If the family was even losing the between-stairs maid, things must be worse than I realised.
‘But not you?’
Blackwell shook her head fiercely. ‘Whoever did that awful thing, it wasnae Master Miles. He’ll be out soon enough, and he’ll need a friendly face.’
I removed my coat and tossed my hat onto the table, making it clear that, unlike half the household staff, I wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Your confidence in him is impressive. Then again, you’re good at ferreting out secrets, aren’t you?’ She paled and watched me like a hawk as I pulled out the letter. ‘You put this in my bag, didn’t you?’ She nodded, eyes welling with tears. ‘And the arsenic and jewellery, did you plant those in Miles’ room?’
She shook her head so violently, a few hairpins tumbled out. ‘I’ve never seen the stuff before in my life, miss, I swear! I cleaned his room good and proper, the way I always did, even though I’m doing for Mrs Greene now – Minnie, the tweeny as was, she was terrified of cleaning the men’s rooms. Thought that’s how you get pregnant.’ She smiled wryly, and I wondered if she realised that she had just revealed her own lack of innocence in that regard. ‘All I can say is that it wasnae there when I swept it that morning. The polis said it was in a drawer with his . . .’ she blushed, and dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘his underthings, but I’d put fresh laundry in there and I didnae see a thing.’
‘There was nowhere else he might have kept it if he knew you were likely to be opening the drawers? No safe, nothing with a lock?’
Blackwell smiled fondly. ‘He was never that cunning, miss. He kept your letters beneath his pillow, along with a miniature. I don’t think it would have occurred to him to hide them anywhere else.’
My stomach roiled with guilt. Here I was, hoping that the scandal would set me free from my engagement, and the man to whom I had reluctantly pledged my troth had been keeping my letters and picture with him as he slept. As to how he had obtained the latter, I suspected Aunt Emily’s hand at work.
‘Do you have feelings for Master Miles, Blackwell?’
‘He’s nice. Gentle. There’s plenty in this world who aren’t.’ A fact of which I was well aware. ‘I may be young, but I’m no’ foolish. Even the nicest gentlemen don’t marry their maids, especially if they’re already engaged.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didnae like giving you that letter, miss. Not that I read it,’ she added hastily, ‘but if he wanted me to slip it in your bag all secretive like, I knew it couldnae be anything good.’
I leaned forward. Now we were getting somewhere. ‘Who gave you the letter?’
She shrugged helplessly. ‘If I knew, I’d be straight to the polis. It’s no’ fair, threatening respectable people like that, no matter what foolish things they may have done.’
‘You received a letter as well?’
She nodded, mouth set in a grim line. Her earlier flightiness was gone, replaced by quiet resignation.
‘The blackmailer . . . he knew something about my past, something very few people here are aware of. He threatened to expose me, tell the whole university if I don’t leave this whole sorry affair alone.’
‘But here you are, miss.’ Blackwell smiled sadly. ‘It must be nice not to have to be afraid.’
I wanted to tell her that I was terrified, that part of me wanted to run back to my safe, quiet life with my textbooks and experiments, where the most dangerous thing I had to do was avoid Aunt Emily’s wrath. But one of us needed to be fearless, and she had more to lose than I did.
‘The secret the letter-writer threatened me with . . . When I told Miles, I thought he’d want nothing more than to be rid of me. But he was kind. He saw past all that and wanted me anyway. Lord knows why.’ Miles, Merchiston – why was it that the thing that had ruined my faith in men seemed to spark the deepest sympathy and bring out the best in some of them? ‘Perhaps he would have done the same for you.’
‘Ladies can get away with things the rest of us can’t.’ By rights, she should have been bitter. But this was the way the world worked, and after running around after her employers day and night, she had no energy left to fight it. ‘I’ve got a child, miss. A son. Leastways, I did.’ She gnawed her lip, and I saw the dots of blood her teeth left behind. ‘He lives with my sister out in Musselburgh. She did well for herself, married a grocer. They can’t have children, but they can give him a better life than me. I’d be out on my ear if anyone knew.’
She was such a slip of a thing, it was hard to imagine her with a sweetheart, let alone carrying a child. But there were girls in the slums pregnant barely a year into their menses, and women of my own social circle younger than I was who were already celebrating wedding anniversaries. Blackwell reminded me a little of Gertie, who would be married off the moment she was out of finishing school if my mother had any say in the matter.
I had so many questions: about the father, why they hadn’t married, if her son knew who she was or just saw her as a devoted aunt. But what right did I have to ask any of them? What right did the Greenes have to know that once upon a time, their housemaid had been a mother? I doubted that anyone even remembered her first name, but they would expect to know this.
I squeezed her hand. ‘You must miss him horribly. I won’t tell a soul, I swear.’
The tears that had been glossing her eyes finally started to fall, and I hugged her close, not caring that her apron was smudged with coal from the grate.
‘If I lose this job, I’ve nothing to send him. My sister says he’s a bright boy, he could make something of himself. We’re saving to send him to school, even if all he does is take over the shop. If I cannae raise him myself, I’ll do everything I can to give him a good life. That’s why . . .’ She broke off. ‘Oh, Miss Gilchrist! That’s why I sent the letter to the polis telling them to look in Master Miles’ room. That letter-writer, he said if I refused, he’d have my brother-in-law’s shop closed down, and then what would happen to my wee Jack? I didnae think anything would come of it, not then – I thought it was just mischief. If I’d known . . .’
‘You’d have done exactly the same thing and no one would have blamed you for it. Even Master Miles,’ I said, hoping I was right. The moral high ground was easy to take when one wasn’t behind bars eating lukewarm gruel for every meal. ‘I don’t suppose you kept either of the letters?’
She shook her head. ‘Threw them in the fire where they belong. You’d be wise to do the same.’
Tempting as it was, the details of my disgrace made for useful evidence, and burning the letter wouldn’t erase the truth, no matter how cathartic it might be. There would always be someone who would delight in spreading the sordid tale, whether I was a blushing bride or a qualified doctor. The only way was forwards, setting my face against the wind of public opinion, turning the handful of people who couldn’t give a fig about my lost virginity into a makeshift family of my own. And even if Blackwell could have wished her shame away, I saw from the burning maternal devotion in her eyes that she wouldn’t.
I pressed a note into her hand as I rose. ‘Buy him a present. Spend the rest on a ribbon or some roast chestnuts; there’s a seller on Princes Street. Whatever you like. And if you ever want to leave the Greenes, I’ll write you a reference.’
She might have no choice. How far down the family tree did this poison spread? If news of the sorry affair came out, there could well be a household of servants with no family to look after and a second-hand stain on their characters. Blackwell might need someone to vouch for her to an employer reluctant to be tainted by leftover scandal. Not that my recommendation was likely to mean more: the would-be lady doctor with a broken engagement and her own whispers of ruin to contend with.
A sharp whiff of Esprit de Vervein and a few bars of ‘A Little of What You Fancy’ hummed off-key heralded the arrival of the cook – who, if her mussed hair was anything to go by, had had rather more than a little – and I hurriedly pulled on my coat and hat, as though I had only just arrived.
Sh
e started when she saw me, and I beamed my most charming smile. ‘Mrs Parry, just the woman I came to see. My aunt has talked about nothing else but your boeuf en daube since the other night, and I thought I’d surprise her with the recipe if you can possibly be parted from it.’
Preening, the older woman was more than happy to divulge her trade secrets, although if she really thought that the principal topic of conversation about a dinner party where one of the hosts had died was the food, her vanity knew no bounds. Still, it was a convincing pretext – and the beef had been rather nice.
She pressed a cup of tea on me, chiding Blackwell for not having offered me one, and I realised how tired I was. The remnants of my hangover, held at bay thanks to my unexpected correspondence and the freezing weather, were starting to make themselves known, and I gulped down the hot liquid gratefully. Had I not indulged in idle conversation about the weather and stayed for a second piece of shortbread, I could have made my escape and left the upstairs residents none the wiser. As it was, I still had a mouthful of sugary crumbs when Alisdair Greene descended to the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw me.
‘Miss Gilchrist! I wasn’t aware you had arrived.’ He shot Blackwell a dark glance. ‘I do hope you were greeted properly.’
I waved the recipe for boeuf en daube, a meal I was already getting sick of before my aunt’s cook had even prepared it. ‘A domestic errand. Far too trivial for me to disturb you with, especially now . . .’ I trailed off. His father had died, his brother had been arrested and there I was prattling on about French cooking.
‘Believe me, Miss Gilchrist, you’re a pleasant distraction.’ He held out his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you to more salubrious surroundings. Parry, send some more tea and biscuits. And something light for dinner; Mother doesn’t have much of an appetite and I’ll be eating at the hotel.’
‘You aren’t staying here?’ The thought that Aurora had been left all alone with her grief was awful.
He shuddered. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Mother to leave as well, but she insists. I think it helps her feel closer to him.’ He glanced at me, almost shyly. ‘I’m not saying that I believe in ghosts, but this house has seen too much tragedy lately. I need to be strong for Mother, not jumping at shadows.’
The woman in question was sitting by the fire, gazing into it with a picture frame lying limply in her hands. A wedding portrait, I realised with a pang.
‘I’ve called for some more tea, Mother,’ Alisdair said softly.
She glanced up after a moment, registering her son’s presence. When she saw me, what little colour she had drained from her face.
‘What is she doing here?’ she spat. ‘You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came into our lives, Miss Gilchrist. I rue the day my son ever met you. I should have known better than to bring some bluestocking slut into my house.’
‘Mother!’ Alisdair looked shocked. ‘None of this was Sarah’s fault.’
‘Miles was a good boy until he met you,’ she said, dabbing her eyes furiously with a handkerchief. I recognised Colonel Greene’s initials on the linen, and for all the spite she directed at me, my heart went out to her.
‘Miles is troubled,’ Alisdair said gently. ‘We all love him, but he isn’t . . . Well, I think we can agree that Sarah has had a lucky escape.’
‘I should leave,’ I said quietly. ‘I can see how my presence must be distressing – to all of you.’
Out in the hall, Alisdair put his hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry about that. Mother is very upset; she didn’t mean what she said.’ I suspected she meant every word, but this wasn’t the time to argue. ‘Under the circumstances . . . Gads, this is awkward. My father and your uncle were close, and I’d hate to deprive him of the opportunity to pay his respects, but . . .’
‘You would rather I didn’t attend the funeral,’ I surmised.
He grimaced. ‘Believe me, I would be only too happy to have you with us.’ He paused. ‘Miss Gilchrist, on behalf of my family, please accept my sincerest apologies for all you have suffered. This should have been the happiest time of your life, and instead it has turned into a tragedy. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are not brushed with even the slightest taint of scandal.’
It was a little late for that, but it seemed churlish to point it out.
He took my hand in his. His thumb grazed mine – the slightest of movements, not enough to call a deliberate caress, and yet . . . If he had a point, I thought, he had better come to it quickly.
‘I know Miles can’t have been your first choice, even without prior knowledge of his true nature. And, unfortunately it’s the case that a woman studying medicine might be off-putting to some men – many men, even. But if I can assist you in finding a suitable replacement, shall we say, then it would be my honour.’
I seized my chance.
‘If only I could find a man like you, Mr Greene.’
I knew his next line before he said it.
‘Please, call me Alisdair.’
He pressed something into my palm. ‘My card. If you find yourself in need of a friend, I would be honoured if you would call upon me.’
On the back of the card was the name of his hotel, scrawled in black ink. It was discreet enough that I could call on him without the whole of Edinburgh watching, but expensive enough to indicate his new station in life. I had a feeling that behind its expensive and discreet doors I would find at least some of the answers I sought, providing I didn’t mind sacrificing my propriety, and perhaps much more.
Chapter 29
We stood outside the dean’s office, huddled together as close to the door as we could get. Edith chewed a fingernail as the sound of raised voices drifted out from the room.
‘. . . simply cannot expect us to bend the rules for the sake of one student.’
‘The best student. The best student in the whole damn year and you know it. The results are there, in black and white.’
The heavy oak door was designed to muffle the deep, sonorous voices of serious men. It did little to silence Julia’s clear, ringing tones.
‘Miss Latymer, mind your language! We will not tolerate such behaviour, especially from a lady.’
‘Go to hell!’
This last was perfectly audible, because Julia had yanked open the door and stormed into the corridor with a face like thunder and suspiciously wet eyes.
‘Don’t cry,’ Edith whispered. ‘Don’t give them the satisfaction of thinking that you’re weak.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said in flat, defeated tones. ‘They already think it. Too weak to be a doctor, too stupid to get the Harkup prize. Too bloody female to be of any use to anyone.’
She let Edith enfold her in her arms, and that was enough for me to see how affected she was. Although they were invariably at one another’s side, there was always a distance between them that was lacking in the rest of us, jostling and roughhousing as we did. Alison would elbow me, tug my arm, rest her head on my shoulder in mock exhaustion, but Julia and Edith rarely touched. Of course, I was sure that it was different behind closed doors and I felt a flush creep onto my face at the thought. But the boundaries between them in public, seemingly so necessary for keeping their secret, looked horribly lonely at times.
We retired to an empty classroom, Julia quiet but the rest of us boiling over with rage. Or most of us, at any rate.
‘It’s not as though you need the money,’ Moira pointed out caustically.
‘That isn’t the point,’ Alison argued. ‘It’s a prize for coming top of the year, not a scholarship. Julia came top, therefore it’s hers by right.’
‘But she doesnae need to worry about how she’ll pay next term’s fees, does she?’
‘I’m right here,’ Julia muttered crossly, wiping her eyes. ‘And you’re right, I don’t, but neither do most of the men. It’s just another reward for fitting the mould that’s been created for them, and no matter what I do, I’ll always break it. My money c
an’t protect me from that, Moira. It’s the one bloody way I do fit in, and I won’t apologise for it.’
‘Sometimes I think I should just have cut my hair, worn trousers and told everyone my name was Alexander,’ Alison sighed. ‘It would have been a damn sight easier.’
I looked at my friend, as soft and rounded as I was sharp and angular, with a voluptuousness that not even trousers would disguise.
‘I don’t think that would have worked,’ I noted drily.
‘Maybe she’s right,’ Julia said, so softly that I could barely hear her. ‘If we can’t be accepted for who we are, perhaps we should just pretend and hope we can convince someone.’
I didn’t think she was just talking about her gender, and I realised how heavily her secret must weigh on her.
‘I’d make an excellent boy; my father always told me that. I could run faster than my male cousins, I was always clever. I could have had the life I’ve always dreamed of, if only I had been born a boy.’
Edith squeezed her arm. ‘I like you just as you are, Julia Latymer. And your patients will too, just you wait and see. Let them keep their dratted Matthew Harkup prize; you’ll be covered with garlands and awards once you graduate.’
‘I never thought I’d say this, but I think you’re all right as you are as well,’ I added, not wanting Edith’s pronouncement to capture an undue amount of attention. ‘I mean, you’re a fearful snob and I wouldn’t mind your being a fraction less judgemental, but that’s not because you’re a woman. It’s just because you’re an awful person. An awful, brilliant person.’ The others looked on in horror, and Alison let out a shocked ‘Gilchrist!’
But Julia met my eyes and, to my relief, burst out laughing, slinging her arm around my shoulders.
‘Coming from an immoral slut with the best surgical technique of us all, I’ll take that as a compliment.’
We marched out into the hallways of the medical school as a group, united in our anger and, perhaps, finally embracing the things that marked us out as different from our male contemporaries – though no less worthy.
The Unquiet Heart Page 20