It took us several days to cover the three hundred or so miles to Gretna in post-chaise, curricle and even, once or twice, the common stage, always looking behind, always afraid. It was there that we were married over the anvil. Under the laws of Scotland we were man and wife.
We spent our wedding night in a roadside inn and then headed up the post roads towards Edinburgh, where I presented my new wife to Mama, who, pragmatic and intelligent as ever, welcomed her with open arms. We stayed with Harry, who was also welcoming, slapping me on the back and rumpling my hair as though I were still a boy of ten. My cheery, boyish brother had gained a certain gravitas; he been made a member of the Faculty of Advocates two years before, and his house in Shoemakers Close on the Canongate, though a bachelor abode, was nevertheless warm and welcoming and it was full of interesting conversation in which my Fanny took a spirited part. I was beginning to find that my beguiling and attractive wife had a brain as good as my mother’s, and though she had not had the benefit of a deep education she was well read and intelligent and held her own in any conversation.
It was with great reluctance that we headed back to London. We took our time, happy and in love. It was only as we drew nearer that another emotion began to intrude: trepidation at the nest of wasps we knew we would encounter when we arrived.
My sister Anne had returned home from her busy tour of rural parishes in order to confront us and Fanny was overjoyed to find Abi there waiting for her as well. Within hours we knew that Mr Moore had indeed sent the Watch after us when he realised his daughter had flown, but hours too late to catch us. Beyond that he had made no efforts to follow us. He had summoned poor Abi and dragged the truth out of her, informing her that it was her fault he no longer recognised his youngest daughter before sending her off without references. Fanny’s mother had been distraught and angrier than her father, if Abi’s opinion was to be believed. My darling proved to be made of strong stuff. She sighed resignedly as she heard the story, but she did not cry.
From my commanding officer I faced a stern dressing down but was granted extended leave; we weathered Anne’s stern reprimands, and laughed off the fact that some of the cheaper gossip sheets had obtained the story of our elopement, naming me only as the Earl of Buchan’s brother, my identity subsumed in his. The Earl of Buchan himself did not deign to see me, only sending a message that I need never ask for help from him again. As he had not helped me in the first place that did not weigh for much with us. Far more alarming was the sight of Andrew Farquhar, lounging in the street outside the house, a supercilious smile on his face as I caught sight of him from our bedroom window. By the time I had the front door opened and hurtled down the steps, footman in tow, to confront him, he had gone.
The sight of him rattled me. I checked my writing case and made sure the obeah woman’s fetish was still there, though I did not show it to Fanny. I confided my fears about Farquhar to Anne. It appeared that she had anyway been thinking hard of where Fanny and I should go. A publicly acknowledged reprobate like me could not be allowed to remain under Lady Huntingdon’s roof. I was informed that the perfect solution had been found. We would for the time being go to our sister, Isabella, who three months before had married a successful barrister by the name of William Hamilton. She had, it appeared, generously offered us a home for as long as we needed it. And so we decamped to their house in Tunbridge Wells.
Our destination was kept secret from Lady Huntingdon’s household, lest Farquhar find out where we had gone. The man worried me. How had he the time to spend stalking us through the streets of London? It was as if we had become an obsession, and I feared for Frances’s safety, especially as by now she was expecting our first baby.
Little Frances was born in Tunbridge Wells early in 1771 and baptised later in the church of St Mary in Marylebone. Isabella, who I had always found a little distant as I grew up, being like Anne so much older than me, now proved a warm and generous friend. She had no children of her own yet and adored little Frances, to whom she stood godmother.
Fanny and I were establishing a firm and fond friendship with her and William, and felt safe at last with them in Kent when Farquhar reappeared on the scene and this time his threats were far more real and more sinister; this time he was on our doorstep and he was ready to strike.
36
To Timothy’s joy and relief, April had announced this morning that she would be busy all day. It meant he could go back to Cramond with no fear of her demanding to go with him.
Cautiously he looked left and right and pulled the French window open a crack. He couldn’t believe his luck. Ruth hadn’t locked it before she went out. He had watched from the bushes as she drove away from the house, half disappointed to see her go, half excited that it meant he could explore without the fear of being seen. There were no other cars there. The place was empty.
Slipping into the dining room out of the rain and kicking off his wet shoes by the door, he went over to the table. It was still strewn with books but the laptop had gone. He reached down to flip open a notebook. It was full of Ruth’s untidy writing, clusters of words, scribbled numbers, looping lines joining paragraph to paragraph across pages. He didn’t try to read it but he was tempted for a moment to take it away – it looked as if a lot of hard work had gone into it and it was amusing to think of her anger and frustration when she found it was missing. But he didn’t want her to know he had been here. Not yet. He looked up with a shiver. The room was ice cold. His rain-soaked jacket was, he realised, dripping all over the carpet.
He tiptoed to the door and opened it. The house was shadowy. It spooked him slightly, as did the solemn ticking of the clock in the hall. If they had brought the silver and stuff into the house, where would they have put it? Somewhere out of the way probably. A spare room maybe?
He climbed the stairs on tiptoe, holding his breath in case they creaked, but there was no sound. On the landing there were four doors, all of them open. He crept towards the first. It was obviously Finlay’s bedroom. He looked round, automatically noting the little silver dishes and the ornaments on the chest of drawers, the nice pictures, but touching nothing. There were bookshelves and matching curtains and bedcover. Posh. And there was a private bathroom which smelt of expensive soap. The next room was clearly where Ruth was sleeping. So, they weren’t an item, then. He stood in the doorway, taking it all in. It was a pretty room, with flowery curtains, and a cream bedspread. He walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back. He could smell the scent she always wore; it had a musky edge, flowery and something else, something deeper that made him want to sniff and sniff again. He leaned forward and smelt the pillow, then pulling back the duvet lowered his face to the sheet where she must lie, night after night, warm and safe, thinking she had got rid of him for good. He could smell her there. It turned him on.
It was several minutes before he pulled away and carefully remade the bed. He went over to the dressing table and pulled out a drawer. There were some T-shirts in there and a couple of bras and some pants. He pulled them out. Pretty, lacy underwear. Not particularly sexy, but just handling them made him feel powerful. He shoved a pair of her knickers into his pocket and carefully replaced the rest. She too had a small bathroom off the bedroom. He looked at her toothbrush and cosmetics without interest and turned away. The next room was another spare room, then there was a large bathroom and another flight of stairs. Up in the attics were three more bedrooms, all furnished simply, all attractive but cold. The cupboards up there were empty. There was no sign of what he was looking for anywhere. Turning, he ran back down to the ground floor.
He walked across the landing and looked into the living room. The wood burner was out, a slight smell of wood smoke in the air and that room too was very cold. He turned away with a shiver and made his way towards the kitchen.
Silently pushing open the door he found that Ruth had left a light on. This room was cheerful and bright. April would like it. He had never seen Finlay’s TV show and he didn’t know where it
was set, but this place would be perfect. It smelt faintly of cooking, garlic and something he couldn’t quite identify. It was tidy, but not too tidy, full of shiny gadgets and wooden bowls, and yes, on the windowsill there were some terracotta-potted plants. He didn’t know if they were herbs. April would have known. He paused, wondering if he would bring her here. She would adore it. He could picture her wandering round the kitchen and for a moment he visualised the wistful longing in his sister’s eyes. It made him uncomfortable even thinking about it.
He turned sharply out of the room. There was one more door off the hall and he headed for it and pushed it open. Finlay was sitting at the desk, the telephone to his ear. For one brief second neither man moved as they stared at each other in mutual astonishment.
Finlay reacted first. ‘Oi!’ he shouted. ‘What the hell are you doing here!’
But already Timothy had fled, back along the hall and through the dining room, grabbing his shoes, out of the French window and into the rain in his socks. By the time Finlay had got to the open door and peered out after him, he had disappeared.
Timothy’s heart was still palpitating under his ribs, and he was feeling sick as he let himself back indoors. Thank God April wasn’t there! He had been stupid. Careless. Why hadn’t he realised that Finlay would be there? Why hadn’t the Daimler been outside the house? He sat down shivering, still in his wet jacket, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Finlay had recognised him. And he had called the police straight away. The patrol car had passed Timothy, light flashing, as he headed along Whitehouse Road. Most people would have had to wait hours but Finlay was a rich celebrity so they had shifted their fat arses and moved. He never doubted that police car was for him. Shit! Shit! Shit! April would kill him. If she knew.
But she needn’t know. If he didn’t tell her, how would she find out? Slowly his breathing returned to normal. One thing was certain. He could never risk going there again.
‘I thought we had done with him!’ Finlay was still pacing up and down furiously when Ruth returned from the shops. ‘I cannot believe it! The man was brazenly wandering round the house.’
‘Which means he knows where I am. Surely the police can arrest him now?’ When she heard what had happened, Ruth had run upstairs to her bedroom, terrified he might have been in there, taken something. There was no sign of him that she could see and her laptop was lying untouched where she had left it, but even so his escapade made her feel uncomfortable and, somehow, soiled. And she was the one who had left the French window unlocked.
‘It’s only a matter of time before he’s picked up.’ Fin led the way into the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry, Ruthie. It’s all going to be OK. So, tell me. Have you spoken to Malcolm again?’
‘Sorry. My nerve failed.’
He swung round and stared at her. ‘Do I gather you have given up on him?’ He plonked a crystal glass in front of her and poured a hefty dose of whisky into it.
She acknowledged his question with a weary smile. ‘I’m a wimp, I know. I thought about it after he had gone and all last night. And I do need the conversation to continue. But he made me feel like an ignorant fifth former.’
‘And as a teacher you know all about ignorant fifth formers.’
‘Indeed I do.’ She sipped from the glass, recoiled and went over to the sink to add some water from the tap. Finlay looked at her aghast but said nothing.
‘I have to find a way to lever open my closed mind, I realise that. Oh, Fin, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I love poetry, I love art. I believe in the beauty and magic I see depicted there but for me it isn’t real. It isn’t something I can touch. It is a delightful but foolish construct.’ She paused then went on. ‘I want to talk about it with Thomas, but if I invented him it wouldn’t be a valid conversation.’
‘Excuse me, love. Is that what Malcolm actually said?’ Finlay heaved himself up onto the stool opposite her and leaned forward, his glass balanced between his fingertips. ‘If he did, he’s no use to us at all.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But even if you had invented Thomas, then it would be like talking to your subconscious, wouldn’t it? Which is probably a hell of a lot wiser than your conscious right now!’
He let the remark sink in as she sipped her whisky. ‘Do you think Timothy will come back?’ she said suddenly.
‘God knows! Wretched man. Not if the police catch up with him. But for goodness’ sake keep the dining room doors locked in future.’
‘He scares me and he shouldn’t. He is a weedy, nasty, small-time crook, but there’s something about his persistence I don’t like. What does he gain by poking around here?’
‘I told the police he’d been stalking you.’ Finlay began to unpack the shopping bags and laid out their lunch. Bread, cheese, salad.
Ruth shuddered. ‘You don’t think he’s plotting some awful revenge?’
‘You mean plotting to burn the house down after being thwarted in his scummy little plans? I doubt it, but I think he might have a bit of an obsession with you!’
‘After lunch I’m going to move all my writing stuff upstairs to my bedroom. You don’t mind, do you? I’ve had the feeling that someone has been looking through the window at me more than once, and I don’t think I’d feel safe working in there any more.’
They carried a table into the bedroom, large enough for her laptop and notebook, and they stacked her books on the floor. Ruth looked round in despair. ‘Supposing Thomas doesn’t come to me up here?’
‘Because it’s your bedroom?’ Finlay put a small vase of flowers on the dressing table as a finishing gesture.
‘Silly, isn’t it.’
‘But if he’s a construct of your mind, why would it make any difference?’
‘It wouldn’t, unless it’s my own inhibitions.’
‘You can always move down again. We can have blinds put up.’
He left her with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a dark chocolate ginger biscuit.
She stood looking round the room for several moments. There was no sign that Timothy had been in here, or anywhere upstairs for that matter, but even so, the thought made her skin crawl. She had to try and forget him. Think about Thomas instead. She went over to the velvet-covered Victorian nursing chair in the corner and pulled it up near the desk. ‘There. That’s for you. If you could sit there when we talk. Please.’ She was addressing the construct.
She laughed to herself, hoping Finlay hadn’t heard.
‘Where’s Fanny?’ Thomas had just come in. He had shrugged off his greatcoat and made his way to the drawing room where little Frances was lying kicking in her cradle while Isabella crooned over her.
‘She and Abi went to buy some dress material.’ Isabella looked up. ‘This child is adorable, Tom. Look how she smiles at you.’
Thomas reached down to give his daughter his finger. She grabbed it with a small gurgle of delight. ‘It’s getting dark. Surely they should be back by now.’
Isabella glanced towards the windows. ‘I was so preoccupied with my goddaughter I hadn’t noticed.’ She went over to the table and rang the bell. ‘Susan, has Mrs Erskine arrived back yet, d’you know?’
‘No, ma’am. They’ve been a long time.’ The maid went over to the windows and began to draw the curtains. ‘Shall I bring tea, ma’am?’
‘Yes, please, Susan. And put another log on the fire, there’s a dear.’ Isabella glanced at her brother. ‘They weren’t going far. I don’t understand what could have delayed them.’
Thomas stood back from the crib. ‘I’ll go and meet them. I’m sure there must be a good reason. Perhaps they met someone they knew in the Pantiles?’ He couldn’t hide his anxiety. Snatching up his coat, he ran down the steps and out along the street, straining his eyes through the dusk in an effort to spot the two figures on the road ahead of him. There were still a lot of people about but no sign of Fanny. He could feel panic rising as he reached the corner. They hadn’t planned to go far. Why would they delay?
And then there was Abi, running towar
ds him. She caught at his sleeve and pulled him after her. ‘Here. Round the corner. We were hiding!’ There were tears running down her cheeks.
Behind her, Fanny emerged from the shadows and threw herself into his arms. ‘Tom, thank God you came! I didn’t know what to do. Has he gone?’
‘Has who gone?’ Thomas guessed the answer. ‘Not Farquhar?’
‘I didn’t know who it was. He came up to us in the haberdashery. I didn’t recognise him. I’d never really seen Farquhar before. He was very civil and he offered us a lift in his carriage. It was starting to rain and there seemed no harm. He introduced himself as James Hardy and told us he was a friend of Isabella’s. He seemed to know the house, and he said he was a colleague of William’s.’ Her voice was unsteady and she still clung to him. ‘If Abi hadn’t remembered where she had seen him before, we would have got into the carriage. He had opened the door and was ushering me in. He had his hand on me, round my waist. I thought it overfamiliar, but it was raining hard and he was trying to help me into the dry, then Abi screamed at me and pulled me away and he turned round and’ – she let out a sob – ‘he punched her in the face!’
Still holding her close, Tom looked over her head towards Abi. She had pulled the hood of her cloak around her, but now he could see the bruising and the trickle of blood near her eye. ‘We ran and there was a lot of shouting,’ Fanny went on. ‘Someone had seen what happened, but we didn’t wait to find out. Abi dragged me away and we ran down an alleyway.’ Her voice broke into a sob. He could feel her shaking in his arms.
‘Where did he go? Did they catch him?’
It was Abi who’d seen what happened. ‘He leapt onto the box and whipped up the horses, straight at the crowd. There was a terrible to-do and a lot of shouting, but when I looked back he’d gone.’ She was still crying. ‘I heard people calling after us to come out, it was safe now, but we didn’t dare.’