‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’ He stayed outside on the terrace, with a gesture at his wet boots. ‘I just wanted to check, did you put some stuff in the shed behind the outbuildings, or is that Finlay’s?’
‘I’m not sure I knew there was a shed. It certainly wasn’t me.’
‘It must be Finlay then.’ He looked around doubtfully. ‘I’m not certain what to do. It will be spoiled if it’s left there. Perhaps he didn’t realise the roof has gone. He’s covered it up a bit, but that’s not going to keep it dry. What should I do, do you think?’
‘What kind of stuff is it?’
‘Boxes and suitcases. Maybe he planned to take it to a charity shop. I could move it all into the garage. It would stay dry in there.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. Would you mind? I’ll mention it when he gets in touch.’ Automatically she reached for the phone and glanced at its screen. Nothing. ‘He’s still not answering my calls and his voicemail isn’t switched on.’
‘Probably forgotten we exist.’ Lachy didn’t look the least put out by the thought. ‘He’s lost in his world at the moment. Good luck to him.’
Thomas
I recovered from the lightning strike and wrote home to my brother David as soon as I was able, describing the events of that fateful day, making light of my injuries as I knew he would pass on the information to Mama and Papa. Unbeknown to me, David had my letter published in St James’s Chronicle. If they paid him for it, he never passed the money on to me.
Of one strange occurrence I told no one then or since.
I remembered nothing of the strike itself; I neither saw nor felt the flash, though now I think I smelt a strangeness in the air moments before it happened. I did not hear the crack of doom as the thunder clapped, but I presume it was much as the second strike that took out the main mast, the sound so loud and awful and the shudder so great it was as if every cannon on the ship had been fired at once.
As I lay on the first lieutenant’s bunk I was at first aware of nothing but the pain in my arm. People came and went; the gunner’s wife brought a cold towel to press on my forehead and redressed my arm. All was a blur, my eyes unfocused and my head blind with pain. Then Jamie, ever the cheerful soul, looked in to see if I was alive and I opened my eyes and saw for the first time. It was as though some connection had been made in the depths of my brain. Everything around me was bright and fluid with swirling lights and Jamie, above all, was surrounded with a halo of reds and greens and yellow colours. As he talked and laughed, a wild shaky laugh, I saw the lights around his head and shoulders reflect his true feelings, I saw his fear for me, his shock at what had happened to the ship which was the centre of our world, saw he was not telling me everything. I saw that men had been killed or injured far worse than me by the lightning blast and by the flying splinters as the mast disintegrated and by the fire that followed, and I realised I was reading his thoughts. He did not stay long. The whole crew had been mustered on deck to help the poor Tartar limp into Pensacola Bay under a jury rig, and there repairs were made. I was left alone to thank God for my life and to puzzle the strange gift of deep sight that had been opened to me. I wished the sennachie was there to explain to me what had happened to me and failing his presence I wondered when and if we would ever return to Barbados so that I could visit the slave woman who was so brilliant a doctor and who had read the secrets of my soul and could, if I had the chance to ask, no doubt do so again.
22
‘Are you sure you covered your tracks?’ April had subsided onto the nearest chair. She opened and closed her hands on the table and Tim smiled maliciously, guessing how desperately she wanted a cigarette.
‘Of course. Is everything tidy here?’
She glared at him. ‘I’ve even run the vacuum round the room. There’s no trace of anything from Number 26.’
‘So we’re cushty?’ He grinned.
‘Unless the police come about the will.’
She hadn’t spotted the utterly brilliant part of his plan. If ever the shit hit the fan he had only to say that he had rescued the valuables to keep them safe for Ruth. Why else would he have taken them to the place where she was staying? It was April who had forged the other signatures on the will after he had guided Donald’s hand to sign it, April who had found the old will forms in the first place. He had been an innocent bystander who had genuinely liked the old boy and had looked after him. He had had no idea Dunbar had any family; he had thought he was doing him a favour.
‘The police won’t come,’ he said confidently.
‘You don’t know that.’ She gave up the struggle, climbed to her feet, went to the drawer under the draining board and extricated a battered packet of cigarettes. She shook it experimentally, found three inside and ignoring his raised eyebrow turned on a gas burner and bent to light one. She inhaled deeply. ‘I will be sad to move on from here. I like this house.’
He gave a grim smile. ‘Better than Number 26?’
‘Don’t kid yourself we’ll ever live there. If we inherit it, we’ll sell it. Do you know how much houses in that part of town are worth?’
‘Of course I do. You think I didn’t check?’ He waved away her smoke with a look of distaste. ‘Have you thought about where we’ll go next?’ It was a grudging admission that she was the one who made the decisions. He went to the window and pushed it open. A thread of fresh air entered the room, mingled with the waft of the bins outside; anything was better than the smell of her smoke.
‘Maybe London this time.’
‘Won’t we have enough money to retire?’
She pulled a face. ‘Not unless you plan to go to work.’
‘I was working, April,’ he retorted mildly. ‘I worked damn hard.’
She acknowledged the fact with a dubious inclination of the head. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
He gave up on the fresh air and pulled the window shut. ‘I might go out for a bit.’ He wasn’t good at waiting and that was all there was to do now.
‘Please yourself.’ She was looking forward to her next programme on the telly. If he was out of the house she could enjoy it more, maybe even have another cigarette.
Harriet arrived just before six, and Ruth showed her round the house. ‘Isn’t it lovely? I haven’t actually asked Fin if you can stay – I can’t get hold of him – but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Sit down there and I’ll make us a G & T.’
Searching through Finlay’s drinks cupboard she found some gin. She studied her companion for a moment as Harriet hitched herself onto a stool. ‘So, your book is going well so far?’
Harriet nodded. ‘Liz’s grandmother was the most amazing woman. Awesome! I wish I’d met her.’
Ruth poured a hefty slug of gin into each glass. ‘So, how long will you be staying up north?’
‘I should think another couple of weeks.’ Harriet reached for one of the glasses and took a sip of neat gin. ‘You were telling me on the phone that Thomas saw ghosts? Yuk!’ she pushed the glass aside. ‘Haven’t you got any tonic? This is far too strong.’
Ruth gave up on the search for tonic. ‘Let me make us a Negroni. Finlay has all the ingredients.’
She stood stock-still, thinking, as she reached for the bottle of Campari.
‘Ruth? What is it?’
‘I was trying to remember where Thomas mentions ghosts.’
‘You haven’t tried to summon him yet?’
‘No way.’
‘I think you should. In fact,’ Harriet looked up, her whole face suddenly animated, ‘why don’t we both give it a try tonight, while I’m here?’ She took the bottle out of Ruth’s hand and screwed the top back on. ‘That’s it. We’ll hold a séance – a proper séance this time – and get him to come and talk to you.’ She shoved the bottle towards Ruth. ‘Come on. If you’re going to make this concoction, get on with it. After supper we are going to repair to a candlelit room and we are going to ask Lord Erskine to appear and tell us the truth behind all this.’
/> The captain’s woman had died in childbirth. The whole ship knew and the mood was sombre. Thomas and Jamie had accompanied him ashore when he was summoned by a slave from the estate. The two boys waited nearby as he went into the house to see her. They had been too late.
When Sir John came out hours later he had his little daughter with him. His face was ravaged with grief. ‘I am staying ashore for a while,’ he told them. He handed a letter to Thomas as the little girl clung to the skirts of his coat. ‘Return to the ship, Mr Erskine,’ he said formally, ‘and give this to Mr Barton. He will assume command until I return.’ He stooped and picked up the child. ‘I have to see to my little one.’
They stared after him as he went back into the house. ‘He must have really loved her,’ Jamie said wonderingly. ‘Even though she was a slave.’
Tom nodded doubtfully. Something about Jamie’s words did not seem right to him. Just because a woman was a slave, why should that make a difference to how a man felt about her? He had seen the strange mixture of emotions swirling in the air around the captain’s head and shoulders. Above all there was anger, there was grief, there was love, love for the woman who had gone and love for the little girl with her dark skin and her huge uncomprehending eyes, and there was guilt that he had caused the death of the beautiful woman who had loved and trusted him so unreservedly.
They were so preoccupied they did not at first see the black woman who walked heavily out of the house and down the steps towards them, the burden of her own grief all too evident. As she came closer Tom recognised her. He gave Jamie a push. ‘Go on. I will catch you up. I need to speak to this lady. She is like a doctor on the estate.’
As he approached, she looked up and saw him. ‘So, it is the young man with the yaya. You are better?’ Her face was streaked with tears and she looked exhausted.
‘Thank you, yes. You were trying to save the captain’s lady?’ Tom hesitated. The sight of Sir John completely unmanned by his loss had moved him greatly.
‘The captain’s woman,’ the old woman corrected him. Seeing her for the first time in daylight, he registered that she was old, her face lined, her hair threaded with grey, her hands knotted and rough. ‘It was her time. She was too frail to birth that child.’ She led him over to the shade of some palm trees and looked at him closely. ‘So, you know your destiny now, boy.’
‘My destiny?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I know I can see things now. I was struck by lightning.’ He held out his arm and pulled up his shirt sleeve to show her the burn. She barely glanced at it. ‘I wanted to come and see you. I needed to know what happened to me.’
‘You have special powers, boy, I told you that before and now you know it. You’re greater than your brothers.’
He stared at her. The wizened face was wise with years, the eyes bright and all-seeing. ‘How did you know I had brothers?’ he stammered.
‘I see everything.’ Suddenly her gaze became intense. ‘As you do, now, boy. You can see as well as me now. The great god in the sky, he turned you on with that lightning bolt!’ She gave a weary giggle. ‘Use those powers well, boy. Use them for good. Learn to control them. You must be able to call them to you, and send them away again when you don’t need them. You will be a great man.’ She reached up and pulled him round so he faced the intense afternoon sunlight and she studied his face for several seconds. ‘I see so much in you. I wish you well, boy. Now, you go back to your ship. Your captain won’t come back. You can see that, can’t you.’
He stared at her and he realised it was true. He had seen it in Sir John’s face. It was as if something had been extinguished in the man’s soul. ‘How is it possible to love someone so much?’ he stammered.
She giggled again. ‘One day you’ll find out. You will love someone as much as he did. Now, go, boy. I’m so tired and I want to pray for that girl’s soul and for that of her baby. Your gods and my gods, they are all the same. They got compassion for the innocent ones. In all the misery and the pain, they are there. Don’t you forget that, boy, you with your godly sisters!’
With a last exhausted peal of laughter she gave him a little push and walked away, the slap of her bare feet on the path throwing up dust as she went.
‘What was all that about?’ Jamie had been waiting for him, watching.
‘She’s the woman who cured me when I was ill. She’s some sort of doctor.’
‘A witch doctor?’ Jamie’s eyes rounded.
‘No! Yes!’ Tom screwed up his eyes in the sun. ‘She’s a wise woman. We have those in Scotland. She can see the future.’
She had known he had brothers, and she had known about his sisters. And, he glanced down at the sealed letter in his hand, she knew the captain would not return to the Tartar.
Thomas
A spey-wife we in Scotland would have called that woman. She was right. Sir John Lindsay did not return to his command. He took leave of absence and booked passage home, taking his little daughter Dido Belle with him. I did not know it then but he gave her to his mentor and mine, his uncle, Lord Mansfield, to raise as a lady in London with Lord M’s orphaned niece, Elizabeth, who was already in his care. And in the meantime I went back to my duties as a midshipman under our new commander, George Johnson. He was a tough man; not likeable but fair and in due time I was made acting lieutenant.
And the halo of lights? In the busyness of my life they went away. Just sometimes as I looked at someone I saw them again and slowly I learned that, as the old woman had told me, I could command the lights, but it took practice and I was young and the mental effort required was mostly more than I could summon.
It was in the final months of 1767 that I received a letter from my brother warning me that our father’s illness was likely to be fatal. Papa had never been strong, but the shock of those words as I read them, penned so many weeks before the letter was in my hands, was overwhelming. I took myself to the bulwarks and stared out to sea as the sun set into the purple haze and in my mind’s eye I was there in Walcot at my mother’s side in Buchan House, as Anne’s residence was now called, as Papa breathed his last on the first day of December, and I was there with her and my brothers as they and so many others, strangers to me, sang a hymn and prayed as his coffin was taken to Lady Huntingdon’s chapel. His funeral was the focus of so much attention in Bath that David, now the new Lord Buchan, the 11th earl, no less, issued tickets to attend.
It was strange that later people reported I was there, at the funeral, when in reality I was thousands of miles away in the Caribbean Sea. Perhaps there were people there who could see as I saw, but I know not who they were. Certainly not my brothers.
My father’s coffin was taken to Bristol from where he was transported by sea to Edinburgh and there interred with all due ceremony in Holyrood Abbey, and I watched it all through my strange far-seeing gaze.
Sometimes I smiled through my sadness to think how grand David would now be. Though I was wrong about that, at least at first, for he seemed to have become the most devout and religious of men and followed his new mentors to London. He was mocked by society for his religiosity but to do him credit he ignored the gossips and for a while he continued to pray.
In time both my brothers returned to their previous lives, and our mother left Bath and went home to Edinburgh, perhaps to be nearer to my father. My sister Anne resumed her duties at Lady Huntingdon’s side and it was through their zealous offices that my brother David now had the services of no less than three chaplains! I wondered if they shared his love of the stars.
23
‘We shouldn’t have drunk so much!’ Harriet was quite giggly. ‘But I want to get on with this. I’ve been to séances before in Glastonbury and it was amazing!’ She was not to be dissuaded and eventually Ruth stopped trying to think of excuses not to go ahead. She did not, after all, expect anything to happen.
They carried their glasses through to the sitting room after supper and Ruth lit the wood burner. She threw herself down on t
he sofa and closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment. ‘We are in no fit state to do this.’
‘Rubbish. Alcohol loosens the inhibitions and if we have one fault, you and I, it is that we are far too inhibited.’ Harriet sat down opposite her. She took another sip from her glass.
‘So,’ Ruth said, ‘we’re going to sit here with a tumbler and lots of bits of paper with the alphabet written on and ask, “Is there anybody there?” like a couple of drunken students?’
‘We are a couple of drunken researchers, though, aren’t we?’ Harriet giggled. ‘It’s probably not that much different. So, you have done this before?’
‘Of course I’ve done it before. As a student. It was the most cumbersome, idiotic pastime. If dead people wanted to talk to us, they would talk, not force us to spend hours with a glass – not an empty one, anyway – racing backwards and forwards across the table while we try to make out what it’s trying to say.’
‘What happened when you were a student. Did it work?’
‘We scared ourselves silly, if I remember, and in the end the glass flew across the table and smashed against the wall.’
‘So it did work.’
‘Doesn’t it always? Because someone always cheats. Oh, come on, Hattie! Grow up; you didn’t think it was real?’
‘I’ve never done it.’ Harriet took another sip.
‘What a sheltered life you’ve led!’ Ruth looked at her in mock despair. ‘You’re not really qualified to write this book of yours, are you.’
‘Isn’t that the whole point?’ Harriet climbed to her feet and went to stand in front of the wood burner, which was beginning to throw out some real heat. ‘Anyway, tonight I was planning to do something different. A proper séance.’
‘And how does one do that?’
‘One has to go into a trance.’
‘And you really think it will work?’ Ruth tried to keep the mockery out of her voice. ‘No, don’t answer that. You go ahead. I’ll watch.’