Finlay was dipping into the cardboard box again. ‘Good God, look at this!’ He had pulled out a tea towel and unrolled it. Lying on the faded cotton picture of the Forth Rail Bridge was a small doll made of straw and stones and beads strung together on red thread with feathers and plaited hair. They both stared at it in silence. ‘It looks like some kind of voodoo fetish,’ Finlay said. He rerolled the tea towel round it with a distasteful shudder and stowed it back in the cardboard box.
Ruth reached out as he put it away then withdrew her hand. ‘That’s exactly what it is. I read about it in his letters,’ she whispered. ‘When he was in the West Indies, Thomas was ill. He went to an obeah woman, a doctor, and she gave him something to keep him safe. He kept it in his sea chest and he was sure it warned off whoever had been messing with his stuff.’
Finlay glanced at her with a look of scepticism. ‘It doesn’t still work then, does it. So you’re telling me that lump of stuff is over two hundred years old?’
She smiled wanly. ‘So are most of the things in here.’
‘True.’ He stood up. ‘Well, let’s find somewhere to store it all. Shall we lock it in the landing cupboard for now and decide what to do about it later?’ He closed the flaps of the box over the contents with a look of extreme distaste. ‘You might want to run that thing past Malcolm next time he comes. It would be interesting to see if he gets any vibes off it.’
It was to Lord Mansfield that Thomas at last confided his worries about Andrew Farquhar. There had been no further word from the blackguard and no sign that he had followed them back to Huntingdon House but he could not rest safely in the knowledge the man was free on the streets of London.
Mansfield listened to the story and sighed wearily. ‘A man can hide himself in the underworld forever, my boy. A change of name, a change of lodgings and he’s gone back into the cesspit of back streets. You could have a word with the Bow Street Runners but the trouble is you have no way of knowing how this man lives, how he earns his living. You say your wife’s maid said he was smartly dressed. For all you know, he’s a gentleman, albeit with a lewd and vicious tongue. I’ll have a word with John Lindsay and see if he remembers him from the Tartar days. He may still be in touch with some of the officers from the ship; perhaps one of them will recall something of his background. In the meantime, my boy, have you given any more thought to leaving the army and taking up the law?’ He smiled fondly. He knew Tom had thought of nothing else.
As he mounted the roan cob to ride back to London, Thomas was still thinking about the enormous step of giving up his army career, something he enjoyed and at which he was reasonably successful, to go back to his studies and once more face the idea of extreme poverty until he had qualified as a lawyer. It would be a huge decision.
It was a glorious evening, and, dazzled by the setting sun, he did not notice the man loitering outside the gates of Kenwood House. He was just another beggar, dressed in a rough jacket and filthy breeches. He did not even toss the man a coin. Had he looked at him more closely as he kicked his horse into a canter, he might have recognised the ice-cold stare.
‘That’s it!’ Timothy was beyond caring what April would say. ‘We have to get rid of the car and we have to leave town now. I’ve had it with this place! I was attacked! This man was there with Ruth, and he hit me!’ He was genuinely aggrieved. ‘She found our silver. She called the police! It’s all gone to shit!’ He was shaking visibly.
She had been snoozing in the folding chair by the oil stove when he got back and now, slowly and stiffly, she stood up. ‘You went back without me?’ She stared at him in disbelief. Then his words sank in. ‘The silver’s gone? You stupid, stupid man!’
He had grabbed one of the bags from behind the door and was already stuffing things into it at random. He groaned. ‘It’s not my fault. It’s her. She won’t leave me alone,’ he whined.
‘Stop it, Timothy!’ April shrieked.
He froze.
‘I saw this coming. I knew you were losing it.’ Her voice was full of venom. ‘And I take it you drove straight back here and left the car outside the house?’ Registering the guilt on his face, she yelled, ‘I thought so. Dear God!’ She looked up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘OK. As long as they didn’t follow you?’ She looked at him, waiting for an answer and saw the look of blank terror. ‘You didn’t even look in the mirror, did you! Give me the car keys and wait here. Can you manage to do that without getting it wrong?’
Fumbling in his pocket, he gave them to her and stared after her as she went out, banging the door behind her. Already she was talking to someone on her phone. He could not have moved if he wanted to. He was still paralysed with fear.
It was dark when she finally came back. ‘I’ve had the number plates changed. I’d already ordered them, so I collected them, then got a guy I know in Muirhouse to meet me at our old place and put them on for me. That’ll buy us a bit of time.’
‘Time?’ He looked up at her blankly.
‘Yes, time. To see what we can retrieve from this farce. All our planning wasted! We could have made a killing from this and you’ve blown it, you cretin!’
He barely heard her insult. ‘So, what do we do now?’ he asked dully.
‘We wait and we lie low,’ she replied. ‘As far as Madam Ruth and the police are concerned, we’ll disappear. They’ll assume we’ve run away and their guard will drop. Eventually.’ She gave a cold smile. ‘Then we’ll decide what to do next.’ She fixed him with a gimlet stare. ‘Have I made myself understood, Timothy? You will leave Ruth alone. For now.’
41
‘You didn’t bring the fetish with you?’ Malcolm guided Ruth into his kitchen. The windows here were small slits in the thickness of the wall. Spotlights shone brightly down onto the scrubbed wood worktops, and there was a jug of autumn flowers on the table.
‘No. We locked everything in a cupboard. I didn’t really want to touch it.’
‘Fair enough, but I’m going to have to see it to form an opinion.’ He had made some thick black coffee and almost as an afterthought dug in the fridge for some milk.
‘So.’ He sat down opposite her at the table. ‘From the beginning.’
When she had finished, he looked at her steadily for a full minute. ‘I’m getting the impression you are beginning to concede that Thomas is a bit more than an imaginary construct. Am I right?’
‘Timothy certainly thought so,’ she admitted.
‘And we now know that Thomas is able to intervene on your behalf, and he has done it twice, once against Timothy and once against your ghost stalker.’
She smiled. ‘I suppose so.’
‘However nasty Timothy is, I am, to be honest, more worried about your lascivious ghost.’
She felt a prickle of unease run across her shoulder blades. ‘You think he’s dangerous? I mean genuinely dangerous?’
‘Oh yes. I think we have to accept that. It’s because of him I wanted you to come to talk here. You and Harriet invited him in, but he must have been hanging around before that. Maybe just waiting for someone to give him some attention.’ He sighed as he picked up his mug of coffee. He drank his black.
The door opened behind him and one of his dogs poked its head into the kitchen. It trotted in, followed by the other, and they settled down together on a heap of cushions in the corner, obviously a designated dog bed area.
They watched the dogs in silence. ‘It’s such a relief to have someone to talk to. I feel so lost.’ Ruth hadn’t intended her words to sound so bleak.
‘In a metaphysical desert.’ Malcolm smiled. ‘As I’ve said before, your father has a lot to answer for. He destroyed your spiritual mojo.’
She laughed out loud. ‘I suppose he has.’
She liked his face when he smiled. The wrinkles round his eyes, the almost reluctant softening of the line of his mouth. It lit up his expression with genuine warmth. He met her gaze and she looked away hastily. ‘So, can I rebuild my mojo?’
‘I am glad to he
ar you ask.’ He reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug. He noticed she had barely touched her own but he said nothing.
‘And are you going to tell me how?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I can give you pointers, but this is something you have to find in your own heart and soul. Talk to Thomas about it.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Seriously?’
‘Why not? He has been talking to you about everything else, hasn’t he? He knows you’re there and he’s interested in your welfare.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m reading so much about him, but when I read my notes I keep thinking they’re turning into a novel.’ She looked down at her clasped hands on the table. ‘I’m a teacher, Mal, I encourage my pupils to write fiction. I can tell the difference between a good story and history. I’m afraid I’m making this up. Then he wouldn’t be real.’
‘History is a good story, in my humble opinion,’ he said at last. ‘And at best it’s a matter of interpretation of selected facts, which may not even be genuine facts. Few historians have the chance to interview their subjects first-hand. Don’t knock it, Ruth. Listen. Write. Work out what it is you’ve written later.’ He took another gulp of coffee. ‘In the meantime, what you have to deal with is a leakage through time. You and Harriet opened a crevice, door, portal, however you like to describe it, and for whatever reason this guy has come through it. I’ve been doing some extra reading around Thomas too.’ Malcolm ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Would you let me see the letters you have been working from, Ruth? It would help me get things into context. The books I’ve looked up have been largely concerned with his legal career and to study your notes about how he arrived at that point would help me understand him and his relationship with Farquhar.’ He saw the doubt flash across her eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter if you’d rather not,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Think about it.’
He stood up. ‘What we need is a change of scene. D’you fancy taking the dogs for a walk?’
He reached to unhook her jacket from the back of the door and helped her on with it, then picked up his own. Shrugging it on, he clicked his fingers at the dogs, who were watching the proceedings eagerly.
‘I think better out here,’ he called over his shoulder as he walked ahead of her across the driveway and into the woods. The dogs had disappeared into the undergrowth. A stiff breeze was blowing, whirling the fallen leaves across the path, tugging at their hair.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Somewhere very special. It’s not far.’
She felt her spirits lifting as the path wound deeper into the woodland. It was far more sheltered here than at the Old Mill House, which was so close to the stormy Forth. Even with a sharp wind in her face she felt at peace here. Eventually they turned a corner in the path and arrived in a clearing in which stood a small stone building. She stopped and gazed at it in delight. ‘What a magical place.’
He smiled. ‘You have chosen the right word. This is my chapel, if you will. I come here to think and meditate and pray.’
‘Your own chapel?’ She felt herself grow cold.
‘Why not?’
‘No reason, I suppose. It’s just that I haven’t been very complimentary about religious people.’
‘You came to me for spiritual help.’
‘I came to you for help with a haunting.’
‘Same thing, in my book.’ He pushed open the door. ‘Come in and see.’
She hesitated for a moment then followed him inside. On a small sturdy oak table by the far wall was a candlestick, the candle in it hung with stalactites of wax. Beside it was a beautiful pottery statue of the Virgin and Child, a basket of crystals, and a cut-glass dish containing a box of matches. She glanced round. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t belong in here.’ She backed away towards the door.
‘Why not give it a few minutes.’ He indicated an easy chair in the corner. ‘Just sit and see what happens. Relax. This place belongs to the wood. See, the green man on the wall?’ He pointed to a plaque, half shaded by the curtain of leaves hanging outside the window. He reached for the matches and lit the candle. ‘I’ll wait outside. Don’t worry. I’ll be there as long as you like. Just give the peace of this place a chance to work. If it does nothing else, it will relax you. You don’t have to pretend anything. Don’t try and pray. Don’t picture anything. Don’t think. Just sit and rest and listen to the birds.’
She sat down uneasily. He stepped backwards out of the door. ‘Don’t shut it!’ she called desperately. She heard him chuckle. He left it half open and she heard his footsteps fading away as he walked across the clearing.
She found him half an hour later, sitting on a log, his back against the trunk of a tree. His dogs were lying on the grass in a patch of sunlight near him. He smiled up at her lazily as she appeared in the doorway and made her way across to him. ‘OK?’
‘I fell asleep.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Is it?’
‘It means you could relax in a place that is full of religious symbolism.’
‘It’s a lovely place.’
‘Somewhere you felt safe?’
‘I suppose I did. I didn’t think about it.’
‘It was because you were protected. It’s what these days is called a safe space.’
‘You mean my would-be rapist couldn’t get me there?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But he can get me at the Old Mill House?’
‘Not if you make that a safe space too.’
‘And you’re going to tell me how.’
‘That’s what you came to me for.’
She smiled. ‘OK, fair enough. What do I need? A picture of the green man?’
‘Only if he is deeply meaningful for you. The same goes for the Virgin and Child. If they hold no significance or resonance for you or fill you with superstitious horror, then they will not be comfortable in your space or you in theirs.’
‘And crystals? You said you didn’t do crystals.’
He grinned amiably. ‘OK. I confess. Just a few crystals.’
‘But not for me. So what should I put there?’
‘Ah, that is for you to discover. Come, we’ll walk back to the house while we think about it.’ He set off ahead of her towards the path through the trees.
Symbols of nature seemed like a good start. She admitted she collected seashells when she was a child. ‘I have a box of them at home in London. They make me feel happy. And pressed leaves from trees. And pictures of the countryside. Are you telling me I have to scatter these things round Finlay’s house?’
‘Thinking about them makes you smile, right? Their presence brings back happy moments. You keep them near you to make you feel secure.’
‘Ah.’ She gave him a quick look. ‘I am beginning to understand.’
‘You build your own safe space inside your head. It’s full of the things you love. You do not allow anything in that space which is discordant or scary or a bad dream in any sense. It is somewhere you can retreat to at any moment.’
‘No sign of the cross? No holy water?’
‘Nothing that makes you uncomfortable.’
‘Just raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,’ she laughed. ‘Oh please! It can’t be that easy.’ Her scepticism had returned. ‘So, I make a safe space. But this guy is waiting outside it. What do I do then?’
‘Ah, that’s the next lesson. That’s harder.’ They had reached the Tower House now. They paused beside her car. ‘Feeling stronger?’
She pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Practise. And before you sleep, ask for help. If not angels, then your teddy. As long as someone is looking after you.’
‘Teddy indeed!’
He laughed out loud. ‘I saw it. On your bed.’
She felt herself blush scarlet. ‘It’s only there because I found it in my father’s house. He’d kept it.’
He stepped forward and raised a finger as if sealing her lips but not quite touching. ‘I’m not moc
king. It was a wonderful sign of hope as far as your spiritual welfare is concerned. Now, go home; I have to see a man about an eighteenth-century archive. I’m sorry to hurry you away, but we’ll talk about this again, and in the meantime if you’re worried or bothered or truly frightened, put my number on speed-dial and I will come, I promise.’
Thomas
I attended several trials presided over by Lord Mansfield after that first time and it took very little persuasion on his part to confirm to me that my true calling was to the law. I would, if my earnest calculations were correct, have enough money, by selling my commission, to put myself through law school. I consulted Harry, who had qualified as a lawyer the year I returned from sea, and through him Mama, whose views I always valued, and only then at her insistence, with David. They were all gracious enough to encourage me, though none could offer pecuniary help with my studies should I embark upon them.
Strangely, it was through my re-established contact with David and his fascination with the stars that I heard the outcome of the sea trials of the chronometer that had been tested on that first outward voyage on the Tartar. He told me how badly the Board of Longitude had treated poor John Harrison, refusing to pay his reward, and how the old man, our William Harrison’s father, had had to appeal to the king. In the end, parliament had awarded him nearly £9,000.
It was only after my discussions with the family and much further thought that I broached the idea of resigning my commission with Fanny and my darling love proved ecstatic at the idea. She no longer enjoyed the idea of having a soldier for a husband, especially with riots in London and the threat of revolution in America. My duties took me often away from her, and although I had been granted long leaves of absence, we missed one another sorely when I was gone. Our time in Minorca had been a blissful interlude, but now with the world growing uneasy again, and hungry little mouths to feed, I was feeling the financial strain intensely.