House of Strangers

by Forsyth, Anne

  ‘Of course in these days women played no part in financial affairs. Even then there were signs that Dougal was not all he said he was. His family was supposed to have had a farm in Aberdeenshire. But we were never told where. He said he was a financial adviser to several firms in Edinburgh, but we never found out which. And one day my father transferred a great deal of money to Dougal McCrae. I can’t think,’ she said bitterly, ‘why the bank didn’t have suspicions, but they didn’t.’

  Chris shook her head. ‘I remember the day well. I had been out shopping with my mother and we came back to the house. There was no sign of my father, but then we found him sitting at his desk in the study, his face grey. Then he told us what had happened. Dougal had gone, taking with him all—well not quite all—our money.

  ‘I can remember my father’s words. “There will be enough to live on,” he said. ‘but not much left over. Nothing for clothes and fripperies. Nothing for holidays.” and we had planned to go to Switzerland that summer.

  ‘It was a blow—to me especially. I‘d hoped and planned to train as a teacher, but that had to be abandoned.

  ‘We did our best, my mother and I, to reassure him, but he never forgave himself. He and Dougal had been so close; I think .Father had even hoped I might marry Dougal. But he didn’t appeal to me, not in the least. There was something too… sharp about him.’

  ‘And did you never find out what happened to him?’

  ‘No,’ said Chris. ‘The addresses he gave were all false, and we found out later that he had duped one or two other people. Of course, like us, they were ashamed to admit they had been taken in by such a rogue.’

  ‘And the land - the investment in Canada - Nova Scotia, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We tried to find out but there was no trace of any investment. Dougal had simply vanished.’

  Chris picked up the photo again. ‘I can’t think why I kept this.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He was a broken man,’ said Chris simply. ‘Oh, he carried on—went to the office every day, and worked hard to repay some of the money lent from the business. But he never laughed or joked the way he once did, and he died soon after he retired.’

  So that was why Cousin Chris took in lodgers, thought Flora. She was not at all well off. She wondered if there was any chance of tracing Dougal after all these years.

  ‘I have often wondered,’ said Chris, ‘what happened to him. I suspect he went abroad, maybe to Canada. If he had stayed in this country, he would have been arrested and jailed.

  ‘I have a fancy to know,’ she said, ‘though it is a long time ago. It would bring closure to an unhappy period in my life. Now that I am getting old...’

  Flora laid her hand gently on Chris’s arm.

  ‘Perhaps I could try to find out.’ she said.

  A house full of memories, Flora thought, and secrets.

  *

  During the next few months Will became a regular visitor. And as she got to know him, Flora enjoyed his cheerful company. He was still reticent about his family, though. She knew his parents had died some years ago and his aunt still lived in Edinburgh. ‘She would prefer me to live with her,’ he said with a grin, ‘but I’d rather be independent.’

  He told Flora that he shared rooms with two other men. ‘We’re all in the shipping office,’ he said. ‘The digs are comfortable enough though the food’s a bit dull. Our landlady is very economical—and she has a passion for tapioca.’

  Flora made a face. ‘You wouldn’t get that here.’

  There were pleasant outings: walks in Princes Street Gardens, an occasional concert, and plans to take a steamer trip from Leith. Cousin Chris took a fancy to the young man. ‘ Nice manners,’ she said. ‘You can tell he’s been well brought up.’ And she enjoyed talking to him about Leith docks and the ships that sailed from Glasgow to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to New York.

  Sometimes he would be invited to join the lodgers for a meal. ‘He doesn’t eat enough,’ said Cousin Chris. ‘I’m sure that landlady doesn’t feed him properly. Just look at his wrists ,‘ she had said, noticing the way his thin wrists stuck out from the cuffs of his sleeves.

  At those shared meals, Will would sit quietly, his face lighting up when offered a second helping.

  He seemed to prefer listening to taking much part in the conversation or joining in the arguments that batted to and fro between Miss Craig and Mr Turnbull whose views were firmly expressed: ‘It’s an unwomanly thing to demand for votes for women,’ he said.

  ‘And what makes you say that?’ Miss Craig always rose to the bait. ‘We’re just as entitled as any man to have a say in how our country is run. We have some really splendid women leading us. They’ve fought for women to be educated on a level with the men.’

  ‘A middle-class movement, ‘ Mr Turnbull insisted. ‘You’ll not get working women joining in; they’re too busy, what with cooking for their men folk, running the home, raising the children.’

  ‘That’s exactly why.’ Miss Craig ignored the jibe about middle-class women, aware that being from a cultured, upper-class family, she was on shaky ground here.

  ‘We who have the education and skill are campaigning for all women, not just those of our own—’ she was about to say class and amended it hastily to ‘background and education.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ Mr Turnbull said angrily. ‘You’ll be telling me next you’re one of these women who set fire to buildings, pillar boxes and disrupt meetings, all for your cause.’

  ‘If need be,’ said Miss Craig coolly.

  ‘Disgraceful! ‘ Mr Turnbull flung down his napkin. ‘ I’m not going to stay here and listen to this rubbish. A woman’s place is in the home, miss.’

  Miss Craig was silenced for the moment. She ignored him as he stamped out while Arabella looked on disapprovingly.

  ‘Such a stramash!’ she said. ‘No way for a gentleman to behave. Even at the most difficult of rehearsals, when tempers were running high, our chorus master would never ever speak to a lady like that.’ She rose. ‘And now I must leave you—I have my daily practice.’

  She swept out and Flora and Miss Craig were left sitting opposite each other.

  ‘Well, I’m not likely to get much support in this house,’ said Miss Craig .‘Unless… I don’t know whether you would be interested in the cause?’ she asked Flora. ‘It’s very important; we need all the support we can get. Think about it.’

  Flora hesitated. ‘ I’ve never really thought much about it,’ she confessed.

  ‘Oh, but you should,’ said Miss Craig forcefully. ‘The movement is growing.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Flora, ‘it was mainly in London, the suffragette movement.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Miss Craig. ‘It’s growing all over Scotland. We have a wonderful woman, Miss Helen Fraser. She’s set up a branch of the WSPU in Glasgow and she’s travelled all over the East of Scotland. We were given a horse drawn caravan by Miss Lumsden—she’s another supporter—so Helen has been able to spread our message all down the east coast from Aberdeen to Fife and north again. And you speak about London—a Dundee member, Lila Clunas, has just returned from Holloway prison. She was the first Dundee member to be imprisoned,’ she finished proudly.

  ‘But,’ Flora said mildly, ‘you don’t believe in setting fire to buildings, that sort of thing.?’

  ‘Suffragists don’t,’ said Miss Craig. ‘Suffragettes do. We are militant—we will do anything to help the cause. I am a suffragette,’ she said proudly. ‘After all, we are mostly educated women—teachers, doctors, professionals. Why should we not have a say in running the country?’

  ‘Why not,’ murmured Flora.

  ‘Then you will help the cause!’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Flora objected.

  ‘Well, come along to a meeting. There’s one next week; I’m sure you’ll be converted.’ Miss Craig beamed at her.

  ‘I’ll think about it. Now, if you will excuse me…’ Flora rose from the table. What, she
wondered, would Cousin Chris say?

  Or for that matter, Aunt Mina.

  *

  ‘What do you think?’ Flora asked

  Cousin Chris took off her spectacles and paused for a moment. ‘It’s entirely up to you, my dear.’

  ‘I just thought,’ Flora floundered, ‘that as I’m living under your roof, and you might not approve, I should ask you..’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘I think so—it’s just curiosity,’ Flora admitted.

  ‘As long as you don’t get involved in setting fire to buildings, damaging property—but I can’t see you as a militant.’ Cousin Chris sighed. ‘I am too old to get involved. But if I was much younger, I certainly would. I’ve always felt women should have more powers; maybe your generation can do something about it.’

  ‘Then you don’t mind if I go along to the meeting?’

  ‘Not at all. Come and tell me all about it.’

  Flora noticed that Cousin Chris seemed to be much quieter these days. She complained of occasional pain, and when Flora asked her if she was all right, she simply shrugged and said, ‘Old age, that’s all. Comes with aches and pains.’

  But Flora was aware that Cousin Chris was not as lively as she had been, though she took a great interest in all that was going on around her. And now Flora realised what an effort it must have been for her to go to the wedding, ‘And thank goodness she did,’ Flora thought, ‘or I would never have been here. More likely I’d be running around doing errands for Aunt Mina.’ She shuddered.

  So she decided she would go to the meeting.

  *

  Miss Craig looked disapprovingly at Flora, who had dressed in her Sunday coat and skirt and had wound a bright scarf round her neck. It was pleasant, she thought, to be able to afford the odd luxury now, like a scarf or a lace handkerchief. Cousin Chris had insisted on paying her a regular wage. ‘You don’t need to dress up, you know,’ Miss Craig said. ‘We are not concerned with appearances.’

  ‘I just thought...’ Flora’s voice trailed away.

  Miss Craig strode ahead as soon as they left the tram stop.

  ‘I wondered,’ Flora had been longing to ask, ‘if you have plans for - action.’

  ‘Oh, there has been action already,’ said Miss Craig breezily. ‘A number of our members have already been involved. Some of us tried to make our way into a meeting in Dundee, but we were thrown out. And a number of our women in Dundee went on hunger strike, but they weren’t forcibly fed. The authorities let them go.’

  Flora shivered. ‘It sounds so horrible, forcible feeding.’ She had read about it and seen illustrations.

  ‘Needs must,’ said Miss Craig.

  There was already a large audience when they arrived at the hall. Flora looked round the women; most of them were in their twenties, she judged, talking eagerly with the friends around them.

  ‘Here.’ Miss Craig pushed Flora into a seat at the back of the hall. ‘It’s just about to start.’

  The main speaker, a Miss Fraser, was greeted with cheers and applause. ‘A very active woman,’ Miss Craig whispered to Flora. ‘She’s an inspiration, the way she’s travelled all over the country.’

  To Flora the speaker’s arguments sounded very sensible. She was not one of those in favour of militancy, reminding her audience that they would gain the vote not by violence but by reason. There were a few murmurs of disagreement at this, but more applause.

  Flora found herself swayed this way and that. There did not seem much point in disrupting public meetings, she thought. What was the use of shouting out in the middle of someone’s speech, if you were only going to be thrown out of the hall?

  And as for militancy—how could some women be in favour of burning down churches and beautiful buildings?

  Many of the speakers were greeted with loud applause. One spoke about the superiority of men. Why should a man have the right to refuse his wife a medical operation? Why just because men were physically stronger, did it follow that they had more intelligence? This was greeted with cheers and clapping.

  Beside her, Flora could sense Miss Craig’s enthusiasm, and as soon as questions were invited, she raised her hand and jumped to her feet. ‘We are to have a national census,’ she said. ‘Why should women agree to be counted when we are second class citizens? We should refuse to be listed in the census.’

  There was some agreement, though most people did not seem to feel this was a workable idea. But Miss Craig sat down, very pleased with herself at having made her point.

  Towards the end, there was an appeal for more members. Flora shrank back in her seat.

  On the way out, Miss Craig stopped at a table where pamphlets were being distributed. ‘ Here,’ she said, grabbing a handful. ‘I’ll take these back to the house.’

  Flora couldn’t help feeling that neither Mr Turnbull nor Arabella would be pleased to have pamphlets thrust on them, but she picked up a few, and together they hurried out of the hall towards the tram stop.

  ‘Well!’ Miss Craig’s eyes were shining. ‘Wasn’t that a wonderful meeting! You will join us, won’t you?’

  Flora was silent. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ she said after a bit.

  ‘Think it over,’ said Miss Craig as they jumped on to the tram. ‘You wouldn’t regret it. You’re just the sort of person we want. I can see you as branch secretary; that’s vacant at the moment.’ She sniffed. ‘Our secretary has married and she is too busy running the home.’ She clearly felt the previous secretary had deserted the cause.

  ‘Well,’ Flora felt herself weakening. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, you must,’ Miss Craig insisted.

  ‘Votes for women! Votes for women!’ she called out, scattering some of the leaflets around the top deck of the tramcar. One or two people looked up but most ignored her.

  Flora shrank back into a corner of her seat.

  What an extraordinary woman! she thought, she doesn’t give a rap what people think about her. She watched Miss Craig dancing up and down between the seats.

  What would Cousin Chris say? She wondered. And what would Aunt Mina say?

  She could just imagine her aunt’s horrified expression and began to laugh.

  Chapter 10

  ‘Miss Dunbar,’ said Will formally, ‘ I wonder if I might have your permission…’

  Cousin Chris looked up from the game of Patience she had laid out.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘To take Miss Flora to the Exhibition.’

  ‘Of course.’ Cousin Chris sighed. ’I would dearly like to go myself, but...’

  ‘It will be educational,’ said Will eagerly. ‘An exhibition of National History, Art and Industry. That’s how they describe it,’ said Will. ‘ Perhaps Miss Flora would be interested...’

  ‘I certainly would be,’ said Chris, chuckling. ‘You go on, lad, and promise you will tell me all about it when you come back.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to go,’ Flora cried when Will told her about the plan. ’I’d love to see the Highland village, and the Auld Toon, and the tartan shop, and lots of things.’

  *

  She gazed round at the crowds. It was a fine late summer day and there was an air of bustling excitement.

  ‘There!’ said Will as he paid for the tickets. ‘Now what do you want to see first?’

  ‘You choose.’

  ‘Perhaps part of the exhibition of history, and oh, I’d love to see the Auld Toon. And oh… look!’

  She gazed up. ‘The helter skelter! I’ve never been on one.’

  Will hesitated. ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘You don’t think it proper.’

  Will hesitated. ‘Well...’

  Flora gave him a mischievous sideways look. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’

  She climbed up the stairs leading to the top and gave him a wave. Helped by the man at the top of the ride, she settled on to the mat and drew her skirts around her. For a moment she wondered, ‘How could I be so foolish?
’

  But there was no time to change her mind, and before she knew what was happening, the attendant had given the mat a little push and she went hurtling downwards. Round and round—oh it was exhilarating! She had no time to look out for Will as the mat came to a halt at the bottom and she was helped out. Her face was flushed and her hat was tilted sideways.

  ‘That was fun!’ she greeted Will. ‘I must look a fright!’

  ‘You look…’ Will gazed at her, her eyes shining, her face rosy, and thought what an amazing girl she was.

  ‘What now?’ he asked

  ‘Something a bit quieter,’ Flora teased him. ‘I’d like to see the Auld Toon.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  The ‘Auld Toon’ was fascinating, Flora thought - it was just like a Scottish market town, with the houses and their crow-stepped gables with the Mercat, or Market, Cross in the centre of the cobbled square.

  ‘And the Highland village—we must see that,’ Flora said. She suddenly realised that Will was still holding her hand, and blushing, tried to pull away.

  ‘I don’t want you to get lost,’ he said. ‘Come on, then - the Highland village.’

  The scene was very much as Flora had expected—the women with shawls around their heads, the girls with their baskets of heather, the background of hills, the dark cottages, the smell of peat smoke. And sitting there by a spinning wheel a figure in a long grey skirt and black shawl. Suddenly, she bent over her wheel and began to sing a lament, perhaps a song of the Clearances, of the people driven from their homes to seek a new life elsewhere.

  Flora gripped Will’s arm. ‘Look at her! And I know that voice!’

  The woman must have heard Flora, for she suddenly stopped her keening and folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘I think,’ said Will doubtfully.

  ‘Come away,’ said Flora hastily. ‘She may have seen us.’

  As they strolled through the crowds that were gazing at the Highland scene, Flora heard a voice. ‘Miss Flora!’

  She turned to see the Highland crone, her shawl flung back, hurrying past the small groups. ‘Excuse me, excuse me, please!’