Light & Dark

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Before Clementina’s horrified eyes she saw Agnes suddenly grabbed not by a ruffian, but by a policeman who pinioned her round the waist with one arm while with his other hand he clutched at her breast—nipping and squeezing and twisting at it until she was crying out and sobbing not only with the excruciating pain but the terrible humiliation of it.

  Without thinking, Clementina rushed at the man to punch and tear at his face with such vehemence that he let go of Agnes in surprise and pain. But quickly recovering he grabbed Clementina, only to let go of her again immediately and double up in agony when her knee stabbed into his groin.

  Chaos now reigned. Injured women who had been punched and kicked were moaning and sobbing. Frightened women were screaming. Another policeman got hold of Clementina and, before she could bring her knee up again, he had twisted her round; immediately he did so, yet another punched her face, making blood spurt from it and soak down her green jacket. She felt sick and faint. Only the sight of men tugging Agnes’s and Eva’s skirts high in the air to reveal their underwear made her struggle and spit and bite and kick in a desperate effort to free herself and go to their assistance. Then suddenly Rhona came flying towards her, eyes and teeth flashing like a wild animal, to tear her free. Rhona flung herself at the man who had held Clementina until he was yelping and cursing with the pain of the long scratches on his face from her fingers. Clementina was dazedly aware of the Square filling with more policemen, who were drawing their batons to disperse the crowd. Now they were arresting women and throwing them into police vans.

  ‘Bastards!’ she heard Rhona say. Rhona had her arm around her, supporting her. They had been flung roughly into one of the vans and it was now shaking and jerking them as it raced away over the cobbles. Clementina’s eyes throbbed with pain and she couldn’t see very well. Her mouth felt swollen and she couldn’t speak. Rhona was trying to mop her mouth with a handkerchief already soaked in blood.

  ‘You’re not going to faint or anything, are you?’ Rhona was asking now.

  Clementina eased her head a little from side to side and was frightened by the pain it contained.

  ‘I think I took the eye out of one of the bastards that did this to you,’ Rhona said with satisfaction. ‘I hope so, anyway.’

  With difficulty Clementina managed to move her mouth. ‘Poor Agnes and Eva. How are they?’

  Rhona looked around the crush of women. ‘They’re not among this lot.’

  ‘Where are the police taking us?’

  ‘Dunno. But wherever it is, we’re here. The van’s stopped.’

  51

  Often strangers had mistaken it for the Castle. Viewed on a gloomy evening, its blind bulk gripping the hillside, the medieval jail on Calton Hill did look like an ancient castle.

  The Calton Rock jutted through the pavement and seemed to shoulder stairs this way and that; the very essence of Edinburgh hung around the endless steps and twisting stairs.

  Near the Jail, another building perched up against the rock, a strange place with rows of dormer windows and an apron of hanging gardens at the front and a queer arrangement of stone gangways and steep stairs. It was said that prison warders and lamplighters lived in this isolated, fortified house.

  But it was the Jail that hypnotised Clementina, rising into the sky like a dark personification of evil. It was evening now and rain misted the air. The lamplighters were lifting their long, brass-ended torches to light the iron lamps, making a long vista of little stars from the Edinburgh sky, down all its steep rainy streets to the sea.

  Rhona kept a tight supporting arm around Clementina as she and the other women were hustled through the gloom and into the Jail. But soon, as in a nightmare, her friend was prised from her. Then she was shivering in coarse prison clothing; she was alone in a dark cell. Blood was hardening on her and it jagged like knives when she moved her mouth or tried to screw up her eyes. She tried to sit closer and closer into the corner, as if somehow she would be able to shrink right through the walls and disappear.

  Far away, echoing through the haar, she could hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the cobbles. Nearer at hand was the soft scuttling of rats. Closing her eyes, she balled her hands tightly on her lap and prepared for the terror of the long night. And it was a terror with which even the ghosts of the tower could not compete. A night of strange sounds rising and falling like the groans and sighs of all the men and women who had been hanged there and buried in the unconsecrated graves in the prison yard outside. Here it was that the man who had killed her father had been incarcerated, perhaps in this very cell. The place smelled of the dead. She felt it thick and foul and icy cold in the air around her and could do nothing to protect herself against it as it gradually crept through her clothes and seeped into her nostrils and mouth. It was as if she was dying herself, slowly, minute by minute, hour by hour.

  She longed for her mother, knowing at the same time this was like wishing for the sun or the moon. And the emptiness this knowledge brought was more painful than any physical pain she was enduring. It made her feel vulnerable, more helpless than she had ever felt in her life, even as a child. By morning she seemed to have become smaller too, like a child. The prison frock hung loosely on her and she walked with a stumbling, halting gait, hands seeking the walls for support as she made her way across the cell to a bowl of cold water there. With shaking, inefficient hands she washed the blood from her face. She tried to think sensibly. She tried to be brave. Surely she couldn’t be kept here for much longer? She was not a criminal. If not her mother, then Gilbert or Malcolm would come and take her away. No matter how much they hated her, she was still part of the family and one of the family would get her out of the Calton Jail and take her back to the safety of home.

  She thought that was what had happened when she was eventually allowed to dress in her own clothes, but she was shaken and as helpless as a child again when she was handed over into the custody of Lord Monteith.

  Without a word he helped her outside and into his carriage. After he had whipped the horses into a gallop he rapped out, ‘You’re in no fit state for the drive to Bathgate. I shall take you to my town house.’

  Free of the horrors and the crushing atmosphere of the Calton Jail, she began to feel a little more like herself despite her physical pain. She stopped slumping in the corner of the carriage and sat erect, fighting during every inch of the journey through the Edinburgh streets to rediscover her pride and courage. She could see they were making for the classical New Town, where monuments and public buildings all resembled those of Greece and Rome. One wide, stately street after another opened out with Doric and Ionic doorways and many columns and pilasters and tall windows relieved by classic lace-like ironwork. Along the airy width of George Street they drove now, the cool charm of its houses like well-kept, half-deserted libraries.

  Eventually the horses galloped into Charlotte Square, desecrating the dignified quietness where nothing more violent occurred than the east wind ruffling the small trees and the patch of lawn in the central gardens. The terraced houses on the side of the Square along which they were travelling were made of honey-coloured stone and had a façade like some great palace. Each front door was topped by a semicircular fanlight and the houses were fronted by fine wrought-iron railings with elegant lamps and torch snuffers.

  Monteith stopped the carriage in front of one of these houses and helped her out. The door was opened by a tall woman with a neat waist, a large bosom and grey hair swept up in a top-knot. Her mouth sagged in shock at the sight of Clementina and Monteith pushed impatiently past her and guided Clementina through a marble-floored entrance hall. She had sensed anger about him from the moment she had been able to gather her wits together in the carriage and now it was even more obvious in the rapid aggressive way he moved, in the hard set of his features and the dark glitter of his eyes.

  As he passed through the glass doors to the inner hall and then up the winding stairs, he called sharply to the woman, ‘Mrs Harper, send someone to
fetch a doctor. Get one of the bedrooms ready and bring a pot of tea up to the sitting-room.’

  ‘Yes, your lordship.’

  Clementina was disorientated by the speed of events and she allowed him to seat her on a comfortable chair by an unlit fire which, instead of pulling the bell for a servant to attend to, he put a light to himself, using a pair of bellows to hasten it into a roaring blaze.

  ‘You will feel better after a cup of hot tea,’ he said.

  She spoke carefully because of the pain of the wound at the side of her mouth. ‘Why didn’t one of my step-brothers come for me?’

  ‘Gilbert is down in England on business. Malcolm is up North.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured. ‘I believe I did hear… . Yes, I remember now.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t even know until this morning when I arrived at Blackwood House. I had read the report in the papers and went straight to see if there was anything I could do. Don’t you have your meals with her?’

  Clementina flushed, but managed to assume some dignity. ‘When I am at home, of course.’

  ‘Your mother was terribly shocked.’

  ‘I’m sorry if she was upset.’

  ‘I told her not to worry, of course, and that I would see to everything.’

  ‘I am indebted to you. This is more than one should expect of ordinary friendship.’

  ‘I know,’ he said grimly and she lowered her eyes in silence, hurt beyond words. She struggled for strength, so that she could get back to normal and not need to be dependent on anyone, especially on Douglas Monteith. The tea brought in by the housekeeper helped, although she had to sip the hot liquid very slowly and carefully because of the physical as well as the emotional pain she was suffering.

  ‘I really don’t need a doctor,’ she managed to say eventually. ‘If I could impose on your generosity for one more thing? If you would just take me home?’

  ‘You will go home when I decide it’s time for you to go home!’

  Her breath jerked in her chest, but she couldn’t voice her protest—she was not yet strong enough. Still in a state of shock from the violence she had suffered and the terrors of the Calton, she was afraid that somehow he could change his mind and take her back to the Jail and leave her there.

  In wide-eyed petrified silence she watched him go over to the bell-pull. He had an angry, arrogant walk. Now that he no longer loved her, there was no telling what he might do.

  When the housekeeper arrived he said, ‘Mrs Harper, please take Miss Blackwood and put her to bed. No doubt there are some of my mother’s things still lying about somewhere?’

  ‘I have already some garments airing, your lordship.’

  ‘Good.’ Then to Clementina, ‘I will see you later.’

  To sink into the warm, luxurious bed was sheer heaven and lulled by the silence and the heat from the bedroom fire she fell asleep almost immediately. When she wakened the room was shadowy, but a candle flickered on the mantelshelf and another on the table beside the bed. The housekeeper was standing nearby holding another.

  ‘She’s awake, doctor,’ Mrs Harper said.

  ‘Ah, good evening, young lady.’ A man with bushy white whiskers leaned over her. ‘Now, you’re going to be all right. I shall bathe your cuts and bruises and apply something that will heal them in no time. Then I shall give you something to make you sleep until morning.’

  ‘I just want to go home,’ Clementina said.

  ‘Ah well, all in good time, my dear. We’ll see how you are tomorrow. Mrs Harper can bathe your face again first thing in the morning and apply more of the medication. I shall call in to see you again before lunch.’

  She supposed there was nothing she could do but accept his advice. It was very comfortable in the big four poster bed and no doubt after a good night’s sleep she would be more able to cope with her situation. She could travel back by train if necessary and walk from Bathgate station up the hills to Blackwood House. Common sense told her she was not fit to do that at the moment, so she allowed the doctor to attend to her and dutifully she swallowed the sleeping potion.

  The next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to daylight. The fire was still burning merrily but the curtains had been drawn and the candles snuffed. A maid in a pale blue dress was hovering, smiling, at the foot of the bed.

  ‘I’ll tell Mrs Harper you’re awake, miss. But first I’ll help you up so that you can drink your tea and eat your bread and butter.’

  It was then that Clementina noticed the tray on the bedside table. The tea refreshed her and, encouraged by the maid, she managed to eat a little bread.

  Afterwards when Mrs Harper had attended to her face she asked the housekeeper, ‘Where are my clothes? I should like to get up now.’

  ‘The laundrywoman has been attending to them, miss.’

  ‘Have them brought to me now, please.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should rest in bed until Dr Fraser sees you again, miss?’

  ‘No, I should prefer to get up now.’

  ‘Very well, miss.’

  The clothes were all beautifully washed and pressed, and even the bloodstains on the green jacket had been successfully removed. Her face shocked her when she saw it in the mirror: one side of her mouth was swollen and discoloured and the skin around one of her eyes was quite purple looking. However, once she was smartly dressed and the maid had dressed her hair neatly, she looked quite presentable. She felt secretly nervous about going downstairs and facing Douglas Monteith, though. She would have preferred to slip quietly out of the house and make her own way to the Bathgate train. But it would have been shockingly rude to leave without at least bidding a civil goodbye to him after all he had done for her.

  He was sitting in the parlour smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper when she entered. He immediately rose, folding the newspaper, the cigar gripped between clenched teeth.

  ‘Good morning.’ She greeted him in her normal businesslike way. ‘I just called in to thank you once again for all you have done for me. As I’m quite recovered now, there is no need to inconvenience you further. I will make my own way home in the train.’

  ‘You certainly will not.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Clementina,’ his voice lapsed into tenderness. ‘Do you really think I’d allow you to leave here like this?’

  ‘What do you mean? You can’t keep me here against my will.’

  ‘Have you looked at your face in the mirror this morning?’

  She flushed. ‘Now you are being cruel.’

  ‘On the contrary, if you had completely recovered your normal practical self, Clementina, you would appreciate the foolishness of subjecting yourself to public scrutiny and probably more abuse by travelling alone looking like that.’

  She realised he was perfectly right and after a moment of swallowing her pride, she said, ‘Yes, of course. I have no choice then but to wait for your convenience, but I should be most grateful if you would take me home as soon as possible. I am very anxious for news of my friends. Have you any idea what has happened to them?’

  Thoughtfully he pursed his lips. ‘Yes, I thought I recognised some Bathgate faces among the people at the Jail yesterday. No doubt they were the families of your friends who had come to collect them.’

  ‘Was everyone freed, then?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘Thank God!’

  She stared across at Douglas, his tall broad-shouldered figure elegantly clad in a grey lounge suit that looked particularly attractive against his dark hair. He stared back at her, his eyes becoming angry.

  ‘I should like to get my hands on whoever did this to you!’

  ‘Gentlemen did this to me, Douglas.’

  ‘Men, perhaps. Certainly not gentlemen.’

  ‘You believe in chivalry?’

  ‘Of course. Women are, whether they like it or not, the weaker sex and must be respected and protected.’

  ‘That’s the philosophy of the dominant male in soc
iety and it has been institutionalised through the political, legal, educational, economic and family system, and sanctified by the teachings of the Church …’

  ‘Yes, and why not? It’s a correct philosophy.’

  ‘It’s not a correct philosophy. It’s an unequal power relationship.’

  Douglas smacked his brow, ‘Oh God!’

  ‘And as for all this respect and care for the weaker sex,’ Clementina continued sadly, ‘it’s just a façade. Whenever male power is threatened—as the suffragettes have threatened it—all the tenderness and respect goes by the board. Women are at first met with derision and then when men realise that their position of privilege is under serious and sustained attack, they hit out with real physical violence.’

  Douglas tossed his cigar into the fire and was silent for a few seconds before saying, ‘Men who behave in such an ungentlemanly way are not fit to enjoy either power or privilege.’

  ‘I wholeheartedly agree with you!’

  A flash of amusement made his eyes narrow. ‘What was that you said?’

  ‘I wholeheartedly agree with you,’ she repeated.

  ‘I heard you the first time, but the words were such sweet music to my ears.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me.’ She was appalled to feel weak tears filling her eyes.

  ‘No!’ Quickly he came towards her. ‘Darling, you’re still in a state of shock. There is no need to get upset. Just relax. Sit down here beside me on the settee and we can talk quietly together. Or I can hold you like this in silence and you can just rest against me. That’s right, put your head down on my shoulder.’

  It was comforting as well as comfortable sitting there cocooned in his arms with his lips gently brushing across her hair. She would have loved to stay like that indefinitely, eyes closed, body moulding into his in complete submission. But a sigh escaped eventually and Douglas tilted up her face.