by Sue Lawrence
Jessie bit her lip and sat up straight. All morning the police had been asking them questions. The conclusion – according to two constables she overheard speaking – was that Andrew Ramsay, that philandering gentleman who had lost his business through bankruptcy then supposedly mended his ways by running a charitable institution, had stabbed his sister in the lodge house after coming home at midnight drunk and smelling of the cheap perfume from the whores down at the docks.
It was Annie Rae who had found the Governor staggering around downstairs in the main house. She had sneaked down to the kitchen to get a drink of water and had come across him, dishevelled and confused and with a bloodied knife in his hand. He had mumbled to her to go and get one of the men to fetch the police. He had told her that he had just killed Matron.
Jessie had followed all the others rushing downstairs on hearing Annie Rae shouting for help. Jessie had caught sight of Effie emerging from the cellar door and she nodded at her. Effie had given her a nod back then headed in the other direction as Jessie followed the line of inmates wanting to catch sight of the Governor on his knees in the corridor, weeping over the bloody knife in his hand, just as Annie Rae had described to them all upstairs. But the Governor was now nowhere to be seen.
While they had waited for the police, two of the men had gone to the lodge house but found it locked. No one knew where to find a key and so they all had to wait, the inmates standing around in their nightclothes, shivering, not knowing what to do. Jessie had caught Effie’s eye again but they’d both kept their heads low.
When the police had eventually arrived and forced open the door to the lodge house, it was a sorry sight. There was Matron lying on the kitchen floor, drenched in her own blood. In his bedroom, was the Governor, hanging from a rope attached to a hook in the ceiling.
‘What will happen to us all, d’you think, Molly?’ Jessie asked the cook, who sat, her large body rigid, clasping and unclasping her hands.
‘Who can say? It’s all too much to take in. He must have come home drunk then took a knife and stabbed her. Stabbed his own sister! He deserved to die. He deserved to hang by the neck.’ She grimaced. ‘I know he had rages, we heard him often enough in the dining hall. Well, that was nothing compared to when he’s been drinking, at night, when he thought there was no one to hear him. I told the policeman that. Matron had to put up with a lot and try to keep it under control, but … she didn’t deserve that.’
There was a knock on the door and Effie came in, her dress from the night before all rumpled and crushed.
‘Effie, come here. Are you all right?’ Molly held out her arms and pulled Effie in towards her.
‘Fine, Molly, thank you for your concern.’ Effie stood rigid, not responding to the embrace.
‘Where were you last night? Were you down in the cellar with the pram?’
Effie nodded and briefly caught Jessie’s eye.
‘Is there any cake left, Molly?’
‘Yes, there is. Now just you sit down and I’ll away and get it.’ Molly bustled off into the larder.
Jessie leant over to Effie. ‘Where did you go? I came to see you in the cellar when I came back in.’
‘Asleep, I was asleep in my bed in the lodge house with the door locked in case he came in. It was the first time I’ve slept in years and even though it was only perhaps two hours, it was good. Then I heard the police trying to get in through the front door so I left by the back door and joined you all inside. Even now, I feel strangely well.’ Effie yawned.
‘Here you go,’ said Molly, putting a large slice of Madeira cake in front of Effie. She put another plate with a slice cut in two on the table. ‘Jessie, you and I can share this one. We’ve all had such a shock.’
Jessie was stirring a large pot of broth for supper. Molly had gone to lie down; she said she had to go for a sleep, her head was about to burst. The broth had been handed in earlier by two ladies from Wardie Kirk. News had spread all round the area about the deaths and the church ladies had got together that morning to bring soup for the inmates.
‘What else could we do? These poor people need some sustenance,’ they had said when Molly and Jessie helped their servants bring the vast pot into the kitchen. It was strange to see two ladies all dressed in their finery, in the dingy poorhouse kitchen. Jessie stared at their hats, one with large green bows, the other with high black feathers. One of them wore dainty lilac gloves that looked so soft, Jessie had the urge to go over and touch them, feel the silky softness. One lady had a short, high-necked jacket with tiny silver buttons all down the front of her ample bosom. The other had a long fawn cloak made of something soft and thick. Molly had said afterwards it was called velvet.
Jessie put in a spoon and tasted the broth. It was so hot, it nearly burnt her tongue, but how good it was! Instead of tasting watery and of little else but onion, this was rich and fatty with meat and bulging with barley and vegetables. The inmates would not believe their luck.
Jessie struggled through to the dining hall with the pan then went to ring the bell. Soon, everyone shuffled in, looking crestfallen, even Annie Rae, whose usual smug, sly expression had gone. They were all stunned. Of course, everyone had loathed both Matron and the Governor, but for this to happen?
‘What’s to become of us now?’ they asked, as Jessie ladled the broth into their bowls. Jessie shrugged and continued serving up.
Instead of the usual miserable expressions everyone assumed while eating, looks of elation lit up their faces as they began to sup. They hadn’t had to do any work that morning and now this soup both smelled and tasted like nectar. They gobbled it down. Two of the boys came up to ask if there was any more. Jessie ladled out some for herself and some for Molly, for later, and then said, ‘Yes, hand me your bowl.’
Chapter 41
1982
Betty Chalmers was in the office showing Rona the little bootees she was knitting for the baby. They were yellow, which would suit either a boy or a girl, she’d said. ‘I couldn’t let Mrs Bell be the only one knitting for the new arrival!’ Carly, her new carer, stood behind her, hands on the wheelchair handles, waiting patiently. ‘By the way, Rona, I was looking at that portrait you have out in the hall. I see the woman has a diamond between her gloves.’
‘I always thought it might be a diamond, but Mrs Bell said it might be an opal or just a trick of the light.’
‘What does she know? My husband’s family was in the jewellery business. That looks to me like a large diamond, a real one, I’m sure. If, as we discussed some time ago, Rona, the portrait is from the 1870s, then that was when paste jewellery was coming into its prime as they simulated the real thing. That’s why they were called diamantés.’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Rona, glancing at the pile of paperwork on her desk.
‘But no, I’m sure that’s a genuine diamond. The people in this house would have known the difference. People of standing would only have true diamonds. Well, I must be getting on. Wheel me back to my room, Carly, there’s a good girl.’
Betty Chalmers had just left when Ian stormed into the office.
‘Rona, sorry to bother you, but Fay just said Martha’s getting Mr Wilson’s old room for a couple of days. Is that true?’
‘Yes, Ian. It was my idea. Mr Wilson’s far happier downstairs. Whatever Martha’s done or not done with regards to Jessie, she’s the one who might be able to get her to speak.’
‘But look at how she kept her in the lodge house – locked in the room, unable to get out herself if there was a fire! Shocking.’
Rona sighed. ‘We’re going in to see her soon. We’ll find out what’s been going on. Give her a bit of leeway. She’s been ill since the fire.’
‘Ill, my foot. It’s all an act. She’s an actress playing whatever role she fancies.’
Rona picked up a letter from the pile on her desk. ‘Ian, we’ll speak later about Martha and Jessie. But I also wanted to say I’ve had your reference in at last.’
Ian froze. ‘Is it
okay?’
Rona nodded. ‘What was the problem of getting it before now?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Sorry, Rona, I just really wanted this job and so I had to leave the gardening one pretty swiftly. I’d had some health issues. I didn’t know how they’d be.’
‘All seems good on paper.’ Rona looked up at the clock. ‘Right, got to get along and speak to Martha in Room 9 now. Have you seen Craig lately?’
‘Dining room, helping them clear away after lunch.’
‘Okay.’ Rona smiled. At last Craig was taking on extra chores without being asked. ‘Oh, is it this afternoon you’re off for a couple of days?’
‘Yes. I’ll be leaving in half an hour, back first thing Sunday morning.’ Ian turned to go. ‘By the way, I’ve hidden Mr Burnside’s photo at the back of one of his drawers. I don’t think it’s a good idea he keeps looking at a picture of a dead baby.’
‘Thanks. Obviously neither do I.’
Rona laid her hand on her belly. She hadn’t felt the baby move for a while, at least two days, maybe more. She had begun to worry, but when she’d phoned a friend from antenatal class, she had said there was far less room for the baby to move about now and it was normal to feel less action, certainly not every day. Still, if Rona hadn’t felt movement by tomorrow, she was going to see the midwife.
Craig and Rona headed up the stairs to Room 9. They had discussed what to say and Craig had agreed not to be aggressive. Rona would do most of the talking. Like Ian, Craig was still furious with Martha for apparently locking the old woman in her room so she couldn’t get out. But Rona said that was not to be the first thing they asked about. Rona had popped along to see Jessie earlier and she seemed content, more so now that her drawers at least contained some of her own sweaters, nighties and underwear. She was still not speaking, however. Presumably she had no idea that Martha was in the next room to hers.
Rona tapped on the door; she and Craig walked in.
Martha sat at the window, hair perfectly coiffed once more, but still looking haggard.
‘How are you doing, Martha? Did you have a sleep?’
‘Yes, thanks, I slept before lunch. My chest seems to be rather better.’ She coughed feebly.
Rona sat on the chair beside her. ‘As you know, Martha, we had to get the doctor to check Jessie is okay. She can only give out medical information to you as you are her guardian. There are many things we’d like to ask you, but most importantly, why did you not tell us you were legal guardian to a ninety-seven-year-old woman and that she lived with you at the lodge house?’
Martha took a deep breath. ‘I never really thought it was relevant. I mean, I know you guys decided to open this care home for old folk and I had an old person in my care, but I still kind of thought it was my business. No one else’s.’ She swallowed. ‘Remember that day, Rona, you were asking me if I was Canadian or American and I said there was a difference but no one in this country gets it? Well, Canadians, unlike Americans, don’t care to share every detail of our lives.’
Rona shot a look at her husband. ‘I see. But since we’re now looking after Jessie, I feel we have a right to know who she is. Why are you her legal guardian?’
‘Great aunt, she’s my great aunt and I wanted a job over here so I volunteered to come take care of her. Easy as that.’
‘Except it’s not that easy, is it? That doesn’t explain why you kept her a secret from everyone. She seems pretty well cared for, but there seems no reason why she can’t speak, apart from the fact the doctor thinks she might be suffering from shock after the fire. We’re hoping she’ll soon be able to tell us something about herself.’
‘How are you actually related?’ Craig frowned.
‘My granny’s sister. She’s Granny’s sister – they used to be fisherlassies together down at Newhaven, then my granny went to Canada, but never returned to Scotland. I used to hear all about Great Aunt Jessie from her.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Rona. ‘And the night of the fire? What actually happened that night?’
‘Yes,’ Craig leant towards Martha. ‘How come you got out okay but she was stuck in her room – locked inside and in a wheelchair?’
‘I’d been out that evening and got back to find the fire started. I don’t know how.’ She looked down at her lap. ‘The fire brigade said they don’t know yet how it started.’
‘Why would you lock an infirm, elderly lady in her room in an empty house? That’s illegal.’
‘I wasn’t out for long, just getting something at the late night garage. It’s safer for her.’
‘Safer how?’ Craig yelled. ‘We lock our residents’ doors at night for their safety, but carers check on them regularly. You abandoned her.’
‘Look, can I see her?’
‘Of course,’ Rona said. ‘But one of us has to be with you. We’ll bring her in to you. We’ll go and get her right now.’
Craig stood up and Rona followed him to the door. ‘Don’t be too quick,’ she whispered. ‘We don’t want her to know Jessie’s right next door.’
Craig nodded and strode along the corridor in one direction before turning back on himself.
Craig wheeled Janet McCallister into Martha’s room. Rona watched the old woman’s face. She was still pale, but she had a little more colour in her cheeks than she had when she arrived. As usual, she had a scarf high around her neck and she raised this over her mouth with one hand. She looked at Rona, not making any eye contact with Martha at all.
‘Jessie, come on in, Martha’s keen to have a chat.’ Rona watched as Jessie fixed her gaze on Martha, her expression unchanging.
‘Hi, Jessie. I heard you were doing okay, so I stayed put as I got my asthma back after the fire.’ Martha shuffled in her seat. ‘They treating you well in here, then?’
The old woman nodded and continued to stare.
‘Good. Then that’s all fine and dandy. I’m here resting for a day or two then I’ll be back in the lodge house and you can come and join me there.’
Jessie shook her head.
‘You don’t want to come back there with me? I’ll make those soups and stews you like. And I’ll do some oatmeal herring?’ Martha attempted a smile but it came out as a grimace, her scarlet lipstick now clownlike on her pale face.
Craig opened his mouth to speak but Rona held up her finger. ‘Jessie, is there anything you’d like to say to Martha while we’re here? Would you like to write anything down?’
Jessie nodded and let the scarf fall from around her mouth to reveal her mole. It was difficult not to stare at it, it was so large. She must have gone through life with people gaping.
‘Craig, can you nip next door and get the pencil and notepad in Jessie’s room?’ Rona kicked herself; why had she let slip where Jessie’s room was?
Craig arrived back and handed the pencil and pad to Jessie. All three of them watched as Jessie picked up the pencil with a shaky hand and wrote in spidery writing. She handed the notepad to Rona and returned her gaze to Martha. It read, ‘You will never find my diamond. And you will never live in the lodge house again.’
Chapter 42
1900
Jessie sat on the harbour wall at daybreak, looking out to sea, watching the water ripple into gentle waves. It was low tide so some of the boats at the southern end of the harbour were sitting in heavy silt. Within the hour, water would flood into the harbour and float all the boats.
Jessie breathed deeply. It was good to feel the salt of the sea spray on her skin and the breeze ruffle her hair. She couldn’t linger; she had much to do. She had to fill the creel then lug it up onto her back and start the long day, hawking her wares round the big houses.
The previous week, on her way home from Inverleith, she had passed Laverockbank Road and diverted along the road to see Wardie House. The new owners were making many changes, presumably converting it back into the grand house it had been before it was a poorhouse. It was odd to see the gates open and the bars on the windows dismantled. She hoped it would b
e a happy house for the young English family who had bought it. Presumably they knew what it was before, everyone did. But only Effie and Jessie knew the whole truth.
Jessie had decided to go and ring the doorbell of the lodge house that day as she had heard that Effie now lived there by herself. Jessie had been nervous when she pulled the bell, wondering whether to take off the tall basket of fish from her back. But when the door had opened and Molly stood there, Jessie had been reassured. Molly had become Effie’s housekeeper since the poorhouse closed, though she insisted on continuing to live in Granton. Just as she had done when she worked at the poorhouse, Molly refused to sleep there.
There was now a high stone wall between the main house and the lodge house to give the new inhabitants of Wardie House privacy. Jessie had told Effie she didn’t want to dirty the furniture, so suggested they sit in the kitchen for tea. ‘I stink of fish,’ Jessie had insisted, hauling the creel off her back and dumping it in a corner of the kitchen. As she’d headed for a chair, she remembered the last time she had been in this room, a night she would never forget. Then Jessie had sat at the table while Effie told her what had happened since then.
Effie had been left Wardie Lodge House, but there was no money remaining in the estate. The money the Ramsays had hoped to recoup from running the poorhouse, to help compensate for the disastrous loss of the jewellery business, had come to nothing. The meagre funds they had from the parish and city council had been frittered away by Andrew’s increasingly frequent sorties to Leith.
The sole asset left to Effie, as the remaining Ramsay family member, was the lodge house, although Jessie presumed Effie still had the diamond, the one Matron had wanted. She had plucked up courage that afternoon to tell Effie she’d given Bertha the diamond she found tucked into the baby’s bootee on the shelf high up in the coal cellar to use for her passage to Canada. Effie had looked more curious than cross. ‘I’d wondered what had happened to that stone. But I still have the big one. I’ll show you one day.’
