Page 9

Chapter Nine

J oan came to bed as the town clock struck midnight and the wind finally died down. She slipped under the sheets, smelling of rum. I lay like a rock, breathing deep, pretending to be asleep, for I was so bewildered and furious that I did not trust myself to open my mouth.

Had she taken the powder from my supplies? That was my first thought, but no, my supplies were hidden away and there were no packets ever left lying around. I hadn’t even taken it, these past days. It was risky to have such a substance in the house. If I was ever discovered trying to prevent a pregnancy there would be trouble. Imagine what Ma would say. So had Joan got the powders from an apothecary? No, for I had never seen such a packet in Musselburgh. Not at the market and not in any of the shops, not even at the grocer’s store at the Mussel Inn. Besides, I dare say if she was at the capers with a man, she would have told me, the blabbermouth that she is. Except if that man was Spencer.

Besides, the writing on the packet was the same. The same strange words written in a foreign language.

‘Are you awake?’ Joan whispered, turning to me. I could hear her getting comfy on Spencer’s pillow. Was she trying to get close to him again? Was she missing him?

‘Not really,’ I mumbled. Where had they done it? In this bed? How had they ever had the opportunity? My mind raced. They were never alone together, apart from the times Spencer would walk her home from here. They would hardly have been at the capers together in the middle of a winter storm.

Then I knew: the nights I went to sit with Ma whilst Joan had choir practice. Twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I bet she’d skipped it and had come here instead.

I turned over to face her, but I kept my eyes closed. Our breathing rhythm settled into itself. We were so used to sleeping together that we had a way of moving in harmony, even when we’d been at loggerheads all our waking hours. I could tell she was settling in to sleep by the way she clicked her jaw and sniffed. By and by, Joan’s breathing deepened, but I was wide awake. I opened my eyes and watched her face in the rush-light.

Fine to look at, but not much more than a man’s plaything. Spencer knew that, of the two sisters, I would be the easier wife. He knew I would keep his secrets locked in a safe. He knew I would not stray or be tempted by another man when he was away. He knew I was ambitious for London and would work hard to get us there.

Joan shuddered then, as if she could hear my thoughts, and her eyes flew open. ‘You’re watching me,’ she cried.

‘You woke me up,’ I said.

She tucked the blanket under her chin and fidgeted for a moment or two.

‘Did something happen between you and Spencer?’ I asked.

The blanket went very still.

‘Did you fug him?’ I went on. Now that it was out, it was out. ‘Here in this bed?’

‘Don’t be daft, hen,’ she said, but there was a catch in her voice.

‘Did he give you something to take, afterwards?’

A pause of three or four heartbeats and then she sat up.

‘Have you been looking in my scrapbook?’ she asked. I could feel her glare more than see it, so dark was the room. I did not admit such a thing, but I knew then, and she knew that I had gone peeking. But, worse, Joan had gone fugging with my husband.

‘You couldn’t just let me have my happiness, could you? You had to go and ruin my marriage when it was barely even begun.’

She burst into tears, then got up, taking her scrapbook with her, and shut the bedroom door. And I could not have cared where she went, but in fact she went through to the parlour because she was more afeared of Da than she was of me, and if she had turned up back home at midnight he would have had something to say about it and would likely have belted her for arguing with me, and then again for leaving him and Ma in the first place.

I lay in bed, but did not sleep. I could hear Joan weeping through the wall, as though she were the victim in all of it. As the rush burned, and the wind toyed with the rafters and the window shutters, I watched the shadowy walls, the wardrobe, the curtains at the window, the blanket and the bedspread. All the fine things that Spencer had furnished our rooms with. The blue china vase where I would have put daffodils, had the time come. But what use was any of it now? Even if he came back on the dawn tide, what kind of marriage would we have? Imagine if I had found this out and Spencer hadn’t been press-ganged?

Eventually Joan’s weeping subsided, and I was grateful for that.

As the sun crept up, I knew that I would be out of Musselburgh on a morning coach. It was midwinter and a bad time to travel. Spencer had avoided winter journeys altogether. But I had to go now. ’Tis a terrible achy feeling to realize you are leaving everything behind. But with a tingle of wonder too. For had I not often yearned for London, and could I not recite the route southwards in my head?

I got out of bed, placing my feet firmly on the cold floor, and quickly packed a creel. I used one of Joan’s too, the cow; I even packed some of her better clothes in it, for I had more need of them in London than she would have here. I put the money from the safe into Joan’s nice tapestry purse, for I had nothing of that size myself and I would need to take that as well. I felt bad for a minute, pockling her things like that, but think of what she had done!

I passed through the parlour light like a ghost and stood, a moment, watching Joan sleeping soundly on the chair, under a blanket. Mibbie she would live here until the next rent was due. I would not put it past her at all. Mibbie Spencer would come back and they could be together. I checked myself in the looking glass. I looked as I felt: washed out, with bleary eyes. I tied my bonnet and pulled my plaits firmly over my shoulders.

I had never left Musselburgh before. Some of the fishwives took a cart to Edinburgh each day, up to Fishmarket Close, to sell their wares. But Ma said the two-hour journey there and back was a needless bother, even though you could get better prices. And the customers there were innkeepers and paid cooks and ladies’ maids and the like, who would sniff and tap and inspect everything and look down their noses at us and ask for the juiciest mussels and the most succulent oysters, and so on. It was more of a bother than it was worth for Ma and Da, who also had their side-line in looking after smuggled tea.

But even though I’d never left the Honest Toun, folk came and went all the time, and the hub of all things in and out was the courtyard at the Mussel Inn. So that was where I went, carrying a weighty creel on my back. When I arrived, the kirk clock had only struck seven, but already there were carts being loaded with goods and drivers, and passengers eager to be on their way. I had decided the best way to go about my business was not to talk to anyone I recognized, for that would raise significant questions and they might not even let me go, without permission from my da. And if that seems strange for a married woman, my da was not a man you would cross. So I pulled my bonnet over my face as far as it would go and kept my head down, looking only at the hay-strewn mud below my feet and occasionally glancing up.

I soon spied a small fellow readying a coach and I made my way over to him.

‘Good morning, sir,’ I began, and he barely even stopped what he was doing, continuing to make sure everything was roped into place.

‘If you’re looking for a hitch, I’m off in half an hour and it’s London I’m headed to, by way of Carlisle as I’ve mail to drop there. Three shillings up front.’

Drivers like him must see runaways all the time.

‘I never rush, especially not in this weather, and I’m doing overnight stops at the inns at Lauder and Kelso, and wherever else I might need to stop after that for the sake of the horses,’ he said. ‘And a lass like you will need to look after yourself too, for I’m only a driver, not your guardian. I’m almost full today. Two gentlemen passengers and a load of salted herring at the back, not to mention the mail. They are the priority, not daft lassies. Are you in a rush to get anywhere?’

I shook my head.

‘The Great North Road is quicker, but no-one is headed down that way this morning,’ he went on. ‘And the Carlisle route is safer, if you ask me. For you’re more likely to be robbed over that way, it being busier.’

I had not even thought of being robbed and I must have looked alarmed, for he softened then and stopped fiddling with the ropes and stood up.

‘Don’t fret,’ he added. ‘I’ve never been robbed yet, and I carry a knife on me, just in case. You’re as well to do the same, a young lass like you, and you can get one in that general store.’ He ran his eyes up and down me, but not in a lewd way, more to check me over. ‘And you don’t look it, but if you happen to be with child, don’t even think about getting on this coach, for I’m no midwife.’ I shook my head, horrified at his frank talk. ‘Oh, that’s happened before.’ He shrugged. ‘And by the way, I’m not one for helping maids escape who’ve got into a fix by capering with their masters. Too much trouble. So if either of those categories applies to you, then you’ll need to wait for the next coach south.’

Neither of those categories applied to me. I shook my head even more vigorously, feeling solemn.

‘All right then, come back in twenty minutes, and I shall need those three shillings,’ he continued.

I walked round to the general store. I had a decent feeling about the driver. I like a plain talker, for I’m a plain talker too. He had a soft accent that sounded a bit like Spencer’s, but he was much older and his clothes were the most crumpled I had ever seen. The young lassie behind the counter in the store barely nodded as I asked for a sharp knife, and when she offered me a selection, laid out on a linen cloth, I chose something small and neat – enough to peel and core an apple, or stick into a highwayman, should one come along. Then I bought a small bottle of whisky, to keep out the cold, and I must confess I went into a panic to ensure I did not suffer any inconveniences on the journey and bought a sewing kit, some Castile soap, some powder to keep my armpits fresh and two pies, one meat and one fruit. Then a water can, of course, for I had forgotten one; and by the time I piled all of these into my creel, I was glad I was only walking back to the courtyard. All in all, it was more money than I had ever spent before in one go. But it kept my mind off the betrayal. It kept me moving forward.

When I returned to the coach, the courtyard had thronged into even more of a hubbub and I was truly feared now that someone would recognize me, so I marched as fast as I could, head down, and handed the driver his three shillings before he could change his mind.

‘You sit facing the rear,’ he instructed, ‘for the gents are to face the direction of travel. And if you think you are going to be travel-sick, or need any attention for anything, knock sharp on the side.’

I nodded, but he didn’t see that as he was too busy pocketing his fare and taking my creel to store under my seat. Then he stood aside to let me on, and I made myself as comfortable as I could, relieved that I was finally out of sight. Not long afterwards I heard the driver greet the two gents and then murmur something to them, which I supposed was his way of letting them know there was another passenger, then they boarded too, bidding me a polite good morning.

Well, I could tell straight away they were not real gents, of course. Aside from the fact that real gents would have their own private carriage, this pair of young men were traders, I could tell, as they had boxes to store; and one of them pulled out a parchment and they proceeded to go over it as soon as they were seated. So they would be boring company, which was just as well, for as the carriage pulled out and began its long, swaying, lurching trek, it dawned on me good and proper that I was leaving. Leaving Ma and Da and poor Little Paws, who was grey-whiskered now and I would likely never see her again. Leaving the gulls and their forlorn cries.

A fishing song ran through my head – ‘Weel may the boatie row’ – and that was me now: rowing off on a strange sea. I had seen enough of silvery shores and skies. I wanted gold. I thought of Joan, waking up and yawning and stretching her arms, all stiff from a night on a chair, and then realizing I’d vanished. I wondered if she would feel bad, or worried for me. I thought of Spencer, in the full and certain knowledge now that he would be in the arms of a port whore. I swigged my whisky.

My heart, my breath, the taste of fire – for that is what I had become now. Shrunken to the essence of myself. As Musselburgh flashed by, I was no longer part of it. Not of the kirk, nor the mills, nor the whitewashed houses nor the grassy fields. My past was falling away from me. I was shedding it as a snake sheds its skin. I was facing backwards, hurtling forwards. As the men pored over their papers, I closed my eyes and hoped I would never see the Honest Toun again.