Standing Stones

by Beth Camp

  “What happens to all the dirt?” Mac asked the man next to him.

  “Gets taken to Woolwich, by Target Walk,” the man muttered.

  “And what then?”

  “No talking over there,” called a guard.

  The man shrugged and continued to shovel the dirt into his wheelbarrow, his head down. “Some is sifted out. Some is spread on the bank,” he hissed in a low voice. “Keep your head down so they don’t know you’re talking.”

  Mac dug in his shovel. “Anyone escape from here?”

  “Don’t even think on it. You’ll wind up on the Justistia.” The man continued to work at a steady pace. Mac did the same.

  One of the men fainted. His wheelbarrow tipped and fell into the Thames.

  “You stupid piece of carrion,” cried one of the guards.

  The dirt spilled out in a large circle of muddy water while the man lay unconscious. The guard beat him methodically. All Mac could hear was the rhythmic thud of the club hitting the man’s flesh over and over, as the guard grunted.

  “You there, get back to work, or get the same.”

  Mac pushed his wheelbarrow past the prisoner who now lay in a pool of blood. The man looked dead.

  “Another body for Rat’s Castle,” the man next to Mac muttered.

  Mac wanted to smash the guard’s face and twist his neck until it popped. But he kept his head down and worked until a lunch break was called. Each man received a cup of brackish water drawn from the Thames and two ship’s biscuits, green with mold.

  “Same as breakfast,” said Mac, pushing the worms off his biscuit.

  “Dip it in your water,” advised Jack, sitting on his haunches next to Mac. “It don’t taste so bad. Tonight, ‘tis Saturday. We get beer and a bit of boiled ox-cheek. Most likely tis salt horse.” Jack tapped his biscuit against his tin cup. A few worms fell onto his leg and he brushed them away.

  “I can hardly wait,” replied Mac.

  Jack chortled. “Eat up. They don’t give us all day here.”

  The guards clustered around a small fire. Mac smelled meat cooking and saw them passing a flask. “When do we get what they’re eating?”

  “In your dreams, sweetheart.” Jack spat out a piece of biscuit and stood, rags twisted in his chains, his tall body emaciated. “In your dreams.”

  CHAPTER 48: ARDKEEN HOUSE

  Moira could hardly see the road in front of her as she and Jamie walked back to Inverness.

  “Why can’t we go back to that school?” asked Jamie. His bag slipped down on his back. They gave us food.”

  “Remember last summer, when I went harvesting? We slept in the fields in boothies. We’ll make a shelter for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll ask for work at that farmhouse we passed. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try that place the maid told me about.”

  “I wish we were home.”

  “If one door sticks, another opens,” said Moira. “We'll find a place.”

  Together they trudged off the road and up a ravine until they found a copse of birch trees. They gathered a few fallen limbs and made a three-legged shelter, pulling branches around to fill the gaps.

  “It won’t be that cold,” said Moira. “But it may get a little wet.”

  They sat on their bundles, and Moira spread her shawl over them. Above and between the scudding clouds, they could see stars. Long after Jamie fell asleep, Moira sat awake, wondering what the future would bring. She stroked her stomach, amazed again at its size, and felt fluttery kicks. Settle down, little one. I will take care of you.

  The next morning, Moira and Jamie were back in Inverness and hungry. The farmer’s wife had been kind, but offered no food or work. “There’s too many of you,” she apologized as she turned them away.

  Once again, Moira and Jamie stood outside a sprawling three-story stone house set back from Edinburgh Road behind a high stone wall. Moira knocked on the freshly painted green door of the small gatehouse.

  “Yes,” called the watchman. “I’m coming.” He opened the grated window on the door. “What do you want?”

  “Is this Ardkeen House? They told me you have work here.” Moira pushed her face close to the grate.

  “Work for young women.” The porter looked at Jamie through the grate. “Not him.”

  “But he’s my brother.”

  “And sure I’m St. Peter,” replied the porter. “No boys allowed.”

  Moira and Jamie looked at each other. They turned away and began walking back down the hill toward Inverness Castle, when the man called after them.

  “Did the constables send you?”

  “No. What would they have to do with us?”

  “Never mind,” said the man. “Come in. Maybe Mrs. Harcourt will make an exception.” He swung the gate open. “Go up the path to the tower room.” He pointed to Jamie. “But he stays here with me.”

  “All right. Jamie, wait for me.”

  Moira followed the path past a small flower garden with newly budding cornflowers and a planting of roses. She found a thin woman, her hair twisted on top of her head, sitting at a desk in the first floor of the tower room. The woman looked up from a sheaf of papers, a magnifying glass in her hand. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Harcourt? We’ve come to see about work, my brother and me.”

  “The gateman didn’t explain?” Mrs. Harcourt set her glasses on her desk. “We offer refuge for young women. No men or boys. If you live here, you work in our laundry and take all your meals here. Once you’ve been trained to enter service, we find you employment. Through prayer, we help you to leave your life of sin behind.”

  “But I’m not living a life of sin,” Moira protested.

  The woman arched her eyebrows and stared at Moira’s stomach.

  “My husband was hoping to be taken on by the boatyards here. It’s just that I haven’t found him yet. He may have gone over to Glasgow.”

  “You’re not from here?”

  “We came from Foulksay Island, up in the Orkneys. I already know how to work in a great house. I was a servant at Westness in the kitchen, doing whatever we was told. I need some employment for me and my brother.”

  “Perhaps we can do something. You said MacInerney’s your name. Are you Catholic?”

  “No, mum.”

  “How long have you been in Inverness?”

  “Two days.”

  “Have you been down in the docks?”

  “That's where we arrived, mum.”

  “Were you at the Fair?”

  Moira shook her head. “I don’t know of any fair.”

  “The Fair tempts far too many of our young people,” said Mrs. Harcourt. “Especially our young women. The Magistrates won’t shut it down. Tradition, they say, from the fourteenth century. Andrewmas now and Marymas coming. The fairs bring trade to the town, but at a great moral cost. A great moral cost."

  “I wouldn’t know about the Fair, mum.”

  “Do you know anyone here in Inverness?”

  “I had a letter for Mrs. MacKennon at the Claron School. She sent me to Southcot House, but they wasn’t hiring. They said to come here.”

  Mrs. Harcourt stood up. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”

  Sunlight came through the windows as Moira leaned her back against the wooden chair. The old oak desk was littered with papers. White lace curtains hung at the windows. No fire had been set in the grate, but vapor still rose from Mrs. Harcourt’s forgotten teacup.

  Moira's stomach turned at the smell of the tea. If there’s no place here for us, we’ll go back to Mrs. MacKinnon.

  Mrs. Harcourt returned with Jamie and a young woman, also pregnant, who carried a tray heavy with two bowls of hot soup and brown bread.

  “Here you are,” said Mrs. Harcourt. “Sit next to your sister.”

  “Thank you, mum.” Jamie took a bowl of soup and sopped his bread in the rich brown gravy without another word.

  “There’s someone who’s hungry.” Mrs. Harcourt held out the other bowl to Moira. “I’ve
sent a note over to Mr. Dunleigh at the woolen mills. He may need an apprentice, just like you, young man.”

  Jamie and Moira looked at each other. “You have work for us?” asked Moira.

  “In a manner of speaking. If Mr. Dunleigh approves, your brother will work at the mill, with room and board, and half-day Saturdays. He'll have Sundays off.” She smiled at Moira. “You will stay here until your baby comes.” She drew the young woman forward. “This is Mary. You can see you’ll have company.”

  Mary ducked her head.

  Mrs. Harcourt continued. “All we ask is that you attend classes and work in our laundry.”

  Moira felt a wave of relief so strong she nearly dropped her soup. She had found a place for her and Jamie. “Mrs. Harcourt, I am so thankful. I will work very hard for you.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Dunleigh will approve the arrangements. For now, eat your lunch.” Mrs. Harcourt swept from the office, her black silk skirt swishing behind her. Mary bobbed her head again and followed Mrs. Harcourt down the hall.

  Night had fallen. Moira sat on a small iron bed on the third floor. She hoped Jamie’s quarters were as good. A lantern hung by the door flickered in the large room, lighting two neat rows of beds made up with blankets, each bed with a trunk underneath. She counted thirty beds as the women chattered around her. They talked so fast, they interrupted each other, for once the light was put out, no one was allowed to talk.

  She wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or excited about tomorrow, her first day.

  “Ah, they’ll work you here, but you can leave. That is if you have a place to go,” said one woman with a bruised cheek.

  “Don’t be giving her a hard time. They feed us. They give us clean clothes. They lead us in prayer. Lots of prayer, but we can leave when we want to.” Another woman, heavy set and with one crossed eye, leaned close. “See, I’m having a bit of a rest here. It’s rather nice to be sleeping alone for a change.” A few of the women laughed.

  “I’m leaving as soon as I get word from my family,” said the young woman Moira had met earlier.

  “Right you are, Mary. And is that after you have the baby?”

  Mary was silent.

  A matron Moira didn't know came in and closed the lantern. “Rest with God’s peace,” she called, as she closed and locked the door behind her. Each woman returned to her own bed. All was quiet. Moira lay in her bed, too excited to sleep. She listened to the women around her settle down. Someone was crying softly in a bed near hers, but she couldn’t remember who slept there.

  “Shush,” said a woman two beds over. “They’ll come and take you away.”

  The crying stopped.

  “Religion is the answer to immorality, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Harcourt presided at the head of the breakfast table. Baskets of bread lined the middle of the table, and each woman’s place had been set with a bowl of thin oatmeal and a mug of tea. The women and girls sat crammed on stools along both sides of the long table.

  “The path sinners must follow to redemption is through work and prayer,” she continued. “God sent you to Ardkeen House for redemption through Christian kindness, so work with a willing heart. Today we’ll spend in silent reflection. Let us pray.”

  Long moments of quiet followed. Spoons clicked on bowls as the women ate in silence. The warm porridge tasted salty, reminding Moira of home.

  “Moira, come with me,” said a thin woman. Her dark eyes protruded slightly. She wore the same white pinafore over her black dress to protect it, but her hands were soft, and her dress was of silk, like that of Mrs. Harcourt. “Today is your first day?” the woman asked quietly, turning down a side hall.

  “Yes, mum.”

  “In here, please.” The two women sat in a corner of the office Moira had visited the day before.

  “I’m Mrs. Hodkins. Welcome to our home. You know we are modeled after a Catholic charity, the Magdalene House.”

  Moira shook her head.

  “Didn’t Mrs. Harcourt explain this to you?” Mrs. Hodkins looked more sharply at Moira. “We are quite pleased to be in our new building. Here, under one roof, we run several charitable services, the Juvenile Female School, the Inverness Infant School, and the program Mrs. Harcourt has recommended for you, the Work Society.” Mrs. Hodkins blinked and pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her nose.

  “You're very lucky, you know. We never have more than forty women at a time. We have women from the farms, the docks, insubordinate girls from the mills, and some orphans. Some have been rescued from imminent danger.” Mrs. Hodkins frowned and blinked again, her eyelids almost a nun’s coif. “Some are brought here by their families. Some, like you, are pregnant. We find homes for the babies. Some girls stay for a short time, and some have been here already several years. Most find Ardkeen House a haven.”

  Moira nodded.

  “When a woman comes here, like you, without a home or family,” Mrs. Hodkins continued, “we ask that you commit to remain at Ardkeen House for three months. Can you do that?”

  “I believe I can,” said Moira. “Unless my husband comes for me. The women last night said we could leave at any time.”

  “But he is not here now, is he? And if you leave, where will you go? Here, you have a safe place to stay. You’ll have an opportunity to leave if your husband comes for you.” Mrs. Hodkins smiled. “We can help you find gainful work in domestic service or the mills after the baby comes.”

  Moira rubbed her fingers over her work-roughened palms. “I will stay.”

  “Good. Do you have any questions?”

  “My brother. I was wondering when I could see my brother.”

  “He can come to Ardkeen House to visit on his off days. That would be on Saturday afternoon or Sunday.”

  “I won’t see him until then?”

  “No, I can’t imagine you would,” Mrs. Hodkins replied. “Shall we go to the laundry?”

  CHAPTER 49: EDINBURGH

  Alice hurried from the parlour to open the door at Mewston Place. “Gordon, I didn't expect to see you here in Edinburgh.”

  “I've been here this last week. Staying at the club.” He leaned forward. "I’ve missed you, Alice.”

  “Mother is not well. I wrote you.” She glanced back into the house.

  “I've received your letters, but it's summer. You’ve been gone since February.”

  “We can’t really talk here, Gordon.” Alice looked out past the front walk to Ladysmith Road. A few students wearing university robes passed by, their heads hunched together. They ducked between carts and carriages, on their way to the University. A tall student slipped on the wet flagstones.

  “Come in. How have you been?”

  “Well enough.” Gordon stood in the vestibule. Rain dripped from his cloak onto the black and white tile floor.

  Alice took his wet cloak and hung it up. She should have known he would come to Edinburgh. How different he looked. So much more vibrant. She sighed. “Mother and Father will be pleased to see you.”

  “Will they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you? Are you happy to see me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Dammit, Alice. You’re not being fair.”

  “I tried to talk to you at Westness. You never listened, yet here you are. What do you want?”

  “I want you to come back to me.” Gordon leaned on his walking stick and gazed at Alice without blinking.

  “I don’t think that’s possible. Mother is better, but she still needs me." Alice folded her arms. "I wrote you.”

  “Your place is with me. I need you.” Gordon was silent, as if by his very presence he could persuade her to return.

  “I don’t think anything has changed.”

  Gordon reached out his hand. “I’d like to think so. Give me a chance to explain.”

  Alice turned away. “Come to the library then. It’s quiet there. I suppose we have to talk.”

  She could feel his presence behind her as she led the way to the back
of the house. She gestured to the settee and leaned against one of the bookshelves that lined the wall. Behind him, the windows were open, letting in the cool morning air and the smell of rain and her mother's garden. “I don’t want to return to Westness.”

  “You don’t have to. That’s what I mean to tell you.” Gordon sat on the coffee-colored settee as if he owned it. He stretched his bad leg out and rested it on a small stool. “The last ship arrived safely. The estate is finally doing well. Our sheep are thriving. We can stay anywhere you like, here in Edinburgh. In London. Wherever.”

  Alice stared at Gordon. “I’m remembering when we first met. You said so many things then about making improvements. I wasn’t prepared for Westness. All those people evicted from their homes. They were starving.”

  “But that was the problem. There were too many people on the land. There wasn't enough work to go around. I couldn't support them all, not as dependents. They’re no longer on Foulksay Island, Alice. They’ll have a chance at a new life, a more productive life. Perkins writes that the sheep have done well since the spring. That will bring new industry to the island.” He shrugged and looked up at her. “You know my plans. Even Hume says we cannot have social progress without economic prosperity.”

  Alice's black silk skirt swished as she began to pace. “I've heard his arguments, Gordon. It’s not just about prosperity for us or even for those you transported. I can't forget their suffering. We did nothing.”

  “Nothing? How can you say that? I'm not the only one who's trying to improve the land. You met Ross from Shapinsay. And there’s Sutherland, Campbell, MacDonald. All have gone before me, showing me what's possible."

  "I’ve been reading the papers, Gordon. People are streaming into the cities, looking for work. They’re from the country; they’re coming over from Ireland by the thousands into Glasgow and Edinburgh. They’re crammed into the tenements over in Bogtown. Father says the whole area is ripe for cholera. Now that it's summer, we're hearing of scarlet fever. When I go with Diana or Father, I see such poverty. There’s no helping them. Too many of them die.”

  "You should not be going into the tenements, Alice. There are other ways to help the poor. They need industry. They need jobs. Ah, you're too thin. I would take better care of you, Alice. Come back to me."