“So we’ll stick thegither a’ the time we’re at work, an’ we dinnae gang intae the warehoose alone.”
“Work? I dinnae want tae gang near Cunningham’s again, no’ efter this.”
“But can ye no’ see, it’s safer there, whaur we can see what’s goin’ on, an’ if we aye stick thegither, they cannae trap us in a corner.”
“They can follow us hame.”
“I dinnae think they’d risk onything in broad daylight when there’s folk aboot. We’ll just need tae watch oor backs. Come on noo, let’s get hame afore they come.”
Sure enough, there were no immediate repercussions. They parted at Barnessie House, Mungo declining Tom’s offer of a bed for the night saying “How would ye explain it tae yer ma? She doesnae ken ye’re oot.”
Tom sighed as he watched him trot off down the road on his borrowed nag. He would never get used to Mungo’s sudden changes of mood.
The house was in darkness; none of the family had noticed Tom’s absence. Safe in his room, he reflected that at least he was sure now that Mungo was not involved with the smugglers.
Work on Saturday passed off without incident. Mr Cunningham had them working hard on the thorough revision of all accounts which he undertook once a year, and although they saw Kennedy and the warehousemen in the yard, looking carefree and unconcerned, no-one came near the office. Both Mungo and Tom were glad to leave at three.
At the card table after supper, looking at the cheerful faces of his family and listening to his father discoursing on the latest items of interest from the Scots Magazine, Tom began to relax. The events of the previous night began to seem like a bad dream.
“Aye, Monboddo’s a queer gowk a’ right, for a’ he’s a fellow member o’ the judiciary.” Sir Malcolm was saying. “He thinks apes resemble humans. He’ll be saying next we’re related tae them. Mind ye, when ye see hoo Bob walks, ye can see why.”
Tom smiled. He wouldn’t be repeating that to Bob.
CHAPTER 11
Sunday August 26th
Alison Fleming hummed to herself as she worked at the big table in the back room of the shop. Her father had gone to Glasgow on the Friday to buy cloth and Alison had become absorbed in designing Lady Margaret’s new gown. In front of her on the table were four different sketches and some scraps of grey and blue silk and brocade. It was Sunday, but as it was pouring with rain again and especially as she had no wish to see the further humiliation of Bessie Gibney, she had decided not to go to church, hoping that folk would assume she had gone to Glasgow with her father.
As she picked up and discarded various scraps of lace and ribbon, trying to decide on suitable trimmings, Alison realised that she had seldom enjoyed a task so much. She had loved her visit to Barnessie House, talking to gentle Lady Margaret and her spirited daughter, pleased that they had taken such an obvious and genuine interest in her work. “Great folk, the Boyd family,” she reflected, “except perhaps the second son.” She had to concede though that he was a well set-up young man and that she had enjoyed sparring with him. She wondered about his friendship with Mungo McGillivray; it had shocked her that Tom had leapt to his defence so easily, but she had to admit that he was loyal to his friend. Moreover, her regular visits to Annie had maybe improved Mungo’s mother’s material comfort, but her sober moments were still few.
So absorbed was she in her task that she did not hear the front door open and footsteps cross to the back shop. She started in fright as a deep, cracked voice boomed “Mistress Fleming! What in the name o’ a’ that’s holy are ye daein’?” Framed in the doorway stood the tall black-clad figure of James Cunningham, elder of the kirk. Alison got to her feet, striving with all her might to retain a calm and dignified demeanour, but her legs were shaking and she had to hold on to the edge of the table for support.
“I . . . meant nae harm, sir,” she stammered.
“Nae harm! Ye were missin’ at the kirk the day an’ when I come oot o’ Christian charity tae speir efter yer well-being, what dae I find? Ye’re workin’, ye’re engaged in trade on the Lord’s Day. We’ll see what the Session has tae say aboot that, my lass.”
Alison paled as she pictured herself, clad in sackcloth, standing on the stool in front of the congregation. Failure to observe the Sabbath might not quite rank with fornication as a crime in the eyes of the kirk elders, but she was in trouble none the less. She thought quickly.
“I didnae come tae the service as I was expecting my faither back frae Glasgow” – this was partly true, at least, – “an’ forbye, I’m no engaged in trade” – she managed a faintly sarcastic tone of voice – “this gown is for mysel’.”
Cunningham sighed deeply, and in the sorrowful tones of a judge explaining to a cattle thief that the law is the law and that regretfully he is going to have to hang him, said, “That’s nae excuse for failure tae attend the kirk. And what’s mair, ye’ve just added lying tae yer list o’ sins. Thon are obviously samples and sketches intended for a customer – a paying customer. It cannae be helped, my lassie, ye’ll have tae answer tae the Session.” Then, as Alison stared at him, horrified, his tone changed. “That is, unless we can come tae an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” Alison repeated blankly, then, as Cunningham came round the table towards her, she began to see what he was hinting at. There was a wild light in his eyes and a mocking smile on his thin lips as he said “Ye’re a weel-favoured lass an’ if ye were willin’ tae dae me a few wee favours I could put work yer way.”
“So I could work every day, even on the Sabbath?” replied Alison with more bravado than she felt. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Aye, ye’ve got spirit. I like that in a lass . . . tae an extent.”
Before she could reply he took two steps towards her, grasped her arms and pinned her back against the wall. His face was just inches from hers and she could feel his hot breath, reeking of onions. “Come on,” he said, “be nice tae me. I’m sure ye can.” And then his thin, cruel mouth was fastened on hers. Alison jerked her head this way and that but he was too strong. She could feel the hardness as his body pressed close to hers, and in desperation she instinctively brought her knee up hard, into his groin. He let go with a curse but immediately came after her again, his face a mask of fury. Alison cried out as he grabbed her once more, clamped one hand over her mouth and with the other roughly seized the front of her gown and tore it from neck to waist.
*
Tom Boyd paced along the Sandgate in the wind and driving rain, in a foul mood. An after-church family gathering at the McFadzean aunts’ house had turned out badly. Fear and worry over the smuggling, compounded by an unexpected stab of disappointment and concern he had felt on not seeing Alison in the kirk, had caused him to lose patience with his aunts’ constant carping and pleading a headache, (“I’m concerned about that boy’s health,” “I blame the French,”) he sought refuge in the rainy streets. Curiosity guided his steps towards the Flemings’ shop, and as he neared the door he heard a scream from inside.
Tom didn’t hesitate. He shouldered his way through the open shop door, skidded round the tailor’s dummy, which miraculously stayed upright, and rushed into the workroom. He had just time to register Alison’s shocked, pallid face and torn shift before launching himself at the black-clad figure hunched over her.
The two men grappled together. They were evenly matched in strength, but Tom had been trained as a youngster by Bob in the art of fist-fighting and was able to land a cracking punch on his opponent’s jaw. The man reeled back against the opposite wall and before he could move Tom had him pinned to the wall, one hand on his chest, the other at his throat. Somehow, he was not surprised to recognise James Cunningham.
“What’s the meaning o’ this?” he shouted.
“Let go of me and I will explain,” said Cunningham coldly. He had regained his composure remarkably quickly. Tom reluctantly lowered his hands.
“Seeing Mistress Fleming and her faither were missing frae the servic
e this morning, I came to enquire after their welfare and I found this young lady” – his voiced dripped with sarcasm – “engaged in profit-making business on the Lord’s Day. I informed her that she would be called to account by the Kirk Session, whereupon the brazen jade attempted to turn me away frae my purpose wi’ her wicked wiles.”
Alison gasped, and one glance at her shocked face confirmed to Tom where the truth lay.
“That’s no’ what I saw,” he said angrily, “an’ I heard her scream frae ootside. It’s plain tae me ye’ve tried tae take advantage o’ an innocent lassie. It’s you who should have tae answer for it.”
“I doubt if your word would be believed against mine. I am an elder o’ the kirk, dinnae forget.”
“Aye,” said Tom bitterly, “an’ nae doot ye consider yersel’ one o’ the elect. Ye’re convinced ye hae eternal salvation and that gi’es ye licence tae dae as ye like. But I ken what I hae seen here and nae power on heaven or earth can excuse it. You threatened an’ took advantage o’ a defenceless woman and make no mistake, the Session will hear o’ this.”
“Ha!” spat Cunningham. “Ye think they’ll believe you, after a’ I’ve heard o’ your reputation? Fornicator!”
And with that he turned and made for the door.
“Mr Cunningham?” came Alison’s voice, shaky but determined.
He stopped, one hand on the latch, and turned to glare at her.
“Wha’s the faither o’ Bessie Gibney’s bairn?”
Cunningham stood for a moment, speechless with rage, then with a muttered curse he was away.
Alison gripped the edge of the table.
“Forgive me, I need tae sit doon,” and she stumbled to a chair, clutching at the edges of her torn clothing. She was shaking uncontrollably and Tom saw tears of shame and anger in her eyes.
He fetched a shawl from the shop and a small tot of whisky from the kitchen press. She accepted both gratefully and gradually, as Tom looked on anxiously, some colour returned to her cheeks.
“Can ye tell me what happened?” he asked gently.
Alison drew a heavy sigh, then explained haltingly. Finally, “It was a guid thing ye came by when ye did,” she said with a shudder as she pictured what might have happened. “Thank you.”
“How are ye feeling?”
She managed a shaky smile. “A bit better. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
They sat in awkward silence for a minute or so, then Tom asked, “What was that aboot Bessie Gibney?”
Alison shrugged, “Nothin’ much. I just thocht he might ken something, that’s a’.”
“Forgive me, but there’s mair than that, the way ye speired. Come on, ye can trust me.”
“Aye, that I can.” Alison looked at him steadily, then went on, “It was last Sunday in the kirk. When they made Bessie stand. I was watching Cunningham. He looked pleased, but it was mair than that. He was fair gloatin’.”
“Aye, I saw that. He was ower pleased wi’ himsel’.” A thought struck him. “Dae ye think he’s the wean’s faither?”
“I’ve nae notion. But if he’s no’, he kens wha is. An’ if he is the faither, Bessie’s too feart tae name him, so we’d never prove it. I’ve aye thocht there was somethin’ o’ the justified sinner aboot him.”
“Aye, he thinks he’s one o’ the elect, so he can be as wicked as he likes and it’ll mak’ nae difference at the Day o’ Judgment.”
“He’s a hypocrite, aye preachin’ at ithers, but whaur’s his Christian charity?” Alison shivered. “I’m just feart he’ll come back. Faither’s no’ due hame till the morn.”
“Ye could come tae Barnessie wi’ me,” offered Tom.
Alison gave him a wan smile.
“Ye’re kind, but no. If we’re seen leavin’ here thegither, we’ll baith be up before the Session, especially wi’ your reputation. In fact, ye’d best gang oot the back way.”
Tom grinned ruefully. “Oh aye, it seems I’m the Great Fornicator. It’s no’ somethin’ I’ve ever done.” Suddenly he wanted Alison to believe him, very much.
“Don’t worry Tom. Ye’re a fine young man,” she said with a smile. “Noo, awa’ ye go, an’ let me get on wi’ breaking the Sabbath.”
“Are ye sure ye’ll be all right?”
“Aye. When I’m busy wi’ my wark, I forget everything else.”
“Just make sure ye keep the door bolted till yer faither comes hame.”
“I will.”
As Tom went off to join his family, he realised that in the space of two days he had made two dangerous enemies and one friend. There was no doubt that it was the latter who was more important to him and as he hurried along the Sandgate in the rain, his thoughts were full of Alison Fleming.
*
Alison spent the next day in an unaccustomed state of nerves. She had been badly shaken by her encounter with James Cunningham and only felt a little better when her father arrived back from Glasgow. For his part, he was surprised to be welcomed even more warmly than usual by his daughter and he had to tell her to stop fussing when she sat him in the armchair by the inglenook, drew off his boots and made sure his pipe and glass of whisky were to hand before sitting down opposite and questioning him at inordinate length about his trip.
“There’s somethin’ botherin’ ye lassie,” he said at last. “What’s been happenin’?”
Alison coloured. “Naethin’ much, faither. I think the stew’s near ready,” she continued, jumping up to stir the pot. Her father sighed, recognising that she would not be drawn any further.
CHAPTER 12
Tuesday August 28th
Alison stood at her work table, cutting orange taffeta for another gown for Miss Effie McFadzean, trying to concentrate on her task and ignore the constant reminders of the attack which had taken place in that very room two days before. Thank goodness Tom Boyd had come along when he did. Alison would not let herself think about what might have happened, but in spite of her fear she found herself smiling as she thought of Tom. He was far from the foolish young wastrel she had first thought him; he was brave and kind and she felt herself increasingly drawn to him. Not all men were like James Cunningham, and men of his sort would carry on their wicked ways as long as they could get away with it. “Why should he get away with it?” she thought, as an idea began to form in her head.
In the afternoon she went down to Mill Street to see Annie and was surprised to find the hearth swept and a small fire burning. Annie was brighter than usual. She had combed her hair and was sitting knitting by the fire. “Socks for Mungo,” she said in answer to Alison’s enquiry, “if I can mind how tae turn the heel.” She proudly informed Alison that she hadn’t had a drop of drink for two days and was determined to keep off the bottle. Looking round the dingy room Alison was pleased to see that Annie had made some attempt at cleaning. Perhaps now Mungo would spend more time at home and care better for his mother.
“Mungo brocht some tea frae the office,” Annie said. “I’ll brew us a cup, if ye like.”
Alison accepted gratefully and soon the two women were chatting amicably. It turned out that Annie knew, or knew about, nearly everybody in Ayr.
“Dae ye ken Bessie Gibney?” asked Alison, who had thought a lot about that young woman over the previous days.
“Bessie Gibney . . . aye, she’s a washerwoman. She lives in a wee hut doon by the river wi’ her wean, weans I suppose it’ll be noo.”
Alison had an idea. “Is it far frae here?” she asked.
“Ye gang along the bank towards the brig. It’s aboot twa minutes’ walk. She’ll likely be workin’ ootside the day as it’s no’ rainin’.”
They talked for a few minutes more before Alison took her leave.
“Ye’re lookin’ a lot better, Annie,” she said. “Thank ye for the tea.”
As Alison made her way along the river bank in the direction Annie had indicated, she heard singing and laughter coming from up ahead, and rounding an overhanging hawthorn bush she saw two young women about h
er own age jumping up and down in big wooden wash tubs. Their sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong brown arms and coarse, reddened hands. They held their skirts clear of the water as their feet pounded the washing in the tubs. On the bushes all around sheets and shirts had been spread out to dry, some linen, some finer cambric. A plump, black-haired little girl of about two was playing in the mud by the water’s edge and in a makeshift crib in the shade by the open hut door a baby was gurgling contentedly in its sleep.
Alison recognised the taller of the two women as Bessie Gibney and called out to her. She stopped jumping and stepped out of the tub, eying Alison suspiciously.
“What dae ye want, mistress?” asked Bessie.
“I dinnae think ye ken me. My name’s Alison Fleming, frae the drapers in the Sandgate.”
“Oh aye, I ken the place. I used tae work whiles for Mr Forsyth, that had the shop afore ye.”
The implied reproach in her words prompted Alison to ask, “How’s the business noo? Ye seem tae hae plenty tae dae.”
“Aye, the day. We’re gettin’ a’ we can done in the guid weather. It’s no easy when it rains an’ we hae tae work inside. What brings ye here, mistress?” she added.
Alison hesitated, unsure how to continue.
“I might hae some work for ye,” she began. “We often hae bolts o’ cloth that need laundering afore I can use them. And dae ye dae ironing?”
“Aye,” said Bessie, “I dae a guid job, an’ I’ll no deny we could dae wi’ mair customers, my sister an’ I. That’s her there, Lizzie.” Bessie indicated the other girl who had spread a shirt out on a flat stone and was beating the water out of it with a wooden bat. Lizzie raised a hand briefly in greeting.
“When would ye want this work done, mistress?” asked Bessie, jumping back into the tub to resume her tramping.
Alison thought quickly. She had not intended to offer Bessie custom, and although it now seemed a good way to get to know her better, she was unsure what to ask for.
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