Rachel laughed, a low and cunning chuckle. ‘It’ll work. You’ll be rommed by next week.’ She put the point of a poker into the crucible and drew out the limp headless body of the snake which she also threw into the fire where it hissed and crackled horribly. A sickening smell filled the room as it burned up. The snake’s head lay on the hearthstone beside her and she lifted it gingerly and dropped it into a large mortar. Then, kneeling on the floor, she proceeded to pound it into a pulp. When she was satisfied, she poured the liquid from the crucible on top of the mess.
Thomassin felt bile rise up inside her at the rank smell of the preparation. Suddenly she was afraid for Jesse. ‘Gare, gare,’ she whispered, warning old Rachel to take care. ‘I don’t want my Jesse to be made into a mullo.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s my grandson. He won’t be a dead man. He’ll be like a cooroboshno when you get him.’ Cooroboshno meant fighting-cock in their language and Thomassin smiled at the idea. ‘As long as you’re sure,’ she said. She wanted him so badly she’d try anything.
‘I’m sure. I could make him a mullo if I wanted to but Jesse’s my own kaulo ratti, my own family. I’ll do him no harm.’ Rachel was pouring the contents of a horn mug into the mortar now and the smell was even worse than before. ‘Give me the flowers,’ she instructed and when they were passed over, she tore them into tiny pieces and dropped them also into the mixture.
‘This is a gentle potion. Not like some,’ she told the girl as she worked.
Thomassin nodded for she knew of Rachel’s expertise and had heard tales of expeditions to graveyards for digging up recently interred bodies to provide the ingredients for the old woman’s more discreditable potions. The gypsies knew better than to annoy Rachel in any way and the girl’s eyes were glittering in the firelight as she said in admiration, ‘You’re yokki, Rachel.’
The compliment pleased the old woman who smiled back and said, ‘Watch what I’m doing and one day you may be clever too.’ Thomassin knew that she had been granted a great honour by being allowed to be present while the love potion was being brewed, for usually Rachel worked in secret and guarded her recipes jealously.
‘How will I give it to him?’ Thomassin asked when the potion was nearly ready, for it still smelt strange and she doubted if Jesse could be persuaded to taste any of it.
‘He’ll only need panch drops, that’s all,’ said Rachel, holding up five fingers. ‘No more or you’ll harm him. I’ll mix it with tatti pani and you can give him some of that in his ale.’ There was a bottle of brandy, which Thomassin had been instructed to provide, on the table and she gestured to the girl to pass it over. Into a little bottle she measured the precious five drops from a silver spoon and then poured a small measure of brandy on top of them. Shaking it up vigorously, she cried, ‘There’s your love potion then, girl!’ And as she passed it over she added, ‘Give it to him tomorrow and use it wisely. Take care of him when you get him because he’s a good man.’
‘I will, I will, thank you Rachel,’ cried Thomassin in such open delight that the old woman laughed and raised the brandy bottle to her lips to take a long swig. Then she toasted the girl, ‘Aukko tu pros!’ she cried and lifted the bottle to her mouth again. It was obvious that the leftover brandy was part of her fee.
It was one in the morning when Thomassin slipped out of Rachel’s cottage with the tightly-stoppered flask tied in the corner of her shawl. As she walked along among the shadows of Tinkler’s Row heading for her own home, she heard the footsteps of a group of men who were coming back from their night’s poaching. Stepping back against the wall of one of the houses she watched them and her heart leapt when she saw Jesse in the middle of a crowd of his friends who were laughing and punching each other on the shoulders.
Thomassin clutched her love potion eagerly at the sight of him and wished that she could administer it straight away but Rachel had warned her that it had to lie for twenty-four hours before it could be used. She drew back deeper in the shadows because she did not want him to see her, but she had not taken into account the fact that Jesse was one of the sharpest-eyed in a race of sharp-eyed people. He had seen her right enough and was surprised that she was out so late for the women of their community usually retired to bed when the sun set and rose with the dawn.
For a moment Jesse considered walking across to where she stood and flushing her out like a rabbit from a covert but he decided against it because he knew that it would be dangerous to be alone with Thomassin on a moonlit night. They were both young and she was a striking-looking girl who made no secret of the fact that she was hungry for him. It would be hard to resist her. The last thing he wanted was to be a married man in Kirk Yetholm with a crowd of children so the best thing to do was stay away. He walked on past, pretending to be unaware of how hot with passion were the glittering eyes that she fixed on him.
* * *
On Sunday morning, the Elliots were preparing to go to church. This was always a nerve-straining occasion because the three younger children hated church-going and squealed, cried and fought against Grace when she tried to chivvy them through breakfast. Eventually, as the bells pealed out over the town, the family could be seen emerging from their front door and heading down the street. The black-clad lawyer led the procession with his flame-haired wife on his arm. As usual Hester was flamboyantly dressed with a rakishly tilted hat shading her slanting, knowing eyes and a dress of shiny green satin straining over her prominent bust. Behind her straggled her three children – ten-year-old Edward, a sullen and callous boy who enjoyed teasing and cruelly ill-treating his pets, Effie, aged eight, a sly-looking girl who resembled her mother in colouring and baby Amelia, the indulged pet who could do no wrong. At the end of the line, limping rapidly to keep up, came Grace.
In church the family filed with piously lowered heads into their pew and sat down with pretend humility to endure two hours of tedium. At the head of the line sat Elliot, then came Edward, followed by Effie, Hester and Amelia. Grace was at the end nearest the wall and silently enduring the kicks and fidgets of the little girl whom it was her duty to keep quiet. Every now and again the child made a particularly loud rustle with her stiffly starched petticoats and Hester craned forward to glare along the line – not at Amelia, of course, but at the long-suffering Grace.
During prayers, the crippled girl folded her hands and leant her head upon the pew edge. She wondered what words the other members of her family were sending up as she began to compose her own thoughts into appropriate form. It proved impossible, however, to achieve a sufficiently humble frame of mind for her head was in a spin. Her whole world had been turned upside down during the past few days and her brain was swirling with strange ideas. The most overwhelming of them were her memories of the previous day when she had met the strange woman at Bettymill, the woman who hinted at things so bewildering that they made Grace feel giddy.
Normally when she tried to pray she either felt deep despair at the unlikelihood of any answer being sent to her or anger at what seemed like the indifference of God. Today her outlook had changed: her leg still hurt but already she imagined that the treatment Alice had given it had made it stronger. Her attitude of mind seemed to have changed, too, because she was able to contemplate her future with more confidence that she had ever felt before.
She started to plan out her day – first of all she must go down to Havanah Court and tell Odilie about her adventure at Bettymill and then, as soon as she had a chance, she was determined to broach the subject of the ownership of the mill with her father. What was even better was that she could look forward to the exciting prospect of meeting the kind dark-haired woman again at the Fair tomorrow and finding out more about her unknown mother. As far as the Fair was concerned, though, there was still one black cloud on the horizon, but she decided that she simply would not think about the young man with the bonny hair. Because of Alice Archer she had to go to the Fair now but if she did meet him, she’d walk straight on by rather than embarrass him into recognisin
g her.
She was rudely awakened from her reverie by Hester reaching over and jabbing into Grace’s ribs to alert her to the fact that Amelia had fallen on to the floor with a loud crash and was sitting sobbing among the hassocks.
‘Look after the child, can’t you?’ hissed Hester. ‘What do you think you’re here for?’
Grace’s eyes moved sideways and stared without blinking into the face of her hated step-mother. ‘Look after her yourself, Hester. She’s your daughter,’ she whispered with the slightly imperious inflection in her voice that people used towards wayward servants. It was her first real rebellion.
The Sunday midday meal at Viewhill was usually a fraught affair with Kelly flustering about and Grace being bullied by Hester but today the tone was more muted. Grace’s act of defiance had in some way quelled her stepmother though from time to time she realised that Hester, on the verge of giving her a slap or making a cruel remark, was restrained by a look from her father. Then the girl realised that she was being treated carefully and decided the reason must be Andrew Elliot’s need for her to act as an intermediary with Odilie.
After they had eaten, she boldly took off her apron and announced that she was going to pay a call at Havanah Court. No objections were raised although there was still a considerable amount of work to be done in the kitchen.
She found Odilie and Martha in the boudoir surrounded as usual by pretty fripperies. Odilie, whose face wore an unusually sombre expression, seemed to have lost some of her enchanting sparkle and Grace’s first concern was for her friend. ‘How did things go at Sloebank Castle?’ she asked, taking Odilie’s hand, ‘I’ve been longing to know. I hope he was better than you imagined.’
Odilie shook her head. ‘He was dreadful. I can’t bear to talk about it.’ Grace knew that she was being warned to keep her curiosity for later when they were alone and with a smile Odilie held out a hat towards her and said, ‘Look, Grace, I’m trimming this for Aunt Martha to wear at the Fair. She wants to go in that old straw bonnet of hers but I’m determined she’ll have something new. Have you got a pretty hat for tomorrow?’
Grace sank into a chair with a gasp of relief for her leg was still aching. ‘To tell you the truth Odilie, I didn’t think I was going to need a hat. I wasn’t going to the Fair, you see.’
‘Not going! But you’re coming with me. I’m determined to go with my friend like any ordinary girl! Is it Hester that’s stopping you? I’ll have a word with your father about that.’ Odilie looked genuinely disappointed.
Grace put up a placatory hand. ‘No, no, don’t worry. I’ve changed my mind. Or at least I’ve had it changed for me. The strangest thing happened yesterday and I’ve been longing to talk to you about it.’ When she leaned forward in the chair her face was vibrant with excitement and both Odilie and Martha were struck by the change in her. The diffidence and fear had gone – she looked confident and beautiful.
Odilie laid down Martha’s hat and said, ‘Oh, do tell us. You look as if it was something marvellous.’
Grace nodded. ‘It was. I took the grey mare out to look for you, Odilie, because Joe said you’d ridden over the bridge. I hope you don’t mind but I didn’t search for very long – I went to Bettymill instead and met a remarkable woman there.’
Martha and Odilie looked at each other in surprise. ‘At Bettymill you met a woman? It’s a ruin now, isn’t it? Who was she?’ asked Martha who knew most of the people in the district and was always curious about their doings.
‘She said her name was Alice Archer,’ Grace told her.
‘Never heard of her. She’s probably one of those vagrants. They camp down in every field or broken-down bothy for miles around before the Fair. Some of them would cut your throat for a farthing. You shouldn’t have been wandering about on your own like that.’
Martha looked disapproving and that look deepened when Grace nodded and said, ‘Yes, she was one of the Fair people. She said her husband ran a freak show.’
Martha gasped in horror. ‘Freaks! They’re the worst kind. They steal wee bairns and grow them up in boxes so that they’re stunted; they buy calves with two heads and weans wi’ no legs. Keep away from her!’
Grace did not react because she’d heard all the stories about freak show people before. ‘No, no, she was a very nice woman. She rubbed my leg and said it isn’t as bad as it looks. She actually helped it, I think.’
Martha leaned forward and asked earnestly, ‘She didn’t ask you for any money, did she?’
‘Of course not. Anyway I didn’t have any. She never mentioned money except for one very odd thing – she told me that I’ve a dowry I don’t know about. She said Bettymill belongs to me and perhaps other things as well. She knew an awful lot about me and my family.’
Martha looked sideways at Odilie and then asked, ‘Are you sure she wasn’t one of those fortune-teller wifies? They can spin a story like nothing you’ve ever heard but they’re really only telling you what you want to hear.’
Grace’s air of happiness was undimmed. ‘No, she wasn’t a fortune-teller, I’m sure of that. She was very respectable looking, lady-like I’d say. She told me that she knew my mother when she was young.’
Martha’s hands went very still on her lap and she sounded apprehensive as she asked, ‘What else did she say?’
Grace stared into the old woman’s eyes. ‘She said my mother didn’t die here. She said she died in London – not from childbirth but from a broken heart. Apparently she didn’t want to leave me and grieved sorely. Is all that true?’
There was neither confirmation nor denial from Martha whose eyes were round in consternation. ‘Anything else? Did she say anything else?’ she demanded.
Grace shook her head, ‘No. Is what she said true? Please tell me.’
‘I don’t know about London but I know Lucy went away and I’m sure she had a broken heart. Poor soul,’ Martha’s voice was full of pity. Then she rallied and said, ‘But who was this Alice person? I’ve never heard of her. What did she look like?’
Grace’s eyes went abstracted as she summoned up a mind picture of Alice. ‘She was as black-haired as you, Odilie, and tall and thin with a sort of sad face. Her eyes were very pale blue and shadowed, as if they’d been bruised. She looked tired. She had a cleft in her chin…’ The girl laid her finger on her chin and felt a cleft there too. ‘It was a little like mine but much deeper. The thing I remember most about her were her hands. They were long and capable and her fingers were very strong.’
‘Black-haired, was she? What did she speak like?’ asked Martha cautiously.
‘She sounded like a lady. But you must tell me – why did my mother have to go away?’
The old woman looked harried. ‘How can I tell you the reasons? Things like that are private. Who can tell what goes on in other people’s houses? I’ll tell you one thing though – when Lucy married Andrew Elliot folk in Lauriston said she’d regret it. He was aye scheming and untrustworthy. I’m sorry to talk about your father like that but it’s true. She was very different – open and free and generous – too generous, too trusting.’
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, Alice Archer said the same thing. But didn’t people wonder when my mother went away?’
‘Oh aye, they wondered right enough. They talked about nothing else for a long time. But let me warn you, lassie, dinna let on to your father you know about this. He doesnae like it to be hashed over. About six months after she left, he gave out that Lucy was dead and then it all quietened down. By the time your grandfather died folk had found something else to talk about.’
Grace nodded. There were so many questions running through her head about this mysterious business that she did not know which to ask first but Odilie took the initiative for her and asked, ‘But what’s all this about a dowry? What do you think of that, Aunt Martha?’
Martha pursed up her mouth. ‘How can I say? I’ll tell you one thing though, Lucy’s daughter shouldn’t be treated like a pauper the way you are, Grace. Lucy was a lassi
e with money and that’s why Andrew Elliot married her, folk said. Not that she wouldn’t have found a husband quick enough for she was very bonny. But once he’d got his hands on her property, he treated her badly. There was a lot of talk about him and the maid… folk didn’t blame Lucy.’
The girls chorused together, ‘The maid – you mean Hester? They didn’t blame Lucy for what? For going away?’
‘Hester right enough,’ nodded Martha. ‘But for God’s sake don’t let on I told you.’ She didn’t vouchsafe an answer to the second question.
‘But what about Grace’s dowry? If she has one what should she do?’ Odilie was very practical as far as money was concerned for she had inherited her father’s business acumen.
Martha pursed up her mouth. ‘Your father’s not a poor man, Grace. He has property all over the district – houses and farms and I’m sure some of them are places that belonged to Davie Allen though I don’t know how you’d find out which. The rents alone must come to a tidy bit of money.’
‘I’ll ask Father to do a bit of snooping. He loves that kind of thing,’ cried Odilie, who was glad of a diversion from the troubles that were plaguing her mind.
‘I don’t think he’ll have much success,’ said Grace. ‘My father’s very close about money. He likes to save. Even Hester has a hard time prising money out of his pocket. I know she steals his purse every now and again and helps herself and she’s always grumbling because he won’t keep a carriage or hire more maids except poor Kelly who’s little better than useless. When she complains he says that he’s making sure the children will be well off when he’s dead – but he doesn’t mean me.’
Odilie jumped to her feet and cried out, ‘Enough of this. I sense a mystery here! Thank heavens you met that odd woman, even if she was from the freak show! I’m going to put my father on to the problem of your dowry, Grace but now, no more gloomy talk. Try on this hat. You’d look beautiful in it.’
Playfully she stood on tiptoe and popped a large-brimmed straw hat on to Grace’s head and with a flourish draped a pink ostrich feather around its crown. Odilie’s hands could make things of beauty out of all sorts of objects. She stood back with a smile on her face and regarded her friend. ‘I’m right, you’re a beauty. Now you must add this as the finishing touch.’
St James' Fair Page 17
