and waited. As she watched the figures emerge, she became aware of someone behind her in the shadows. She swivelled round.

  ‘Martha! Are you okay? There’s a fire at the back of your house. The fire brigade’s on its way.’

  Sirens announced the approach of a fire engine; Rona put a hand on Martha’s shoulder. In the gloomy light, Rona saw her neighbour’s eyes open wide as Craig and Ian – and was that someone else with them? – emerged onto the doorstep, Craig shutting the door firmly behind him.

  ‘You all right, Martha?’

  Martha nodded but said nothing. Her stiff shoulders never moved an inch.

  ‘Were you inside when the fire started?’

  ‘No.’ She slipped past Rona and headed for the house.

  Rona watched Martha’s back as she traipsed along the path. She must be in shock: she seemed devoid of any emotion. Rona turned round to see two firemen rush towards the house. She heard Craig and Ian tell them the fire was contained in the back bedroom and all doors were shut. She watched as long hoses were yanked in from the street.

  ‘Get out into the street, please,’ the fireman shouted at Rona and Martha, pointing at the gate. ‘Quick as you can.’

  Rona went out the gate and crossed to the other side of the road. Martha emerged from the gate then Craig came out and rushed over to Rona to give her a hug.

  ‘You reek of smoke, are you okay?’ Rona asked.

  Craig nodded.

  ‘Are Martha’s things all okay?’

  ‘No idea, but look …’ Craig pointed over the road. Martha had disappeared but there was Ian, pushing a wheelchair with someone in it. He turned left towards Wardie House. The woman’s head was bent low and both hands held a paisley scarf up against her face, covering it. A shock of curly white hair was visible above the scarf. Rona and Craig crossed the road and Ian crouched down beside the wheelchair.

  ‘Don’t worry, now,’ Ian said in the soothing voice he used with the residents. ‘You’re safe – you’re out in the fresh air. Everything’s just fine now.’

  Rona bent down and patted the old woman’s bony shoulder.

  ‘Let’s take you next door and make you a nice cup of tea.’ The old woman pulled the scarf down off her face, revealing watery brown eyes, wide with fear. Her face was pale and wrinkled. She nodded and looked up with a flicker of a smile. Rona smiled back and noticed that, above the old woman’s lip, lined with age, was a distinctive birthmark, a large dark mole.

  Part 3

  Chapter 28

  1899

  Jessie pushed at the door and breathed a sigh of relief as it swung open. All the way through the tunnel, she’d worried Effie might have locked it again. She’d been away for much longer than anticipated, but Bertha had to be coaxed into staying with Dorrie, even after her sister’s grand plan had been explained to her. When the three of them sat on the harbour wall, huddled together in the chill of the night to discuss what to do, Dorrie had told Jessie she must get back up to Wardie House before anyone suspected she was gone. They made a pact to try to meet up in a couple of weeks, just before the next coal delivery blocked the tunnel, and Dorrie would give her news of Bertha and tell her if the plan had worked.

  Bertha had sobbed when Jessie hugged her goodbye, but she had eventually accepted the situation. It helped that Dorrie and Jessie looked so alike, apart from the curse evident on Jessie’s face, of course.

  Jessie crawled out through the door and shut it as quietly as possible. She waited until her eyes adjusted to the light, which was dim yet not as black as it had been inside the tunnel. There was no sign of Effie and she could just about make out the pram at the far end of the cellar. The silhouette was completely still and there was no creaking of the wheels.

  Jessie looked down at her clothes and brushed them as best she could. She didn’t want Matron to be suspicious, so she couldn’t put on a clean smock from the laundry room. She rubbed at the bits of dust and dirt and then shrugged. There was nothing more to be done. She climbed the stairs, padding up each step barefoot, then continued along the corridor to the girls’ dormitory. She stopped outside the door. Had she heard a noise? It was perhaps the sound of something outside, an owl maybe. Molly said she sometimes heard them outside in the big tree if she left late at night. There was no sign of anyone there, so Jessie crept into the room and stole over towards her mattress. She lifted the cold, rough blanket and lay down, shivering. She missed Bertha’s warm body beside her. At least her friend was in a safe place now. Jessie knew Matron would blame her; thankfully, she had an alibi set up.

  ‘I repeat. Where is Bertha, Jessie Mack?’ Matron’s voice boomed the length of the dormitory as she glared at Jessie, her eyes blazing.

  All the girls turned to look at Jessie who stood by her mattress, hair neatly tied up under her cap and arms straight by her side. Her back was stiff and she stared back at Matron, unblinking.

  ‘I don’t know, sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘All I know is that when I got up the second time to get Jean to use her pot, she wasn’t there.’

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve been waking Jean twice in the night, like you told me to. The first time it was really dark and the next time there was just a bit of morning light I could see.’

  ‘Jean, come here.’

  The skinny girl in the ragged dress stepped forward, her head bent down.

  ‘Did Jessie Mack take you two times – I repeat, two times – to use the pot last night?’

  Jean nodded.

  ‘Speak up, child!’

  ‘Yes, she did, Matron. Two times.’

  Jessie watched as Matron glowered and looked all around. ‘Did anyone else see Jessie waken Jean Smith?’

  They all shook their heads. Jessie’s eyes widened as she noticed Annie Rae’s hand go up and a sly expression cross her long thin face.

  ‘Yes?’ Matron barked.

  ‘I didn’t hear Jean get up at all, Matron. Not even once.’

  ‘Come here, Annie Rae!’

  Matron walked over to Jean, towering over the slight girl who cowered beside the bully. Would Jean waver from what she had been told to say?

  ‘What do you say now, Jean Smith? Did Jessie Mack waken you twice to use the pot or not?’

  Jessie watched the little girl blink then swallow. She turned her head away from Annie Rae, who was standing right beside her, leaning into her.

  ‘Yes,’ she mumbled. ‘She did.’

  ‘Go and fetch the pot from beside your mattress.’ She was the only girl allowed to sleep alone, because of her bed-wetting, so if her pot was filled, it was from her, not from a bed-mate.

  Jean stepped away from Annie Rae. She bent down and stretched her hands to the back of the mattress to retrieve her pot. She lifted it up in two hands and carried it over for Matron to inspect. Jessie could see the yellow liquid slosh around in it. There was far too much there for anyone to believe it was filled only once in the night.

  Matron peered in then said, ‘Put it down on the floor.’ She poked her finger into Annie Rae’s scrawny chest and leant in close. ‘You are trouble, girl. So now you will empty this pot and in fact all the pots in the dormitory. Then you will scour them all clean. Every single one. You will then come and see me in my study once you have scrubbed your hands so clean they are red raw.’

  There was a noise at the door and everyone turned to see who it was. Effie stood there, pulling at the pigtail down her back.

  ‘Ah, I was looking for you.’ Matron strode across the dormitory and joined Effie at the door. ‘Let us walk downstairs together.’ She turned and bellowed, ‘Every one of you miserable children may be assured, we will find Bertha very soon and when we do, there will be trouble. There is no way that simpleton could have got away by herself. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Matron,’ the girls chanted and moved back to their own beds.

  Jessie checked that Annie Rae was not looking, then lifted the corner of her mattress and pulled out the bundl
e of sooty clothes. She looked over at Jean who stood by her mattress in her grubby nightdress and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter 29

  1982

  Rona stirred the second spoon of sugar into the tea, grabbed a couple of biscuits from the biscuit barrel and headed for the corridor. Ian and Craig were in the lounge with the old woman who had sat in complete silence as they wheeled her into Wardie House. Who was she? The poor woman was evidently in shock, having been stuck in that wheelchair, presumably thinking she was about to burn to death.

  Rona tiptoed in to join them and sat down beside Ian. She handed the cup to the lady.

  ‘I’ll just go and speak to Fay, check everyone’s all right upstairs.’

  ‘Okay, Ian, but I don’t think anyone would’ve been aware anything was going on. Only the rooms on this side would hear the sirens and they all have their hearing aids out after dinner. Unless Mrs Bell looked out of her window, no one else would have seen the fire.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘She was sound asleep when I looked earlier.’ He headed for the door.

  The old woman took a sip of the tea, then put the cup back down. She looked all around as if searching for someone or something. Her expression was inscrutable.

  ‘Can you manage a biscuit? Or can I get you a sandwich or something else?’ Rona took her bony hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Her skin felt delicate, like fine parchment, and her fingers were gnarled and bent.

  ‘Are you warm enough? Can we get you a blanket?’ Craig asked.

  The woman shook her head and picked up the cup again. She’d said nothing to the firemen when they asked her where she’d been inside the house and if she was all right. Craig had told them where they found her and said they’d take her to Wardie House for some warmth. The firemen agreed and said they’d be back later and, once the fire was under control, they needed to speak to the house owner. Presumably Martha was still with them.