The Pharmacist's Wife

by Vanessa Tait

  Mr Badcock coughed without covering his mouth. His face was mottled with red and white. He started running at her again. He was like a mechanical automaton Rebecca had seen once in a museum, wound up to his fullest.

  Now the road gave onto another, bigger one, busy with carriages and wagons. A young man on a velocipede shouted out, ‘Disperse, let me through!’ The pavement was busy with people – anyone could stick out their hand and grab her.

  She must cross this road and find a smaller one, lose him that way! But how? A man in a brougham poked his head out of the window and stared, his moustache stiff with surprise. He seemed about to pull his horse up and come back for her, but she ducked into the crowd, and when she dared look again he had gone.

  But Mr Badcock was still behind her, his beard covered in spittle.

  There must be a break in the traffic! Where, how could she get through? The noise so close to the edge made her want to cover her ears. Nothing but cabs and carriages and horses as far as she could see.

  Now then! It must be now! Rebecca cast herself off, as if from a tall building, behind the wheels of a black-sided carriage, picking up her skirts as far as her knee. From one side of her, a whinny, a jangle of a bridle, a horse’s white eye. ‘What in God’s name?’ the driver shouted out, but the rest was lost in the mêlée. She swerved, her heart beating out of her chest. She had got to the middle of the road, traffic streaming past either way.

  She wavered there for a breath. She had known a boy who was killed by a carriage, crossing a road like this. A dog cart jangled by. A brougham, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the sides. No wonder people stared! If Mr Badcock were to catch up with her here they would both be dead.

  She plunged in, hardly caring or seeing how she went. A four-in-hand, the horses’ hooves striking on the stones, went in front of her, perhaps the wheels went over her skirt, she could not tell, for she was jolted forward and into the path of a pony cart. The driver, a swarthy man with a great beard, hauled his little pony round until she whinnied. But now Rebecca had a space, a thin one, and she threw herself onto the other side, stumbling on the pavement’s edge and falling onto it.

  She looked back for Mr Badcock. She could not see him.

  P’raps he was killed. She hoped for it, but the traffic went on unimpeded, so he couldn’t be.

  She drew a great shuddering breath. But she must press her advantage; she dreaded to hear his gasping wheezing threats just behind her ear. On she went, the sore on her foot burning, her toes bleeding. She plunged down a side street but as soon as she was on it she longed to be out, for if Mr Badcock followed her here she was done for. She turned again, and quickly again. He was not here.

  Now, at last, she slowed. There was no one behind her on this road but a child playing with a hoop. Rebecca saw that she was out of the centre of Edinburgh and into a plainer part of town where there were gaps between the houses and grass grew between the paving stones.

  She leaned against a stone wall and took off her shoe. Now that her heart had slowed she wondered if she could walk at all. Could she risk going in her stockings? She no longer cared who stared at her. But it was too cold, too muddy, and there was a damp in the air that was not only down to the drizzle.

  It was the sea! How had she not known it? She was more than halfway to her old home.

  Or, as she saw it now, more than halfway to Gabriel’s house. And miles away from anywhere else.

  She had left the house without her reticule. No money then, to find a room, or even to buy herself a pie!

  What then? Could she beg for a coin? Or earn it, in an alleyway? Or steal, from that baker’s there … that seemed to be the least painful way forward. They would not miss a roll of bread too much. Not yet, not yet. She would wait until she was desperate.

  Where to go? Every house she gazed in now seemed to express an ordinariness that was lost to her for ever. Women standing by their fireplaces, servants polishing brass, cats arching their backs on the windowsill.

  But what had become of Kitty Kat? Poor thing! He must catch his own mice now, though he had always been good at that. He would miss Eva as much as she did. She felt the longing to see her friend, to tell her what had passed, as a physical thing that clustered in her chest, and she staggered against a wall, and almost fell.

  She rubbed her nose. She had not got gloves, there had been no time. She put her hands inside her cloak to cover them. The sea was near, it would be calming to look on, the sight of the blue spread of it would clean her mind. She went on, slowly now and limping. But when she got to it, the sea was just as grey as the sky, the pebbly beach washed up with yellow foam.

  Her old home was very close; she could even see the corner of it, just the same as ever. And Gabriel’s house, too, stood as it had always stood, with its neat pointed gables and whitewashed stone. She had got here without knowing it, without admitting to herself that she was going there. And she ought not to be surprised that the houses stood the same; a little more moss had grown over the wall perhaps, but it had not been so very long since she had left her father’s house. If days had passed like years for her they had not for the stones and the trees and the gardens. But – she saw it now – she had nowhere else to go.

  But Gabe would still be at the tannery. She would have to make polite talk with his mother! And about – what? Her murderous husband, her dead friend? Gabe’s mother doted on her garden and wore her hair pulled back into a plain bun. No, she would have to wait here on this wall, or walk about on her sore feet.

  But the maid opened the door of Gabriel’s house anyway, and came towards her. ‘You cannot stop here! Be off with you, we’ve nothing for you.’

  ‘Arabella, it is I, Mrs Palmer. Rebecca Massey!’

  The maid stepped back startled. ‘Miss Rebecca? I beg your pardon, Mrs Palmer – I did not recognize you! What has happened – are you hurt, or ill?’

  ‘Could I wait a while, for Mr Gabriel to return? I have something in particular to ask him. I need not cause you any trouble.’

  The look on Arabella’s face changed. ‘You had best come in, then. Mr and Mrs Parsons are away visiting a relative; they are quite often away now, as perhaps you know.’

  ‘I did not know it,’ said Rebecca. She did not care for Arabella’s look, which had grown disapproving.

  ‘They got into the habit of it when Mr Gabriel was away and have not got out of it.’ The maid paused, her hand on the door frame. ‘Mr Gabriel does sometimes not return until late. P’raps you ought to return then?’

  Rebecca picked up one foot and rubbed it on the back of her leg. ‘Arabella, I am desperate, as you see here. Won’t you let me in?’ Wives ran away from their husbands, didn’t they – she could not be the first to do it. There had been a case of it just now, in the aristocracy, only the wife had been called mad and committed to an asylum.

  The maid pursed her lips but she let Rebecca in to the parlour with its view of the grey rocks and the grey sea without saying any more. Rebecca sank onto the easy chair. It was good, after all, to be out of Albany Street, out of the New Town. To look through the window and see the same view that she had seen since she was a child. It was good to let her head fall back on the cushion, and when she closed her eyes she still saw the sea swelling behind them.

  Sometime in the middle of her sleep she felt herself lifted and tried to struggle, for she thought it was Alexander come to get her, but in the depths of it she recognized Gabe’s voice, and she let herself fall again, and was put into a bed with deep pillows and a soft mattress where she again fell away into blackness.

  CHAPTER 24

  When Rebecca woke up she knew not who she was, or where she was, or when it was. And she would have liked to stay that way for longer, only there was Gabe’s face above her, drawn together in concern.

  Then came the longing for her salts, back in Albany Street.

  And after that, Evangeline. Her flight. Alexander.

  ‘Rebe! What has happened? You are ill, I kne
w it.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Four o’clock.’

  ‘In the afternoon?’

  Gabe nodded.

  ‘I have slept all day! Should you not be at the tannery?’

  ‘I sent them a note.’

  She sat up. ‘Is there a pharmacy nearby?’

  ‘What do you need? I will ask Arabella to fetch it.’

  ‘My feet are aching and full of blisters. I ran a great deal yesterday in shoes that were not made for running, you see them there. I need some laudanum for the pain. Will you tell her?’

  ‘I will tell her.’ Gabe got up.

  It would be the last time, she was certain of it. Rebecca drew the sheets around her and tried to smooth the hair from her face. She must smell terrible; she must look horrible. She ought not to be here.

  When he returned she said: ‘I am sorry I came; only I had nowhere else to go. My husband … his friend Mr Badcock came after me, they want to do me harm, but I ran away, and I could not think of anywhere else to go.’

  ‘You have no need to explain anything to me, dearest Rebe. I am glad you are here.’

  Rebecca wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. ‘I only want a place to stay for a night or two, and a little money. I am ill, Gabriel, my husband has made me so.’ She pushed her hair away again. She had been put to bed still with pins in it, it had not been brushed or put into a plait and it fell all over her face. ‘That is not right. I have made myself so. Or – circumstances, that is it. Circumstances have made me ill.’

  Gabriel looked at her, but said nothing. ‘Is there a cure?’

  ‘I must get myself away from Edinburgh for a while. A week, or more. That is the cure. I must be out of the city and then I hope I will get better.’

  Gabe took hold of her hand with both of his and put it to his forehead. ‘Oh Rebe,’ he said, with his head still down. ‘I have been out of my mind with worry since I saw you last! Let me go to your husband and tell him you are not coming back.’

  ‘Oh Gabe, no, that is not the way. You cannot rescue me as if I were one of your boys at school! If you went to Alexander, he would find me out and they would come for me. I am his wife; it would be my word against his. No, let me get away. Will you help me get away?’ Rebecca sat up and pushed against her bedclothes. She was sweating.

  ‘Of course I will, Rebe, do not trouble yourself. But where will you go? You will not stay here? You ought not to travel too far.’

  ‘I will go to Jenny, who used to maid for me. Will you get me some paper so I can write to her? She will understand, I think. She lives far away, in Argyll, in a croft. She was always talking about sheep. I don’t think there is anything for miles around. I will be safe there.’

  ‘But what will you do? Are you sure you will be able to recover without a doctor? A croft is bound to be damp and smoky. Are you sure it is the place to recover from whatever ails you, Rebe? You are so terribly pale.’

  ‘Gabe!’ Rebecca said. ‘Stop fussing! I must go there, ’tis the only way.’

  Gabe drew back his hand. ‘I am sorry, Rebe. Only to see you like this, when I have for so long imagined you …’

  ‘Differently. I know. I felt the same, when first I saw you. But let me be! You left me alone for two years, and I learned to make my own decisions. Wrong ones, I admit it, but I am trying now to do it differently.’

  Gabe looked down at the blanket. The back of his hand was freckled all over. ‘Yes, I left you alone, and I shouldn’t’ve. I’ve no right – I will do anything you ask, of course I will. Argyll, you say?’

  ‘Oh Gabe – I am sorry. I swore I would never see you again, but I found myself here, by accident it seemed, in such desperate straits, and you said if I ever needed anything—’

  ‘Hush, Rebe, whatever it is you want, I will get it for you.’ He lifted his hand and touched his thumb to her nose. The gesture was so childish that Rebecca blinked and had to turn away.

  ‘I will have to first get to Glasgow, and then another train to Inveraray. And afterwards a trap. I will have to hope the letter arrives safe, and that she does not mind to have me. I don’t know what I will do after that! But I cannot think of it now. Has Arabella returned?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Gabe smiled. ‘I have a few shillings saved up and I will gladly lend it to you, all of it. I think it will cover the journey, and food, and pay your way at the croft, for they cannot have much.’

  ‘Thank you, Gabriel. I can’t pay it back, not yet, not ever p’raps.’

  ‘No matter, no matter at all! But, Rebe, will you let me go with you, at least part of the way? You will have to stay the night in Glasgow. Anything might happen!’

  Now Rebecca smiled, though she was so unused to smiling that it felt unnatural. Then it was unnatural, because she remembered Eva, and felt guilty for smiling at all. ‘You talk about Glasgow as if it were Timbuktu. The Glaswegians do the same to us. I don’t think it is so very bad.’

  ‘So you always said. I have heard terrible things.’

  ‘Oh Gabe!’

  ‘All right. I am sure they are fine people. But let me come with you! It is not safe for you to travel alone. Besides, you are not well. And – I will worry. I want to know that you make the journey there safely.’

  She might rush off the train to buy laudanum, if the sickness got too bad. Rebecca pushed her hair back behind her ear. ‘Aye then, until Glasgow.’

  ‘And now let me draw you a bath, my dearest Rebe. To have you here under my roof, even in such desperate straits!’

  ‘Oh Gabe!’

  ‘And did you know, Father has had hot water put in? It is astonishing – straight out of the taps!’

  They set off the next morning, just as light was coming through the weave of the woollen curtains and illuminating them. Gabe had found a case for her and had put two of his mother’s dresses in it, and a shawl, some bonnets, a pair of gloves, a bar of soap, several books, pen and paper, and half a sovereign in a purse.

  Rebecca sat back in the carriage, glancing through the window as they went through the city. Several times her hand flew to her cheek, but it was not Mr Badcock, only someone else with the same kind of topcoat, or bulk, or manner.

  She must go, go to the wilderness, with only one fixed thought in her head: to be rid of her salts, her drops, any of it, at any cost. She must not think of the return, and what she would do then.

  The last bottle of drops had helped little, and only pushed back the worst of her sickness, but the effect would wear off soon, even on the journey. For they had reached Waverley Station now and Gabe was steering her through the crowds towards the train. Though they had seemed to set out in plenty of time the whistle blew for the train straightaway and all around them people surged forward. So she was carried on, whether she liked it or no.

  She held onto Gabe’s arm, more for guidance than anything else, and they boarded a second-class coach, Gabe throwing up her bag to the man who was fixing the trunks on the roof just as if it were nothing. They took their place beside an old man in a kilt and a boy with a sack between his legs that would not fit above, and a young couple about the age of Jenny and Lionel. Rebecca turned her wedding ring round and round her finger underneath her glove. Her bonnet felt strange on her, and her shoes, that were both Mrs Parson’s. She could have been someone else.

  The porter strapped down the last bit of luggage above them and the carriage swayed and creaked, then the whistle blew again and the coach gave a great lurch and began to move. The young couple fell into each other and the girl giggled and pinked. Rebecca would have fallen out of her seat if Gabe had not thrown out his arm and saved her. The girl giggled again, taking them for lovers, or marrieds, but Rebecca could not meet her gaze. She turned her head away and stared through the window.

  They were soon out of Edinburgh and into the countryside, a soft rainy mist pulsing down the outside of the windows and obscuring the views. She was out of the city, so easily, and Alexander and Mr Badcock left behind. But she was no
t out of their grasp, not yet. And here was green, and here were trees, and bracken, and all the time the train drawing her further away.

  Soon the man in the kilt fell into a slumber and began to snore, lolling his head against Gabe’s shoulder. But Gabe did not seem to mind; he sat very still and gazed out at the watercolour view. Probably the trains in Egypt were much worse.

  The boy with the sack got off and the girl leaned her head against the boy and they both closed their eyes. She and Gabe had not exchanged more than a few words since they’d got on, hours ago now. Rebecca’s skin had begun to creep, and a tickle had lodged itself in her throat, making her cough again and again into Mrs Parson’s kerchief.

  Darkness was already falling as they drew into Glasgow, though it was not yet five o’clock. But when they got to the station hotel there was only one room left. The clerk at the desk, seeing their crestfallen faces and thinking that they were a couple who could no longer stand each other, started to suggest somewhere else, not more than ten minutes off. But Rebecca, who had been buffeted and jangled all day in the train, shook her head.

  ‘There is a daybed in the room?’

  The clerk said there was.

  ‘Let us take it, Rebe, and I will sleep on it,’ said Gabe.

  But when they climbed up the three flights of stairs Rebecca wished she had dragged herself to the other place. They both stood in the centre of the room and stared at the bed, with its red coverlet. There was hardly room for anything else. It reminded her, for a moment, of Eva’s bed, with its red blanket, though Evangeline’s always hung at an angle. She ought to be here with Eva instead! Rebecca had run away after all, but had prevented Eva from doing it.

  She passed her hand in front of her eyes and half-fell against the bed.

  ‘You are tired,’ said Gabe. ‘Will you lie down?’

  ‘I was remembering my friend, Evangeline. Who died. I miss her, though we were always … always drifting about.’

  ‘Died? I’m sorry!’

  ‘Yes.’ Tears slid from the corners of Rebecca’s eyes. ‘I ought not to be here, when she is dead.’