Gillespie and I (42 page)

‘This way,' said Fee, and walked me towards the entrance of the wing. En route, I cast wary glances around me, and up at the landings overhead, but there was no sign of any prisoners anywhere, and I wondered whether they were always kept locked away in their cells. Just before we reached the wing gates, Fee paused outside a half-open door, and gestured that I should cross the threshold ahead of her. I entered the room, fully expecting to see Caskie, and so was shocked to find none other than Elspeth Gillespie standing there, and just behind her, whey-faced and anxious, both Ned and Annie.

‘Herriet!' cried Elspeth, rushing forward. ‘You poor thing! This must be quite dreadful for you. It's all a terrible mistake, of course. But don't worry—we'll do everything we can to get you out of here.'

Ned looked as though he had not slept in days. His skin was deathly pale, the shadows beneath his eyes almost black. He seemed like a man at the end of his tether. And yet, he gazed at me, steadily and intently, not in an accusing manner, but with considerable sympathy and understanding. It was as though—despite his own fragile condition—he wished to share with me what little strength he had.

‘Now you must tell us if there's anything you need,' Elspeth was saying. ‘As you're aware, Herriet, I'm on the Visiting Committee, and I know exactly what items you're allowed. But all this shouldn't be for long: there's a hearing next week, and your solicitor will ask for bail, so you should be out soon. Oh! But these past few days, Herriet, it's been terrible, what with the news about Rose, which practically knocked us to the ground, as you might imagine, and then we heard they'd found the awful people that took her, and then, the very next thing, Detective Stirling was at the door, saying they'd arrested
you
! As if hearing about Rose wasn't enough. I don't know what these people can be saying about you, do you? It's patently a piece of nonsense. I told Stirling they've made a mistake, but he says it's out of his hands now. Well, we won't let it rest, don't you worry.'

She went on, but I was only half listening, having become more interested in trying to catch her daughter-in-law's eye. Annie had gone from peering up at the bars on the window, to looking down at the floor. From time to time, she glanced over at Ned, as though to check on his welfare. There were plenty of seats in the room, around the table, and against the wall, but apart from Mrs Fee (who had taken a chair by the door), none of us made the move to sit down; it seemed, in some way, inappropriate. Ned stood by the table, stoop-shouldered, twisting his hat in his hands. His gaze hardly left my face. I longed to say something to him, to speak to Annie, and I found myself interrupting Elspeth.

‘It's so good of you all to have come. Thank you. I'm much better just for seeing your faces, believe me. And I just want you to know how sorry I am, about Rose. I only found out yesterday—or, was it the day before? Do forgive me, I've lost track of time. But I'm so terribly sorry. What an awful thing to have happened. If there's anything I can do—'

I looked to Ned for an answer.

‘Thank you, Harriet,' he replied. ‘But everything is—there can be no funeral until the police have finished with the—the—'

He stared into the crown of his hat, unable to continue. I realised, with a pang of sadness, that he could not bring himself to say the word ‘body'.

Elspeth gave his arm a maternal squeeze.

‘But in the meantime there are things we must do,' she told me. ‘So, Herriet, we do apologise, but we can't stay long. There are arrangements to be made.'

‘Arrangements, yes, arrangements—of course.'

I was aware of sounding like a fool, but I could not think of the right thing to say. Had I been an actress on the stage, no doubt I would have made a speech that would have reassured and comforted all those present. But I was not an actress, and we were not in a play. I was just plain old Harriet Baxter and, at the time, I hated myself for my lack of eloquence but, in hindsight, I suppose that any awkwardness is understandable. The circumstances were quite extraordinary, and there we were: everyday, unremarkable folk, thrust into a situation that nobody could have predicted.

‘If you don't mind, Harriet,' said Ned. ‘We'd rather not talk about—Rose—not at the moment, anyway.'

‘Yes,' said Elspeth, swiftly. ‘You see, it's best we keep our minds busy. We just wanted you to know we're as baffled as you must be, about why you're in here.'

‘You should be in good hands with this Caskie fellow,' Ned added.

‘Oh—do you know him?'

He shook his head. ‘Yesterday evening—' he began, and then his thoughts seemed to drift, yet again.

‘Mr Caskie came to see us all,' Elspeth explained. ‘He seems terribly thorough. Hours he was, asking all sorts of questions.'

‘That's reassuring,' I said. ‘Let's hope he finds out why these dreadful people have picked on me. It's quite beyond belief, really.'

‘Yes, isn't it?' said Annie, speaking for the first time. ‘Are you quite certain you don't know who they are, Harriet? Perhaps you've forgotten. Could you not have bumped into them on your travels, at some point? Or at the Exhibition?'

I sighed. ‘No—I'm sure I would have remembered. Germans! I don't know any Germans in Glasgow. It really is a mystery.'

‘Yes, indeed,' said Annie, sharply.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, I turned back to Ned.

‘And how is Sibyl?'

‘She's doing well,' said Elspeth, before her son could reply. ‘We're going up to see her later. Apparently, she's been attending the asylum's Scripture classes.'

‘And her burns—poor thing—how are they healing?'

‘Very well,' said Elspeth. ‘It's quite miraculous, the speed of her recovery, isn't it, son?'

Ned was frowning down at the floor, as though faced with the abyss. Elspeth flushed as she looked at him. She appeared, of a sudden, to be stricken with guilt. There was an awkward silence.

Then Annie said: ‘I just find it very odd.'

Ned tore himself away from his private despair to throw her a reproving look. ‘No, Annie,' he said.

‘Yes, dear, I just want to ask her something,' said she, never once taking her eyes off my face. ‘It's very odd, don't you think, Harriet, that these people would be saying these things about you. Total strangers! And they claim you were involved, in some way, with them, with what they did—taking Rose. Why would they say that?'

‘I expect they want to pass the blame to some innocent person,' I replied. ‘And thereby escape punishment.'

‘Oh, aye,' said Annie; she sounded almost scornful.

‘Is something the matter?' I asked her.

‘Not with me.' She folded her arms and regarded me in what can only be described as a hostile manner. Ned put on his hat and stepped forward.

‘Do forgive us, Harriet,' he said. ‘But we're all very tired, and this can only be a short visit. We really must be going now.'

He tried to take his wife by the elbow, but she pulled away from him.

‘No! I want to hear what she has to say.'

Behind me, the warder rose to her feet, with the words: ‘Right then—I think that's just about enough.'

And then, all at once, to my great surprise, there was a rather undignified scuffle. At one moment, Annie was standing there, with her arms folded, then, the next, she gave a cry and lunged towards me. Elspeth shrieked, as Ned tried to grab his wife, and in the same moment, Mrs Fee darted forwards, shoving me aside. Somehow, I lost my balance and toppled, helplessly, to the floor, unable to avoid knocking my head against the table as I fell. I must have blacked out for a short interval—I have no idea how long.

When I opened my eyes, some time later, I discovered that I was alone in the room. The scent of a bonfire had drifted in through the window bars: somewhere nearby, perhaps in Cathedral Square, or at the Necropolis, a gardener was burning leaves. In the distance, the prison corridors echoed with the sounds of a commotion, of raised voices and clanging metal gates, but whatever the disturbance was, it appeared to be happening far away and, as I hearkened, the noises receded even further, until they could be heard no more. At length, still stunned, I sat up and was surprised to see a scrawny young woman standing in the doorway. Never before had I laid eyes upon her. She wore a ragged shawl over a drab frock. In her hands, she held a filthy mop. It was hard to tell whether she was a prisoner, or some sort of char. She gazed at me, dispassionately, then asked: ‘What's your name?'

‘Harriet,' I told her. ‘Harriet Baxter.'

She nodded, and then stepped away, out of sight. I got up onto my knees, and was feeling the bump on my temple, when she reappeared in the doorway. This time, she was carrying an old wooden pail.

‘Here,' she said and, without further ado, hurled the bucket, with all her might, directly at my head. I had just enough time to raise my arm, to protect myself, before the hard wood struck my elbow, sharply. Filthy water cascaded everywhere; the pail hit the ground with a clatter, and then the woman ran away, cackling.

For a moment, I was too stunned to move. Then, deciding that I might be less vulnerable on two feet, I got up, and was trying to squeeze the water out of my skirts when jangling keys, footsteps, and the clang of a gate, announced the return of Mrs Fee, who presently appeared in the doorway.

‘Aye, well,' she said, sternly. ‘You're still alive. They must all be dunderheaded gowks in this gaol! I don't know if those folk should even have been allowed in here at all, whether your woman is on the Visiting Committee or not. Are they witnesses in your case?'

‘I dare say they may be.'

‘Some silly dummy at the gate ought tae have asked more questions.'

Her stare was so accusing, that I was forced to reply: ‘Forgive me, but you can hardly blame me for the incompetence of your colleagues.'

Fee narrowed her eyes, and shook her finger at me, in a warning fashion, as though she had got my measure. Then she peered at my frock.

‘You're all wet.'

‘How very observant.'

‘What are you doing all wet for?'

I indicated the bucket on the floor.

‘A woman threw this pail of water at me.'

Fee shook her head wearily.

‘Baxter, I hope you're not going to be trouble. I suspect I'm going to have enough to deal wi' here, surrounded by gowks and fools, wi'out you causing fights every five minutes.' She grabbed her key chain. ‘Come on now, back to the cell with you, and nae mair of your shenanigans.'

That afternoon, I was once again escorted to the same visit room. This time, I found the solicitor, Mr Caskie, seated at the table. Unfortunately, he had brought with him some disquieting news. He regarded me, gravely, as I entered, and after a few polite enquiries about my health and welfare, he came to the point.

‘Miss Baxter, it seems the police have been to your bank with a warrant. They've secured a ledger which suggests that you made some large cash withdrawals, earlier this year, during the spring and early summer.'

‘Large withdrawals? I suppose they must have been for Merlinsfield. I've been organising a refurbishment, you see, at one of my stepfather's houses. I had to pay for builders, and materials, and so on. I did withdraw rather a lot for that.'

‘Did you keep receipts, or some kind of written record, for these payments?'

‘I think so, where I was able. They'll be in my desk, out at Bardowie, or possibly in my rooms at Queen's Crescent.'

‘Aye—or the police may have got their hands on them, by now. I'll find out. You see, we might have to produce these receipts in evidence.'

‘But—why?'

Caskie sighed. ‘Well, I've yet to see this bank ledger, but it seems that the withdrawals recorded there correspond with what the German says.'

‘I'm sorry—I still don't understand.'

‘Miss Baxter, the amounts this man alleges you paid him, and the dates he says you met in order to hand over the money, bear close approximation to the sums and dates in this ledger. Now, presumably, when he made his declaration, he cannot have known what is contained in your bank's records. But, for example—just an example, mind—say there's evidence you paid him such and such an amount—say £50—on a Saturday in the first week of April, and, lo and behold, the day before, on the Friday, you'd withdrawn £50 or a little more, then it might not look very good. In other words, Miss Baxter, in court, a clever advocate could suggest you withdrew funds, on one day, in order to pay Schlutterhose, the next. Just an unfortunate coincidence, of course, but one that could prove rather awkward, for us.'

17

Following Caskie's visit, I had a lucky escape on the way back to my cell, when something unspeakable was thrown at me from an upper landing. Thankfully, it missed me by a few inches, but I realised that any excursion onto the wing would be fraught with difficulty, bordering upon danger. I was able to endure the next few days only by keeping busy in any way that I could. Primarily, this involved writing correspondence. For instance, I wrote a long letter to Annie. However, although I drafted several versions, I decided, in the end, against sending it. I did write to both Ned and Elspeth, thanking them for their visit and, after some consideration, I composed a letter to my stepfather. No doubt, sooner or later, one of his lackeys would inform him of my arrest, but I had decided that it would be better that he heard the news from me. I wanted to assure him that it was all a terrible misunderstanding, and that he ought not to return from abroad on my behalf. Fearing that he would be angered by my abandonment of Merlinsfield, and eager not to disappoint him, I assured him that the work on the house had been completed to a satisfactory standard and, in addition, I wrote to Agnes Deuchars, asking her to keep me apprised of any leaks in the roof, or any other matters that might require attention, during my absence. I also sent notes to several others, largely to discourage them from coming to see me, since I had no desire for anyone of my acquaintance to set foot inside that terrible building.