‘Try imagining it’s somebody you’d like to choke,’ the woman suggested cheerily, then roared with laughter when Regina’s whole appearance changed to one of utter concentration. Her thin hands and arms strained until blue veins swelled and the muscles of her face contracted and bulged her eyes and drew back her lips to reveal teeth gritted tightly.
The washing was soon spread out with everyone else’s on the part of the Green called the bleachfields and left to whiten and dry.
‘Leave it for a while,’ said the woman. ‘All day and all night if you like and then take it back to finish it off in front of your mistress’s fire.’ And with that she gave Regina a wave and bounded away.
Regina was afraid to go and leave the linen in case someone stole it. Despite the fact that people had been deported as slaves to the Virginia plantations for stealing a piece of linen from the bleachfields, thieving still went on.
Now for the first time in hours she realised that she was soaking wet and cold. Also she had had nothing to eat all day. Pangs of hunger added to her miseries as she crouched down on the grass beside the washing and hugged her knees and tried to stop shivering. She seemed to have suffered an endless anguish of time there in the biting wind before, to her relief, she saw Quin and Gav approaching. Never before had she felt so glad to see anyone. She longed to run and welcome the two familiar figures, the tall lanky one with the flying hair and coat-tails and the grotesque face, and the little one like a dwarf in his too big clothes. But she was too stiff to do more than struggle to her feet.
‘Quin’s brought apples,’ Quin said.
She grabbed one and sank her teeth into it like an animal, only stopping after a few huge bites to mumble with her mouth full:
‘Have you got anything else?’
Quin held up a finger before plunging his hand inside his coat. Then with the panache of a magician he whisked out a whole cooked chicken.
‘Ooh!’ Regina’s eyes stretched wide. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘He stole it,’ Gav said. ‘He’s a terrible thief. I’ve warned him he’s going to get his other ear cut off. But he doesn’t listen.’
‘Quin listens all right. But listening’s no’ eating and Quin gets hungry same as you.’
Regina finished eating the apple, core and all, in a matter of seconds, and then, along with Quin and Gav, she tore into the chicken. Afterwards, cleaning her greasy hands on her cloak and petticoat, she sighed.
‘Oh, that was good.’
Quin laughed and did a little dance.
‘Quin’s the clever one, eh?’
‘Where have you been all day?’ Regina asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Quin broke into perky singing.
‘Poussie, poussie baudrons,
Where have ye been?
—O, I’ve been to London,
Seein’ the Queen.’
The children began to giggle as he waggled his head and tripped on.
‘Poussie, poussie baudrons,
What got ye there?
I got a good, fat mousikie,
Runnin’ up the stair.
Poussie, poussie baudrons,
What did ye do with it?
—I put it in my meal-poke,
To eat with my bread.’
Regina tittered into her cupped hands, but Gav laughed with mouth open and eyes all the time shining expectantly up at Quin. Quin hoisted one finger again. Then, after plunging and fumbling both hands in his pockets, he hid his clenched fists behind his back and sang out.
‘Neive—neive—nick-nack,
Which hand will ye tak’?
Tak’ the right, tak’ the wrang,
And I’ll beguile ye if I can.’
The children both dived at him, grabbed a hand each, and giggling and squealing fought to prise open Quin’s fingers. At last, after much merriment and dancing up and down and whirling all around, Quin snapped open his fingers to reveal a sugary sweetmeat in each hand, half-melted and sticking to his palms. Gav and Regina quickly popped the confection into their mouths and Quin licked his palms and smacked his lips.
‘Oh-ho, Quin’s been the clever one today, all right, eh?’
Dusk was gathering round them and making the washing on the bleachfields look like shrouds. It only took a little imagination to see the white cloths rising up in the gloom to encircle them in some macabre dance.
‘Come on,’ said Gav. ‘It’ll soon be dark and we won’t be able to see our way back.’
Regina began gathering up the washing and packing it into the tub and before she could ask for his help Quin hoisted it on to his head and jogged away with the children running and skipping on either side of him. They made their way alongside the river through the Low Green. The entries to the Low Green by the Saltmarket and the Old Bridge were narrow, irregular and dirty because of their nearness to the slaughterhouse and much used by cattle and fleshers’ dogs. The Molendinar and Camlachie burns ran through the streets in an uncovered state, crossing the part of the Low Green next to the slaughterhouse called Skinner’s Green and the Saw Mill in an oblique direction. At the bottom of the Low Green were offensive pits used by skinners and tanners. The slaughterhouse spread over a large and irregular surface on the banks of the river and was bounded by crooked lanes on the north and north-east and there was no other entry to the Green from the west. The dung from the slaughterhouse and the intestines from slaughtered animals were collected in heaps and allowed to remain for months until putrefaction took place, much to the annoyance of the neighbourhood.
Gav screwed up his nose and shuddered as he passed.
‘Ugh, what a horrible stinky place.’
‘Quin remembers before there was a slaughterhouse. This is a new place, this slaughterhouse. It’s only been here about a year. Before that the butchers used to kill the beasts up the High Street or at the Cross or wherever they could catch them. Oh-ho, then there was the awfulest hacking and squealing and bleeding on the streets you ever did see.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Weel, ye know noo!’
‘We used to be at school all day.’
‘Quin’s never been at school but Quin knows a thing or two, eh?’
They turned up Saltmarket Street at last, reached the Ramsays’ close and stair, and Quin did not slacken his jaunty jog-trot until they were all crowding on to the landing. He dropped the tub down.
‘Tirl the door and in you go with it now. It’s time Gav and Quin were making sure of a place on the stairs.’ Before jogging away, he turned waggling a finger. ‘When you get your money, mind, Quin’s yer faither!’
As soon as they disappeared Regina remembered the Frenchies and began to tremble. Hatred of them for always spoiling everything and for causing her to suffer such terrors burned through her like bile and made her want to vomit. She felt so ill she could hardly raise her hand and find the door-pin. The rasping noise sounded ominous in the gathering darkness and made her shivering become so violent, even her brain rattled around in her head. It took all her will to remain standing. The door creaked open to reveal Nancy holding a candle. The flame fell backwards in the draught from the door and its capering light pointed out grey coats and blue breeches and tie-wigs all over the lobby.
Regina withered back, her fist rolling hard against her mouth.
‘Oh, come on,’ Nancy said impatiently. ‘How many times must I tell you? They won’t do you any harm. Bring the tub inside.’
Regina struggled with the tub and finally managed to raise it and follow Nancy through to the kitchen. Nancy put the candle on the table and its circle of light blurred into the glow from the fire. After depositing the tub in a corner, Regina sidled cautiously over to the fire and warmed her hands.
Nancy said: ‘I don’t suppose anybody would mind if you slept here. You’ll have the ironing to do tomorrow and you might as well get an early start.’
Regina’s eyes strayed towards the door and Nancy went on.
‘Oh, don’t worry,
they stay out there and Big John makes sure they do. It’ll only be you and me in the kitchen.’
It seemed too good to be true. A place to sleep beside a fire. Regina made to curl down on the floor but Nancy said: ‘Not yet. Come on through to the mistress’s room. The maister’s still to give the reading.’
Through the lobby again and into the bedroom with the lantern-shaped corner with its three windows.
The maister was sitting at the head of a table in the centre of which a silver candelabra gave graceful light. A Bible lay open in front of him. On one side lounged his son Douglas, wearing a frilly shirt and long pink waistcoat. On the other side, straight-backed and restless-looking was Mistress Annabella in her flowered gown and her hair in ribbons and ringlets. Over in one wall a fire burned bright.
‘She did the washing so well I said she could sleep by the kitchen fire,’ Nancy said.
‘Aye, weel,’ said Ramsay. ‘Sit doon and listen to the word o’ the Lord.’
Both Nancy and Regina drew in stools and sat with the others at the table. She envied the comfort and warmth of the place.
Mammy had said that Maister Ramsay was rich. ‘One day,’ thought Regina, ‘I’m going to be rich.’ She had not the slightest idea when or how this feat could be accomplished, but be accomplished it would. The roots of her hatred hugged round this certainty, intertwined with it deep inside her secret self, and gave satisfaction to her bitterness.
The maister was saying:
‘… Therefore will I number you to the sword, and ye shall all bow down to the slaughter …’
Regina smiled.
15
EACH night Jessie limped back into town after dark to ask if the harlots had seen or heard anything of the children or the beggar Quin. But they knew nothing. Then she slunk round streets and lanes and closes, but the only thing she learned was that the army were moving out on Friday morning. One of the camp-followers told her: ‘So be ready early if you’re coming.’ The woman advised: ‘You can maybe get a seat on one of the supply carts.’
‘But I’ve lost my bairns. I can’t go without them.’
‘Better to search during the day than at night.’
‘But the hangman’s after me for stealing some linen.’
‘Too bad.’ The woman shrugged. ‘That’s what you get for thieving.’
‘I didn’t steal it. I don’t know where it went.’
‘Do you think they’d believe you if you told them?’
Jessie’s head wobbled about in worried silence for a minute or two.
‘I never thought of that. I wonder if I dare go and see Mistress Halyburton.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She told me if I didn’t hurry back with her fine linen she’d get Hangy Spittal to throw me in the Tolbooth.’
The woman laughed. ‘I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.’
After another silence Jessie murmured weakly: ‘But she might know something about my bairns.’
‘You’ll no’ be much good to your bairns or see them for long if the hangman gets you.’
Jessie slowly limped off into the dark. There was no use going to the Halyburtons’ house until daylight if she were going at all. One thing was certain, Mistress Halyburton’s temper would not be improved by being awakened from her bed in the middle of the night. Better to hide somewhere and try and think what to do and if she did decide to go to Locheid’s Land then she could do so once daylight came. Perhaps it would be even wiser to wait until the army had gone. If there had been soldiers in the Halyburtons’ house that would not have sweetened Mistress Halyburton’s mood either. Jessie found a sheltered spot beneath a wall and behind some bushes in the Back Cow Loan. Easing herself down, she enveloped herself in her plaid, muffling it up and over her face and her frizzy head. Yet still the icy air reached her bones and made breathing painful. Her mind turned to stone and she nursed herself in distress. The rhythmic rocking motion reminded her of her mother.
The Highland cottage had thick walls and a hot fire and her mother sat nursing her on her knee on the rocking chair. There was no sound but the wailing of the wind, made far off by her mother’s harn shirt and the warmth from her body. The chair rocked lazily, sleepily. Jessie rocked herself, desperate to hold tight to the illusion. Her mother’s body was comforting and soft, her arms secure and strong. Her face as she gazed down through her spectacles had a rosy glow and her eyes were melting with love for her. Her mother was a good honest woman. She had never done anyone any harm. A shuddering sigh racked Jessie. She struggled to blot out other pictures, knowing that she could not bear them, feeling instinctively that she must fight to keep herself sane if she were ever to have a chance of finding her children.
She shook her head and wailed and cursed at the other pictures and sounds that kept flashing in front of her.
Prissie Ramsay’s beautiful perky face. The way she tossed her head. Her laughing eyes that could change like the sea. The words that poured from her mouth. The way she pointed her finger … ‘That’s the woman. Yes, she was one of them. I was coming home by the Low Green when the devil suddenly appeared in the form of a bull with its intestines hanging out and he told me that he had several witches in the town who were helping him in his work. They were holding a coven with him that night and he would like me to join them. I said Christ’s name as my protection and recited the Lord’s Prayer and refused to have anything to do with his evil work. I ran quickly away, but I hid behind a bush so that I could discover who the witches might be and what their wicked plans were. One by one they came and each was given their job to do.’ Dramatically the finger pointed. ‘She was to bring back the plague!’
Jessie’s moans and wails became louder and were snatched up by the wind and tossed to and fro in the empty lane.
They had sent for the witch-pricker and he had stripped and bound her mother with cords. Then he had thrust needles everywhere into her body until she had been exhausted by an agony too terrible for screams. Her silence, the witch-pricker said, proved that he had found the devil’s mark and she was guilty.
But still her mother had refused to confess. ‘I’ll make her talk through the child,’ the hangman said, and pounced on her and held her as he crushed her leg into the boot. Before her mother could gather strength or wits to say anything the mallet had pulped the flesh and bone. Jessie remembered the pain of it, but it was as nothing compared to the agony of remembering her mother. Her head wobbled about trying to shake away remembrance.
‘Oh, Jessie, Jessie,’ the voice called from the past and Jessie answered it.
‘Mither!’
All night long she nursed herself and repeated the word until at last daylight picked her out like a bundle of rags behind the bushes. And the cowherd came blowing his horn. And the college bells rang and the Tolbooth bells sang their musical song.
All the excitement and extra work of the soldiers billeted in her house had been too much for the ailing Lady Glendinny. She had retired to bed and despite Phemy Halyburton’s tender ministrations had speedily become weaker until it was obvious to everyone, including herself, that she was dying. The Earl sat patiently by her bedside and she took him by the hand.
‘Weel, gudeman, we’re going to part.’
‘Aye, Murn.’
‘Have I been a good wife to you?’
‘Middling. Middling,’ said the Earl, not disposed to commit himself.
‘Now, I want you to promise me something,’ Murn said.
‘Aye, and what’s that?’
‘Promise you’ll bury me in the auld kirkyard at Ayr. It’s such a bonny country place. I couldn’t rest in peace in the midst o’ all the noise and bustle o’ Glasgow.’
‘Weel, weel, Murn,’ soothed the Earl, patting her hand. ‘I’ll just put you in a Glasgow kirkyard first and if you don’t lie quiet there I’ll try you in the other. Would you like me to fetch Phemy now to give you a wee strengthening sup o’ something?’
Murn sighed. ‘I’ll be glad o’ a
sup but it’s no’ likely to do muckle strengthening.’
‘Whatever’s the Lord’s will,’ the Earl said, rising.
‘Amen,’ said Murn.
Downstairs William and Letitia Halyburton, like himself, were relieved that the soldiers had left their house if not the town as yet. But Phemy and Griselle seemed extremely agitated.
‘Tuts,’ said Letitia. ‘You, Mistress Phemy, and you, Mistress Griselle, seem more perturbed by the rebels’ departure than by their arrival. You surely were not catched by them.’
‘No, Mother.’
‘Of course not, Mother.’
‘Then why, pray, are you in such a tither?’
‘We are concerned about Annabella,’ said Phemy. ‘She is so catched by Monsieur Lavelle.’
Glendinny shook his head.
‘There never was a kinder heart than Phemy’s, Letitia.’ Then turning to Phemy he added: ‘Lass, would you run up with a sup of something strengthening for Murn. It’ll no’ do much good, for she’s slipping fast away, but it would please me.’
Letitia said: ‘Heat some honey and whisky, Mistress Phemy, and add a little meal and butter.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Weel, that sounds a lot more sensible than what Dr Kilgour prescribed. It fair scunnered oor Murn. He said to cook toads alive and then mash them doon and drink the brew. She near puked her heart up after drinking a dishful.’
‘Tuts! Doctors! A waste of good money!’
‘You’re quite right, Letitia.’
‘My gudewife,’ boomed Willie Halyburton, ‘is a very sensible woman.’
‘Aye.’ The Earl nodded. ‘And I’m sure Mistress Phemy’s the same.’
Halyburton said: ‘Isn’t it terrible what the rebels are going off with? As if they hadn’t taken enough from us already. Now it’s all our arms, powder and balls and they’ve taken the printing press as well, a fount of types, printing paper and three workmen.’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 18