After the delightful diversions of the evening were over and he had returned to his lodgings, his worries returned a hundredfold. Here was his big chance. Mr and Mrs McKenzie had seemed taken with him and he was invited to take tea with them the following afternoon. They lived in the New Town in a very imposing terraced house with most elegant decor and furnishings in each room. He had shown interest in Mr McKenzie’s business. He had complimented Mrs McKenzie on her excellent oatcakes and made several flattering and gallant remarks about Isobel’s beauty and talent at playing the spinet. They had invited him to call again.
Now, through no fault of his own, he could be denied such a wonderful opportunity to court the beautiful Isobel by any scandal about his family coming to light. Apart from Isobel being an excellent catch, he had felt mightily attracted to her even before he knew who she was. In fact, as Burns would have said, he was directly in love with her. He felt excited as well as worried. Excited by the mere idea of courting Isobel and eventually – God willing – making her his wife. Worried lest Susanna would disgrace him and cause Isobel’s father to ban him as a prospective suitor.
He hardly slept a wink that night and worked thoughtlessly, mechanically, all day until it was time for him to make his way to the point in the High Street where he’d arranged to see the caddie. He was early but within a few seconds, he caught sight of the ragged figure trotting towards him.
‘Aye, there ye are, sir. Ah’ve found yer sister. At least there’s a young lassie answerin’ yer description moved in wi’ Mistress Burns an’ she calls hersel’ Anna McIntyre. See that wynd over there? Doon there and third close on yer left.’
Alexander felt sick. He recognised the housekeeper’s name. How could Susanna stoop so low? This was terrible. His mind in turmoil, he gave the caddie a generous amount of money.
‘Thank ye, sir. Thank ye.’ The caddie was so delighted he literally skipped away along the High Street.
What to do now? Alexander stood as if his silver-buckled shoes were stuck to the ground, as the hustle and bustle of the High Street elbowed around him and street cries reverberated in his head. They did not however drown out his anxieties. Should he go immediately to the harlot’s house and drag Susanna away? What if she was with a man? How awful. How disgraceful. It would kill his mother and father if they found out. He must think about the best and safest method of approaching the dilemma – for all concerned.
Back in his lodgings, he suffered another sleepless night and was so distressed, he almost sent an excuse to the McKenzies and did not turn up for his second visit. However, he couldn’t risk losing the chance of paying court to Isobel. Eventually, hiding his distress as best he could, he called at the McKenzie house again. Mrs McKenzie suggested that ‘the young people should take the air’. And so, with Isobel on his arm, he went parading around the New Town admiring, with her, the elegant new buildings.
‘This is where I would like to live,’ Alexander said, and meant it. ‘One day, I hope to have a home of my own and it would be my dearest wish that it should be in a place like this, in one of these beautiful buildings.’
Isobel gave his arm a little squeeze. ‘I understand how you feel. We used to lodge in the Old Town when we came up from Dumfriesshire, but I would never want to go back to live there again, even just for our yearly visit of a few weeks. Although,’ she added, ‘it can be fascinating and exciting to go to the Dancing Assemblies and the oyster cellars. There’s not very much social life in the New Town yet.’
Before giving himself time to think, Alexander said, ‘I’d be honoured to accompany you to the oyster cellars for an evening’s entertainment.’
‘And oysters?’
He smiled. ‘And oysters.’
Then worry gnawed at him again. Like the taverns – in the wynds or in other cellars – the oyster cellars were always packed with all kinds of people. What if Margaret Burns, accompanied by Susanna and some low-class fellows, appeared? He still could hardly credit that his sister could be consorting with such people. She had always been so fussy about the company she kept.
Once having promised to take Isobel to the oyster cellars, however, he could not very well retract. To make matters worse, her father and mother decided to accompany them. ‘Some magistrate friends of mine are going tomorrow,’ Mr McKenzie said. ‘We can make a grand party of it.’
Alexander suffered an immediate headache. Robert’s publisher Creech was a magistrate. What if he turned up? He now could at least sympathise with Robert as far as a headache was concerned. Although his headaches, unlike those of his friend, were not accompanied with other aches and pains or depression. He was just acutely anxious in case Susanna might appear with Margaret Burns. It was well known that Creech had been hugely embarrassed and furious by an article in a London journal that said, ‘Bailie Creech, of literary celebrity in Edinburgh, was about to lead the beautiful and accomplished Miss Burns to the Hymeneal altar.’
This and other squibs at his expense had come after Miss Burns had been brought before the magistrates after a complaint by a neighbour.
Creech had given a very severe decision. She was, he commanded, to be banished from the city, under the penalty, in case of return, of being drummed through the streets, besides confinement for six months in the house of correction.
Nothing daunted, Miss Burns had lodged an appeal with the Court of Session. At first it was refused. Then one of the private complainants acknowledged he’d been induced to sign the complaint and in fact he didn’t know of any ‘riot or disturbance’ being committed in Miss Burns’ house.
Creech, of course, was enraged at the outcome in Miss Burns’ favour and hated the woman. Especially when the retraction he’d demanded that the newspaper make in no way cooled his fury. It said,
In a former number we noticed the intended marriage between Bailie Creech of Edinburgh and the beautiful Miss Burns of the same place. We have now the authority of that gentleman to say that the proposed marriage is not to take place, matters having been otherwise arranged, to the mutual satisfaction of both parties and their respective friends.
It would be absolutely disastrous if Creech joined the party at the oyster cellar. Alexander made what he hoped sounded a casual note of enquiry to Mr McKenzie. ‘By the way, Mr Creech happens to be the one who published my poet friend’s book. Do you know him?’
‘Know him?’ Alexander was taken aback at the roar. ‘Know him? I would give my right arm to know him. You must arrange an introduction, Alexander. I would be obliged to you for ever after.’
For a moment, Alexander was confused. ‘Mr Creech?’
‘No, no, the poet Robert Burns, of course.’
‘Oh … oh, yes.’ He might have known, he thought bitterly. ‘I believe he is on one of his tours at the moment. Up north, I think. But once he returns …’
Mrs McKenzie clapped her hands and rolled her eyes upwards as if in prayer. ‘How wonderful! I can’t wait to tell all of our friends. I must start planning the most prodigiously magnificent dinner and entertainment ever experienced in Edinburgh.’
Alexander groaned inside. It was always the same. The mere mention of Robert’s name sent everyone – men and women alike – into raptures. Isobel was almost jumping up and down.
‘Robert Burns! Robert Burns!’ she was crying out, and clapping her hands with excitement.
His headache turned to thick black treacle inside not only his skull, but his heart. It churned heavily, darkly, sickeningly.
No-one noticed that there was anything in the slightest degree wrong. The room echoed with the delighted chatter and laughter of the McKenzie family. Alexander was not sure if the words ‘Robert Burns! Robert Burns!’ kept echoing in the room, or in his head. It didn’t matter. He hated them just the same. He secretly vowed he’d do everything in his power to prevent the McKenzies – especially Isobel – from meeting Robert. But he had to be very careful in case it might negatively influence his case for Miss Isobel’s hand. Yet he couldn’t face the thought
of introducing Robert to the family and then suffering once more the humiliation of being completely in the shade. Without apparently any effort, Robert would charm them with his looks, his presence, his erudition and witty conversation. He could be extremely witty – usually at the expense of someone else. Nobody, as a result, as far as he knew, had ever recorded any of Burns’ conversations in journals, or anywhere else. They were so busy laughing, and listening to the conversations that went on so late, that everyone simply collapsed into bed afterwards.
It would be the same with the McKenzies. He hoped and prayed that Robert would keep away long enough from Edinburgh on this occasion until he established a formal engagement of marriage to Isobel. Or, even, had a marriage ceremony. The quicker he made sure of Isobel, the better.
Robert was a predator of single women. At least he was religious enough to adhere to the commandment, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’.
Yes, Alexander thought desperately, his courtship of Isobel would have to be a very speedy one. Meantime he hit on an idea. He’d say that Burns wouldn’t be back in Edinburgh for a couple of months. That way, they could return to their estate until he wrote to them and let them know an exact date. Or if they wished, he could bring Burns to their estate for a longer visit. They’d be sure to be delighted with that.
That’s what he’d say. That’s what he’d say.
21
Susanna discovered that Margaret Burns had originally come from a very respectable and wealthy family. Her father had been a successful merchant but he contracted a ruinous second marriage, resulting in Margaret being thrown destitute upon the world. This background solved what had been to Susanna the mystery of Margaret’s superior education and personal demeanour. She had at one time been acquainted with the better class of society. She was also a beautiful woman with a handsome figure which was always decked out in the highest style of fashion. Susanna liked her. However, she still could not feel at ease with the way Margaret lived. Men came and went during the day. Most evenings were taken up with drinking parties. Locked in her bedroom trying to read by the light of a flickering candle, Susanna would hear the deep rumble of male laughter.
Margaret had tried to explain to Susanna that being with men needn’t be so bad, indeed could be quite pleasant with the right person.
‘You have been unfortunate, my dear,’ she sympathised. ‘So unfortunate. I can assure you that few men behave as your husband did to you. You were right when you described him as a madman. I feel so sorry for you.’
Susanna had felt better after confiding in Margaret and was grateful to her not only for her sympathy, but for not putting any pressure on her. She was allowed to retreat to her bedroom whenever she wanted and to stay there as long as she wished. During the day she sometimes took the air in a solitary walk, often early in the morning because then she thought she would be safer from being recognised. Although ‘taking the air’ in Edinburgh was far from being the same as taking the air in Tarbolton or the surrounding countryside. The wynds of Edinburgh were unlit and dark even during the daylight hours. Often the sewage that was flung out of windows at the sound of the ten o’clock bell was left for days, instead of being cleared up every morning by men employed for that purpose. The air was thick with the stench of a thousand chamber pots, and one had to be very careful where one put one’s feet. Susanna would walk gingerly along until she reached the High Street. The obnoxious smell still clung in the air but at least the road was cleaner under foot.
There she could see, high up in front of the houses, painted signs in bright colours on a black background to indicate what each tradesman was selling. Here was a painting of a quarter loaf showing that inside that flat was a baker. Above was a periwig that advertised the trade of a barber. There was a picture of cheese, another of a firkin of butter. There was a vivid painting of a pair of stays, an equally colourful one of a petticoat and many other signs that all cluttered together to show where people could get the articles they wanted.
Here she could watch the City Guard doing their exercises. Or she could stroll along Fishmarket Close and stand watching the fishwives rapidly open shells and oyster-loving customers swallow alive the oysters in their own gravy.
Edinburgh had always enjoyed a good supply of salmon from the rivers Tay and Tweed, white fish from Newhaven and Musselburgh, also trout and eels from the Nor’ Loch.
In the Lawnmarket, there was a prominent sign board which said, ‘Cooked Nor’ Loch Trout for Supper, and Eel Pies’. These delicacies were a favourite with Margaret and Sally, but Susanna’s more delicate sensitivities prevented her from eating anything from the Loch. She knew, even if the others didn’t, of the innumerable witches and other poor creatures who had been tortured and drowned there in the past.
Even if she’d told Margaret and Sally, they would probably just have laughed and continued to enjoy their suppers. Although they were kind and sympathetic to her, she could not believe that they had much sensitivity left in their natures, after not only allowing men physical intimacies, but accepting money and gifts from the men.
She suspected too that both Margaret and Sally believed that, in time, she would join them in their low style of life.
‘But my dear,’ Margaret said, ‘the little money you have won’t last forever and I cannot afford to keep you here rent-free. So then what will you do? What can you do?’
Susanna had no answer for that and, in fact, her money was fast running out. Her mind desperately sought for alternative ways to make a living but kept being hedged in either by pride or fear. Even if she could find work in a tavern, for instance, her pride would suffer agonies at having to serve drunken hordes every night. She would also be terrified in case Neil would suddenly appear and drag her back to imprison her in his mausoleum of a house.
Yet there were dangers even here in Margaret’s house. The magistrates were hell-bent on persecuting her. They had tried everything to banish her from the city, so far without success. Margaret was a spirited woman who would not easily be defeated. But still, the day might come … Even now, the fight was beginning to tell on her. She had to apply rouge to her cheeks because they had become so pale. Susanna also observed that she did not fill her clothes. They had begun to hang loosely on her.
It occurred to Susanna, not for the first time, how helpless and vulnerable women could be if they did not have a protector or someone to support them. Sometimes she imagined that one day she might meet a nice gentleman who had just come to Margaret’s house for company. Perhaps a gentleman who was a traveller, perhaps lonely, or a stranger in the city. Perhaps they would get talking and he would realise that she was a respectable girl – just a lodger in the house, a lonely stranger in the city like himself. And then a relationship would develop. He could become her protection and support. Then harsh reality would shatter her dreams. She was a married woman and nothing could come of any meeting she might have with any gentleman, no matter how nice.
She began, in desperation, to think of her brother. Surely Alexander would not allow her to be destitute – left penniless in the streets, reduced to joining the ragged army of men and women sleeping in closes and stairways.
No, she did not believe he would allow her to suffer in that way. After all, she had not been in the city for so very long. Hardly enough time for him to get the news from their parents and then to find where she was. But what if Alexander believed the best way was for her to return to her husband and to the mansion that most people would think of as luxurious? She shook with terror at the mere idea. She dare not risk such a thing. She clamped her arms across her chest and hugged herself and rocked herself to and fro. She’d kill herself first. At the same time she knew she would never have the courage to kill herself.
She didn’t know what to do. In a way, it was like when she was living in the Guthrie house. She was reduced to the same frame of mind. Wondering and wondering, her mind going round and round in fearful circles, needing to escape from her problems and feel safe but not
knowing how. Eventually, Margaret said, ‘What about one gentleman to whom you could give your favours? No one else – just the one gentleman. Like a mistress, you know. You must have heard of mistresses. Even kings take mistresses, often more than one. It would be perfectly respectable.’
Susanna doubted this. Didn’t believe it for a moment, in fact. Yet the thought kept returning to her mind until it became mixed up with her dreams and imaginings. She began to peep out of her window to view the men who visited the house. When it was dark, some of them arrived led by a caddie carrying a flaming torch to light the way. The flame sent shadows flickering around and making ghostly masks of the men’s faces. But during the day they didn’t look so frightening. Most of the men looked surprisingly respectable, in fact.
Margaret said that it didn’t matter if Susanna was married or not. Men didn’t marry their mistresses. Most of them who took a mistress were already married. Most of them were married to cold, unloving women and they were glad to turn to a warm-hearted girl who would give them a little happiness and pleasure every now and again. There were lots of perfectly respectable men who came to the house and others like it. Indeed, when the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland was held in Edinburgh, it was every brothel’s busiest time.
Susanna should think about it, Margaret said. And she did think about it and she felt sick at the thought of it. At least, she sometimes did. At other times, the nice kindly gentleman of her longings and imaginings would take over and she’d dream of how safe and happy he could make her feel. Margaret said they would choose a nice kindly gentleman, it was the only way to solve her problem. Could she think of another way? She couldn’t.
Unless of course her brother. She hadn’t told Margaret about Alexander. He kept coming back into her mind despite the terror. She had always got on well with Alexander. Perhaps if she pleaded with him not to take her back to Neil … If he saw for himself how afraid she was of having anything to do with her husband, surely he would take pity on her and not force her to return to him.
A Darkening of the Heart Page 15
