Thomas sat for a long time by the dying embers of the fire after his son and son-in-law had left. He had sent the servants to bed knowing he would not sleep that night. It was in the early hours he got up wearily to reach for the tongs and feed lumps of coal onto the fire, poking it back into life. He knew what he had to do. He turned to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.
Sitting down again, the bag on his knee, he waited a few more minutes then slowly he pulled the drawstrings open and took out the doll. It had changed. Somehow it looked less shabby, less dusty and its eyes had grown bright. ‘So, you know we need you, little one,’ he murmured. ‘Tomorrow, I’m going to take you back to Frances. I want you to keep her safe. Frances and her children and her children’s children.’ He laid his hand gently on the doll, with a glance at the two dogs lying by the fire. Neither had stirred.
Caddy led Thomas into her morning room. He had missed Frances by three hours. ‘They didn’t feel there was anything else they could do here. Papa,’ she hesitated, suddenly embarrassed, ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve caused so much trouble in the family.’
‘You’ve done no such thing.’ He looked at her sternly. ‘I presume you mean by indirectly introducing me to Sarah? None of this is your fault. Sarah is genuine. She’s not to blame, nor are you, nor is Margaret for passing on your message. If anyone has proved ill-advised in this whole sorry business it’s me, and it’s for me to sort it out. And as for the evil spirit that is or was Andrew Farquhar, Sarah isn’t strong enough to fight it on her own. That’s for me to do. All I can do now is try and deflect it from Frances.’
‘Can Sam and Henry not have him exorcised?’
He smiled at her use of the word, reminding himself that Caddy had believed enough in all this to go to that fateful séance in the first place. ‘Sam and Henry, as men of the cloth, have learned their religious sensitivities from the Bible, and they can pray, but neither of them “see” other worlds. Frances alone has inherited that ability of all my sons and daughters. It gives her special insights as it does me, but it also makes her especially vulnerable. It brings pain and terrifying experiences.’
‘And prayer is not enough to keep you both safe?’ Caddy was shocked.
He shook his head slowly. ‘No. And that is the fault of the man and not the prayers. I have always been a bit of a rebel as far as the kirk was concerned, and my conversion to the Church of England was required by my position in society. That does not suit me either.’
He did not mention that he put his faith in a small doll made of straw and beads, given him by a woman whose skin was black and whose heart was gold, or that the only person apart from her to understand his gifts and curse had been his family’s sennachie, a man with the second sight himself and the knowledge of generations of men and women with the same gift from the secret places of his native land, a man who had been dead now for years.
He arrived at Poynings by dusk in a phaeton driven by the son of a friend who was not afraid to let his horses gallop. By a stroke of luck Samuel was out amongst his parishioners and he was able to speak to Frances alone.
‘You have to keep it,’ he said. ‘For the rest of your life. Promise me.’ He pressed the bag into her hands.
They were in the low-ceilinged parlour of the old parsonage, warmed by a log fire. Frances had asked her cook to make hot chocolate for them both.
‘You think I’ve brought Farquhar with me?’ she asked. She looked unutterably weary.
‘I am afraid that’s possible. He seems to cling to people with tentacles that are hard to dislodge.’
She shuddered. Opening the bag, she brought out the doll. ‘The woman who gave you this conferred an enormous blessing. She meant it for you.’
‘And my children.’
‘What about the others?’ She held his gaze.
‘You are the only one who has inherited the sight. That is a gift, but …’ He did not finish the sentence.
She nodded. ‘My little Mary Ann has it too. She’s the only one of mine.’
‘Then she too will need this one day.’ He nodded at the doll.
‘She shall have it.’ She smiled.
He stayed the night with them and the next day Samuel offered to drive him back to Buchan Hill.
It was as they were bidding one another farewell under the ancient oak tree outside Thomas’s newly built house that Sam held out a small package. ‘Frances asked me to give you this.’
Thomas waited until Samuel was out of sight then he walked over to the bench he had had set against the south-facing wall of the house and sitting down in the last rays of the warm autumn sunlight he opened the packet. He read the letter first.
Papa. I was looking at the doll last night and her right arm came off in my hand. I did nothing to pull it off, I promise. The doll meant it to be given to you, her blessing and gift of safety. Keep it close; never part with it and I will keep the rest. Your loving daughter, F.
He unfolded the scrap of silk that wrapped the detached limb. There was no way of telling what it was supposed to be. A few twigs, a few strands of thread, some dried berries, so old now, they looked like little black beads. He smiled and dropped a kiss on the scrap then carefully rewrapped it. The silk came, he noticed, from an old torn handkerchief. He saw the ornate initial F embroidered in the corner and for a moment he wondered if it had belonged to Fanny. He kissed the bundle again and tucked it into his pocket.
‘This must be some story Ruth and Mal are reading.’ Max was in the kitchen as Fin walked in. ‘I hope Ruth lets me represent her if she ever wants to publish.’ Judging from the bag in Fin’s hand he had been shopping at the deli in Leith Walk again.
Ruth had barely emerged from her room all day.
‘Good old Max, ever the agent.’ Fin began laying packets of cheese and smoked hams and salami on the counter.
‘I hadn’t realised how truly obsessed she is. I’ll be pleased when Malcolm comes to collect her tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll find ways of distracting her.’
Max sighed. ‘I hope they catch that bastard Bradford soon. And in the meantime all we have to do is keep Ruth safe. That last girl Bradford attacked is in a critical condition apparently. She might die.’
Fin groaned. ‘Ruth’s probably safest in the past, Max. Leave her there for now.’
Thomas had the baby removed from Sarah’s house the day it was born and had it baptised Hampden after his hero, John Hampden, who had stood for the people against King Charles I’s ship tax. The other two children were taken a day later, with their nursemaids. He installed them all on the top floor of the house in Arabella Row and promised himself next spring he would send them down to Buchan Hill to be brought up in the countryside. There, they could run through the gardens and play in the woods and hunt dragons to their hearts’ content.
Sarah had been drunk when he visited her, sprawling on the sofa in a room where the fire remained unlit, a bottle of gin lying spilled on the floor at her feet. It was the housekeeper who had begged him to take the children away, but he had planned to do it anyway. He wanted so badly to see little Erskine lose his anxious angry scowl and run laughing round a house, any house, where he could find happiness.
Farquhar had been there, Thomas was sure of it. He could feel evil in the room. He stood looking down at Sarah, surprised to find so much compassion in himself, but there was nothing to be done. He went down to the kitchen and found the housekeeper still there, alone. ‘Will you look after her for me?’ He sat down wearily at the kitchen table.
‘He’s still here,’ she said. She poured a glass of sherry for him and then one for herself. ‘This bottle is all I have left, my lord. She has drunk her way through the rest.’
‘When you say he’s still here …?’ he asked cautiously.
‘The bastard evil spirit in her head. She opens her mouth but it isn’t her speaking. He shouts, he yells at her, he tells her to go after you.’ She looked up at him anxiously.
‘Go after me?’ He felt in his pocket for the
little silk-wrapped packet.
‘He wants you dead, my lord, begging your pardon. You shouldn’t come here any more. I’ll look after her. Once she’s sober, we’ll sort something out for her.’
‘Farquhar won’t go just because she’s sober,’ Thomas said gravely.
‘I know that, sir,’ she sighed, ‘but I’ll think of something. And please, my lord, no offence, but will you give my love to those precious tots of yours. They deserve so much better than this and I’m pleased they’re going to get it now they’re with you.’
Four days later the woman was dead.
Davy was there when Sarah came to his door in Arabella Row in tears, her hair awry and her dress smeared with food. ‘She fell down the stairs. I don’t know how. She must have tripped. Please, I want to see my children.’
When Thomas refused, she began to scream and her voice changed. It deepened and grew more powerful.
‘Let the woman see her children. She’s your wife, you miserable man.’ Even Davy could see it, the change in her face, the squaring of her shoulders as she moved towards them.
‘Dear God, what’s the matter with her?’ Davy exclaimed.
‘Nothing is the matter with her. She’s mine!’ The voice was coming from Sarah’s mouth and she launched herself at Thomas, punching him in the face. He staggered and fell backwards. As Davy dragged her away from his father he felt the strength in her arms, a man’s strength, then she collapsed in tears. She was Sarah again.
Davy helped Thomas to his feet, appalled at what had just happened. Settling his father into a chair he propelled Sarah towards the front door. ‘Never let me see you here again,’ he hissed.
As soon as she had gone, wailing, down the street followed at a discreet distance by one of the footmen to make sure she got home safely, Thomas knew she had left something behind. Only his pride had been hurt, but he had felt the evil like a poisoned veil trailing after her, winding round the furniture. It didn’t come near him now she had gone, but it was prowling, looking for an opening. It would only be a matter of time before it found a way of coming closer.
Thomas made Davy swear not to tell anyone what had happened then he paid for the housekeeper’s funeral and sent money to her family. What else could he do?
‘Oh my God, Ruthie! Have you seen it? It’s all over the news! That girl died.’ Harriet had called just after Fin had tiptoed into Ruth’s bedroom with a gin and tonic which, with exaggerated silence and his finger to his lips, he put down on the table beside her with a rattle of ice cubes. She could hear the tonic fizzing gently.
Ruth sat back in her chair and looked down from the window towards Queen Street Gardens, dark behind the old-fashioned street lights. ‘Oh God, that’s awful. Tragic.’ She dragged her thoughts back to the present. ‘I still can’t believe Tim would do such a thing.’ But it wasn’t Tim, it was Farquhar.
‘Where are you? Are you still in the Tower House?’
Ruth felt a pang of misery and loneliness. ‘No, the police brought me to Max’s.’
There was a short silence as Harriet digested this news. ‘Didn’t it work out with Malcolm?’
‘It’s not that. Mal had to go to London and they felt I’d be safer here.’ Ruth reached for the gin and took a sip. From the other end of the flat she could hear the faint murmur of voices. Fin and Max were assembling their supper. She was safe here, but still she was afraid and, she realised, she was more afraid for Mal than herself. He was alone out there.
‘Take care of yourself, Ruthie.’ Harriet was signing off. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, call me, and if you come to a conclusion about our ascended master—’
‘I’ll let you know, I promise.’
‘I have to go away, for the children’s sake. If I’m not there, then he – and Sarah – won’t pester them.’ Thomas was outlining his plans to his eldest son. ‘I’m going to Scotland. I’ve been exchanging letters with your Uncle Harry’s widow and she’s asked me to stay with her at Almondell for Christmas and to remain there until the spring.’ He looked more cheerful than he had for months.
‘That’s wonderful, Papa.’ Davy embraced his father with relief. It would be a weight off all their minds if his father removed himself from London. It wasn’t just Sarah’s presence that was hanging over them all, it was the constant publicity, the cartoons and gossip columns in the newspapers, and the nagging fear that she would think of some even worse way of harassing him.
‘Will you come with me?’ Thomas gripped his son’s arm.
‘Me? To Scotland?’
‘Just for a few weeks. I’ve decided to go by sea. I can’t face any more racing around in carriages, not for such a long journey. Not any more. And I fancy another voyage before I die.’
‘You’re not going to die, Papa. You’ll outlive the rest of us.’ Davy laughed uncomfortably.
‘Please come, Davy.’ He slapped his son on the back. ‘I have the tickets. We’re booked on a smack bound for Leith. It leaves from Wapping in two weeks’ time.’
Before he left he wrote a letter to Frances. ‘I have a superstitious certainty that evil cannot travel over water, like the witches of old, and so I trust my evil twin will not be able to follow me north, hence my eccentric desire to travel by sea. However, should anything untoward happen to me, I trust you to come to Arabella Row and remove my personal papers. I am vain enough to believe that my public doings should be a matter of record, but my journals and letters are no one’s business but my own. Burn them. Likewise, please, my darling, make yourself the overseer of my youngest children. Ensure they are brought up safely and well.’
He locked his papers in his desk, all but his current journal. That would go with him. He kissed the children and he made sure his little amulet of twigs was tucked in his breast pocket as he left the house to join Davy in the carriage that would take them to Wapping. He had no sense that he was followed. Andrew Farquhar and all his evil intentions were left safely behind.
April was watching the news on the hotel room TV. She was sitting on the end of her bed, numb with horror, as picture after picture of Tim appeared. There was only a quick shot of her but she wasn’t mentioned. They seemed to have lost interest in her.
When the news moved on to another story she lay back on the bed, her arm across her eyes as tears trickled down her face. How could this have happened? What had gone wrong? She wished fervently they had never come to Edinburgh, never met Donald Dunbar, never set eyes on Number 26. The laughing face of the pretty girl he had murdered was branded into her brain. A girl, a child almost, who had her whole life ahead of her and Timothy, her brother, had killed her in the vilest way possible.
Where was he now? Apparently he had gone out to the Tower House again, still hunting Ruth. Was it Ruth he thought he was raping when he had attacked that poor girl? The police were supposed to be keeping an eye on Number 26 but she had seen how ineffective that had been; he was there when she had left the house and he would want her there with him now, to comfort him, to tell him that it didn’t matter. That what he had done was OK.
Except of course it wasn’t OK. It would never be OK again.
She sat up. Her keys to Number 26 were lying there on the dressing table with her purse and her mobile. Should she ring the police now? Tell them to go and look. Tell them how easy it had been to live in the back of the house where no lights could be seen from the street. Tell them to get there before he killed again. She picked up the keys and weighed them in her hand for a few seconds, then she reached for her coat.
‘Papa! For God’s sake come into the cabin!’
The weather had grown worse as the smack turned out of the Thames estuary and beat north-eastwards into the teeth of the wind.
Thomas glanced at Davy and grinned. ‘Go in if you want to. I love this weather! I hadn’t realised how much I missed the sea.’ He was shouting against the roar of the wind in the ochre red sails. A large wave hit the boat broadside and showered them with icy spray. In his head Thomas was a m
idshipman again. The skipper had told them both to get below several times, but Thomas refused. He was soaked to the skin and shivering, but he was enjoying every minute of the experience. A flash of lightning lit the horizon and there was a rumble of thunder as huge black clouds rolled in from the north-east. It was growing darker all the time.
They were off Harwich when the full force of the storm struck. The sails had been reduced and the boat was bucking through gigantic waves. Thomas had gone below for a brief respite from the noise and the power of the wind, but he could not resist going on deck again as the lightning sliced into the water round them, clinging to the rail as he watched the full force of the storm. The skipper was at the helm with two of the sailors, fighting to point the smack’s bow away from the coast; they were heading almost into wind when a sizzling flash and a bang shook the boat from stem to stern. In the brief second of intense white light he thought he caught sight of a figure in the bow, a wild shadowy figure, standing upright, not touched by the wind. The figure turned and raised a hand in triumphal greeting but the flash was spent, the sea was black once more. Thomas had imagined it. Farquhar could not be on the boat. It wasn’t possible.
The next wave almost swamped them, crashing across the deck in a solid wall of water that swirled into the scuppers in a fury of wild foam, dragging Thomas’s fingers from the shrouds to which he was clinging and hurling him down into the body of the boat as another bolt of lightning hit the mast beside him.
The news was just starting. ‘The Edinburgh rape case has now turned into a full-scale murder enquiry.’ The newscaster was looking solemn, her voice even and low pitched. ‘The rapist’s third victim died today in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary from injuries sustained two nights ago in a vicious attack. Timothy Bradford, believed to be in his early forties, is being sought in connection with the incident. He was last seen in the Scottish Borders Region. The public is warned not to approach him but to contact the police immediately if they see him.’