The portentous note in her voice frightened the girl who drew her hand back and whispered, ‘How will I know which road to take?’
Rachel shrugged. ‘You must think. You come from a loving family. Think about them.’
Mary looked shaken when she came out and the change in her was noticed by both Odilie and Grace as they stood up and filed one after the other through the door of Madame Fatima’s tent.
Rachel looked at Grace’s hand first. ‘In this hand I see sorrow and tears, many tears both from you and about you but don’t worry because most of them are shed already and you’re about to step into sunlight. You’ll blossom soon. Don’t be afraid. Someone from the past is about to come back to you, it is someone who has been thinking about you a great deal. But you have enemies, too. Another person is trying to defeat you but with help you’ll win through in the end.’
Grace leaned forward, her face alight, and asked, ‘Do you see anything else in my hand?’
‘Oh yes, I see money, plenty of money. It’s the cause of much of your trouble – most of it, in fact. You can have it or you can lose it. You must show determination. And I see love.’
‘Love?’ queried the girl in a whisper.
Rachel laid down the hand and nodded. ‘Yes, love. Don’t worry, it’s there and it’s waiting for you – very near.’
She was tiring now and longing for a rest but another girl still sat at the back of the tent waiting her turn. When she was done, when she was satisfied with the old stories, Rachel could look forward to tying up the tent door and lying down for an hour or two to think about the problem of Billy. She gestured peremptorily to Odilie who stepped forward and slipped on to the stool that Grace vacated.
‘Cross my palm with silver, lassie,’ said Rachel shortly as she did to each customer.
The shabbily dressed bondager slipped a silver shilling on to the old woman’s hand and as her fingers closed around the proffered fingers, Rachel noticed with surprise that this girls hand was as soft as velvet. She had never wielded a scrubbing brush or a hay fork; she had never laboured in the fields although she was dressed as if she did. The gypsy’s interest was wakened and she stared sharply into Odilie’s face, noting the dark skin and strangely coloured eyes.
‘This could be a gypsy lassie,’ she thought and decided to try a bit of Romany on her. ‘Been dukkered before, chavi?’ she asked but Odilie looked blank and Rachel had to repeat the question in ordinary Scots. ‘Have you had your fortune told before, my girl?’
The bondager shook her head making the big sunbonnet flap around her face and Rachel wished she would take it off so that it was possible to get a better look at her. With a feeling of interest, she bent her old head over Odilie’s hand and then gave an involuntary gasp of surprise at what she saw there.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the girl with a scared note in her voice.
‘Oh, nothing’s wrong. Far from it. I see a great future for you. Not what a working girl from a farm can expect. I see you in a place where the sun shines all the time and you’re very happy there but your life takes you to many other places as well – across the black water. I see mountains and oceans, cities and vast plains. My word but you’re going to wander, my lass, though it’ll be from choice. And you’ll never want for anything. You’ve been born under a lucky star.’
Odilie nodded and nervously licked her lips as she asked, ‘What about marriage? Who will I marry?’
Rachel frowned and looked at the hand again. ‘There’s trouble about marriage. You do marry but it looks very confused – perhaps you promise yourself to one man and marry another… I can’t make it out exactly. You have a great love all your life but I can’t tell if that’s the one you marry or not. It’s very confusing. You’re very bold and headstrong. You’re going to be a great lady. I can see that.’
She laid down the hand in a gesture of dismissal but Odilie was not satisfied. She hurriedly reached into her skirt pocket and produced another shilling which she laid on the table between them. ‘Tell me about the man I marry. Describe him for me,’ she said in the tone of one accustomed to giving orders.
Rachel raised her eyebrows and lifted the shilling, biting it between her gaping teeth to test it before she said, ‘All right, let me see your hand again then. You’re a hard one to fathom. I haven’t had such a difficult hand for many years.’
Intently she stared at Odilie’s palm, tracing the lines with her fingertip before she said, ‘You’ll be carried away by love. It causes trouble – terrible trouble. After that you marry. The one thing I can see about the man is that he’s bango-wasted.’ She deliberately used a Romany expression because she was still not convinced that Odilie did not secretly understand the language.
The girl’s eyes were enormous as she stared into the old woman’s face and asked, ‘Bango-wasted? What’s that?’
Rachel leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘All right, he’s left-handed, that’s what it means.’
‘Oh no,’ groaned the girl as she rose to her feet. ‘Surely you’ve made a mistake.’
‘No mistake, it’s there in your hand but I don’t know what you’re worried about. It’ll be a great love,’ said Rachel and pointed to the door telling them it was time to go.
When they were standing together in the open air again Odilie’s eyes were flashing and she raged to Grace, ‘Well, that was good money wasted! What an old fraud. Aunt Martha’s right, she only tells you what you want to hear. She must have recognised me, that’s what all that stuff about bango-wasted was about because everybody knows the Duke’s left-handed. How could I have a great love for that horrible porpoise?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Well, I thought she was good. I hope what she said was true as far as I’m concerned. It sounded fine to me and so did yours. Remember what she said about you having a great love and travelling so far, never wanting for anything and being bold?’
‘If she recognised me, she could have guessed all that. She’s a fraud, Gracie. I wish we’d never gone near her.’ All Odilie could think of was the gypsy’s prediction that she was to marry a left-handed man. It was as if the final seal had been set on her marriage contract. She’d really have to marry the Duke after all.
* * *
After Jem went away to show Billy the horses, Alice dressed herself in her finest gown, put on a deep-brimmed bonnet that hid her face and hurried of through the crowds in the fairground in the direction of the wooden bridge over the river. She walked quickly with her head down and looked directly at no one in her way for she was afraid of being recognised.
When she stepped down from the bridge on the town bank, she glanced up at the forbidding facade of Viewhill House and the sight of it made her shudder. Then she lowered her head again and hurried on, climbing the steep little path that led to Roxburgh Street. She walked quickly down it and when she reached the square she hesitated for a minute before starting to walk slowly around its perimeter, staring into shop windows and scrutinising the plates on the doors. The shops were busy because many visitors from out of town were stocking up on things they needed to last them for the rest of the year – clothes, shoes, ironmongery and chinaware. St James’ Fair brought a good measure of prosperity to the tradespeople of Lauriston even if they did not get a share of its revenue.
At last Alice came to a halt in front of the big grocery shop and peered through its window, seeing hams, all neatly tied up in white muslin, hanging above the counter; an array of cheeses in colours ranging from almost white to deepest orange; ice floe sugar cones and tins of tea with japanned designs painted on them; racks of dark bottles of port and wine lined up behind the servers at the counters. The bottles were lying on their sides in lines of racks one above the other, like a sleeping army.
When she pushed open the door a brass bell above her head rang sharply making her jump but she walked on up to the counter where Mr. Burns was serving a voluble lady who could not make up her mind between gunpowder tea or the black variety. Burns stood smiling
patiently for he was used to this sort of vacillation and would wait an hour if necessary to make a sale. Alice sat down on the chair that was provided for waiting customers and kept her head lowered, breathing in the delicious smells that flavoured the whole place – spices and sugar, cheese and China tea. The effect was mouth-watering. Eventually she was brought out of her reverie by a voice above her head asking, ‘Can I be of service to you, madam?’ Tom Burns was leaning forward on his white marble counter and smiling at her.
Flustered she rose to her feet and said, ‘I want some sugared lemon peel please and a piece of cheese.’
Tom, with a masterly flourish, indicated the cheeses of which he was rightly proud. ‘Take your pick. Which would you like? Taste them first… try this one, it’s very flavoursome.’
He passed a morsel of cheese over and she nibbled it. ‘Very nice,’ she agreed, ‘I’ll take a piece, about that size…’ With outspread fingers she indicated what she wanted and it was quickly cut of by the cheese wire to her specifications.
Tom wrapped it up and then added a stiff curl of yellow lemon peel in another paper packet. When her parcel was handed across to her, Alice asked in a casual voice that cost her considerable effort, ‘I was wondering if Mr. Anstruther, the old lawyer who used to have his office next door, is still alive?’
Burns shot a look at her and said, ‘You must have been away a long time. He died a good ten years ago. But his’s still living there in the flat above.’ He noted that the stranger was behaving oddly, keeping her head down under the enormous bonnet as if she was afraid to look him in the eye. He leaned slightly closer in an effort to get a better view of her but she stepped back to prevent him succeeding in his ploy. That’s queer, he thought and something niggled in the back of his mind. Although he could not see her clearly, he felt that he recognised her. Perhaps it was the voice.
‘Don’t I know you, madam?’ he asked. People who returned from afar for the Fair were usually happy to be recognised but this woman hurriedly grabbed her purchases and laid the exact money on the counter top. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve never been here before,’ she said.
In that case, how do you know about Mr. Anstruther, thought Tom Burns, but he did not have the chance to ask because she literally fled from the shop as if devils were chasing her.
The doorway alongside Burns’ shop had a brass knocker that gleamed in the sun and Alice thudded it down hard. After what seemed an unconscionable time the door was opened by a pert-looking little maidservant who asked, ‘Yes’m?’
‘Is Mrs Anstruther at home?’ asked Alice.
‘She’s always at home,’ was the reply.
‘I’m an old friend, perhaps I could come in and see her.’
‘Who’ll I say?’ asked the maid.
‘Say it’s someone from the past who wants to give her a pleasant surprise.’
‘Oh, all right, come in. She’s upstairs. But I should warn you she might not know you, she’s wandering a bit in her mind. She sometimes doesn’t remember things,’ said the maid, holding open the door.
The first-floor drawing room was packed with furniture and a huddled little figure wrapped in shawls was seated in a chair beside the window overlooking the square. The maid announced Alice, ‘A lady to see you, mum,’ and the figure turned its head revealing a tiny white face with a skin so wrinkled that it barely looked human.
There were tears in Alice’s eyes when she walked across the floor and bent down beside the chair. ‘Mrs Anstruther, I’ve come to see you,’ she said and took one of the tiny wrinkled hands in hers.
The old lady stared into the face so close to hers for a few seconds. Then a smile of incredible sweetness lit up her eyes and she said, ‘Oh, Lucy, it’s you. I’m so pleased to see you.’
Alice put a finger on the old woman’s lips as if to silence her and looked back at the curious maid who was shamed into closing the door and going away. When they were alone, she took off her bonnet and kissed Mrs Anstruther on the cheek. The old lady responded in a sweet, fluting voice and asked, ‘Where have you been, Lucy? It seems such a long time since you came to see me. George’ll be glad to know you’re back. He often talks about you.’ Then she gave herself a shake and said, ‘I’m a silly old woman, what am I saying? I’m wandering again. Of course poor George is dead. I keep forgetting that.’
Alice eyes were glossy with unshed tears as she held her old friend’s hands. ‘Oh, Mrs Anstruther, I’ve been far away and no one must know that I’m back. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
Tired, faded eyes stared into her face and then there was a deep sigh. ‘I’d forgotten that, Lucy. Of course I’ll not tell. I’m nearly ninety you know and it’s difficult to remember things sometimes.’
‘I came to ask you some questions. I knew I could trust you. Maybe you can tell me what happened to my father?’ whispered Alice in a low voice.
‘Your father? Davie Allen. Such a good man. Poor Davie, he didn’t want to live after you went away and they told him you were dead. He was found dead in his bed one morning but I don’t remember what year. My George was very upset when they came and told him about Davie. I remember that he came up here from the office, sat down in that chair over there and wept like a bairn.’
Alice dropped her head into her hands like a broken woman and sobbed, ‘It was all my fault – one mistake, that was all, just one mistake and then this terrible thing happened. I’m haunted by it.’
‘George said you didn’t do it,’ whispered Mrs Anstruther, patting the heaving shoulder.
‘I didn’t do what they said I did but I made a mistake nonetheless. And, oh God, I’ve paid for it. I can’t tell you how I paid for it. I’m paying for it still.’
‘Don’t grieve, my dear. You were young and innocent. They used you…’
Alice lifted her head. ‘Yes they did, didn’t they. What happened to my father’s property after he died?’
‘There was a lot of trouble about that. George was very worried. He died not long after your father – within weeks, in fact – yes, the very same year. Andrew Elliot took over his practice.’
‘My husband took it over?’
‘Yes, he paid me some money and closed George’s office. All the clients went to him. His place is on the other side of the square. Look, that’s his window over there. I didn’t know what else to do – there was no one to advise me, you see.’
Mrs Anstruther stared vaguely around her room as if she’d forgotten where she was and it was obvious that her mind had been taken over by a temporary blackness so Alice sat quietly holding her hand and they were silent together till the maid pushed open the door, carrying a tray of tea things.
‘She likes a cup of tea about this time,’ she explained, setting it down on a table by the old lady.
Alice looked up at the girl. ‘Who looks after her?’
‘I do. Elliot the lawyer pays my wages. She has lots of visitors mostly old ladies like herself. They come and take tea with her.’
Mrs Anstruther was nodding her head and saying, ‘I’m very well really, thank you. You mustn’t worry about me, Lucy.’
‘I’m not Lucy. My name’s Alice,’ said the stranger, smiling at the maid and adding in an aside, ‘I can see she gets a little confused.’
‘She does, but sometimes she’s bright as a button,’ said the girl, who was obviously kindly. ‘It’s worse when she’s tired, though. When you’ve had your tea perhaps you should go and I’ll tuck her up for a wee sleep.’
Alice left a short time later and went hurrying across the square with her deep bonnet on her lowered head. Mrs Anstruther’s maid watched her from the window and when her employer was asleep, she slipped downstairs for a few rashers of ham for the old lady’s supper. She was stopped in the shop by Tom Burns who asked, ‘Who was the woman that came in here and asked about the Anstruthers earlier on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the girl. ‘She told me her name was Alice but my lady called her Lucy and she’s not often wrong about th
ings like that.’
‘Dammit, of course,’ cried Burns, slapping one fist onto the palm of his hand. ‘I thought I knew her and I’m not often wrong about faces. It’s Lucy Allen! By God, who’d have thought she’d come back. Poor soul, I hope Elliot doesn’t see her.’
Chapter 9
After Odilie and Grace left Madame Fatima’s tent they almost ran into the group led by Professor Thompson. He was complaining to his students, ‘They always misunderstand, don’t they? You’d think he’d be flattered to be told he has a magnificent physique but oh no, he takes offence. Silly young man.’
His companions nodded as he went on, ‘I hope you paid good attention to him, boys. I tell you he’s the finest specimen of manhood I’ve ever seen. It’s because of the way they breed them. Gypsies only rear the best. Weaklings are killed at birth – deliberately culled.’
One of the students laughed and said, ‘You’re not suggesting we should do the same are you, Professor?’ Thompson made a humphing sound. ‘Pity we can’t. It’d save us doctors a lot of trouble but the Kirk wouldn’t stand for it at all…’ He paused for a moment and then continued, ‘What a pity he won’t come to Edinburgh – those shoulders and those muscles were magnificent.’
‘There’s no spare fat on him – I wonder what he eats?’ said the other student, a little wistfully because he was running to portliness himself.
‘Hedgehogs,’ snapped Thompson. ‘They eat hedgehogs and rabbits, badgers and foxes too – and any chickens they can steal. There’ll not be a hen left in a run round here by tomorrow night.’
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