Chapter Three

Marianne

Edinburgh— Thursday 2nd August 1877

I noticed him the moment I entered the gardens with my current charges. Queen Street Gardens are private, for residents only, but they don't belong exclusively to the Oliphants, the family who then employed me. We regularly had them to ourselves however, we children's nurses, nannies and governesses, and when the weather was what they call driech here, I was often the only one to venture out. My four charges had protested the first day I insisted they come outside with rain threatening, but they quickly came to enjoy playing outdoors when they learned they could shout and squeal and run about as much as they liked, without having to keep quiet for fear of disturbing their mamma, who was close to her due date.

It's only a man in search of some peace and quiet to read his newspaper, that's what I told myself, for I sensed no threat from him. Quite the opposite. Oddly, my first instinct was that he was a man to be trusted, and that's what piqued my interest, for it's such a rare feeling—in fact I'd go so far as to say unique in my experience, when it comes to the opposite sex. No, not entirely unique. I trusted once. Never again.

I kept an eye on him as we set about playing our game, myself and the children, and though he was very good at covering it up, I was aware that he was watching me. I have always been sensitive to other people, to their moods, their thoughts. I don't mean in the common way, it goes beyond that, my talent, or gift, or whatever you care to call it. I think of it like the valve on a gas light or an oil lamp. It's always on at a peep, a low glow, just sufficient for me to see by, and provided there's nothing of interest it stays like that.

But if there's something needing more light shed on it, or if a person was suffering an extreme emotion, it's turned up, allowing me to—to sort of focus. Like the microscope in the playroom, that's a better analogy. The microscope was a gift to Mr Oliphant from the famous Dr Simpson who lived next door at Number Fifty-Two. Mr Oliphant, having no interest in matters scientific, gave it to Ronnie, his eldest boy, who wasn't in the least bit interested either, but his sister Lizzie was—it was she who showed me how to peer through it. The object on the glass slide was a blur at first, then you turn the dial and it becomes clearer, and the more you turn the dial, the more detail you see.

Only I don't have any control over my personal dial, it adjusts itself. There have been many times when I have wished that I had the ability to switch the blasted thing off, for it has led me to understand things I didn't wish to understand, provided insights into others that cannot be ‘unseen'. I have learned to live with my skill, but I have also learned to keep it to myself. A lesson I will never forget.

Not long after we arrived in the gardens, we were joined by Mrs Aitken, the governess from Number Forty-Two, and I concentrated most of my attention on the children for a while. Mrs Aitken was always more than happy to leave the management of her charges to me while she sits on a bench and imagines herself by a fire in a cottage in the country with a cat on her lap and a companion seated in a chair opposite. She takes such enormous pleasure in it that I don't mind looking after all the children, and in any event they play happily together.

Ronnie it was, who threw the ball far too forcefully over the head of its target, his sister Maureen, making it bounce across the grass towards the man on the bench. Maureen protested loudly, while Lizzie went running after the ball and I followed her. The man caught it before it went into the bushes, clutching it close to his chest.

‘I beg your pardon,' I said, ‘I'm afraid we interrupted you.'

He blinked at me, staring, and I had the oddest feeling that he didn't want to talk to me, but at the same time, he was most eager to do just that. When he did, his words were mundane enough.

‘Here you go, wee one,' he said, handing the ball to Lizzie and smiling down at her. She smiled back, and ran off to re-join the game.

‘Thank you,' I said, knowing I should follow her but finding myself reluctant to move.

‘No problem. My name is Sutherland. Rory Sutherland.'

My hand reached for his outstretched one of its own accord, though it was my wont to avoid the touch of men. I don't wear gloves when I'm with the children. His were tan, good quality, and obviously custom made, for they fitted very well over his big hands. The contact sent a shiver, of the warm kind, if there was such a thing, through my body. Instead of snatching my hand away, I wanted to curl my fingers around his, which reaction so distracted me I just stood there, my hand in his, looking like goodness knows what.

It was he who broke the contact, and now it was my turn to look confused. I didn't offer my name. I said nothing, yet I could not make my feet turn around to walk away. I tried to make sense of my reaction, for I had to concentrate on breathing, yet I was not afraid.

‘It's good to see the wee ones out enjoying the fresh air,' the man said, after what seemed like an age. ‘Though it's fresher than it should be, for August, even for here.' It seemed that he too wanted to prolong the conversation.

I clasped my hands together, keeping them safely away from the draw of his. I was belatedly wary, though still I sensed no danger, only—I don't know, curiosity? No, it was stronger than that. ‘You're from Edinburgh, then?' I said.

‘Glasgow originally, though I'm told I have too much of the Highlander in me to sound like a proper Weegie.'

‘Weegie?' I queried, for it was a word I'd never heard before. ‘Weegie?'

‘Weegie,' he repeated. ‘It's a nickname for Glaswegians. Not always intended as a compliment either.' There was a smile lurking in his eyes, which were brown, fringed with long lashes that were much darker than his fair hair.

I raised my eyebrow, allowing a smidgin of my curiosity to show. ‘Would that make a native of Edinburgh a—an Edinburghian?'

He laughed. ‘Truth is,' he replied, ‘there's no name for a native of Edinburgh. They've not the unique identity of we Weegies, you see. In fact,' Mr Sutherland added, affecting a stage whisper, ‘they're an inferior tribe, though they cover it up well with their superior airs and graces.'

His smile was infectious, though I'm usually immune to such things. Combined with the soft brogue of his accent, it had a most unsettling effect on me. Drawing me in, was the only way I can think to describe it, a physical pull or lurch or—oh, it was obvious what I was feeling, even if I didn't recognise it at the time. ‘I have not noticed that,' I said to him, inanely. My mind was distracted by my body, which made my voice sound very unlike my own. ‘I find everyone very friendly in this city.'

‘Aye,' he agreed, his accent and his smile broadening in an extremely appealing way, ‘but that's because you've never been to Glasgow, have you? You don't know what you're missing,' he added, when I shook my head. ‘How did you end up here, may I ask? Judging from that accent, I'd say you hail from well south of here. Do I detect a trace of Yorkshire, maybe?'

‘You are a linguist, Mr Sutherland?'

‘So I'm right, then?'

It has become such a habit of mine, to refuse to answer a question or to prevaricate, I had done so automatically. I couldn't see what possible harm it would do, to answer him, yet I still chose to prevaricate. ‘To everyone here, I'm a Southerner, they make no distinction.'

‘It matters all the same though, doesn't it? A Glaswegian like myself doesn't like to be labelled an East Coaster. A Yorkshire woman such as yourself would take umbrage if I thought you a Brummie?' He waited, but when I volunteered only a shrug, he smiled again. ‘Either way, you're a long way from home. What brought you here?'

‘I am employed as a governess,' I said, unwilling to end the conversation, but not willing to volunteer more than necessary. Should I be concerned by his interest or was he simply making conversation? It was odd, but the more I tried to read him, the more opaque he became to me. I was conscious only of the persistent feeling that I could trust him, and the equally persistent tug of attraction.

‘Those weans look like a handful,' he said. ‘Have you looked after them for long?'

‘Only four of them are in my charge, and my position is temporary.'

‘It looks to me like they're pretty fond of you.'

‘And I of them, most of the time.'

‘Then may I ask why...?'

‘Their nanny has taken leave for six months to nurse her mother. I am covering for her, but as a matter of fact, I prefer not to stay too long in one household. I like the variety,' I added, before he could ask. ‘And I do not like to risk becoming overly fond of my charges.'

‘Is it easy to get work in your line? Are the recommendations by word of mouth, or is there an agency? I know nothing of it.'

‘Why do you ask? Are you married yourself, Mr Sutherland? Do you have children?'

‘No, and no.'

‘Then I fail to see why you could possibly be interested in how to acquire a nanny or a governess.'

‘Very true, I...' His voice trailed away. While we had been talking, he had been fully engaged in our conversation. Now, he was distracted, looking over to Queen Street, adjusting his stance marginally to put his back to the iron railings. ‘I was merely curious, as I said.'

His attention was still on Queen Street. Mr Sutherland was a rugged, rough-hewn man, broad and solidly built, but his features were handsome. I reckoned he must be about forty. Tanned skin. Clean shaven. Good clothes, but unobtrusive. A man who didn't dress to impress or be noticed. A man who was now most determined not to be noticed by the policeman who had stopped to talk to a manservant on the steps of the house next to my employer's home. Distracted as he was, he relaxed his guard on his feelings, and the wariness in him was unmistakable to me. ‘What's the matter?' I asked, before I could stop myself.

He gave himself a shake. ‘Nothing at all.'

A lie, and now I could not contain my curiosity, which was odd, for I do not court interest, and simply by remaining with him, continuing the conversation, that was what I was doing. It felt like the right thing to do. I had no idea why, only that it was. ‘That policeman you were looking at comes along Queen Street every morning, around this time,' I told him.

‘Good to know that some things don't change.'

‘I don't know what crimes he thinks will be committed in broad daylight.'

Though he was obviously itching to turn around to get a better view, Mr Sutherland maintained his stance and his pretence of indifference. ‘Just as well I didn't steal the children's ball and run away, then.'

‘You don't seem the criminal sort.'

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘You'd be surprised, they come in many guises.'

The truth of that statement sent a shudder down my spine. So many crimes I had witnessed and experienced, though none of them were against the law of the land.

He sensed my change of mood immediately. ‘What is it? Someone walk over your grave? It's a saying,' he added. ‘It means...'

‘I know what it means. Your policeman is on his way again.'

He allowed himself a quick glance and on seeing the policeman halfway along the street, I sensed his relief. But his guard was then immediately up again as he turned his attention back to me. ‘I've enjoyed talking to you. Do you think—?'

‘I must get back to the children.' I interrupted him before he could propose another meeting, because I was worried I'd say yes. I was then contrarily disappointed when he nodded in agreement.

‘I've taken up enough of your time, I'll take myself off.'

‘The gate is locked.'

‘I have a key,' he said, producing the item from his coat pocket. ‘How do you think I got in, by vaulting over the railings?'

I meant to bid him good day and walk away, but my feet continued to refuse to co-operate. ‘A man your size would find that easy enough to do.'

My quip amused him, though my own tone, light and almost teasing, took me aback. ‘Aye well,' he said, with another of those beguiling smiles, ‘I'll admit I've vaulted a good few in my time.'

‘While on the run from the long arm of the law?'

‘Quite the opposite, in fact.'

‘Quite the opposite? What do you mean by that?'

He studied me for a moment, his lips pursed, and I had the strangest feeling that beneath his heavy lids, those brown eyes of his could read my thoughts. ‘It's a bit of a long story, but I could tell you, if you're interested. Maybe I could walk you home after work?'

‘No.' He couldn't possibly read my thoughts, but all the same, I felt—wary. Not threatened, definitely not threatened. It was so very odd. ‘No,' I said again, because I wanted very much to say yes. ‘I really must get back to my charges.'

I was already backing away. He sketched a bow, and made no attempt to stop me. I joined my happy little band of children, throwing myself into the game. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him fold up his newspaper, unlock the gate, and quit the gardens. I would have willingly bet he walked in the opposite direction of the policeman, though I couldn't see him.

The strange encounter gave me much pause for thought as I resumed my duties, with only half my attention on the children. To say that my encouraging Mr Sutherland's attention was unusual would be an understatement of the greatest order, yet that was what I had done. I couldn't understand why. He was interested in me, which ought to have put me on my guard—and it had to a degree, but I had never at any point felt endangered. I was horribly accustomed to being questioned, interrogated, investigated. I once was foolish enough to believe that if I answered questions honestly, earnestly, it would make a difference.

I eventually realised that what was required of me was to echo my inquisitors' opinions, not to offer up my own. I couldn't bring myself do that, despite everything that I suffered as a consequence, so I developed the habit of silence. A habit that I had willingly broken with Mr Sutherland, who had been questioning me but who had been interested in what I had to say. Then there was the fact that I found him difficult to read. He was a challenge. And he was also a conundrum, a man who was not a criminal, but who was afraid—no, wary—of the law.

I tried to dismiss Mr Rory Sutherland from my mind, but my inner dial was already turned up too high for me to do that. Ought I to have agreed to another meeting? Funnily enough, and I had no idea why or how, I was sure our paths would cross again regardless. That certainty gave me another of those odd shivers. Not cold but anticipation—excitement.

The children's ball hit me square in the middle, brought me back down to earth. ‘It's time for our luncheon,' Lizzie informed me. ‘Did you not hear the one o'clock gun?'

‘Mrs Crawford was away with the fairies,' Ronnie said gleefully, a phrase that always made me shudder, however innocently intended. ‘And Mrs Aitken has been snoring her head off for the last half-hour.'

Hearing her name awoke the governess who, to give her credit, was on her feet and quite herself in an instant. ‘Gentlewomen do not snore, Ronald, and even if they did, you ought to know that a young gentleman would never mention such a thing. What's more, if I had been asleep, how is it that I know you took two of the boiled sweets that Maureen offered you instead of one? Now what do you say to that?'

Ronnie's answer was a blush and a muttered apology. ‘How did you know...?' I asked Mrs Aitken.

‘Since I was asleep?' she asked sheepishly. ‘An educated guess. He's a greedy little boy. I must thank you, Mrs Crawford, for keeping an eye on my charges.'

‘There's no need. You have been having trouble sleeping.'

‘Why yes, I have. How did you—?'

‘A guess, that is all,' I interrupted her.

‘It is true what is said of you, you are a most perceptive woman, Mrs Crawford. Mrs White at the employment agency considers it a very happy day, when you arrived in Edinburgh and chose to register with her.'

A very happy day it was indeed. The first day of the new life I had almost despaired of living. I will never forget it.