Gillespie and I (31 page)

‘They won't have found her in that flat,' she told me. ‘I was there for hours, and don't think I didn't take the opportunity to look around, just in case.' This admission surprised me, since my landlady was one of the most incurious people I had ever met. I must have looked startled, because she added: ‘Och, you know what children are like. I half thought Rose might be playing hide-and-seek to herself. I looked in all the rooms, except one upstairs that was locked, and there was no child there in that place, not in the presses, or anywhere.'

My mind had already leapt ahead, to other matters: ‘What about the woman who sent Sibyl to the shop—did the police find her?'

‘Not that I know of,' said Mrs Alexander. ‘It's a mystery. If there's still no sign of Rose by tomorrow, then they're going to form search parties.'

‘Search parties!' In my bewildered state, the very words sounded ominous. ‘Let's hope it won't come to that. How did Ned and Annie seem when you left?'

My landlady shook her head, grimly. ‘Poor dears, their nerves are shattered.'

‘Well, at least they can rely upon each other.'

‘Aye, although—'

‘What?'

‘Well, between you and me, I got the impression they weren't speaking to each other. A few times, she said something to him, he just ignored her.'

Soon thereafter, I bade Mrs Alexander goodnight, and went upstairs to my bedroom. All through the hours of darkness, I tossed and turned, without sleeping, in great distress for my poor friends. There was no question in my mind that Annie would be unable to ignore her own sense of guilt, like a queasy pain, rising in her stomach. Though Ned would never be so cruel as to speak his mind, she must have known that he would blame her for losing Rose, since he had always made it plain that he disapproved of sending the girls outside to play, unsupervised: I had heard him say so, myself, on several occasions. Normally, I tend to take a bright view of most matters, but in this instance, try as I might, I could not be confident of a fortunate outcome. My head was filled with horrible presentiments, and my heart was sick with foreboding.

That night, the police and the doctor left Stanley Street towards half past ten o'clock, with the promise to return in the morning. Ned's mother deemed it wise to make her exit at the same time, having, in the aftermath of her outburst at Sibyl, sensed a degree of animosity from Annie. Thus, she led the men downstairs, leaving Rose's parents alone with their anguish. Detective Stirling had advised the Gillespies to remain at home in case Rose should return, and insisted that there was no point in them going out to search that night. Indeed, it could be hazardous for them to be roaming around lonely places in the dark.

With the apartment empty, Annie was only too aware of the tension between herself and her husband, and (as she told me, later) the atmosphere was desiccate and strange. Earlier that night, while she was explaining, once again, to the detective, how she had sent her daughters out to play, unaccompanied, she had sensed her husband studying her, a sour expression on his face, but when she tried to catch his eye, for sympathy, he had turned away. Now, if she asked him a question, or spoke to him, he would answer, but his replies were cold and abrupt and so, it was almost a relief when, after pacing the floor for five minutes, in furious silence, he threw on his coat, saying that he would rather pull out his own eye than remain there, doing nothing: he was going to try and find Rose. He commanded her to light a lamp at the parlour window should there be any news, and then he went running downstairs, without bidding her farewell, and without any display of tenderness or affection, or any reassurance that they would face this ordeal, together. Moments later, when Annie pulled up the sash and peered out, along the road, she saw her husband turn the corner onto Carnarvon Street, where he was swallowed by the darkness.

Left alone, and utterly miserable, she spent the hours until dawn walking from room to room, every now and then peering out into the murky night, watching and waiting for any sign of Rose, or any news—but none came.

Only at daybreak, did Ned return. The main door was propped ajar, just as he had left it. Pushing it open, he stepped inside the close, and then stopped, of a sudden, in his tracks. There, on the flagstones, lay an envelope. The name Gillespie had been scrawled, in pencil, across the front. Inside, he found a single sheet of paper, which had been written upon, in the same brutish hand. The writing was such a filthy scrawl that it took him a while to work out what it said.

dear sir

be note afrayed your girl is al write as we got her. make redy fife hundert pounds and we will den tell you were to deliver the mony. do note notify the polise—or else! tell your wife the child is in gut hands.

I myself first learned about this note when Annie described it to me, word for word, just a few hours later. I would not have called upon her so early, except that my landlady had baked some rolls for the Gillespies, and I had offered to deliver them, while they were still warm. Fully expecting to be turned away at the door, I was surprised when Annie almost begged me to keep her company, in the kitchen. Sibyl was still upstairs, sleeping off the effects of Dr Williams's sedation, and Ned had yet to return from the police office, where he had gone, hoping to show Detective Stirling the note. Annie was pale and haggard, and had not changed her clothes since the previous day. When she spoke, her voice sounded strangely flat, without intonation.

‘It's a horrible letter,' she told me. ‘Big jagged writing, and most of the words are spelt wrong.'

The skin across the back of my neck prickled. There was something sinister about this note with its crude handwriting and bad spelling. However, I was determined not to add to Annie's woes.

‘It sounds like a nasty-minded prank to me.'

Her tired eyes lit up, momentarily. ‘Do you think so?'

‘Don't you? Was it delivered by the postman?'

‘No—it must have been brought in the night.'

‘But nobody saw anyone approach the building?'

She shook her head.

‘What about Ned—has he taken it seriously?'

‘I don't know,' said Annie, her voice almost a whisper. ‘I did beg him not to take it to the police, but—'

With a frown, she grabbed up Rose's wooden horse from where it lay on the hearthrug. Recently, someone had scraped away the scorched patch on its side, which had left a strange cavity in the belly of the beast, as though it had been mauled. Annie hugged the ruined toy to her chest. She must have spent the entire night chewing her fingers, for the nails were bitten to the quick. She stared into the hearth, hard-eyed and alert. It dawned on me that, for once, she looked older than her years. I glanced out of the kitchen, towards the main door of the apartment, which lay wide open onto the close.

‘Where's Elspeth?' I asked.

‘Church.' Annie sighed. ‘She said somebody ought to pray for Rose.'

So forlorn did she look that I was desperate to reassure her.

‘Annie dear—if someone goes to the bother of taking a child, for money, then I'm fairly sure they establish, first of all, that the parents are wealthy. This note is probably just a too silly horrid hoax. Rose will be back, before you know it.'

She nodded, miserably. ‘That's what Ned says. She'll come back and…' Her voice tailed away.

Perhaps I should point out that, under normal circumstances, I am not much given to lamentation. We adult females do not weep quite as often as some novelists would have one believe; we tend to be made of sterner stuff. None the less, this was one of those rare occasions upon which I found myself becoming emotional. Perhaps it was simply the accumulated anxiety of the past day or so, but I had no desire to break down in front of Annie. There she was, presumably sick with fear, and yet, dry eyed, whilst I, like a prize fool, was ready to blubber. Excusing myself, I tried to gain some composure in the WC, by splashing my face with water. However, as soon as I returned to the kitchen, I was overcome by an urge to weep, once more, and so decided to make myself scarce until I had recovered my equilibrium. I knew that Annie would not be alone, for even as I made my excuses, Calthrop came bustling in to return an egg that she had once borrowed: a slender pretext, since it was quite obvious that she was simply desperate to hear if there had been any developments.

Later that day, when I was sufficiently composed to show my face at Stanley Street once more, events had moved on apace. In my absence, Ned had returned, along with Detective Stirling, and they had escorted Sibyl around the corner to Queen's Crescent, where it was hoped that she might be able to point out the house of the veiled lady stranger. However, it seemed that the woman had simply gestured in the general direction of West Princes Street, and Sibyl was unable to identify any residence in particular. Having failed to be of help, the child became upset, dismayed that she had, yet again, been a disappointment. Poor Sibyl! By this time, it must truly have been dawning upon her that the blame for her sister's disappearance would be seen to rest, largely, upon her shoulders.

By all accounts, she was inconsolable when Ned brought her home, and even though she had not eaten since the previous noon, she showed no interest in any food that was placed before her. Her heartbeat was raging; she trembled and perspired and claimed that she was unable to get enough air, even when her father sat her by an open window, and rubbed her back.

‘It's not your fault, pet,' he kept telling her. ‘It's nothing to do with you.'

By mid-morning, on the day after Rose's disappearance, two constables had begun to make house-to-house inquiries across Woodside. Detective Sub-Inspector Stirling soon organised a party of volunteers to scour the district. Normally, the police might have waited a few more days to begin an official search but, apparently, the detective wished to take advantage of the fact that this was Sunday, a day of rest, hence more men ought to be available than would be the case during the week. Alas, the weather proved wet and misty, and any participants were destined to have a most uncomfortable and gruelling experience. Moreover, the search had been called at such short notice that there was no time to place an announcement in the newspaper, and the volunteers had to be recruited by word of mouth alone. Consequently, by noon, fewer than thirty local men had convened at the meeting place: the Stewart Memorial Fountain, in the West End Park. A few women and children who attempted to take part were advised to go home, since—with one child lost, or missing—it was deemed unsafe for them to be roaming the western fringes of the city in the fog, particularly those areas wherein the efforts were to be concentrated: the riversides, parks, canals, and waste-grounds.

To cover as wide an area as possible, the men were divided into three sections. The first, led by the park-keeper, Mr Jamieson, concentrated on Kelvingrove and the University grounds; the second—under the command of Detective Stirling, and accompanied by Ned—went northwards by way of the Kelvin valley, past the old flint mill, and as far as the aqueduct; the third, headed by Sergeant McColl, turned east, along the streets and lanes of Garnethill, and then north, through the warehouses and works, towards the wharves of Port Dundas.

In case Rose should return, Annie remained at home, accompanied by various neighbours and friends, and Elspeth and her cronies, many of whom came and went, between church services, during the course of the afternoon. The weather was wet, but not too cold, which was fortunate because the street entrance to number 11 was propped open all day long, and the front door of the apartment simply lay wide open to the landing. When I arrived, at four o'clock, about a dozen women were gathered in the parlour, presided over by Ned's mother, who—reinstated in her old rocking chair—was the focus of much sympathy, now that her granddaughter had gone amissing.

‘Oh, Herriet!' was her greeting. ‘What have I done to deserve this? What a terrible year it's been!'

Of Annie, there was no sign, and I was led to understand that, some time previously, she had gone upstairs to put Sibyl down for a nap, but had not yet rejoined the company: to my mind, a perfectly reasonable stratagem. I myself was in no mood to pander to Elspeth. That she would cast herself as the prime victim of Rose's disappearance was not necessarily a surprise, but I will admit that I found it exasperating. Thus, I excused myself and went into the kitchen, which no one had tidied or cleaned since the previous day, and thus—to pass the time, while we waited for news—I tried to restore some order.

Presently, I heard the creak of the attic staircase and, glancing into the hall, I saw Annie descend the last few steps. Her face was pale, and even in the few hours since I had last seen her, two vertical worry lines seemed to have etched themselves between her brows. After an initial flurry of greetings from Elspeth and the other women, they left her in peace and when I next saw her, she had taken a seat by the window, a little apart from the others.

Somehow, the day passed. Tea was brewed, and drunk; toast was made, and buttered, but remained, for the most part, uneaten. Every so often, news arrived, carried to us by one or other of the older neighbourhood lads, who had made it their business to run back and forth between the search parties, to gather information. At one point, Sibyl made an appearance, but was so overwrought that Annie was obliged to take her upstairs once again. As time wore on, some of the womenfolk departed, for evening service, or to dine with their families.

Just after dusk, there was a clamour on the stairs, heralding the latest arrival of the neighbourhood boys. On this occasion, all five of them had turned up at once. A few of us, including Annie, hurried to meet them in the hall. The lads were damp, and out of breath, and they spoke at the same time, shouting over each other, but their message was simple enough to understand: no trace of Rose had been found, and the volunteers from all three parties were returning to the meeting point in the park, dispirited and depressed.