‘Dinna be daft,’ his mother cried out. ‘Neil’s been a good man tae yer sister.’
‘How do you know that, Mother?’
His mother looked upset and harassed. ‘He gave her everythin’ any lassie could ever wish for. He aye behaved like a perfect gentleman.’
‘In front of you and everyone else, no doubt. But it’s what he might have been capable of in private that I’m wondering about now. I always thought there was a strange coldness about him. I should have enquired more deeply into that.’
His mother collapsed onto the settee. His father tottered over to sit beside her.
‘Ye cannae believe, son …’ the old man quavered, ‘ye cannae believe there’s any truth in what the lassie said. Surely no’.’
‘Why else would Susanna leave a luxurious home where to all appearances she enjoyed wealth and position – the things she always wanted in life? Knowing Susanna, she had to have a very, very good reason for giving all that up.’
‘Och, ye surely remember what she could be like.’ His mother began to rally again. ‘A right, reckless wee madam at times. No, she’s just got it into her head that marriage disnae suit her. She was aye an innocent wee lassie as well.’ Worry flickered over her face. ‘Maybe Ah should have telt her what her duties were. Tae her man, Ah mean. Still, that’s nae excuse for ravin’ on like that.’
‘What a time we’ve had,’ her father said. ‘And tryin’ tae keep it quiet as well. We dinnae want tae cause a scandal. We’ve searched aw aroon here. Mysie an’ John have been helpin’ tae. We werenae fit tae travel tae Edinburgh tho’.’
His mother continued, ‘We were waitin’ till we had a try oorsels nearer at hand afore we sent word tae you, son. But noo that ye ken, ye’ll dae yer best tae try in Edinburgh, won’t ye? If we could just get her back tae her man, she’d be fine. Ah’m sure he’s got a fright. Ah mean, whatever faults he might have, he’s been that upset. He didnae want tae lose her. An’ just tae make sure, we could have a word wi’ him, couldn’t we, Geordie? A discreet word o’ warnin’ that her faither an’ me would be keepin’ an eye on things noo tae make sure she wis aw right. You’ll help tae find yer, won’t ye, son?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He had developed a blinding headache. God knows what kind of trouble Susanna could be in by now, what other kind of dreadful scandal. This could badly affect his career. It would surely ruin his reputation among the respectable quality, and bar him from every aristocratic family drawing room he’d acquired access to. One’s family background was all-important to people like that.
He was glad to see his words of assurance had relaxed his parents and made them feel more hopeful and happier. But he felt anything but relaxed and happy. ‘Damnation,’ he kept thinking. He was concerned about Susanna and he’d do his best to find her. But why did fate keep tormenting him so?
He had always worked hard. He had devoted his life to helping people and to alleviating their suffering. He had never done anyone any harm. He had never over-indulged in drink or fornication or any other vice. In what spare time he had from tending the sick, he laboured at producing excellent poetry. Nothing had turned out as he’d hoped and dreamed.
While a man like Robert Burns could idle around, pass the time with women, and enjoy life.
His mouth twisted. It reflected the hardening, the icy bitterness in his mind.
19
Susanna sat in a corner of the tavern, supping a bowl of watery porridge. As she did so, she was desperately trying to think of what she could do and where she could go next. At first, she did not hear the voice saying good morning. It was repeated and she looked up to see a woman smiling down at her. And what a woman! Susanna had never seen such a thick curly wig or such a high hat that was perched on top of it. A voluptuous frill of material frothed over her chest, making her bosom look enormous in comparison with her tiny waist. Her hands were hidden in an equally enormous fur muff.
‘Margaret Burns,’ the woman said, introducing herself. ‘And you are?’
‘Burns?’ Susanna gasped. ‘Are you related to the poet?’
‘No, no. I only wish I was. May I join you?’
Susanna nodded. It was occurring to her that this was the kind of appearance in a woman that Neil would have hated. It made her warm to Margaret Burns.
‘I was speaking to the landlord,’ the woman said, ‘and he tells me you arrived late last night looking for lodgings.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be staying here another night,’ Susanna said. ‘It’s not the kind of place I had in mind.’
‘You’re a married lady, I see.’
Susanna nodded again.
‘Yet you are travelling alone and unprotected.’
‘I did not wish to be with my husband.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I’m sure you can have no idea, madam.’
‘I’m an experienced woman of the world, my dear. I know about men, believe me.’
‘Do you know about madmen?’ Susanna asked bitterly.
‘All kinds, my dear. All kinds. And all of them have to be made to pay. It’s the only way to deal with them, and to survive and remain free.’
‘I don’t quite understand. You mean punish them? Seek revenge? I just want never to see my husband again.’
‘I can give you lodgings. But first you must give me your name. Any name you so choose. When I lived in Durham, I was called Matthews. When I came here, I took the Scottish name of Burns.’
‘Anna.’ Susanna hesitated. ‘Anna McIntyre.’ The housekeeper’s name was the first that sprang to mind.
‘Well, Anna McIntyre, would you like to take up my offer? I think we could get on fine, you and I.’
Susanna hesitated again, but then thought – why not? She couldn’t stay where she was. Soon the place would be full of roistering drunken men again. And the room she’d slept in was neither clean nor comfortable. She’d already taken quite a liking to Margaret and could quite easily imagine getting on fine with her.
‘Yes, all right, but first I must know what rent you would expect me to pay. I haven’t much money and …’
‘Och, don’t worry about that,’ Margaret interrupted. ‘I’ve another lodger – Sally Sanderson. Money has never caused any problem. We’ll work something out to suit you, never fear.’
Susanna felt light-headed with relief as she followed Margaret from the inn. She was taken to a flat in a nearby street that was as spacious as the one her grandparents had lived in. There she was installed in a bedroom which had a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a bed and a small table and chair. The place looked clean and homely. Susanna was delighted. After she’d unpacked her belongings and put them tidily away, she was called through to the kitchen where Margaret had made a pot of tea. They were sitting drinking it when a young girl arrived and was introduced as Sally Sanderson. She was dressed more in the style of a servant with a red, hooded cape, and she had a somewhat impudent look about her.
After a few minutes sitting chatting and drinking tea, however, she relaxed and even seemed to acquire a kind of vulnerability. Susanna guessed the hard, impudent look was some sort of superficial self defence. They had been talking about the terrible roads into Edinburgh – if they could be called roads, as some were no more than rutted paths. Then the awful condition of some of the inns en route.
Sally said, ‘Talking about inns, one of the men I met last night – remember, the fat one – promised to come back tonight. That should save me going out. I’m sick of hanging about in this cold weather. It takes the heart out of me. If some of your men turn up and Susanna gets somebody, we could have another party – and to hell with the neighbours.’
Susanna stared at the girl in complete confusion.
‘Sally,’ Margaret said, ‘away through to the room and tidy it up. There’s still some bottles lying about from last night.’
‘Oh, right,’ Sally cheerfully agreed, and left the kitchen.
‘You see, it’s like I said,’ Marga
ret explained to Susanna. ‘We make them pay. We give them a good time – the men, I mean – but we make them pay.’
‘You give parties and the guests pay?’
‘That’s right. But the good time has to include what all men want and enjoy above all else – sexual favours.’
Susanna was horrified. ‘You mean … like what happens when you’re married? You let them do that to you for money? I wouldn’t let a man do that to me for anything. That’s what I ran away from.’
‘You as much as said your husband was a madman. I take it from that that he treated you cruelly – probably in an unnatural manner. We don’t put up with anything like that here. No, no, it’s all very jolly and friendly. You’ll see.’
‘No, I certainly will not!’ Susanna could no longer hold her tea cup, she was trembling so much. ‘I’ll have to leave.’ Tears filled her eyes. She had thought she’d found a safe refuge. Now she was tragically disappointed and afraid again – afraid of having to face the dark Edinburgh streets on her own.
‘No, you don’t.’ Margaret patted Susanna’s hand. ‘You can stay here for as long as you like, and just pay your rent. Nobody will force you to do anything against your will.’
‘Do you promise me?’
‘I promise you.’
Susanna was still trembling but she took a deep breath and tried to relax. ‘Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll go to my room.’
‘We see to our own food,’ Margaret said, ‘so either you go out and eat in one of the taverns or you buy stuff at the market and cook for yourself in here.’
‘Thank you. I think I’ll go to the market and buy what I need.’
‘Fine. Do you know where the markets are?’
‘Yes, I’ve been to Edinburgh before and explored quite a bit. I used to come with my parents and then my brother. We visited our grandparents but sadly they’re both dead now.’
‘Right. I’ll leave you be. But you must do the same for Sally and me. We get enough criticism and trouble from the neighbours. We don’t want any from you.’
‘I understand, and I appreciate your kindness. I really do.’
‘Oh well, if we women don’t stick together and help one another, who will? That’s what I always say. And you’ll come round to the idea of joining in, in time.’
‘Never.’
Margaret smiled. ‘We’ll see.’
It took some initial courage for Susanna to venture out alone on to the city streets. Not because she was afraid of any of the vast crowds of Edinburgh inhabitants. She was only afraid of being found by her husband or anyone who knew her and could tell him where she was. However, she began to feel safer as she merged in with the crowds.
She even began to take an interest in her surroundings. Edinburgh was a place steeped in history, often very gory history. Here at the far end of the Cathedral was the Mercat or Market Cross. It was the main place of punishment. The fearsome beheading machine called the Maiden used to be here. It had been used in 1661 to cut off the head of the eighth Earl of Argyll. Then in 1685, it beheaded his son, the ninth Earl.
Before that, in 1650, the Marquis of Montrose, an enemy of the Argylls, met an even more terrible death. At the bottom of the Royal Mile, he was bound to the seat on the hangman’s cart and drawn through silent crowds up the hill to the Tolbooth. Eventually he was hanged at the Mercat Cross. After his body was taken down, it was cut up and the pieces were distributed among the chief towns of Scotland. The head was stuck on the highest part of the Tolbooth. It remained there for eleven years until it was taken down and replaced by the head of the Earl of Argyll.
Alongside the wall of the Cathedral was a row of towering tenements called the Luckenbooths. The bottom floors consisted of shops. Then between the back of the Luckenbooths was a narrow alley packed with stables of merchants who hadn’t any shops of their own. Susanna crushed around and managed to purchase from one or the other what she thought she’d need. Then, as she began to tire, her feelings of apprehension seeped back. She felt vulnerable and kept glancing around to check that no-one was following her. She began to imagine she caught glimpses of Neil’s slim, elegant figure and his pale face and cold eyes. She began to run despite being hindered by the weight of her purchases. By the time she reached Margaret Burns’ close, she was breathless and dishevelled.
‘What happened to you?’ Margaret asked. ‘Has the devil been chasing you?’
‘I thought I saw my husband.’
‘You’re that afraid of him?’
‘Absolutely terrified,’ Susanna assured her.
‘Oh well, you’re safe now.’
But was she? Susanna wondered. Men came here. What if one day, or one night … But no, she must get a grip of herself. She must not allow Neil to win, to ruin her life. She would be brave, she told herself firmly. And she would not allow her imagination to run away with her. She’d always had a terrible imagination.
Some things did not help though. It was unfortunate that Margaret had adopted the name Burns. It kept reminding Susanna of the poet and her foolish snobbishness.
Margaret and Sally often spoke of him, repeating stories they’d heard of him. ‘He’s the talk of the town,’ Margaret kept saying. ‘Oh, if only I could meet him. If only he’d come here.’
‘Well, you never know your luck,’ Sally said. ‘And we can keep our eyes open for him and do our best. That includes you, Anna. You’ll surely not turn your nose up at a genius – and a handsome one at that.’
‘Actually, I have met him.’
‘What?’ The two women were all agog. ‘When? Where? What’s he like?’
Susanna hesitated. ‘Well … I … I didn’t know he was a poet. I mean at the time I thought he was just a ploughman. It was before he had his book published. But he had a disturbing attraction, I must admit.’
Margaret flushed with pleasure. ‘The caddies said he’s not often seen in the taverns but you’d be able to find out where he goes and then introduce us, Anna.’
‘Oh no, I mean I wouldn’t know.’ Susanna became flustered. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well … for one thing, I don’t think he likes me.’
‘Don’t be daft! You’re very pretty and I’ve heard he can’t resist a pretty woman. He’s always writing love poems about them.’ She looked startled. ‘He’s written a poem about a woman called Anna. Was that you?’
‘Oh no.’ Susanna shook her head. ‘I’m sure not.’
Margaret’s eyes became wistful then. ‘There was some gossip in a London journal linking my name romantically with his publisher’s. Then it spread all over Edinburgh. Creech – that’s the publisher’s name – was absolutely furious and anything but gentlemanly in what he said about me. But Robert Burns wrote a poem in my defence. She sighed, remembering.
Cease, ye prudes, your envious railings,
Lovely Burns has charms – confess;
True it is, she had one failing,
Had ae woman ever less?
‘Oh, I must meet him. You must find some way of introducing me, Anna. I’ve done you a favour. This is what I want in return.’
20
As soon as he returned to the capital city, Alexander sought out one of the caddies. He could not, and would not, wander about the dark and filthy wynds of the city, peering at women, questioning tavern keepers. They would think he was a lecher. Or a man looking for a whore. Nothing unusual in that. Only it was unusual for him. He had an excellent reputation as a doctor and a gentleman, someone who could be trusted and who was above reproach. As indeed he was.
The reputation the caddies had was for being honest and for knowing everything about everybody. He signalled to one in the High Street to approach him, and the man came scurrying across, his tousled hair and tattered clothes flapping around him in the breeze.
Alexander said quietly, ‘I need your help.’
‘Aye, sir. Jist you say the word.’
‘I am Doctor Wallace from the Infirmary.’
‘Aye, Ah ken. A guid doctor, aye!’
‘You too have a good reputation.’
‘Thank ye, sir.’
‘I’m hoping first of all, on this occasion, that you will be discreet. I will pay you well but I do not want my name known in this matter.’
‘Ah understand, sir. Nae need tae worry yersel.’
‘My sister has disappeared from her home in Ayrshire. I believe she may have come to Edinburgh. I must find her. Can you make enquiries? She is a pretty girl with dark, red-gold hair. Her name is Susanna.’
‘Ah’ll see what Ah can dae. Ah’ve already heard there’s a new lassie wi’ Margaret Burns. It may no’ be yer Susanna bit ah’ll speir aroon’ tomorrow an’ let ye ken for sure this time the day efter.’
‘Very well.’
Alexander turned away in some consternation. Margaret Burns was a notorious woman of the town. Surely Susanna could not have sunk that low. Impossible! No, no, he knew Susanna could be reckless and foolish at times, but she was still a modest, well brought-up girl and she had never, he was sure, behaved with the slightest impropriety with any man in her young life. No, she would have found some reputable lodgings somewhere. But once what money she had ran out? What then? He shuddered to think.
He tried to put Susanna out of his head until he was due to see the caddie again. Meantime he was helped by the fact that he had been invited to attend a concert at St Cecilia’s Hall where the music of Handel and Corelli was to be performed on violins by some gentlemen he knew. There were always large parties of ladies and gentlemen in the audience, and the last time he’d attended such a concert, one lady had caught his eye. He’d managed, with the help of Professor Purdie, to get an introduction. He discovered the lady was the daughter of a very wealthy businessman who had a large estate in Dumfriesshire and who, with his family, liked to enjoy a few weeks in the capital city every year. Alexander was delighted and immediately determined to pay court to the lady, who was known as Isobel McKenzie.
A Darkening of the Heart Page 14