Thomas hugged her. ‘The horse is fine. Abraham sent it round to Lady Huntingdon’s stables for me and it’s being cossetted and spoiled and the groom will see it is returned to its owner.’
‘Then no harm is done and my clever husband is come back to me with his prize and his honours and his new degree. I’m so proud of you and the children will be so pleased to see their papa.’ She turned to him and pulled at the collar of his jacket. ‘Muddy and dusty though he is. When you’re called to the bar, my darling, you will have to smarten yourself up. You dress like a travelling tinker. Mrs Moore told me she felt you should be admitted by the back door in case her neighbours saw you. She said it as a joke, but I think there was a friendly admonishment there.’
He hugged her even closer. ‘You will be saying I smell of horse next.’
‘You do, Tom. And worse.’
‘Then I must go home to Kentish Town. It isn’t fair to inflict myself on your fastidious relatives a moment longer.’ He sat up straight. ‘Come home with me, Fanny. We can all have some time together before I need to study again. I’ve missed you so much.’
She looked up at him longingly. ‘I should like that. But are you sure? You work so hard, Tom. I don’t want you to be cross with the children for getting under your feet. Here they have a whole floor to themselves in this rambling house. We’re so lucky to be here.’
‘Abi will hold them at bay.’
She smiled. ‘You know she can’t always control them. They’re a wild bunch, your daughters, and now little Davy is doing his best to outshout them all.’
‘They take after their mama!’ He pulled her towards him again. ‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
48
Andrew Farquhar had rented a room in a dark courtyard off Whitefriars. He had acquired the services of a boy, Dickon, to act as a servant and a runner and a spy, and the person on whom he spied was Frances Erskine. She appeared to have acquired another child in the last two years, which made the total four. For some reason she had moved out of the rented house in Kentish Town and was living with the family of a jeweller on Ludgate Hill. Perhaps the marriage was unhappy. He hoped so.
The boy found it easy to break into the Kentish Town house. It was small, terraced, poorly furnished and full, so he told Andrew later, of books and papers and pens and ink. The inventory with which he carefully regaled his master was so boring that he screwed up his grubby little freckled face in disgust as he relayed the list.
Andrew smiled. ‘And he will not know that anyone was in there?’
Dickon shook his head emphatically. ‘Anyway, it was such a mess, how would he know?’
‘Oh, he would know.’ When he wanted Tom Erskine to know he had been in his house it would be on his own terms and it would be with such drama and frenzy that there would be no doubt at all as to what his visitor had done. Andrew briefly pictured the scene; Frances spread out across her husband’s work table, ravished, her pretty clothes torn and ruined, and he smiled. He thought of the brief touch of her skin, the scent of rose water when he had caught her arm and pulled her away from the rearing horse. Yes, he had pushed her towards it, an instinctive move, but the second he had done it he regretted it and pulled her back. What fun would there be in her finishing up in a coffin as the result of a street accident? He gave a shudder of something like ecstasy and quickly pulled himself together as he saw the boy’s eyes thoughtfully studying his face. ‘Get out. Go and buy me some gin, you impudent urchin.’ He felt in his pocket for some coins and tossed them onto the table. ‘The Erskines are not worth bothering with at present. No money, nothing worth stealing.’ He could not quite keep the smile off his face. ‘We’re going to bide our time.’
‘Why?’ The boy looked at him with his head on one side. ‘What did they do to you?’
Andrew narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s personal and my business.’ His voice hardened. ‘Remember that if you value your filthy rotten skin!’
The sound behind her made Ruth whirl round. A pencil on the table was rolling towards the edge. As she watched it fell to the ground and lay still under her chair. She must have dislodged it when she stood up. She went over and picked it up, putting it back on the table. The screen of her laptop had gone blank, and she realised the room had grown very cold.
‘No!’ Suddenly she was furious. ‘Go away, do you hear me!’ Visualise a ring of light. Don’t let him see you’re afraid. She wasn’t afraid. She was angry. Strengthen your core, strengthen your protection, as Mal had reminded her. She took a deep breath as she turned and scanned the room. It was empty. No figures, no wispy presences. He had gone. If he was ever there.
Thomas
My studies were over. I had my Master’s Degree and on 3 July 1778 I was called to the bar of Lincoln’s Inn. I was a barrister at last and optimistic that clients would flock to my door.
Which did not happen. Until, one day, I fell over into the mud.
I was planning to spend the evening with yet another relative of Fanny’s, heading towards the lady’s house with her son Charles when, cramped and bored after another abortive day at my desk, I attempted to leap a ditch as we crossed Spa Fields. I slipped and fell and sprained my ankle and had to be helped home. This was fortunate because when I arrived there I found an invitation to a dinner that, if I am honest, promised to be far more genial than an evening with old Mrs Moore.
I made an instantaneous miraculous recovery and went to the party. During the course of an animated tirade on my part I was unaware that a guest, seated further down the table, was listening to my every word. We did not meet then, but the next day there was a knock at my door and I was handed a retainer to appear at the King’s Bench Court on the gentleman’s behalf and with the note came my first fee, one golden guinea.
49
As he walked into their bedroom in Kentish Town, Thomas was pulling off his neckcloth. The room was dark and the candle in his hand threw wildly leaping shadows up the walls. He hadn’t called for Abi to take away his clothes to brush them ready for the next day. She had enough to do now they were all back home together, and he could perfectly well do that himself. He set the candlestick down on the nightstand and threw the cloth on the bed. It was only then he noticed the figure standing in the corner of the room. ‘Mama?’ He stared into the shadows, screwing up his eyes. He was exhausted and his head ached. He was seeing things. He took a step forward. ‘Mama, is that you?’ he repeated softly.
She turned towards him and she held out her hand. Tom. He heard her voice clearly against the whisper of sleet against the window panes. Always know I’m so proud of you, Tom. He stepped forward but she had gone. There was nothing there but a crooked wall joist at the corner of the room.
‘Thomas!’ Fanny found him standing in the semi-darkness. He was staring at the pile of little presents for the children that she and Abi had been secreting in the chest at the foot of their bed. ‘I wish I could afford more for them,’ he said wearily. Christmas would be upon them in only three weeks.
Fanny looked at him, seeing at once the tears on his face in the flickering light. ‘Tom. What is it?’
‘Mama. She’s dead.’
‘When did you hear? Was there a letter?’ She sat down on the bed, reaching out for his hand and pulling him down beside her. Of course there was no letter. He would have told her at once if there was.
She squeezed his hand gently. These moments of his still unnerved her, but she had learned to live with his gift of the sight. Letters would follow in due time for Anne and Isabella, and for Tom. Agnes would be buried with her beloved husband in the Abbey of Holyrood; David and Harry would be there with her. They would follow the coffin and grieve at the graveside and mourn in their own way, but in the meantime Tom had already said goodbye to his mama, alone.
‘I wanted to say sorry again. I’m truly sorry I interfered.’ It was Harriet.
Ruth stared out of the window as she took the call. It was almost dark.
‘Have you managed to s
peak to Malcolm?’
Ruth hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘And he’s agreed to go on helping you?’
‘Yes.’
‘That horrible man hasn’t come back, has he?’
‘Yes. He has.’
‘But Malcolm can get rid of him, surely?’
‘I hope so.’
‘And you believe in it all now? That’s a far cry from the cynical lady who didn’t believe in anything,’ Harriet said.
Ruth laughed. ‘I don’t believe in quite everything,’ she said drily, ‘but I’m getting there.’
‘So, do we assume he was someone Thomas knew?’
‘Yes.’ Ruth didn’t elaborate.
‘Oh God!’ There was another pause. ‘Thomas must have come across some low-life people in his career as a barrister,’ Harriet went on cautiously. ‘Apparently when some of Dion’s followers queried who Lord E was, they said it couldn’t be our Thomas as his life wasn’t exemplary enough for him to be an ascended master.’
‘You didn’t tell me that!’ Ruth was indignant.
‘I only just read it.’
‘Well, I’ve read that he achieved his greatest fame as a champion of civil liberties. That must count in his favour,’ Ruth retorted.
‘You’d think so,’ Harriet sighed. ‘Call me on my mobile if you need me, Ruthie, and apologise again to Malcolm for me. Please.’
As she switched off her phone, Ruth thought she heard footsteps outside the door. She went out into the hall and looked round.
‘Fin?’
There was no one there.
The house was in uproar. Little Frances was screaming, then Lizzie and Margaret joined in. Shadows raced across the walls as Abi managed to light a lamp and ran into the girls’ room from the tiny closet, emptied now of clothes, she shared with toddler Davy.
Thomas threw open their bedroom door. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Fanny followed and scooped her daughters into her arms.
‘A man,’ Frances sobbed. ‘He put his hand over my mouth, he had a knife—’
Thomas turned and pelted down the stairs. The front door onto the narrow dark, deserted street was hanging open. He did not try to follow. There was no point. Slamming the door shut he bolted it and taking the stairs two at a time went back into the bedroom. The flickering light showed blood on the child’s sheets; her nightgown was torn.
‘Was it Farquhar?’ Fanny was cradling Frances in her arms as Abi comforted the other girls. In the next room, little Davy slept on next to Abi’s truckle bed.
‘I didn’t see him.’ Thomas was tight-lipped. ‘Is she all right?’
‘It’s only a scratch,’ Fanny pointed at the knife on the nightstand. ‘It could have been so much worse.’
They looked at each other, their eyes full of unspoken horrors.
Thomas
I bought a pistol, and we moved into accommodation closer to town. There was no further sign of Farquhar but I had no doubt it had been him. Perhaps he couldn’t find us. Perhaps he was content with having scared us. Perhaps he was just biding his time.
Time passed quickly. It was a matter of serendipity that I had won that first case. The substance of it appalled me, involving as it did my two passionate hates, corruption and injustice. I stood before the court and gave what might have been the best and most impassioned speech of my life. It certainly was, up to that point, as it was my first! I can still see the expression on the face of the presiding judge, my mentor, Mansfield, as he listened to my eloquence.
From that moment retainers poured in.
My handling of another case, that of Admiral Keppel, resulted not only in my fee but a personal gift of a thousand pounds from the admiral himself; I had after all saved him from the gallows. I paid off my debts. I bought Fanny dresses and shawls and fans, and toys and ribbons for the children. Later I bought a country house in Hampstead, so popular with the haut ton with its new assembly room and attractive houses. Mine was across the lane from Lord Mansfield’s estate at Kenwood. I bought elegant furniture in the latest style. And best of all, I bought myself a Newfoundland dog. I called him Toss. He was a wise dog, with huge sympathetic eyes, and I trained him to sit in my chair in my chambers, spectacles on his nose and a wig upon his head. The expression on the face of clients who came in to be so greeted was wonderful to behold. My clerk was shocked but I thought it hilarious and I took Toss with me when I joined the Home Circuit of the Bar, travelling around the southern counties.
It was then, when riding between Lewes and Guildford with my friend William Adam and Toss at our heels, I had the strangest episode. Poor William thought I had gone insane. He tells me I dismounted from my horse as we walked them loose-reined over the heathland and I stood staring before me in a trance and started to talk as though thunderstruck. I proclaimed that one day I would be Lord Chancellor and carry on my chest the diamond star of the Thistle. The poor man didn’t know what to do with me, so, sensibly, he stooped to a puddle and doused me with cold water. I remembered nothing of it afterwards and swore him to keep silence. What embarrassment, even for me! Dear Toss was afraid of me for several minutes after, as was my poor horse.
William was as good as his word and made no more mention of the occurrence.
And Farquhar? My little Frances did not seem disturbed by her ordeal. A few times she had nightmares, but on waking had forgotten their substance and now I could afford servants, all of whom were warned to keep their eyes open and tell me if they saw anything suspicious. I hid the fetish in the girls’ bedroom, but I had lost faith in it. It had not kept the man at bay. I lulled myself into a false sense of security. I had forgotten the danger of the streets.
50
Andrew dodged into a doorway, watching Thomas walk down the street. It had been a slow morning. He had found only one or two coins in the mud. He had walked towards Lincoln’s Inn out of boredom more than anything else, but then coincidentally had spotted Thomas emerging from the gatehouse, turning away from him up Chancery Lane.
An old man drove past him in a cart pulled by an emaciated pony. Andrew grinned to himself. In two steps he was alongside the cart, dragging the man off his perch on the front and leaping up in his place. He grabbed the whip and laid about the pony, forcing it into a canter, driving it straight at Thomas. The frightened animal veered across the road, tripped, staggered and almost fell as Andrew aimed another vicious swipe at its head. Already a crowd was forming. Thomas turned and found the vehicle almost on him. Still flailing blindly, Farquhar hit the pony again and the panicked creature let out a scream of terror. It tried to escape, the wheel of the cart caught a costermonger’s barrow and cart and barrow overturned.
Oblivious to his own danger, Thomas dropped his blue bag and lunged furiously with his walking cane at the man he saw driving the cart. He grabbed the man’s wrist, trying to wrest the whip out of his hand and managed to hit him over the head. ‘You will not beat that horse!’ he shouted, to the cheers of the watching crowd. He was beside himself with rage, so angry he still had not recognised the man with whom he was fighting.
‘I’ll do what I like!’ Farquhar managed to shout through gritted teeth. ‘It’s my horse!’
‘And this is my stick!’ Thomas hit him again. Suddenly he had recognised him and his fury doubled. He was far stronger than Andrew had expected. He tried to dodge the blows, scrambled to his feet and ducked away, pushing through into the crowd.
Thomas didn’t try to follow; his first and only thought was for the pony. Panting, he went back to the animal and began to soothe it as it stood, trembling, by the wreckage of the cart, stroking gentle hands over its skinny frame, horrified when they came away streaked with blood.
‘That’s my horse!’ The original driver finally fought his way through the onlookers to reclaim his property.
‘Then you should be ashamed of yourself. It’s starving.’ Thomas did not bother to argue. He threw a handful of coins from his pocket at the old man, ten times what the horse was worth, and, grabb
ing his bag, led the limping animal away.
Somehow he managed to coax it back to the stables at Lady Huntingdon’s. Her groom thought he was mad. ‘Not even the knacker would pay for that,’ he commented, staring in disgust at the poor animal, but Thomas wouldn’t listen. ‘His name is Invincible,’ he said. ‘And we are going to feed him and tend his bruises and cuts and groom him until he shines like new.’
Not until the horse was bedded down in a safe, warm stable did he have time to wonder if Andrew Farquhar had seriously intended to kill him and if so, why?
Half an hour after she had spoken to Harriet, Ruth’s mobile rang again. It was Fin. ‘Max is jumping on the train to London this evening to meet up with a colleague of his and he has suggested I go with him. I would only be a couple of days,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy a toothbrush down there. Would you be OK on your own, Ruth? I don’t like leaving you again.’
Her heart sank. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said automatically.
The house was silent, save for the sound of the grandfather clock ticking in the hall. She stood up, and held her breath. She had been so completely engrossed in her reading, she hadn’t consciously acknowledged that at some level she had been listening. The place seemed full of strange noises tonight. Then she heard it again. Someone was looking for something, opening a drawer, pushing papers about on the hall table. ‘Fin?’ she called. ‘Did you come back after all?’
She opened the door and looked out. ‘Fin?’ She heard her voice waver as she reached for the light switch. There was no one there. The front door was still closed.
She knew it wasn’t Fin. He was on his way to London.
She stood for a moment looking down at the hall table. Nothing had been touched as far as she could see. There was the glass bowl, in which Fin kept the keys to the clock, the usual jumbled pile of junk mail and bills, the small japanned dish, empty now, where Fin tossed his car keys when he came in. The kitchen was in darkness too. Turning on the lights she closed the blinds and reached for Fin’s little radio, sitting on the worktop. The room filled with the sound of a piano and she stood listening. It sounded like a Chopin prelude.