On the Edge of Darkness

by Barbara Erskine

  Adam clinked glasses with her. ‘Here’s to us, my darling.’

  ‘To us.’ She smiled. She took a sip and put the glass down, going back to the ribbon. He watched her affectionately for a moment as she struggled with the knot then he turned away and went to stand by the window looking out into the darkness. ‘Isn’t it wonderful not to have to worry about blackouts any more? Look at the light flooding out amongst the trees! It seems almost extravagant.’ There was no answer and he turned. ‘So, what is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She was examining something in her hands. ‘It’s heavy and it’s very pretty – some kind of ornament.’

  He put down his glass and went over to her. ‘Let me see.’

  ‘There’s a card with it: From ghoulies and ghosties … This is to keep you both safe. Keep it with you forever. With all my love and blessings, Liza.

  Adam frowned. He held out his hand. Jane put into it a small sparkling rock crystal set in what looked like the branches of a silver tree. ‘Stand it up on the bedside table. Look, it’s lovely.’ She clapped her hands like a child. Adam shivered. He knew exactly what it was.

  You’ll need to protect yourselves. Use a talisman against the Romany magic. Counter her power with your own. Mrs Gardiner’s voice floated back to him from the afternoon in Morningside when he and Liza had sat before her looking at her crystal ball. Liza had thought he wasn’t listening, but he was. Use rock crystals. They’ve long been considered lucky charms by the Scots. Use the ancient powers of the rowan tree. Fight her. Show her it’s no use tormenting you. Poor lass. She doesn’t come from the same world as you. You have to show her that you can be free of her.

  The crystal sparkled in the light of the beside lamp. On the silver branches tiny rowan leaves nestled around it and here and there a bunch of minute red enamelled berries. ‘She must have had it made specially.’ Adam shook his head. ‘I expect one of their arty friends is a silversmith but even so, it must have been expensive.’ There was a lump in his throat. He guessed she had had the crystal made into an exotic ornament which would appeal instantly to Jane because otherwise he would not have had it in the house. It was superstitious rubbish. So much idiotic nonsense. Like the pendant.

  Leaving it on the table he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains across with a rattle. He shivered. The last person he had wanted to think about on his wedding night was Brid.

  Jane put the ornament on the mantelpiece in the sitting room of their new home in St Albans. It was very pretty, but somehow out of place between the austere gilt carriage clock which her uncle Frederick had given them as a wedding present and the three white leaping horses which she had brought with her from the shelf in her bedroom at home. On the wall nearby were some of her books. Jane had always been a great reader and in the first months in St Albans it was only her books which saved her from total misery.

  She wasn’t sure how she had seen her life as a doctor’s wife, but certainly not one of unending boredom and loneliness. The practice was a busy one; it had its own secretary and she was helped by Sarah Harding, the wife of the senior partner. Sarah, invariably dressed in immaculately cut skirts and cashmere twinsets or tailored silk shirts, her nails neatly manicured, her jewellery discreet, was cast in the same mould as Patricia Smith-Newland. But she was also hard-working and violently protective of her husband; she had long ago got the measure of his roving eye and fiercely headed off any threat, real or potential, to her marriage. She could have made Jane’s life wonderful, or miserable. She chose to do the latter. She did not invite her to help in any way, she did not arrange for her to meet people or to take part in the activities of the women’s institute or the mother’s union or the practice whatsoever. She actively discouraged Jane from appearing at any social function – ‘Perhaps when you know us all a little better, dear.’ When Jane timidly asked Adam what she could do he shrugged and told her she should be pleased. It would give her a chance to follow her own interests. He had no idea what was going on.

  At one of the partnership meetings Robert Harding had a quiet word with him. ‘Only when she’s ready, of course, old boy. But it would be nice if Jane would join in sometimes. I know it’s a bit strange for her, so we won’t rush it. But it looks a bit, you know, stand-offish!’

  ‘I want to, Adam! I hate spending all day on my own in the house!’ Her wail of anguish when he broached the subject with her shook him. ‘Sarah keeps telling me I’m not needed!’

  ‘She’s only concerned in case you feel shy.’

  ‘Oh no, Adam. I don’t think so!’ Her vehemence was so uncharacteristic he reeled back. ‘That woman hates me. I can’t think what I’ve done to make her feel like that, but she does. She doesn’t want me doing anything at all.’

  What neither of them knew was that after Adam’s initial interview, when he had returned to introduce the members of the partnership to his fiancée, Robert Harding had commented to his wife later, ‘What an exceptionally nice young woman. Pretty, too. She should bring some life into the place. Give you older ladies a run for your money, what!’ He had not noticed Sarah’s expression, neither the hurt nor the anger, nor the final rigid setting of her jaw.

  The discovery that she was pregnant filled Jane with complete and utter joy. She had suspected it for some time, but when at last she mentioned it to Adam, and he confirmed it, she could not contain herself. The first person she had to tell was her mother.

  Patricia’s response was predictable, implying that Jane could not under any circumstances cope with pregnancy or baby without her mother close at hand. But her father, who had overheard the far end of the conversation, grabbed the telephone receiver and whooped down it. ‘Tally ho, Janie. Brilliant! I’m so pleased, sweetheart. Wonderful. When?’ In ten short words he had restored her confidence, her happiness and all her optimism. And amongst all the joy she hugged to herself was one small gleeful thought: Dr and Mrs Harding were childless.

  Calum James Craig was born in September 1946. He had honey-coloured hair like his mother, brilliant blue eyes and enormous charm. Adam was besotted by him.

  ‘He’s got your features, my boy.’ James Smith-Newland looked down into the wooden crib and gave the baby his little finger to hold. It had been a while before his wife had been persuaded to stop handing out gratuitous advice and go downstairs to supervise the kitchen arrangements instead. Jane was asleep, worn out by the visitors who had come to wish them well. Only Sarah Harding was conspicuous by her absence.

  Adam smiled adoringly at his sleeping wife and then joined his father-in-law by the crib. ‘I hoped he would look like Janie.’

  ‘He does. He’s got her colouring.’

  Adam seemed to have aged far more than the few months since James had last seen him. He had also put on a little weight, but that was good; it suited him and gave him a certain gravitas which was useful in a young doctor. He was popular with his patients, or so Janie said, and they were, if not comfortably off, at least not on the breadline.

  ‘Are you whispering about me?’ Jane opened her eyes and stared at them drowsily.

  Adam smiled. He went over and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Whatever gave you that idea, my love?’

  ‘Because you’re a couple of old gossips.’

  ‘We’re a doting father and grandfather!’ James came to sit on the edge of her bed. ‘And if you begrudge us that, young woman, it’s too bad! Now, there’s another visitor downstairs for you. Your friend Liza, from Wales. Shall I send her up whilst Adam and I go and find some sherry to pacify your mother?’

  ‘Liza?’ Jane glanced at Adam. ‘Did you know she was coming?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘She said she might look in on her way to London. You don’t mind do you? I should have told you.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’ For a moment Jane frowned. Then she relaxed. There was no need any more to feel jealous of Liza. She nodded and smiled. ‘I’m glad she’s here.’

  ‘Good. I’ll tell her to come and view the son and heir.’ James st
ood up. He patted her again. ‘Don’t let her tire you out, my love.’

  Liza picked Calum out of his crib and brought him to cuddle on the end of Jane’s bed. ‘He’s gorgeous! So gorgeous. Oh Jane, I swore I didn’t want any children, but I think I’m going to change my mind!’ She kissed the small cheek and hugged him tighter, then she leaned forward and pushed him into Jane’s arms. ‘Go on, how can you bear to leave him in that lonely little bed. He needs his mummy.’

  Jane’s arms tightened round him. She frowned. ‘My mother said he ought to get used to being on his own. I’m to feed him every four hours and not pick him up between.’

  Liza stared at her. ‘What if he’s hungry! He’s so tiny! Oh, Janie. You can’t. Take no notice of her. I’m sure Adam would tell you I’m right.’

  Jane nuzzled the baby and he whimpered, searching for her breast. ‘I’m not supposed to.’ She was tense. Uncertain.

  ‘I have never heard such rubbish in my whole life.’ Liza jumped off the bed and going to the door, turned the key. ‘I should send your mother home!’

  ‘You’re so good for Jane.’ Adam had walked down to the bottom of the long walled garden behind the house with Liza. The air was soft with the mellow autumn sun. ‘She doesn’t stand up for herself. Her mother has bullied her resistance out of her. I think that’s the problem with Sarah too. She reminds Jane too much of Patricia, and instead of standing up for herself she crumbles if Sarah so much as looks at her. I know why she came to Edinburgh to study now. It was about as far as she could get from home.’

  ‘It must have taken a lot of courage to tell her parents she wanted to go away to university.’

  ‘James was on her side. He’s a real brick.’

  Liza smiled. ‘Picking up all the English expressions, I see. So, how does the good doctor like the Home Counties?’

  Adam hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I fit, to be honest. I miss the hills. I miss the country. This garden is all I see of mother nature for days on end. I sometimes go out to the countryside to see a patient, but mostly I’m working in the town. Robert and John, our other partner, keep the well-heeled patients for themselves. I was taken on to do the less lucrative side of the practice.’

  ‘That stinks!’

  ‘I have to start somewhere. Don’t forget James helped me buy into the partnership. I couldn’t have done it on my own. If I had had my way I would have settled down a million miles from Patricia – St Albans is at least a bit of a way. As you know Jane wanted to stay in Edinburgh. Before her mother started organising our lives!’ He was standing, hands in pockets, staring down at a pale pink rose. ‘You know why I couldn’t stay there. She was there. Even if I couldn’t see her or hear her, she was there.’

  Neither of them had to state who ‘she’ was.

  ‘I was so afraid she would latch onto Jane. She begrudged me visiting you, imagine what she would do if she found out I was going to get married.’

  ‘But you never told Jane?’

  He shook his head. ‘Why worry her?’

  ‘You’ve never seen Brid since you came to England?’

  ‘No. Perhaps your magic charm has worked.’ He knew Liza had noticed it. Patricia had too. ‘Why don’t you move that hideous geegaw!’ was her comment. ‘It does lower the tone of the room, Jane darling. I know that arty friend of yours gave it to you, but really …’

  ‘You’ve been safe, Liza?’ He broke off the rose suddenly and handed it to her. ‘At one point I wondered if she might follow you to Wales.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sure she lost interest in me long ago. After all, I’m married to someone else. I hardly ever see you. What reason could she have for hating me, still?’

  They both stared down in silence at the soft pink petals of the flower in her hand.

  ‘None,’ he said after a minute.

  Once or twice Brid had seen Adam as she gazed into the pool on the hillside. He looked older; bigger; more solid. And she saw with him a woman. Not the woman Liza but another, a weak, pretty woman with honey-coloured hair and blue eyes. A woman who was not right for him. The last time she saw the woman she had a belly. She was near her time. Brid’s eyes narrowed with anger. A-dam’s child.

  She had made her way once to Liza’s studio and climbed the stairs. There was a padlock on the door and she could tell the place was empty. So, the Liza woman had gone too. She had stood looking down the narrow staircase. A tortoiseshell comb had lodged in a crack in the old deal of the steps. Some of its teeth were broken and between them there were one or two long red hairs. Stooping, she had picked it up and smiled. She had seen combs like these before; the woman Liza always wore them. She had wrapped it carefully in her scarf and put it into her bag.

  On Midsummer’s Day Brid went back to the room off the Grassmarket where she and Maggie, maintaining their grudging friendship, had found lodgings, to find Maggie lying unconscious on the floor. She stared at her for a moment, shocked by the sight of the woman, angry that Maggie was not there for her when she needed her. Then she remembered that she was a healer. It was necessary to bring Maggie back to health and she would do everything in her power to ensure that that happened. Unemotionally and carefully she nursed the old woman for four days until, finding tucked in her filthy clothes a piece of paper with the address of her much talked about but never seen daughter, the daughter who could help make her better, she sallied forth to find her.

  Catriona had long ago lost patience with Maggie and her drinking, but with a sigh she gave Brid money to buy milk and bread and electric lightbulbs.

  It was Brid who found warm blankets; who watched over her like a hawk as the old woman grew stronger than she had been for many years. It was Brid who went back to Catriona’s to collect clothes, some of them for herself, some of them for Maggie, and books and records for the old gramophone which Maggie had found in an empty room in the tall house in which they lived. She would sit for hours listening to the nocturnes of Chopin, rocking back and forth, tears in her eyes, and she would beg Brid for the money to buy a bottle, but Brid never weakened. So when she returned one evening from an expedition onto the hill to collect herbs and found Maggie dead, she could not believe her eyes. She touched her face and took her hand, trying to coax the poor tired spirit back into the cold, worn-out flesh, and then she sat and cried.

  Two days after the burial Catriona returned home from a day at the bank where she worked to find Brid on her doorstep in a state of trance from which she could not awaken her. She called her doctor and within hours Brid had been admitted to the Craighouse in Morningside.

  In the border world to which she had retreated Brid flitted amongst the shadows, aware of Broichan stalking angrily around the stone. His power had grown. She could feel the tentacles of energy reaching out, touching her spirit, drawing her back and, frightened, she dodged back into the darkness. There was another figure there too now, a shadow she did not recognise, tentative, exploring, his power as yet undeveloped but very real, a challenge to Broichan. She felt him questing inside her head, gently searching. Afraid, she shrouded her thoughts and withdrew into the silence. She could see her body lying propped in the small room in the hospital. It looked empty, drained of life. From time to time a nurse would go in and do things to her, otherwise she was left more or less alone. Catriona visited her once a week, and had she known it phoned every day to see how she was. But she was lost in between the worlds again, her life force drained by the shock of Maggie’s desertion.

  Liza’s daughter, Juliette, was born on October the thirty-first 1947. Halloween. Adam and Jane came to Hay-on-Wye for the christening at St Mary’s and stood as her godparents while Calum gurgled happily in the back of the church.

  Pen-y-Ffordd, the old farmhouse high up in the Black Mountains, where they all adjourned afterwards to wet the baby’s head, had stone walls two feet thick and small square windows which had let in a surprising amount of light once the insides of the rooms had been painted white. Round the back there were two large old barns,
his and hers, which Philip and Liza used as their studios. Retired from his teaching, Philip had reverted to what had always been one of his first loves, painting landscape, which he did enormously successfully whilst her portraits were now increasingly full length or bigger and her prices, according to her proud husband, matched. ‘We don’t have to live here, you know,’ he confided to Jane. ‘We could get a bigger place, but we love the mountains so much. And Liza feels safe here. Brid could never find her, even if she wanted to.’

  ‘Brid?’ Jane turned from Calum’s pram and stared at him. ‘Who is Brid?

  His mouth fell open. ‘Don’t you know?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘Should I?’

  He shrugged. ‘You had better ask Liza.’

  She did. Minutes later, in the kitchen, Calum in her arms.

  Liza turned from the sink where she had been rinsing mugs and looked at her for a moment, then she shrugged. She reached for a towel. ‘I couldn’t believe Adam hadn’t told you,’ she said.

  Jane listened in silence, her eyes on Liza’s face. When she had finished the story at last Jane shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to believe all that. Oh no, Liza. That’s too much. You’re making it up. Why? Why would you want to frighten me with a story like that? Is it because of Adam and me? Is that it? Are you jealous of us or something?’ She clutched the baby more tightly.

  ‘Ask Adam if you don’t believe me.’ Liza was tight-lipped. She turned away sharply. ‘And no, Jane, I’m not jealous. Not one bit. I have everything I want here.’

  There was a short uncomfortable silence, then Jane put out her hand to touch Liza’s. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know you’re not jealous.’

  ‘Good.’ Liza went back to the sink and turned the taps full on, watching the water splashing down the drain. ‘Don’t believe me about Brid if you don’t want to. I just hope you don’t find out about her the hard way.’