She raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, she’s in love with you,’ she prompted gently.
He nodded. ‘But it wouldn’t be fair of me to get involved with anyone, not really involved. I’m going to have less and less time. I work every hour God sends as it is – they’re going to need doctors so badly – and the load is only going to get heavier.’ Was this an excuse, he wondered suddenly? No one had ever asked him to analyse his true feelings for Liza before. He did love her. He was fascinated by her. But something inside him held him back. Was it fear perhaps, after seeing what passion and commitment gone wrong had done to his parents? Or was it still a guilty memory of Brid and her desolate face as he left her for the last time? He didn’t know. ‘In the summer I’m going to Glasgow to do my six weeks’ clinical practice and if I don’t get called up, as soon as I qualify, I’ll probably go down to London or back to Glasgow or somewhere where they really need people. I wouldn’t be able to think about marrying or anything.’
‘Then you should tell her.’ Jane reached forward to top up his cup again. ‘You’re not being fair, Adam.’ She smiled at him sadly, and after a moment he smiled back.
Brid smacked the water with the flat of her hand and swore. Where were the images? Where were A-dam, and the woman, the red-haired woman who painted the pictures? She could not see them. She could see nothing. Her head was spinning and she felt terribly cold. She looked at her hands. They were blue and shaking. Slowly she crawled backwards away from the edge of the spring and tried to stand up. The sky had gone black. There was a strange buzzing in her ears. Somewhere she could hear someone calling her name. She shook her head. It was Broichan’s voice. Broichan who had vowed to kill her. But he must not follow her here. Not to A-dam’s time. Not to A-dam’s city. She struggled to her feet and turned away from the water. If she could find her way back to Maggie’s room she would be all right. She had food in her bag; she could always buy her way in with Maggie with food or a bottle of ale, or better still some gin or at worst meths. The old woman was foul-mouthed and verminous and her room was squalid. It smelled and it was cold, but it wasn’t as cold as the clean sweet nights she spent on the hill when the wind cut into her very bones and she thought she would die. Slowly she began to put one foot in front of the other as she headed down towards the city.
She did not realise what was happening when she collapsed, or feel her body being lifted onto a stretcher. She did not know that she was being taken into the Infirmary. Her spirit was roaming the hill, confused, afraid, hearing only the angry shouts of Broichan in the wind and the echo of his horse’s hooves in the black infinity of space.
The harassed doctor stood looking down at the still form in the hospital bed and shook his head. ‘She must be in shock. Keep her warm and keep an eye on her. That’s all we can do. Does anyone know who she is? Why doesn’t she have an identity card?’ He had a hundred other patients to see with injuries which were visible.
Brid stirred slightly, her head moving restlessly on the pillow. She could see the ward hazily through her eyelids, and the tall, ginger-haired man in his white coat, the stethoscope around his neck; she was aware of the other beds, the women lying in rows, some weeping quietly, some silent, their faces as white as the stiff cotton sheets in which they lay. But she could not react. It was as if there were a screen between her and that world; a screen of fog, deadening the sound, removing her into some limbo where now, behind her, she could see the hillside of her home, see her brother reaching out to catch hold of her hand, see behind him Broichan’s followers coming ever closer.
When the nurse propped her up against the pillows and fed her something with a spoon she swallowed obediently. She did not fight them when they sponged her thin body and changed her gown, she did not react when someone came and brushed her hair or when the chaplain prayed over her to the Christian God. Nothing reached her. In the locker beside her bed her woven bag lay untouched. They had not found a name or address in the small leather purse; the pretty powder compact had no initials on it. The small rusty iron-bladed dagger roused interest, and some speculation, but was soon returned to the bag and forgotten.
‘You don’t mind coming with me?’ Liza was sitting opposite Adam in The Aperitif in Frederick Street. ‘You are sure you can spare the time?’ There was a touch of sarcasm there he had not heard before.
‘Of course not.’ He smiled at her, trying not to think about the bill which any minute he would have to call for.
She grinned back at him, reading his thoughts and to his embarrassment he found a ten shilling note being pushed into his hand. ‘Go on. I owe you. I’ve sold two pictures. When you’re in London and established in Harley Street you can take me to the Ritz. Deal?’
He nodded with relief. ‘Deal.’
The streets of Morningside were deserted, peaceful after the bustle and crowds and queues in the centre of the town. The house was grey, solid, very respectable, with ornate net curtains and a border of roses along both sides of the front path. They let themselves in and carefully shut the gate behind them before walking slowly towards the front door. A robin was singing from the pear tree on the front lawn, its throat swelling and fluttering with the ecstasy of its song. The woman who opened the door was in her forties, neat in a twin set and pearl necklace, her feet clad in brown leather brogues. Only the exotic rings on her fingers – amber and lapis and jade – hinted at her calling. She showed them into the front room which was solidly furnished with a sofa and two matching easy-chairs and a low table. On the table stood something swathed in a black cloth. Adam felt his stomach lurch with disgust. The woman had a crystal ball.
‘Please sit down.’ She smiled at them and picked up without comment the envelope that Liza slid across the table to her. Obviously payment was in advance. Tucking it into her pocket without opening it she sat opposite them and surveyed them with surprisingly astute eyes. ‘So. I gather you are having trouble with a gypsy curse?’
Liza nodded. ‘As I explained over the phone, Mrs Gardiner, I don’t understand it. I can feel her wherever I am. I go to the art college, I go home to my studio, I go shopping, I go to my tutor’s house …’ She did not see Adam’s sharp glance as she said that. ‘Wherever I am she is there, watching me. Inside my head. It’s driving me mad!’
‘And you, Mr Craig, does she follow you the same way?’
The woman’s eyes seemed to look into Adam’s soul. He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Hardly at all. I thought I saw her once or twice. Standing near my digs in the High Street. I don’t understand why she is pestering Liza like this.’
‘Well, that’s easy.’ Mrs Gardiner crossed her legs elegantly and Adam heard the rasp of the silk-clad thighs. ‘Miss Vaughan is a natural psychic. The girl finds it easy to reach her.’
‘A psychic?’ Adam looked at her in astonishment.
Liza grimaced. ‘I told you I had second sight.’
‘She obviously finds it hard to contact you, Mr Craig, so she is clinging to the one person with whom she can be sure of a link. This kind of telepathic link is very tenuous at the best of times. It is probably not a two-way thing. May I ask why you do not contact her in person and ask her to stop?’
‘Because I can’t find her,’ Adam said desperately. ‘When I thought I saw her I went to catch her but she wasn’t there. I have no idea where she is staying.’ His face was set grimly. He was not going to tell them he hadn’t tried to find her, that the last person on earth he wanted to see was Brid. ‘Liza tells me you can contact her somehow. Tell her to back off. That’s the reason we’ve come to see you.’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Gardiner smiled enigmatically. ‘But first, I have to ask you something.’ She took a deep breath and then stopped, as though she were embarrassed suddenly. ‘Mr Craig, forgive me asking you this, but I have to know. Miss Vaughan says that this young lady, Brid, is a tinker lass, a Romany. Is that right?’
Adam nodded.
‘Do you have anything of hers? Did she give you a keepsake? A memento? A charm? An
ything that you could have passed on to Miss Vaughan as a gift in your turn?’
Adam tensed. The pendant. But how could he admit to Liza that the gift he had given her had been Brid’s? He took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘I ask because if you had such an item it could be that she is using it as the link between you. It is a common practice amongst the Romany people, I understand, to maintain their power over others. Could she have given you something without your realising it? Hidden it in your belongings, perhaps?’
He bit his lip, aware that both women were looking at him hard, and for a moment he was transported back to the summer hillside and the tent by the burn. ‘She gave me nothing. I’m sure of it.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Gardiner seemed disappointed. She shrugged and leaned forward towards the table. ‘Well, all I can do is consult my ball and see what it says.’ She pulled off the black cloth and Adam found himself staring down into the cloudy, sparkling crystal.
For a long time she was silent. Adam felt a sudden panic, wondering if she could see the truth in it. The feeling was replaced almost at once by self-ridicule at his own credulity and by a wild urge to laugh and he looked up, trying to catch Liza’s eye. But she was staring at the ball as hard as Mrs Gardiner. He exhaled loudly and sat back on the sofa with crossed arms, distancing himself from what the two women were doing. Whatever it was, they were not going to reach Brid.
‘Ah, I see her now.’ Mrs Gardiner had been silent for so long Adam jumped. ‘A pretty girl, with long dark hair. She is standing by a great sarsen stone. I see the carvings on it. The animals; the broken lightning bolt, the crescent. That is where she must be getting her strength to reach you. You touched it with her, perhaps. You made the link yourself.’
Adam stared at her and he felt the blood draining from his face. Liza must have told the woman about that on the telephone.
But he had never told Liza.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Gardiner went on. She seemed to be getting into her stride. ‘I can see fog around her. She is lost. Her family are looking for her. There is a great deal of anger. I can see it crackling round the stone. I can see danger. Fear. I can hear them shouting. It is a strange language. I can’t understand.’ Small drops of perspiration were appearing on the woman’s heavily powdered upper lip. ‘They are hunting for you, Mr Craig.’ She looked away from the ball suddenly, straight at him, and he saw the horror in her eyes. ‘They are hunting for you. They are going to hunt you for as long as it takes to find you and then they are going to kill you.’
He thought he was going to be sick. He stared at her, conscious that beside him Liza had caught her breath in a strangled gasp. The woman’s hands were shaking as she sat forward again and looked back into the crystal. He followed her gaze, unable now to look away, but the crystal appeared to have gone black. The rainbows and lights which had danced inside the quartz as the sun shone in through the net curtains had died. The room was growing dark.
Slowly she shook her head. ‘I can’t see any more.’ She sat back and rubbed her face with her hands. ‘There is one other thing I must tell you. I’m sorry, Mr Craig, but your Brid is dead. She may have been a gypsy once, but the young lady who is haunting you both has been dead for a long, long time.’
‘You were lying, weren’t you!’ Liza turned on him the moment they were outside. Her expression was icy. ‘You did give me something of hers. The pendant!’
Adam stared at her. ‘How did you know it was that?’
‘Apart from the fact that it’s the only present you’ve ever given me, you mean?’ She saw the colour flare in his cheeks and instantly she was sorry. He was after all a student with no money. But she persisted. ‘Why, Adam? Why did you give it to me?’
‘I wanted to give you something,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I wasn’t going to see her again. It was very beautiful –’ He paused, standing, hands in pockets, staring into space. ‘Did you believe her when she said Brid was dead?’
Liza was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know!’
‘Poor Brid.’ He took a few steps down the quiet road and then stopped again. ‘She was so full of life.’
Liza had followed him. ‘It’s not poor Brid, Adam. She’s dangerous. She’s vicious. Even if she’s a ghost, she’s still here, for God’s sake! And you can have your pendant back. Now. Today.’
When they reached the studio she went straight to the bedside table where the silver charm lay. Picking it up she handed it to Adam. ‘No more presents, please.’
‘Liza – ’
‘No, Adam.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. A girl doesn’t want to hear that the gift she’s been given is second-hand. And she doesn’t want to know that she’s been lied to. Even without the fact that I’m being pursued by a ghost that belongs to you! I’m very fond of you, Adam, I always will be, but enough is enough!’ She turned away abruptly so he couldn’t see the angry tears. ‘Please go.’
‘Liza, you’re not serious? We’ve been through so much together …’
‘Exactly!’ She rounded on him. ‘We’ve been through a lot, and it’s Brid’s fault. You deal with her! It’s not my problem!’
Andrew Thomson, another fourth-year student, who intended to specialise in surgery, had taken over Robbie’s digs. Like all medical students he had in July the previous year had his call-up deferred, a deferral which depended on their marks being passable and their eventual qualification. He and Adam rubbed along together fairly well, but both were working so hard now they had little time for more than the occasional drink together down Lothian Road. It was almost a surprise when Adam, exhausted after a day of ward rounds and clinical lectures, found Andrew standing staring out of the window of the small sitting room in the digs looking down at the narrow close where a small child, half dressed and shivering, was teasing a mangy dog. He turned as Adam came in. ‘I thought you might be in about now, old boy.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’ He paused as Adam stood in the doorway. ‘It’s Robbie. He’s been shot down.’
Adam took a deep breath. It had happened to several young men he knew. But no one close. Not yet. ‘Is he badly hurt?’ His voice was husky.
‘I’m afraid he bought it. So sorry, old chap, I really am.’
He lay face down on his bed for a long time after Andrew had gone, as the room grew dark around him. His mind was a blank. He did not let himself remember the good times. He didn’t let himself think about Robbie’s father or his grandparents or Jane. The picture in his head was of the young, laughing RAF officer, the blue of his uniform setting off the blue of his eyes, excited, eager, treating war as a challenge, even a game. He had survived the posting down south, he had survived the Battle of Britain, he had written to say he was coming up on leave and would see them all in two weeks’ time, and now he was gone.
It was fully dark when Andrew pushed open the door again and walked across the room to pull the blackout into place before switching on the light. ‘You okay?’
Adam rolled over and put his hand across his eyes to shield them from the light. ‘I think I should go and see Jane.’ His voice was harsh, but he hadn’t cried. His misery was lodged tight inside his chest.
Andrew lit a cigarette and stood, his back to the window, looking down at him. ‘I can borrow the old Riley from my mate Jimmy Grant. I’ll drive you down to her place, if you like.’
Adam swung his feet to the floor and rubbed the palms of his hands up and down his face. ‘Give me a cigarette. Poor Jane. How is she going to cope with this?’
The car went slowly through the narrow border lanes, feeling its way in the dark until they reached the huge gates which led to the old peel tower. Robbie and Adam used to joke that Jane was like Rapunzel, but in her case the prisoner not of a witch, but of a wicked uncle. The Kennedys, the family with whom she was living now she had given up university, were distant cousins, but far from being a prisoner in the high tower, she was helping on their farm with enormous enjoyment.
A
dam sat for a moment in the front of the Riley staring up at the dark mass of the tower. ‘It’s like something out of Macbeth.’
Andrew nodded. ‘Look, I’d better be getting back. Can you find your own way tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’ Adam opened the door and climbed out. ‘Wish me luck.’
Hauling on the bell-pull he waited in the cold wind as the small car drove away into the darkness. It was Jane who opened the door.
‘Adam?’ She pulled him in and closed the door behind him. Then she burst into tears.
‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ she said as she led him into the kitchen, the only warm room in the house. ‘I should have known you’d come. You’re so sweet, Adam. I’m babysitting. The others have gone into Edinburgh to see the Half Past Eight Review at the King’s Theatre. They’re staying overnight and coming back tomorrow. They were going to cancel, to stay with me, but I wanted to be alone.’ She was silent for a minute. ‘Then I wished I wasn’t. I’m so glad you came.’
They sat together in the kitchen for a long time. She cried a bit more and then fell silent, staring down into the mug of cocoa he had made for her as she rocked back and forth in the old chair by the range. ‘You know, Robbie always talked about getting engaged,’ she said at last, looking up at him with red eyes.
‘Did he?’ He was astonished at the flare of jealousy that went through him, and immediately bitterly ashamed.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t want to. I think –’ She paused. ‘I think I knew something would happen.’ She put down her mug and stooped to pick up the black cat circling round her legs, wanting its accustomed chair. She hugged it to her. ‘My parents didn’t approve of him, you know. Oh, they liked him well enough but they didn’t think he was right for me. Not to marry.’ A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away. ‘It’s funny that he should die in England. If it had to happen he would have wanted it to be up here, defending Scotland.’
On the Edge of Darkness Page 15