‘You promised me!’ You promised me marriage!’ Sarah was clinging to the lapels of Thomas’s coat. He was still weak from his illness and he hadn’t the strength to pull her hands away. ‘You promised to make me and your children honest!’ She was crying noisily. ‘How could you go back on your word? Ask her, ask your beautiful Fanny. She was here, she’s here now, she’s always with us, listening to your ramblings and your wrigglings. She heard you promise. She told you to do it!’
Thomas was shaking his head, trying to step back, pushing at her. ‘Sarah! Stop it!’ His voice at least was still strong. ‘When did I promise that? I never did any such thing. You are deluded, woman!’
She stepped away abruptly and stared at him. ‘Deluded!’ It was a hiss.
‘I cannot marry you, Sarah. You must know that. I am taking care of you, and your children—’
‘Our children, Thomas! They are yours too. You cannot do this to them!’ She was shouting now. She knew the servants, and probably the children too would be listening, hearing every word they yelled at each other as their voices echoed down the steep narrow stairs. ‘You are a dishonourable man! Fanny is horrified that you could be so cruel. She is here, in my head,’ she slapped her own cheek with the palm of her hand and suddenly her voice changed. Suddenly she was Fanny, in voice and gesture. ‘Thomas! Thomas, please, don’t do this to the poor woman. Your name will be vilified all over London.’
That was the word that did it. Vilified. Not a word a bonnet-maker from the back streets would use. He stood away from her and she saw the fight leak out of him as his shoulders slumped.
‘Fanny!’ his voice broke. ‘My darling—’
Sarah snarled. ‘Oh, she is your darling, but I am nothing but a drab! Not worth your concern. Not worthy of being treated with honour.’
‘No, Sarah! My dear! Please, calm yourself. You don’t understand. A man of my standing cannot marry just anybody. My children would be appalled. I work for the prince regent. I would have to consult him if I were to remarry. I would have to consult my advisors.’
Anything to get out of this unhappy, haunted house.
He stared round in the silence that followed his plea. He knew Farquhar was there now. He could sense him. The man had a stink about him, a vile rotting stench that clung to his spirit as it would have clung to his body when the final remnants of his dissected corpse had been consigned to the pits of night soil outside the city walls.
He realised that the little boy, his son as much as Davy or Henry were his sons, was peering in at the door, clinging to the handle with small desperate hands, and he took a deep breath. None of this was the child’s fault.
Ruth looked round surreptitiously. A couple were walking along the road on the opposite pavement, and another woman with a pram was approaching her a hundred metres or so away. Everything was going on as normal yet she felt exposed, terribly vulnerable. The guys were right. She shouldn’t have come out. Turning away without even trying the key in the lock she set off, walking fast, glancing back over her shoulder every few paces, down Bruntsfield Place, Lothian Road, across Princes Street with the castle at her back, and up Charlotte Street at last. Turning into Heriot Row she almost ran the last few yards, scrabbling with the lock on the street door, and hurtled up the stairs.
The men were still out. She stood looking down at the vase of lilies in the middle of Max’s elegant dining table as her breath steadied. She was, she realised, near to tears. Miserably she walked back into her bedroom and automatically she reached for her files. They would distract her until Fin and Max came home.
She selected the next group of letters clipped together with a tortoiseshell loop she assumed was a Regency paper clip. They were from Davy to his sister Frances. Always Frances, who had kept everything.
The marriage would have to be secret and it would have to be swift.
Thomas pushed Sarah and her two children into a hired carriage that bore no insignia to make the journey north. There had been no time for banns, no chance of a special licence. There was only one option. Scotland. So, once again, he found himself on the road to Gretna Green.
In the corner of the coach Sarah slumped back against the cushions, her face white with exhaustion. For weeks she had been speaking in the voice of Thomas’s first wife, wheedling, begging, praying and now that they were actually on their way, her own voice had deserted her. She was hoarse and exhausted and only too aware of the reluctance of the man who sat next to her as the horses galloped up the great North Road through the October gale. Their two children sat huddled on the seat opposite them, wrapped in rugs, and there were foot warmers between them on the floor, the coals glowing gently through the holes in the containers. Each time they stopped to change horses, Sarah would usher the children into the inns to relieve themselves and to buy pies and drinks; they had brought no maids. It was imperative, Thomas had said, that no word leaked out of their plans and yet Davy had found out. Davy had guessed what his father was planning and there was no doubt he would be following them, perhaps with Henry and Samuel, all insisting Thomas must not do this terrible thing.
Thomas pulled down the window and leaned out, looking behind as though he could see the dust of the following horses.
‘Please, close it, Tom dear,’ Sarah pleaded. ‘It is so cold in here.’
It was growing dark. At the last inn they lit the carriage lamps and the horses were moving slowly now, led by a linkman who knew the road, but still pressing on as fast as was safe.
As he pulled up the window and fastened the strap that held it shut, Sarah reached out for his hand. She smiled though he couldn’t see her face in the dark. ‘When we’re married, will we go on to visit your brother, the earl?’ Her voice was husky with exhaustion but he could hear the eagerness there.
Thomas closed his eyes. ‘We’ll have to see,’ he said after a moment. He knew it wouldn’t be fair to her to expose her to David’s scrutiny at Dryburgh House any more than he would demand that his older children entertain her. He would take her back to Evergreen Hill, and perhaps, though it pained him to think of her there, to his special retreat, in Sussex. She could have the trappings of being a lady and his title, and he would insist that his servants and staff treat her with respect, but he knew he would never present her to the royal family or to his friends and his heart ached for her. This was all his fault and somehow he had to make amends for allowing her to think she would fit into his world.
The coach hit a rut in the road in the dark and veered sharply, throwing them together. He reached out to put his arm around her. There would be no going back from this marriage. He hoped Fanny would realise, wherever she was, that he was doing this for her.
Things grew worse as they drew nearer to Scotland. Sarah was terrified that Davy would catch them and her fear was infectious. ‘He’s following us, I know it. At every inn we stop at our description will be remembered.’ She clung to him, her hands cold, the shrillness of her voice waking the children from their exhausted sleep. In the end he lost patience. ‘All right! Have it your way. I shall travel in disguise. Where is your hat box!’ He had the coachman lift their boxes off the luggage rack and pulled box after box open there in the muddy road, helping himself at last to one of her bonnets and a heavy silk skirt. He pulled the skirt up over his trousers, and tied the bonnet firmly on his head. ‘Will this do? Will this fool them?’ He was furiously angry.
‘Stop it! Stop being such a fool!’ Sarah cried. She pulled at his sleeve.
‘Reload the boxes,’ Thomas snapped at the coachman and he climbed back inside, still wearing the bonnet. Sarah followed him, weeping tears of anger and embarrassment. As he sat beside her he was aware of the astonished face of his son as he awoke from his cocoon of rugs and sat up, considering his father’s new attire. There was a long silence as the driver climbed back on his box and picked up whip and reins and the coach lurched into motion, then the little boy started to giggle. In seconds they were all laughing.
78
‘Ruth? Wake up!’
It was Max. He began to take off his overcoat and scarf. ‘Any sign of Fin?’ he called over his shoulder.
‘No. At least …’ she hesitated. ‘I don’t think so. I was reading.’
‘So busy reading you didn’t hear me shout. You didn’t know where you were or who I was.’
‘I was very involved in the story,’ she said defensively. She avoided his intense scrutiny, looking back at the pile of letters in front of her.
‘Ruthie,’ Max stretched across the table and put his hand over hers, ‘being involved is one thing, being obsessed is another.’
‘I’m not obsessed!’
‘You weren’t here, Ruth. You were so engrossed the house could have burned down round you.’
‘Maybe that’s the way I read.’
‘Then it is a dangerous way to read. I read. I become immersed in stories. Dash it, I’m an agent. Reading is my business, but not like this. You were not in your body, Ruth.’
‘Are you saying you couldn’t see me?’
‘No, I am not saying that. Mal is the same,’ Max said softly. ‘He becomes wrapped up in the period he is studying to the exclusion of the world around him that it’s dangerous, Ruthie.’
‘In what way dangerous?’
‘In case you get stuck.’
‘Stuck?’
‘In the past. It’s like a drug, that’s what he told me. You are there, you are watching it as if it’s a film before your eyes. You can see it, perhaps smell it, taste it, but it doesn’t touch you. You can never properly be part of it. It doesn’t know you’re there. It rolls on past you, leaving you lost and disorientated and unable to reconnect with the present. He said he had tried to wean himself off going too deep. For him it was the academic approach that kept him sane. He said there was nothing like statistics and political treatises to keep one on the straight and narrow. If one wanted to smell anything of the past it had to be dust, not shit or pomanders.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘All I’m saying is, be careful.’
And so it was done. The marriage had been completed, the children were made legitimate under the law of Scotland, Sarah was his wife. When Davy arrived in a chaise and four, sweating and furiously angry after his futile chase the length of the country, it was too late. Thomas persuaded him to take a glass of wine with him and the new Lady Erskine and Davy’s small half-brother and smaller half-sister and then waved his eldest son goodbye. He watched his son’s chaise disappear into the distance with a heavy heart. He knew things would never again be the same between him and his older children again. Davy had told Thomas privately that Margaret was planning to move down to Sussex to live permanently with Frances and Samuel. They would not see her under Thomas’s roof again.
The trip south took place more slowly and in considerably more comfort than the journey north. Sarah did her best to be charming and she was happy. She had achieved her every ambition, her children were secure and they were heading back towards Evergreen Hill where henceforth she would be the undisputed lady of the house.
It was as they pulled up under the porch and disembarked from the coach and Thomas followed Sarah into his beloved home, that he realised his troubles were only just beginning. The staff were lined up to greet them, the male servants bowing to their new mistress and the maids bobbing curtsies, none trying to hide their reserve, when Thomas raised his eyes briefly towards the great staircase that led to the upper floor of the house from the wide entrance hall and there, halfway up the first flight, crouching below the stained-glass window resplendent with Thomas’s coat of arms, he saw the figure of a man. He knew his mouth had fallen open in horror. He saw some of the servants turn to see what it was he was looking at. Sarah, who had been stooping to remove little Agnes’s mittens, sensed the silence and the concern and looked up.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ she gasped.
There on the stairs was Andrew Farquhar, his twisted body hunched as he sat on a step, his eyes gleaming, his face a study in triumphant hatred. For a second no one moved or spoke, then one of the housemaids let out a long piercing scream. The sound was followed by pandemonium as half the servants made for the door that led down to the kitchens, Roberts shouting in vain for them to stand still and remember their manners. Thomas had frozen, unable to drag his gaze away from the staircase as Sarah hugged Agnes to her and wrapped her in her cloak, unable to move, overwhelmed with horror and fear.
As Thomas watched, the figure faded, then it was gone. Erskine crept towards him and clung silently to his coat. ‘Has the bad man come to live here with us, Papa?’ he whispered.
Thomas cleared his throat. ‘Take the staff away, Roberts,’ he commanded the butler. ‘And see to it that the fires are lit. That was a shadow on the staircase, caused by the light coming through the window, as I think you will agree. Please see that the maid is all right, then chide her for the noise she made. She has frightened the children, to say nothing of the rest of the servants. And,’ he paused for a fraction of a second, ‘please have one of the footmen go to Church Row immediately and ask the parson to come here as soon as is convenient and tell Mrs Ford to send her ladyship’s maids to her. She will need to change for dinner and the children must go to the nursery.’
He turned abruptly and went into the small morning room where a fire had already been lit. He always thought of this room as his own, his favourite retreat, where over the years neither Fanny nor his children had come without invitation.
Sarah followed him without hesitation and closed the door behind her. ‘You are not to blame me for this. I never invited that man in.’
‘Nevertheless you allowed him to follow you here.’
‘I did not do it deliberately, you must realise that.’ She moved closer to the fire, shivering. ‘He came with your wife.’
‘My wife!’ Thomas turned on her furiously. ‘You are my wife!’
‘I meant your first wife,’ she repeated sullenly. ‘As you well know! He clings to her. If he has frequented me, it is because he cannot leave her alone.’
The look he gave her made her quail. ‘Are you saying he has followed my beloved wife to the next world? My wife who hadn’t an evil bone in her body! How is that possible? Why is he not in hell?’
‘Well, he clearly isn’t!’ she retorted. ‘He’s an earthbound spirit. And if your wife,’ she emphasised the word bitterly, ‘is earthbound as well, that’s your fault as you persist in summoning her back. Let the poor woman go and perhaps Farquhar will leave you alone.’
She turned to the door. ‘I take it I’m to share the best bedroom with you? Did you give the housekeeper orders accordingly before we left for Scotland?’
She stalked out of the room. Thomas stared after her. He had not thought where she would be sleeping. The thought of her in his room, in the bed he had shared for so many years with Fanny, filled him with something like revulsion.
Within two hours he had bidden Benjamin to pack a fresh valise and while he was away to move all his things into his dressing room and he had left a note for Sarah as he called for his formal carriage, the one with his coat of arms on the doors. ‘I am commanded to Carlton House. I will return as soon as I can. Your humble and obedient servant, TE.’ He did not bother to say farewell.
When the parson arrived there was no one to greet him. He stood in the hall, his hat in his hand, staring round as the footman waited patiently by the open front door. He could feel it, the restless, angry spirit wandering the house and he murmured a prayer, wondering if the occupants of this beautiful place were aware of it, and whether this was the reason for his sudden summons. All he could do was pray for these parishioners as he prayed for them all and take his leave. As he walked back under the lofty porte cochère he thought he heard the sound of demonic laughter behind him and he fervently wished the Anglican church provided him with a sacrament of exorcism.
Max’s warning had no effect. As soon as she had wished him and Fin goodnight and slipped back into her bedroom Ruth reac
hed for the letters again. She read on for a while, half listening to the muted conversation coming from the drawing room next door. She wasn’t aware she had fallen asleep. The story continued in her dreams.
Writing, always writing, as though by clutching the pen in his hand he could keep the ghosts at bay. Thomas had taken his notes and files with him to Buchan Hill. Ruth had noted the different addresses at the top of the letters. It seemed he could write there in peace, assiduously keeping his journal and walking with his dogs the wild acres of the Sussex Weald that he called his own. His purchase of this land might have proved a disaster commercially, the soil too arid and barren ever to make money, or so his advisors told him now it was too late, leaving him as the somewhat perplexed owner of a broom-making business, but the acres were peaceful and lovely and his nemeses did not follow him there; Sarah did not care for the country and Farquhar had never shown himself in Sussex.
He found himself wondering whether the presence of his precious fetish doll only a few miles away at Poynings with Frances extended its protection this far. He had no way of knowing if she had even kept the thing and he could not ask her, but he liked to picture a golden net of peace and safety thrown across the county from end to end. Certainly the very air itself, so fresh and pure compared to the stinking smoky miasmas of London, was a blessing and a comfort, better even than the wind-swept heights of Hampstead, and he loved to think about the dragons that his steward had told him had once lived here, in St Leonard’s Forest. If any still lurked in a little glen or down a winding path amongst the gorse and heather and birch trees, they would be, perhaps, an added protection.
As summer leached into autumn he had begun working on what he considered would be one of his most important speeches in the Lords for a long time, a defence of Queen Caroline against accusations of adultery by her husband the king. Since his friend and patron the prince regent had become king the man had been very ill, but he was well enough to make it clear to Thomas if he defended his wife they could no longer be friends.