Page 5

Chapter 5

Early December 1910

It was Sunday morning when the mystery began.

As usual Isobel had made breakfast and set it out in the dining room before returning to the kitchen to get on with the rest of her chores.

Bacon, square sliced sausage and scrambled eggs were on offer in warmed dishes, and the silver toast rack was full of neatly cut triangles.

Ann daydreamed her way through most of the meal, not paying much attention to a rather boring discussion between Father and Finlay about some engineering difficulty at the printing works.

The two of them moved on to talking about something that Finlay found entertaining, and without warning, the atmosphere suddenly changed.

‘It’s time you realised that these are serious matters,’ Father almost exploded with frustration.

Ann didn’t properly understand what the problem was and scrabbled backwards through the half-heard conversation, trying to work out what had caused such annoyance.

She didn’t dare ask, and took tiny nibbles off the crust of a piece of toast as she tried to make it last as long as possible without it looking as though she was messing with her food.

‘It really wasn’t like that, Father,’ Finlay protested.

‘They were barely holding hands. That’s what was so amusing.

’

Father clattered a spoonful of marmalade onto his plate so hard it spilled over onto the tablecloth.

‘You will come to the parlour at eleven o’clock sharp, and we will discuss this privately .

’ He used his napkin to wipe the crumbs from his luxuriant moustache, got up from the table and left the room.

He was followed a minute later by Finlay, who appeared to have lost his appetite.

The marmalade spoon was left where it had landed, the tablecloth spattered with sugary preserve.

After she had left enough time to be sure that no one was coming back, Ann seized another piece of toast and spread it thickly with butter because there was now no one to comment or prevent her from doing so.

She was just swallowing the last mouthful when there was a knock at the door.

‘Oh!’ The maid stopped in her tracks, unsure whether to stay or to leave.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ann, I thought everyone had gone upstairs. I’ll clear the table, if you’re finished?

’

Ann nodded and reached for the last slice of toast. It didn’t enter her head that like every maid in the street, Isobel would have been up since before six, and might have welcomed some cold leftovers to help her get through the rest of the morning.

Isobel looked at Ann, who still had crumbs around her mouth, and at the sticky tablecloth which would now need to be laundered, and said nothing about any of it.

*

Listening at keyholes often meant you only heard part of a conversation, but practice had taught Ann to be patient.

She had developed the fine art of fading into the wallpaper and knew about a lot of things that went on in the house by simply remaining silent when conversations happened around her.

Father was not beating around the bush.

She recognised the tone.

‘Finlay, you are seventeen, and it’s time for me to give you the same simple advice that your grandfather gave me.

’

There was an indistinct interruption from her older brother who, judging by the lower volume, was standing at the far end of the first-floor parlour, beside the window which overlooked the street.

He would be able to see the top branches of her little cherry tree in the front garden.

In spring there would be tiny new buds on it, and pink blossom would follow.

Ann had planted it with Father in the autumn of 1908 when she was ten; they had just moved into 25 Library Terrace, and she thought of the small tree as her own personal property.

Cherry was a sweet name which would make people smile, she thought.

Her own name felt very plain and boring in comparison.

Her back hurt from leaning forward at an awkward angle, but she ignored the ache and pressed her ear even closer to the keyhole.

She could feel the cold brass on her skin and smell the Bluebell polish Isobel used every week.

‘I haven’t finished speaking!

’ Father was on the war path.

‘I apologise,’ came her brother’s voice, conciliatory, and deeper than his father’s, with no trace of the mid-teen creaks of earlier years.

‘I repeat, you are seventeen now, and it’s important that you understand how the world works.

’

‘Yes, Father. You were saying about the two things?’

Ann held her breath as she strained to hear the words.

‘Two things will get you into trouble in life.’ Father’s voice strengthened.

‘Your stick and your signature.’ There was a pause.

‘And if you remember that, son, you will avoid a lot of life’s difficulties.

’

Ann frowned. A stick and a signature?

It didn’t make any sense.

But before she could puzzle it out, she realised that heavy footsteps were heading towards the door, and only a few seconds remained before she would be discovered.

She slid the book she was carrying onto the carpet runner, pushing it in the direction of her bedroom with her foot as though she was playing a giant game of shove ha’penny, and then moused her way towards it with soft steps, avoiding the creaky floorboard in the middle in a way that Isobel might have recognised.

She was four feet from safety when the parlour door opened, and she quickly pulled her hair out from behind her ear to hide the indentation of the keyhole.

‘Sorry, Father. It slipped out of my hands.’

‘You must be more careful. Books cost money.’

She could tell that he wasn’t truly cross with her.

‘Is Miss Smith here yet?’ he continued.

‘I need to speak with her about our wedding. It’s only two weeks away now.

’

‘I know. I am so excited about it.’

‘She will make changes here, I expect, and we will all have to get used to those, but if everyone tries their best, I hope it won’t be too difficult.

’

Ann bent down to pick up the book.

‘She arrived a little while ago. I think she’s in the kitchen with Isobel.

They were going to discuss the order for the butcher, I heard them speaking about it when she was here yesterday afternoon.

’

Finlay appeared in the parlour doorway, ‘I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, Annie Bee.

’ He winked at her, knowing full well that her habit of listening at keyholes had almost been her undoing.

*

Ann waited until after lunch, when she knew Father and Miss Smith had gone out for their usual walk to Blackford Pond, before she went into the kitchen.

Isobel was scrubbing a saucepan at the scullery sink, almost up to her elbows in hot water.

She turned at the sound of the door opening.

‘Are you looking for something, Miss Ann?’

Ann sat down at the table.

The smell of biscuits seeped out from the oven in the black range behind her, and the heat warmed her back.

‘This must be a nice room to work in,’ she said, ‘it’s always so warm and cosy.

’ She began to doodle with her finger in the scattering of flour that had been left behind on the table.

The swirls and loops she created made channels which she dusted over, before starting again with a fresh pattern.

Isobel pointed upwards to the small room above the scullery.

‘You should be here in the morning when you’ve just come down from up there and it’s still dark.

It’s not so cosy when the fire’s almost out and Jack Frost has tried to poke his long fingers under the back door.

’ It was said without any malice, but it was the truth, nonetheless.

‘Better watch out or you’ll be getting flour in those long plaits of yours and they’ll go hard and crusty.

You’ll not be happy when it has to be brushed out.

You’d better come over here and put your hands in the sink for a moment; we don’t want you getting into trouble.

’

Ann swished her fingers in the soapy water and looked around for something to dry her hands with.

She didn’t see the blue kitchen towel which hung on a nail right beside the scullery sink.

Instead, she walked back into the warm kitchen and picked up a tea towel from the neat pile of freshly ironed laundry on the big table.

Isobel watched as her just-completed work was undone, but said nothing.

Ann dried her hands carefully.

‘Father has been talking to Finlay.’

‘I expect he had something important to say, Miss Ann.’ Isobel lifted the heavy pan out of the washing-up water and put it on the wooden drainer.

‘He said that there were two things that would get Finlay into trouble.’

‘And what would those be, miss?’

‘Your stick and your signature,’ Ann checked her fingernails for bits of flour she might have missed, ‘which I don’t really understand.

I thought that perhaps you might be able to tell me?

’

Isobel’s face seemed to be stuck.

She coughed and guddled about in her pocket for a handkerchief while she worked out how to answer.

‘I’m not sure I know, Miss Ann,’ she said at last.

‘Never mind. I’ll ask Miss Smith, if I remember.

’ Ann felt her cheeks start to flush.

It had happened a few times over the last month, and she assumed it was just one of the things that meant you were almost finished with being twelve.

‘Maybe it would be better to talk to Miss Smith about my birthday instead of silly sticks. Do you know that from today, it’s exactly four months until I will be thirteen?

’ She walked to the door, leaving the crushed tea towel on the table and a snowfall of flour on the floor.

‘And have you heard that The Great Lafayette is coming to Edinburgh? That is very exciting indeed.’